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luchikigroman · 2 years

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Snakeformers?..Beastformers?..Nagaformers?

* The plot takes place after the events described in this story (rolls), which is the canon for my universe.

"Two worlds, one meeting": https://ficbook.net/readfic/12591191

I advise you to read this story first in order to understand a little about what will be partly discussed in this chapter.

* Сюжет происходит после событий, описанных в этой истории (ролки), являющийся каноном для моей вселенной.

"Два мира, одна встреча": https://ficbook.net/readfic/12591191

Советую сперва прочитать эту историю, чтобы немного понимать, о чем будет частично идти речь в этой главе.

A little about snakeformers and people

Understanding the differences is just the beginning. Understanding the differences, you get closer or, on the contrary, move away from someone. Over time, you find common interests. And so respect is born. Trust and bonds come from him.

Sam understood that they were different. He and nagi. Different externally and internally. But this did not prevent him from reaching out to them as his closest and dearest friends.

There were many Nagas and they were all unique. And Sam got in touch with each of them. Yes, that's the connection: it turns out that it works both ways. Now Sam understands each of his alien friends. Although he felt that it was not only for this reason that he was drawn to the snake–formers- there was something else inside him – but for now it was enough for him.

Sam tried to communicate with each of the nagas, and to find time for each and everyone, because the hours spent in company with a certain autonage gave him more unique knowledge about this alien culture.

It is worth talking about each naga separately.

Bisha

Well, Sam spends most of his time with him, and enough has already been said about him: that they are the best friends and that they have the strongest bond compared to everyone else - however, there is still something worth talking about.

For example: after Bi, along with the rest of some nagas, visited another world (or wherever that strange device threw them there), the young naga finally had a voice.

Surprisingly, his first words were complaints about small bipedal bots, which not only spoiled all the fun of a successful hunt for him, but also almost killed him.

Bi then complained for a long time. For a very long time. And he chose the most diverse expressions: from terrestrial to alien. Bee talked about everything: about the taste of those bots, about their size, about their antics, and about the strange similarity between one of the bots and himself. It seemed that this stream of words could not be silenced.

But Sam was listening. For now it was his turn to listen. His best friend was silent for a long time and now he has earned the right to talk.

The guy, holding back happy tears, listened with a smile as the yellow-black nag gradually changed the topic of conversation, finally moving from complaints about that unsuccessful hunt to brighter moments that happened quite recently.

For example: one day, when Bee was once again waiting for Sam from school, peacefully curled up on the school lawn, and turned on the disguise, some stray cat suddenly unexpectedly approached him. Well, he came and came, it's okay. That's just, according to Bee, it was clear that this cat could see through his disguise. At first, the cat so calmly approached the snake-shaper. I sniffed it. I rubbed my head and side against the hard plates of his yellow-black body a couple of times, and then jumped on his tail like a master and pretended to be a loaf of bread. Bee, of course, was blown away by such impudence. However, he did not become indignant, but simply left the small animal lying on him, because what did he care that this beast was comfortable in each other's company anyway.

But what happened next in this story made not only Sam laugh, but also the tailed narrator himself.

According to Bee, half an hour later, a couple more cats joined their company, and they all so brazenly jumped on his tail and curled up into bagels. Then there were two more. Then three more. And more.

As a result, according to Bumblebee, after a couple of hours, there were about thirty cats of different ages lying on and around him. Some even had collars. All of them were sleeping peacefully, or just lying in the company of naga, and he, in turn, did not even know what he was supposed to do in such a situation. Banish it? No way out. Eat it? They're too cute to eat. Leave everything as it is? Yes, perhaps this is the best fit.

As a result, according to Bee, he lay there for several more hours, listening to the loud rumbling of a large pack of cats, waiting for Sam to finally finish his classes. He even managed to get some sleep. And then either something scared the cats, or their local watchman drove them, but as a result, all this sweet idyll soon stopped and all the fuzzies ran away, leaving Naga alone.

Bi then wondered what attracted all these cats to him. He never received an answer.

But Sam knew the answer to that question.

Approaching the naga, the guy with a smile ran his hand over the smooth plates on the naga's body, and then said. "They were attracted to you, Bee, because you are very warm, and cats are attracted to everything warm… And you… You radiate positive energy... kind, if I may say so, and the animals feel it… And it's also safe with you… Safe and quiet... and reliable..."

And at the end, Sam added, trying to hide the blush that appeared from embarrassment.

"And you're my best friend, Bi..., and I love you very much!"

Needless to say, Nag was very moved by these words. He had a couple of drops of washer fluid in front of his eyes.

The young naga bent down, closed his eyes and with a radiant smile rubbed his head against the forehead and shoulders of his little best friend.

Sam responded in kind. At least with his hands, scratching him behind the yellow ear and stroking his sensitive neck with his fingers, gently touching the place with a narrow long scar.

You can talk a lot about Sam and Bee, but one thing will always be clear – they are best friends, and words are not needed for their communication, because all they need is themselves and no one else.

Ratchet

It has already been said about Bee – she and Sam have love and friendship - but what about the partner of the young guy – is he not jealous?

Actually, no: Ratchet is proven naked and understands that Sam and his guardian have a special relationship that should not be destroyed because of some minor jealousy. Besides, even though Bee and Sam are very connected, Ratchet is still the partner, and young nag is only in second place.

Ratchet has noticed for a long time that such a strange triangle of relations has formed between him, Sam and Bumblebee: while Sam is around, he and Bee spend a lot of time together, and already almost meet each other - however, the key link in their pair is the person, and if not for him, then there is no connection and it wouldn't be close.

Yes, that's how it turns out: Bee meets Sam (as friends), Sam meets Ratchet (as partners), and nagi meets each other as colleagues with a common interest.

There were moments when, in such a strange triangle, Bee and Ratchet fell asleep together, and Sam found himself trapped in the middle, wrapped in the warm rings of his friends. In such an awkward situation, it was surprisingly comfortable to sleep, even in the morning you could feel your joints and back crunching, because the nagas in a dream squeeze their rings so tightly that the guy almost starts to lack air in his lungs, and the life-giving blood stops flowing to his hands and feet.

But don't worry about it. Such is the fate of the favorite of all Nagas.

So what is it interesting that Sam is studying while in Ratchet's company when they are alone?

Well, first of all, they... and then it's clear.

Okay, okay. Let's add more details.

So Ratchet wasn't lying when he said he would surround his little partner with care. Yes, that's how it turned out: Sam gets everything and even more.

Sam has already learned what it means to be carried on handles endlessly – it's embarrassing, but it's so nice.

Then it's worth talking about the health of a young guy – here Ratchet showed himself in all his glory: after a lot of very inappropriate and openly harassing procedures, the medic became aware of all the vital signs of the guy, starting from the blood test and ending with the last brain impulses.

After such manipulations, Sam flared up at his partner and did not tell him to approach him anymore, and after a long time he hid from him all over the base.

But Ratchet wasn't going to leave it that way. He knew that he needed to earn the trust of his young boyfriend again, and for this he needed to carry out the most insidious, but effective method that had long been invented on this earth.

Turning into a snake and applying disguise, the green snake went on his "hunt" in search of his escaped prey. Having figured out the guy's place, nag went there, and then waited until his man lost his vigilance as much as possible, after which he attacked sharply. He jumped out from around the corner, ran into the guy, entangled him with his rings and dragged him into his snake lair, called his personal sick bay. There he put his writhing partner on the couch, turned him over on his back and secured his arms and legs, thereby depriving him of the opportunity to escape.

While Sam was openly indignant about what was happening, nag managed to lock the front door from the inside at a fast pace, and then shed his disguise and snake form, once again presenting himself to the man in his usual form. And now came the moment of the sweetest and most desired for both of them.

Taking scissors from the table, nag approached the guy with a cunning smile, and then cut his clothes at the seams in front of his eyes and putting it aside. The guy was left only in his tight and tight swimming trunks.

It was normal for Sam to be half-naked in the company of nagas, because there was nothing to say, and it was not so easy to get rid of saliva and gastric juice, and therefore he often had to strip almost naked in order to save clothes once again.

But this time things were in no other way. Ratchet had other plans, clearly unrelated to food.

Big nag cautiously approached the guy from behind. He bent his body and head to the protruding vertebrae of the guy, and then ... savoringly and very lovingly held his gloss over all the sharp bones of his mini partner, thereby causing a sharp rise in temperature and such a characteristic undisguised groan of pleasure.

But that was just the beginning.

Then Ratchet left a couple of his weightless kisses on the guy's shoulder blades, and then moved on to the main business. Measuring his strength and keeping his predatory nature under control, restrained only by elusive common sense, big nag began to rub the soft tissues on his partner's back and arms.

Yes, Ratchet was giving the guy a massage. What did you think? You know, no one has canceled the laws yet. And it doesn't matter that Ratchet may be older than the local extinct dinosaurs, it still doesn't mean anything to the earth. He has lived his whole life waiting for the end of the war, and therefore he will certainly be able to live another couple of years waiting for his partner to come of age. And don't talk about mutual consent and all that other stuff. Ratchet may be a fearless warrior, but even he won't be able to survive the wrath of Sam's Mom. The compassionate woman made it clear that she was worried about her son, and therefore if Ratchet tries to do something wrong with her son, he may immediately miss his tail or everything else. No, he can tolerate a couple of years: so he will be safe, and Sam will not get into trouble again.

But come on. Massage and kisses with hugs are not all that a guy learns from Ratchet.

Ratchet, as a medic, teaches the guy the peculiarities of the Naga body structure: how they are arranged, what are the internal organs, what are the external ones, and much more.

All this is necessary for the sole purpose: so that in case of danger, not only the nagas could save Sam's life, but the guy himself could provide first aid to his friends. Eg: all nagas have, as Sam calls them, gills. In fact, this row of dark plates located on the sides of the body of each naga carries a very important function – to provide additional cooling of internal organs and mechanisms. Yes, having such a large and mobile body, nagas are prone to the fact that their bodies and tails can overheat greatly when moving, and therefore they have a cooling function built into them from birth. Ventilation of the system can resemble ordinary breathing, which occurs both through the mouth and through the "gills". The nagas are very warm by themselves, as Sam managed to notice, but without this "breath" they have the risk of getting too hot and dying from too much temperature. People have the same thing: if the temperature is not brought down in time, then there is a risk of death.

So: Ratchet taught Sam how to monitor these gills, and what is the normal temperature for any of the nagas. Of course, depending on the size of the snake–shaper itself, these indicators may vary, but the meaning is the same - these gills should always be open so that the body and tail can "breathe", otherwise overheating will happen and the nag will die. Ratchet also explained that in case of an emergency, these gills can be opened manually with any thin sharp object. Of course it will hurt, but if life depends on it, then you can be patient.

Ratchet also told Sam about the differences between nagas. For example, their tails. Sam had noticed more than once that the tails and segments on them were different for each naga: Bee had large segments and they walked in straight rows; Ratchet had large segments identical to his body pattern; Optimus had such tiny segments that they were practically invisible; and Ironhide had real snake scales, more like hundreds of sharp knives fastened together. It turns out that the naga's tail is practically a reflection of the soul of the snake–shaper himself, no matter how unusual it sounds. This means that whatever your soul and spark is, that's what your snake tail will be.

As an example, you can take the Ironhide's tail – it is full of sharp scales, which during attack and combat is able to rise and cut the enemy with hundreds of long sharp blades. This tail is the real pride of the black naga and thanks to it, Ironhide becomes a truly formidable opponent. However, when communicating with his fellows, and even more so with the soft and gentle Sam, the black nag tightly presses its scales to the body so as not to accidentally injure anyone. That's the way Ironhide is – tough on the outside, but very soft on the inside.

Ironhide

And so, what is the relationship between Sam and this terrible warrior.

Well, first of all, it's worth saying that even though naked looks so scary, but with Sam he behaves surprisingly gently and affably, although sometimes he is quite strict.

Ironhide is more like a kind uncle, which will not only make you laugh and treat you with a portion of embarrassing jokes, but also can give you a clear slap on the back of the head, and also reward you with kind and useful advice.

Ironhide, like Bumblebee, was very pleasant to talk to. But unlike his guardian, the stories of the black naga were more instructive or legendary than just sweet conversations.

For example: stories about distant battles that ended in either victories or defeats. Or stories containing a description of the most terrible and terrible desonags, which the former soldier was lucky not to encounter even once. Sam especially remembered the stories about some "Bloody Twins" that are known as one of the most ruthless hired killers that many are afraid to face, not only autonags, but also desonags. Yeah, Sam hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with the huge monster that these twins turn into.

Speaking of which. Fusion is, as Ironhide and Ratchet said, a function of protection and the unification of strength, growth, mass, and mind. This is an extremely complex process, but it can be explained in simple words – several nagas merge into one, which results in one larger snake-former having everything that the participants of the merger contained.

Sometimes two, and sometimes more nagas participate in the merger. The fact is that the more nagas participate in the merger, the more difficult it is to control the resulting large body – this is all due to the fact that even though bodies and minds have merged into one, but for the right task they all must have one common goal, otherwise a large naga will not be able to act properly in battle.

But this fusion technique is not only used for combat. It is also needed for something more intimate and embarrassing – open love and bearing offspring. But Sam asked not to talk about all this yet, because he was not mentally ready for this yet. And there were more important topics to discuss.

For example: what absolutely all the nagas in the world are afraid of.

This something, namely someone, were "Crocodiles". They were so named by people, because they really looked like crocodiles and alligators. These are the most terrible monsters that lived on Cybertron. No naga could cope with them, because these creatures were simply huge and deadly. They are practically the only most terrible enemies of the snake-shapers, since any of this colossus could easily bite the naga in half, and then swallow it whole.

These creatures were not afraid of anything, except for one thing in this world – it was the murderous looks from the Desonags. That's ironic, isn't it? The Desonags had one terrible ability–they, like terrestrial basilisks, could kill anyone with their murderous eyes if anyone looked at them. And that's what all the crocodiles were afraid of. The autonags did not have such a function, and therefore they could become very easy prey for these monsters.

After learning about these monsters, Sam hoped that neither he nor his friends would be lucky enough to encounter them.

The guy then mentally wished that he and his friends would NEVER have to face crocodiles, and even Bloody twins.

Suddenly it will come true, who knows…

Russian version / Русская версия

Понимание различий – это лишь начало. Понимая различия ты сближаешься или наоборот отдаляешься от кого-то. Со временем находишь общие интересы. И так рождается уважение. От него идут доверие и узы.

Сэм понимал, что они разные. Он и наги. Разные внешне и внутренне. Но это не мешало ему тянуться к ним, как к самым близким и дорогим сердцу друзьям.

Нагов было много и все они были уникальны. И с каждым из них у Сэма завязалась связь. Да, та самая связь: оказывается, она действует в обе стороны. Теперь Сэм понимает каждого из своих инопланетных друзей. Хотя он чувствовал, что не только по этой причине его тянет в змееформерам – было что-то еще внутри него – но пока что ему этого было достаточно.

Сэм старался общаться с каждым из нагов, и для всех и каждого находить время, ибо часы, проведенные в компании с определенным автонагом, давали ему больше уникальных знаний об этой инопланетной культуре.

Стоит поговорить о каждом наге по отдельности.

Биша

Что же, Сэм проводит с ним большую часть времени, да и уже было сказано о нем достаточно: что они лучшие друзья и что у них самая крепкая связь, по сравнению со всеми, - однако есть еще, о чем стоит поговорить.

К примеру: после того, как Би, вместе с остальными некоторыми нагами, побывал в другом мире (или куда их там забросило то странное устройство), у молодого нага наконец прорезался голос.

Удивительно, но первыми его словами стали жалобы о мелких двуногих ботах, что мало того, что испортили ему все веселье от успешной охоты, так вдобавок еще и чуть не убили.

Би тогда долго жаловался. Очень долго. И выражения выбирал самые разнообразные: от земных до инопланетных. Би говорил обо всем: о вкусе тех ботов, об их размере, об их выходках, и о странном сходстве между одним из ботов и ним самим. Казалось, что этот поток слов было не заткнуть.

Но Сэм слушал. Ибо теперь настала его очередь слушать. Его лучший друг долго молчал и теперь он заслужил право на разговор.

Парень, сдерживая счастливые слезы, с улыбкой слушал, как желто-черный наг постепенно менял тему разговора, наконец переходя от жалоб, касательно той неудачной охоты, до более светлых моментов, которые произошли совсем недавно.

К примеру: однажды, когда Би в очередной раз ждал Сэма со школы, устроившись мирно калачиком на школьной лужайке, и включив маскировку, к нему вдруг неожиданно подошел какой-то бродячий кот. Ну подошел и подошел, ничего страшного. Вот только, по словам Би, было понятно, что этот кот будто мог видеть сквозь его маскировку. Сперва кот так невозмутимо подошел к змееформеру. Понюхал его. Потерся пару раз головой и боком о жесткие пластинки его желто-черного тела, а после по-хозяйски запрыгнул ему на хвост и притворился буханкой хлеба. Би, конечно, офигел от такой наглости. Однако возмущаться он не стал, а просто оставил малень��ое животное лежать на нем, ибо что ему, что этому зверю в любом случае было комфортно в компании друг друга.

Но что случилось дальше в этом рассказе, рассмешило не только Сэма, но и самого хвостатого рассказчика.

По словам Би, спустя пол часа к их компании присоединились еще пара кошек, и все они так нагло запрыгнули на его хвост и свернулись рогаликами. Потом были еще двое. Потом еще трое. И еще.

В результате, по словам Бамблби, спустя пару часов на нем и вокруг него лежало порядком тридцати кошек разных возрастов. У некоторых даже были ошейники. Все они мирно спали, или просто лежали, в компании нага, а тот в свою очередь даже не знал, что ему в такой ситуации положено делать. Прогнать? Не выход. Съесть? Они слишком милые, чтобы их кушать. Оставить все как есть? Да, пожалуй, это лучше всего подходит.

В результате, по словам Би, он так пролежал еще несколько часов, слушая громкое урчание большой своры кошек, ожидая, когда у Сэма наконец закончатся занятия. Он даже успел немного поспать. А потом то ли кошек что-то напугало, то ли их местный сторож погнал, но в результате вся эта милая идиллия вскоре прекратилась и все пушистики разбежались, оставив нага одного.

Би тогда стало интересно, что всех этих кошек к нему притянуло. Ответа он так и не получил.

Но Сэм знал ответ на этот вопрос.

Подойдя к нагу, парень с улыбкой провел рукой по гладким пластинкам на теле нага, а после сказал. «Их притянуло к тебе, Би, потому что ты очень теплый, а кошек привлекает все теплое… А еще ты… Ты излучаешь положительную энергетику… Добрую, если можно так сказать, и животные это чувствуют… А еще с тобой безопасно… Безопасно и спокойно… и надежно…»

И в конце Сэм добавил, стараясь скрыть появившейся от смущения румянец.

«И ты мой лучший друг, Би…, и я тебя очень люблю!»

Не нужно говорить, что наг был очень тронут этими словами. У него у самого на глазах выступили пару капель омывателя.

Молодой наг нагнулся, закрыл глаза и с лучезарной улыбкой потерся головой о лоб и плечи своего маленького лучшего друга.

Сэм ответил ему тем же. По крайней мере руками, почесав того за желтым ушком и погладив пальцами чувствительную шею, осторожно касаясь место с узким длинным шрамом.

Про Сэма и Би говорить можно много, но понятно всегда будет одно – они лучшие друзья, и для их общения не нужны слова, ибо все что им нужно – это они сами и больше никого.

Рэтчет

Про Би уже было сказано – у них с Сэмом любовь и дружа, - но что касаемо именно партнера молодого парня – он не ревнует?

Вообще-то нет: Рэтчет проверенный наг и понимает, что у Сэма с его опекуном особые отношения, которые не стоит разрушать из-за какой-то незначительной ревности. К тому же, пусть Би и Сэм очень связаны, но все-таки партнером выступает именно Рэтчет, а молодой наг всего лишь на втором месте.

Рэтчет уже давно заметил, что между ним, Сэмом и Бамблби образовался такой странный треугольник отношений: пока Сэм рядом, он и Би много времени проводят вместе, и уже чуть ли не встречаются друг с другом, - однако ключевым звеном в их паре выступает именно человек, и если бы не он, то никакой связи и близко бы не было.

Да, так и выходит: Би встречается с Сэмом (как друзья), Сэм встречается с Рэтчетом (как партнеры), а наги встречаются друг с другом как коллеги с общим интересом.

Были моменты, когда в таком странном треугольнике Би и Рэтчет засыпали вместе, а Сэм оказывался зажат посередине, завернутый в теплые кольца своих друзей. В такой неловкой ситуации было удивительно удобно спать, пусть и с утра можно было прочувствовать, как хрустят твоя суставы и спина, ибо наги во сне так сжимают свои кольца, что парню почти начинает не хватать воздуха в легких, а к его рукам и ногам перестает поступать живительная кровь.

Но не стоит об этом. Такова уж судьба любимчика всех нагов.

Так что же интересно Сэм изучает, находясь в компании Рэтчета, когда они одни?

Ну, во-первых, они… а дальше и так понятно.

Ладно, ладно. Добавим подробностей.

Итак, Рэтчет не врал, когда говорил, что окружит своего маленького партнера заботой. Да, так и вышло: Сэм получает все и даже больше.

Сэм уже познал, что значит, когда тебя без конца носят на ручках – это смущающе, но это так приятно.

Затем стоит поговорить о здоровье юного парня – тут Рэтчет показал себя во всей красе: спустя множество очень неуместных и открыто домогательных процедур медику стали известны все жизненные показатели парня, начиная от анализа крови и заканчивая последними мозговыми импульсами.

После таких манипуляций Сэм вспылил на своего партнера и не велел больше к себе приближаться, а после долго еще прятался от него по всей базе.

Но Рэтчет не собирался бросать все таким образом. Он знал, что нужно снова заслужить доверие его юного парня, а для этого нужно провести самый коварный, но действенный метод, который уже давно был придумал на этой земле.

Обратившись змеей и применив маскировку, зеленый змей отправился на свою «охоту» в поисках своей сбежавшей добычи. Вычислив место парня, наг направился туда, а после подождал, пока его человек максимально потеряет бдительность, после чего резко напал. Он выскочил из-за угла, налетел на парня, опутал его своими кольцами утащил в свое змеиное логово, именуемое его личным медотсеком. Там он положил своего извивающегося партнера на кушетку, перевернул на спину и закрепил по рукам и ногам, тем самым лишая того возможности к побегу.

Пока Сэм открыто возмущался происходящим, наг успел в быстром темпе запереть входную дверь изнутри, а после сбросить свою маскировку и змеиную форму, вновь представ перед человеком в своем привычном виде. И вот настал момент самого сладкого и желанного для них обоих.

Взяв со стола ножницы, наг с коварной улыбкой подошел к парню, а после у него на глазах разрезал по швам его одежду и убирая ее в сторону. Парень остался только в своих узких и обтягивающих плавках.

Быть полу раздетым в компании нагов для Сэма было нормально, ибо что тут сказать, а от слюней и желудочного сока так просто было не избавиться, а потому часто приходилось раздеваться почти что догола, чтобы лишний раз сберечь одежду.

Но в этот раз тут дела обстояли в не ком другом плане. У Рэтчета были другие планы, явно несвязанные с едой.

Большой наг осторожно подошел к парню со спины. Нагнул свое тело и голову к выпирающим позвонкам парня, а после… смачно и очень любвеобильно провел своей глоссой по всем остреньким косточкам своего мини партнёра, вызывая тем самым у того резкое поднятие температуры и такой характерный нескрываемый стон удовольствия.

