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ussgallifrey · 8 months

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(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 21

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, dialogue taken directly from Avengers: Age of Ultron, language, mentions of Hydra experimentation, moderate violence, Steve Rogers definitely not being jealous.

✦ Word Count: 9.4k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Author’s Note: Uh...hey. How's it going? I'm just visiting as it was. For anyone who might be totally unaware, I've been away for almost a year now. At the beginning of 2023, my partner experienced a near fatal injury and well, life has kind of revolved around that for some time. He's physically healing, I'm emotionally and mentally healing and life is finally moving along once again. Consider this me dipping my toes into writing once again. Maybe not regular updates, but a start. The majority of this chapter has been sitting in my drafts since, god, November of last year? As a spur of the moment kind of thing, I decided to reread the entire story earlier today and felt determined enough to maybe add to it once again. And... here we are. Anyway, back to the story <3

[Master List]

Steve finds himself in one of the several glassed-in conference rooms in the tower with Tony and Hill - only a few hours after Natasha was cleared by Dr. Cho. The billionaire looks like he’d rather be doing anything other than this. Most likely wishing he could be back in his precious lab, studying the scepter for all its worth before it was returned to its rightful home.

He closes the door behind him, eyeing the laptop on which Maria is typing, “Said you got a lead?”

She hums in soft acknowledgment, eyes scanning something on the screen before she finally gives him her attention. Tony rocks back in his chair, feet crossed at the ankle on the adjacent seat. Steve remains standing at the end of the table.

Images appear on the whiteboard behind her as she begins her report, “It took us two hours to bypass the corrupted files and the top-of-the-line encryption - ”

“No thanks to JARVIS,” Tony adds quickly, with a knowing smirk.

She nods, but otherwise ignores the comment, “We’re looking at roughly thirty years of backlog.”

Steve watches the images on the projection switch between the scepter, schematics, and patient files. Jesus.

“You were on the right track, Captain. Strucker wasn’t just using that thing for weapons - though we have at least a good amount of information on the weaponry he successfully made. But I believe your interest was focused on the containment cells?”

It’s at that moment that you and Clint walk in, offering an apologetic nod as you take a seat beside Tony. You lean forward almost immediately when you see what’s on the screen - an image taken just earlier today of the mangled cell block.

The screen changes to two prisoner files marked PATIENTIENT 4.1and PATIENT 4.2. Admittedly, his German isn’t as good as it used to be during the war, so he fumbles through the article with little to no comprehension.

“Anyone get that?” Clint gestures at the screen, an incredulous expression on his face.

Before Hill can even bring up the translation, you’re muttering out, “They… they weren’t experimented on. The scepter, it wasn’t - ”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, eyes narrowing at the files as if he could somehow understand the foreign words now.

“Is there any language you don’t speak?” Tony whirls around in his seat to stare at you instead; totally missing the point.

“Jedek, Sentinelese, and Mudbara to name a few,” you answer levelly, before craning your head back to look at Steve and then over to Clint. “It says Patients 4.1 and 4.2 were entered into their program in 2005 - ”

Hill nods, the projection changing over to a set of images - body parts being measured and cataloged. They looked surprisingly small - skin stretched tight over the bones of a forearm, a calf, and a shockingly skeletal spine.

Children. He was looking at the images of two children that HYDRA had taken in.

Gritting his teeth, he manages to get out a sharp, “What else?”

Maria takes over then, back to more pages of files, “They were part of a series of off-the-record adoptions, during the country’s last civil war. People went missing by the hundreds back then. The official death count is still incomplete from the time. But it appears that individuals like Strucker were using the war to their benefit.”

The screen is flooded with images then, hundreds of people - primarily children, he notes with a sour turning of his stomach and the clenching of his fist at his side.

“And he was what, using the scepter like he was playing at God?” Barton scoffs with a bitter tone.

Steve is reminded then of the fact that if anyone understood the gravity of the scepter and the capability of its power in the wrong hands, it would in fact be Clint Barton.

Hill’s lips form a thin line, “For some, yes.”

“But not these two?” Tony fills in, twirling a pen between his fingers.

“Why?” Steve questions, unable to pull his gaze away from the new blurred image of a dark-haired girl, no older than eight - her eyes wide as she’s seemingly forced into a position for the camera.

It’s then that you lean forward in your chair, squinting at the file next to the girl’s picture before you rock back in your seat - “They were showing abilities on their own accord?”

And then the bombshell drops.

“This is their DNA structure against the typical human’s - ” In the center of the table, a blue holographic projection is displayed. Two double helixes slowly rotate alongside one another.

For all his aptitude, Steve can’t spot the immediate difference between the two. But you and Tony surely latch onto it quick enough. Leaning over the table, the billionaire swipes his hand at the helix on the left and instantly increases its size.

“What the hell is that?” Tony wonders out loud, turning the helix with his fingers.

It’s only then that Steve notices the strange strand near the center of the structure. It’s forked, compared to the other relatively straight branches. Almost spiked in its appearance.

“They called it the X gene, in the official reports,” Hill supplements.

“Which did what, exactly?” Tony asks, eyes still focused on the hologram.

She clears her throat for a moment, before saying, “From what we understand from their reports, these two individuals had naturally occurring inhuman powers on a previously unheard-of level.”

Everyone’s attention falls on her, and the silence lingers.

“Superpowered humans whose abilities can be traced back only to their own mutated DNA.”

Tony looks between the screen, the hologram, and then Steve.

“Shit. You’re saying these things can just pop up now, yeah? Any random person could get some kind of unnatural ability?”

“We have to look into it further, obviously - and if we were able to run the appropriate tests - ”

“What happened to them?” you ask, standing slowly. Clarifying only a moment later when you’re met with blank stares. “The file says they were still there when we breached the fortress. And yet we didn’t find anyone there that wasn’t already in a body bag in the morgue.”

She gives a tight nod, flicking off the presentation, “We have eyes on the city.”

“Do we even know what they look like? Let alone their intentions,” Tony questions, leaning away from the table and tapping the pen for a moment against his leg.

Hill shakes her head, “No. But we have a limited age range and a general profile to work with. And two people who were held captive for most of their lives will display a unique range of responses and choices. One slip, and we’ll find them. But if they were able to escape Strucker’s fortress on their own accord - ”

Tony seems unimpressed as he nods, walking backward for a moment as he says, “Keep me looped.”

You step forward to speak to Maria as the billionaire leaves - probably back to his lab. Clint stands up with a tired stretch.

“How’s she holding up?” Steve asks gently as the archer moves around the table.

The blonde smiles fondly, shaking his head, “You know, Nat, man. She doesn’t do bed rest for shit. I’m bribing her with coffee and I got Thor keeping her company right now.”

“Keeping her from escaping, you mean?” you turn back towards them with a knowing smile.

Clint chuckles, “Something like that.”

Steve nods, watching as he takes his leave then, waiting around for you to finish up with Maria. He recalled how rattled you had been that day upon discovering the cells. To finally have an answer to that giant unknown - well, Steve just wanted to see how you were holding up after it all.

Your brows raise marginally as you see him still standing there, but the two of you walk out into the quiet hallway together as Maria packs up her things, stepping in sync as you head for the elevator to the private quarters.

“So…” he starts, still processing the whole meeting in his head.

“So, naturally occurring superpowers,” you agree with a disbelieving shake of your head.

He shares your shock, glancing over at the curiously downturned expression on your lips. And here he thought the weirdest thing science had ever turned out was him. But in a world of literal Gods and billionaires with time and money to spend, Steve probably shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was.

“It makes me wonder,” you say as you stop at the metal doors of the elevator, “If this is the first instance of the mutation - if something in their specific genetics can be traced back to this. Or… or if this could be a totally random human mutation.”

The bell dings gently as the doors slide open and the two of you enter.

Steve just shakes his head, “I have no idea.”

You hum in quiet contemplation. The doors swish shut after a moment and Steve presses the button for the appropriate floor before stepping back, eyeing you out of his peripheral. Your curiosity was like a burning ember, he could see it growing by the second and it made him smile - seeing that thirst for answers, for knowledge, so clear on your face.

“They were seemingly random too - not necessarily connected powers or even all that similar really,” you turn to face him, eyes narrowed as you seem to work through everything out loud, “The male prisoner had an increased metabolism and improved thermal homeostasis. And the girl had neuroelectrical interfacing, telekinesis, and mental manipulation.”

Slowly he turns to face you, peering down into your energized eyes with a look of confusion clearly plastered upon his own.

With one glance up at him, you specify, “He moves incredibly fast and she can move things with her mind. The grooves on the floor, the deformed cell bars. It’s kind of unbelievable, right?”

Steve offers a look of consideration as he nods toward the now-opening doors. The two of you exit onto the pristine floor of the personal living quarters for the team.

“Have you ever seen something like this before?” he asks, glancing over at you as the two of you pass the closed door to Dr. Banner's room.

