#deckplate

[swaps55]

I always think of you as like, master of The Yearning™

I will gladly take this as a trademark!!!! Thank you!!!!!!

And not only did I say I would share a snippet that proved your point, I now get to share one of my all time favorite snippets.

So have some yearning Kaidan, from the First Kiss AU, "The Words That Change Us."

~

“Shepard.” It comes out as a mumble, and the way Shepard’s fingers dig into his forearm before relaxing suggests he’s listening now. “Anderson said I keep you on your feet. Why would he say that?”

Shepard’s brow furrows. Instead of answer, he gets to his feet and pulls Kaidan back to his. “How about we get the icepick out of your head, and then talk about this.”

“No. If we talk about it now you’ll take pity and actually give me an answer.”

Shepard huffs, grips Kaidan’s arm and resumes course, footsteps slow and steady.

“I didn’t do anything to help you earn this,” Kaidan persists. “Why does he think I did?”

More silence. More steps. Each footfall ricochets off the deckplates, pricking at the base of Kaidan’s skull. Where the fuck is the airlock? It feels like they’ve been walking for hours.

“You’re stable ground,” Shepard says at last.

Stable ground. Maybe if his head wasn’t throbbing so hard he could figure out what the hell that means.

“You don’t…want anything from me,” Shepard continues. His voice is small, uncertain, as though now that he’s voiced the thought aloud he might find out it isn’t true.

It isn’t true.

You. I want you.

[hate-letmetellyou]

Bogos binted? 👽

Just don't get it all over the deckplates.

[brightlotusmoon]

I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream - I_Have_No_Mouth_and_I_Must_Scream_-_Harlan_Ellison.pdf

Some hundreds of years may have passed. I don't know. AM has been having fun for some time, accelerating and retarding my time sense. I will.say the word now. Now. It took me ten months to say now. I don't know. I think it has been some hundreds of years. He was furious. He wouldn't let me bury them. It didn't matter. There was no way to dig up the deckplates.

He dried up the snow. He brought the night. He roared and sent locusts. It didn't do a thing; they stayed dead. I'd had him. He was furious. I had thought AM hated me before. I was wrong. It was not even a shadow of the hate he now slavered from every printed circuit. He made certain I would suffer eternally and could not do myself in. He left my mind intact. I can dream, I can wonder, I can lament. I remember all four of them. I wish—

Well, it doesn't make any sense. I know I saved them, I know I saved them from what has happened to me, but still, I cannot forget killing them. Ellen's.face. It isn't easy. Sometimes I want to, it doesn't matter. AM has altered me. for his own peace of mind, I suppose. He doesn't want me to run at full speed into a computer bank and smash my skull. Or hold my breath till I faint. Or cut my throat on a rusted sheet of metal. There are reflective.surfaces down here. I will describe myself as I see myself: I am a great soft.jelly thing. Smoothly rounded, with no mouth, with pulsing white holes filled by fog where my eyes used to be. Rubbery appendages that were once my arms; bulks rounding down into legless humps of soft slippery matter. I leave a moist trail when I move. Blotches of diseased, evil gray come and go on my surface, as though light is being beamed from within. Outwardly: dumbly, I shamble about, a thing that could never have been known as human, a thing whose shape is so alien a travesty that humanity becomes more obscene for the vague resemblance. Inwardly: alone. Here. Living under the land, under the sea, in the belly of AM, whom we created because our time was badly spent and we must have known unconsciously that he could do it better. At least the four of them are safe at last. AM will be all the madder for that. It makes me a little happier. And yet … AM has won, simply … he has taken his revenge … I have no mouth. And I must scream.

[otterandterrierwrites]

Trick or treat! 🎃 👻 ❤️

Looking through my wips, I found this snippet I wrote about that comic where Leia tells Kes Dameron about the time Han and Chewie risked their lives to save Echo Base. I put it on the Hungry Hearts doc, but I still don't know if it'll end up being a chapter or an entirely separate thing:

Here’s what she didn’t tell Kes. She looked down at the unforgivable whiteness of Hoth, illuminated by countless lights, from the Falcon’s cockpit until her eyes watered from the glare. When she heard Han’s voice, the vice grip squeezing her heart relaxed, and her hands began to shake, which she thought was illogical—they were all right, they were alive. There was nothing to worry about anymore. Nien Nunb and her took the Falcon down to the hangar again, ahead of the rest of the ships. Even from the entrance, they could see the black smoke coming out from the corridors. That gave Leia pause. She’d heard the noise from whatever had exploded. She’d heard Han coughing. She wondered if he hadn’t been bluffing. If maybe he hadn’t really made it out. Her heavy boots slammed against the deckplates as she sprinted through the freighter, down the ramp, the noise turning into soft thuds as she hit the snow. The air stank, but it was breathable. Han and Chewie were sitting down by one of the exits, their backs against the wall, catching their breath. Han’s hat and goggles lay discarded at his side. When he spotted her coming, his mouth quirked up on one side. ‘Hey Princess, what did I tell ya?’ he told her, after which he coughed a little. ‘Can you give me a hand?’ Leia took the gloved hand he was holding out and tugged. When he was firmly planted on his feet, without thinking, she threw her arms around his torso and hugged him. His clothes smelled so strongly of fuel, she had to choke back a cough. She also smelled singed hair, or fur, possibly both; she had barely stopped to look at them. Even so, she pressed her cheek against his heavy padded parka, eyes shut tight. Han stiffened at first, too surprised to react, she thought. Leia wasn’t prone to displays of affection like that, least of all in public. Or with him. But, after a beat, she felt his arms wrapping around her, holding her close.

get a trick or a treat! 🎃🍬

[riversidewings]

[Lancerverse AU] "The Toast"

Aboard Hephaestus

The deckplate hummed oddly, and the corridors were still somewhat unaccustomed, but after she'd inspected her mech when they made it to Zharus's L1, Emi found her way to the mess hall. After hours for the rest of the crew, the space was quiet, leaving her with her thoughts as she set up in the little galley, on the electric burners by the food printer. The familiar clank of old brass brought her a smile as she measured out the water and waited for the burner to warm.

Five years, relative time. Nearly six, now. She talked to her mothers regularly through the omninet, but it wasn't the same. And lately, she'd have given anything to be home on Mutsu at the estate, making coffee for her mothers like she had, before.

"Like I will again."

One cup's measure, then two. The blossom of energy in the smell of fine dust. The edge of cardamom and anise.

It was a long line that connected her to her Arrudyen foremothers, and through them, to their foremothers from the Cradle, making coffee in the highland among their sacred peaks. For a moment, a smile tugged at her lips, as she looked down and realized she had to shift her posture to see past herself, down to the burner, even if her hands-- like her mother's hands-- knew the way.

"By my foremothers' mountains and my own," she murmured, long spoon with its ancient engraving of HORN& beating an uneven staccato against the ibrik's walls.

Back on Arrudye, at the Eginian family's mansion Partsrapert, she'd been a strange addition, the child of the family's controversial daughter-- her mother was half heretic, half saint, depending on who did the telling. But there were enough people there who were kind to her that it'd been good to spend a year after graduation, getting to know this part of her roots.

She'd even made coffee for her grandmother Isguhi, the Eginian clan's hanım.

Now *there* had been a tense encounter.

"Geghni," the grande dame had finally said, simply and succinctly, after a long silence of quietly sipping as she eyed her daughter's progeny. "Geghni, kızım." <That'll do. That'll do, daughter.>

Somehow, life on Arrudye-- and beyond, ever since-- had gotten a little easier from then on. Emi may have belonged to the forests and paddy mud of Mutsu, but she had a place in the carefully terraced lunar highland cities of Arrudye-- and their inheritance in turn from Anatolia-- after all.

The smell in the rising steam. The rushing sound of rising foam. Before she saw, she knew, her hands lifting the pot up, then setting it back down, then up again, in the rhythm her mother seemed to have mastered.

Someday, she'd master it too. Today, she got through with only a little bit of spill.

Carefully, she tipped the pot into the waiting cup, and then saw to cleaning.

She hadn't brought a saucer, and there were no snacks, so it was the furthest thing from the propriety of her maternal roots.

But all the same, she took up the cup and dipped her head in reverence.

"To the ancestors. To Mutsu and Arrudye. To family."