Но это было еще только начало.

Затем Рэтчет оставил на лопатках парня пару своих невесомых поцелуев, а после перешел к основному делу. Измеряя силу и держа под контролем свою хищную натуру, сдерживаемую лишь ускользающим здравым смыслом, большой наг приступил к растиранию мягких тканей на спине и руках своего партнера.

Да, Рэтчет делал парню массаж. А вы что подумали? Законы знаете ли еще никто не отменял. И все равно, что Рэтчет может быть старше местных вымерших динозавров, это еще ничего не значит для земли. Он в ожидании конца войны прожил всю свою жизнь, а потому прожить еще пару лет в ожидании совершеннолетия своего партнера он уж точно сможет. И не надо говорить про обоюдное согласие и все такое прочие. Рэтчет может быть и бесстрашный воин, но даже он не сможет пережить гнев Мамы Сэма. Сердобольная женщина ясно дала понять, что переживает за своего сына, а потому если Рэтчет попытается сделать что-то, не-то с ее сыном, то тут же может недосчитаться своего хвоста или всего остального. Нет уж, пару лет он потерпеть сможет: так и он цел будет, и Сэм в лишний раз в передрягу не втянется.

Но да ладно. Массаж и поцелуи с обнимашками – это еще не все, чему парень учится у Рэтчета.

Рэтчет, как медик, обучает парня особенностям строения тела нагов: как они устроены, какие есть внутренние органы, какие внешние, и о многом другом.

Все это нужно с единственной целью: чтобы в случае опасности не только наги могли бы спасти Сэму жизнь, но и сам парень мог бы оказать первую помощь своим друзьям.

К примеру: у всех нагов есть, как Сэм их называет, жабры. На самом деле, этот ряд темных пластин, расположенный на боках корпуса каждого нага несет в себе очень важную функцию – обеспечивать дополнительное охлаждение внутренних органов и механизмов. Да, имея такое большое и подвижное тело, наги склонны к тому, что их корпуса и хвосты могут сильно перегреваться при передвижении, и потому в них встроена с рождения функция охлажде��ия. Вентилирование системы может напоминать собой обыкновенное дыхание, которое происходит как через рот, так и через «жабры». Наги очень теплые сами по себе, как Сэм это успел заметить, но без этого «дыхания» они имеют риск слишком раскалиться и погибнуть от слишком большой температуры. У людей так же: если вовремя не сбить температуру, то есть риск погибнуть.

Так вот: Рэтчет учил Сэма, как следить за этими жабрами, и какая нормальная температура для любого из нагов. Конечно, в зависимости от размеров самого змееформера эти показатели могут меняться, но смысл один – эти жабры должны всегда быть открытыми, чтобы тело и хвост могли «дышать», а иначе случиться перегрев и наг погибнет. Рэтчет так же объяснил, что в случаи экстренной ситуации эти жабры можно открыть вручную любым тонким острым предметом. Конечно это будет больно, но если от этого будет зависеть жизнь, то можно и потерпеть.

Еще Рэтчет рассказывал Сэму о различиях между нагами. К примеру, их хвосты. Сэм уже не раз замечал, что хвосты и сегменты на них у каждого нага различались: у Би были крупные сегменты и шли они ровными рядами; у Рэтчета это были большие сегменты идентичные его узору на теле; у Оптимуса это были такие крошечные сегментики, что их было практически не видно; а у Айронхайда это была настоящая змеиная чешуя, больше напоминающая собой сотни острых ножей, скрепленных вместе. Оказывается, что хвост нага – это практически отражение души самого змееформера, как бы это необычно не звучало. Это значит, что какова твоя душа и искра, таким и будет твой змеиный хвост.

Как пример можно взять хвост Айронхайда – он полон острой чешуи, которая во время атаки и боя способна подниматься и резать противника сотнями длинных острых лезвий. Этот хвост настоящая гордость черного нага и благодаря ему Айронхайд становиться поистине грозным противником. Однако при общении со своими собратьями, и уж тем более с мягким и нежным Сэмом, черный наг плотно прижимает свою чешую к телу, чтобы ненароком никого не поранить. Таков уж Айронхайд – жесткий снаружи, но очень мягкий внутри.

Айронхайд

И так, каковы же отношения между Сэмом и этим страшным воякой.

Ну, во-первых, стоит сказать, что пусть наг и выглядит так страшно, но с Сэмом он ведет себя на удивление мягко и приветливо, хоть иногда и бывает довольно строгим.

Айронхайд больше напоминает собой доброго дядю, что не только приголубит и угостит порцией смущающих шуток, но еще и может дать вразумительного подзатыльника, а еще наградить добрым и полезным советом.

С Айронхайдом, как и с Бамблби, было очень приятно разговаривать. Но в отличии от его опекуна, рассказы черного нага были больше поучительными или легендарными, нежели просто милыми беседами.

К примеру: рассказы о далеких сражениях, которые окончились либо победами, либо поражениями. Или истории, содержащие в себе описание наиболее жутких и страшных десонагов, с которыми былому вояке посчастливилось не столкнуться еще ни разу. Особенно Сэму запомнились истории о неких «Кровавых близнецах», что известны, как одни из самых безжалостных наемных убийц, с которыми боятся столкнуться многие, не только автонаги, но и десонаги. Да уж, Сэм надеялся, что и ему не придется иметь дело с огромным монстром, в которого и превращаются эти близнецы.

Кстати об этом. Слияние – это, как рассказывали Айронхайд и Рэтчет, является функцией защиты и объединением силы, роста, массы, и разума. Это крайне сложный процесс, но объяснить его можно простыми словами – несколько нагов сливаются в одного, от чего получается один более крупный змееформер, имеющий в себе все, что содержали в себе участники слияния.

Иногда в слиянии участвуют двое, а иногда и больше нагов. Дело в том, что чем больше нагов участвуют в слиянии, тем труднее управлять получившимся большим телом – это все из-за того, что пусть тела и разумы слились в одно целое, но для правильной задачи они все должны иметь одну общую цель, а иначе большой наг не сможет действовать как надо в бою.

Но не только для боя используется эта техника слияния. Еще она нужна для более сокровенного и смущающего – открытой любви и вынашиванию потомства. Но обо всем об этом Сэм попросил пока не рассказывать, ибо морально был пока не готов к этому. Да и были более важные темы для обсуждения.

К примеру: чего боятся абсолютно все наги в мире.

Этим чем-то, а именно кем-то, были «Крокодилы». Их так назвали люди, поскольку они действительно были похожи внешне на крокодилов и аллигаторов. Это самые страшные чудовища, которые жили на Кибертроне. С ними не мог справиться ни один наг, ибо эти твари были просто огромными и смертоносными. Они являются практически единственными самыми страшными врагами змееформеров, поскольку любая эта махина могла с легкость перекусить нага пополам, а после целиком проглотить.

Эти твари ничего не боялись, кроме одной вещи в этом мире – это убийственных взглядов со стороны десонагов. Вот ведь ирония, правда? У десонагов была одна жуткая способность – они подобно земным василискам могли убивать любого при помощи своих убийственных глаз, стоило кому-либо на них посмотреть. И именно этого боялись все крокодилы. У автонагов такой функции не было, а потому они могли стать очень легкой добычей для этих чудовищ.

Узнав об этих монстрах, Сэм надеялся, что ни ему, ни его друзьям не посчастливиться сними столкнуться.

Парень тогда мысленно пожелал, чтобы ему и его друзьям НИКОГДА бы ни пришлось сталкиваться с крокодилами, а еще с Кровавыми близнецами.

Вдруг сбудется, кто знает…

#snakeformers #nagaformer #transformers #Ironhide #ratchet #bumblebee #sam #fanfic #my stories

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improbablecarny · 4 years

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A Post About Making Adrian Shephard Interesting

The Half-Life series is full of engaging characters, ranging from loveable, to love-to-hateable, to Adrian Shephard. Who is Adrian Shephard? He is a guy, who has a gun, which is extremely surprising for video games. He and his gun are the stars of Half-Life: Opposing Force, the first game’s first expansion, where he is sent into Black Mesa after it becomes an interdimensional shitshow, so he and his gun can shoot some aliens.

The game sets him up as a foil/rival/antagonist to the iconic Dr. Gordon Freeman, as if we are about to play a thrilling game of cat-and-mouse with the feral physicist. This setup is a lie. Adrian encounters his sworn enemy once, immediately loses him, and gets distracted with putzing around on whatever tasks the plot puts in front of him until the G-Man shows up and says “I don’t really know what to do with you” and indefinitely stuffs him in cold storage, which is, incidentally, also what Valve did.

Despite this, Adrian still has a decent following of fans, mostly attributed to the fact that he is a guy with a gun in a video game. His defining feature as a character is that he always wears a gas mask. His only defining feature as a character is that he always wears a gas mask. Okay, that's not fair: he has a couple diary entries where he mostly talks about how he and his gun want to shoot stuff, which makes him relatable to gamers everywhere.

What I’m getting at here is that, in a series where the POV characters have ranged from everyone’s favourite perpetually put-upon physicist to rebellion leaders, Adrian stands out to me as a piece of limp bread.

But what if I told you he doesn’t have to be?

What if I told you that the limp bread we know is merely at one end of a breadcrumb trail that leads to a whole loaf?

1. MARINES HUUUGH GUNS GO BANG

Okay, so it isn’t a secret that I think “military guy who shoots stuff” is, perhaps, a little played out. I see a guy with a crew cut and my eyes glaze over. I hear a chopper and begin to snore. I can no longer perceive olivedrab as a colour. We could get into the nitty gritty of American nationalist/military propaganda and its relationship with video games, but that isn’t funny, so I’ll just say that it sucks and I hate it.

Half-Life 1 was not overtly kind to our pals, the Marines. By that I am referring to the fact that they were consistently portrayed as sadistic meatheads. My approach to Opposing Force was hesitant, as to suddenly make one of them the hero is to say “but what if the sadistic meatheads kind of had a point?”. Luckily, as the game opens with Adrian silently shooting the shit with a handful of tongue-in-cheek war movie stereotypes, I got the sense that this wouldn’t quite the case -- which is more or less confirmed when Adrian’s chopper goes down before he has the chance to receive his orders to do war crimes.

So we have our first ingredient: a macho kid with stars in his eyes who goes out on his first mission and is immediately blasted in the face with a healthy dose of...well, blasts, but also, uncomfortable truths.

2. PAUL BLART, SCIENCE COP

Corporal Adrian Shephard has landed, the sole survivor of his unit, the quintessential badass, our gritty hero. Now the action begins, we think. He busts in, guns and wrenches blazing, and begins to kick some alien can. Right?

Well, he tries. But to his dismay, Black Mesa has a lot of doors, which as we all know, are impervious to guns.

Luckily, there is an aggressively Midwestern security guard wandering around who just happens to have the clearance Adrian needs. His name is Otis. There are actually multiple Otises (Otii?) because Black Mesa security guards have a bit of an esoteric relationship with reality, but let’s just pretend the ones that don’t die immediately in comedic scripted sequences are Otis Prime.

Otis is everything Adrian isn’t. Zombies stalk the halls and Otis is more upset with a wayward vending machine. Bullets fly and Otis jokes about how he should’ve taken the mall job instead. He’s an affable, goofy uncle of a man, and he’s not necessarily there to show us just how cool Adrian is in comparison... he’s there because Adrian needs his help.

And there we have our second ingredient: your coolguy action hero archetype isn’t maybe that effective as a lone wolf, and the unexpected kindness of strangers may be what he needs to pull through.

3. THE SHEPH(A)ERD

As many have pointed out, our pal Adrian develops a peculiar and hilarious habit: picking up random aliens and using them as weapons.

Opposing Force itself seems to be, more than anything, an exercise in showing off cool weaponry and cool enemies. Adrian’s fleshy new friends are just a means to a tech demo. But with the goggles of plot and characterization on, just as Adrian has a horrible barnacle grappling hook on his hand, we have something hilarious on ours: a flock of freaky friends there to help him on his journey.

And who doesn’t love the “head scritches for the spore launcher” animation?

I don’t know if this is what they intended when they gave him (a mutation of) “shepherd” as a surname, but Adrian’s Multidimensional Menagerie is the third ingredient of incredible potential: your loose-cannon commando came in here to kill aliens and ended up adopting a bunch instead.

A PATTERN EMERGES

Keeping these three things in mind, a vision of Adrian begins to solidify, and it is one that doesn’t quite match the image of the elite commando power fantasy that the dudes in the comments section of all Opposing Force-related Youtube videos are clamoring for.

What is Adrian’s goal in this story? Well, first off he seems ready to track down Freeman -- but once the slippery scientist slides on through his fingers like a handful of bright orange soup, it’s mostly a matter of fighting some aliens, fighting some black ops dudes, disarming a nuke, and pissing off a giant terraforming alien so bad that it just gives up and leaves. What can we pull from this to make Adrian compelling?

It’s not that he’s the coolest dude with the baddest guns: He is set up like every other badass military shootman, only to be immediately humbled by the horrifying truth behind his mission and the alliances he needs to forge in order to survive. He befriends some of the creatures he was sent in to destroy. He disarms a nuke and repels the Gene Worm without killing it. Adrian carries with him the framework of a character whose purpose is to de-escalate.

Then we begin to see him as an actual foil to Gordon: where the good doctor was unwillingly plunged headfirst into violence and chaos in order to survive, what if Adrian had to reject these things to survive -- despite everything he’d been trained to be?

And if he returns to this post-apocalyptic world, under the G-Man’s thumb, without an Otis in sight (but plenty of aliens)... where does he go from there?

#half life #adrian shephard #long post #i know most of th tumblr hl fandom is on the same page wrt him being a weird alien dad #just lemme talk ive got to talk or i die

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marta-bee · 3 years

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On Fanworks as Commodities

I've been thinking lately about commodification and how it applies to fandom.

At the risk of giving an unhelpful circular explanation, commodification just means treating something like a commodity when it really isn't. And by commodity, I mean the kind of good or service that it's the kind of thing we can "reduce" to market terms. A loaf of bread is a commodity. So is a house or the services of an accountant- you're not losing anything or "debasing" anyone when you suggest these things can be bought and sold.

But what about surrogacy pregnancy? This is the question Elizabeth Anderson asked in her philosophy paper, "Is Women's Labor a Commodity?" (This is where I first encountered the concept.) She asks what exactly is being sold when we pay a woman to go through a pregnancy and then give up the resulting child to someone else. Anderson said if it's the child that's being sold that seems obviously inappropriate- we rightly consider a human person as the kind of thing you can't just buy and sell- but she also argued even if the woman is just selling the use of her body for a period of time (say, implantation and surrogacy pregnancy of a fetus conceived through in vitro fertilization of the adults who will become the legal parents), there's still something lost. The argument is, pregnancy naturally (at least usually) forms a loving bond between mother and child, which a surrogate woman would wisely try to avoid; otherwise giving up the baby would be that much harder. In effect, it encourages her to alienate herself from the products of her pregnancy. It degrades the commercial surrogate, turns her into an emotionless, contextless factory. And it degrades women who might lovingly serve as surrogates (say, for a sister or friend) because it turns their gift into something indistinguishable from a market transaction.

That's the argument, anyway. Once I found it convincing but these days, I have my doubts. For instance, I don't see any problem saying commercial surrogacy is a different kind of process than surrogacy offered as a gift to someone you know. Even if the result is the same, they seem like very different beasts. I'm also uncomfortable with this idea that certain kinds of work just can't be ethically paid for. Because this usually comes up with "caring" work, which is most often done by women even these days, it becomes too easy to not help bear the costs of that work. We can expect, say, a nurse to care about her patient even though she's paid a salary; is it so wrong if a child who quits her job to care for a sick parent to also be paid for her sacrifice?

That's more a criticism of how the concept is applied, though. I think it's applied too quickly, and in ways that turn it into an either/or, where this doesn't need to be the case. I still think the basic idea has a lot going for it. We do give the market too much power to answer questions it really isn't well suited for. Healthcare, for instance; it needs to be paid for, but not in a way that keeps people from accessing it who need it, or even lets those who can pay get to it more quickly. And maybe market pressures can make it more efficient, to a point, but we really shouldn't reduce it to something that can be bought and sold and understand entirely on those terms.

So, what does all this have to do with fandom? Well, I'm of a different fannish generation than a lot of you young whippersnappers- I first got involved in fannish circles with the Lord of the Rings movies back in the original 2000s. This was pre-AO3 and pre-Tumblr, and only a few years after Anne Rice got ff.net to disallow all fanfic based on her novels. We posted our disclaimers about not owning the characters for a reason and professed our poverty because we believed (or feared at least) we could be sued by the canon's authors. I was mostly in the Tolkien fandom, and it was well known that the estate was never going to authorize fanfic, commercial or otherwise. They state as much on their website, though I can't remember how long that Q&A has existed in its current format.

That gave us a lovely little commercial-free zone. If you couldn't sell your own work commercially, then you could give up all pretenses of success along the normal capitalistic lines and delve into areas that just would never have been very marketable in traditional publishing. Tolkien fandom itself was pretty conservative but I know other fandoms went much further in this regard, exploring genres that just would never be marketable especially before the niche and self-financed publishing the internet opened up for a lot of authors. If the law wouldn't let you do what you wanted to do anyway, why not become utterly ungovernable? So, fanfic became (for me at least) art about art rather than filthy lucre. We were doing what we did because we loved it, and as gifts for our friends, and as a way to be something that wasn't quite allowed in the "normal" culture for whatever reason- even just because we were women daring to make time for our weird little hobbies. It was glorious. And we worked hard enough in other areas of our life that we had the $$$ to indulge in this. We didn't need to be paid, and even if you offered to pay us for our works, we'd likely get a bit insulted and insist that wasn't what this was about at all.

I was told more than once by family that I was good enough to be a "real writer" and didn't I want to do my own thing. So yes, I did get a bit miffed and lean in to my identity of fanfic-writing as hobby not intended as a career.

And I'll be honest: when I see people advertising for commissions or celebrating fan-authors going "professional" as if this is necessarily a step up from unpaid fannish work, I often have this old framework in the back of my head. And it's not really fair. For one thing, I was in college in the early 2000's and so even when we didn't have a lot of cash, we expected to soon get day jobs where we could afford to live comfortably and still afford our hobbies. The housing market crash and the Great Recession changed all of that, as did work opportunities like Instacart and Uber. For a lot of people even a few years younger than me, everything became a side-hustle and there just wasn't this expectation a hobby could be a hobby. I get that there's a lot of privilege entering into that.

On top of which, there's all kinds of gender issues: professional artists, predominantly men, have been painting and selling drawings of comic book characters for years. Star Trek and Star Wars affiliated novels, and Sherlock Holmes pastiches (as opposed to fanfic), again written primarily by men, are also very much a thing. Hell, so are Renaissance artists and the patron system that was built off of. And of course, just because you sometimes produce fanworks just to sell and still do the less commercial work just for yourself if you ever want to. There's no real conflict in that. And it's not like producing art to sell is at all wrong. But to me it does feel like that kind of art is different than what I fancy I do, back when I occasionally wrote. :-) And I probably am more aware of this than I should be, because my backdrop is different from a lot of fans younger than myself, and really do try not to let my situation turn into a blind spot.

Even so, I worry and struggle to find the balance between letting art turn a profit and be reduced to a strictly commercial venture. It's never been anything I've been even remotely drawn to do, and human nature being what it is, I probably do think more highly of the kind of thing I'd choose to do. But I don't want to be unfair, and I don't want to think just because art is paid for and written/drawn to order, it's some sort of assembly-line output with no heart put into it by the writer and artist. Just like an artisan shoemaker might take great pride in his art and work his hardest on each shoe he crafts, even if he must sell it to make ends meet. Somehow, I suspect thinking about this in terms of commodification, the dangers of evaluating artistry using market standards and the ways in which it can still have a value beyond commodity even if it’s bought and sold, might help. But I've not quit worked out what insight that kind of thought would provide, if any.

Do you think there's a special value in fandom or art generally that's not made to be bought and sold? Or am I perhaps making too big a deal over nothing and revealing myself to be an old fuddy-duddy in the process. (It's always a possibility!) I'd be very interested to hear your thoughts if you have any to share.

#philosophy #fandom #commodification #marta blathers

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quant-um-fizzx · 5 years

Text

This is When

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: Reader has liked Steve from afar and, when an opportunity finally arrives, her efforts to be what she thinks he wants have consequences.

Prompt: I don’t know what you want from me/So careless in my company/Oh, if all that you say is true/There’ll be no getting over you (Tearing Me Up – Bob Moses)

Word Count: 6700 (yikes.)

Warnings: Unrelenting Angst. Reader makes poor choices, consistently. This starts several weeks before Endgame, so expect there to be character death mentions. Referenced Steve x Peggy. Mildest smut.

The bad guy isn’t always so easy to spot. A villain, the very last person you expect.

Steve stands, looming larger than life over the disused conference table. Five years of recently unearthed dust still visible on the far corners. Brittle paper rustles as he unfurls an antique, camel-colored map, apparently routing modern comparatives. It’s just him, a screen, and some papers. Despite that, the room feels full, fit to burst. You opt to leave before it does. Turn tail, spin on the ball of your foot, and leave him undisturbed.

“Nope,” you say, pursing your lips and shaking your head as you return to where Nat sits, legs up and feet crossed on her table across the compound.

“No?” She says, surprised and speaking a little slowly around a mouthful of peanut butter. “He won’t do it?”

Your face scrunches up; eyes close not wanting to see her reaction. “No, uh...nope. I sorta couldn’t ask him to.” It sounds more like a question. One eye peeks open while the rest of your face probably looks like you’ve sucked down a crate of lemons.

She plops her half sandwich down dramatically, makes a show of brushing crumbs. “You know,” she begins, eyes twinkling, “I once watched him microwave a can of tomato soup. In the can.”

“I fail to see how that’s relevant here.” It was probably right after he first came to this century, too, you think defensively on his behalf.

“I’m just surprised you’re intimidated.”

You scoff. “I am allowed to be intimidated. For crying out loud Nat, he punches aliens.”

“I punch aliens.” Her eyebrows lift in challenge, enjoying this too much.

How long has it been? Years since you met him once in passing. Never any real interaction. He may not even recall your name. Sporadic appearances in heavily-crowded rooms, and no mutual dealings before...well, before half of everything went to Hell.

Not much opportunity now, he lives off-site, always gone leading therapy groups and the occasional mission. Still, every time the past few years you’ve heard Nat mention he’s come around the all-but-deserted HQ, butterflies.

Lost in thought for a moment longer than innocent, you spot Nat smirk knowingly.

This is when you decide shit needs to change. Steve Rogers needs to notice you.

“Fine!” You head back out, arms waving near your head in mock surrender.

Striding up behind him in the conference room, you clear the nerves from your throat and, from the subtle flex near his shoulder blades, it’s clear he knows you’re there - that someone is there - but he’s unfazed. He certainly doesn’t notice you. Being unnoticed by Steve Rogers is a skill you’ve unwittingly, unwillingly mastered.

In fairness, he notices you as much as he would most everyone else that’s left. No one’s exactly sneaking up on history’s greatest soldier.

You suspect it’s more of an instant evaluation and subsequent, triaged dismissal: Nondescript person. Location appropriate attire. Behavior within expected parameters. Sufficient security clearance relative to location. Threat level low.

Surely, you’re no threat at all, to him. To yourself...jury’s out.

“Captain Rogers?” You step across the table from him.

