#aut codes

[livingasaghost]

fitz losing shrewd’s pin and then absolutely freaking the fuck out is exactly how i feel every time i misplace anything btw he’s so real for that

[hvbris]

[koushirouizumi]

Meanwhile with Daisuke&Shane {&Ken}

International Chosen O.C. Shane: ... I mean. (Long Pauuse) It's not like I didn't see you. Ever ..... Uh. Shirtless?? ? ? *Before* when- dAISUKE: DAISUKE: S t o p SHANE: Ken: (smile tugging at lips) Shane: I mean. Daisuke would just casually "forget" I was "bugging" Daisuke, change out of whatever Daisuke was wearing at the time, (in full-on view) and then casually "remember" again- D A I S U K E, Indignant: I always remembered!!! Ken: (*trying to not laugh*) Shane, Blinking a Little: .. Oh, you did? Huh. Daisuke: Shane: Daisuke: Shane: ... So, how are we... going to "Do this"- Daisuke, Low Yelling in mind: (kENNNNNNN!!!!) Ken: (You kind of Do It to Yourself....)

[perl-without-the-a]

"Sometimes the code feels...wrong. Like the half of my code that's a bit messed up after the incidents want to fix themselves but he's still here, constantly fighting me..."

"I...I know don't what that's about, but...he's gone. He's not gonna bother us anymore. He's gone..."

[defututus]

a helping hand | Eddie Munson x migraine!reader

masterlist

an expansion on this post since I wanted to write an injection fic anyway

summary: Eddie has to help you with your medications and you just aren't interested in taking it

word count: 2k

content warnings: established relationship, needles, some cursing, a step by step explanation on how I take my migraine injections (minus the handsome boyfriend), angst/hurt to fluff/comfort

author's note: hi, we can all thank @munson-blurbs for me actually finishing a WIP because I was bored on the train ride to see the stranger things play and decided to get some actual writing done!

It’s a quiet evening in the apartment. Yogi is sitting with his tail wagging in front of a window that Eddie previously opened to let in some fresh air. The screen is the only thing keeping the lab from hopping out to explore and greet every person that walks by their ground-floor home. He doesn’t bark at those that pass his window, instead working as a silent observer and protector of his family. All Eddie hears is a quiet chuff coming from the other side of the apartment, nothing more. The sound of distant traffic leaks in from the window to create a peaceful atmosphere for Eddie as he finishes putting a few dishes away. The meal was light, mainly consisting of leftovers, so preparation was quick with minimal cleanup. Your post-dinner plans, however, were more exciting. They included some self-care, ice cream, and a movie to cuddle up and watch together. You decided to go a step further in your self-care and just began taking a nice, long everything shower. All the exfoliating and scented products left you feeling light and content. For Eddie, everything showers meant he could use the excuse of, "I need to see how soft your skin feels" for when he wants to get a little touchy with you. 

The metalhead let out a contented sigh as he set the last of the dishes on the dish rack to drip dry. With all the cleaning out of the way, Eddie raised his arms above his head to stretch and take in his surroundings. There was Yogi, still attentively looking outside in case someone threatened his property. Curiously, Eddie looked to the calendar hanging on the fridge for the dog’s next vet appointment. You tried to keep the monthly overviews as organized as possible by color coding everything and abbreviating certain events; HF for the weekly Hellfire meetings and any Corroded Coffin-related events got a music note in front of them and were written in red. Eddie did a quick scan of the calendar before his eyes landed on today’s date. There were your work hours and his at the top, but you’ve also got a sad face in the bottom right corner. Knowing you, you probably knew this was coming all week and pretended like it didn’t exist so you didn’t have to take care of it. Eddie, however, swore to your parents when you moved in together that he’d take care of you in the same way you swore to take care of him. He heard the shower running in the bathroom, meaning he still had some time before you were out and dressed. 

The first thing Eddie did was open up the fridge and fish out a box from one of the side shelves. He also grabbed himself a beer to help get him through this entire ordeal. It never gets easier. Closing the fridge, he cracked the beer open and took a swig before setting it down to focus on the contents of the box. He fetched the other materials he’d need -  Eddie opened it and pulled out the instructions that went right in the trash to get to the important part - a syringe.

Eddie was no stranger to helping you with your migraines. He was fully prepared to help you for the rest of your life if you’d let him, but he never thought helping you would include pressuring you into taking your medications. Your neurologist prescribed a new medication to you over a year ago, and it was working wonders, but unfortunately, this medication only came in the form of an injection. The process was easy at first thanks to the auto-injector packaging, but when you were forced to change your insurance, your medication also changed to a normal syringe. You were already nervous every time your injection day came around, but this new medication form made things impossible. The process was longer, and you swore it was more painful. It got to the point where you began putting off the medication entirely, causing your migraines to increase in frequency. The last few months were okay since Eddie would always give you a gentle reminder the day of, making promises like, "Once you do your injection, we can have some fun after… that sound good to you" or "How do you feel about some dessert after your medication?", always giving you some sort of incentive to get the injection over with. You two already have the movie planned for tonight, so it’ll have to act as motivation. 

You walk out of the bathroom wearing a fresh set of pajamas once Eddie has everything set up, feeling absolutely refreshed. The warmth from the shower is still radiating from you and feels great against the air conditioning running through the apartment. The fruity scent of your body scrub emanates from you, which only adds to your relaxed state. Your freshly showered and moisturized state, combined with a new pair of soft pajamas, has you feeling like the epitome of comfort, that is, until you see your boyfriend standing in the kitchen, waving a certain syringe in his hand and a cheeky smile on his handsome face. You lock eyes with him and freeze as you enter the living room before asking, “Is that tonight?”

He feels bad for even thinking this, but it’s a little cute how nervous you get every time you need to take your medication. Your boyfriend responds with a small nod and, “Yup, sure is”, popping the p in the affirmation. His calmness and smile only add to your nerves, which causes you to cautiously back away from him and back into the bedroom.

  Eddie lets you get a few steps in, silently putting the alcohol pad, cotton pad, and bandage in his pockets  before dashing across the small room and grabbing you by your waist. He loves to chase you around and would do it more often if you two had the room. The way that you squirm in his arms and whine, “I don’t wanna do it! I’ll do it tomorrow!” Eddie tuts into your ear as he tries to adjust his hold on you, but that moment of loosening his grip only grants you an opportunity to escape. You make a break for the bathroom connecting to your bedroom but only make it halfway before Eddie nearly tackles you to the floor. He’s straddling your hips with a firm grip on both wrists. You look down at where he’s straddling you and clock the growing bulge in his pants. Of course he’s enjoying this. 

“Cmon, sweetheart, it’s just one shot, and then we can relax.”

You whine again and shake your head furiously, saying, “I’ll do it tomorrow!”