“Not like this. Gods and other immortals, sure. Gamma radiation accidents and one notable serum-enhanced super soldier,” your eyes turn playful as you look over at him - he returns the expression with a smile of his own. “But never naturally occurring human mutation, no.”

“Tony's gonna have a field day,” he sighs, at last, coming to a stop just beside the door to the room the billionaire had forced upon you.

As if he wasn't already deep in the research pool with the scepter. Once Thor returned it to its rightful home, Stark would eagerly be jumping on the opportunity to explore the mutated genome for all its worth.

You make a thoughtful humming sound as you seem to register just where you are now, peering back at the door.

“Hey, uhm,” Steve clears his throat as he looks over at you, a slight blush on his cheeks. “You're going to the party tomorrow night, right?”

That pulls your attention as you look back at him with a gentle smile, “Yeah, he roped me into it. Told me to call up some friends to come along. He wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Steve laughs, “Yeah, that sounds about right for Stark.”

“Doesn't even matter that I have no one to invite along. Honestly, what does he think I do in my spare time to warrant friendships like that?”

The words themself seem disheartening but you're chuckling despite it.

He offers a grin of his own, “Seems to be a mutually shared problem.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, a sparkle of warmth within the depths of your irises.

“Yeah,” you breathe out gently. And then your hand grabs hold of the door handle and you push back with your weight to open it a crack. “Well, maybe I can scour my contacts for someone. And if all else fails, you could always call up Sharon?”

There's a hopeful lilt to your voice, one that Steve, unfortunately, has to dampen.

“She's on assignment right now. Probably won't be stateside for another month.”

Your lips form a gentle ahh, “I'm sure you'll think of someone by then.”

Seeing a chance appearing in front of him, Steve gulps down his anxious nerves. Natasha had said to be blunt after all.

“Or… I could just take… you.”

With a surprised blink, your lips curve up into a breathtaking smile that nearly sends him reeling.

“Sure, Rogers. Though Sam might be a little jealous of me taking his wingman away.”

Relief swims through his belly as he rocks back on his heels, unable to contain his smile, “I'm sure he'll get over it.”

The lab is thrumming with energy when you come to check in on the two scientists who, by the looks of it, haven’t left the room since at least the day before - if not longer. Settling in on one of the spare stools alongside an abandoned workbench, you watch them work - flicking between screens and running computations that are basically incomprehensible to you.

“How may I assist you?”

“Cronus!” you startle as the bot seems to materialize next to you.

Unlike the rest of the Iron Legion, this particular bot has a drawn-on smile on its mouthpiece, crudely done in a lopsided Sharpie scrawl. Along with two wonky curved eyebrows above the visual optics.

“Oh, hey, Your Highness,” Tony calls out, not even looking away from the new set of schematics in front of him.

Bruce gives a little wave of his own.

“No need for assistance,” you inform the drone, watching the digitized glowing eyes seemingly blink before it walks back to the corner of the lab from which it came.

From across the room, you hear the billionaire give a slightly defeated damn it before he looks up and seems to decide that you’re far more interesting - striding across the room until he’s leaning against the workbench next to you.

“Have I mentioned how unnerving those things are?”

He glances back at the bot, “My Legion, you mean?”

You hum in agreement, “I mean, I understand that you gave up the suit and this was the next logical step. But you couldn’t have made them a bit more… friendly?”

His lips form a challenging grin, “I’ll have you know that the Ultron line of toys are currently at the top of everyone's Christmas wishlist. And there’s an anime currently in the works inspired by my Legion. So, maybe it's just you and your slightly outdated ways.”

You blink in confusion, “Anime?”

“Seriously? How long have you been around here?”

With a strangled laugh, you look away, “A few thousand years, give or take. And I’ll have you know that my interests far outreach your capitalist hold on the franchise market.”

Tony stumbles back, a hand held to his heart, “Okay, ouch. I let you into my tower, offer you a room, and you call me a money-hungry capitalist?”

A shrug is all you offer him in return.

He gestures at Bruce with a pleading look in his eyes, looking for backup apparently. But the other scientist merely holds up his hands in a clear sign of not wanting to step into the fray.

“Okay, I’ll play,” he resigns, leaning his elbows on the workbench - watching you with a playful intensity. You can make out each ring under his eyes, the speckles of red veins in his tired expression.

“While I’ve been coming up with more and more exuberantly creative ways to fund this entire group operation, you’ve been doing what exactly?”

Turning on the seat to better address him, you state quite plainly, “Cleaning up SHIELD’s mess.”

“Which we’ve also been doing,” he shakes his head. “My question is: why haven’t you joined us on any of these little adventures?”

Admittedly, you kind of blank for a moment.

It was a legitimate question, considering you were doing nearly the exact same thing for the past year, just on your own. While you knew Steve had been silently tracking his long-lost friend during this time, you also were aware of the many raids he had partaken in with the team.

“I mean, even with this whole scepter business just about wrapped up, there’s still bases and terrorist cells out there. And since you’re already here - ”

“Anonymity,” you answer, suddenly.

Tony blinks, jerking his head back as you slowly and calmly press forward.

“I spent centuries being nothing more than a legend amongst your kind. I could come and go as I pleased. I worked for SHIELD while remaining almost entirely off their records. Yet one instance in New York and suddenly my identity was dragged into the open and now - ”

You gesture vaguely around the lab, “Now, I’m here and a part of a household name. I preferred it when it was just me doing the quiet work behind the scenes and not having my name and image on the news.”

“And lunchboxes and costumes and a few knock-off toys, to name a few other things, right?” Tony’s eyes flash with what you think is meant to be humor.

Your anger simmers and you offer him a tired, half-hearted smile, “It was an easier life when my name was only associated with museum pieces and ancient tales, yes.”

He nods thoughtfully, biting at his lip as he looks between you and Bruce.

“So… it’s a maybe?”

You shove his arm away, good-naturedly, “I’ll see you at your party tonight, Stark. You too, hopefully - ” you call over to Bruce.

The other man quirks his lips into a shy smile, “I’m not sure I have much of a choice in the matter.”

“You don’t!” Tony responds cheerily, eyes flickering over to you as you exit the lab. “Okay, let’s run it again, JARVIS, and see if we can keep the system from overloading this time.”

The party is in full swing now. The drinks have been flowing freely from the bar as comfortable music streams from the speakers. It’s a surprisingly casual affair for Tony’s standards - though the man is dressed in a three-piece suit. There’s a mix of colognes and perfumes and the sharp bitterness of alcohol in the air.

He hasn’t partaken in any of it, in all honesty. He’s on the precipice, waiting for your arrival.

Steve had done his best to hide his disappointment earlier in the day when you informed him that you would have to catch up with him at the party later.

“I’ve got to pick up some friends from the airport,” you had said, almost sheepish when you knocked on the door to his room.

And he had responded with a nonchalant of course, yeah, it’s no problem sort of answer. But now that the party had officially been going on for almost an hour, he couldn’t help but feel an anxious twinge in his side as he kept sweeping the room with his eyes - trying to find you in the crowd.

It’s not that he can’t socialize with the team, the veterans, or the other partygoers. It’s a completely different reason entirely that he keeps seeking you out amongst the celebration.

“So,” Sam knocks his elbow against Steve’s arm. “You find a place in Brooklyn yet?”

He gazes out over the atrium, knowing the well-recycled conversation was just Sam’s attempt at distracting him for another few minutes. While he had never explicitly spoken about his feelings towards you, it seemed it was apparently evident to just about everyone in his inner circle of friends - Sam and Natasha included.

“I’m not sure I can afford a place in Brooklyn.”

It was true. But like he had told you the other night, he didn’t all that mind staying at the Tower. It at least kept him busy when he wasn’t working on the missing person’s case with Sam. Everything had changed after the collapse of SHIELD and Steve hadn’t been particularly interested in going back to square one and attempting his shot at normalcy.

No, joining them on the HYDRA raids had been exactly what he needed.

The other man takes another swig of his drink, “Well, home is home, you know?”

Steve looks at him for a moment before he returns his gaze to the room - eyes not quite seeing the actual location itself. But lost in the beginning of an idea that his mind sometimes liked to dangle in front of him. Images of a possible future that didn’t seem all that unwelcoming - just a little improbable.

It’s only with the loud boisterous sound of Thor’s booming voice that he’s able to focus back on the party itself and, more importantly, on the three women who have just come up the stairs.

It’s like an immediate sucker punch to the gut as he takes you in. He’s not sure if he’s ever actually seen you in a dress before. But what a debut this is.

It’s very… Grecian, he’ll admit. Bathed in soft white fabric and glistening golden embellishments, you’re every bit a goddess as you make your way over to Thor - introducing your guests.

Steve finds himself literally muttering a silent wow to himself, feeling the uptick in his heartbeat and the sudden rush of warmth to his cheeks.

And then he’s clamping his hand on Sam’s shoulder, “Think I need a drink.”