He looks up, briefly. Enough to be courteous but remains focused on his project. “How can I help you?”

Suddenly, your lips dry despite the strawberry Chapstick they’re always coated in. “Nat wants me to find out if you’ve made a decision about helping escort the groups next week?”

He leans slightly and braces both arms on the table. Not looking up, he sighs out, “I want to help, but trotting out Captain America doesn’t seem like the way to do it.”

Without thinking, you say, “Hadn’t really been looking for a super soldier to take a bus load of orphans to the museum. Just Steve Rogers: Certified Driver’s License holder.”

A ghost of a smile. He looks up. “Fair enough. Count me in.”

As you leave, practically bouncing from this positive first real interaction, you call over your shoulder, “Though, after you’ve tried to wrangle 150 kids for lunch, that superhero bit might not seem like such a bad idea.”

You hear a faint laugh as you exit.

“You know,” Nat says, right after you tell her Steve’s decision, “I used to suggest dates to him all the time.” She looks wistfully out the window, to a past more than a world away. “He never bit. Maybe that was for the best back then. I was just throwing out names. Trying to get him out.” She says that, but takes a beat. She knows, we both do, that’s not quite it. Not to get him out. It was really trying to help him fit in. “But, yeah, never seemed interested. Made me promise to stop. Stop suggesting. Stop having women bring him coffee, bump into him in the elevator, what have you. So, I promised.” You watch her twist the plastic bag around a loaf of bread and shove it to the back of the counter. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

You look over to the doorway that leads back toward the conference room he’s probably still in. “That seems like a good thing. Probably making him uncomfortable for the sake of a few dates.”

“True. They were good people, not good matches.” She shrugs, a small hitch - one that you only recognize from logging hundreds of hours around her - shows she’s only feigning casual. Quite suddenly, you understand this is a dead-serious talk. “I never regretted making him that promise until you came along.”

You swear you hear an actual record scratch.

“Wh-? What on earth would make you say that?” You look down at your faded t-shirt and - oh, you hadn’t noticed - threadbare yoga pants. Your standards have devolved into If It’s Clean, It Gets Worn. You know your hair’s in disarray, face bare. Not exactly Steve’s button downs and starched jeans.

“C’mon, your ability to adapt? That might be an actual superpower. You both operate on the same compass. Don’t know how to stop putting others first. No compromise. When I saw your letter to Secretary Ross bullet-pointing everything wrong with his stupidass Survivor Mandates? An admin who commits career suicide by telling off the Secretary of State?” Nat shakes her head. “That’s right up there with airport rumbles and jumping outta planes without a chute.”

You really don’t know what to say to that.

Of course, you’d fantasized something happening between you and Steve. Look at him.

Plus, he’s a good guy. THE Good Guy. The Embodiment of morals and decency.

Your room currently has several drained Jameson bottles, at least three weeks’ worth of dirty laundry, a fist-sized hole in the wall from when you received your first reply from Ross, and simply scorchingly filthy porn on an incognito tab. (As a precaution, you’d searched a few vanilla sites too, hoping if anyone ever went snooping through your browser history, they’d be satisfied with that and not dig deeper to find the banned-in-several-states stuff.)

You were more likely to listen to Steve Miller or, heck, even Roger Miller, than Glenn Miller.

You’re convinced you’d turn him off in a heartbeat. Based on what you know of him anyway. A lot can be discerned reading about his life and choices. He is just so closed off - red, white, and blue brick walls. So much in the past.

None of that matters though. It doesn’t matter if you never actually get his attention in the first place.

Looking past Nat at your reflection in the window, you have to wonder how you’d keep it if you ever got it.

Honestly, maybe you shouldn’t even try. Life is barely hanging on. People are either so broken they don’t function or so good at compartmentalization that they don’t move on and just keep trying to resuscitate it, to maintain it.

“How’s your housing proposal coming along?” Nat breaks you out of your thoughts. “Is it too much? You’re already doing that food program revamp plus the international incident monitoring.”

“Nah, I got it.” You have to. You want to. Anything you can do that allows Nat time to track down her best friend and maybe, just maybe, someone will find a way to bring everyone else back, too.

The skeleton crew that remained at Avengers HQ after Wakanda, after Thanos, had drifted away within weeks. All with broken families and lives that needed stitched up, pressing wounds that demanded them more. All but you and Nat. Nat had no one and you had no one worth going to. You’d been just another worker bee before, trying to make things right, doing the best you could for the best people so they could actually accomplish things.

Life is full, brimming with grey mourning and chalky despair, and you really don’t need a distraction. Even if it’s as amazing as Steve Rogers.

You almost convince yourself that’s true.

The outing goes smoothly. All kids accounted for and - it shouldn’t be the highlight, but it is - Steve has spoken with you most of the day. Usually about the kids and their needs. Interspersed, he asks where you’re from. Who you lost. Where you were when it happened. All the sorts of things everyone has learned to ask so they don’t trigger a breakdown.

“Who did you lose, Steve?” It’s common knowledge, but you ask anyway.

He seems surprised to hear the words. Waits a beat before answering. “This time it wasn’t everyone.”

Near the end of the day, outside the giftshop, you spot him deep in conversation with a rather pretty guide. She scoots a little closer every few moments and he allows it. Her hair is brown, soft waves pulled back in a barrette. Dark red lips. Neatly tucked uniform, pencil skirt.

Huh. Okay. He is very much in the past. Even further than the rest of us.

This is when the idea hits. It’s all at once, a lightning strike forcing it to life.

On the way home, you stop by a drug store and make a solitary purchase: semi-matte, red velvet lipstick.

You’re determined to focus on work and not go chasing after him or concoct schemes to run into him. You’re not some errant child running after him like he’s a clanging ice cream truck. You are a mature person with goals and obligations and willpower and if you’ve recently developed a raging interest in the 1940’s, well, that’s pure coincidence.

You are not going to seek him out.

You cave two days later.

Container of freshly baked (by someone, not you) cookies in one hand, you find yourself waiting for a break in a VA meeting he leads. A curious smile pulls at the corner of his mouth when he spies you leaning against the doorframe.

“Well, let’s take a break. Back in five?” He jogs up to you, eyeing the cookies. “What’s this?”

“Oh,” you say, holding them up as if you’d forgotten they were there, “These old things?” While you speak, you notice his gaze go to your dark lips. His brow furrows slightly, then back to your eyes. “I just thought maybe your group would like treats?” Suddenly, you feel silly. As if you’ve mistaken combat veterans for kindergarteners in need of snack time. “Do you serve refreshments?”

His rare smile is blinding. “We do now.” Grabbing the cookies, with one last glance that doesn't quite reach up to your eyes, he returns to the group.

As you turn to leave, he calls after you, “Wait, let me introduce you. Please, stay. We’re almost done anyway.”

You position yourself at what you hope appears to be a respectful distance for the remainder of the meeting.

He’s very good, you realize. Gets everyone to open up, encourages them to share and then to move on. Somehow managing to come across as opening up, but never revealing more about himself than any history book contains.

After, he thanks you again.

“It was nothing really. Happy to do it.”

“You baked and came all the way down here with cookies for people you’ve never met?” That isn’t accurate, but you don’t correct him. “I wouldn’t call that ‘nothing.’” He rubs the back of his neck. “So...I should probably see you home safely.”

Trying to seem not-ridiculously overjoyed, you shrug. “I made it here on my own. I can probably make it back.”

“You stay at HQ, right?”

“Sure do.” “You don’t, uh, have anyon—anywhwere, some place in the city?”

No, you don’t. You shoot your shot. “That’s a story. Wanna hear it over coffee?”

He tilts his head. “Yeah, I could do that.”

Until 2:00 a.m., over cold coffee, you end up talking about pretty much everything except any real details about yourselves.

After you slide out of the booth to leave, he appears deep in thought, runs a finger over the lipstick smudge on your cup.

Three days after shared coffee, and roughly eight hours of big band and WW2 research, you paint your lips and slide on a skirt for the first time in years.

Steve is due at HQ today and, though you don’t know his mission, you are going to find a reason to be in his vicinity.

“Hey, lady,” Nat whistles, “are you trying to seduce your way past Ross’s assistant? Because that skirt might do the trick.”

You run your hands over invisible wrinkles, “Something like that.” You hope Steve makes an appearance soon, because you’ve been so preoccupied that going there had slipped your mind.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain ca-”

“Shh!” You cut her off as Steve enters. He nods to you. Your cheeks warm as his eyes follow down your skirt.

“Wheels up in 10, Natasha.”

“Think we’ll be back before dinner?” Nat teases.

He gives a withering look. “Maybe dinner next Thursday.”

Now or never. “I was going to make chicken fricassee soon. I could, maybe, do it when you both get back?”

Nat looks at you as if you sprouted two heads. “Uh, sure? Not gonna turn down a home cooked meal.”

Steve follows her lead. “Not sure Romanoff has ever completed a mission report without Chinese take-out, but we can give it a go.”

Nat elbows him and exits, still looking at you through narrowed eyes.

Figuring out how to cook in a few days shouldn't be that hard.

It was that hard.

You end up baking a ham instead. The air swirls in brown sugar and cinnamon. Nat, winking, invents a reason to leave immediately with her apple crisp.

Steve watches the common area door shut behind her. “You know, for a spy, she isn’t very subtle.”

“True.” You shrug, busying yourself putting leftover ham slices on rye bread that you’ll insist he take home later. “But maybe there’s no place in this world for subtlety anymore.”

He looks at you, the lipstick you’d touched up earlier, your hair pulled back. Nods softly.

“Steve, would you like to go on a date with me?”

This time he nods a little harder. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

Steve’s schedule is only open on the many days you give dance lessons at the orphanages. After some shuffling, you get them postponed.

It takes a few tries, but you start to get the hang of this new look.

Little things at first. Subtle. Small. Glossy clear lips exchanged for matte red. A knee-length dress here and there. Belts to accentuate your waist.

You try doing your hair differently. It seems somehow too much. Too obvious. Too...her. You know about her, everyone does. You know who she is. It’s a present, tangible thing, his love for that remarkable woman. And she was remarkable, utterly deserving of Steve, if any woman is. Or, was. They’re far beyond star crossed lovers, displaced by glacial ice and merciless march of time.

But you’re right here and, determined.

You can hear the echoes of your grandmother and countless wise women, “Don’t change yourself for any man.”

Oh, but Gram, Steve Rogers isn’t just any man.

At your third dinner, a band plays standards. Several couples get up to dance. You drop hints like rainfall. “Sorry, I...I don’t dance.” He shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

“Oh. Oh, that’s okay. I don’t really either.”

His place is spartan. Walls dull grey, painted in longing. A few framed sketches. Stunning, beautiful. He says nothing when he notices you linger on the one of her the longest. It’s gone, tucked away somewhere, the next time you come over to cook dinner.

A few weeks in, over potato soup that turned out pretty good even if you were craving sushi instead, you begin to wonder if you’ve miscalculated this whole thing. You’ve held hands out walking. Hugs linger a little longer. Nothing more. Stagnant.

Maybe he just...can’t. Move on. Move on. Move on. Decade-long mission. Try to move on. Make the best of it. Going through the motions, a caricature of himself, of who he’s supposed to be.

Maybe that’s what you admire the most about him. He just keeps getting back up. It’s not that he won’t break - he seems so very, very impossibly unbroken. Too stubborn from a lifetime of fighting that he won’t surrender tethers to his past.

Whatever it is, or isn’t, you can’t stay away.

Sometimes, he eyes you skeptically. When you’ve done perhaps too much, channeled a smidge more housewife than prudent (and you do question why you’ve taken this tact but he keeps seeing you so you barrel ahead) when you’ve silently, voluntarily rearranged and back-burnered your own work and interests.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but you really don’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says one evening, setting the table.

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” It is. “I enjoy doing this for you.” I enjoy doing things for you, but not so much this. “Besides, what else would I be doing?” Cleaning my apartment that I never let you see for many reasons. Actually completing projects. Wearing stretch pants. Work.

He sets a plate down. “What would you like to be doing?” It’s an innocent enough question, asked innocently enough. It’s only you that makes it feel more like I find it hard to believe you want to be doing this.

This is when you realize you’ve convinced yourself these changes are improvements.

Surely, he - who stands eye-to-eye with gods and monsters, who observes the world from a vantage point that quite literally no one else has - wouldn’t be interested in your mundane, day-to-day work. Not the minutiae of clerical work, grant proposals. Wouldn’t endure your ironic love for hair bands that is pretty light on the irony or backtrack on that whole no-dancing rule.

He’d definitely be leaving a Steve-shaped exit hole in the wall sprinting in the opposite direction of the porn you haven’t peeked at in weeks.

You venture another look. His face is earnest. You recall something you’d always meant to do.

“Well, I think shelters want people to come pet the cats.” Oh, god. What if he hates cats? “Dogs, er, dogs and cats. Animals.” Smooth.

He smiles, a little wider than you could’ve anticipated, and resumes placing silverware.

“If you’re free Saturday, let’s go.”

The questions start again during dinner. Having things done for him, his disquiet is palpable, like his skin itches and stretches over knitting wounds. Forgotten scars busted open.

“You do realize it was never like that for me, right?” He says. “There wasn’t pot roast on the table and a newspaper waiting for me. I grew up in the Depression. It was a mug of hot water instead of tea and getting sent to bed so early we didn’t notice we’d missed dinner.”

You had realized that. You hadn’t realized he knew you were catering specifically to him.

“This is how my grandparents raised me. I miss that sense of home, that sense of...comfort?” You fiddle with a spoon, your reflection elongated, distorted along its curve. “Steve, just because you didn’t get it, doesn’t make it right.”

His head draws back, taking you in. An unreadable look in his eye.

“I know you didn’t get what you deserved,” you chew the words, “back then. I just want to help you get it now.” Fidgeting, words feeling too...accurate. “Or, the closest thing to what you...we deserve.”

His hand covers yours, wraps fingers together, entwines. Gives you a tailored version of his VA coaching. Tells you that the world is what we make it. That it can be good and right. That he knows you’re holding back, holding something back, but admits he is, too, that he isn’t sure he knows how not to anymore. “Please,” he starts, squeezes your hand gently, “what aren’t you telling me?”

Slipping your hand out from under his, missing the warmth immediately, you start without thinking. “You’re here and I’m here and making the best of it. Have you felt…” you stop for a moment, realizing something you hadn’t let yourself think before, “...have you even felt real in years?”

The back of his chair squeaks as he leans back against it. Concedes. “Not very often.”

“I’m tired of it, weary of just getting by. Aren’t you, Steve? What are our lives for, if not for something better than just seeing if we can make it to another sunset?”

This is when you think it’s all gone to Hell. Maybe you’ve overstepped.

Wordlessly, never taking his eyes off you, he folds his napkin, pushes his chair back, stands up and comes directly over to where you sit. Bending his knees until he’s at eye level, he runs his hand along the side of your face, thumb tracing your skin, and slowly, slowly places his lips on yours.

You can’t help the smile that overtakes you mid-kiss. He pulls back and smiles, too, color in his cheeks.

It’s all very sweet and proper. Nice.

Then you notice the slightly darker tint to his eyes and you, for lack of a better word, lose it.

“C’mere.” You grab his collar and crash your lips to his. His eyes fly open and you almost laugh but you use this element of surprise to propel yourself out of your chair and twist until he’s flat and you’re straddling his chest.

Hovering an inch above his pleasantly, openly shocked face, you breathe out, “Wanna start living in the moment, Mr. Rogers?”

He does. Three times, all the most polite missionary orgasms in history. No complaints. You do a No-Shame-At-All-Walk back to HQ the next day.

It’s gradual, but somewhere along the line, he starts talking to you. Really talking. About his mom. Drawing. Losing Bucky again. And again. The Strike Team’s betrayal - his team for over a year - acute and somehow still raw.

Days become mutual, together. Not alone. The kind of unalone so stark and bright, like daybreak rain, that it highlights how alone you’ve both been. Like you’d hoisted the cellar door and crawled out of its dank depths.

One night, a man from his groups doesn’t make it. Car wreck.

“Go, Steve. It’s okay. They need you.”

“It’s strange now,” he sighs. “To have death come suddenly, in such a… normal way.”

“Us normal folk don’t often get epic send-offs,” you joke, lamely. Apologize with your eyes. His brow tightens like he didn’t really want to contemplate that.

“The group wants to grab a few drinks,” he says. You know he means you’d be bored, since this version of you doesn’t drink. “I don’t know how long...” His voice is the slightest tinge hopeful.

“Just go,” you say softly.

You wait at his place. Answer overdue emails, start to catch up. Feel more like yourself.

Sometime after midnight, you fall asleep on top of his bedspread. Later, he slips in, curls up around you. Tucks you below his chin. He smells of soap and something distinctly Steve. You stir and turn to him, palm flat on his chest, press a soft kiss above his heart.

“You stayed.” He kisses your fingers.

“Of course,” you say, sleep-slurred.

Before sunrise, he buries himself inside you, tilts your hips, angles in. It’s slow sweat and sweet, limbs tangled and swallowed breaths. Holds your face, hands woven in your hair as he rocks in you. Never says a thing, his tongue curls into your mouth, pushes your secrets back in.

And you fall a little further each passing night. It feels foreign, but warm. Like remembering something you never really knew.

What should be joy is horror. You’ve never been more scared. Even when you’d watched everyone on your bus disintegrate, driver’s hand gone to soot.

Late one weeknight, you burn the ever-loving shit out of your hand on the stove. A string of creative curse combinations leaves your mouth for a full forty-five seconds. It’s all very incongruous with the frilly apron and (useless) oven mitts.

He looks gloriously scandalized before laughing until his eyes water.

He takes you bent over the island and it is anything but polite. Positively revels in you. Reveals spots you didn’t know you had. You scream his name.

Ragged breaths behind your ear. “You’re so close...I want it.” His words push you over, as you clench he loses rhythm, follows.

Panting, pressed against cool granite, confessions carved into stone, you hear yourself whisper how much you love him.

He has propriety enough to act like he didn’t hear you.

This is when it gets awkward. Two steps forward, three miles back.

You barely speak the next day. And the next. Then, it’s the most days without seeing one another since this whole mess started.

On day four, you slide out of your sweats and into a dress, paint on your face, and go lean on his apartment door to wait for him.

Being alone with one’s thoughts is never a great exercise, but certainly not for someone who has been play-acting for a few months. Mentally, you scroll through all the deadlines you’ve missed.

Nat’s voicemail replays in your head. “Hey, I know you might think this isn’t my business, but you’re my business and those kids are my business and, frankly, Steve is my business. You’ve lost perspective and, again, frankly, I didn’t think you’d be like this with him. Please call me. Or, come to work. Both. Both would be good.”

You look up at the ceiling and breathe out. An unblinked tear escapes.

You miss Steve approaching. “Hey, are you o-” he starts, then chews his lip for a moment. “We need to talk.”

“I’m not so sure we do.” You stare blankly at the walk ahead. “I think I’m just gonna go.”

“Is that what you want?” “It’s what you want that’s at issue here.” Another traitorous tear slides down your face. “I know I’m not genuinely what you want.” “Damn it,” he huffs, mostly to himself. “Just come inside. We shouldn't do this in the hallway.”

You move off the door and he goes in, pulling you in at first, then looks to where he holds you and drops your arm as if burnt.

“Sorry.” “You don’t really have anything to be sorry for Steve, except maybe avoiding me for a few days.”

He runs his hands over his face. “I just don’t think I can be what you need. I thought I could, but I just don’t think I’m...capable of that anymore.”

“Capable of what?” You know. But you need to hear him say it, to rip it off like a bandage left too long, gauzy fibers soaked, enmeshed with tissue. If you finally hear it, then you can...you don’t know.

“Oh, shit, this sounds so bad. I want to. I want to love you. There are moments when I think I could, that it could happen, but it just...doesn’t.”

This is when you break.

No rebuttal comes. Your mind sparks but fades. You can’t help but try to hang on, dig in, your fingers clawing at the dirt. “It’s okay, Steve. I didn’t mean t-” “It is definitely not okay! None of this is okay. I don’t want to hurt you or waste your time.” He shakes his head. “I can’t ask you to compromise like that.”

“The whole damned world now is nothing but compromise and it sure as Hell didn’t ask.”

“We’re better than that,” he says, frowning. “We deserve real.”

“Are ‘we’ better than that? You...you are. Me? I don’t know.” You try to laugh but it just chokes off. “The planet used to be stuffed with twice as many people and most of us - I sure as Hell was, weren’t you? - were very much alone.”

He sighs. Brushes a tear from under your eye. “Part of me...part of me is always going to be someplace else.” This isn’t news. You blow out air slowly. “How I feel isn’t going to change whether you feel the same or not. I don’t want you to send me away because you think you know better.” You aren’t crying anymore. You’re mad. “I want to be with you, regardless.” A blind rage, mostly at yourself. Probably all at yourself. “It’s my choice and I damned well think you’re worth it.”

His face is genuinely stunned.

You both really do try. Make the best of it.

Things change though.

Resigned that, whatever he feels, it’s not love. It’s affection adjacent. If a thin line exists between love and hate, then it’s a thick metal girder between love and like.

You double down. Desperate, every word rehearsed, every aspect honed to perfection. Let me have these pieces of you in exchange for pieces of me.

In the throes, one night, you hear him stop himself from saying it. He doesn’t mean to, you know it. He can’t help himself any more than you can. It’d be fighting oceans and tides and lightless moons.

On your knees, in stockings and red-lipped, before him. “Peg-...Pe-...Please...don’t stop.” The pain squeezes your heart, musculature seeping between its dead, cold digits. You swallow it down along with him.

On top of you, wrapped up around you, his hoarse puffs beside your ear. They all sound like the beginning of her name.

They all are.

You could pretend it’s your name, a name for what you’ve become. Placeholder. Placebo. But even that’s not accurate. You’re pure medicine scorching through his veins. You’re this century’s super serum, burning up under the hot lights and sterile space a Stark made for him. You’re on fire, searing away trying to be what you think he needs - but, he didn’t need anything to be good, never did - all the while, over the chaos, Peggy shouts to stop.

You signed on for this.

Because you faked it so well, you’d fooled yourself.

Messy. Misaligned. Reckless love.

You take to crying in the shower. Searching every piece of you, you don’t know what more you can change or give or swap out like spare parts, to finally, finally, be enough/real/alive.

In the fogged mirror, you look. Truly look. A collection of cobbled together bits and limbs. Someone else’s lips and hair and clothes. All yourself and your work amputated. A zombie pantomime of by-gone ideals and remembrances.

You wipe away the fog again. There, smeared and broken among the watery trails, it is all too obvious why he cannot love you. You do not love yourself like this. A monstrous visage, the good parts ignored to decay, just a stitched-up collection of dead things.

He catches you crying sometimes. Swears to leave you for good and you beg him to stay. Every time. Holds you tight to his chest and whispers he’s sorry and promises to stop hurting you because he cares, he really cares, but you don’t think he knows exactly who is to blame.

He is late getting to his place one night so you start the record player. Sway, arms wrapped around yourself as Billie Holiday sings “You Go to My Head.”

On the refrain, Steve comes up behind you. Places his lips gently on your shoulder, runs his hands down your arms.

“Dance with me, Steve,” you say, facing away. Hold yourself a little tighter.

You hear his short gasp.

“God, please give me this, Steve. Please, just dance with me.” You didn’t ask, but I gave up everything for you.

Wordlessly, he turns you and draws you to him. Sways until the notes fade away.

Your heart might not beat for a solid minute when the words “Time Travel” first come up.