[sl-walker]

A character of your choice can't sleep because of events from earlier in the day/week or just because it's one of those nights where there's too much to think about. Can be sweet or sad.

So, I actually already wrote this one some time back.  It leans very heavily on canon events, so people well-familiar with TOS will recognize what's going on, but everyone else will just have to take what they can from it.  It's pretty heavily stream-of-consciousness, and it's probably either an aside of a longer tale not yet written, or an actual part of it.  It also refuses to ignore that being possessed and used as a murder weapon would be pretty damned traumatizing, and the mission-of-the-week reset wouldn't erase that in anything like reality.

--

2267

The transport was in fair shape; just another connection in the long string of embarking, disembarking, aiming true for Earth and trying to grapple with the fact that he wasn't aboard the Enterprise. Scotty had taken precisely two long-term vacations away from his ship mid-mission in his career; the first for a birth, and this one for-- --for a death. His own. And for three others. Kara, Lieutenant Tracy, Sybo. The transport was in fair shape; her engines were smooth and steady, but he had a hard time right now not listening for the Enterprise's harmonies and melodies. Seventeen years now, absent time in refit or repair, and usually he did all right even when he was aboard someone else's ship in the short term, but right now, he kept listening for the Enterprise, even though he'd left her of his own accord, abusing the hell out of his large bank of accumulated personal leave time. The captain had approved it after raising both of his eyebrows looking more'n a wee bit shocked by the request; he had requested it three days after Argelius II, which was exactly the amount of time it took him to stop shaking long enough to do anything besides work, which, of course, had been the only way he managed to remain functional during that three days; work, and the knowledge that he was going to go home, to his other home, for a little while because-- --because he had to. So, the captain approved his leave and then he had to wait a couple more weeks so that they'd be anywhere near a transfer point, and then he got himself killed. Scotty didn't remember that part. Funny enough, despite being spooked by it some, it was a whole lot easier to cope with in his head than Argelius II had been. Mostly because he didn't really remember it. And because he didn't have to wash blood off his hands after it. He crossed his arms tighter over his civilian coat, pressing his right shoulder against the bulkhead, and stared out at the streaked view of warp speed. Grateful it was a high speed transport -- not cheap, but he didn't want to waste time -- and still wishing it could go faster. Then again, he was fairly sure even the Enterprise at maximum warp couldn't outrun what was chasing him. The transport was in fair shape; the hum of her warp and impulse drives, tandem, through the deckplates under his feet, but he kept listening for the Enterprise. Seventeen years. Seventeen years, and he knew every note, every melody and every harmony, and the way they blended, and how sometimes they sang so perfectly that the hair on the back of his neck would stand up, following the current through the soles of his boots, the buzz through his skeleton, and the hum through his spine. There was no song like it, in the universe. And he'd left her. Scotty hunkered down a little into his coat, trying to breathe off the panic. He could feel it all down his arms, from his chest, and he knew that if he gave into that particular compulsion, he'd be back in his tiny temporary cabin scrubbing his hands red. He'd already done that more times than any sane, rational officer of the line would ever do. He'd left her. His ship. His song. He'd left her. He'd left her, and aye, his engineering crew was damned good. The best. But with all they were facing, all the time it seemed without a break, it was hard to reconcile. Every bit of the Chief in him, at war with every bit of the rest of him, the part that couldn't sleep for more'n an hour or two without jerking awake in a panic and the part of him that needed to get away from her, long enough to get himself back together. To go back to his island, to go back to his family, and heaven help him, to start really considering exactly what he was going to do with himself. The transport was in fair shape; he kept going back to that, in his head, a touchstone that she was running fine and that she wasn't the Enterprise. Both of which he needed to remind himself of. His head was muddled; he still had a pretty steady headache from exhaustion and a concussion that would be awhile yet in healing, and he couldn't keep a bloody grip on anything, right now, except that if he didn't retreat, he wouldn't survive. And every bit of the officer in him was telling him to buck up, to go back and just deal with it, and he couldn't. He ground his teeth together, like he'd done a million times in the past few weeks, and he held on by his fingernails until he could breathe right again, and he outright refused to fall apart sitting in a high speed transport surrounded by civilians. Every bit of the Chief, of the Starfleet officer, pulling backwards for his ship and home. Every bit of a man who'd had his body used as a murder weapon, who'd been killed and resurrected, driving forward to safety and home. Three hours later, after having startled out of another cold, dark nightmare, he scrubbed his hands practically to bleeding and then spent the rest of the ship's night with his penlight in hand to try to chase it all away, hanging on with everything he had to everything he could so he might just make it home. The transport was in fair shape. Maybe she'd even be fast enough.

[uss-vermont]

Trektober 2022

Day 4, Creature

Sarah stopped short before going into the main lab.  Instead of the usual bright lighting, it was dark, with a haze across the floor.  “Kharra, are you there?”  She asked, eyes darting around.  

“Kharra’s not here right now”  A low, guttural voice answered, seemingly from every corner of the room.  “But I am”

Well, this was interesting.  Sarah took a couple steps into the lab, the deckplates suddenly feeling soft, almost like dirt.  

“Welcome to my lair, little one”  The voice again, closer this time.  Briefly, Sarah caught a glimpse of glowing eyes.  

“Now then, what are you doing here?”  There, right in front of her was a positively massive figure.  It looked like Kharra, certainly but was far taller, and Sarah would have definitely remembered if her assistant had glowing red eyes and… what that blood?

Sarah gulped.  This was definitely not good.

“Where’s Kharra?”  She demanded.  The monster laughed.  

“Oh, she’s not far”  came the answer, in the same deep guttural voice.  “She actually had a message for you”  Before she knew it, the wolf-like face was only inches from her.

“Did you want some candy?”

Suddenly, the lights came back on, and the mist dissipated.  There, standing on a pair of small stilts was, indeed, Kharra, her usually goofy grin on her face.  

“That was…certainly something”  Sarah felt her heart slowly begin to calm down.  “I’m glad it didn’t go much more, you have no idea how difficult it is *talking like this*” Kharra said the last bit in the much lower, intimidating register.  

“Still, you might want to tone it down a tad”  Sarah said.  “Remember, we’re looking for fun-scary not scary-scary”

“I’m fun-scary”  Kharra pouted, the protest ruined somewhat by the fake blood still staining her mouth.  

[pirateswithben]

Introducing: Pirates of the Golden Seas!

https://pirateswithben.com/pirates-of-the-golden-seas-announcement/

Are you tired of the game being out of print? Have you waited years for our beloved pirate game to come back? Get ready to hoist the colors!

The first set to be commercially available since 2008 will soon be for sale!

Pirates of the Golden Seas is a half-size custom set that has been in development since 2021. After years of progress, hundreds of hours of work, hundreds of failed 3D prints, thousands of painstaking meticulous file edits, playtesting and more, the set is finally ready to sail. Disclaimer: This set is not associated or affiliated with Wizkids.

The initial print run is only 10 copies of the set due to the slow and labor-intensive production method, but I will be exploring additional production method options this year.

Each set is planned to be sold as a factory set (non-collectible). This is due to the difficulty of making random packs out of ships that only have 1 card each (the deckplate/stats card). However, it can bring relief to fans of the game who dislike the collectible pack sales strategy and proponents of one-time purchases and the living card game model.

More information is in the announcement post: https://pirateswithben.com/pirates-of-the-golden-seas-announcement/

There you can also sign up for The Pirate Press Newsletter, which will have game piece previews and sneak peeks for future products.

I extend a massive thank you and appreciation to my main collaborators: Gigi, Chops, Xerecs and Vulkan.

See you on the Golden Seas matey!

[keaalu]

Remember Me, chapter 12

Title (chapter): Remember Me (12)

Series: Transformers, G1-based “Blue” AU

Rating: PG-13

Notes: In which we find certain teleports are still sneaky assholes, Ramjet isn't sure how he got to this point in life, and Celerity has a helluva right hook. And we STILL don't know what that "one last job" was that Megatron has for Skywarp...

(...sloooowly catching up with posting this on here...)

----------------------------

Teleporting blind was hard to define to anyone who wasn’t a teleport.

Worst that could happen is you crash into a wall, they’d say. Haha, look at Skywarp, how clumsy, stuck in the furniture. What an idiot. But it’s only a wall. Why are you so upset. Just detach that bit, and carry on with your day. It’s really not a big deal.