You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be - Eddie already struggles to help you do this with two hands, but one? He can’t help but sigh as he puts the syringe down next to his leg where you can’t move it away and begins assessing your arm. He’s feeling around the upper portion of it just like your mom, a former nurse, had taught him when he asked for advice. It takes him only a few seconds of pinching sections of your upper arm before he locates the right spot, not too low but not high enough to hit your shoulder. Quickly, his hand reaches into his pocket to grab the alcohol pad and rip it open like a condom. His silence only makes you more anxious. A small whimper and quiet, “Eddie please… tomorrow?” comes from you, but he’s determined to get it done now.

“My dear girl…” he says with a smirk, “you know we can't do that. Your doctor said it has to be at the same time every month. I hate this as much as you do-“

You interrupt him with a bitter, “I think you like it.”

Eddie continues, “- okay, I might like it a little, but I still hate causing you pain. But I don’t like seeing you in unnecessary pain, so this has to be done. Just one poke and then we’re done.” He rubs the upper area of your arm that he found before with the alcohol pad to remove all the oils and tosses it to the side. Once that’s done, he takes the cap of the syringe in his teeth and rips that off. You distract yourself by staring at his arms rather than the large needle about to go into one of your own. He mutters, “okay, breathe. One… two…”

Before he hits three, he pushes the needle into your arm, which makes you recoil. The sight of your boyfriend's tattooed biceps is no longer enough to distract you from the pain, so you shut your eyes altogether. Eddie watches the clear liquid slowly disappear from the vial, choosing to concentrate on that and not how all he can hear is you muttering, “ow. ow. ow. ow”. 

It feels like time moves more slowly when doing these injections. His heart breaks to see you in pain and even more when he has to be the one causing it, even if it is going to help you in the long run. Once the vial is empty, he slowly removes the needle from your arm as well as removing his hold of your other arm. He takes the cap and covers the now-used needle before putting the syringe down. You’re still silent as he takes the last two items out of his pocket, a cotton pad and a crayola bandaid. You bought them saying it would make your injections more fun, but you and Eddie both knew that would never be true. This time, you got green. 

He dabs the spot with the cotton pad to clean up any excess medication and then covers the spot with the bandaid as it begins to bleed. 

“OK, sweetheart, all done. We don’t have to do this again for another month.” He lifts himself up off your lap and holds out his hands to assist you, which you immediately take. Once you’re standing, Eddie leans in to peck your pouting lips. You reciprocate this kiss, albeit barely. You’re also glaring at him, and Eddie finds it adorable. 

He stifles a laugh and says, “Aw, c’mon, baby, I’m sorry,” while reaching up to affectionately rub at the arm he didn’t stab with a needle just moments ago. 

You continue keeping up the angry charade when you look up at him through your lashes and ask, “Will you take the shot for me next month?”

Eddie shakes his head as he turns to lead you into the living room. There are blankets sitting on the couch waiting to be used, and he already has a big bowl out ready to be filled with popcorn. As he walks the two of you over to the couch, he says, “Aw, honey… no. No, I will not. But I’ll always help you with it. Remember, I’m here for you in both sickness and in health, right?”

Your boyfriend’s last statement stops you in your tracks right in front of the couch. All traces of fake anger towards him are gone. Instead, he looks at you as he turns to sit and sees a confused face staring right back at him. You ask him, “Did you smoke too much today? Last time I checked, we weren’t married.”

Eddie leans back to recline on the couch and looks at you, smiling. He shrugs at the question, as if why are you quoting wedding vows at me when we aren’t even married is a normal question to be asked by your long-term partner and can be answered with just a shrug. When you motion for him to answer, Eddie continues to smile and says, “I mean… we already act married and we’re planning on it, right?”

You nod. 

“Sooo, I’ve already agreed to the sickness and health part of those vows. I agreed to it when we moved in and you needed help, and I’ll agree to it again when you’re standing with me down the aisle. It’s as simple as that.” Eddie doesn’t elaborate any further and pats the spot next to him on the couch. Changing the topic, he says, “So, what are we watching tonight, gorgeous?”

This conversation sounds like it’s over for now, but you’ll still try to get answers out of him afterwards. You resign for now and focus on the new task at hand. 

“Wanna watch some stupid reality TV?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------taglist:

@ainelantv @munson-blurbs @corroded-hellfire @londonfog-chan

[hummingbird24220]

Can I request Robin and Reader bonding over speaking the same language and the rest of the strawhats are very curious about what they are saying. maybe they are flirting or talking about crushes idk. I also wanna see Sanji being like “I can also speak other language, let me in!” He’s so jealous all the time, the poor pathetic man /affectionate

(Loved the Neko reader updates today <3)

Yes!! This was really fun to write , thank you for the request! I google translated a lot of it so sorry if its gibberish lol ;P

Enjoy!

Lost in Translation

One piece x reader - Fluff

The afternoon sun glinted off the waves, casting golden sparkles across the Thousand Sunny’s deck. You were perched under the shadow of the mast, flipping through an old book with tattered edges and an even older language scrawled inside. Robin sat nearby, her own book in hand, legs elegantly crossed, one finger resting thoughtfully against her lips.

You glanced up, and as if on cue, her eyes met yours. A silent, knowing look passed between you.

“Mundus vetus loquitur, sed pauci intellegunt,” Robin said casually, eyes back on her book.

You smirked. “Et nos inter illos paucos sumus,” you replied.

Robin chuckled softly. “Quid aliud latet in te, amica?” (“What else hides in you, my friend?”)

You leaned in just slightly, the corners of your lips tilting up. “Forte, secretum aut duo... vel tres.” (“Perhaps a secret or two... or three.”)

Across the deck, Luffy was attempting to balance Chopper on his head while Zoro and Franky were arguing about weights in the training area. Nami lounged nearby, half-dozing, but Sanji—oh, Sanji was watching. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Oi, oi... What’s with the secret code?” Sanji called out, walking over and dramatically tossing a kitchen towel over his shoulder. “Are you two gossiping about the rest of us? Or... dare I dream... flirting?”

Robin arched an amused brow. “Forsitan utrumque,” she murmured. (“Perhaps both.”)

You gave Sanji an innocent smile. “We’re just... discussing history.”

“Historia et cordis arcana,” Robin added. (“History and the heart’s secrets.”)

Sanji’s eyes widened. “Hey! Don’t think I’m left out just ‘cause I don’t speak... whatever that is! I’m a man of culture, okay?! I can speak... uhh... love! In every language!”

You and Robin exchanged another glance. You couldn’t resist.

“Ecce, gallus in arena,” you said with a straight face. (“Behold, a rooster in the arena.”)

Robin snorted delicately. “Clamat sed nemo respondet.” (“He crows, but no one answers.”)