It’s the end. Steve doesn’t realize what he’s going to do, but you do. Given half the chance, there’s no doubt.

“Hey, Doll.” He pulls you into his chest. “It’s going to be okay. This is what we do.”

You nod against him. No doubt they will be successful. Mutely, you pull out of his embrace. You cannot leave fast enough, this place where all these gods and angels stand.

Your last mistake is not going to your room.

While the solitary bird flits around where you sit in the courtyard, a concerned Steve overrides security to get into your quarters to comfort you.

When you get to your room, Steve is there. Looks so out of place, like a dog on its hind legs. His face is flat, eyes cold. Silently, he turns your digital photo frame toward you. Each photo stripping away another lie. A photo of you with your parents, another in your toe shoes, two at recitals, tongue out and drunk at an Ozzy concert. Not one looks like you now. Not one.

Jaw squared, he looks to the kitchen where printouts of old recipes litter the counter.

“Steve,” you say, starting to reach for him. He puts a hand up. “Steve, let me explain.”

“You know,” his voice is steel, “I didn’t go out with you because you reminded me of the past. I went out with you because you asked me.”

“Steve, I just wanted to…wanted to…” “You wanted to what? Read about me in a textbook and try to be - what? - fake it? Ugh, God.” He rolls his eyes, body half-twists away.

“It’s not like that.” Except, it is.

“It’s not? Oh, well then please tell me. Enlighten me. Because from where I am right now, it sure fucking looks like you took things you thought were special to me and just, what? Wore it like a suit to manipulate me?”

Near numb, you shake your head.

“It worked...it worked so well and you let me feel guilty about it!”

The shame pushes your legs out from under you. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“Me? You can try to tell yourself that. No, you did this for you.” Holds the picture frame in both hands, the colors reflect in his eyes as they change. Under his breath, he says, “I don’t even know you.”

Steve nails you with his gaze. “Do you even realize what you’ve stolen from me? What you guilted me into? What I saved and I can never get back?”

Billie Holiday echoes in your brain. The song, the dance. Like a miracle, you hate yourself more.

You are carved down, scoured out, brittle bones bleached in the sun.

He shakes off his anger slightly. “I knew you were holding back, but this?” He points to a stack of work you’d let languish. Detailed housing plans, nutrition guidelines, research and half-complete presentation charts. “I can’t understand why...why wouldn’t you include me in this? Were you scared of not being enough? Too much? Of being you?” He sighs out. “Everyone can have those thoughts, that’s understandable. But, you didn’t trust me with you.”

You desperately reach for him, hold his arms. “I do trust you. I do.”

He scoffs. “The problem is you let me care about someone who doesn’t even exist. Who never existed. You kept “you” secret from me while I opened up to you. You think I let anyone else ever know how fucked up I feel?”

He looks at you in a way you never wanted. With grief.

“Damn it - Goddamn it all. I let you in.” I expect him to punch the wall, but the air just leaves him. He deflates. Smaller than ever seemed possible. “I fucking let you in.”

Everyone comes back. Except Nat. All you have left is her voicemail.

There’s no more times together. Nothing.

It’s always been beautiful, pulsing nothing.

Bleeding out every pore.

In a makeshift office miles from decimated HQ, you bury yourself in her projects and try to resurrect your own until it’s time for Tony’s memorial.

You’re not sure why you’re going. Apart from Tony hiring you, you don’t really know anyone else there except Steve. But, Tony gave you a chance and, while you’ve mucked it up spectacularly of late, you go to honor him as best you can.

You try to stay in the shadows, so you’re surprised Steve finds you nonetheless. Even more surprised he tries.

Looking out over the water, he asks, “Are you going to be okay? Did you find a place to stay?”

“Yes.” No and yes.

“I’m so very sorry Steve. I just wish, I just wish…”

“Don’t, okay?” He blows out a sigh. Hands in his pockets. “If you didn’t trust me, I could work to make you. If you didn’t trust yourself, I’d help you learn to. But you didn’t trust either of us and there’s nothing I can do about that. And that’s a damned tragedy.” He turns and starts to walk past you.

“Steve! Steve wait!” You cringe, your voice echoes over the serene lake. He keeps walking.

“Steve.” You sniff. “Please.” He takes a huge gulp of air and turns partially toward you, staying in profile. Shaking his head softly, jaw askew, he lifts his hands and lets them fall as if to say, “What do you want from me?”

“Can we just try again? Start over?”

How did we meet? How did we meet back when I was real?

“Steve, I’m...I’m so sorry. You’re right. I was more than guarded, I was trying so hard to be good for you. I took what I knew and what you showed me and tried so hard to mold myself into what I thought you’d want. I know that was so stupid now. But I know you. I know you! And I just want a chance for you to know me. I...I...I like metal bands and R&B. I’m a cat AND dog person. I used to tap dance. There’s photographic evidence! They let me back on the orphan program and we’re using it as a template for veterans. I have yelled in the face of the Secretary of State. More than once. My grandparents didn’t raise me but I spent summers with them.” You choke back more tears. “I am actually a bit of a pervert. That’s who I am. I screwed up. I just want a chance to show you ‘me.’”

You cough and through blurry vision it almost looks like he starts to reach for you. Then, his arm pulls back.

“But what I felt - what I feel for you is so real. I’m absolutely in love with you, Steve Rogers.” You wipe your sleeve across your wet face. “I know I screwed up and I hurt you and I have no excuses, but I am b-begging you to give me a chance. Just let me start over.”

He doesn’t move, still looking out over the lake.

“Steve, please, I just want to show you who this girl really is.”

“She sounds amazing,” he says, toneless. Walks past you toward the platform where a case full of gems and a magic hammer wait. “I wish I could’ve met her. I would’ve loved her.”

This is when you know. You’re the bad guy in your own story.

#steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers smut #eliza's 5k challenge #quantumfizz writes fic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction

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angrylizardjacket · 6 years

Text

the in between moments {Ben Hardy/Reader/Roger Taylor}

Summary: A few moments from the reader's pregnancy, and a few moments after.

A/N: 2664 words. (the writing demon holding my eyes open as I try to sleep: just because you closed your laptop doesn't mean you're free from me.) Anyways I wrote this on my phone and now it's 4am. A bit angsty but happy ending.

It turns into a waiting game, and none of you like to talk about it. It's easy, at first, to pretend like the universe is humouring you; the three of you invest in a bigger apartment, something closer to town with another bedroom, not that you all didn't love the little flat you and Ben had been sharing since the start of all this, but it was too cosy for a family, you all decided.

Family; how strange that word sounded as you turned it over in your mind. It was, of course, inevitable for Roger, he's got his real children - but what made them any more real than yours? - not that it matters to your version of him, at this point in time he's just as in the dark as you and Ben are. For all your sakes you find it easiest to stay out of the spotlight. The moment you start showing, you quit your job; your current co-workers were well aware of your romantic entanglements, more than once Roger's latest Instagram post had been the subject of on set gossip, the type that always went quiet and giggly the moment you entered the vicinity making it so clear they'd just been talking about you. They didn't need to know about this. Ben promises to help you get your job back if you want it after the baby's born, and you say you'll consider it, but for now you enjoy the relative peace.

Ben takes Roger to red carpet events and when the press speculate about the state of your relationship, Roger actually manages to hold in his fury, though there's a few photos with him in the background with his hand clenched so tightly it's painful and white knuckled.

When he flops beside you on the sofa, forgoing the after party for the awards show, still riled up from the comment, part of him needs some small reassurance from you. Ben's still at the party, getting drunk with his costars and messaging that he loves you both and that he hopes Rog got home safe. Roger, for his part, is sulking beside you, still mostly in his suit with his bowtie undone, the whole look doing very Unholy things to you in your hormonal state. It takes him a bit to actually admit what's wrong, he's champagne tipsy from the event and he's distracted by the YouTube documentary you'd been playing in the background, but then your lips are pressed to his jaw, softly asking what's wrong as you're unbuttoning his shirt and he's filled with conflicting emotions.

There's no hesitation in him as he lays you back against the plush sofa, but there is hesitation when he comes to rest his hand on the gentle swell of your stomach, your old, ratty singlet riding up to expose a sliver of your skin. He doesn't say it, doesn't know how, the anxiety the reporter had brought out in his leading to a great that somehow held his vocal cords hostage. Despite this, you know what he needs to hear.

"I love you, Rog," and your voice, like your hand where it comes to rest on his, is gentle, "and you clean up real nice." With a smirk, your gaze drifts down his well tailored but vaguely disheveled suit ensemble, and you actually bite your lip. He wants to make a wise crack about your outfit of choice, a singlet that was practically falling apart and a pair of cotton pyjamas shorts that you used to complain about being too big for you, but seeing you here, like this, with his hand on your pregnant belly, he thinks you look absolutely stunning.

When he kisses you, you're grinning. Ben gets some very interesting and very lewd pictures that night, though you're both asleep and rather fucked out by the time he gets home, he knows you both well enough to see the images as a promise rather than just mere teasing.

Both of them come to your doctor's appointment when they can; the only had experience the three of you have, though you're not even sure if the boys even notice, is when the ultrasound technician starts giving you these weirdly judgey looks when she realises that you don't technically know who the father is.

"He's got your melon alright," Roger grins, leaning forward as he looks between the screen and Ben, eyes shining with amusement. Ben snorts.

"You're blind, babe, and so's that kid if those eyes keeping looking so much like yours," with a smirk he turns to the politely confused nurse, "do they all look like aliens at this stage or is that just Rog's genes?" And his gaze slid to where you were struggling not to laugh at their antics, his own smile endeared at the sight of your joy.

"No, that's all you and your fat head, if anyone's got alien genes it's you," Roger shoved at his shoulders before wrapping his arm around a now laughing Ben. "Maybe it's Y/N."

"I mean the kid's definitely got her nose." It's the quickest and first thing they've agreed on about the baby since seeing the ultrasound. After your laughter has died down, you see the technician's expression. The boys don't notice, well maybe they think she's a little catty when she says the alien look is pretty universal at this stage, that genetics tend not to play a factor just yet, but the way she's regarding you makes you feel so small and a bit shameful. Which is fucked, you contemplate upon leaving, you've worked hard to earn a comfortable life with the men you love, and no bitchass sonographer is going to make you feel bad for that.

When you tell the boys back at home, they're quick to agree, to physically remind you of the love that you've earned.

The nickname for the baby is technically Joe's fault, he calls the baby Billie, since Ben almost exclusively referred to it as 'The Kid'. Ben picks it up first, starts saying Billie the Kid, before you all just start shortening the joke to Billie.

Before they're even born, the kid has a number of nicknames, your favourites being Billie Goat, Billiam, and Bandit, though that last ones only for when they're kicking hard or leaning directly on your bladder. It takes until you're all arguing about whether or not to put the kid's name on the door for you all to finally talk about actually naming them. All of you have suggestions, of course, ideas for names that somehow just don't fit right. You bring up the idea of waiting to actually see the baby to get a feel for the name, but it still doesn't feel right.

"What if we just name them Billie?" Ben breaks the silence, and Roger is quick to him with agreement. You'd been calling the baby they for so long in your mind that at this point everything else felt unnatural.

"What if they want to become a lawyer or something equally dreadful?" Roger asks, and you can't help but laugh at that.

"Well then we give them a fancier name on paper, but they'll be our Billie." You assure, voice dropping to a coo as you rest a hand on your rather large baby bump, as if assuring your unborn child.

Last names are a whole other argument.

Briellen Taylor-Jones was born three weeks premature, and with hey umbilical cord around her neck, and so you'd had enough time to concede on the last name debate, but not enough time to pick a middle name amid your panic. The first time you really get to hold her is a few days after she's born; she's been in an incubator and you've mostly been also, but in your arms she's smaller than a loaf of bed, and sleeping soundly.

"This-" when the nurse had first passed her to you, both boys had been there, looking so proud it almost hurt. You couldn't stop smiling, overwhelmed with joy, tears in your eyes, "this is our little Bandit, huh?" You ask softly, shifting as best you can to make room for both Ben and Roger on the little hospital bed. "Billie the Kid- our kid." You correct, and hold her close to your chest as tears of joy and exhaustion and of overwhelming cathartic release of the past eight months finally escape you. Both of your men wrap their arms around you, Roger's head on your side and Ben pressing a kiss to your temple. With contentment in your heart, you think that Freddie said it best; no motherfucker in the universe is going to upset it.

But it's still a waiting game until you forget what you're waiting for, and that's when the universe takes back what it did give so freely. This is all you can think when days later, a week after Billie's been born, Roger's gone.

You weep at the irony, but mostly because his absence hurt so fucking much.

He goes back to the mid-Seventies and is blissfully unaware; Queen are blowing up, he tours and he fucks around and he sees John's baby for the first time and his heart fucking aches for reasons he's not quite sure of.

In the present, you and Ben... well it's hard. A few weeks after Roger leaves and you find yourself in a doctor's office being told you have post partum depression. Ben still works a lot, not because he wants to, he'd much rather be helping you with Billie, but he's still under contract.

And then there's Billie.

Nothing, not your hormone imbalance brain, not the disappearance of one of your partner's, not even the fact that you have to spend time without her whenever you even just have to run to the shops, leaving her with Ben; none of that could stop you and Ben from loving her more. She's got Ben's smile, and your nose, but somehow, apart from the colour which is all yours, she's got Roger's eyes, you'd both know them anywhere.

Billie Meddows Taylor-Jones is treated like a princess, and counselling really helps you, and Ben takes time off, and it's jarring to realise, just shy of her first birthday, that at this point you're just a happy family. It hurts, at first, Roger's still meant to be here, meant to be part of this, and you know when he comes back - because he will, he has to - he'll fit right in where he belongs with you and Ben. And then it hurts less and less, because his return is inevitable and Ben love you, and you both still love Roger, and you know that he's going to love and adore Billie when he meets her.

When Roger wakes in the future in the park next, and it's always some grubby, urban park that's littered with cigarette butts, he lets himself get his bearings before his whole world comes crashing down around him. He doesn't know the year, is too afraid to check, just sprints to where he hopes you still live; the flat you had bought together.

Your names are on the list of buzzers, and he presses it and waits with baited breath. When your voice crackles over the speakers, tentatively asking who it is, all he needs to say is two words.

"I'm back."

He's not sure what he's expecting on the eighth floor, but when he knocks, he hears footsteps and then hesitation. You open the door slowly, hesitantly, and he hates the expression that you wear whenever he comes back, like you can't quite believe he's real. But then his gaze slips to the toddler in your arms and oh fuck he's been gone for so long.

"Ben's at the shops." Is the first thing you say and he wants to kiss you so bad, but he's absolutely frozen, just gazing in the awe at the little girl frowning with intensity up at him. "Hey Bandit, do you recognise him?" You asked gently, voice light though you're already sniffling with tears. The girl - Bandit, Billie, his Billie - reaches up like she's holding something, wiggling her thumbs, and you laugh softly, "that's right, he is from mummy's phone, do you know who he is?" You asked fondly, and Roger's heart is in his throat as the little girl's whole face lights up as she looks to you for confirmation.

"Daddy!"

It takes all of Roger's self control not to swear in front of- in front of his daughter. It's as if you can see him repress the urge and you look both thankful and amused.

"That's right, that's your daddy." You say gently, and immediately the little girl reaches out insistently for Roger, frowning and frustrated when he just looks back at her, beaming with tears in his eyes. When she makes an angry noise you finally chuckle, gesturing him forward, and he complies. Grinning, quietly laughing, he obliges the demanding little girl when she reaches for his face. Far more pleased, she pats his head with determination.

"Luh-vu much!" She says brightly, before kissing his forehead. Roger just looks up at you, eyes wide and adoring and confused. Billie looks very pleased with herself.

You invite Roger in, and Billie scampers back to where she's got a tea party set up, and you and Roger curl up on the sofa to watch as she builds a whole universe in her mind. It feels like nothing's changed. When he asks quietly about what had happened at the door, you pull your phone from your pocket and he drapes an arm around you, pulling you close to better see the screen. When it lights up, your lock screen shows a photo of you Ben and Roger from a few years ago.

"Billie likes to ask about who people are, especially in photos, and we have lots of you around because of course," Roger presses a kiss to your temple at that, you let yourself sink into his embrace, just a little more, "and so whenever she asked about you, we'd always," you choked up a little at the memory, looking at Billie rather than Roger, "we'd always tell her that that was her daddy, and that he loved her very much, and then she'd get a kiss on the forehead." You laughed gently, and Roger swore gently under his breath, unable to help himself, unable to react in any other way.

"My kid, my daughter." He half laughed, Billie was almost the spitting image of you, and he already adored her.

When Ben gets home, Roger practically bolts at him once Ben's put down the groceries. Ben actually spins him, kisses him so passionately when he puts Roger back down that it might have made you blush if they weren't also both yours, though the moment is broken by the patter of Billie's eager footsteps as she joins the men, hitting at Ben's thigh.

"Spin!" She cries, and Ben steps back from Roger, elated to oblige his little girl. Roger's heart aches at the sight of Ben's smile, knowing just how much he's missed, but then Billie's reaching out for him, asking him to spin her too, so young and bright and she loves and trusts him already because both you and Ben had made sure he'd fit right back in to your family.

"Hey Bandit, guess what." He grinned once he'd stopped spinning her, and she gave him a bright, curious look. "I love you very much," he announced brightly, before pressing an obnoxiously loud kiss to her forehead, and she was giggling loudly, a sound fondly reminiscent of you, before she repeated the gesture back to him. He looks over to where Ben's joined you, both standing by the couch, both looking a little like you can't believe your eyes, but it's good this time. None of you can stop smiling.

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sup-hoes-its-me · 6 years

Text

Depreciation (Oikawa x Reader)

A/N: hey hey. im back at it again with another oikawa one. this one is a Soulmate AU! yay! I love these but i never do them justice. im fairly happy with this one, so i hope you like it too. Thank you!!!!

word count: 4226~

Everyone loved Oikawa Tooru. He was handsome and funny and passionate and athletic and just a seemingly pleasant person to be around. But, he was so terribly fake. For years, he naively assumed that his best friend, Iwaizumi, was the only one to know about his painful insecurities and self-doubt. He really believed it could be kept a secret.

One other person, someone the boy didn't even know, knew all about his problems. Y/N, the shyest girl in the entire class, knew everything. She had her secrets too, big, terrible secrets no one could ever know about. The most concerning of all those secrets: she was his soulmate. Just like Oikawa, she kept her secrets under lock and key. Not her best friend, not her mother, not her siblings...No one would ever know.

He could never know.

Oikawa was meant for someone else. He was meant to fall in love with a beautiful girl with flawless skin, a charming bright smile, and a voice that could swoon anyone. Instead, he was fated to be with her, the outcast of the school, the girl who locked herself in her room when she got home and avoided the vast majority of her peers like the plague.

No one could ever know she shared the same marking as the famous Oikawa Tooru. He was too good for her. Too handsome. Too popular. Too funny. Too perfect. No one would ever fawn after her like his fangirls did. Because she was nothing, and he was everything.

Y/N never took off her cardigan, nor did she push up the sleeves. It would only be disastrous if she attempted such a thing. People would see the mark inside of her wrist. They would see it and they would know. Most girls, they knew what Oikawa’s mark looked like; it was engraved into their brains much like their own mark. They studied it, checking time and time again to see if it matched, as if it would suddenly change to quench their desire for the masterful setter.

Even though Y/N knew she would never get to fall in love with her soulmate, she still sought information about him. She watched him through the gym windows as he practiced, seeing his talent and his pure, intense drive that kept him soldiering on. She listened to him talk to Iwaizumi at lunch when they ate in the same classroom, memorizing his mannerisms and his voice and the delicate ways he teased his best friend.

All she wanted, deep down, was to know her soulmate. She just wanted to talk to him. To find out what he loves and he hates. To find out his birthday, and his favorite color, and his favorite season, and his favorite movie. She wanted to know if he preferred pop or rock, if he liked chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Did he have any pets. What's his favorite holiday. What's his phone wallpaper…

She wanted to know everything about him.

Her heart always beat faster when she saw him, not because she loves him. No, it was because she was so afraid. She feared all the things about her that he could never find out. If she talked to him, the tug in her heart directed at him would only grow stronger. That's what happens to soulmates. There's a tight rope that connects them, and it constantly haunts them. Since she knows it's him she's destined to be with, the sense is only heightened until it's sometimes the only thing she can think about.

One afternoon, she sat outside the gym on the ground, cold and hard under her. She didn’t really know why she decided to sit there, right across from the room her soulmate was throwing around a volleyball with his teammates. The distinct sound of spikes rung out in her ears, balls pounding to the floor like rockets. Thud, over and over again until it was only background noise.

She found herself stuffing her earbuds in her ears, desperate to avoid the sound. Even with the music up, the memory of the noise still wreaked havoc on her concentration. Why couldn't she just stand up and leave? Why didn't she just go home? Why did she torture herself by sitting there, foolishly waiting for the practice to end just so she could see Oikawa leave the gym with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step, Iwaizumi right beside him?

For a long time, she watched the wind. It blew at the trees scattered about. It whistled past her ears. It kissed her skin, one thing she would never receive in her life. She wanted to be kissed like never before, to feel her heart racing, her hands running through his hair, rough hands roaming her waist and hips; she wanted it all. Yet, she settled for the wind.

The gym doors opened. A few members exited, ones she didn't know, nor did she particularly care about. It took a couple more minutes for her one and only to leave the gym. He looked positively gorgeous, almost glowing in the dusk. Oh, how she wanted to say something to him.

Iwaizumi walked out behind him, shutting and locking the door for the night. He was always the responsible of the two, she’d noticed. Oikawa liked to have fun, be reckless and exhausting while the ace took his time to scold his captain for those qualities.

Y/N pretended to be reading a book. She always pretended to read as to not get caught being a creep waiting outside the gym for a glimpse. She wasn't a fangirl; she was an observer of the ugly truth.

Unfortunately, today she caught someone’s eye.

The boy she stared at on a daily basis came walking towards her alarmingly fast. If he were any slower, she could manage to escape without being thrown into a trainwreck of a conversation bound to happen. She didn't want him to know her. She wanted to stay anonymous on the sidelines.

She only ever wanted to be a background character.

“Hey! I see you around all the time. I've been wondering why you always sit outside the gym,” his voice, so vividly cheerful, rang out in her ears. She removed her earbuds, shoving them into her pocket. Although she was afraid, there was still an intense need to hear his voice directed at her.

Her head did not lift from its downward tilt at her lap; it was suddenly too heavy to pick up. Her throat ran dry like a desert as she struggled for something to say. Anything. She could say almost anything. It didn't matter.

“I like the wind and the trees.” That was all she could say and all she wanted to say. It wasn't deep, and it barely meant anything. It was pathetically simple, yet so confusing at the same time.

“Come on, shittykawa. Leave her alone,” the strict one groaned, urging his friend to leave. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, he was curious about this one girl. He wanted to know her, as strange as that seemed. He’d never met her, although he saw her around often.

In a moment, instead of turning and walking away like the girl and his friend wanted him to do, his form plopped down beside her and propped against the wall. He leaned in to see what book she was reading. The topic was aliens, those damn extraterrestrials that he found so compelling. She shared an interest, a very weird one at that, which only caused him to need answers.

“I’m Oikawa Tooru,” he introduced. She knew his name though. Who didn't?

He waited for a reply. So, she gave it to him. “I’m L/N Y/N.”

She was so quiet. So different from him. Her voice radiated a sort of reserved kindness, a soft wisp of silent hopefulness that he needed to know more about. Again, he had no idea why he felt so obligated to do this.