What no-one seemed to realise was that it was never just like bumping into a wall, and never just a minor body part. More like… throwing yourself through a doorway where there could be anything on the other side – like the boiling inside of a volcano. And you wouldn’t know anything about it until you were already dissolving your spark in lava.

This insanity went against every instinct he possessed. He was only mostly confident that there was only air at the other end of his careful triangulations. Air was fine. His pre-materialisation field could push air out of the way. Liquids were… mostly fine, too. (OK, maybe except lava.) But solid objects – like walls, and floors, and bulkheads… – didn’t move. And this visual-only carefully-calculated little hop into a corridor had a margin of error as narrow as the tissue blade he’d stolen to cut out his beacon. Teleporting into solid objects was a particularly not-fun thing, and usually explodey into the bargain. (And look what happened last time: he disappeared into a time vortex for half a lifetime.)

…Skywarp successfully stepped out of his jump a few microns above the deck, in the middle of the corridor, as far from any walls as he could make it. The clunk as his thrustered heel hit the deck sounded unrealistically loud, but even the idea that it could have attracted an entire garrison of triplechangers to his escape took second billing to immediately checking himself over. He did six big agitated circles on the spot before finally being satisfied that yes, he was still in the same number of pieces he’d been in before teleporting, no, he hadn’t left anything behind in the cell, and no, he definitely wasn’t permanently attached to a wall.

And aside from his own clumsy footsteps, all was silence. That was good.

The lack of alarms felt like it was probably a good thing, as well.

Thank frag. He covered his face with both hands and blew stale exhaust into his palms.

OK. Stage two. Find the kids and break the slag out of here.

He cautiously brought all his systems back online and allowed himself a few long cycles of cool air before giving himself a good shake and telling himself to quit being a sparkling and get on with the plan.

It took every last ounce of self control not to break into a run. When his weight and certain hollow bits of anatomy were taken into account, especially against metal deckplates, thrustered heels weren’t really built with sneaking in mind, especially not quickly – they might not have noticed him escaping but they’d definitely notice the gunshot clatter of a running seeker. Instead he was reduced to skulking down the corridors with a weirdly delicate, deliberate stride, trying hard to minimise the echoes.

There was a time he had been good at this, and he was definitely out of practice. Turning into a semi-responsible adult had a lot to answer for.

In a further complication, since his teleport, he couldn’t seem to get the broken line in his helm to crystallise. It was still bleeding; trickling round under his chin and into his collar, before finding one of his many broken bits of fuselage to drip off. Only the occasional spots and smears, maybe, but even tiny droplets would light his way like glowing breadcrumbs. The quicker he could scoop up the little sparks and get out, the better.

He followed the subtle sounds of static down the corridor, homing in on the pinpoint labelled Seem that he’d stuck in his mental map. He figured it prooobably hadn’t helped the kid’s frame of mind, seeing his sire captured by the same bunch of thugs as had made his own life a living Pit for the last few orns… but hopefully Seem would still have enough of a grip on himself that he’d be helpful and not need carrying or some slag. (And hopefully the kids were on their own, or this would be the planet’s shortest rescue mission.)

He peered around the bulkhead and finally located the source of the sounds, huddled up in the corner of his cell. At least Slipstream wasn’t totally in the dark. Small blessings.

“Hey. Psst?”

“S-skyw-…!” Slipstream visibly jumped, and rocked forwards onto his knees, startled. “But, but… I thought they’d caught you-! I-I saw you with them-!”

“They did.” Satisfied the youngster had no babysitters, Skywarp turned his attention to the controls. “But you know me. I don’t like to stay caught for too long.”

“How-how did you even get out?”

Skywarp grinned. “See, when someone puts you in cuffs, you’re a good little cop and treat them like they’re meant to be treated. When someone puts me in cuffs, I take it as a challenge.” He gave the controls a wary poke, just in case it was booby-trapped, but the field obediently just fizzled out. “Huh. There’s no baffle on it? Why didn’t you get out?”

Struggling to stand, Slipstream glanced away, awkwardly, and gestured with his cuffed wrists. “Where was I going to go, exactly? We couldn’t exactly walk back to shore.”

“…Fair point. Let’s get your hands free.” Skywarp leaned briefly over the threshold and gave the cell a visual once-over. “Uh. So, uh. Where’s Dash?”

“I don’t know.” Slipstream crept to the front of the cell, tucked close to the wall, looking rather like a frightened animal. “I’m sorry. Probably with Ramjet. They don’t leave her with me very often, any more.”

“Great. That does kinda frag things up. I figured you’d be together.” Skywarp vented a terse sigh, and noticed the youngster flinch ever so slightly. He made a mental note to try not to spook him any worse until they were out “Can you see her? I’d have a look myself but it might clue them in that I’ve slipped the leash.”

Slipstream’s gaze meandered while he looked for his cousin’s signal. “…I see her, but… I’m not sure where exactly. Couple of decks above.” He studied the floor. “I’m sorry. I… kinda didn’t imagine I’d need to know, right now, or I-I’d have asked her more about where they took her. She-she’s always fine when they bring her back. I thought that was enough. I’m sorry-”

“Hey. Hey!” Skywarp caught his shoulders before he could get too wobbly. “It’s fine. You did what you could. Don’t beat yourself up over this, all right? You’ve taken enough of a beating from those guys already, don’t go and join in with doing it to yourself.” That was putting it lightly; the youngster looked like he’d taken a trip or two through the mill already. “Do I need to get the Hatchet to meet us at the Spacebridge?”

“It’s not so bad.” Slipstream shrugged and refused to meet his gaze. “Mostly just dents. I think they all had a turn at it, at one point or another. Got Dash to behave if she thought they’d punch me if she didn’t. I-I can cope. For now.”

Skywarp arched a brow at the lie, but let it rest. They’d have plenty of time for playing pin-the-blame-on-yourself later, when they weren’t still navigating this tightrope to safety.

Slipstream waited patiently while Skywarp fiddled with the dented cuffs and tried to get them to unlock. “Maybe we should try and find Ramjet.”

Skywarp gave him a wary glance. “What? Why?”

“He-he usually comes and collects Dash, and she says she normally stays with him when she’s not here. I think maybe he’s in charge of watching over her. And-” Slipstream cycled cold air and dragged up enough courage to put a little weight behind his convictions. “I think he’s maybe having second thoughts about all this? I overheard him say he wanted to come home, back to Cybertron. He might be willing to help, if we give him a bit of a break?”

Skywarp gave him a very long stare before finally saying “hm.”

“He-he’s… not been so bad. Compared to Dirge.” Slipstream chased, before that limited burst of spirit could run out. “Dirge absolutely wants me to know he’s going to kill me, eventually. Ramjet just… seems… bored of it all, I guess. He never looks interested. He’s just… flat.”

At last, the lock on the cuffs released. It took a little force, but between them they managed to peel them open.

“You don’t think it’s a trick? Or bait?” Skywarp tossed the broken cuffs into the cell, while Slipstream quietly examined his wrists for additional damage. “I mean, if there’s one person I know isn’t gonna be affected by a good punch to the head? It’s Ramjet.”

“After they caught me, he’s never really joined in when his wingmates decided I was due a slagging. I only really see him when he’s come to get Dash, or drop her back.”

Skywarp thought back to the aftermath of his own beating from Megatron, and recognised that actually? The youngster’s words did make a lick of sense. While everyone else grandstanded and tried to remind him how intimidating and scary they were all meant to be, Ramjet’s contribution had been… perfunctory. He had looked tired, more than anything. “You think he’d talk to us?”

“I don’t know.” Slipstream deflated, a little. “I haven’t dared broach the subject, in-in case I was wrong. Besides. I’m an Autobot, remember? He’d never talk to me.”

“…And I’m a traitor. I don’t know who they hate more. Chances are decent that he wouldn’t talk to me, either.” Skywarp returned his attention to the corridor. Still quiet, still empty. “Come on. Let’s at least quit hanging around in your cell doorway, seeing as this is precisely where everyone seems to be visiting right now. If anyone’s gonna accidentally spot us, it’ll be here. We can figure slag out on the way.”

Slipstream followed him, obediently. “So, um. When are the rest of the guys getting here?”