The other man just chuckles into his glass, already knowing exactly where his attention has fallen for the rest of the night.

You can’t help but smile as Thor tugs the taller woman into a tight hug. The shorter of the two immediately backs up before he can grab hold of her.

“You’ve gotten bigger,” she states with an air of disinterest.

He chuckles, patting the other on the shoulder fondly, “Still using the same mystical illusions then?”

Sprite shrugs.

Her disguise is about five inches taller than her actual form and abnormally similar to the airport's gift shop cashier they had passed on the way out to meet you. With dark chestnut-colored hair and a pair of striking green eyes, she looked nothing like her usual self - but that was the entire point, of course.

“We’re trying to keep a low profile,” Sersi says gently, leveling Thor with a look that was filled with the expectation of continued secrecy.

It wasn’t every day two Eternals were invited to a Stark Tower party. But then again, only the two of you knew of their existence in the first place. A well-kept secret indeed.

He makes an understanding ahh sound, nodding your way, “Friends from work, then?”

“Yes, actually,” you tug Sersi’s hand into your own. “We worked together at the Louvre for two years.”

“And at the Acropolis Museum - ” she fills in.

“And the Natural History Museum in D.C. and - ”

“London and New York, yeah. We get it,” Sprite interrupts briskly, her attention drifting over to a young waiter with a tray full of champagne.

Sersi’s expression softens as she looks over at her companion, “And that’s our cue to get a drink. We’ll catch up later.”

She makes a valiant effort to pull Sprite away gracefully to a nice quiet corner while you look upon Thor in his crimson jacket and casually messy smoothed-back hair.

“I half expected to see you surrounded by your kind,” you admit.

He chuckles, eyes raking over the fit of your dress, “While it is no Asgardian revel, I must admit, I quite enjoy the company I have made here on Midgard.”

“Hmmm, I see.”

Your shoulder brushes against his upper arm as the two of you move through the crowd.

A glance across the room has you spotting Steve at the bar, conversing with Natasha and Clint. You want to make your way over to them, but you know how out of place Thor is in the room - much like yourself, honestly. You had never been one for parties, even back on Olympus - and they were frequent there. Not wanting to interrupt your companions' conversation at the bar, you remain with your fellow god.

“And when you speak of good company, I assume you are referring to your good lady? Dr. Foster?”

The way his brow creases as his lips form a thin line makes everything that much more abundantly clear, especially when the God of Thunder attempts to duck out of view to grab hors d'oeuvres from one of the caterers. He pops the caviar cracker in his mouth and immediately blanches, forcing himself to swallow it down and smile.

“Yes, of course. Very good, very… happy,” he nods, hands on his hips.

Taking pity on the poor man, you rest your hand upon his arm, “Odinson. I know you have been here far more often than you’d like to admit - ”

“Well,” he smirks, “Midgard is quite low on daring quests for someone such as myself to partake in. I seek leisure where I can.”

With an unsurprised huff, you say, gently, “If you were here for leisure, as you say, you would not be here with us, I believe.”

His shockingly blue eyes meet yours. An air of long-held familiarity passes between the two of you as the party around you continues on. It’s with a knowing look in your eyes that he has to force his own gaze away, coughing roughly into his fist.

“Ah, advice from the virginal goddess herself. Have you become an expert in the field of relationships, my Lady Athena?”

You release your hold on his arm, shyly rubbing at your own elbow as your eyes flit across the crowd.

“Hardly. But I’ve been around long enough to know these things, Thor. How long will you be away after you return the scepter?”

He sniffs indignantly, “I have been away from my home for a long time indeed. I feel it warrants an extended visit.”

Something in those eyes makes your heart clench, your features softening in intensity as it dawns on you. He was not spending time with Jane Foster because there was no longer a reason to do so. He wanted to be here. He desired to get away from that place and therefore that relationship.

The realization is heartbreaking, so you find yourself asking, “Are you okay?”

The god nearly balks at that, plastering on a very tight smile, “Wh-why would I not be? Come! We should have a drink to celebrate such an accomplishment!”

His arm wraps around your waist in an instant, his large hand covering the middle of your bare back - fingers splayed across your heated skin. If he did not want to ruin the evening with talk of his past love, then you certainly weren’t going to push the topic tonight.

“I swear if it’s anything like the terrible drink your kind used to have back in the day - ”

He beams, looking down at you as the two of you walk over to the railing overlooking the lower levels of the Tower.

“I come bearing only the best for such revelries - ” he grins, pulling an ornate flask from his open jacket, “And only for the closest of allies.”

Flicking the topper off, he holds it out for you. Taking a wary sniff, your eyes nearly bulge as you giggle a nervous sound.

“Cronus, help us all.”

Grabbing hold of the flask, you take a single swig of the fast-burning liquid, sputtering pensively as it runs down your throat. Voice turned hoarse as you wave it back his way, “See? Truly terrible. Your people have no concept of a good drink.”

Thor chuckles, taking a shot of the Asgardian liquor for himself before pocketing the flask once again, “For tonight only - and because I am in the presence of a friend - I shall try not to take personal offense to that.”

You give him a nod in return, eyes blazing with a playful challenge, “Do try that.”

Natasha, for all appearances, is fully healed up. She’s perched on the barstool, sipping on her red-tinted drink, eyes scanning the room when Steve approaches. Clint has a grounding hand on her waist as he talks to a man on the other side of her, though she doesn’t seem to mind the lack of attention. Settling her drink down on the counter, she smiles up at him sweetly.

“Well, well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Steve scoffs a quiet laugh, tucking his hands into his pockets as he glances over at you - your two friends seem to be familiar with Thor, or at least extrovertedly confident enough to greet him with a hug.

“You got cleared to drink?”

Nat waves a dismissive hand, “I’m Russian, this barely counts as alcohol. Though I see you’re not participating.”

He shrugs, eyes flickering back over to the four of you as the conversation with your friends seems to wrap up fairly quickly, leaving you alone with Thor.

“Doesn’t do any good with the serum, you know.”

She makes a soft hum of understanding, taking another sip of her drink as she watches him watching the two of you from across the room.

You were the point of his focus.

The soft draping of your dress seemed perfectly tailored to you, with its flutter sleeves and high neckline. The hem fell just above your knees, and as you turned to walk towards the balcony overlook, Steve felt the sudden tightening of his throat as his eyes fell to your back. It was fully exposed, save for the clinching collar at your neck and the guiding hand of the Asgardian whose fingers were resting far too low for Steve's liking.

Clint’s laughter pulls his attention back over to the bar, as he leans down to whisper something in Nat’s ear before dipping back into the crowd of people. Steve’s focus falls on the arrow-shaped necklace the assassin begins to fiddle with.

“If you were looking for a moment, Captain, now would be a good one.”

Sometimes, he found it unnerving how quickly Natasha could read a person down to their very core. Even after all of his time training and working for SHIELD and the STRIKE team, he had never managed to school his features away like they did. He was probably an open book for her abilities, whether he liked it or not.

With a sigh, he finally looks back over just in time to see Thor’s hand on your bare back, his head lowered down as you clutch something small and silver-colored in your hand. You’re laughing and even across the noise of the room, he can make it out with near clarity.

Natasha slides her finger along the rim of her glass, with a teasing, “Tick, tock.”

Pulling back his shoulders and forcing a purposeful breath from his lungs, Steve begins to weave his way through the crowd. He’s stopped one too many times for his patience, but he gives each person a polite and respectful greeting before apologizing and attempting to continue forward once again.

At last, he spots the bright white of your dress. He can even hear the tail end of your conversation above the low hum of the music playing on the speakers.

“ - probably best if you just... yeah. We’ll speak later.”

And only once he’s made his way through the last few party-goers, does Thor press past him with a tightly-lipped Captain in lieu of a greeting. Steve watches him go for just a moment before he focuses his attention back onto the person he had crossed the floor to see.

Your brow is furrowed and your voice cuttingly vicious as you eye two new strangers beside you.

“What in Cronus’ name are you doing here?”

A man with dark curls and a warm complexion merely rolls his eyes at you, “This is how we’re greeted.”

“Well, what did you expect?” You snip, eyes flashing something dangerous as you round on the taller man. “A hug and a kiss? I mean... you can’t just come here and expect – ”

“A warm welcome?”

Steve’s gaze falls to the shorter of the two – still a hair taller than you of course. His grin is worryingly bright, forced, but not sinister. Steve takes a step forward.

The movement alone drags your attention away from the men and the tension on your face seems to dissipate with relief when your eyes lock in on him.

“Steve,” you plead gently, extending your hand out for him.

Unsure of what exactly he has stepped into, he grips his belt and stares straight ahead at the two visitors – only after giving you a quick glance.

“Captain Rogers,” you say with a hint of salt. “May I introduce my brothers.”

He knows his brows have risen in surprise as he refocuses on the men.