He felt like he needed to know everything.

“Sooo, L/N-chan~, you’re reading a book on aliens,” he commented, scanning the book again. “Do you believe in aliens?” It was a silly question, a very stupid one indeed. He was just dying to start a conversation.

She nodded softly, daring to peek up at him. He had such beautiful eyes, soft brown ones she's only seen from afar. Now, being so close, she didn't want to ever look away. Yet, she did.

“I’ve always been interested in them,” she confessed nervously. What if he thought she was some weirdo for believing in something so nonsensical as aliens. It was making her brain hurt just thinking about the ridicule to come.

Only, it never came.

“Me too! I watch those sci-fi movies all the time!” He had this stupid smile on his face that she knew she couldn't dare look at. If she did, she wouldn't be able to look away. Instead, a small curl of her lips bloomed on her own face. “Have you ever seen Space Uprising? It's my favorite,” he asked.

“Of course. It's my favorite too.” What a coincidence.

“Wow, L/N-chan!. That’s awesome!” Finally, she felt herself unraveling. The caution she had did not dissipate completely, no, but she felt comfortable. She set her book to the side, letting her eyes lift to gaze at his features.

He couldn't help but gaze back, wondering how he missed this girl for all these years.

______________________

Y/N still wasn't used to hearing his voice call out for her. He would rush up behind her in the hallways, crowded with girls who wanted to stab her. Most had never seen her before, and wondered how such a weird girl could gain the attention of their favorite princely setter.

Everyday at lunch, he made sure she sat with him and Iwaizumi in one of the near empty classrooms. He would call her first name in an almost sing-song tone. Dammit. Y/N loved his voice. It was so sweet and cheerful, yet so full of life that it made her feel alive too. Part of her lived just to hear his melody.

“Y/N-chan, please give me some milk bread, please! You know it's my favorite,” he whined, watching as she unwrapped the delicious treat. Little did he know she only bought the snack because he loved it. Subtly, she wanted him to ask her for some just so she could hear him whine like a little kid. It was addicting.

“Why didn't you bring your own, dummy?” she asked as she broke the small loaf in half. She always did that, scolded him but still offered to help him. It physically hurt her to see him sad. She gave him the half, and the brightest smile broke out on his face. “Happy?”

“Very! You're so nice to me!” the boy cheered

She nodded, about to say something else. But her phone stopped her. Normally, she never receives texts, not unless they were from Oikawa or Iwaizumi. Obviously, they weren't the culprits.

Quietly, she slipped her phone out of her pocket and unlocked it, scanning over her notifications. There was only one actual text, the rest were a bland, disappointing series of unread emails and app messages from companies.

The text was from her younger cousin. For a few seconds, she wondered what the hell she could want. They never spoke, only at parties and holidays.

When she read the text though, her heart sunk in her chest.

‘Hey! I found my soulmate. We met in the mall this morning! His name is Mika, and I can't wait until you can meet him!!’

Her chest tightened. Breaths became ragged. Her heart sunk, soul clenched, mind ran wild. She felt like she was dying, but she couldn't let go.

As she stood up, chair scratching against the floor with a terrifying screech. She didn't say anything, finding that there was no possible way for her to explain how she felt. Oikawa called to her, concerned, but she couldn't turn around. She rushed out of the classroom into the nearly empty hall.

And it was then that she began sobbing. She buried her face into her palms and screamed into her skin. She wanted to just collapse into a pathetic lump on the floor and never get back up to face her friends again.

It always hurt knowing she could never be with her soulmate but hearing of other people enjoying their fate, and it made everything come crumbling down. So, she cried. She cried because she could never love her soulmate. She would never kiss him, hug him, or feel her hands running through his hair. It was all a stupid, reckless dream.

Footsteps approached her, coming from the classroom. All she could think was that Oikawa would come asking her what was wrong, and she would have to keep her mouth shut. She would have to make up some lie, fabricated just to prevent the truth from slipping off her tongue.

Instead, when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, a deeper voice rung in her ear. “L/N, I saw what the text said.”

She kept silent, only whimpers escaping her lips and shaking her body violently.

“You’re not jealous, so what’s the problem?” he questioned, his head tilted down by her ear so he could whisper. Listening ears and prying eyes could sneak into their conversation, and neither wanted that.

All she could do was shake her head and mutter, “You couldn’t understand, Iwaizumi. You just can't.”

“I have a soulmate, too. I can understand.”

“No, this is different,” she told him without so much as an explanation. He was still deep in the darkness of not knowing, yet he felt he was getting somewhere. There was something locked up in her mind that she refused to let out; it raged on, but she wouldn't accept it.

It was always there, that lack of trust, the single secret that plagued her. Oikawa might have overlooked it; Iwaizumi, though, had his eyes on her from the moment they officially met.

“You’ve been lying to us this whole time, haven't you?” he accused. There was a silence, tense and thick. She had nothing to say. She couldn't lie no matter how much she wanted to. He already knew.

He grabbed her arm before she could yank it away from him. Her precious sleeves were pushed up for the first time in years to reveal that little mark on her wrist. Only three little lines, each one with a small bulb on the edge. It was so simple. So recognizable.

A grimace crossed her face, consuming her emotions with pure fear. He knew. Now, everyone would know. It was horrifying.

“You can't tell him.”

He ignored her as he dropped her wrist from his grasp. “How long have you known?” he asked lowly, his eyes sliding to the door to make sure the boy subjected wasn't listening.

She sighed. “Second year of junior high.”

That was a damn long time. How could she never say anything? It was infuriating. “And you never told him?”

“You know I can't.”

“Actually, no, I don't know,” he growled. “You are his soulmate. You have no right to deprive him of his fate just because you have some inferiority complex.” It was true. She never really thought about it that way. She assumed he needed to be with someone better than her. He did, but she was his soulmate…

Still, she believed fate had made a terrible mistake.

She pulled down her sleeve and shuffled. “Promise me you won't tell him.”

“Will you?”

“I’ll try.”

“That's not good enough. Swear to me you will tell him,” he lowly commanded, his hand going to grip her shoulder. He needed her to do this one thing, this one terribly important thing. It wasn't her choice, but instead a moral obligation. “If you don't, I will.”

She could only nod. It was time. God, she dreaded the day for years.

_________________________

It was around seven that night. She waited around the gym, watching Oikawa and Iwaizumi practice until they were both tired and hungry. They worked so hard, her soulmate especially. It made her chest bubble with pride.

Tonight, she would reveal that painful secret she kept hidden for years. It had been a week and a half since she was threatened by Iwaizumi, and she knew she didn't have much time left before he went through with his threats. So she waited for them to be done, like she did every day. Only, the other days she never felt like impending doom was reigning over her head.

What if he rejected her? Despite knowing it was the most likely outcome, she couldn't accept it in the pit of her stomach. It ached and stung and turned throughout the night before and into the next day. She wanted to throw up, but it was only in her mind.

That didn't make it hurt any less when she thought about their friendship ending that night. Tears gathered in her eyes as she realized she wouldn't hear his voice, or listen to him rant about aliens, or get his help on her stupid English homework, or watch him beg for her sweets at lunch. She’d never walk home with him again. She’d never ride the train beside him again. She’d never get to hug him again.

She did all her crying the night before, truly the entire week before this day. So, she just sat there, internally wallowing in her crushing self-loathing. How could he possibly fall in love with her one day if she didn't love herself?

Practice ended quickly, faster than she thought possible. And she watched as they walked out of the locker rooms with their club jackets on and bags slung over their shoulders. Oikawa smiled at her, and she couldn't help but send a small smile his way as well. Really, she just wanted to scream.

She stood from the bleachers and walked to her friends’ sides. Iwaizumi wished them a goodbye as he walked down the lengthy sidewalk into town. They were heading the other way, to the train station.

Until the train arrived at their stop, she listened as Oikawa went on about some nonsense he read in a book the night before, something about creatures of the night and a haunted house...She was so lost in thought, she barely listened.

And then they were walking down the road, which was about ten blocks from her house. He always walked her home first and then to his own a little ways away.

“Y/N, what does it feel like to meet your soulmate?” he asked lightly, hands shoved in his pockets and head hanging to stare at his steps. He asked that so suddenly, and she wondered why he would ask her, of all people. For all he knew, she's never met her soulmate. “I mean like, what have you heard about it? From your parents or friends or something…”

“I heard it's an instant connection. You only have to see them before you feel yourself pulled to them. And when you first talk to them, you want to know everything about them, so much that it hurts you. You fall in love with their voice, and their quirks, and their flaws,” she explained, her voice softening. “It only takes a few minutes or even seconds. You fall in love with everything.”

It was quiet for a minute. They kept walking, but she felt like she could just stand there with him for hours. He still didn't know, but it felt like she got a chunk of her confession off her chest. He sent her a side-eyed look, questioning her, “Sounds like you have personal experience.”

“Not really...It's only what my mom and dad told me,” she brushed off the thought swiftly.

He sighed, looking down at the sidewalk once again, eyes shut peacefully. She waited for him to say something...anything. Anything to ease this tension. “I’ve definitely felt that way before. In fact, I’ve felt it everyday for months now. Maybe I'm just exaggerating the symptoms, but I swear it's real, Y/N.”

“Who?”

“That's not important. We’re not soulmates so it doesn't matter.”

He loved someone else.

It was exactly that moment when her heart tore in half. Yet, the pain sent adrenaline through her veins. All those doubts were still there, in fact, she believed that she would be turned down one hundred percent...But, with her heart clenched and a head full of doubts wreaking havoc on her well-being, she felt like it was time. She would lose him now. At least the burden would be lifted from her shoulders.

“Tooru, I lied to you. I’ve met my soulmate.”

He turned to her, stopping in the middle of that empty night sidewalk. His fingers wrapped around her left wrist, the one void of the mark. He stared, so intensely that she thought it would pierce her. “You have?”

“Yeah.”

He only shook his head, hair bouncing around his face. Desperation. It was all over his face and in his eyes. He knew this day would come, but he always dreaded it. “Well, who is it? Do I know him?” The thought of her with someone else physically tortured him, heart beating out of his chest and his legs growing weak.

She shook off his hand gently, moving her fingers to the sleeve of her cardigan. This was the last real moment of their friendship, for better or worse. The last deep breath she took lasted too long and she still felt empty; she felt empty and scared and pitiful.

Her fingers rolled up her sleeve for the first time in his presence and she showed him the mark. “I’m sorry, Tooru. I know I shouldn't bother you, but I just had to tell you, just so you wouldn't look for her anymore,” Y/N whispered, unable to look up at him.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he questioned, gripping her wrist in his hand and staring at it. It was distinctively his, but it didn't make any sense. He couldn't understand. Nothing was making any sense. Did she hate him? Is that why she never told him? “You’ve known all this time and you never said anything? Do I mean nothing to you?”

Fuck, he wanted to be angry, furious, so mad he wouldn't hold back. He was too sad to feel anything else other than the blunt force of dejection.

“No. I care about you. I just couldn't hurt you like this. I never wanted to tell you-”

“Why? Why the hell do you think this hurts me? It hurts that you weren't going to tell me. If you loved me, you would have told me something!” he exclaimed, his passion running dry. He was just so fucking put out by the entire situation. “What is wrong with you?”

Tears fell from her eyes and her face turned red. She knew this was going to happen. She knew telling him would ruin everything. Her breaths came out ragged. It just made her want to run away. He was so angry and hurt and harsh to a point she’s never seen him before.

She whispered to him, so softly you could hear the quivers and hesitation, “I’m sorry. I was afraid. I just wanted to give you a chance at someone you actually want, not me-”

He interrupted her, his voice getting louder and louder as it got harder to breathe. “I want you! I want you so much it hurts. I thought you weren't my soulmate, and I would never have a chance with you,” he exclaimed. “Do you know how much that hurt?!”

The girl stumbled back a bit, her hand pressed to her chest. She could feel the rapid pulsing of her heart against her palm. “Tooru, I-I…” But he did not let her speak.

“I love you! The whole entire school knew I loved you! How could you not get that?” he asked, clutching his hands into fists by his sides as he stared at her. His eyes creamed pain and anger while hers were cold and full of fear. As she shook, his eyes took in her form, her teary eyes and her shaking body. She looked miserable, and regret came crashing down on him. He was still angry that she kept this secret from him all this time, but happiness was beginning to bloom in his chest.

The girl he was in love with was his soulmate.

“Tell me you love me, Y/N.” It was only a breath, a few words to fall from his lips.

She looked up to him finally, her red eyes staring into his. “I’ve loved you for such a long time, Tooru. I’ve always loved you, dammit.”

After a moment, she lost control. The girl rushed up to him, crushing the space between them and crashing into his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her face pressed into his chest. There was no hesitation when he hugged her back, pressing her shaking body to his chest and nuzzling her hair.

“It’s a good thing we’re soulmates then,” he whispered beside her ear.

She laughed, nodding into his chest. “Yeah. A really good thing.”

#oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #one shot #haikyuu one shot #writing #oikawa

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verdigrisprowl · 6 years

Text

Jan 28 Dancitron Movie Night - Gotham s2 e20-22

lmao this was two weeks ago idk what they did. i ain’t rereading the log. they finished the season. before the stream Prowl showed off his human avatar’s new t-shirt and after the stream he did some fancy bridging, and I only know that because I accidentally glimpsed it while preparing the log for posting. what happened during the stream itself is a mystery.

Today NoodlesAtNight 7:46 pm *Nothing new under the sun - he's just sitting on the couch, legs crossed at the knees, hands folded on his lap. Every now and then his foot bobs as if to say that, yes, he is in fact still alive.* Today SCProwl 7:53 pm *doesn't need to feel the subtle vibration from Soundwave's occasional foot movements to tell he's alive, but it's nice to know the energy signature that represents him on her visor is indeed alive* MedicalMurdersaurus 7:55 pm *scrambles indoors, covered in soot and excitement* HI NoodlesAtNight 7:55 pm *He'll ping his timeline's Prowl hello and get her set up with a feed and description. He is /prepared/ for tonight.*

[[Good evening, Swoop. He's going to start charging you a vacuuming bill.]] NoodlesAtNight 7:56 pm ((lol "the only cop u like" it's true)) MedicalMurdersaurus 7:56 pm Why? :V verdigrisprowl 7:56 pm *shows up as a fifteen-foot-tall human* Soundwave. NoodlesAtNight 7:56 pm *Casually points at the greyish-black smudges around Swoop's feet. That's why.* SCProwl 7:56 pm *ping of thanks before she finds her usual seat* MedicalMurdersaurus 7:57 pm *looks where Soundwave points, crouches down and immediately gets down to work doodling * NoodlesAtNight 7:57 pm *Soundwave finally shows something more than a minor movement when the human appears. He twists his whole upper body to stare for a moment, perplexed. Humans ddddooooon't come that tall. What is...?*

[[........Prowl?]] NoodlesAtNight 7:58 pm *Silently despairs over Swoop's nonsense.* MedicalMurdersaurus 7:58 pm *has plenty of nonsense for the whole floor* verdigrisprowl 7:58 pm Look. *he pulls out his t-shirt for Soundwave to observe. It's a black shirt with a white drawing and text of a baseball diamond, with each position labeled with the players' names from Who's On First.* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:00 pm *the dragon comes in with the cart full of treats, opens her freshly unbandaged mouth to speak, and nearly bites her tongue clean off at seeing a giant human. okay. welcome to cybertron, it's full of nonsense. she'll just... put the treats on the bar. like this isn't happening.* NoodlesAtNight 8:00 pm *Soundwave leeeeans and squints behind the half-visor. ... And his face splits into a horrible, toothy, open smile.*

[[/Delightful./]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:00 pm *writes out BIRD WAS HERE because nothing says "I love you" like a pitifully obvious attempt at vandalism* NoodlesAtNight 8:00 pm *Laserbeak will love it as soon as she stops stuffing her face and actually shows up* NoodlesAtNight 8:01 pm [[Do not worry, dragon. That is not a real human.]] SCProwl 8:01 pm *fails to notice anything wrong with the Captain's appearance. holomatter is energy is holomatter is energy is--* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:01 pm *will spend his BIrd-free time writing other equally inspired sayings around the place in ash, insulting Buzzsaw, Shockwave, and so on* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:02 pm *let no one say he doesn't SORT OF half listen* NoodlesAtNight 8:02 pm *Soundwave stretches a feeler over to smudge out the one about Shockwave.* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:02 pm :V Rude NoodlesAtNight 8:03 pm *...After a minute, adds "Soundwave: also here" to the graffiti. If you can't beat them, join them.* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:03 pm *snickers* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:03 pm Smokescreen shows up to these movie nights. I take nothing for granted. *chuffs a little* But I suppose a real human would suffocate to death. NoodlesAtNight 8:03 pm ((ten minutes til start, get whatcha need now)) NoodlesAtNight 8:04 pm [[Only downstairs.]] verdigrisprowl 8:04 pm *he showed up in a funny shirt and as a reward got the most beautiful smile. the shirt was a good idea.* *he switches back to his usual avatar and sits* NoodlesAtNight 8:04 pm *Glances back to Prowl.* [[A greyface gave him a shirt once. Perhaps he should program it onto his own human form.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:05 pm *starts wandering around leaving handprints on things* NoodlesAtNight 8:05 pm [[Swoop! Go wash your hands.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:05 pm *stares at Soundwave* *licks both his palms and then holds them out for inspection* NoodlesAtNight 8:06 pm *Is still for a long moment. Then shudders.* [[What /are/ they teaching them over there...]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:06 pm : > verdigrisprowl 8:06 pm What's the shirt? NoodlesAtNight 8:08 pm *Soundwave taps his chin, looks upstairs, and mentally adjusts one of the cameras in his storage quarters. He then lets the feed sit on screen for a moment.* verdigrisprowl 8:08 pm *looks at the xenomorph shirt* ... It'd suit you. NoodlesAtNight 8:09 pm [[Do you think so? He knows very little about human fashion.]] ((six minutes!)) SideswipeStriker 8:10 pm -just going to slide in, and sit. Blaster couldn't make it today- verdigrisprowl 8:11 pm From what I can tell, all humans are able to wear t-shirts. And they generally wear t-shirts with pictures of things they like on them. And that's a thing you like. NoodlesAtNight 8:11 pm *A nod to Sideswipe. He wonders, does everyone at that base share all the episode or movie data between themselves? They must. How else would they know what they were watching?* NoodlesAtNight 8:12 pm [[That is true.]] *Perks.* [[Did you get the base for the one you had from Earth?]] verdigrisprowl 8:12 pm It's actually kind of interesting. I can't think of any other species that have designed a specific garment that serves as a wearable art canvas. SideswipeStriker 8:12 pm -They do. Don't worry, the room chatter is filtered out before it's shared.- NoodlesAtNight 8:13 pm ((two minutes, lemme get some warnings up)) SideswipeStriker 8:13 pm -still, quick nod back to Soundwave- verdigrisprowl 8:14 pm The base for the t-shirt, you mean? No, it came default with the updated holomatter program I got on the Lost Light. The color is adjustable and it's even got a little layer where you can insert your own image to display on the shirt. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:14 pm *half listening to the t-shirt talk* Him Sideswipe do costume stuff. NoodlesAtNight 8:14 pm ((GOTHAM S2 20-22 // Violence, blood, death. Poor depictions of mental illness, ableist language, psychiatric and medical abuse. Flashing lights, rat, mild body horror, gross rotting head, needles, spider, weird eye, uhhhh... "meat dust", I don't know how else to describe what happens there without spoiling it.)) SideswipeStriker 8:15 pm I do what now? SCProwl 8:15 pm ((meat dust bwahaha SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:15 pm *if soundwave doesn't mind, the dragon will get loafed up on the couch by him and prepared for Movie* verdigrisprowl 8:15 pm ((so, bacon bits)) NoodlesAtNight 8:15 pm [[That is helpful - but he also meant the image. It is brilliant.]]

((oh my GOD)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:15 pm ((snort the meat dust like cocaine)) MedicalMurdersaurus 8:15 pm *blinks owlishly at this sideswipe* NoodlesAtNight 8:15 pm *Soundwave scootches closer to Prowl to make room for the dragon on his other side. He's pretty sure Prowl won't mind.* verdigrisprowl 8:15 pm Oh. I found it on the internet. SideswipeStriker 8:16 pm -waves back- verdigrisprowl 8:16 pm *An alien on the couch? ... Not enough to say anything about it.* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:16 pm *to be fair, it's not like she needs a lot of room. tiny dragons be tiny.* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:16 pm Not YOU. Him Sideswipe. At Ark. Him do costumes alllll the time. Him do Dinobots as Power Rangers for Halloween! NoodlesAtNight 8:17 pm *True, but Soundwave does tend to stretch out when he can.*