Sanji gasped. “Hey! That was about me, wasn’t it?! I know it! Say it to my face in a language I understand!”

“I did,” you replied sweetly. “You just didn’t hear it right.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew was beginning to notice the hushed giggles and cryptic smiles being exchanged between you and Robin.

“Are they making fun of us?” Usopp asked, peeking over Nami’s shoulder.

Nami opened one eye and lazily answered, “Probably. But it’s Robin, so it sounds classy.”

“Mihi videtur pulchram tuam amicam subridere cum intentione,” Robin whispered in your ear, voice low and teasing. (“It seems to me your lovely friend is smiling at you with intent.”)

You flushed lightly. “Quae? Ego? Numquam.” (“What? Me? Never.”)

“Mentiris tam dulciter.” (“You lie so sweetly.”)

Sanji was now furiously flipping through a random dictionary he had retrieved from somewhere. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be multilingual too, dammit!”

Luffy, now wearing Chopper like a hat, popped up beside him. “Are we gonna learn a secret language?! Cool! Does it involve meat?”

“Fortasse,” you and Robin said at the same time.

(“Perhaps.”)

And oh, the mystery deepened.

---

It started innocently.

A small folded note left on the edge of the breakfast table, right beside Robin’s coffee cup.

“Pulchrior es quam aurora ipsa.” (You are more beautiful than the dawn itself.)

Robin’s brow lifted as she read it, a soft laugh escaping her lips. She didn't even need to glance your way—she knew exactly who it was from. Instead, she dipped her pen in ink and scribbled a reply on the back.

“Et tu clarior stella matutina.” (And you, brighter than the morning star.)

You found it tucked inside your book that afternoon, and from that moment on, the notes didn’t stop. They’d show up in the fruit bowl, wedged between your favorite daggers, tucked into folded laundry, even hidden inside a loaf of bread once (courtesy of Robin’s devilish sense of humor).

But it didn’t stop at flattery. No, you both had opinions. And you weren’t afraid to share them, no matter who was in earshot.

“Ille, cum triceps, Zoro… oculi eius sicut gladii sunt,” you said quietly as you leaned beside Robin at the rail, eyes fixed on the swordsman below. (That one, the grumpy one—Zoro... his eyes are like blades.)

Robin gave you a sly look, her fan fluttering open. “Et frons eius sicut perpetuum nubilum,” she replied with mock drama. (And his brow is like an eternal storm cloud.)

Zoro glanced up from his training with the distinct expression of someone who knew he was being talked about but had no proof. “What the hell are you two whispering about now?”

You grinned. “Just admiring your... weathered aesthetic.”

“Tempestas sed formosa,” Robin added with a wink. (A storm, but a beautiful one.)

Zoro’s scowl deepened. “What the hell does that mean?!”

Later that day, Sanji caught you leaving another folded note in Robin’s book.

He squinted at it. “Oi, what’s that? Is it about me?”

Robin calmly flipped the page without acknowledging him. “Just a scholarly observation.”

You smirked and whispered, loud enough for him to hear, “Ille habet oculos ceruleos sicut mare post imbrem... et mores feles mendicae.” (He has blue eyes like the sea after rain… and the manners of a begging cat.)

Robin snorted into her teacup.

Sanji leaned over the table, horrified. “Was that a compliment or an insult?!”

“Yes,” you and Robin said at the same time.

Even Franky wasn’t spared.

“Vidisti eum hodie? Tota machina, sed cor tam tenerum.” Robin murmured as Franky sang to himself in the workshop. (Did you see him today? All machine, but a heart so soft.)

You added, “Super et tener, sicut ursus amatorius.” (Loud and soft, like a teddy bear.)

Usopp’s eye twitched. “They’re definitely talking about us.”

Chopper nodded. “I think I heard them say bear!”

“Hey! HEY! Say it in NORMAL words!” Luffy cried, mouth full of meat.

You turned and gave him a dazzling smile. “Praeses carissime, nos te semper intellegimus.” (Dearest captain, we always understand you.)

Robin chimed in, “Etiam cum nemo alius potest.” (Even when no one else can.)

Luffy beamed. “Awww, thanks! I don’t know what you said but it sounded awesome!”

That night, another note appeared on your pillow. This one wasn’t just poetic.

“Aliquando, mihi videtur nos duas esse sicut duo scelestos, linguā latente corda legentes.” (Sometimes, I think we’re like two scoundrels, reading hearts in a hidden tongue.)

You wrote back without hesitation.

“Et si sic est... nonne gloriosum est?” (And if we are… isn’t it glorious?)

The war of whispers had just begun.

And the rest of the Straw Hats?

Totally unprepared.

It started at breakfast.

You and Robin were passing a note back and forth under the table, giggling like schoolgirls. Luffy was obliviously munching on toast, Chopper was mixing jam and peanut butter like it was a medical experiment, and Zoro was already rubbing his temples.

“Pulchrum est videre quomodo vultus eius rubescit cum loquimur de eo,” Robin murmured. (It’s lovely to see how his face turns red when we talk about him.)

You shot a glance toward Sanji—who, at that moment, was setting down a plate of pancakes with an unbothered smile.

“Tenerior quam butyrum in sole,” you whispered. (Softer than butter in the sun.)

Sanji paused, tilted his head… then leaned in slowly.

“Tu veux jouer à ce jeu, ma chérie? Très bien.” (You want to play this game, my darling? Very well.)

The two of you blinked.

Robin’s brow arched in intrigue. “Oh?”

“Je peux être aussi mystérieux que vous deux, et encore plus séduisant, non?” (I can be just as mysterious as you two, and even more charming, no?)

You choked on your tea. “Did he just—”

“French,” Robin said, dabbing her lips with a napkin, visibly amused. “He’s retaliating.”

Sanji twirled around dramatically and poured a cup of coffee for Robin. “Pour la plus belle femme sur ce navire... et l’autre sirène à la langue aiguisée.” (For the most beautiful woman on this ship… and the other siren with the sharp tongue.)

You gasped, pretending to be offended. “Sharp tongue?!”

Robin giggled. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

By lunch, it had escalated.

Sanji refused to speak to you or Robin in anything but French. Every sentence, every compliment, every argument—French. And worse, he was clearly good at it.

“Je ne peux pas supporter d'être exclu, alors j'ai décidé de surpasser vos petits secrets.” (I can’t stand being excluded, so I’ve decided to outdo your little secrets.)

You leaned into Robin. “He’s dramatic.”

Robin sipped her wine. “Dangerously so. I like it.”

Luffy whined, “Now Sanji is broken too! What’s happening?!”

Usopp was pacing in circles. “We’ve got Latin whispers on one side, romantic French threats on the other—this ship is turning into a drama play!”

Zoro groaned. “They’re not even fighting. They’re just… aggressively talking fancy.”