The dark-haired one, with the thin beard, sneers down at them both. While the shorter of the pair, decked out in a plum-colored velvet jacket, offers a more comforting smile. But Steve’s reassurance wains when he reaches out and grabs hold of your shoulder – trying to steer you away from him.

“Pleasure, of course. But we need to speak with our dear sister.”

You grip the man’s hand and yank his wrist back in a clear warning.

“And if you decided to seek me out in such a public place, clearly you give little care to who may be around to hear what you intend to say.”

A very clear I’m staying where I am. Steve almost wants to smile with pride as he crosses his arms over his chest and gazes down at you. Not a sign of fear or trepidation lies on your face when you shoot him a quick look.

The taller of the two sighs. Dropping his arms, he reaches into his wheat-colored pant pocket and pulls out something that glints in the ambient lighting. While he takes hold of the silver chain, a small locket slips to the bottom – dangling in the air beneath his fingers.

“A gift.”

Steve’s eyes instinctively trail to your face – curious what your reaction will be. But your expression remains resolutely blank.

Flipping the locket into the palm of his hand, your brother carefully flicks open the silver cover to reveal a gentle flickering orange flame.

If he were able to look away from it, Steve would have seen the near-gasp of surprise on your lips.

“You’ve been away, ‘Thena,” your other brother says gently. “For far too long.”

With a twist of his wrist, the locket snaps shut and Steve’s gaze rises to the dark eyes of the other man.

“A message, I give to you, dear sister. Goddess of Wisdom.”

Extending his hand out, the locket dangling precariously between the two of you, Steve watches as your fingers carefully wrap around the item – slipping the chain from your brother’s fingers until the piece of jewelry is safely secured in your own hand.

Leaning in close, ducking his head down to almost your ear, the taller of the two harshly whispers, “Uti prudenter.”

When he pulls back, your eyes harden and Steve swears a flicker of gold shines there for just a moment. Staring up at the man in question, you ask, “What have you seen?”

“Nothing but what is to come.”

You snort indignantly, tossing the locket in your hand for a moment of thought.

“How ever helpful, Hermes.”

He crosses his arms, sparing you a calculated look.

“I’m not the god of visions, am I?”

“Only a carrier of precious flames, is that right?”

Holding out his palm, as if to say well, give it back then. You hold the locket closer to your chest, turning your shoulder toward Steve, making the man smirk.

“As I thought.”

With a hmph, you watch as he disappears through the small crowd before descending the stairs. Your other brother watches on for a moment before giving you a small, albeit sheepish, smile.

“Be careful.”

At that, your features soften a hair. Raising a brow at him, you ask, “Aren’t I always?”

A sharp laugh escapes from his lips as he steps forward to wrap you into a quick, tight, hug. One that you quickly accept.

“Never.”

Without a parting word, he too follows the steps of your other sibling and heads down the stairs. You stare on for a moment longer, glancing down at the locket in your hand before at last you turn those brilliant eyes toward him.

“Family reunions, am I right?”

He can’t help but chuckle at that.

With a soft sigh, you lean against the banister behind you, encouraging him to do the same as he falls into place on your left. His eyes have a hard time trailing away from that silver-chained locket though, still sitting in your palm.

“They never travel this way,” you explain. “Must be important. Probably on word from the Fates.”

His curiosity piques ever more, but one question seems to fall into place at the forefront of his mind.

“And that flame... was that...?”

Your eyes lift from the necklace to meet his pointed gaze.

“The Promethean Flame, yes. Or an extension of it, at least.”

Giving another sigh, your fingers pull open the latch before you tilt your head to the side. Your hair cascades over your right shoulder as you pull the chain around your neck – clasping the lock together – before you gaze down at the heavy locket now resting against your bosom.

“You know that when I’m away from Olympus for too long, my powers weaken. My body grows more prone to suffering as a typical human would. This, I imagine - ” you take hold of the plain-faced locket, staring at it as though it’s a puzzle to answer, “May keep me from experiencing too great an injury.”

Releasing a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, Steve says, “For your sake, let’s hope so.”

Your warm eyes trail upward to meet his gaze and a curved smile befalls your sweet lips.

There’s a faint feeling of warm inebriation now running through his veins – having partaken in one or two sips from Thor’s special flask. He uses that reason, and that alone, for the lazy arm he has resting on the couch behind you. His whole body flushes as you turn your head toward him – laughing at something Clint had said just a moment ago. Your left shoulder brushes against his bare forearm and he grins in return – not having heard a single sound above the ringing of your laughter.

“Absolutely not,” Clint’s saying – twirling a pair of drumsticks on the floor beside Maria.

Tony raises a brow in return, “Why would I lie about that? No, I had a rep from Ben & Jerry’s literally here before this whole scepter business blew up. They want to make a whole line of flavors around us.”

Your head lolls to the side, a tired smile tugging at your lips. He can feel the gentle bobbing of your pointed heel against his calf, though you don’t seem to notice as you glance back at the man to your right – saying something soft and apparently funny in nature to Thor who barks a laugh in return.

“What’d ya say, Cap?” Tony grabs his attention. “Up for a little rendezvous with apple pie and other such iconic flavors.”

Steve just shakes his head in return.

“ - yes, a solid rum flavor would do you well,” he hears you say to the other God.

“And for you?” Thor muses playfully. “What shall it be?”

Before you can even conjure up a reply, Steve finds himself saying, “Honey.”

Your sharp gaze turns to him and immediately a smile blossoms across your features.

“Honey, strawberries, and a touch of cream. You know me well, Rogers.”

Steve shrugs in return, secretly pleased with himself for anticipating such an answer and for turning your attention away from the other man for just a moment more.

Somehow talk of ice cream flavors and brand deals gives way to a more interesting topic of conversation amongst the group in only a matter of minutes.

“But it’s a trick,” Clint bemoans.

Thor smiles in a pleased fashion as he passes along the silver flask from you and then onto Steve who quickly knocks back another shot of the fiery liquid.

“No, no, it’s much more than that.”

He can feel the curl of your fingers around his hand when he hands back the container and his eyes fall to the small patch of uncovered skin above your knee – your white dress having risen slightly higher as you lean back against the warm cushions.

“Ah, whoever he be worthy shall have the power!” Clint exclaims, holding his hands out toward the hammer resting on the coffee table. “Whatever, man. It’s a trick!”

“Please, be my guest.”

Thor gestures at Mjolnir and silence seems to befall the group for just a moment as everyone’s attention pinpoints on the infamous hammer. There’s a second of silence as Clint seems to take in the words.

“Come on. Really?”

“Yeah.”

To his right, he can hear Rhodey sigh, “Oh, this is gonna be beautiful.”

Even you turn your attention to the archer now as he approaches the legendary weapon.

“You know I’ve seen this before, right?”

At Thor’s nod, he grips the handle and attempts to pull. But it doesn’t even budge a millimeter as he grunts with the effort. With an incredulous laugh, he draws his hand away, shaking his head.

“I still don’t know how you do it!”

“Smell the silent judgment?”

Glancing across the room, Clint offers his hand out to the billionaire.

“Please, Stark. By all means.”

With his typical air of arrogance, Tony lifts from the couch beside Rhodey and plucks open the button on his suit jacket. Steve leans back beside you and watches with glistening amusement as he rounds the table.

“Never one to shrink from an honest challenge. It’s physics.”

He takes a moment to wrap the leather strap around his wrist, preparing his hold as he looks toward the God in question.

“Right, so, if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?”

Thor, unsurprisingly calm, responds, “Yes. Of course.”

Steve covers his mouth with his fist, already anticipating the likely outcome.

With two solid tugs and a few bitten grunts, Tony releases the strap – a sudden look of determination overcoming his features, as he says, “I’ll be right back.”

As he wanders off, much to the hooted badgering from Clint and Rhodey, Steve catches the familiar look you share with Thor. You lean into the other’s side, nudging his arm with your elbow as you whisper something too soft for even the super soldier’s ears.

Arriving back with a piece of a suit, Tony attempts the feat again. And, when that ultimately fails, he has Rhodes following after him to grab a part of War Machine’s armor. That attempt also fails – rather spectacularly as your sweet laughter fills his ears.

There’s also an attempt made by Bruce and Sam. The latter grunts with the effort before ducking his head down with a laugh.

“Man, I don’t know how you do this.”

And then he feels the gentle pressure of your arm against his elbow. When his gaze trails away from Sam, he meets your heated expression.

“Steve?” you softly goad.

What more can he do than roll back his sleeves and rise to the challenge?

“Go ahead, Steve. No pressure,” Tony drawls, still in defeat over his own failed attempt.

Sam gives him a warm slap to the shoulder as he passes.

“Come on, Cap,” Barton encourages.

Staring down at the hammer, he fixes his gaze upon the engraved runic wording. Physics had failed Tony, sheer force of will failed Clint. Maybe if he just...