[[Their datanet is full of good visuals. He will have to look for some others...]] SCProwl 8:17 pm They could put those documents back together. SideswipeStriker 8:17 pm Oh. Heh. My alternate is really creative, ain't he? NoodlesAtNight 8:17 pm [[It would take time they do not have.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:18 pm yup verdigrisprowl 8:18 pm Gym shouldn't even be there. This is a police investigation. SideswipeStriker 8:18 pm Freelancing MedicalMurdersaurus 8:18 pm Me Swoop want alternate. Me Swoop never ever get to meet other Swoop. Us need more Swoops! Kehehheh! NoodlesAtNight 8:18 pm [[They can ban him despite his contract to investigate, eys?]] [[Primus. One Swoop is enough.]] verdigrisprowl 8:18 pm Clearly, they should confiscate the documents anyway. Maybe they don't have the time now but they could have it—and need the documents—later. SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:18 pm ((my favorite part of returning to college is hearing my roommate delightedly go "hi meeper!" as princess nugget /catapults/ herself at the roommate)) SCProwl 8:18 pm Exactly. NoodlesAtNight 8:18 pm ((hee hee!)) MedicalMurdersaurus 8:19 pm Ten Swoops NoodlesAtNight 8:19 pm ((also: again, i apologize for probable skips and stutters now and then, this is the best rabbitcast i could get tonight)) SideswipeStriker 8:19 pm You're ten by yourself, buddy MedicalMurdersaurus 8:19 pm Two hundred :V NoodlesAtNight 8:19 pm ((i so don't feel sorry for this priest tbh)) SideswipeStriker 8:20 pm ((yeah, that's kinda God's bag SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:20 pm ((my great aunt would've thrown him through a plate glass window)) ((my great aunt is, for context, a nun)) MedicalMurdersaurus 8:20 pm ((A+ suit)) SideswipeStriker 8:20 pm Swoop, buddy, let's /not/ NoodlesAtNight 8:20 pm [[You two have got a point. He generally assumes the GCPD is not competent enough to think about that.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:20 pm A miiiiiiiiillion Swoop :V NoodlesAtNight 8:20 pm ((and i can see why she would!)) verdigrisprowl 8:20 pm That's fair. SideswipeStriker 8:20 pm -snorts- SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:21 pm Penguin human. Clean up your den. That's a good way to become ill. SCProwl 8:21 pm They generally aren't unfortunately. SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:21 pm ((my great aunt is badass)) SideswipeStriker 8:21 pm ((pffff verdigrisprowl 8:21 pm ((why the hell did jim even quit, like,)) verdigrisprowl 8:22 pm (("oh i'm not being a cop anymore. ...... but i'm doing everything a cop does anyway, and hanging around the cops, and being constantly inconvenienced by the fact that i'm not actually a cop")) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:22 pm Is that even a real sword. It broke like stick candy, and it looks fake. NoodlesAtNight 8:22 pm [[It was a prop sword.]] verdigrisprowl 8:22 pm If it's shaped like a sword and it's made out of metal then it's a real sword. That doesn't make it a good one. SideswipeStriker 8:23 pm .... MedicalMurdersaurus 8:23 pm Guardian meansssss.....? Caretaker? SideswipeStriker 8:23 pm Yeah NoodlesAtNight 8:23 pm [[Yes. Guardian, someone who guards.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:23 pm Him Sunstreaker is Bob guardian NoodlesAtNight 8:24 pm [[Yes, he is.]] SCProwl 8:24 pm Human children need to be tended to, correct? MedicalMurdersaurus 8:24 pm Ratchet is Swoop guardian Wheeljack also guardian NoodlesAtNight 8:24 pm [[Very often. Few of them can stand on their own until close to their second decade.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:24 pm Buuuuuut them not GUARD us Dinobots keheh. Us not need guards. verdigrisprowl 8:25 pm Actually, they typically learn to stand within about a year. NoodlesAtNight 8:25 pm *Leans back.* [[What?]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:25 pm Blooooooooddddd *giggles* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:26 pm It /was/ fake! SCProwl 8:26 pm Hm. SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:26 pm Well. It was a fake of a real sword. It was, however, made of bad metal and utilized for the purposes of stabbing people. verdigrisprowl 8:26 pm *looks at* ... New humans can stand on their own within about a year? MedicalMurdersaurus 8:26 pm *suddenly serious* Soundwave. Where Her Bird? SideswipeStriker 8:27 pm It was a copy of a sword SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:27 pm Unless that's a fascinatingly resilient sword, it is going to be very rusted from being buried with a dead body. SCProwl 8:27 pm So he's going grave robbing. SideswipeStriker 8:27 pm Good enough to stab a few, yeah? But, not good enough for a sword fight SCProwl 8:27 pm Only if it's made from a metal that rusts and whatever mythic properties it has might also prevent it from deteriorating. NoodlesAtNight 8:28 pm *Stares in confusion for a few moments before getting what Prowl is saying.* [[Oh. No, not - that is, he meant they are typically incapable of surviving by themselves until that age.]] *Shakes his head.* [[He supposes you are right in the literal sense. Still - even a year is a /long/ time for any newbuild not to know how to stand up.]] [[There are creatures on Earth that learn to stand and walk and run in minutes.]] verdigrisprowl 8:28 pm Oh! Yes. SideswipeStriker 8:28 pm ...... Sounds like a challenge NoodlesAtNight 8:28 pm *Bird is coming! She's dragging a small rag bundle filled with snacks.* {{Hiiii.}} SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:29 pm Do humans make swords of any material? *the dragon shrugs her wings* I guess it makes sense- what dragons use swords for and what other species use swords for can be different. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:29 pm *chirps with excitement* Hi, Bird! NoodlesAtNight 8:29 pm *She spots the graffiti on her way to Swoop and pauses to circle it.* {{Neheh. That lie. Bird not there early time.}} *She says while writing "It true" just beneath it.* verdigrisprowl 8:30 pm To be fair, most species' development rates seem slow to me. Even other Cybertronians. SCProwl 8:30 pm I don't know what humans make swords from but Cybertronian weapons are made from many different alloys. NoodlesAtNight 8:30 pm ((incoming skellie)) MedicalMurdersaurus 8:30 pm *is absolutely delighted by her reaction, all grins from audio to audio* SideswipeStriker 8:30 pm -snorts again. Crowbars work too- NoodlesAtNight 8:30 pm [[That is true. He still does not know how they fit everything they must know in two weeks...]] verdigrisprowl 8:30 pm There are swords on top of the coffin. They could at least TRY to grab those swords before opening up the crypt. SideswipeStriker 8:31 pm Aw, c'mon, the guy is dead, hush ...whoops NoodlesAtNight 8:31 pm [[She has seen the sword before; she would know if the ones atop the crypt were what they wanted.]] verdigrisprowl 8:31 pm Fair. verdigrisprowl 8:32 pm She's going to die. NoodlesAtNight 8:32 pm ((flashing lights, i think)) SCProwl 8:32 pm Stealing from the dead. *shudders* verdigrisprowl 8:32 pm Oh, never mind, she's going to change sides. SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:32 pm The dead can't use it. NoodlesAtNight 8:32 pm *Bird paps Swoop's cheek.* {{You good friend. Now Bird got alibi.}} SideswipeStriker 8:32 pm What's wrong with that? The dead thing. SCProwl 8:32 pm At least it wasn't part of the body. verdigrisprowl 8:32 pm Nope, she's trying to bring his memories back, I'm back to "she's going to die." SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:32 pm From a cruel, pragmatic perspective? The dead don't need to survive. Of course, no one really needs this sword, so I suppose the point is moot. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:33 pm *would blush if that was a thing Dinobots could do* Me Swoop helping : > SideswipeStriker 8:33 pm Oh. She's gonna die verdigrisprowl 8:33 pm Yep. NoodlesAtNight 8:34 pm [[Pity. He likes her.]] SCProwl 8:34 pm She reminded him of his real objective. SideswipeStriker 8:34 pm Not surprised you were right, Prowl SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:34 pm Did he gut-wound her? She might not die immediately from that. NoodlesAtNight 8:34 pm [[It is unwise to bring back the memories of a person who threatened to kill you shortly before they died.]] SideswipeStriker 8:34 pm Just alot NoodlesAtNight 8:35 pm [[Humans succumb to gut wounds very quickly, from what he has seen.]] verdigrisprowl 8:35 pm Their guts are minced very easily. NoodlesAtNight 8:35 pm [[Their own insides poison them.]] opatoes 8:35 pm /Smokescreen's coming in late, but is waving at Soundwave and Swoop and Round Prowl!/ Hey everyone! What'd I miss? SCProwl 8:35 pm I'm aware of the pragmatics of taking from the dead. It was a valid survival tactic during the war. SideswipeStriker 8:35 pm Death doom and destruction MedicalMurdersaurus 8:35 pm *waves* SideswipeStriker 8:35 pm And graverobbing SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:35 pm Yes. But, in dragons, it can still be sometimes survived with immediate medical intervention. If you intend to kill someone with a gut wound, you ought to be watching them die to ensure their death. NoodlesAtNight 8:36 pm [[You are missing the Galavan-Azrael human gathering his true sword and going after Bruce Wayne.]] verdigrisprowl 8:36 pm ((seriously why doesn't jim just rejoin the cops)) NoodlesAtNight 8:36 pm ((because he's still a dumbass who thinks Lone Wolfing it is the way to go at this stage)) SideswipeStriker 8:36 pm ((because plot bs? verdigrisprowl 8:36 pm ((there's. there's no sensible reason for him not to.)) MedicalMurdersaurus 8:36 pm ((man pain)) verdigrisprowl 8:36 pm ((literally the ONLY thing he's been doing is "cop things" and "pouting about being unable to do cop things")) opatoes 8:36 pm His true sword? I missed SWORDS? Man, I always miss the good stuff SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:36 pm ((okay, I'm face blind as hell, but is this the same selena as before?)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:37 pm ((she doesn't! look! right!)) NoodlesAtNight 8:37 pm ((and also because he wants to solve bruce wayne case and wouldn't be allowed or something since barnes has told him to let it go before)) verdigrisprowl 8:37 pm ((she straightened her hair, i think that made her look different)) NoodlesAtNight 8:37 pm ((it's her, she's just got straightened hair)) opatoes 8:37 pm ((wait yeah her hair looks- oh SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:37 pm ((augh. why must my brain be constantly confused)) verdigrisprowl 8:37 pm ((i seriously wondered too. i had to look away from the sceen and see if her voice sounded the same)) ((i don't like straight hair selina)) MedicalMurdersaurus 8:37 pm ((the straight hair is weird and inexplicable. Why would she waste time straightening it? SHe just shoved it in a beanie right after.)) opatoes 8:37 pm ((that's a mood asdczxnb SideswipeStriker 8:37 pm Ah, vents, always fun opatoes 8:38 pm ((I once thought a coworker was a different person because he cut his hair... NoodlesAtNight 8:38 pm ((wig?)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:38 pm Do humans typically keep food in their air vents? opatoes 8:38 pm I do! But I'm also not human SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:38 pm ... *stares at smokescreen* verdigrisprowl 8:38 pm ((her hair spontaneously straightened out of grief when bruce moved back home)) SideswipeStriker 8:38 pm ... opatoes 8:38 pm ... What? Sometimes, you need a good spot for snacks. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:38 pm *mock whispers* You Bird food in air vents? Kehehh NoodlesAtNight 8:39 pm *Bird whirls round on Swoop.* {{What you know? Who told?}} MedicalMurdersaurus 8:39 pm *briefly startled before laughing* NoodlesAtNight 8:39 pm ((upcoming scene is one of the ones that convinced me to watch Gotham at all)) ((this one here)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:39 pm *laughs* Hello, riddling human. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:39 pm *assumes they are playing because why wouldn't this be play fighting* Me Swoop never tell! SideswipeStriker 8:39 pm -gigglesnort- verdigrisprowl 8:39 pm They could just crawl around each other. SCProwl 8:40 pm ((same. i saw a gif set of that exchange and was like yup gotta watch this *tilts helm slightly toward Swoop and Laserbeak's conversation* NoodlesAtNight 8:40 pm {{What you Swoop want for telling?}} *HUFFS* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:40 pm I think she'd bite him if he tried to pass her. And she probably knows how to bite. NoodlesAtNight 8:40 pm [][][]Can you pick--[][][] opatoes 8:40 pm I wanna learn how to pick locks... opatoes 8:41 pm Like, I don't need to learn, but I wanna learn. NoodlesAtNight 8:41 pm *Shaking like a piece of tinfoil in a tornado* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:41 pm Ah, see? She's still alive. Just being poisoned by her guts. SideswipeStriker 8:41 pm Depends on the lock, Smokes MedicalMurdersaurus 8:41 pm Ahhhhhhhuuummmmmmm! *doesn't have a good answer, normally this is the part where someone tries to punch his lights out and the wrestling starts* You Bird.... ummm..... NoodlesAtNight 8:41 pm ((butch ;; <3 )) MedicalMurdersaurus 8:41 pm ((Buuuuutch)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:41 pm ((I'm having... feelings...)) SideswipeStriker 8:41 pm ((noooooo SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:42 pm ((Butch, just tell her that Galvan stabbed her)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:43 pm ((him)) ((I cannot fucking /brain/ today)) NoodlesAtNight 8:43 pm ((png telling it like it is)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:43 pm ((ah, png knows, nvm)) NoodlesAtNight 8:43 pm {{Me Bird what? What?}} verdigrisprowl 8:44 pm He didn't even signal before making that turn. SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:44 pm So. Who thinks that the Azrael human is just following the Jim human to find Bruce? NoodlesAtNight 8:44 pm [[It was a nice turn, though.]] SideswipeStriker 8:44 pm -raises hand- NoodlesAtNight 8:44 pm {{Bird think it!}} verdigrisprowl 8:44 pm It would've been nice if he'd done it without squealing. NoodlesAtNight 8:45 pm {{Oh. Maybe him Azrael already know.}} verdigrisprowl 8:45 pm And doubtful. Gym has a car. Galavant doesn't. SideswipeStriker 8:45 pm Yeah, that sounded paaaoh shit SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:45 pm Mhm. I was wrong. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:45 pm *looks up at Bird sheepishly, twisting back and forth* Youuu Bird... ahh... *wants to say a thing but DOESN'T WANT TO SAY A THING* UMMMM! NoodlesAtNight 8:46 pm {{...Ravage got Swoop tongue?}} [[Fool. At least put your escape route back correctly.]] SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:46 pm Well, there's more than one way to bait a hook, I suppose. Perhaps I oughtn't make predictions. verdigrisprowl 8:46 pm Amateur. SideswipeStriker 8:46 pm Not very smart MedicalMurdersaurus 8:46 pm yah :X NoodlesAtNight 8:47 pm {{Bird go shoot him. Coming back in minute.}} *She zooms up the stairs* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:47 pm *covers his face with his hands and giggles* NoodlesAtNight 8:47 pm ((get him alfred!!)) MedicalMurdersaurus 8:48 pm *remains in his giggly, unseeing state the whole while she's gone* SideswipeStriker 8:48 pm That's not good Arcee-Autobot 8:48 pm [[ Hey everyone! I'm actually awake late enough to Join this since I haven't in a while lol]] SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:48 pm Suspicious elevator. NoodlesAtNight 8:49 pm ((heeeey! haven't seen you in forever, welcome back!)) Arcee-Autobot 8:49 pm [[ Thank you! I can actually see things again!]] opatoes 8:49 pm ((: O !! Hey!! Arcee-Autobot 8:49 pm [[ Long story short I used a Hair dye and I had an allergic reaction that caused a lot of swelling around my face , But i'm okay!]] NoodlesAtNight 8:50 pm ((oh damn - i'm glad you're all right!!)) verdigrisprowl 8:50 pm ((oh yikes)) NoodlesAtNight 8:50 pm ((it early Croc)) SideswipeStriker 8:50 pm .......so SideswipeStriker 8:51 pm Um... NoodlesAtNight 8:51 pm [[Yes?]] SideswipeStriker 8:51 pm Humans aren't supposed to look like that MedicalMurdersaurus 8:51 pm *looks around to see if there is a nearby pillow or blanket* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:51 pm I mean, it could have been a much worse look for a human. NoodlesAtNight 8:51 pm [[Generally not, no. One of Strange's experiments, he expects.]] SideswipeStriker 8:51 pm Yeah, but what the frag? And yikes SideswipeStriker 8:52 pm Strange is kinda like....Shockwave verdigrisprowl 8:52 pm The shoes are a decoy. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:52 pm *yanks a nearby blanket away from its home and throws it over himself for maximum giggly hiding* NoodlesAtNight 8:52 pm [[He gave the human girl a reptilian arm, after all. Simple work to give this human... they looked like scales. He will go with scales.]] verdigrisprowl 8:52 pm Yep. NoodlesAtNight 8:52 pm *Pings Prowl. Good work, there.* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:52 pm I would assume scales. NoodlesAtNight 8:52 pm [[And yes, he is.]] verdigrisprowl 8:52 pm Back up. SideswipeStriker 8:52 pm Ah... verdigrisprowl 8:52 pm Double tap. SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:52 pm If you have to look for a corpse, your foe is not dead enough yet. Kill it again. verdigrisprowl 8:53 pm At any rate, don't get out of the car. Keep driving. SideswipeStriker 8:53 pm Ah. NoodlesAtNight 8:53 pm *Laserbeak comes down with Ravage, who has a mouthful of something. He wanders over to Swoop and promptly deposits it at Swoop's feet. Behold: a severed tongue.* {{Bird got it back.}} verdigrisprowl 8:53 pm Seriously? He blows off HOW many bullet shots, and now he's conveniently not wearing bulletproof armor? When and why did he take off his bulletproof armor? MedicalMurdersaurus 8:53 pm *peaks out from under the blanket, sees the tongue, and immediately starts SHRIEKING with laughter* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:53 pm No, he's not dead. SideswipeStriker 8:53 pm Ooooor not NoodlesAtNight 8:53 pm [[Oh, really, Ravage. He thought he told you to get rid of that thing.]] opatoes 8:54 pm throw the gun at him! SideswipeStriker 8:54 pm Oh slag SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:54 pm Throw the gun. NoodlesAtNight 8:54 pm ((AW YEAH)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:54 pm ((PENGUINO)) Arcee-Autobot 8:54 pm Arcee took a seat on the Floor and Hugged her Knees watching what was on [[ Its a Pengu boiii]] verdigrisprowl 8:54 pm HA! NoodlesAtNight 8:54 pm *Bird CACKLES* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:54 pm ...Oh no. SideswipeStriker 8:54 pm HAH opatoes 8:54 pm PHFFHF MedicalMurdersaurus 8:54 pm *looks over at the sound and OADSIHFIAUDSHFJDSFHGKHDFKJND* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:54 pm Finally, enough kill. Arcee-Autobot 8:54 pm That's going to leave a mark SideswipeStriker 8:54 pm Oh, oh that's a fun feeling SCProwl 8:55 pm *laughs* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:55 pm *could not laugh LOUDER than he is right now* *on the floor* *dying* verdigrisprowl 8:55 pm *covers mouth and collapses against Soundwave, shaking* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:55 pm *SO GOOD* SCProwl 8:55 pm W-well that's one way to make sure he won't come back a second time. NoodlesAtNight 8:55 pm *Soundwave valiantly tries to stay upright so Prowl has a support to laugh into. He's a bit wobbly himself, though.* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:55 pm ((I can't fucking breathe, that was /hilarious/)) SideswipeStriker 8:55 pm ((THAT WAS AWESOME SCProwl 8:56 pm ((that was the best scene this entire season NoodlesAtNight 8:56 pm ((i have been waiting m o n t h s in the hopes we would get to that so i could see y'all react)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:56 pm *the dragon hums contemplatively* They could have burned the rest of the effluvia as well. Leave no scrap behind. verdigrisprowl 8:56 pm ((it killed me)) SideswipeStriker 8:56 pm -face in knees, laughing still at the rocket launcher- MedicalMurdersaurus 8:56 pm *actually flailing he's laughing so hard* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:56 pm ((I spat water on the computer and also the cat)) NoodlesAtNight 8:56 pm {{Him Swoop dead. You Ravage take outside, bury.}} ((oh dear, poor cat)) MedicalMurdersaurus 8:57 pm *lets out a squeak at the "threat" and is just so delighted by the entire world right now* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:57 pm ...Oh no. opatoes 8:57 pm ((i might head out because i'm too busy to stay but that was a good scene and D : NoodlesAtNight 8:57 pm ((i'm glad you got to see that at least!!)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:57 pm ((the cat will forgive me later)) opatoes 8:57 pm Soundwave- Something came up in my universe, and I've gotta go, but- I'll catch up with you later? SideswipeStriker 8:57 pm ((awww ((g'night then! NoodlesAtNight 8:58 pm [[Oh? Be safe, then.]] SpecsTheSpectralDragon 8:58 pm Strange is starting a cult. Arcee-Autobot 8:59 pm *Arcee was pretty content hugging her knees wathcing* If she doesn't remind me of airachnid? SideswipeStriker 8:59 pm Yikes NoodlesAtNight 8:59 pm ((also, while i have most of you here: starting s3 in about two months from now, y/n? i do warn that it has a creepy opening storyline because the mad hatter's in it, and that you're going to fucking hate the riddler if you don't already, but aside from that it's good stuff)) SideswipeStriker 8:59 pm Goddess of Fire huh? verdigrisprowl 8:59 pm I wonder what would have happened if she'd held still and refused to run. If she didn't serve as a "test," would Firefly refused to fight her? MedicalMurdersaurus 8:59 pm ((I'm in it for the long haul, man.)) SideswipeStriker 9:00 pm ((yeeeees MedicalMurdersaurus 9:00 pm *flops out, limbs sliding out all over ot make himself into quite the lanky mess* ((I love harvey)) NoodlesAtNight 9:01 pm [[He expects Bridgit would still burn her.]] verdigrisprowl 9:01 pm Mmm, yes, the fact that they're talking about sacrifices leads me to believe she might have just killed her anyway. But until then, it could've gone either way. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:01 pm Bird! You funny. Me Swoop love You : > NoodlesAtNight 9:01 pm ((any other votes for y/n?)) verdigrisprowl 9:01 pm ((fine by me)) SCProwl 9:01 pm ((y SideswipeStriker 9:02 pm .....oh damn, there are more like Strange? NoodlesAtNight 9:02 pm ((in two months it is then)) [[...Fascinating. His eyes have no color.]] SCProwl 9:02 pm ((i want to get us to s4 because. reasons NoodlesAtNight 9:03 pm {{You Swoop silly.}} *She pats him. Ravage goes over to curl around Soundwave's ankles.* Arcee-Autobot 9:03 pm *Arcee felt herself Physically cringe as she covered her face* gross.. verdigrisprowl 9:03 pm ((his superpower is that he's a comic book character)) SideswipeStriker 9:03 pm .............. NoodlesAtNight 9:03 pm *Perks.* [[Octopod DNA? Then that is the ability to-- oh, fascinating. Fascinating.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 9:04 pm *leans into the pats a bit* NoodlesAtNight 9:04 pm @P: [[Strange has obviously never met Tarantulas.]] SCProwl 9:04 pm ((FIIIIISH verdigrisprowl 9:05 pm @S «Mm.» *he's too bothered by the whole "design their personas" bit to offer more of a reply than that.* SideswipeStriker 9:05 pm I....think it's a good thing I came tonight NoodlesAtNight 9:05 pm *That's less amused than he would have expected in an ideal situation. He suspects they've reached big discomfort levels again. He'll make a hand available* NoodlesAtNight 9:06 pm [[Oh? Why is that?]] SideswipeStriker 9:06 pm Uh....reasons verdigrisprowl 9:07 pm *... it was only a momentary flash of discomfort. ongoing comfort isn't needed. how does he indicate that?* NoodlesAtNight 9:07 pm *Oh, and cuttlefish now? He's obviously getting into the good Earth animals. Too bad this is how he chooses to do it.* verdigrisprowl 9:07 pm *............ low-fives Soundwave's hand.* NoodlesAtNight 9:07 pm {{Him got point.}} ((big flashy)) MedicalMurdersaurus 9:07 pm *was too busy mooning over Bird to pay attention* Huh? NoodlesAtNight 9:07 pm ((when it returns to her)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:09 pm ((poor ed)) NoodlesAtNight 9:09 pm *Soundwave tilts his head, trying to process what the hand slap means. It's not a proper slap - not angry - so that would make it... acknowledgment of hand presence? Which didn't linger. So Prowl knows it's there and didn't take it, yes? Then he's either all right or doesn't want that particular form. Soundwave will give a tiny nod and then let his hand settle back in his lap.* NoodlesAtNight 9:10 pm {{Them bit about - "her already dead," about electric damage. It good point.}} *She's pretty sure Swoop wasn't listening but she tries anyway.* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:10 pm Oh. *has no clue what Bird is referencing* Okay. : > NoodlesAtNight 9:10 pm *Yep, that is one blank Swoop.* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:11 pm You Bird tiniest visor eeeeeeever : > NoodlesAtNight 9:11 pm ((i LOVE this damn suit god)) verdigrisprowl 9:11 pm *look at that, Prowl aced that communication.* SCProwl 9:11 pm ((yass queen SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:12 pm *cackles* SideswipeStriker 9:12 pm Well SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:12 pm ((precision "bitch")) SideswipeStriker 9:12 pm Looks like, she came back with her memory Arcee-Autobot 9:12 pm *Arcee gave a little Happy Clap* verdigrisprowl 9:12 pm They mentioned that cuttlefish DNA enhances brains or something, didn't they? NoodlesAtNight 9:13 pm [[That they can repair brain cells.]] *Nods. And smiles. Such good creatures. How happy he is that she can't be fed one of Strange's stories.* SideswipeStriker 9:13 pm Ooooo that could have done it verdigrisprowl 9:13 pm Yes, that. ... Cuttle Fish Mooney. NoodlesAtNight 9:13 pm [[Heh.]] SCProwl 9:13 pm *huffs* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:13 pm Cuddle? :V *glances at Bird* NoodlesAtNight 9:14 pm {{Oh, look there! It Arcee. Hi, Arcee.}} *Floats over to escape any possibility of huggy Swoop.* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:14 pm *wilts just the tiniest bit* NoodlesAtNight 9:14 pm *Attempts to perch on Arcee's head with both feelers.* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:14 pm : < Arcee-Autobot 9:15 pm * Will only allow this because She is in a good mood* NoodlesAtNight 9:15 pm *...Bird wasn't expecting to be allowed to do this. She now has no idea what to do with this power.* *Sit there and preen, she supposes.* verdigrisprowl 9:15 pm ... They just, have him—hidden in the trunk, like— ...... Okay, I guess. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:16 pm *rolls on the ground to turn himself into a burrito* NoodlesAtNight 9:16 pm [[Oh, he kept his uniform?]] verdigrisprowl 9:17 pm ((i appreciate mr. fox subtly calling out how messed up the prison uniforms are)) SideswipeStriker 9:17 pm -snorts- NoodlesAtNight 9:17 pm ((same)) NoodlesAtNight 9:18 pm [[Do not drink it unless he does.]] SideswipeStriker 9:18 pm If he's smart he won't NoodlesAtNight 9:18 pm [[Rather a harsh punishment for bad joke telling.]] verdigrisprowl 9:19 pm *... suddenly huffs a laugh* NoodlesAtNight 9:19 pm *Glance and tilt.* NoodlesAtNight 9:20 pm *Oh, it IS Shockwave. Hmm.* verdigrisprowl 9:20 pm Ah—reminded me of—something Tarantulas did. NoodlesAtNight 9:20 pm [[Ah.]] SCProwl 9:21 pm Ugh. SideswipeStriker 9:22 pm ......... verdigrisprowl 9:22 pm That's some spectacular victim blaming. SideswipeStriker 9:22 pm Kid, up your acting skills NoodlesAtNight 9:22 pm [[Isn't it, though.]] [[Good youngling.]] SideswipeStriker 9:23 pm Good kid, bad idea verdigrisprowl 9:23 pm Good, but stupid. Agree with the killer while you're in the room, go home, work against him. NoodlesAtNight 9:24 pm [[He does have much to learn.]] SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:24 pm She did something. verdigrisprowl 9:25 pm ... ugh. *more mind control* verdigrisprowl 9:26 pm They have no appreciate for the scientific process. The fact that he hasn't succeeded /yet/ doesn't mean he's failed. That's nonsense. SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:27 pm ((he did)) MedicalMurdersaurus 9:27 pm ((of all the things to demand, I'm very entertained that's what she picked)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:28 pm ((to be fair, grilled cheese sandwiches are Tastey)) verdigrisprowl 9:28 pm ((on the one hand, the fact that she can control people to do her bidding is cool)) ((on the other hand, she's fish mooney. she already could do that.)) MedicalMurdersaurus 9:28 pm ((and goddamn is her hair perfect despite just being a corpse like half an hour ago)) SideswipeStriker 9:29 pm -back to silently watching the film- NoodlesAtNight 9:29 pm *...Quietly hopes she will get her claws on Hugo Strange. If she has it, at least she could do some good for everyone with it.* {{What DNA them give her, dragon?}} [[No, no. It is the suit she had before.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 9:29 pm *is a wiggly burrito who is having a hard time not bursting into sympathy flames* : > SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:30 pm Her face didn't burn, either. NoodlesAtNight 9:30 pm [[They did say she'd become fireproof last time we saw her.]] SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:30 pm Although, I must say, /I'm/ not fireproof. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:30 pm Me SWOOP am fireproof!!! NoodlesAtNight 9:30 pm {{...Maybe you dragon get him Swoop power.}} SideswipeStriker 9:31 pm Oh nice verdigrisprowl 9:31 pm Oh look, probable cause. ... They're going to be blown up, aren't they. SideswipeStriker 9:31 pm Probably SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:31 pm I think I'd have to eat him to get his power, and I don't want to do that. verdigrisprowl 9:31 pm This police department has the highest mortality rate. NoodlesAtNight 9:31 pm [[It /is/ Gotham. He doesn't know many human cities with these kinds of superhumans in it.]] NoodlesAtNight 9:32 pm *Amused by Prowl's complete lack of faith in them, though.* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:32 pm ((I love this Bruce but he is going to be so obviously, blatantly Batman once that time comes.)) NoodlesAtNight 9:33 pm [[...How does Strange know? A mole? Not that he would be surpr-- what in the Pits is that.]] verdigrisprowl 9:33 pm ((jim goes "who are you?" and bruce growls "i'm batman" and jim goes ah god fuck bruce kid that's not even convincing)) NoodlesAtNight 9:33 pm [[Are they baking him...?]] SideswipeStriker 9:33 pm Um NoodlesAtNight 9:33 pm ((lmao)) verdigrisprowl 9:34 pm ((turtleneck)) NoodlesAtNight 9:34 pm [[His neck looks nothing like a turtle's.]] verdigrisprowl 9:34 pm ... I don't actually know what a turtle's neck looks like. SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:35 pm ((OH IT'S CLAYFACE)) NoodlesAtNight 9:35 pm [[Very wrinkly, shades of green, black, grey, and brown.]] ((YES IT IS 😀 )) MedicalMurdersaurus 9:35 pm ((This Riddler is so strong at some points and so wat at others.)) NoodlesAtNight 9:35 pm ((octopuses can mimic, after all)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:35 pm ((that took me a lil too long)) SideswipeStriker 9:35 pm Um.... SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:35 pm ((durr)) That is decidedly not how evolution works. SideswipeStriker 9:36 pm Okay, I'm a bit worried They're all nuts NoodlesAtNight 9:36 pm [[Well, yes.]] SideswipeStriker 9:37 pm ......right, asylum NoodlesAtNight 9:37 pm [[A human Makeshift, then.]] NoodlesAtNight 9:38 pm *As he suspected.* SideswipeStriker 9:38 pm No idea who Makeshift is, but damn SCProwl 9:38 pm Shapeshifter. SideswipeStriker 9:38 pm Good disguise SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:38 pm ((BRB, gotta restart computer. it is drunk)) SideswipeStriker 9:38 pm Oh! Nice. NoodlesAtNight 9:38 pm ((go go go good episode)) SideswipeStriker 9:39 pm Well shit NoodlesAtNight 9:39 pm *She stretches a feeler out to the rag filled with food and brings it close to herself for maximum munch.* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:39 pm ((My internet is so jumpy tonight I can barely watch. It's getting too crunchy. Everyone enjoy just having a swoop burrito asleep in the middle of Dancitron. Feel free to trip on him lol)) NoodlesAtNight 9:39 pm ((aaaaah okay ;; i'm so sorry)) MedicalMurdersaurus 9:39 pm ((later!)) NoodlesAtNight 9:40 pm *Oh, yes. Ravage told him about this. Hand available again.* verdigrisprowl 9:41 pm *shudders* *this time, he'll take it.* Arcee-Autobot 9:41 pm *Arcee Physically covered her face and winced* verdigrisprowl 9:41 pm *a needle in your neck that forces you to give up your secrets* NoodlesAtNight 9:41 pm *Squeezes it gently. Prowl can crush his hand as much as he needs for this.* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:41 pm ((am back)) NoodlesAtNight 9:41 pm *Laserbeak pats Arcee.* ((wb)) SideswipeStriker 9:41 pm ......................... SideswipeStriker 9:42 pm -mutters- VERY good thing I came today SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:42 pm ((this is not a good jim)) NoodlesAtNight 9:42 pm ((one of my favorite things in any tv show/movie is an actor having to pretend to do a bad job of their own acting)) ((this episode is, therefore, utterly delightful)) verdigrisprowl 9:42 pm He's a very bad Gym. ((it's a delight)) NoodlesAtNight 9:42 pm [[For one thing, he smiles far too much.]] verdigrisprowl 9:43 pm And Gym would never say "he's connected to people we can't cross." He'd drive directly to those people's houses, and cross them. NoodlesAtNight 9:43 pm *Soft snort.* SideswipeStriker 9:43 pm From the sounds of the guy, he'd more run them OVER NoodlesAtNight 9:44 pm [[That is technically still crossing them. Just... more directly.]] verdigrisprowl 9:44 pm No, running them over wouldn't let him punch them in the face. SideswipeStriker 9:45 pm Fair enough, but damn he'd not say that NoodlesAtNight 9:45 pm [[She is a living being.]] SideswipeStriker 9:46 pm She's kinda...uh....wow SCProwl 9:46 pm Scientists like her and Strange don't care. *the Shockwave is implied* NoodlesAtNight 9:46 pm *Approves of Penguin's trophy-keeping habit.* SideswipeStriker 9:46 pm That's decaying verdigrisprowl 9:46 pm ((i think this is the only moment i've ever liked barbara)) SideswipeStriker 9:46 pm Be better if it wasn't NoodlesAtNight 9:46 pm [[He's a criminal overlord, not a taxidermist.]] SideswipeStriker 9:47 pm ......true NoodlesAtNight 9:47 pm [[Yes. Yes, it was, Jim.]] *Bristles at this "imagine I am god" business* verdigrisprowl 9:48 pm *squeezes* NoodlesAtNight 9:48 pm *Squeezes back.* SideswipeStriker 9:48 pm So. I don't like him NoodlesAtNight 9:48 pm [[He does not blame you.]] NoodlesAtNight 9:49 pm [[...This is an intriguing question.]] verdigrisprowl 9:49 pm Well, NOW he's heard of a secret council. SideswipeStriker 9:50 pm ...... SCProwl 9:50 pm I doubt Strange intends to let him live. NoodlesAtNight 9:50 pm [[It sounds as though you are correct.]] verdigrisprowl 9:50 pm Ah, fair. SideswipeStriker 9:51 pm -huffs- NoodlesAtNight 9:51 pm [[Oh, that is cruel.]] *He wanted to know.* verdigrisprowl 9:51 pm I think Strange gave us the answer. NoodlesAtNight 9:51 pm [[Well, yes. But he wants to know who this masked council IS.]] NoodlesAtNight 9:52 pm [[If they control Gotham, they do a terrible job of it.]] verdigrisprowl 9:52 pm I doubt he'd have told Add. SideswipeStriker 9:52 pm Um..... NoodlesAtNight 9:52 pm [[Probably not, no.]] *That is some Disappointment tone.* [[He must have hit the wrong button.]] SideswipeStriker 9:53 pm Pffff NoodlesAtNight 9:53 pm [[So do it. He wants to know.]] verdigrisprowl 9:54 pm ((i could make that mask)) NoodlesAtNight 9:54 pm ((they're gorgeous masks)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:55 pm ((lmao very very bad jim)) SideswipeStriker 9:55 pm Heh NoodlesAtNight 9:55 pm ((COMPLICATED POLICE BUSINESS)) SideswipeStriker 9:56 pm Disguise ain't good if you don't have the facts to back it up verdigrisprowl 9:56 pm I suppose the disguise only needs to work for a few hours. SCProwl 9:56 pm *huffs* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:57 pm *snickers* NoodlesAtNight 9:57 pm [[He didn't deny it.]] =She is good cat, for a human.= SideswipeStriker 9:57 pm True verdigrisprowl 9:58 pm *moving people like cargo.* SideswipeStriker 9:58 pm And.....holy shit. verdigrisprowl 9:59 pm *why is there always MORE of this stuff?* *why does the quantity never decrease? one person stops being mind-controlled and a new person learns to mind control. it never ends. prowl can't stand it.* SpecsTheSpectralDragon 9:59 pm She's going to eat him alive. SideswipeStriker 9:59 pm -because this series hates Prowl and anyone that went through what he has- verdigrisprowl 10:00 pm ((she didn't even mind control the other orderlies. they're just like "yeah okay we're following patient 13 now i guess")) NoodlesAtNight 10:01 pm ((they get paid either way, what do they care lol)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:01 pm ((to be fair, if Strange was my boss...)) SideswipeStriker 10:01 pm ((true enough NoodlesAtNight 10:02 pm *At least they have a vague idea something's wrong here.* *Too bad they think it's because he's ill.* SideswipeStriker 10:02 pm -heavy sigh- verdigrisprowl 10:03 pm Is she going to be the one who figures it out. Ah. NoodlesAtNight 10:03 pm [[...Oh, that is disgusting.]] [[At least /someone/ worked it out.]] SideswipeStriker 10:04 pm Hoooo boy NoodlesAtNight 10:05 pm ((i love that shot)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:05 pm ((fight! fight! fight! fight!)) SideswipeStriker 10:05 pm ((it's awesome SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:05 pm Oh, dear. He's dead. SideswipeStriker 10:05 pm HOLY SLAG verdigrisprowl 10:05 pm ((damn, i was looking in another window)) SideswipeStriker 10:05 pm Buddy, he ain't wakin' up NoodlesAtNight 10:05 pm ((i'll screencap it in a bit)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:06 pm Huh. He's /not/ dead. NoodlesAtNight 10:06 pm [[No doubt he is not well, at least.]] SideswipeStriker 10:07 pm WHAT SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:07 pm FAIRLY LOW IS NOT A GOOD ANSWER NoodlesAtNight 10:07 pm [[...He must be very scared of this council if that is his answer.]] SideswipeStriker 10:07 pm Hooooooly shit SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:08 pm ((lmao "fair enough")) verdigrisprowl 10:08 pm Don't say "just do it," "there's going to be a radioactive explosion if you don't" is a perfectly good explanation. SideswipeStriker 10:08 pm Good answer verdigrisprowl 10:08 pm What do you have against giving a normal, reasonable explanation. NoodlesAtNight 10:08 pm [[A temper?]] SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:08 pm Huh, the riddling human is as clever as before. NoodlesAtNight 10:09 pm [[Why would he not be?]] verdigrisprowl 10:09 pm ... Would pushing the red button again pause it. SideswipeStriker 10:09 pm Or it could set it off. NoodlesAtNight 10:10 pm [[Likely not. Large red buttons tend to be... final.]] *Nods in agreement with Sideswipe* *VERY scared, if he's not even running after all his self-preservation behavior* verdigrisprowl 10:10 pm They took the time to lock him up again? Why? SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:10 pm ...I feel like that should not work. NoodlesAtNight 10:10 pm [[He can't imagine they want him running around again.]] NoodlesAtNight 10:11 pm [[--Oh!]] *Huffing* SideswipeStriker 10:11 pm HAH Oh man, the luck on those two verdigrisprowl 10:12 pm Nobody's here, he can just climb out the vents again. NoodlesAtNight 10:12 pm [[Perhaps he will, when he calms down?]] verdigrisprowl 10:12 pm He'll have to do it fast, police are swarming the compound now. SideswipeStriker 10:13 pm Um.... NoodlesAtNight 10:14 pm [[That car is too small to win a game of cryochicken.]] verdigrisprowl 10:14 pm A moment of silence for the cop car that's about to get flattened. SideswipeStriker 10:14 pm That's an armored bus BAD IDEA NoodlesAtNight 10:14 pm [[But a valiant car nonetheless.]] [[Well. Human.]] SideswipeStriker 10:14 pm -winces- SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:15 pm *oof* SideswipeStriker 10:15 pm Oh, that's right, she used to be his boss SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:15 pm He shot her in the knee. He also shot the Penguin human in the knee, though. NoodlesAtNight 10:16 pm [[So much for loyalty.]] *Pause.* [[But then, he supposes he would be disturbed by an undead version of his bosses.]] SideswipeStriker 10:16 pm Yeah, I'd be running too verdigrisprowl 10:16 pm Did he know she'd supposedly died? I thought she was... off by herself when that happened. SideswipeStriker 10:16 pm ....ish NoodlesAtNight 10:17 pm [[He knew. He was there when Penguin pushed her over the cliff wall.]] SideswipeStriker 10:17 pm Kid is going diggin verdigrisprowl 10:18 pm ... Didn't she survive that and end up on that island? He's made too many attempts on her life, I can't keep track. I don't remember which one actually killed her. SideswipeStriker 10:18 pm Um.... NoodlesAtNight 10:18 pm [[No, no. The island was before that. She came back, attempted a coup, and was killed.]] SideswipeStriker 10:18 pm Oh no NoodlesAtNight 10:18 pm [[...Oh, this won't be good.]] SideswipeStriker 10:18 pm Lady, RUN verdigrisprowl 10:19 pm ((they'd BETTER be nice to her, she let them out)) SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:19 pm ((no good deed goes unpunished)) NoodlesAtNight 10:19 pm [[....What.]] SideswipeStriker 10:19 pm WHAT verdigrisprowl 10:20 pm ((GOOD. they were nice to her.)) NoodlesAtNight 10:20 pm [[Well. Now he has TWO things he wants to know.]] SpecsTheSpectralDragon 10:20 pm *the dragon stretches* Thank you for movie night, Soundwave! SCProwl 10:20 pm Only two? NoodlesAtNight 10:20 pm [[You are welcome, dragon.]] [[Well. Two /main/ things. He always wants to know much, much more than that.]] SideswipeStriker 10:20 pm The mimic thing, guy, wasn't on the bus! NoodlesAtNight 10:20 pm ((time marker, 10:41)) [[Of course not. He had already gotten out to play Jim.]] SideswipeStriker 10:21 pm The what was that? NoodlesAtNight 10:21 pm [[He has not the faintest idea.]] verdigrisprowl 10:22 pm Maybe there were two. NoodlesAtNight 10:22 pm [[...Actually - he does wonder. The Loeb human kept his daughter hidden because he did not want anyone to know about her. Perhaps this is the case with this human? Bruce's father already kept secrets.]] verdigrisprowl 10:22 pm Secret twin? SCProwl 10:22 pm A clone or a twin. NoodlesAtNight 10:22 pm [[Perhaps?]] SideswipeStriker 10:22 pm Huh Could work NoodlesAtNight 10:23 pm [[Then again, he did seem pleased with Basil's ability. Perhaps they /did/ make another shapeshifter. It would be useful.]] *Tapping his fingers.* SCProwl 10:23 pm Though them being a twin seems to go against everything we've heard about Bruce's father. SideswipeStriker 10:23 pm Soooo a clone verdigrisprowl 10:23 pm Maybe the twin was kidnapped at birth and Brace's parents were told the second one died. SCProwl 10:24 pm That is a possibility. SideswipeStriker 10:24 pm Wouldn't they want to see the body at least? NoodlesAtNight 10:24 pm [[He /has/ heard stories of humans kidnapping offspring while still in the hospital.]] [[Oh, that is a good point too... of course, a Gotham hospital /would/ be so corrupt as to find a way to lie about it.]] verdigrisprowl 10:25 pm ((until i find out who he is, i'm dubbing him Woose Brain.)) NoodlesAtNight 10:25 pm [[Surely not /every/ human newbuild survives...]]