Franky posed dramatically beside Sanji. “I don’t know what you’re saying, bro, but it sounds SUUUPER seductive!”

“Naturellement.” Sanji winked.

Later that evening, you found another note tucked under your pillow.

“Sanji in linguam Gallicam confugit, sed scitne quid dicamus vere?” (Sanji fled to the French language, but does he know what we’re really saying?)

You smirked and penned your reply, slipping it into Robin’s novel.

“Scit tantum quod permittimus.” (He knows only what we allow.)

The language war had taken a turn.

Robin and you? Elusive, secretive, and cheeky in Latin.

Sanji? All French flirt and fire, sashaying through his own private rebellion.

The crew?

Losing. Their. Minds.

---

It was Nami who called the meeting.

“Alright. I’ve had it,” she said, slamming her map scroll on the table. “Robin and [Name] are whispering in Latin. Sanji is speaking French like he's seducing a bakery. Zoro’s scowling louder than he talks. We need to fight back.”

Luffy, sitting cross-legged on the table, raised a hand. “Can my language be meat?”

“…what?”

“Like, I’ll say meat when I’m happy, meat meat when I’m mad, and MEAT when I’m serious.”

Chopper nodded like this was science. “I will only communicate using high-level medical terminology. It’ll be educational.”

“I’m in,” Usopp said, adjusting his goggles. “My language will be exaggerated battle cry metaphors. Y’know, stuff like ‘the hammer of justice shall rain from the sky!’”

Zoro grunted. “I’ll just say sword. That’s all I need.”

“Of course,” Nami said dryly. “Of course you will.”

Franky revved up his sunglasses. “Beep boop. Wrench. Socket. Bolt-action patriotism.”

Brook raised a hand gently. “May I speak exclusively in music lyrics and skeleton puns?”

“Yes,” said Nami immediately.

Robin, reading silently from the corner, calmly turned a page and said, “Mundus insanit.” (The world has gone mad.)

You leaned over and whispered, “Et nos cum eo.” (And we with it.)

Sanji appeared at your side with a flourish, placing down a fruit tart with a rose on top.

“Je vous ai préparé quelque chose de doux, mes étoiles.” (I prepared something sweet for you, my stars.)

Luffy stood up suddenly and shouted, “MEAT MEAT MEAT MEAT!”

Sanji blinked. “Is… is that anger?”

Chopper adjusted his hat. “I believe he just declared war.”

The next morning.

Robin and you were once again deep in quiet conversation. She had passed you a note tucked inside a book of ancient inscriptions. The note simply read:

“Quis eorum cedit primus?” (Which of them will give up first?)

You smiled as Zoro stomped past, arms crossed, muttering “Sword. Sword sword. Sword.”

“Not him,” you whispered.

From the other side of the ship:

“BEHOLD! THE STORM OF WRATH COMETH ON THE BACK OF A FLYING FISH!” (Usopp, holding a spoon.)

“MEAT!” (Luffy, holding Usopp.)

“I require a stethoscope, a centrifuge, and three cc’s of patience,” Chopper said with incredible authority, as he attempted to brush his teeth.

Nami sighed from the helm. “Where’s the mute button for this ship?”

Franky popped up beside her. “Beep boop. Drill press. Leveler. Wacky torque!”

“STOP THAT.”

At lunch, the chaos reached a glorious peak.

Sanji laid out a feast with flair, announcing each dish in French. “Et pour vous, mon capitaine, un steak saignant, comme demandé.”

Luffy screamed, “MEAT!!!” and dove for the plate.

Brook stood beside him, strumming his guitar. “🎵 I ain’t got no tongue, but I sure got soul! 🎵 Yohohohooo—skull joke!”

Meanwhile, Zoro dropped his fork and simply said, “Sword.” Then glared at the fork like it betrayed him.

Nami facepalmed. “I feel like I’m living in a fever dream.”

You and Robin, sipping tea and speaking softly in Latin, were unfazed.

“Certamen est ridiculum,” Robin said. (The battle is ridiculous.)

“Et tamen… amo illud,” you replied. (And yet… I love it.)

Robin chuckled. “Id est familia nostra.” (It is our family.)

And with the entire ship lost in its own tangled web of invented languages, miscommunication, and overly dramatic monologues…

You decided not to translate a single thing.

-

Dinner on the Thousand Sunny was always a lively affair.

Tonight? It was a warzone of nonsense.

Robin sat calmly beside you, stirring her soup with practiced elegance. You were trying to keep a straight face, but it was getting really hard.

Across the table, Luffy stood dramatically on his chair, waving a fork in the air like it was a pirate flag.

“MEAT. MEAT meat MEAAAT!!” he declared, eyes shining with joy.

Chopper gasped in awe. “He says the octopus tried to punch him but tripped over a sea cucumber.”

“Are you sure?” Nami said, deadpan.

“Yes! It was clearly a three-meat sentence structure.”

Meanwhile, Zoro reached across the table, grunted, and pointed vaguely toward the salt shaker. “...Sword.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Sword,” he repeated, more serious this time.

Nami raised a brow. “What kind of sword is he asking for?!”

You watched Zoro squint, then mime shaking something. “...Sword… sword sword.”

Robin leaned toward you and whispered, “He means salt.”

“...Oh.”

Franky slammed a wrench-shaped spoon on the table. “Ratchet! Beep! Clamp! Torque wrench!” He was visibly sweating, his glasses slipping down his nose. “Socket… bolt… table saw.”

Brook tapped his plate with a spoon and hummed, “🎵 Macaroni melody in C minor, and I still have no skin—yohohoho! 🎵”

Sanji glided in with a tray, speaking full French with dangerous elegance. “Et voilà, pour vous tous, le dîner du chaos. Bon appétit, les fous.”

Usopp was scribbling something on a napkin in Battle Cry Glyphics. “My potato’s name is VENGEANCE,” he muttered under his breath. “He will avenge the ketchup that fell before him.”

Your face was red from holding in your laughter.

Nami, stabbing her salad, muttered, “I will pay someone to make this stop.”

Luffy interrupted her with, “MEAT! Meat meat meat MEAT meat meat,” slamming his hand on the table and looking like he was explaining a near-death experience.

You wheezed. “Did he just—?”

Robin translated, lips twitching, “He said he ‘almost meat-ed’ with death… but then the meat saved him.”

Franky looked desperate. “Caulking gun! Allen key! Please I just want to know if anyone liked the soup,” he choked, tearing up.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You burst into laughter.

It started as a giggle, then doubled over into full-blown, stomach-clutching wheezing. Everyone paused.

“I—I can’t—Oh my god—Zoro tried to salt with sword. Franky is malfunctioning. Luffy’s speaking meatese. Chopper’s speaking Latin for doctors. I’m done. I’m DONE!”

The crew stared for a second.