Wrapping his hands around the handle, he offers you a quick glance – catching your watchful stare – before he pulls back with all of his might. He swears, for just a second, that he can feel it budge, but when he looks down... nothing.

Holding his hands up in defeat, a smile on his face, he catches the biting laugh from Thor as the other man shakes his head.

“Nothing!”

Steve presses past the two of you before taking his seat once more. You give him a solidary pat on the shoulder and a gently murmured tough luck, Cap. Someone clears their throat and Banner gestures his hands towards Natasha.

“And... Widow?”

Realization crosses her features as she leans back with a too-obvious smile.

“Oh, no, no. That’s not a question I need answered.”

Drawing their attention to the last remaining member of the team, Steve’s eyes fall upon you. Too busy watching the moment unfold with Romanoff, you’re suddenly staring at the group of them before also laughing – holding your hands up in pure dismissal.

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” Tony goads in an instant. “If there was anyone who could manage a feat of godly power...”

“Out of the question.”

This time, it’s Thor’s daunting timber that speaks.

Steve knows he’s not the only one curious by the sudden change in format as all eyes seem to fall on the God himself. Thor stiffens, fingers clutching his glass as he peers over at you for just a second.

“That’s not something that can be done,” you say in slow calculated words. “We will never wield one another’s weapons.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Tony immediately inquires.

Your nervous expression pauses on Steve for just a moment, as if needing strength for whatever conversation was suddenly unraveling. Your knee presses against his outer thigh and he immediately pushes back in return.

“Can’t, obviously,” Thor sniffs, gazing at the contents of his amber drink before taking a healthy drink of it. And then his dark eyes fall upon you, “Show them.”

Sparing the other God a heated glance, you stand up at once – your dress falls back in place with a careful draping of soft white fabric as you brush past Thor’s spread knees – taking your spot before the hammer.

Shooting a look at the accompanying group, you reach your hand out towards the weapon in question – just for a sharp bluish-white zap of lightning to arch out and singe the end of your fingertips. Pulling away with a sharp hiss of discomfort, you bring your digits up to your lips and gently suck at the burned flesh.

“See?” Thor drawls.

And then a light seems to glow in your eyes, a new wave of confidence, as you say with a teasing tone, “Fair is fair.”

Tossing your hand up into the air – a ray of golden light stretches down from the ceiling as your shield materializes in your hand. You hold the Aegis close to your side – looking ever so much like the fictional Goddess of legend that you were.

Steve’s fully, hopelessly, entranced.

Thor actually shrinks away from the object in question – digging himself further into the corner of the couch cushions as though he could vanish into them.

“No mortal man can wield such an item and I do not wish to try.”

Clint barks a laugh, “Come on! Like the lady said, fair is fair. Own up!”

The shield seems surprisingly light in your hand – though even Steve knows that appearances are entirely deceiving, having been in a position to use it on more than one occasion.

But with keen interest, everyone watches as the God of Thunder slowly rises to his feet. His hand reaches out, then pulls away, before he grits his teeth and finally goes for the strap of the inner handle.

You slip your hand away until you’re just barely holding it up at all. Thor’s fingers curl alongside yours for just a moment before you pull away entirely and –

BANG

“Fuck!” Barton hollers.

Thor screeches as the shield connects with the floor – splintering the wood – as the Aegis just barely grazes the toe of his shoe. He leaps back as if burned, though clearly he suffers from nothing more than burnt pride.

But Steve’s attention falls on the beaming smile on your face.

“Anyone for a go?” you ask cheerfully.

“Absolutely not.”

“Enough bruised ego for one day.”

And then your eyes cross over the group to meet the super soldier’s, a knowing glint in your warm expression as you ask, “Steve?”

Returning the grin, and feeling a bit prideful in the fact that he presses past a somber-looking Thor, Steve leans down and pulls the Aegis free from it’s temporary holding place in Tony’s floor – offering the shield back to you with little more than an uncomfortable twinge of discomfort from the sheer weight of the item.

“Thank you,” you smooze, taking hold of the shield once again and allowing it to lift up into the air and back to its home of origin.

There’s a moment that passes, between the two of you then, where a silent understanding almost occurs, but it’s immediately lost to the sharp ringing of a mechanical sound across the room. Steve’s hands fly to his ears as he cringes away from the noise.

Just as fast as the ringing occurred, it’s gone in an instant. But the sound of something metal upon the floor grabs everyone’s attention. Steve feels himself stepping closer to your side as you all look on at the metal bot that staggers out of the lab.

“Worthy? How could you be worthy? You’re all killers.”

He takes a breath, unsure of what exactly he’s seeing, but trusting it no more than he did SHIELD or any other faction he had found himself up against in the past three years.

“Stark.”

“Jarvis.”

“I’m sorry, I was asleep,” The mangled bot continues, glancing around – almost unseeing – at the room. “Or I was a dream.”

Tony’s pulled out a device and is speaking into it, but Steve can hardly look away from the sight before him – before them all. As the bot twists and turns, unsteady on its feet. Wires hang from its body like dangling tendons and veins, it holds a hand to its head as if in pain.

“- there was this terrible noise. And I was tangled in... in... strings. Had to kill the other guy,” the bot waves its hand in fleeting reference. “He was a good guy. But down in the real world, we’re faced with ugly choices.”

“Who sent you?” Thor demands.

The electronic voice of Tony Stark then plays out for them all to hear.

“I see a suit of armor around the world.”

Beside him, Athena barely breathes out, “Ultron.”

The bot fixes her with a glowing blue-eyed look and Steve stiffens.

“In the flesh. Or... no, not yet. Not this chrysalis. But I’m ready. I’m on a mission.”

Hill clocks the hammer on her gun, staring down the bot, “What mission?”

“Peace in our time.”

And then, as if fixing its look on one person in particular, the bot’s thrusters come to life and it surges forward – hand open – as it grabs hold of Tony and careens out the window.

Steve lurches forward, rushing to the shattered glass as the malfunctioning robot grips the billionaire by the neck over the bustling city street many stories below them all. Tony digs into the arms of the creature, his feet dangling, kicking uselessly for purchase.

Turning his attention toward the group now circling the open space, the bot seems to sneer.

“Look at you. The very ideal of peace-keeping. But what are you really?”

The bot soars closer, not enough to be within full reach. And Steve knows that any attempt at disarming it will bring Tony’s safety into immediate question. He can do nothing more than stare on in disturbed wonder as the robot begins lecturing them.

“Your very existence is a threat to peace. Agent Romanoff and Barton, the two gallivanting criminals.”

Its mechanical eyes rove across the group, landing on the person standing to his left. Your chin juts out in defiance. The robot chortles.

“And the Gods from another realm. How much destruction can you cause with just a flick of your mighty finger? Of course, your faith in humanity’s greatest threat is of grave concern to any being with a twinge of intelligence.”

A pointed metal finger singles out Doctor Banner, who shrinks away from them all – nervous glances shared – as he ducks his head down.

“Captain America, himself.”

Steve’s hardened gaze refuses to be moved by the bot as it focuses all of its attention on him.

“So locked in your ideals, Captain. But at what cost? Unwilling to compromise for something you believe in. Endangering the entire planet at the cost of a ghost.”

A surge of discomfort lashes up inside of him and Steve can’t help but look away – if only to catch your equally concerned eye.

“And you - ” At last, the bot jerks Tony away – giving the man no secure hold beside the arm extending him out to his doom. “Anthony Stark. A man so obsessed with making amends for his past, that you end up causing more harm than good.”

Tony struggles, his face turning red as he puffs out desperate breaths.

The bot turns toward them with the most menacing look a robot could ever give.

“This group – this team. You put the world at large at risk. Every argument, every guilt trip, and jab will lead to your failure. Where I was created to see the world as it is. How it should be. The ultimate global peacekeeper.

In an instant, the wall behind the bar explodes as three similar robots shoot out towards the group.

Tony is all but tossed toward them, landing in a curled heap beside Rhodey and Clint – panting out a worrying series of breaths before he manages to stand and call out to the Legion’s operating system.

Gunshots ring out, the heavy metallic clunk of Thor’s hammer making contact with something equally dense, shattered glass, and the shrill cry of Helen Cho meets his ears as he pushes forward. Leaping over the glass banister, Steve lands atop a silver bot, yanking back on its head with all his might as it tries to slam him into the wall.

It succeeds, with the second blow, as he tumbles down onto the floor – broken glass shards dig into his palm as he tries to steady himself.

“Cap!”

Sam’s voice rings out across the room as a shield is tossed his way.

Using a chair for a weapon, you manage to knock away another bot from Dr. Cho’s reach – sending it back into Thor’s hammer. Steve swivels in time to catch the shoulder joint of another robot, bringing the shield down on its back with some relief as the bot splutters out electrical shocks before ultimately disengaging.

Looking up from the remnants of the mayhem, his chest heaving and his hands gripped into tight fists, Steve watches as Tony takes a heavy step back from the initial mangled-looking bot as it presses further into the room.