((omg)) SideswipeStriker 10:25 pm But against a couple like the Waynes? NoodlesAtNight 10:25 pm [[Why not? Strange kept secrets from him.]] [[And was his best friend.]] verdigrisprowl 10:25 pm Worth millions in hostage fees down the line. SideswipeStriker 10:25 pm -huffs- True SideswipeStriker 10:26 pm Forgot this is Strange we're talkin' about Arcee-Autobot 10:26 pm [[ Im currently Video chatting with a New Knockout Page, so Knockout says Hello!]] NoodlesAtNight 10:27 pm ((hi knockout!)) [[That is a long, long term game for a human. The hostage fees. It would be most impressive... and within Strange's ability to scheme, he'd think.]] SCProwl 10:28 pm Well, I suppose we'll find out eventually if you show more recordings of that universe. NoodlesAtNight 10:29 pm [[He thinks he would like to, as... mm, aggravating as some things about it can be, sometimes. He really would like to find out how deep this conspiracy goes.]] SideswipeStriker 10:30 pm Same here SCProwl 10:30 pm Agreed. Either way, I need to be getting back. Good night, everyone. SideswipeStriker 10:30 pm 'night! NoodlesAtNight 10:30 pm *"Aggravating" being polite term for "all this damn mind control", and all.* [[Ah. Goodnight.]] SideswipeStriker 10:30 pm Annnnnd on that note, I gotta get goin' myself SideswipeStriker 10:31 pm Later! NoodlesAtNight 10:31 pm [[Very well. Tell Blaster and Sunstreaker hello for him, would you?]] Arcee-Autobot 10:32 pm *Arcee is still very much Here, and Enjoying a cold drink* NoodlesAtNight 10:33 pm *She may be if she wishes - for another eight minutes, at least.* [[You have been gone quite a while. No great threats to your timeline, he hopes...?]] Arcee-Autobot 10:34 pm No great threats I promise Arcee-Autobot 10:35 pm Just Knockout constantly asking for my attention 😅 NoodlesAtNight 10:36 pm [[Hm. Can't reach a spot on his back with his buffer, he expects.]] Arcee-Autobot 10:37 pm Exactly correct actually but now its handled NoodlesAtNight 10:38 pm [[Good, good. The Doctor can be temperamental when he isn't in tip top shape.]] NoodlesAtNight 10:39 pm [[But now, he must close for the night. There is much cleaning to do.]] *Stares at Swoop's soot marks.* [[Much, much cleaning.]] Arcee-Autobot 10:39 pm *Arcee will have to go soon, but wouldn't mind if anyone wished to invade her Ask box* verdigrisprowl 10:39 pm I'll help. NoodlesAtNight 10:39 pm *Perhaps he will do so soon. He's been Quiet lately.* [[Ah, thank you, Prowl.]] verdigrisprowl 10:39 pm *"""lately"""* Arcee-Autobot 10:40 pm Alright I'm going to go, See you both Later NoodlesAtNight 10:40 pm *Listen here, you.* [[Farewell, Arcee. He hopes you will attend again soon.]] verdigrisprowl 10:40 pm *LISTEN TO WHAT* *vague farewell nod to arcee* NoodlesAtNight 10:41 pm *LOOK, HE TALKS IN HEADS. IT COUNTS.* [[Thank you for your offer of assistance. The day the Autobots in that timeline ever teach Swoop manners is the day he will have to retire.]] NoodlesAtNight 10:42 pm *Vents and stretches feelers back to get rags and a spray bottle of solvent to get to work on the floor. From a sitting down position for the moment, because he'll let Prowl decide when to get up.* verdigrisprowl 10:43 pm *he was about to head for them himself. He thought he was going to clean the floor. apparently not.* ... Who's doing what? NoodlesAtNight 10:44 pm [[He thought he should tackle the graffiti soot, as he did draw in it himself as well. If you would like to handle the furniture...? He is certain you have seen him put the pieces back more than enough times to track where they go - and likely better than his own deployers, at that.]] verdigrisprowl 10:46 pm Yyyyes, I know where they go. *can he LIFT them is the question. how much of a load can a holomatter avatar carry. how heavy are the chairs.* NoodlesAtNight 10:47 pm *Soundwave pauses mid scrubbing motion.* [[Hesitation?]] *Prowl doesn't usually elongate a sound like that.* verdigrisprowl 10:48 pm ... I don't know if I can lift them. *TIME TO FIND OUT* NoodlesAtNight 10:49 pm [[...Oh. He never thought of that.]] *He stops to watch, curious as anything now.* *The couches are fairly heavy, but the tables and individual chairs shouldn't be too bad. It's not as though he ever needs to use the Tyton-sized ones for these nights, after all.* verdigrisprowl 10:50 pm *he'll start small and work up. tables first.* NoodlesAtNight 10:51 pm *Brings a hand up to rest his chin on his knuckles. Nothing wrong with a good bit of observing a handsome mech in action.* verdigrisprowl 10:52 pm *he's a couple tables in when he realizes that he may, in fact, actually be slowing productivity down.* ... So far so good. NoodlesAtNight 10:53 pm *...Oh! Oh. Yes. He should. He should be productive, shouldn't he. While he watches. He was supposed to learn that lesson last week, after - er. After that conversation.*