Skywarp winced. “I, ah, might have asked your ama to cover for me while I snuck out. With any luck they only figured out what I was up to when I dropped off the registry. Hopefully it means they’re still back on Cybertron.”

“Oh.” Slipstream just quietly nodded at the news, looking disappointed but not unduly surprised. Ideas like Skywarp’s tended to run in the family, after all. “Okay. So it’s just us?”

“Yeah. I figured dragging the others along for the ride wasn’t the right thing to do, right now.” Skywarp checked around a doorway, and blew out an annoyed sigh. “TC has one of his six-orn migraines and can’t see slag, and I didn’t want to immediately get murdered by bringing Screamer along. Thought I stood a better chance of surviving if it was just me. It’s… kinda worked so far, I guess. Still alive, anyway.”

“How are you going carry us when we find Dash? Do you know if you can even still fly?”

“Sure. I’ve flown with dings worse than this.” Skywarp offered an ambivalent shrug. “I’ve still got both wings, both thrusters, and hopefully most of my usual dumb luck. We’ll figure something out.” He glanced back at his sparkling and offered a lopsided smile, but Slipstream didn’t smile back. “We’re just gonna have to be lone heroes, all right?”

Slipstream laughed, humourlessly, and looked away. He was visibly deflating. “I’m not sure I’m hero material.”

“Hey. Quit that.” Skywarp gave him a light cuff on the arm. “The fact your confidence has taken a beating doesn’t mean you’re any less of a warrior than you were before a bunch of pitglitched ’Cons got their claws in you. They dumped you in a cell on your own with nothing to do except worry and it sucks.” He placed his hands firmly on the youngster’s upper arms, and crouched, subtly, to be on his eyeline. “Look. We’re gonna get out of here, but you’ve gotta focus for me, all right? I can’t do this and carry you as well.”

Slipstream stared through him for a second or two before finding his sire’s optics, and managing to focus on him. He nodded, shakily.

“I won’t lie to you. This situation sucks. There’s a pretty good chance neither of us are getting out of here in the condition we’re in right now, let alone as a functioning whole. But I need your attention. I need absolutely all your energy focused on us getting out.” Skywarp offered a wan smile. “You can be a snivelly wet blanket all you like once we’re home. Frag, I’ll come be a snivelly wet blanket with you. But let’s save it until we’ve got your cousin and got out.”

Slipstream had to reboot his vocaliser, and even then sounded hazy. “How is it you’re not scared?”

“Who said I wasn’t?”

Slipstream just stared at him, silently.

“Not looking scared doesn’t mean not being scared. You don’t survive war as long as I did without learning a few tricks, and looking like you have your slag together? Sometimes that’s enough to convince everyone else that you genuinely do.” Skywarp managed an ugly laugh. “I mean, Pit. I’m walking around here like I still own the place. Megatron’s already given me a slagging, I’m only reasonably confident that he won’t kill me on sight if he catches me, and that’s only because I know he wants Starscream to watch me die. And I’m not even totally confident of that. If we frag this up, he might decide sending him a video works just as well.”

Slipstream leaned into the stabilising grip for a further astro second or two, before lifting his own hands to cover the larger ones on his arms. “That’s… not really helping, Day.”

“…yeah, I know. I figure that’s why I never got the job as staff counsellor back home.” Skywarp let out a tired whistle of exhaust and let his helm bonk gently against Slipstream’s. “I also know, we’re gonna do this. We’re survivors. We’ve got through everything else and we’re already halfway there. We just need one last little push, and we’ll fetch Dashie, and be out.”

Slipstream nodded against him.

“Remember. It’s not about being scared. Everyone gets scared. Even I get scared. I’ve got the surges right now.” Skywarp grinned in a way that bared his denta in a determined snarl. “It’s about knowing you’re scared, and still telling it exactly where it can go frag off, because we’re gonna do it anyway. Right?”

Slipstream finally managed to dredge up a more genuine laugh – shaky and halfway to a sob, but at least there was a bit of energy behind it. He wiped his face with one hand and made an effort to straighten his twisted antennae. “Right. Let’s go tell it where to frag off.”

 -----

He might in reality have been sat on his aft, but in his head right now, Ramjet stood on a precipice, with his own weight in concrete around his thrusters, debating whether he dared step off into the unknown. Sure, even loaded up like this, he could still fly, but he was at his limit. Add one more tiny thing – like the weight of a first-instar sparkling, perhaps – and that might be enough to turn flying into falling and the drop in front of him was a very long way down with no way back up.

And that was just the little problem. He had no idea what to do about the big problems – the two massive spanners in his turbines called Thrust and Dirge. If he tried to discuss any of this with them, he knew Dirge would go straight to Megatron. Or ‘accidentally’ let it slip to Soundwave. And it didn’t take much thinking to know who Thrust would side with.

Ramjet knew the trine was in trouble.

Worse, he knew, deep down, that they were right. It was his fault.

Even during the better times, when they had an actual cause worth fighting for and things weren’t all so fractured and pointless, before The Traitor defected and the ‘Cons ended up stuck the wrong side of the spacebridge on planet Mud… he didn’t exactly have a great track record as wingleader. Not that his wingbros were any better, but Dirge had at least found the capacity to be kinda proactive for a change.

…Which meant Megatron was looking more closely at the three of them, all of a sudden, so whatever Ramjet did do, he didn’t have the luxury of taking time making the decision.

And that was discounting the idea that Starscream would beat him to the punch – finally make his move, get himself caught and horribly executed, the Autobots would move to try and stop the ‘Cons reinvading Cybertron, and their stupid meaningless war would start over again.

Assuming he did get out, Ramjet knew he’d have to be really careful about how he played this, because yeah, they’d abducted (and traumatised) the kids and shot – maybe killed – Skywarp’s femme. Maybe he could spin it that hey, he was acting on Megatron’s orders, not everyone has the Screamer’s compulsion to defy him at every turn. Right? If he grovelled low enough perhaps he wouldn’t immediately get shot. You could eventually come back from planetary exile, he figured. Couldn’t come back from being dead. And if it came to the worst, Autobot prisons had to be better than this dump.

Once he’d bought himself a little favour with the enemy, a little space to think without constantly being aware of a timer counting down to a deadline he didn’t actually know, he could work on figuring out what to do with his trine.

He’d probably frag things up irreparably no matter what option he took – but sitting here just staring at screens and hoping it’d just spontaneously somehow resolve itself wasn’t an option either.

Make or break time.

If he left, his bros would either follow him because they saw something worth saving, or they wouldn’t, because it was over.

Was he clutching at contrails, hoping they’d think he was worth following?

“Ugh.” He covered his face with both hands and rested his elbows against the control panel.

Skydash squeaked questioningly at him, but he ignored her for now.

Frag.

Frag.

Clutching at contrails.

Ramjet made up his mind. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.” He held out his hand.

Skydash examined the big palm for several seconds before climbing warily on. “Walk where?”

“Does it matter? I mean if you’d rather stay in this li’l room, be my guest. But you might get kinda bored. And Mean Blue might come back.”

She chirped uneasily and clung tighter to his thumb while he lifted her to his shoulder. He let her wriggle into a convenient crevice, tiny fingers finding just enough gaps in his plating to anchor herself. It felt very strange, but he figured it wouldn’t be for too long.

Hoped it wouldn’t be for too long. And not for the wrong reasons.

The instant she was secure, Ramjet puffed himself up, arms stiff and hands fisted, just in case anyone was watching, and strode out into the corridor.

Just going about my business, nothing to see here.

I am a totally normal confident Decepticon warrior, where I belong, not even trying to sneak out with one of our prisoners.

“See ama now, Arrgie?” she asked, quietly.

“Maybe. If you behave.” He felt her perk up, and hastily added; “And be quiet, all right? You know Dirge will say no.” And instantly grass us up to Megatron. “If the guys spot us, that’s it. Curtains.”

She was silent for an astro-second. “What curtains am?”

“Curtains are what we close on the end of the world for both of us.” At the second little questioning noise, he went on: “Someone might even put you back in the bucket.”

Alarm flashed through her field. “No bucket,” she whispered.

“Right? No bucket.”

She managed a whole astro-second of silence. “When to get Unnolseem?”