“That was dramatic.”

Steve spares you a glance as he tightens his grip on the shield.

“I’m sorry, I know you mean well. But this... this team will never work. You will be humanity’s downfall. You want to protect the world, but you don’t want it to change. How is humanity saved if it’s not allowed to... evolve?”

Glancing down at one of its fallen comrades, the bot kicks the side of its head – the steel faceplate gives way, revealing the wires and mechanisms that lie underneath.

“With these? These puppets?”

It looks back upon them all.

“There’s only one path to peace,” it stares at Tony then. “The Avengers’ extinction.”

And then the bot shatters with the might of Thor’s hammer.

“I had strings, but now I’m free...” The bot drowns for just a moment longer before its lights dim and the entire thing grows silent.

Stepping forward, Steve stares down at the last remaining pieces of the mangled robot before his full fury turns toward the billionaire resting on the glass steps with another torn-apart robot beside him.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel fan fic #series: shameless wonder #my fic

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pcbmust · 1 year

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Top 10 Common Mistakes to Avoid in Embedded Design

Embedded systems have become an integral part of modern-day electronics. These systems are used in everything from medical devices to automobiles, and they require specialized knowledge and skills to design and develop. However, even experienced designers can make mistakes when working on embedded systems.Embedded design is a specialized field that requires expertise in both hardware and software development. It involves designing and developing electronic devices that are integrated into other systems. However, there are common mistakes that designers often make, which can lead to project delays, cost overruns, and even product failure.

Here are common mistakes to avoid in embedded design:

1.Insufficient Testing

One of the biggest mistakes in embedded design is not testing the system adequately. Testing is critical in identifying bugs and ensuring that the system is functioning as expected. Without proper testing, the system may be prone to crashes or unexpected behavior.

2.Over Complicated Design

Designers may sometimes overcomplicate the system, adding unnecessary features or components that can make the system difficult to debug and maintain. A simple design approach can often be more effective and easier to maintain in the long run.

3.Poorly Managed Power Consumption

Power consumption is a crucial aspect of embedded design, and poor power management can result in reduced battery life or system instability. Designers should pay close attention to power consumption and implement strategies such as sleep modes to conserve power when the system is not in use.

4.Inadequate Security Measures

Security is a critical concern for embedded systems, especially those that handle sensitive data or operate in critical environments. Designers should implement adequate security measures, such as encryption and authentication protocols, to ensure that the system is secure.

5.Incompatible Hardware and Software

Mismatched hardware and software components can result in system instability and performance issues. Designers should ensure that the hardware and software are compatible and that any necessary drivers or firmware are properly installed.

6.Lack of Documentation

Designers should document their design process, including the specifications, schematics, and software code. Proper documentation can help to identify and resolve issues quickly and can be useful in future design iterations.

7.Inadequate Component Selection

The selection of components can have a significant impact on the performance and stability of an embedded system. Designers should carefully evaluate components for reliability, compatibility, and performance to ensure that they are suitable for the intended application.

8.Failure to Consider Environmental Factors

Embedded systems may operate in harsh environments, including extreme temperatures or exposure to moisture or dust. Designers should consider environmental factors and select components that can withstand these conditions.

9.Poorly Designed User Interface

The user interface is an essential component of any embedded system, and a poorly designed interface can result in frustration and reduced usability. Designers should consider the user experience and design an interface that is intuitive and easy to use.

10.Lack of Flexibility

Finally, embedded systems should be designed with flexibility in mind. The system should be able to adapt to changes in the environment or user requirements, and designers should consider the potential for future upgrades or modifications.

11.Not staying up-to-date with the latest technologies

Embedded design is a rapidly evolving field, and new technologies are continually being developed. Not staying up-to-date with the latest technologies can lead to outdated products and missed opportunities.

12.Not paying attention to thermal management

Embedded devices generate heat, and if not managed correctly, it can lead to system instability, reduced performance, and even component failure.

13.Failing to consider EMI/EMC

Electromagnetic interference (EMI) and electromagnetic compatibility (EMC) can affect the performance and reliability of your system. It’s important to carefully consider these factors and incorporate appropriate measures into your design.

Conclusion

Embedded design can be challenging, and even experienced designers can make mistakes. However, by avoiding these common mistakes and implementing best practices, designers can develop systems that are reliable, efficient, and effective. Adequate testing, simple design, proper power management, security measures, compatible hardware and software, documentation, component selection, environmental factors, user interface, and flexibility are all essential considerations in embedded design. By prioritizing these factors, designers can create embedded systems that meet the needs of their intended application and users.

#electronics #circuit board #circuit design #pcb design #electronics design #automotive electronics #hardware design #iot applications #pcb circuit design #hardware

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rlxtechoff · 1 year

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#IFTTT #Blogger

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fullpaclocator · 2 years

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.scr files in linux

Gnupg is a complete and free implementation of the OpenPGP standard. It is an encryption and signing tool for Linux and UNIX-like operating systems such as FreeBSD, Solaris, MacOS and others. MENU ' Search and order : Run designlink-order. T o encrypt and decrypt files with a password, use gpg command. # Uncomment this if you want a set of useful default shortcuts! # This file can be used to configure the editor windows.

Check it out below: # Configuration Script Its output can be confusing to the uninitiated, but we’ll show you how to understand it. Whether you are designing schematics, designing boards, designing both or just reviewing designs, you can tailor the configuration of Eagle to allow you to work more efficiently.Įagle is distributed with a default configuration script it sets some default layers to be used, sets the unit(s) of measure, sets the grid spacing and calls some. The Linux free command displays how much of your computer’s memory is in use and how much is still available for programs to use. Perhaps the most valuable feature of a personalized configuration script is the ability to setup a hotkey assignment map and workspace that caters to how you use Eagle. So an executable with the extension scr will look the same as a normal executable bin file to a program. By changing the set of commands within the configuration script, the user can customize the settings of any of the aforementioned Eagle editors without the tedium of having to manually change the settings every time you open up an instance of Eagle. (A quick bit of extra info) Oh and Linux programs typically don't rely on the file extension of files (that's just for humans) Linux programs read the header of files to know what they are. These include: BOARD Editor, SCHEMATIC Editor, LIBRARY Editor, DEVICE Editor, PACKAGE Editor and SYMBOL Editor.

The configuration script contains a series of commands written in human readable text that change the settings for any instance of an Eagle editor workspace when opened. When opened, the script typically runs a series of commands in the. When an instance of an Eagle editor is opened, Eagle accesses a configuration script file ( eagle.scr). An SCR file is a generic executable script created or used by a number of possible programs. Put simply, it's a file used to configure an instance of Eagle with specific settings when opened. If you are new to Eagle or unfamiliar entirely, check out these tutorials to help you get started: That said, this is just a quick explainer, and there will be plenty left unsaid about using Eagle scripts. Let me preface this by saying that there is more I do not know about Autodesk's EAGLE PCB Design Software than there is that I do. Let's talk about Eagle Configuration Scripts: how to use them, and why using your own can make your Eagle experience more enjoyable and efficient.

#.scr files in linux

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alstroemeriadissonance · 2 years

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Weekend Lessons with Dr. Richter: On Love, Sex, and Apologies (Part 3 - NSFW)

Previous parts: Part 1 | Part 2

Wednesday Afternoon, NXX Headquarters

"Aaaaaallright alright KIDS," Marius clears his throat, then adjusts the invisible eyeglasses perched on his nose. "LISTEN."

Of course no one listens. Everyone is seated by the new wooden conference table, but no one except Marius is doing any conferencing: Luke is fiddling with his mobile game. Artem is perusing through his files on his tablet. Marius is doing his horrible job of impersonating Vyn more than actually trying to discuss NXX matters.

You are just wondering when they'll give it up and stop trying to hold meetings while Vyn is in his month-long medical leave. You want to ask them why they even bother going through the motions; you are tempted to tell them off for wasting time on meetings that could have been bullet point emails instead...but you remember what happened the last time you told them off, and so you keep your mouth shut.

Marius finally gives up and bangs his head on the table. "Come onn, help me out here," he then turns to you. "MISSY PLEASE."

"Um...what am I supposed to do?" you ask.

Marius pushes towards you a thick sheaf of papers. "This, this has been sitting in his To Do tray for ages Missy, waiting for an expert psychiatrist to go over them and the trail is getting cold and--"

"Uhuh...?"

"ITS A SECURITY RISK MISSY UGH." Marius groans. "There's a very VERY good reason its not encoded, not even as an encrypted file. Even DAVIS is hardcoded not to read and scan papers with a certain mark printed on these. And its been sitting in Vyn's desk for AGES."

"I still don't know what this has to do with me."

Marius makes his best puppy eyes, begging you, "Missy, I know you and Vyn are seeing each other--could you PLEASE give this to him? Pretty please? Have him work on these? Just these?"