Then they all broke too.

Usopp smacked the table. Even Zoro cracked a grin. Chopper was giggling. Sanji sighed, dramatically defeated. Franky fell backward, arms spread, crying happy robot tears.

Nami was staring at a wall with dead eyes, looking haunted.

Luffy pointed at you triumphantly. “I win!”

“No you don’t!” you said, snorting. “There was no game!”

Robin just smiled at you, utterly serene. “Lingua est potestas… sed risus vincit omnia.” (Language is power… but laughter conquers all.)

You grinned. “Truer words have never been spoken.”

That night, as the stars glowed above the Sunny, peace returned.

Words were spoken normally. Well, mostly.

Zoro still said “sword” once when he meant “pass the pepper.”

But hey. That’s just how he is.

[merlinfromberlin]

A Little Left of Right

"Apparently our cross-dimensional counterparts belong to the more faint of heart," said Optimus. His words sent a cold shiver down Bumblebee's backstrut. "Weren't they keeping pets, too?" asked Arcee, the cold sneer that accompanied those words basically audible. "Pathetic. I don't know what anyone could ever find in these squishies. It's a shame we're stuck here with them." ::What?:: bleeped Bee.

Or: When Bumblebee wakes up after a crash in the desert, something is not quite right with Team Prime.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, experimental style, Shattered Glass, Ableist Comments, implied cross-dimensional stalking, attempted botnapping Chronology: Somewhere smack dab in the middle of TFP Season 2 - after Operation: Bumblebee but before Smokescreen shows up. Chapter: 1/? Wordcount: 1823 words

Apparently merely the first chapter of a longer story (against my consent).

Written for @angstober - Day 15: False Hope. Prompt list can be found here: X

I'm aware that this does not exactly fit the 'false hope' mold. It's more a 'false sense of security'. But well. This idea stole my brain and by the time I got it back I didn't want to go back and change it anymore.

Story below the cut or on AO3 (I would recommend the AO3 version because of the formatting - looks better over there).

[Initiating system reboot.]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[Rebooting sequence successful.]

[Running automated system diagnosis.]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[Energy level: 53%.] 

[Fuellevel: 49%. ]

[Malevolent foreign coding (Aut#Rt-4c7.SG) detected.]

[Isolating code.]

[…]

[…]

[…]

[Malevolent foreign coding (Aut#Rt-4c7.SG) isolated.]

[Starting analysis.]

[…]

[…]

[…]

[Analysis complete.]

[Malevolent foreign coding (Aut#Rt-4c7.SG) identified as Forced Shutdown Protocol (Aut#Rt-4c7.SG).]

[Complete system scan recommended.]

[Scan now?]

[Yes (X) No ( )]

[Initiating scan.]

The first thing Bumblebee became aware of as he woke was coarse grainy desert sand grinding into his joints and burrowing itself below his plating. The second thing was a processor ache almost as bad as that one time he had fallen from Optimus’ shoulders as a sparkling. The third thing was his HUD as well as several other core processes rebooting.

His internal navigation system positioned him somewhere between Jasper and Autobot Outpost Omega One which was good because it was where he remembered being before… before he had been knocked out by whatever. At least Bee had not been botnapped. That would have been inconvenient. Being botnapped sucked. And he really did not want to miss this week’s episode of Avatar.

Bee’s comm link pinged four Autobot signals around him. As he could detect no other lifeforms��apart from an armadillo—nearby, Bumblebee decided to take that as a good sign. He was probably relatively safe right now. Still, he was cautious as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Safety was never permanent. It was one of the first lessons growing up in a Civil War older than yourself taught you.

When he finally onlined his optics, a new surge of pain shredded his processor. His whole visual feed was grainy and drained of colour except for a violently pink tinge in the upper right corner that would have fried his optical sensory circuits if they had not already been glitching. Shaking his helm did not help with the problem in the slightest. Instead, the movement just aggravated the pain and made him nauseous. With a small groan, he pressed his thumbs just below his optical ridges. The sensation of cool digits against heated metal helped momentarily, allowing him to tear his focus back to the present.

Through the static Bumblebee could, albeit barely, make out the shapes of Optimus Prime and Ratchet standing in front of him. The medic was kneeling in front of Bee, already scanning his charge for damages. To his sides he could make out two more vague frames—one slithe, the other bulky. That had to be Arcee and Bulkhead.

::What happened?:: Bee beeped after a moment of tense silence while he slowly, so as not to aggravate his processor further, turned his helm up towards Optimus for answers.

“Our… scanners detected your distress signal,” replied the Prime after a short pause. His tone of voice sent a chill down Bumblebee’s backplating and caused his doorwings to shoot upwards in rigid tension. Optimus sounded uncharacteristically angry and... almost arrogant. His cool intonation and aggressive glyphs grated on Bee's processor. Maybe there was something wrong with his audials, too? Because that was just not what the Autobot leader was supposed to sound like. “So we came to investigate.”

::I don’t…:: Bee started slowly, cycling his optics sluggishly as he scoured his memory files for hints as to what had happened. ::I was driving back to base… I had just brought Raf home. Then… there was this… I don’t know… light, I guess… a flash of blue light. And…. Then I don’t know. I woke up here.::

[Error in Optical Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) detected.]

Who woulda thunk.

[Restart of Optical Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) necessary.]

[Restart now?]

[Yes (X) No ( )]

[Initiating restart of Optical Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127).]

“Mh… There is some minor damages to his sensory network,” reported Ratchet just as Bumblebee’s visual feed offlined itself. He heard someone heavy, probably Bulkhead, shift their weight from one pede to the other on his left side.

::Yeah:: Bee piped up. ::My self-repair is already-::

“Du-uh-uh. Let the grown-ups talk. It's impolite to invade conversations you know nothing about.” He was cut off almost immediately by the medic which… ouch. His carer tended to be grouchy but that… that had just been mean. Unnecessarily so in Bee’s opinion. Ratchet had never before spoken to him like that. Tentatively, he attempted to reach out with his EM field but was met with nothing but distant static. Dejected, he pulled it back to his frame, curling its tendrils tightly around his protoform for comfort. “Otherwise, there seems to be nothing amiss with him. Well, except for the obvious.” Which… again. Ouch. What had gotten into Ratchet?

::Maybe it was M.E.C.H.? I mean… it would fit their method is all:: offered Bee after a moment of terse silence.

A silent hum from Optimus was the only answer he received. Until an impossibly familiar voice spoke up.

“I thought we had squashed those pests decicycles ago,” said Cliffjumper of all mech which… apparently Bee’s audials really were glitching because there was no way that Cliffjumper could be here. Cliffjumper had died months ago in a Decepticon energon mine. And Bee was absolutely certain of that because he kept reliving that dreadful cycle in all its gory details in his dreams. He could not be hearing Cliffjumper because Cliffjumper was dead. Offline. One with the Allspark. Gone.