*So he'll keep his optics on Prowl and scrub at the soot again. There we go.* NoodlesAtNight 10:54 pm [[What happens if you cannot lift it in your avatar state? Does it--]] *Wiggles the fingers under his chin.* [[Slide through your hands, or...?]] verdigrisprowl 10:55 pm If an avatar is hit with a load that will shatter it, it turns off and reboots. I suspect trying to lift something too big for it to support will yield the same results, although I haven't tried. NoodlesAtNight 10:56 pm [[...We could find out. Unless the shattering is painful.]] verdigrisprowl 10:56 pm Only a little. verdigrisprowl 10:57 pm Anyway, I'm about to find out one way or another. *he's about to the couches.* NoodlesAtNight 10:58 pm *Scrubs faster in anticipation and leans forward. That floor is going to be SHINY clean with how productive he's trying to be to make up for his distraction.* verdigrisprowl 10:58 pm *surveys a couch criticially. circles it once. hmmm.* verdigrisprowl 10:59 pm *crouches down and attempts to lift it from the middle. nope. not moving.* *moves to one side and tries to lift the end. it barely lifts. sets it back down.* *regards it contemplatively.* NoodlesAtNight 11:00 pm *Oh, this is damned thrilling. It's like a movie. Will he lift it or won't he? It's ridiculous and such a little thing but Soundwave just Has To Know.* verdigrisprowl 11:00 pm *heAVES UP THE END* verdigrisprowl 11:01 pm *his avatar pops and resets, standing up, a few feet away. the couch crashes back down.* Hm. ... Sorry. NoodlesAtNight 11:02 pm *Soundwave lets out a long vent and collapses back against the couch he's currently sitting on, disappointed and yet not at all.* [[Do not be. Now he knows, and that is his favorite thing.]] verdigrisprowl 11:02 pm No no, I meant for dropping it. I'm not done. NoodlesAtNight 11:02 pm [[Oh, and he has gotten all the soo--]] *Sits up again and peers at the couch.* [[You're not done?]] verdigrisprowl 11:02 pm No. verdigrisprowl 11:03 pm *another moment of quiet calculation.* NoodlesAtNight 11:03 pm *Debates getting up to clean something else. ... One feeler to grab himself a snack while the other one puts the rest of the fuel away. He's right here munching and mesmerized.* *He does so love having extra limbs at times like this. Especially ones that do their own seeing.* verdigrisprowl 11:03 pm *then he scales up to 41 feet and... 3.2 inches.* NoodlesAtNight 11:04 pm [[Primus--]] *Oh no, he's hot. Ter.* verdigrisprowl 11:04 pm *the couch is MUCH easier to lift now* *sets it in place, and shrinks back down.* Yeah, I didn't like that. NoodlesAtNight 11:05 pm [[That's - it's quite all right. It's fine. You do not have to do it again. Though it was - impressive.]] verdigrisprowl 11:05 pm New plan. NoodlesAtNight 11:06 pm *Faintly, and bordering on hysteria* [[New plan?]] *Prowl's going to kill him. This is a murder attempt.* verdigrisprowl 11:06 pm *a space bridge opens underneath one couch. rather than the couch falling through the bridge, the bridge lifts up around the couch, until the couch has disappeared and the bridge shuts off.* verdigrisprowl 11:07 pm *the process is repeated where the couch is supposed to go, except this time the couch is emerging from the bottom of the bridge instead of disappearing into the top.* *ta da. didn't even drop.* NoodlesAtNight 11:07 pm *Stares. Openly. With a tee tiny o shape to his mouth.* NoodlesAtNight 11:08 pm [[...Why has he never thought of that?]] verdigrisprowl 11:08 pm Probably because you can lift them yourself. verdigrisprowl 11:09 pm *gets to work neatly banishing and re-summoning the remaining couches, one by one* NoodlesAtNight 11:09 pm [[Oh. Yes, he - he can, yes. That does make sense.]] *He'd be more composed there but he's watching Prowl pull this stunt multiple times, and damned if he isn't happy that he helped Prowl with what little bit Prowl didn't already figure out on his own. What a brilliant, creative mech his Prowl is.* verdigrisprowl 11:11 pm *and the deed is finished.* *looks at soundwave.* *completely deadpan:* Trap doors. NoodlesAtNight 11:12 pm *Slooooowly slides his face into the hand that was supporting his chin* verdigrisprowl 11:12 pm *proud* NoodlesAtNight 11:13 pm *Three affection pings. Even if he's quietly puffing into his skinny stick fingers while he does it.* verdigrisprowl 11:13 pm *ping ping ping* NoodlesAtNight 11:14 pm [[When should he expect--]] *Deep vent in. Come on, pull yourself together.* [[When should he expect your transfer to the arts and entertainment sector?]] verdigrisprowl 11:15 pm *barks a laugh* verdigrisprowl 11:16 pm When two plus two equals five. NoodlesAtNight 11:20 pm [[Pity. You would probably be a popular stage act here with some of the skills you've shown him over the years.]] *Finally gets up to offer a tiny bit of clapping and then finish up the bar cleanup.* [[But, you are an enforcer at spark, and who you are at spark is who he likes best. He will simply have to enjoy your juggling, balancing, and bridging in private.]] verdigrisprowl 11:21 pm *stops and thinks about that* ... I /do/ have enough tricks for a stage show. NoodlesAtNight 11:22 pm [[You do. You've never thought about that?]] verdigrisprowl 11:23 pm I can't say I've ever contemplated putting on a stage show, so no. NoodlesAtNight 11:25 pm *Nods. He's not that surprised by it.* [[Well, at least you know you have another potential cover should you ever have to be part of a big operation somewhere.]] verdigrisprowl 11:26 pm The ruse would fall apart the moment I opened my mouth. I do not have the demeanor of an entertainer. NoodlesAtNight 11:28 pm [[/That,/]] *waving one of the last snacks he's putting away before popping a piece in his mouth* [[is what long-distance audio broadcasts are for. Besides - there have been plenty of silent actors and entertainers. Some of the old human Earth ones he's seen you enjoy, even.]] verdigrisprowl 11:29 pm I do not have enough mobile parts in my face, much less the knowledge on how to use them, to be a Harpo. NoodlesAtNight 11:31 pm *Lightly dismissive gesture.* [[Masks only add to the mystery. But, he does not mean to push - only to offer ideas. If they do not suit you, they do not suit you, and that is as it is. Besides, there are already artists and entertainers in this building. A police officer - now that is a very different thing.]] *That is a very wide grin. He knows how shady they can be, and he knows Prowl knows too.* NoodlesAtNight 11:32 pm [[Thank you for moving the furniture. It was a welcome display of persistence and intellect.]] verdigrisprowl 11:32 pm It was also slow. It'll be faster next week. NoodlesAtNight 11:33 pm [[Oh? You mean to do that again, then?]] *Chews on that thought a moment.* [[Perhaps he'll trade a few of the pieces around from where they usually are on movie nights. Give you a bit of a game.]] verdigrisprowl 11:34 pm ... I'm trying to help you clean. I—I think we might have lost sight of that objective. NoodlesAtNight 11:35 pm [[There's no reason we can't enjoy the cleaning we do. It's certainly a mood lightener after half of Swoop's messes.]] NoodlesAtNight 11:36 pm [[In any case, it's clean in here now. The objective was completed.]] verdigrisprowl 11:37 pm Eventually, yes. I wouldn't call it a job well done, but at least it's a job done. NoodlesAtNight 11:38 pm [[It will do. He is coming to accept the realization that the first floor of his club will only be spotless from Tuesday nights through Friday afternoons.]] verdigrisprowl 11:40 pm ... Next week you'll be less distracted and I'll be faster. *he wants you to have that spotless club, soundwave* NoodlesAtNight 11:42 pm [[Oh, it isn't your fault. It is the nature of the general company he keeps. But he appreciates that. He is sure that between us, we will get as close to that as is possible.]] *You're so sweet, Prowl. Also, you can probably see why he tends to keep the apartment as close to sparkling as possible.* verdigrisprowl 11:43 pm It's not my fault, but it doesn't mean I can't help. NoodlesAtNight 11:44 pm *And helpful. Sweet and helpful. A proper good cop in the works if ever he saw one.* [[Thank you for that.]] *Offers a bunt?* verdigrisprowl 11:45 pm *he will lean in to accept it* NoodlesAtNight 11:47 pm *Bump. ... And quick affectionate nip. He just - has a lot of things he thinks and feels but cannot say, even if he /is/ the one of them that manages to talk about such things with less trouble.* NoodlesAtNight 11:48 pm [[So, then. What do you care to do with the rest of your evening? More bridging tricks? Rest? Ticket writing for Swoop's soot?]] *Curious tilt.* verdigrisprowl 11:48 pm *... he's gonna lean into that, too.* NoodlesAtNight 11:48 pm *Oh, oh, that's lovely. Good. Good.* verdigrisprowl 11:49 pm *that may end up being the answer to Soundwave's question.* NoodlesAtNight 11:51 pm *Oh! Well, then. He'll test tugging Prowl up closer to see if he can get away with settling his hands on those hip lights and nibbling again. Have to make sure. Good communications officers always double-check their work.* verdigrisprowl 11:53 pm *soundwave will be pleased to learn that he can, in fact, get away with all of the above, provided Prowl is allowed to get his hands around Soundwave's waist and find some biolights to trace* NoodlesAtNight 11:55 pm *Pleased isn't the word for it, but if it were? Yes. Yes, he is. And so is Prowl. Best they be left to that in peace - only one person here is a spy, after all. It'd be rude to step on such a fine, upstanding professional's toes.* verdigrisprowl 11:56 pm *indeed it would. a little privacy, then.*

#chat

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kariachi · 6 years

Text

Here we go, some Argit/Rad fic. A bakery AU at that, because I wanted to write one.

It was a nice place. Neat and cozy atmosphere that ran counter to, pretty much everywhere else he frequented, but there was always good music on, the coffee was great, the baked goods were better, and at least one of the owners was cute.

“If you’re not gonna buy something, you can at least hang out in the corner where you’re not blocking traffic.”

Customer service could’ve used a bit of help though. Pointedly looking around the all-but-empty bakery, Rad gave the Erinaen behind the counter an unimpressed look that was returned in spades.

“How many times am I going to hear you say that?”

“How many times are you going to take a quarter hour to choose a damn pastry?”

“Gotta pick the best.”

“It’s all the best, that’s why it’s here.” It was at this point that Rad had to decide what his next move would be. Normally he would be more than happy to spend the afternoon arguing with Argit, and this was the perfect opening to start one up, but-

This was the cute one. And Rad generally wasn’t the sort to be distracted by a cute face, even one associated with some really good bakers, but he’d been coming to this establishment every time he was in town for almost a year now and Argit had proven to be cunning and sharp-tongued, with a snappy sense of humor, a savvy business mind, and a surprising level of family-orientation. He was interested, which wasn’t something he normally dealt with. A con of his line of work, you did a lot of traveling and didn’t often get to know people well enough to get inconvenient things like feelings. He was certain if Argit had been an employee, trying to be courteous and behave, rather than an owner he wouldn’t have managed feelings anyway. So, he could start an argument, and he’d have enjoyed it, but it wouldn’t get him anywhere.

He wasn’t experienced enough in actual courting to know what would.

Well, going with his gut had never failed him before.

“If I asked you out,” he said, first thought being to judge the worst of the risks involved, “would your Ossys make me a menu item?” Argit froze, ears snapping forward at attention. For several long moments he just, stood there, eyeing Rad like he was trying to figure out his angle while the other alien stood there unperturbed. In time though he relaxed again, rolling his shoulders.

“Of course not,” he said, “we don’t know where you’ve been. You’d be a family dinner.”

“Ah.” Rad nodded. For an Osmosian household that was probably reasonable. “In that case- are you busy tonight?” Again, Argit took the time to eye him up, weighing his options if Rad had learned anything about him this past year, before crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

“I might be free. Why, what sort’ve plans do you have?”

“Was gonna hit a bar you might like.” Rad shrugged as he spoke, and Argit’s lips twitched towards a smile as he raised a brow at him.

“Sounds like the sort’ve place I could go alone.”

“If I gave you any information, yeah.”

“So-” the smile widened “-you’re holding a bar hostage unless I go out with you.”

“Yep.” By this point Rad was smirking, doubly once when Argit chuckled.

“You do know my species can’t have alcohol, right?”

“And?” Argit shook his head.

“Boyfriends still have to buy shit. Duck dick doesn’t pay the bills.”

“I’ll meet you here at six then.”

“Only if you buy something- this is time I could’ve spent making a profit.” Rad rolled his eyes, not that one could tell behind the sunglasses, but pointed at one of the items on offer.

“Give me a loaf of spinach bread and a blondie.” Smile finally breaking into a toothy grin, Argit wordlessly set about bagging Rad’s purchase, snatching the payment from his hand as he turned it over like this had all been part of some plot that had come to fruition. It was amazingly charming.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Dudesman. See you at six.”

#fanfic #this is gonna be a disaster

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tmntstorystopnsfw · 7 years

Text

Through thick and thin part 2

Eventual X rating

Dee ran away many times over the next four years, sometimes spending up to a week in the lair with the turtles. They became the family that she no longer had. They introduced her to April after they got into trouble with the foot clan and then defeated Shredder. The closer she got to eighteen, the less time she lived with her aunt and uncle and the more time she lived with April or the turtles. Her aunt and uncle didn't care. They weren't there when Dee graduated a year early at the age of 16, April was. April and through her live stream, the turtles and Splinter. Her aunt didn't help her apply for and choose a college. Splinter and April did. The boys cased the campuses at night, getting an idea for safety. On her seventeenth birthday, her aunt turned her out on the streets but it was okay because April was there waiting. On her first night in her dorm room, the turtles snuck in and had a pizza party so she wouldn't feel so homesick and they talked about their work with the NYPD to help control the foot clan. Through the entire college process, they always checked up on her. Dee could have never made it through the Physical Therapy program without Donnie as a study partner. They were there for her.. All of them. After Dee finally became a certified Physical Therapist and got a good job, she used some of the inheritance money she had received from her parents when she turned eighteen to buy herself a beautiful brand new red corvette. She could have moved into her own place. She had enough money. She decided instead to live with the turtles in their sewer home. While it was a little inconvenient, the turtles had made enough improvements to their living space throughout the years to make it work and they understood. Dee was a tender soul and to her, family was everything. She wanted to be with them even if it was a little inconvenient.

Dee let out a big sigh as she walked into her room and plopped her stuff down on her bed. She loved her job. She loved to help people and nothing made her happier than to see a patient recover but damn some people just did not want to put the work in. Then, when they weren't getting stronger, they would rag at her like it was her fault. Today had been one of those days where she just wanted to strangle her patient. How could one person ruin a whole day? The now twenty-three year old quickly undressed and donned her robe, skirting down the hallway and heading for the shower. She wanted to clean up and then loaf in her PJ’s until the boys had to run out on patrol. The door to the bathroom opened before she got to it, steam rolling out into the hallway. Raph followed the cloud of warm air out in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts.

“You better have left me some hot water.” She scolded lightly.

“Maybe next time you should join me. Then you ain't gotta worry bout it.” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes and slid past him into the bathroom. “You wish.” She said as she closed the door. He chuckled. Raph and his brothers had a peculiar relationship with Dee. She was an attractive female close to their age and ever since first meeting her they had all flirted with her. Splinter had a serious conversation with all four of them when he first found out about Dee and her situation. He had made sure they were aware of how delicate her psyche must be and she might attach herself romantically to them if they let her. Splinter made sure they treated her as nothing but a family until he was sure she was secure enough to handle the flirting that inevitably came around when Dee was seriously ready to start dating after high school. And flirt they did. Due to various reasons, most of which included truth or dare, Dee was each of the brothers first kisses. When she went off to college, most of the romantic interest faded as she began dating but the brothers still brought it up whenever they could.

Dee climbed into the shower and sighed a happy sigh when warm water poured from the shower head. The big brute had some manners after all. She grabbed her shampoo bottle from among the bottles of axe and old spice. She lathered her hair, letting the smell and the water relax her. She started humming as she rinsed the suds from her hair which turned into all out singing as she smoothed conditioner in her hair and then soaped up her loofa. When she finally rinsed down and turned off the water she could hear Mikey singing along with her outside of the door. She towered off and grabbed her robe. She brushed her teeth and took out her contacts in favor of her glasses and then brushed her long hair out. Her and Mikey duetted the whole time. Finally she opened the door.

“Need something?” She asked.

“A kiss?” He wiggled his brows at her.

“Is something in the air?” She asked. “That's two propositions in less than an hour.”

“I'm just kiddin’.” He smiled. “I was actually hoping you’d put some money in the bank for me.” He handed out a coffee can full of coins and bills. She tucked it under her arm.

“I’ll put it in after work tomorrow.” She promised. She had shared her bank accounts with them since she was fifteen.

“Thanks brah.” They fist bumped and she walked back to her room, throwing on sweats and a baggy sweatshirt before grabbing some carrots from the fridge and parking on the couch to watch some game of thrones reruns. Raph came in after a while and plopped down next to her with a bag of Cheetos. He spun, propping his legs across her lap and leaning back, grinning at her.

“What time are you heading out for patrol tonight?” She asked

“Ten.” He answered. “You cookin’ tonight?”

“I think I'm going to let Mikey take it tonight.” She said, wiggling underneath the weight of his legs so she would be more comfortable.

“You going out with that douche hole again this weekend?” He asked.

Dee shot him an irritated look. “Not every guy I date is a douche you know. I just have selective taste.”

“answer the question.” He pressed.

“No.” She answered, making a point of looking busy with a carrot. “He was kind of an ass.”

Raph smirked. “I knew it.”

“Hey, its hard finding stand up guys like you and your brothers.” She said.

“Just date one of us. You’d be better off.” He said.

“Oh whatever.” She said and then promptly shoved a carrot in her mouth. It hurt her heart sometimes when they said things like that to her. She knew any one of them would take her if she gave them the time of day. It would be flattering if she wasn't their only option. Who else would be able to find their alien features attractive? April was with Casey now with two kids and a third on the way. She knew that to the turtles, she was the only chance any of them had at love and that made her fear any romance with them. She had been someone’s only choice before. She had to live with her aunt because there was no other option. She never wanted to be that to anyone again though she knew none of the boys would ever mistreat her. Suddenly, Game of Thrones and carrots and Raph and Mikey didn't sound like a good time. She poked at Raph’s legs.

“Let me up Brutus.” She used her nickname for Raph. “I need a drink and then I need to let Mikey know he’s on dinner duty or we won't get anything tonight.”

Raph shifted his legs, oblivious to her change in mood. She got up, grabbed a water and then found Mikey and let him know he was cooking. He loved to do it so he was totally cool with it. She then wandered off to the lab. It was always a good place to go when you wanted to be entertained with minimal conversation or flirting. Donnie was either too busy with something to talk or too awkward to flirt. Not that he had never tried, but it was far less often than his brothers. Even less than the ever respectful Leo.

When she opened the door to the lab, it was strangely quiet. Donnie’s computers beeped and buzzed but there was no music or whirring of tools or muttered sentences as he worked something out. No typing or clicking was to be heard either. She wandered through the empty lab to where the door of his room was cracked open. She peaked in and saw him sprawled face down on his bed, snoring softly. His glasses were still on. That told her he had been up til the wee hours of the morning, perhaps even past sunrise. He hadn't even been up for the day yet. She smiled to herself and went and got coffee for him, knowing he would want it as soon as he was awake. She brought it back, slid through his partially open door, and set the coffee on the bedside table. She moved to wake him but hesitated. Nostalgia overtook her as she remembered all of the times she crawled into his bed. It had been closer to the living room at the time, when he and Leo had shared a space as a room. He was closest and the least threatening.

Carefully, she climbed into bed with him and settled on the pillows, just looking at him. She catalogued the planes of his face, noting the differences now that he was twenty five rather than sixteen. His jaw was stronger, his neck thicker, and maybe he was just a little less round than he used to be. His face had lost it’s teenage boyishness. She reached out and laid a hand on his shell, rougher now than it had been as a teen but not terribly so. It was still as hard and cool as it had ever been though. The only time she had ever felt any of them as warm as she was the time they had broken the ruled and spent a few daylight hours on the roof basking in the sun.

“Donnie.” She called softly, knowing he would wake at the slight noise. He was well trained to wake up to the quiet sounds of voices as he had played doctor to his brothers and father and even her on so many occasions.

He stirred and his eyelids lifted to reveal his strange amber eyes, magnified by glasses that were a tad crooked from sleeping with them on. She smiled as she could almost see the moment he realized she was in his bed.

“Remember the first night I slept over here?” She asked. “I was scared of all of the noises and the dark out in the living room and I didn't know Splinter well enough to go to him yet. You were the closest to the couch, not to mention the least scary of your brothers. I crawled right in bed with you. Poor guy.” She chuckled. “I'm sure you didn't know what to do so you just patted my arm and rolled over and went back to bed.”

Donnie stretched as Dee talked, the memory of her first night in his bed fresh as if it happened yesterday. “And are you in my bed because you’re scared now?” He asked with a little half smile.

“No. I’m feeling nostalgic. A patient was really difficult with me today and sometimes I wish I could just go back to the girl who climbed into your bed when she was upset.” Dee said. “Also, I wanted to be somewhere that I could get a good look at your face when I mentioned I put a mug of coffee on your nightstand.”

As expected, Donnie’s face lit up and he rolled over and sat up, grabbing the mug and taking a long breath in, savoring the scent. “You are actually the greatest, you know that right?”

She smiled softly as she crawled out of his bed. “Consider it payback for all you’ve done for me.” She said.

He stood, shoulder joints popping as he rolled them. He took a sop of his coffee, black with two scoops of sugar, just how he liked it. “Don't ever feel like you have to pay us back.” He said. “You’ve done just as much for us as we’ve done for you.” And he meant it. Forget the bank account, the new clothes, the appliances, and all of the other stuff that came to the lair either by her or through her. Without her presence in their lives, their social skills as well as their capability to handle anything female would have suffered greatly. Hell, none of them would have experienced a single kiss yet if it weren't for her.

She flashed him a sweet smile but changed the subject. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

He shrugged. “I was working on repairs to the truck. We need it for tonight. NYPD has intel on a foot clan gathering and we gotta get to the edge of the city.”

“Raph didn't mention that when I asked about patrol tonight.” She said, brow crinkling.

“Raph doesn't like to worry you.” Donnie said as he started digging through the bins of gear in his room for what he would need that night.

“And you have no such qualms?” She asked.

“Just because you’re small does not mean you’re delicate.” He answered as he rummaged around on his desk for the map he wanted. “You can handle whatever truth we have to throw at you. I knew that the minute you didn't run screaming when you saw Mikey’s face.” He found the piece of paper he was looking for and stuffed it in the pocket of his cargo pants.

A warm spot grew in her melancholy heart and the wistful sadness of her nostalgia passed. This was why she had always gravitated towards Donnie. He saw past her size and her gender and her love for the color pink and the delicate scents she loved. He saw that she was a strong person despite her mostly docile and meek demeanor. He protected her by arming her with knowledge and trusting her to make the right decisions. She smiled. “You think I'm tough?”

“As tough as April.” He confirmed and she knew that was high praise. April ran into danger to save the turtles without thinking twice. She had nearly died for her bravery.

“No one’s as tough as April.” She challenged. “Now get your butt in gear, Mikey’s making dinner.”

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