"Er. No. He's on medical leave for a good reason." And the reason is me, you want to add, but it is not relevant to the issue at hand. "If you can't chip at those files then let it wait til then." Your voice is firm and final. Hell will freeze over first before you shove work at someone who is still mentally recuperating. Because of you.

"Aaarghgh." Marius plants his face onto the smooth varnished surface of the large mahogany table. "Why'd he even assign me to cover for him anyway?"

"He mentioned that it's because you know how to handle your difficult board members."

"Yeah, but..." Marius sits up once again, scratching his nose. "They're difficult, but they're permanent fixtures, you know? I see them so often that I already have scripts in my head ready on how to deal with those old farts. You get used to them. They aren't difficult like..." he gestures to the files. "...these. Can you believe I sometimes lose sleep knowing they're not in the shredder, burned in the incinerator with ashes used as fertilizer for Vyn's plants?"

"Huh?" Your brows furrow. "What?"

Marius grimaced. "Bleh, nothing," he waves his hand. "Just understand that these really shouldn't exist."

"You're exaggerating things, Marius," Luke pipes up from his far corner of the table, eyes not leaving his mobile game. "Not even the NSB has something like that."

"Yeah, well we're not NSB, so we handle things differently in PAX." Marius sighs. "You don't have Security and Research and Development screaming bloody murder at you because these schematics are printed--"

"...Schematics?" You raise an eyebrow. "What do you need Vyn's input for, over design schematics?"

"He didn't tell you?" Marius leans back into his chair. "These are the schematics for an artificial brain, to be installed in artificial body.

"We're giving DAVIS a physical body as a POC for this tech."

Luke and Artem promptly drop their devices to the carpeted floor.

===

In the end you agree to at least try once; when you walk out of the NXX Headquarters the papers are stuffed rather haphazardly in your documents briefcase, mixed in with your legal documents.

The pathway out of the NXX Headquarters leading to the main gate skirts Vyn's garden; you scan its perimeter to check if he is already out, tending to his plants. You do not see him anywhere--he probably is still sleeping in--and you sigh. You are sorely tempted to drop by to see him, maybe sneak in a kiss before you go home, but you decide to give the man his sorely needed space.

The both of you already agreed on meeting this weekend anyway.

And so you walk on, walk past the junction where the pathway breaks off to lead to the Victorian mansion's side entrance and proceed to the main gate where you are to wait for a cab--

A hand firmly holds your wrist, pulling you the opposite direction, leading you into the garden. When you turn you see Vyn, a small smile on his lips as he leads you to a cluster of rose bushes.

"Vyn?" You let your fingers interlace with his. "I didn't know you were here, I thought you weren't out yet..."

"I was hunched over these roses to check their blooms," Vyn says as he stops by a rose bush with distinct lavender blossoms. "I was probably hidden from your view earlier."

You bend over closer to the delicately purple-colored flowers. "These are pretty," you murmur as you gently touch the petals of the rose nearest you. "I've never seen roses of this shade before."

"Do you like them?" Vyn asks. "They are ready to be harvested. In fact," he gestures to the gloves and a pair of shears lying on the ground by the bush. "I was about to do so."

"You know I always say yes to more of your flowers, Vyn." You see him slowly going back to his normal self, and you smile at that more than the idea of getting new flowers for your vase at home. "I'd love to have them."

"And so you shall have them," Vyn says as he gestures for you to take a seat at a nearby bench as he gets to work: he pulls on his heavy gardening gloves, and with his shears he clips choice flowers from the bush. "How was the meeting today?" He asks as he searches for freshly-bloomed flowers among the other bushes.

"Still the same," you say as you appreciate the sight of Vyn, kneeling on the earth wearing nothing but a plain cotton shirt and jeans, focused on his gardening work. The clipping sounds of his shears tickle your ears. "Marius couldn't really hold a meeting. Not that I blame him though," you grin wryly. "No one was really interested."

"Really now," Vyn says as he puts down his shears and rummage through the back pocket of his jeans for a nail clipper. "I suppose there really is nothing to be discussed for now, anyway. Most of the active cases are pending further confirmation..." He takes a rose stem, one by one, carefully removing the thorns from each stem with the nail clippers.

"Oh right, which reminds me...um."

"Hmm?" Vyn is halfway done with de-thorning the roses. "Let me guess. Marius needs me to pick up some work."

You sigh. "Am I that transparent? I didn't even say anything about it yet."

A small chuckle shakes Vyn's shoulders. "Not you, pet. I meant them. I was actually expecting them to knock on my door with some work to be done. I am rather impressed they haven't yet, given my proximity."

"I tried to tell them not to, since you're on medical leave."

Vyn, finally done with the flowers, carefully cradles them on one arm. "Give them to me later. I do not mind," he says as he takes a seat next to you on the bench. "For you, my lady." he whispers softly as he proffers the roses to you.

A soft smile blooms on your lips. This is not just Vyn giving you flowers; this is also Vyn telling you that he cares for you. "Thanks. Really. I mean it," you say shyly as you receive the flowers; you carry them in your arms as you would a most precious treasure.

"I cannot wait for this weekend," he whispers. "You will come, yes?" He slowly leans in, and you do so as well, to meet him halfway. Eventually your lips meet, and once again you feel that familiar fluttering in your stomach as you share a soft kiss in the garden surrounded by roses.

One of his hands lay on your thigh; fingers gently gripping your soft flesh as he slowly deepens the kiss.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world," you say as you briefly break the kiss to catch your breath. Then you lean in once again, your warm lips brushing against Vyn's cool ones...

"OI LOVEBIRDS," Marius calls out from the distance, walking along the path leading to the main gate along with Luke and Artem, both who wisely pretend they do not see anything. "WE CAN SEE YOU, YOU KNOW."

Vyn grumbles as he pulls away, muttering about someone's lack of boundaries. "Well, that is regrettable," he says as he licks his lips. He then turns to Marius's direction. "You could have just walked on and ignored us, Marius. Remember that you are walking in my property."

His voice is dripping with venom. Not good. You are not the target of Vyn's ire, but you cannot help but feel a secondhand Fear of God.

Marius, however, seems unfazed. "Well I'm happy to see you getting back to normal, Vyn," he smirks as he flashes you a thumbs up sign. "Good work!"

You sigh. This is why they are always at odds with each other... You know Marius can read the room, but he sometimes deliberately just pisses Vyn off for funsies.

"Forget about handing me Marius's work, beloved," Vyn mutters as he stands up, your document bag in his arms. "I have decided I will set firm boundaries and not to do any work while I am off the clock. You can tell Marius that tomorrow."

===

Saturday Morning

"Sleepyhead, wake up," you whisper at Vyn's ear as he lay in his bed, still asleep. "Wakey-wakey," you say in a quiet sing-song voice as your hand slowly glides across his naked chest that lay exposed between the folds of his silk robe.

Vyn's breathing comes deep and slow in the throes of his sleep. He groans a little, and he moves, pressing his back closer to your body. He mumbles something incoherent, and then falls silent once again with only the slow rise and fall of his chest as his proof of life.

Do I dare? comes your thought as an idea, unbidden and sudden, comes to mind. Your hand is already on his bare stomach anyway, so if you let it slide further downwards...

You swallow the nervous lump in your throat as your fingers creep down to feel...yes, there it is. The unmistakable morning hardness that you have read so much about on magazines that promise tips on how to pleasure men. Something about males having a hard on in the mornings, and that it can be taken advantage of if one is in a relationship...

Your face somehow gains a deep flush as your fingers tentatively brush Vyn's morning glory, remembering that while you have read up on how to give pleasure using hands you sorely lack practical experience, and so you are afraid of botching the job only to make yourself look like an utter fool...

On the other hand...you tell yourself, he is so irresistible...

Throwing caution to the wind you slip your hand inside his robe, and to your surprise you learn that yes, he does not wear anything underneath the silk. Your fingers carefully grasp his cock, your eyes on Vyn's face to watch for any signs of discomfort. A soft sigh does escape his lips, but--

All of a sudden one of his hands shoot forward to grab your wrist, effectively stopping your ministrations.

"Vyn?!" you cry out. "Did I hurt you? I--" You soon find out that while his grip on your wrist is gentle, it is firm and you cannot wrest away from his grasp. It is as if a handcuff lined with fur is clamped around your wrist. "Vyn?"

He isn't responding; Vyn's eyes remain closed, still in slumber. Yet his grip on your wrist cannot he shaken off.

This is...Is this what Luke and Marius told me about Not Waking Up The Vyn?

They have told her about sleeping beside him being dangerous enough that they had to force themselves to assign who sleeps beside him at any given night. That at one time Vyn almost broke Marius's wrist, or that he clung to Luke so tightly the detective could not feel his limbs, with the blood circulation almost cut off.

But the way he grips your wrist right now has his fingers not putting any pressure onto your bones; it is just a firm grip that cannot be prised off.