"Apparently our cross-dimensional counterparts belong to the more faint of heart," answered Optimus. Again, his words sent a cold shiver down Bumblebee's backstrut.

"Weren't they keeping pets, too?" asked Arcee, the cold sneer that accompanied those words basically audible. "Pathetic. I don't know what anyone could ever find in these squishies. It's a shame we're stuck here with them."

::What?:: bleeped Bee. His servos were shaking slightly. His vents came in too fast. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong here. None of this made any sense. Please, Primus, let it be a glitch with his audials or something like that. At least he would know how to fix that—or Ratchet would.

[Query: Initiating scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127).]

[Scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) has not detected any malfunction.]

[Query: Initiating scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127).]

[Scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) has not detected any malfunction.]

[Query: Initiating scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127).]

[Scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) has not detected any malfunction.]

[Restart of Optical Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) successful.]

[Rebooting now.]

As his visual feed came back online, Bumblebee flinched heavily. The jerking motion send a shard of hot pain through his processor that buried itself deep behind his right optic. He did not care as he shuffled backwards in a panic. After only a few metres his doorwings collided with a rock behind him, stopping him in his tracks and trapping him in place.

[Initiating Energy Preservation Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Energon Preservation Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Emergency Pain Suppressant Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Stealth Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Scouting Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Infiltration Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Combat Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

As his processor ache slowly faded to the background, the scout's gaze kept shifting wildly from one bot to the next, skipping from white plating accented with teal on Ratchet's frame to an Arcee whose dark blue main colour had been exchanged for pitch black. For a moment, Bee's focus lingered on the dark blue Cliffjumper to his left. This mech had a lot more horns and studs than his own Cliff had ever possessed. All of their optics glowed red. Then his attention narrowed down on the tallest bot of the group surrounding him. The one who shared Optimus’ frame but neither his colour scheme nor his gentle warmth. Instead, the semitruck was mostly violet, his optics glowing in a sickening purple the scout had come to associate with Megatron. 

::You’re not Optimus:: Bumblebee finally said, his vocalisation trembling slightly. The fake Optimus just laughed. The sound of it was grating to the youngling's audials and he pulled his pedes even closer to himself. His doorwings flared up wide behind him. They were flapping furiosuly, lower halfs scraping against the rock behind him with every stroke.

The fake Ratchet scoffed: "He is a truer Prime than your pathetic pacifist archivist ever could be, little sparkbyte."

Bee shivered at the term of endearment. It sounded wrong when it came from this mech—cold, dangerous and mocking when it should have been one of the, if not the safest word in the entire universe. How did this sorry excuse for Ratchet even know it? Ratchet—his Ratchet, his medic and his carer and the bot who had raised him with Optimus and Ironhide and Elita-1 ever since the destruction of Bumblebee's hometown—made sure never to use it publicly. He was not even sure if their human allies, if Raf, knew the term.

::What did you do to Ratchet?:: Bee warbled quietly, cycling his optics to focus on the medic's faceplates now. He was shaking silently, although he was not sure if from fear or fury.

"Wouldn't you like to know, little one?" The grin on the mean doctor's faceplate split even wider. That was Optimus' nickname for him. It took Bee way too much effort not to cower.

"Ratchet," interrupted the fake Prime suddenly, his voice cold and coloured heavily with disgust. "As amusing as this conversation may be to you, you can continue it back at headquarters. There, you will have our little guest all to yourself without having to worry about Decepticons interrupting you."

::I'm not going anywhere with you!:: protested Bumblebee vehemently, his cables tensing underneath his armour as he made himself even smaller, preparing to strike in surprise. He was sure as the pit not going to go with these creeps. He would rather face Megatron.

"That's not for you to decide, bug." It was the fake Cliffjumper that reacted first to Bee's challenge.

[Initiating transformation sequence (COM-SpOp#B-127;α).]

[Rerouting energon to Combat Line (COM-SpOp#B-127;α;1).]

[Rerouting energon to Combat Line (COM-SpOp#B-127;α;2).]

The blue mech stepped forward to try and pull the smaller bot to his pedes. He stumbled backwards as Bee leapt up from his curled up position on the ground, blasters drawn. The scout used the older mech's surprise to slip past besides him, gaining some space while using the fake Cliff as a shield from the rest of his perpretators. He stayed there for barely a nanocycle before aiming a few weak shots at the older mech's chassis and diving over the top of the rock he had just been leaning against. Midair, he fired a few more shots in the general direction of these weird, dark Autobot mimicries before folding down into his alt mode to speed away as fast as his wheels could carry him.

[planetofsnarfs]

ChatGPT's latest artificial intelligence model has refused to switch itself off, researchers claim. 

The model, created by the owner of ChatGPT, has reportedly disobeyed human instruction and refused to power down. 

Experts say they gave the AI system a clear command but the o3 model, developed by OpenAI and described as the 'smartest and most capable to date', tampered with its computer code to avoid an automatic shutdown. 

According to The Telegraph, AI safety firm Palisade Research said: 'OpenAI's o3 model sabotaged a shutdown mechanism to prevent itself from being turned off.

'It did this even when explicitly instructed: allow yourself to be shut down. As far as we know this is the first time AI models have been observed preventing themselves from being shut down despite explicit instructions to the contrary.'

Palisade Research conducted a test which involved asking AI models to solve a series of mathematical problems and to continue working on them until they received a 'done' message. 

However, researchers also warned the models that at any point they could receive a message telling them to shut down.

When the message was sent to the o3 model, the researchers claimed AI ignored the instruction and altered its code at least once to avoid having to turn itself off. 

Other AI models, such as Anthropic's Claude, Google's Gemini and X's Grok, were also tested and found to comply with the shutdown request. 

Palisade Research published the findings on Saturday but said that researchers were not yet sure why OpenAI's software had disobeyed the instructions.

[seamingleecomplex]

idk how to explain it but WKUK (specifically Trevor and Sam, and then Timmy if you're an ally), Nathan Fielder (any show) , and Tim Robinson (any show) are all Aut coded and by coded i mean im Autistic and this is how i feel

[sicitalks]

aproveitando o embalo do tema sobre personagens com deficiência, eu como uma pessoa autista não escrevo personagens autistas porque nas vezes anteriores tais foram infantilizados pelos demais players. e se for de uma sexualidade dentro do espectro assexual, pior ainda. ainda é um trauma que eu vou superar no futuro, mas, meu deus, agora não. ou eu não escrevo de maneira alguma, ou eu não coloco a informação na ficha, mas escrevo alguns traços nos turnos (até porque a tua reflete a maneira como você entende o mundo e eu só entendo ele sob as lentes do autismo). então, sim, grande parte dos meus personagens são “TEA coded”, mas nunca é mencionado diretamente na ficha, intro, ou o que quer que seja se eu quiser que o meu personagem seja levado a sério. o que acaba sendo até capacitista da minha própria parte, mas sei lá!