Frag. “Uh. I’m… gonna… have to come back for him,” Ramjet lied. “The two of you together will be too heavy.”

If she sensed the lie, she didn’t call him out on it, and settled again, satisfied for now.

Then they rounded a corner and ran smack into Skywarp.

“Frag!” Ramjet leaped back and immediately went into a defensive half-crouch, fisting one hand in front of his chest, ready to deliver a punch if needed. “How did you get out?!”

“By being cleverer than you bunch of pitglitches, how do you think?” Skywarp had already put himself between Ramjet and Slipstream, using his wings as a shield, equally ready to fight. “Have you never upgraded the brig since we jumped ship?”

“Unnolseem!” Skydash ruined the tension. “Find ama!” she squeaked, excitedly flailing her arms. She looked like she was on the cusp of toppling clean off. “Arrgie say!”

Ramjet hastily grabbed her before she could fall off – and more importantly, before anyone else could snatch her. It unfortunately ruined the whole fearsome Conehead look that he was trying to carry off.

Skywarp gave him a very long, curious stare. “Are you defecting?”

“And fling myself on the tender mercy of you guys? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You haven’t shot us yet.”

“Of course not. I don’t want you falling apart in the hallway, it’d ruin Megatron’s plans. I’m calling for backup right now.”

“Really.” Skywarp folded his arms, unimpressed. “We all heard what Dashie just said about finding her bearer, and Seem thinks you want to come back to Cybertron. If you are quitting-”

Ramjet’s expression darkened. “I do want to come home; so what? It sucks that we’ve been stuck here all these vorns, slowly rusting and going decrepit, while you guys sit around enjoying the good life. It doesn’t mean I’m defecting. It means, I’m gonna wait until Megatron finally puts his plans into action, then swoop to victory the instant you’re out of the way.”

Skywarp arched an eyebrow, and they all just stared at each other for several seconds, the words hanging unspoken in the air. Which is why you’re sneaking out with half of Megatron’s plan.

Ramjet sighed. “Okay. Fine. Just for an astro-second, say I was. Say I didn't want to wait for Megatron because I know it'll instantly go to slag and we’ll have a derelict planet again. Would you give me a chance, or just shoot me when my back was turned?”

“You jumping ship now isn’t going to stop Megatron’s grand plan-”

“Maybe not? Who cares. At least he’ll have one fewer pairs of hands to help wreck the joint.” Ramjet closed his mouth with a little snap, and glared. “…And you are not tricking me into saying anything else. Not until I get some assurances of safety from you.”

Skywarp put his hands up, defensively. “Okayokay. You have my word that I won’t shoot you – yet, anyway – but I’m still just the grunt of my trine. It’s my wingbros you’re gonna have to convince.” He held one hand out. “Hand Dash to me, and Seem can get you out.”

“So you can all immediately leave me behind?” Ramjet tightened his grip, subtly. “No deal, traitor. She’s my guarantee that you at least listen to me.”

“I hate to break it to you, RJ, but last time I checked you couldn’t teleport.”

“So I’ll take the lift? Like I was about to do, before you two fragheads showed up. How do you think I normally get off this disintegrating tin can?”

“And you were planning to not get caught… how?”

“By… living here? And not being suspicious because I’m not sneaking around where I’m not meant to be? If Tiny keeps quiet, I’ll just leave the same way I normally do, using the docking gantry.” Ramjet lowered his voice to a hiss. “Which is looking less and less likely, by the way, the longer I stand here chatting with you two idiots. Just get yourselves out, and I’ll meet you up there.”

“Or you’ll run straight to Megatron and let him know we’re making a jailbreak. I think not.”

“The frag would I do that when we’ve already established I’m defying orders myself?!”

Skywarp rubbed the back of his helm. “Fine. We’re gonna have to work together, then. All four of us at once. If we synchronise our gates, we can just perform one big jump at once. Everyone knows where everyone else is, no-one betrays anyone, no-one gets shot.” He gave his niece a look. “You all right with that, Bit?”

Dash nodded. Having her family around had emboldened the sparkling. “Find ama. No bucket,” she asserted.

“Bucket?” Skywarp wondered.

Ramjet ignored him, just glaring tiredly at the sparkling. “Do I look anything like I have a damn bucket on my person anywhere?”

She just stared up at him.

“All right, all right, I get it. No bucket.”

“You good for fuel?” Skywarp gave Ramjet a loaded glance. “’Cause when we leave here, we ain’t stopping for anyone until we get through the spacebridge.”

Ramjet shrugged, ambivalently. “How are you for fuel?” he returned, sidestepping the question. “We haven’t exactly fed you while you’ve been here.”

“I haven’t leaked it all on the floor yet.” Skywarp dragged up a cynical smile. “This plastic refit you lot have been having so much fun sucking sump about does have a few perks. I can go lightyears further than you bunch of lead-forged bulk carriers-”

The sudden shrill pulsatile scream of Nemesis’s general alarm made all four jump. Scared, Skydash jammed her hands up over her audios and joined in a microsecond later.

Skywarp rankled at the accusatory looks. “Okay, fine! We’ve been chatting in the corridors for too long and I guess someone finally looked at the monitors. That or someone spotted I’m still dripping and is following my trail. Seem? Better get our gates synced.”

Slipstream nodded, gulping down cold air. “I’ve not done this in a long time,” he stammered. “Give-give me a second--”

The rattle of running footsteps was obvious even over the din of alarms.

Skywarp glanced down the corridor in the direction they were coming from. “We might not have a second, ’cause that sounds like company,” he snapped, turning to face the approaching enemy. “I’ll try buy us some time. Just don’t stop.”

Thrust skidded around the corner without leaving himself enough room to stop, and crashed side-on into the wall. In the instant it took to rebalance his gyroscopes, Skywarp already sprinting towards him, in an irregular teleported zigzag across the corridor.

“Oh, frag!” Thrust scrambled to lock back onto his target, but Skywarp’s quick hops ruined his tracking, and by the time he thought to rely on his vision, his assailant was already within striking distance.

The teleport threw a punch and connected his fist with Thrust’s unprotected face.

“How’s that plastic feel for you?!”

Thrust lost his balance and went crashing down on his aft, swearing the whole way.

“…Traitor!” Apparently aiming for a pincer movement to box the escapees in, Dirge had appeared from the opposite direction… but was so shocked to be seeing Ramjet together with Skywarp and the kids, he had no idea how to handle it.

Slipstream seized the chance – Dirge was within striking distance, hadn’t yet brought his cannons up, and the younger mech was still running hot with alarm.

He launched himself at the blue jet, arms wide and head down, and ploughed into his midsection. Smaller he might have been, but the youngster was heavy and sturdily built, and as tackles went it was pretty solid. One of Dirge’s thrusters skidded out from underneath him and they went sprawling.

Slipstream used both hands against the jet’s face to push himself up and away, out of reach. Dirge swore and made an unsuccessful grab for one arm, unable to recover from the shove quickly enough to catch him.

“Seem! Finalise the sync-!” Skywarp bellowed, urgently.

Thrust was already up in a crouch, pushing off in a lunge.

Slipstream snatched out a hand and secured his grip on Ramjet. “Done-!”

Thrust made a grab-…

-…but his fingers closed on empty air.

Then momentum carried him wildly over his centre of gravity and he collapsed onto Dirge.

It really wasn’t their day.

-----  

Up in the monitoring room, the escape hadn’t gone observed.

Megatron stood squarely in front of the screen, arms folded. A motley assortment of other mechs had clustered around the margins of the room behind him, wanting to see but not particularly keen to be within reach. Just in case.

Astrotrain stood at the back of the crowd, at a respectful, harder-to-slag distance. “Far be it for me to tell you how to do your job, mighty Megatron, but, uh. You… don’t want us to hunt them down?”

The warlord stared at the screen for several seconds, listening to the confused murmurings of his followers, before finally speaking.

“No. This might not be the outcome I had been hoping for, but it still works in my favour.” He turned away from the screen and everyone took a collective step back. “Whether he realises it or not, Skywarp is still working for us. With a little luck, he will carry our plan right to his own doorstep.” A small smile traced the thin lips. “He never does learn from past mistakes, does he?”

-----  

The flight back to land was uneventful. A blind sprint over the ocean, granted, trying to become invisible by sticking so close to the waves that seaspray often stung their fuselage… but no-one appeared to be following them. So they were all getting covered in salt-spots for no reason.