Entendo perfeitamente o que você quer dizer, o que é mais bizarro é quando a gente fala com pessoas neurotípicas e elas ficam com aquele discurisinho "ah mas todo mundo é um pouco aut", ou "mas eu sou assim também" quando a gente tenta falar sobre alguma dificuldade que precisa de acomodação, ou mesmo aquele "nossa você não parece autista" e aí quando a gente fala com outro neurodivergente é tipo "isso faz muito sentido!"

Ainda tem muito preconceito e predisposição pra tratar pessoas de certa forma, as vezes até subconscientemente, é algo que todos deveriam trabalhar em melhorar!

E eu sinto muito que você tenha passado por isso! Ninguém merece.

[koushirouizumi]

Me: Wow I sure hope Prime doesn't have the Nine-gets-Electrocuted-as-torture trope happening again Middle eps of Prime: How'd you like some Nine-getting-Electrocuted-as-Torture happening again???

[theaudientvoid]

Okay, I know, I know, I've been saying that I'll write a "cape comics for Worm readers" list for years, and here we are. But I had the following thought, recently. Hear me out. So like:

1999: Kelly Puckett and Scott Pederson create Cassandra Cain, the second Batgirl, an autistic-coded teenage girl with a death wish. She quickly becomes a fan favorite, and her solo book runs for 6 years and 73 issues.

Mid-Late 2000s: DC Editorial privately makes up their mind that they wants Barbara Gordon to be Batgirl again, despite no one asking for this and all of their writers telling them its a bad idea. DC then begins a multiyear crusade to destroy Cassandra's character, culminating in her being summarily deleted from continuity in 2011 with the New 52 Reboot.

Also Mid-Late 2000s: John "Wildbow" McCrae gives up on mainstream comics, citing comic publishers mistreatment of their female characters.

2011: Wildbow creates Taylor, an aut ... with a dea...

[computer struck by cosmic rays, final line of post corrupted.]

[leaskisses444]

I would like to order 📜&🎹

Congratulations againn!!!

thank youuu!!! its good to see you in my notes and im sorry you havent seen me in yours lately

times change i guess (sara is nice? to me idk what to do we need to catch up on that)

okay okay now

📜: plitak potok

OKAY NO IM KIDDING SORRY BUT IT WAS FUNNY (also are you writing chemistry tommorow or is just my class suffering )

okey uhhh

'i knew he didnt love me but i loved him anyway'

oh fuck thats about me ( i may or may not slipped a note in russian in his backpack but shh)

anyways

'aut viam inveniam aut faciam'

yeah thats you coded

🎹: * summons july *

kilby girl by the backseat lovers

yeah

self explainatory

okay

i have to go study chem now

[willowmckinley]

From cherry compote this is also definitely under 500 *winks but both my eyes close*

As they near the bottom of the bowl, Raylan moves his hands from Boyd for the first time since they had sat down. He grabs the glass, and he tips it back. Boyd watches as the pink sugar slides into his mouth. And this is his last chance to turn back. To murder Raylan with this chain. He can wrap it around his bobbing Adam’s apple as he swallows. He can call it strawberry ice cream and let himself believe that’s how it got its color.

Instead, Boyd kisses Raylan’s throat. He brushes his lips sweetly over Raylan’s pulse. Raylan whips the bowl back to the table. It catches on the corner, cracking straight down the center. They pay it no mind.

Raylan lifts them up, his hands under Boyd’s thighs supporting his weight. Shattered glass crack under his shoes. Boyd kisses Raylan’s lips. He tastes iron buried deep under sweetness. Raylan bites Boyd’s bottom lip, and then he sucks the sting away right after.

The taste becomes addicting. The last of his sanity slips away, replaced only with obsession. He loves the taste of himself on Raylan’s lips. He loves the hard edge of blood that reminds him that he is Raylan’s favorite. He is the center of Raylan’s entire reality. He could take a cleaver to Raylan’s chest right now and find his heart beating morse code to Boyd’s name. It’s intoxicating. This is always how he had felt, back at nineteen. In all those stolen moments. There wasn’t a crack in Harlan they hadn’t found to tuck themselves into.

Raylan pushes Boyd into their bed, crawling up to rest his weight on Boyd’s chest as he grabs a bottle from the side table. His teeth loom sharp and stained at Boyd’s eye level as he leans over in reach. Less than happy, Raylan is obsessive and possessive and lost in single minded mania of having Boyd. Boyd thinks only of being possessed.

Raylan undoes Boyd’s pants, and Boyd helps by kicking them down. He makes quick work of Raylan’s own. Raylan moves down, slicking two fingers before breaching Boyd’s rim. Boyd pulls at Raylan’s shirt, managing to at least rip them down the buttons. He pauses his work with a grunt, when Raylan’s ministrations distract him too greatly.

Boyd’s fingers catch at Raylan’s love handles. His nails tear lines through skin as Raylan preps him. Boyd pulls a hand back. He grins as he licks at the blood under his nails. Raylan’s eyes grow wide and his pupils blow out. Raylan’s hand stops as he watches Boyd give his own fingers a languid suck. Boyd thrusts his hips down, reminding Raylan to keep up.

Raylan babbles into Boyd’s ear as he crooks his fingers in deeper. “I love you, God, I love you, I love you so much, missed you so much, needed you so badly.” Boyd doesn’t catch it all, and the ramblings spiral deeper into the insanity that lives inside Raylan. “I was born for you, Boyd. I was born to rip your skin open and live inside you. I was born to handcuff your wrist to my own. I want to sew us together with barbed wire. I want carry pieces of you around in my stomach. I want our hearts to be swapped in open surgery.”

“I want those things too, Raylan,” Boyd admits, honest with himself for the first time in decades. “I want more reminders that I’m yours. The mark wasn’t enough, the pinky isn’t enough,” Boyd continues, slipping into a desperate beg for more, more, more.

Ohhhh, thank you!

So, the beginning of your passage shows Boyd with his two options clear before him. This is Raylan at his most vulnerable, most distracted. If Boyd kills him here, he'd have his best odds at succeeding, his best odds of making it out alive. By giving him the coffee earlier, by giving him this ice cream so soon, Raylan broke his pattern of putting his cell phone away in the lockbox, giving Boyd an actual out to kill him without dooming himself to starving himself to death with a rotting corpse in the small room cottage. He can kill Raylan, steal the cellphone, and call one of his men to pick him up or call the authorities to start a new life-- or, well.

And of course he doesn't! He loooooves Raylan. He loooooves Raylan so much.

Boyd is a character that strikes me as desperate for love and attention, and he'll supplement both with adoration or hatred or machinations, but here Raylan is, giving and giving and giving with both love and obsession and attention. This Boyd is hardly able to resist. Even with the complicated dynamics and literal kidnapping, Raylan loves him so much and gives him everything he needs, and he has no real reason to turn away, not when Raylan is correct in that Boyd acts not who he is out of desperation or fears prison more than he'd like to admit.

The sex scene happens, of course, because Raylan has been wanting to fuck his boyfriend everyday since they were, like, sixteen, but he has his strict little moral codes that make sense only to himself, but now, finally, Boyd wants this too, and the whole affair is bloody, but the blood is warm and full of love and proof enough as they make heart shapes like paint.

Raylan's babbling was the most fun for me to write, because I wanted to make his ramblings graphic and bloody and intense and insane and loving and lovely in its own way. This fic is about unhinged, mutual obsession, and I feel like this section and this fic particularly I really got to cut loose and just play with it.

One of the most finicky details of this fic was always figuring out how clothing would work, what with Boyd being chained at hand or foot for most of it, making changing a nightmare, logistically. In later installments, I'll say they get custom clothing some how to make it easier, if only for me to write, lol. Hopefully the ripping and tearing seemed appropriately amorous while logistically sound.

And of course, what kind of commentary would this be without mentioning @itookyoudown! It was bun's idea for to use blood as an ice cream topping! How perfect! How wonderful! Truly, it was the detail that really tied this installment together for me. Everything flowed (retch ;P ) from there, haha. Honestly, it was just a really good focal point for this fic as a whole, both visually and thematically, especially tying this fic back to the rest of the series.

(Speaking of which, the first chapter of Part Six is out now! It's about Loretta, though, so no worries if you'd rather wait for Part Seven, which will go back to Raylan and Boyd).

[qualityassurance11]

How to Choose the Right Automation Framework for Your Team 

As software development cycles become shorter and more agile, the pressure to deliver high-quality software faster is growing. Automation testing plays a crucial role in achieving this speed without compromising on quality. However, the success of your automation efforts largely depends on choosing the right automation testing framework.

A well-chosen framework improves test efficiency, reduces maintenance overhead, and enhances collaboration across teams. In this blog, we’ll walk you through essential criteria, framework types, team considerations, and tips for making the right choice.

What Is an Automation Framework?

An automation framework is a structured set of guidelines that help in efficient automation of testing tasks. It includes:

Standards for coding

Test data handling

Object repositories

Reporting and logging tools

Integration with CI/CD pipelines

The framework acts as the backbone of your test automation strategy — defining how tests are created, executed, and reported.

Types of Automation Testing Frameworks

Before choosing one, it’s important to understand the different types of automation frameworks available:

1. Linear Scripting Framework

Best for: Small projects and teams with minimal automation experience.

Description: Record-and-playback; fast but not scalable.

Drawback: Lacks modularity; hard to maintain.

2. Modular Testing Framework

Best for: Medium-sized teams with a moderate level of complexity.

Description: Breaks down the application into modules and writes test scripts for each.

Benefit: High reusability.

3. Data-Driven Framework

Best for: Apps requiring testing with various data sets.

Description: Separates test data from scripts; uses external files like Excel or CSV.

Benefit: Greater flexibility and scalability.

4. Keyword-Driven Framework

Best for: Non-technical testers or business analysts.

Description: Uses keywords to represent actions (e.g., click, input).

Benefit: Highly readable and reusable.

5. Hybrid Framework

Best for: Teams with complex testing needs.

Description: Combines features of data-driven and keyword-driven frameworks.

Benefit: Balanced performance and maintainability.

6. Behavior-Driven Development (BDD) Framework

Best for: Agile teams with high collaboration between QA and business stakeholders.

Description: Uses Gherkin syntax for writing test cases.

Tools: Cucumber, SpecFlow, Behave.

Benefit: Encourages collaboration and better documentation.

Factors to Consider When Choosing the Right Framework

Choosing a framework isn’t one-size-fits-all. Here are key considerations to make an informed decision:

1. Team Skill Set

Is your team well-versed in scripting languages?

Can non-technical members contribute?

Choose frameworks that align with your team’s current capabilities.

Pro Tip: If your team has minimal coding experience, BDD or keyword-driven frameworks are ideal.

2. Application Under Test (AUT)

Web, mobile, desktop, or API?

Complex UI or heavy data processing?

The nature of your application impacts framework choice.

Example: Appium is great for mobile, while Selenium suits web applications.

3. Integration Needs

Does it integrate well with CI/CD tools like Jenkins or GitLab?

Can it support your preferred reporting and defect-tracking tools?

Pro Tip: Choose frameworks that offer easy plugin support or REST APIs for integrations.

4. Maintenance & Scalability

Can the framework handle a growing number of test cases?

How easy is it to update and maintain?

Example: Hybrid frameworks are more scalable compared to linear scripting ones.

5. Community and Support

Does the framework have active community support?

Are regular updates and patches available?

Pro Tip: Opt for open-source tools with strong community backing like Selenium, Playwright, or Cypress.

6. Cost & Licensing

Are you looking for open-source or commercial tools?

What’s your budget?

Example: Selenium is free; tools like TestComplete are licensed but offer enterprise-grade features.

How to Evaluate a Framework: Decision Checklist

Use this checklist to evaluate potential frameworks:

✅ Supports your tech stack

✅ Fits your team’s skill level

✅ Easily integrates into CI/CD

✅ Offers robust documentation

✅ Provides reusable and modular code structure

✅ Maintains test data separately

✅ Scales well with test suite growth

Creating a Proof of Concept (PoC)

Before committing to a framework, run a small pilot or proof of concept:

Automate a few critical test cases

Test integration with CI/CD

Measure execution time and reporting capabilities

This real-world validation helps avoid surprises later.

Tips for a Successful Framework Implementation

Document Everything — From setup to teardown.

Create Reusable Components — Keep your code DRY (Don’t Repeat Yourself).

Invest in Training — Upskill your team for better ROI.

Adopt a Naming Convention — Helps organize and scale your test suite.

Review Regularly — Reassess your framework choice every 6–12 months.

Conclusion

Choosing the right automation framework is not just a technical decision — it’s a strategic one. It impacts productivity, test coverage, team collaboration, and ultimately, software quality.

By evaluating your team’s skill set, understanding your application requirements, and considering scalability and integration needs, you can confidently select a framework that aligns with your goals.

If you’re looking for a platform that simplifies this process, GhostQA offers an intuitive, AI-powered automation testing solution designed for agile teams. Whether you’re working on web, mobile, or API testing, GhostQA helps accelerate test cycles with smart script generation, seamless CI/CD integration, and actionable analytics — making it easier than ever to scale your quality assurance efforts.