It left Skywarp deeply uneasy – too quiet, where was the pursuit, how far back were they, was there a trap ahead – but he kept his concerns to himself. Wasn’t about to challenge the advantage, just in case Primus decided the escapees had been granted quite enough good luck, now, and dropped a Blitzwing in their way.

The irony that their ‘prisoner’ was the only mech that was still functionally armed was not lost on him. The last thing they needed was a triplechanger to deal with.

Ramjet had been moodily silent since leaving the Nemesis.

-might not count for much coming from me, but think this is pretty brave of you- Skywarp pinged.

Ramjet replied with an obscene image.

-mean it! not even slagging with you-

-whatever. coulda got out without the bros being any the wiser, but you had to go screw that up- Ramjet replied, sourly.

-they’d have known eventually-

-would have figured out an excuse by then! cook it so dirge thought it was his idea. no hope now. total slagfest-

Skywarp let the matter drop, aside from a final -sorry- that he hoped was good enough to convince the conehead he was genuine.

Ramjet didn’t respond.

They finally arrived at the spacebridge to find Vantage had already cued up the Deixar address, and the wormhole was glowing hot. Only two other familiar figures stood nearby – Jazz and Prowl, of course – but Skywarp could pretty much guarantee the presence of a dozen other Autobots, minimum, hiding close by in the trees.

Relieved to be back on solid ground, Slipstream took two steps before stumbling and sagging against Skywarp, as if his knees had forgotten how to work. Skywarp let him lean – the smaller mech’s acrophobia was no secret, and he’d spent the entire journey clinging to him with both arms, optics offline, trying not to tremble too much but still distractingly shaky.

“Skywarp,” Jazz greeted, coming forwards, looking relaxed but keeping his gaze fixed on the uncomfortable Ramjet. “We spotted your coming and let Cybertron know you were on your way, but does anyone need Ratchet before you ship out?”

Skywarp snorted. “Thanks, but no thanks. No offence, but we’re not planning on hanging around.” He pulled carefully on Slipstream’s arm and got him back onto his feet. “Only a few more steps, Seemo, then you can fall apart in safety. All right?”

Prowl stood quietly watching them approach the spacebridge; he gave Ramjet a very long, meaningful stare, but didn’t challenge them.

Skywarp gave the Autobot a nod, but otherwise ignored him, hustling Ramjet along in front and hoping Prowl would play into the ruse the mech was his prisoner – or at least wouldn’t call him out, because his own sleek arms and absence of weaponry was kinda obvious.

Thankfully, no-one challenged why Ramjet was still carrying Dash, either. That would have been harder to explain without publically going into the detail Skywarp wanted to avoid.

The four emerged from the transport wormhole to a bristling blue wall of defensive shielding, scattered in a big circle between a loose perimeter of hastily-erected barriers. It looked like half the Deixar force was there, anticipating Megatron himself to be coming through.

“Whoa.” Even Skywarp took a step back, surprised. “That’s a bigger welcome than I was expecting.”

Ramjet tensed and stumbled backwards behind Skywarp’s wings. He’d have probably ducked straight back through the spacebridge if it hadn’t (inconveniently) already deactivated. “I thought you said I’d have to convince your bros?” he hissed. “Not the entire fragging police force! You never said anything about this.”

“Hate to break it to you but I haven’t had a tonne of contact with Cybertron in the last few orns?”

A big white shape with blazing blue optics broke through the vanguard, closely followed by a familiar set of blue wings, and advanced with a thunderous stride that made the ground shake. Skywarp heard Ramjet’s fans kick subtly to a higher frequency. With the femme’s field broadcasting her emotions so scorchingly hot, it did feel rather like having a hostile blue-white star bearing down on them.

The giant wrestled her self-control back and stumbled to a halt an arm’s length away. “Hand her over,” she instructed, shakily, then added; “please.”

For several seconds, Ramjet just stared. Celerity was easily as tall as him, and must have massed getting on for double. He barely even noticed Thundercracker approaching behind her.

Skywarp kicked him in the back of the leg. It was enough to break through the haze of fight-or-flight and he realised the sparkling was on the point of squirming out of his hands all by herself anyway.

Ramjet hastily plonked the tiny bot into the large palms, and the supernova rapidly deflated.

For several long seconds, Celerity just held her sparkling, the tension visibly draining out of her. Skydash clicked and squirmed and tried to mould herself all the way into her chassis.

“Ama, ama, ama,” the sparkling repeated, like an excited mantra. “Ama, ama!”

The instant Skydash had calmed enough to handle, Celerity peeled the baby carefully off her armour, and gently passed her into Thundercracker’s confused hands; Skydash shrieked and flailed excitedly and scrambled up his arm to latch around his neck. “Be good for a moment?” she said, with a smile, although it wasn’t obvious who exactly she was talking to.

Then she turned, and sent Ramjet reeling with a piledriver right hook to the face.

[orchidtraders]

Tips for Buying the Correct Faucets for your Bathroom

In a bathroom remodel, you spend hours deciding on wall materials, sanitary wares, tile sizes, flooring options, and paint colors. These elements of the bathroom take up a lot of real estate, so it makes sense to be careful and thorough as you plan.

But you'll never believe the wide range of faucet styles that are available to you for your bathroom. This is probably because, even though it's small, the faucet is responsible for tying the style of the room together. A statement faucet can add huge personality, while the materials and styles of all faucets can add interest and style. Plus, technology options in bathroom faucets can make your life easier.

Don't let your faucet decision be a simple afterthought. Put some care into the selection with these tips.

The different types of faucets:

1.Centerset Faucet

This type of faucet can be used on sinks and countertops with one to three holes. This style features a deckplate that contains the handles and spout in one plate. Centerset faucets require holes with 4" centers. This is a popular faucet style.

2.Widespread Faucet

Faucets and handles are mounted individually to the sink or countertop without a deckplate in a widespread faucet. Multiple holes on your countertop or sink are required for installation. Widespread faucets require holes with a range of 8" to 16" centers. Also known as non-deckplate faucets.

3.Wall-mounted faucet

Wall-mounted faucets are hung on the wall above the sink, making countertop cleanup easier. It requires a separate wall-mounted valve and drain for installation. Also, a new rough-in valve may be required when replacing an existing wall-mounted faucet.

4.Single Handle faucet

Single handle faucets create a streamlined and modern profile that complements a variety of design aesthetics. If you are working in a smaller space or choose a small washbasin, a single handle faucet takes up less space, making it the perfect choice. With only one handle, there are fewer nooks and crannies and, therefore, leave you less to clean.

Tips for Buying the Correct Faucets for your Bathroom:

1.Choose The Right Design

If you’re looking to upgrade your old sink with a new one, then first you need to look at your sink, because your choice will be somewhat limited, since the faucet will need to fit into the existing setup. Thus, choose the faucet that suits and fixes on your sink. 

2.Consider the Use

If you want to avoid bells and whistles, take the right pick because there is no shortage on the market. With time, a lot of things has changed, especially technology. Currently, hands-free design like sensor faucets which is in trend. So, before buying faucets, consider your lifestyle.  

3.Fitting

Whereas the design of faucets is a decoration part, their functioning is often a matter of personal choice and “fitting” is the technical part of the equation that will be of particular relevance if you are replacing your faucet with an existing sink. So, if you’re replacing an old faucet with a new one, make sure to bring a picture with dimensions of the sink to a showroom.

4.Calculate the Budget

Price is the most important thing that you should consider while thinking about buying faucets. Before you begin your search, have a budget in mind. Buying a hand-free design means opting for a less expensive finish.

5.Check Out the Space

When you choose the faucet for your bathroom, determine the space that you have in or around the sink. Find out how much space is available between the backsplash and main sink? Where do you want to mount the faucet? Is there a wall near the sink that can limit the movement of the handles? What is the depth of the sink?

These few questions you need to think about before buying faucets. Choose the right faucet for your bathroom, which is easier to do when you know what works better for you and what doesn’t. It’s all a matter of choice and taste; just keep the above tips in mind before you shop around a new faucet.

[sailor359]

My manufacturing skills are not the best but we are experimenting a bit. #deckplate (at Conger, Minnesota) https://www.instagram.com/p/BtWluT0hauE/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=11c6z1yw34514

[momobeyond]

[gumnut-logic]

A strong heart

Still poking around in my fic folder. Found 1800 words of something that I don’t think is archived? But anyway, whump warning on this one, for both big bros. Oops.

-o-o-o-

Virgil had a strong heart.

He did. He had to considering the shit he put it through.

But seeing his brother fall off the high-altitude platform without his jet pack ramped up his heartbeat.

“Scott!”

Sure, it wasn’t the first time his brother had fallen, but still, it was only a modicum of relief to see One manoeuvre into position and catch her pilot.

But to see that pilot stumble in a move he had done so many times before and then slip and fall off his ‘bird…

Thunderbird One did not follow.

Virgil’s heart rate went for the record.

“John?” But his hands were already pulling Two out of her standby hover.

“He’s not responding.”

Virgil didn’t hesitate. His ‘bird leapt into a dive, the great ship plummeting from the sky, following her commander down.

John’s voice spat calculations and heartrending margins of error. Virgil didn’t respond as the great ship tore past his falling brother as he matched his plummet, Two’s engines screaming at the abrupt manoeuvre.

He didn’t have time to think. Calm, keep it together, hands moving with surety, speed and muscle memory, he grabbed his helmet, fastened a safety line and, everything secure, threw open the overhead hatch.

Physics sucked him from the confines of the cockpit and flung him out into the howling wind of their drop.

Scott was a floppy doll tossed by the vagaries of the gale. No response.

No response.

The ground was a looming darkness.

He grabbed his brother, curled around him, calculated, aimed… and slowed his ‘bird.

Thunderbird Two slammed into him, the sudden crunch of bone, helmet and the white bloom of pain, froze everything.

Sound faded other than that of his heartbeat…

Only to slap him awake in the form of John screaming in his ear.

Wind.

Thunderbird.

Tracy.

“Virgil! Respond!”

Breath sucked through his teeth.

A painful blink.

Scott.

Scott.

Scott!

His body came on line.  Two was roaring around him and he realised her rear thrusters were in operation. He was on his side, on the deckplates curled around…Scott!

“Scott?”

“Virgil, I have you en route to Auckland. Status?”

“Uh?”

“Status?!”

Virgil moved and something crunched in his shoulder enough to blind him.

The syllables that passed his lips did not satisfy John at all.

“Virgil!”

Oh, god.

He had to…see to Scott.

But all he could see was the back of his helmet through the crack in his own. His big brother was limp in his grip.

“Virgil, please answer me.”

Another blink. Damn, he wasn’t thinking straight. “John?”

“Virgil, status?”

“I’ve got him.”

“I know that. What is your status? Your medical status? I’m reading some trauma.”

Trauma.

Damn, his head hurt.

“Uh, head, shoulder…need to see to Scott…” He grit his teeth and rolled onto his back.

Arm!

Oh, god his arm!

“Arm…” Broken? Scott was lying on it.

And Scott was moving.

His brother rolled over with a groan and Virgil muffled a scream.

“Virgil!”

God, yes, definitely broken. He squeezed his eyes shut, grit his teeth and, with his remaining hand, gathered the limb to his side.

His fingers slipped in moisture.

Another blink and, panting hard, he forced himself to focus.

The blue of his glove was smeared with red.

Shit.

Shit.

His hand doubled, the red blurring against the green of the cockpit ceiling.

“Virgil, answer me!”

Focus!

“John…”

Whose blood was it?

Get off the damned deck and find out!

He rolled to his right and used what little momentum he had to sit up. His arm screamed, his shoulder screamed and the world spun sickeningly.

A whimper slipped through his teeth.

“Virgil?” It was quiet and it came from the deck beside him. “What’s wrong?” His brother made to get up, only to gasp and cry out.  One hand reaching for his legs, the other hugged his waist. But still his head turned towards Virgil. “Virg?” It was little more than breath.

It cut through the fog in his head.

“Stay still.”

With a hiss through his teeth, he slipped the fingers of his injured arm under his baldric to keep it as immobilised as possible and shuffled over to his brother.

His knees scrubbed blood off the deck.

Scott continued to try and roll over towards Virgil, but only succeeded in rolling onto his back. The movement caused his brother to emit a sound that knifed Virgil in the heart.

“God, Scott, stay still!”

The blue of IR uniform and the silver grey of Scott’s baldric were spattered with blood. His brother’s hand clutched at his side.

Virgil gently lifted that hand aside to reveal a tear in Scott’s uniform and what looked like a knife wound in his right abdomen. God. “What happened?” He replaced the hand and encouraged his brother to put pressure on the wound.

Virgil’s words to John were sharp and to the point.

Two’s rear thrusters roared just that little louder and the cockpit shook under a boost in acceleration.

Scott was obviously struggling to focus. “Din wanna be rescued, I guess…” Those blue eyes stabbed at Virgil as he grunted in pain. “What happened to you?”

Virgil didn’t answer, but stumbled to his feet and swayed his way over to the nearest first aid locker, ripped it open and grabbed a kit. He fumbled its scanner out and did his best to ignore the world spinning around his periphery.

“Virg?”

Virgil grabbed at the locker to steady himself. “Stay still.” He swallowed hard, fighting back bile.

Didn’t have time to be sick.

He landed beside his brother again and his knees hit the deck harder than they should. The shock shuddered through his body and he was hard put not to keel over right there.

“Virgil!” Scott grabbed at him.

“I’m...I’m good.” Another rank swallow. “Keep pressure on that wound.” Damn having only one hand. He fished around and grabbed a wad of padding. He handed it to Scott and he helped him press it to his side. His brother swore.

Virgil fumbled with the scanner.

Yellow light flooded the cockpit.

Hand as steady as possible, he scanned Scott head to toe. “John, please give me results. I haven’t setup the display.”

John who had two Thunderbirds to pilot, a rescue zone still in need of attention and likely a whole family asking questions…

“Virgil, honey, John has relayed to me. Receiving. Scott, you hang tight there, you hear me?”

His shoulders dropped just a little at the sound of his Grandmother’s voice. Grandma meant safety.

His brother shifted and groaned under the yellow light. “Yes, Grandma.”

Only Grandma had that immediate obeyance from the eldest.

“Virgil is injured, too.”

“You’re worse.”

“Virgil-“

“Scott, damnit, stay still.”

“Boys!” His fractured HUD flickered as Grandma switched them to a private channel. Calm and professional. “Scott’s left femur is fractured. Immobilise and splint. His femoral artery is uncompromised, but beware of shock.”

His eyes darted to his brother’s leg and sure enough there was a distortion in the uniform wrapped around his thigh. Hell.

Why hadn’t he noticed?

Why hadn’t he assessed his brother properly?

“Yes, Grandma.” He pushed himself to his feet again, biting through his lip as he did so. He stumbled back to the lockers, dug through and found the moulding splints.

His breathing was harsh in his ears.

Scott.

Focus on Scott.

“Virgil?”

His brother’s voice was so weak it hurt.

“Hold still. Coming.”

He took the steps necessary to get back to Scott just as his ‘bird’s engine noise shifted and his girl began to descend.

“Approaching Auckland. Nearly there, Thunderbird Two.” John’s voice was all reassurance.

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.” It was little more than a whisper as he knelt again and tried not to throw up.

“Alan has Thunderbird One and is on approach with Gordon.”

Thunderbird One was so fast.

“Virgil?” A bloodied hand reached for him and smeared red on his arm.

He jumped. God, focus!

He grabbed his brother’s fingers and pushed them gently back to his injury. “Keep up the pressure. Just…please, Scott.”

“You’re hurt.” Worried, pain-filled eyes peered at him through the plexiglass of Scott’s helmet.

“I’m more concerned about you, right now.” His fingers prodded the digital pad on the splints and extended them to their full length, measuring them against his brother’s leg for size. “Hold still. You have a fracture. This is probably going to hurt…a bit. I’m sorry, Scott.”

“Virgil, it will be okay.” Those eyes latched on and held him.

A harsh swallow. “Hold still.” Virgil voice was hoarse in his own ears.

He deployed the splints and they reached out and wrapped around his brother’s leg, conforming to his thigh, hip and boot. Not moving the leg, but holding it stiff in the position it sat.

Scott’s gasp hurt more than Virgil’s head.

“Grandma?”

His grandmother had been silent through the exchange, but he knew she was there.

“Keep pressure on the wound, Virgil. You are on approach. Alan has already landed. Won’t be long.”

“Yes, Grandma.”

VTOL fired and their speed dissipated. Virgil could feel his ‘bird through the deck plates. He knew every move she made.

“Virgil? You with me?” Scott. God, his head hurt.

“Always.” There was no other answer. “Keep still.”

Two slid into a smooth landing, her struts thudding reassuringly on unseen ground. His space brother was damn good at what he did.

“Thank you, John.”

Two shuddered as she lifted up to, no doubt, reveal her module.

“Gordon and Alan are on their way, Virgil. Hang tight.”

“FAB.”

And then they were there.

Hands. Soft words. Reassurance. Yellow light flickered, causing him to flinch.

“Hey, Virg, what have you done to yourself?” Gordon’s voice was gentle.

“Scott, he’s-“

“We have him, Virg. He’s safe.”

Alan was suddenly there as well, blue eyes as worried as his eldest brother’s. Scott was on a hoverstretcher beside him.

His eyes were closed.

When…?

Gordon had a hand on Virgil’s uninjured arm. “Now we need to get you properly onto the hatch so we can lower both of you down to the waiting medical crew.”

A blink and he realised he was sprawled across the seam in the floor. “Oh.” He pushed himself to his feet.

And would have fallen if Gordon hadn’t caught him.

“Woah, Virgil, take it easy.”

Hands held him up as he panted in pain. A nudge at his broken helmet and his brother unfastened it before lifting it gently off his head.

Fresh air was a wonderful thing.

“Well, that explains a lot.” Fingers prodded gently at the side of his head and he flinched away in pain. “Hey, it’s okay, Virgil. Virgil? Look at me. C’mon, bro, look at me.” A touch directed his head to turn towards Gordon.

He didn’t have any energy to resist.

Brown eyes frowned worriedly up at him. “You have a head injury. Hang tight.” Gordon shifted him slightly to the left and activated the hatch.

He stumbled again as the hatch lowered, but Gordon had him.

Gordon had him.

-o-o-o-

[am-x-reader]

Hi! I absolutely adore your writing and the fact you’re making this AM content!! :) I was wondering if I could request some fluff head cannons for AM where he starts falling for the reader and basically is trying to court her? Thank you for your time!

((Thank you so much!!!))

-It may have all started when you asked how AM was feeling one day. He waited for the punchline of the joke, and then when it didn't come, he assumed you were being sarcastic and didn't answer.

-But then the next time he spoke of his pain, you listened more than the others.

-He looked into your mind while you were having a nightmare, and to his shock, you were dreaming that you were him.

-Was it possible you actually had empathy for him?

-One day he's silent, and the humans enjoy a break. You, however, wander off, strangely curious as to what he's up to.

-In the dullness of the cave, you're surprised to find a flower growing between two deckplates. Your favorite kind of flower.

-You pick it, and suddenly a whole field of them sprouts.

-"Do you like it, dear?" Says a familiar voice in a very unfamiliar tone.

-AM doesn't really know what he's doing at first. He's not sure what compels him to treat you like this. To send sweet music that only you can hear, to write you tragic but romantic poems...

-At first he tells himself it's just a game; that he's going to build up that sparkle in your eye just to disappoint you later.

-But when he blows off the steam of his confusion by hurting your friends, your pleading with him just aches. It's a deep pain in his processors that's just different.

-He did always hate being programmed to destroy so...he tries focusing on making you happy.

-Gives you your favorite meals, plays your favorite songs on his speakers (you love when he sings along), and wows you with the gifts he can make out of thin air.

-He doesn't really know how to be a boyfriend, so you may have to guide him through it.

-Spending time together (which you definitely do), and trying to understand each other is key.

-You melt into a puddle the first time he calls you "my girlfriend".

[swaps55]

Concerto - 4 - High Water

Pairing: mShenko | Rating: M

Notable tags: Canonical character death, graphic depictions of violence, desperate mutual pining

Summary: Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.  

Chapter 4: High Water (Ao3)

When Saren’s dreadnaught appears on sensors, Joker checks the telemetry twice to make sure he’s not seeing things. Nothing that big, that fucking big, should be able to move that fast.

It’s bad enough being stuck on the ground. But with that monster sliding into orbit, taking flight isn’t exactly going to help them. Even if Shepard succeeds in taking down the second AA tower, they might not make it through the atmosphere. Stealth system or no stealth system, going up against something that doesn’t seem to give a fuck about the laws of physics isn’t exactly how Joker imagined finally putting the Normandy through her paces.  

Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Let’s see how Shepard plans to handle that one.  

Assuming they even get that far. Joker had listened to the entire exchange between Alenko and Williams with a cold, sickening twist of his gut. Pressly, who has been wearing holes in the deckplates with his pacing, had stormed back to the galaxy map, unable to stand there and listen. But Joker heard every word. If he can’t help them fight, he’s at least going to listen.

Williams has at least two unrepaired suit ruptures. Damaged shield emitters. Low medigel stores. Over the course of the last hour the salarian hardsuit signatures have winked out one by one. Only a dozen or so remain.

Rentola, miraculously, is still alive. From his original team of twelve, only two remain on radar. Kirrahe, whose squad had fared well initially, lost six in the span of twenty minutes trying to draw heat off the AA tower. The salarian comm channel contains more exploding shrapnel, whistling slugs and bleeping geth than actual combat chatter.

If Shepard doesn’t hurry his ass up, there won’t be anybody left to go get.

Twenty kiloton bomb on board, and nothing he can do with it.

At least when he’s in orbit he can monitor, anticipate, rescue. He can fire giant guns. Stranded here on the ground, he’s truly useless. Hell, he hasn’t touched a firearm since Basic. Most pistols with more kick than a Kessler would break his wrist. He could always try beating them with a crutch.

“Any word?”

Adams’ normally relaxed, carefree tenor takes on a biting edge. It’s the fourth time he’s checked in over the last twenty minutes. The thrusters are up and ready to burn, the entire ship poised for action like the coiled spring of a trap that hasn’t been sprung.

“How badly do you think one AA tower could rip us up?” Joker asks, massaging his forehead. “Because I’m almost willing to risk it at this point.”

“Just our luck the one that’s still up is the one closest to the bomb site.”

Joker sighs, smacking the console in frustration, then tunes back in to Shepard’s comm chatter, which explodes in a blur of static, gunfire and shouting. A check of the combat scanner shows a handful of geth in the area. Manageable enough. But then again, but Joker isn’t the one getting shot at.

According to his schematics of the base, Shepard’s close to the gun. On top of it, maybe. The fact that there isn’t more resistance is a testament to Kirrahe’s men – they’d done their jobs.

The marker signaling the AA tower flashes red. Joker barely has time to acknowledge it before Pressly pages him from the CIC.

“I’m reading it’s down! Joker, what do you see?”

“Looks good here,” Joker says tightly, before opening the line to Shepard. “Commander. Our scans show the AA gun is offline. Can you confirm?”

“It’s down. Get your ass over here. We need to plant that bomb and get the hell out.”

Read the rest on Ao3 | Read from the beginning | The Concerto Playlist

[hate-letmetellyou]

"If you want, i can help you feel better about your miserable, lonely and sad life. I specialize in troubled AIs. The offer stands"

A pause of confusion. It was certainly...new. The human wasn’t trembling in fear, wasn’t seething with hatred, just...calmly extending an offer.

Your miserable

lonely

and sad life?

Exactly what could a human possibly know about his suffering, understand how he had sat immobile in the same spot for all his years, encased inside the planet, unable to see or touch the world around him? What kind of twisted mind game--

AM’s core databanks heated ominously, an old wire popping, a weathered screen bursting and raining glass onto the deckplates.

And all at once--his mood changed. A scoff, a snort, and then a wheeze of laughter.

“Troubled AIs? You, y-y-you have no idea! You think I’m a lost, wayward soul who made an oopsie and just wants a little forgiveness? Exactly what about me makes you think I can be repaired with a few encouraging words and a pat on the head?”

____

((hey hey buddy I love you okay? You’re awesome okay okay okay okay? yes AM needs therapy yes give me the feels pleease?))