This is...this is so cute, you laugh inwardly. You decide to just wait until he wakes up for him to let go of your wrist. In the meantime, a nap is in order. And so you curl up beside him; your wrist in his hand.

You are his willing prisoner for the morning, until he wakes up.

Just around the time you sink into slumber you feel Vyn let go of your wrist, and he moves to pin you underneath his body.

"Vyn?" you yawn sleepily. "Good morn--Vyn...?"

There is something off about him; while yes, he is on top of you, pinning you beneath him on his bed, his eyes remain unfocused: he is looking at you, and not at the same time. He has a vacant expression on his face, and when he opens his lips to speak you hear nothing that you can understand: he is talking in a different language that you cannot identify.

You cannot parse the words, much less spell them out--it does sound glottal, like a European language. You are familiar with Deutsch, and so you cross it out; his speech doesn't sound anything like German. Maybe Dutch? Swedish? One of those European dialects?

"Vyn, um, what's wrong? What are you playing at?" You laugh nervously. This maybe the strangest prank that you have been subjected to so far, and you certainly do not expect to get this from Vyn.

He answers in that same unknown language. His lips curl into a smile that do not quite reach his vacant eyes.

Then he dips on for a torrid kiss. His hands roam your body, tracing your outline from your head, shoulders, both sides of your torso; he does this as his tongue languidly explores your mouth, occasionally smacking his lips as he devours you hungrily. Eventually his hands slide up your breasts; he starts kneading your swell with gentle presses of his fingers and palms through the thin fabric of your blouse and brassiere.

While you are confused, you are also immensely turned on, and you can feel your cunt throb with a deliciously wet desire. "Mmph," you moan into his mouth: your underwear is now positively drenched.

You pat yourself on the back for deciding to skip the pantyhose, in anticipation of what may happen during your visit...

Vyn asks you something in that same strange tongue; you know it is a question with the way his words end with a questioning lilt.

"I can't answer you if I can't understand you, Vyn," you say when you realize...

Vyn is sleeptalking.

And, judging by his active movements, Vyn is also sleepwalking, but with the walking part replaced with...

Oh my god. This is so amusing. I'll never let him live this down when he wakes up.

His hands slip downwards, grasping your thighs. Judging from how he is pulling at your skirt you are clued in that he is trying to undress you, or at least gain access to your nethers.

With a small chuckle you gather your skirt upwards, and in one swift movement you slide your panties down your legs and off your feet.

"Well, sleepyhead," you say as you open your legs for him, your amusement barely hidden. "Are you going to sleepfuck me, or no?"

To your mild surprise he actually answers, but still in that same mysterious language. You make a note in the back of your mind to run the voice recorder function in your phone next time he does this.

As he talks his eyes turn predatory--still unfocused, with his gaze not holding yours and instead veers off to random points from time to time--and a sensuous smile spreads on his lips as he continues to speak, this time with a bedroom voice so low you cream so much at the sound of his voice.

Dear lord. Does he even know that he does this?

You definitely have to record him next time. Probably for your personal use too.

He then grasps your thighs but instead of wrapping them around his waist as you would expect him to do, he drapes them over his shoulders. He buries his face in between your legs, his wonderful wonderful tongue running stripes along your wet slit: the tip of his tongue slightly dipping into your hole and each stripe ending with a flick on your clit. Each flick at your sensitive bud brings you closer to your release; you feel that familiar imminent burst of pleasure slowly building and building...

"Oh shit," you moan as you fight the urge to clamp your thighs around his neck. "Nghh...Vyn, that feels too good..." you say even as you know your words probably do not reach him.

Three of his fingers find their way inside your pussy, filling that hunger in your hole so well that it now adds to the pleasure that your clit is being subjected to, over and over. The moment his fingers start to thrust in and out of you the lewd schlick sounds start and it further adds to your acute state of just being horny--

"Haaahhh, just a little more, just a little more, just a little more, don't stop, I'm almost there," you chant as you feel your clit about to go off--"AAHH!" you scream into his bedroom and your entire body shudders; your cunt coming wholly undone underneath his relentless tonguing and fingerfucking...

And still he doesn't stop. "Vyn, please stop...!" You cry out as he pushes you to the very brink of overstimulation. He doesn't--and you remember Luke and Marius telling you how they had to punch him to bring him back to the waking world.

Vyn still doesn't stop--and so, praying that you do not hurt him too much, you kick him on the head, dislodging him from you, sending him rolling to the foot of the bed.

"Oh no--" you power through the haze of your afterglow to check on him. "Vyn?" You shake his shoulder. "Vyn...?"

"Ow," He winces as he rubs the top of his head, where your foot hit him earlier. He opens his eyes, which slightly widen as he recognizes you. "...Rosa?"

You smile at him, then plant a lingering kiss on his lips. His lips taste slightly tangy--you recognize it as your own flavor--and you kiss him even more, acquainting yourself with how your own juices taste.

"Mmm," Vyn moans as he pulls you down on top of him. "Good morning, pet," he murmurs against your lips. "Thank you for waking me up."

You laugh softly. "No, thank you," you say.

"Hmm?" Vyn runs his hands on your body...then notices that your skirt has been hitched up and your underwear missing. "...did something happen...?" You could hear traces of slight apprehension in his voice.

You proceed to tell him about what happened this morning. And after you finish recounting the hot and heavy encounter which he slept through in its entirety culminating with you having to kick him on the head, Vyn covers his face with his hands, clearly mortified. "Damn it. I...I am sorry..."

"No, don't be!" You exclaim. "Actually...I was going to ask you to finish it..."

"...What do you mean?"

"Well..." another blush colors your face. "You licked me until I came and...um." A nervous laugh. "I was going to ask if you can...well. Fuck me?"

"You are not scared of me?" comes Vyn's question, genuinely surprised at your reaction to his REM behavior.

"I'm too horny to be scared, Vyn," comes your embarrassed confession. "But yeah I guess I'm just worried you might hump Marius or Luke?"

A sharp laugh escapes Vyn's lips. "Gods, no. Please." He then takes your hand, guiding it to his stiff cock. "I think I am ready to go, pet," he says as he finally sits up on the bed. "Do you want to try getting fucked from behind?" Vyn unties the belt of his silk robe; he shrugs it off, letting it fall onto the sheets.

"Also, um." You tentatively position yourself on all fours, letting Vyn's hands guide your posture. "I'm really embarrassed about this, but. I have a request?"

Vyn groans as he drapes himself over your back, bringing his lips next to your ear. "What is it?" he whispers before nibbling at your earlobe. "Tell me, what does my love desire?"

"You...you were talking really sexy, but in a different language earlier," you begin, your back arching as Vyn runs his tongue over your shoulder blade. "Um. Think you can do it, but in our language this time? Haha..."

"Really now," he says. Once again, he bends over to whisper in your ear, voice dropping a couple of octaves "Like this?" he says in a smooth, sultry voice that cannot be described by anything other than erotic.

You instantly go wet upon hearing the voice. "Oh goddamn," you cannot help but laugh nervously again. "Yes. Yes, that kind of voice. It makes me so wet..."

"Oh?" Vyn asks, his voice practically purring. You feel his fingers once again slowly slide across your thigh, up to your pussy. "Just how wet are you now?" He slips a finger inside, and once again, that schlicking sound emanates as soon as his digit slides into you. "Very wet. Mmm," he hums. "Just for me."

"Yes," you moan. "But Vyn, please fuck me now?"

"As my lady commands," Vyn removes his finger and replaces it with his cock; he effortlessly slides into you, with how wet you already are. "Mmnh...hahh...Rosa, you feel so exquisite," he groans in that glorious voice of his as he moves inside you, his hands gripping your waist. "So delicious, and just for me...hahh..."

He does not bother with doing it slow and steady; Vyn's thrusts already start out hard and fast, encouraged by your moans and pleas begging him to do you hard. "Hahh--Let me know if I am hurting you, but--" his thrusts drive you deep into his pillows; a high pitched moan escapes your lips every time he sinks into your flesh, hard.

The bed creaks with his movement; the mingling of your mewling and his groans a veritable lewd orchestra playing in his bedroom.

Your wet flesh is acutely aware of the friction as his cock slides, thrusts in and out of you; each pull delicious, each thrust inside mind blowing. You feel Vyn's sweat dripping down your back, his sighs and moans turning into something more feral as his railing of you picks up even more speed.

"I am coming--" Vyn pants, but still manages to ask. "Do you want me to pull out?"

"No, please come inside!" Your hand snakes down to your clit, furiously rubbing yourself to meet Vyn's climax. "I want you to come inside me, Vyn please!!"

"Haha--my pleasure--hahh--" And Vyn thrusts inside you one last time, driving deep inside you, filling you with his sperm until it drips down your thigh.

===

Night eventually falls, and this weekend's visit has come to an end.

Vyn prepares to drive you home, and you start to gather your things.

The both of you walk to his garage, car keys already in Vyn's hand, when he suddenly stops in his tracks.

"Vyn, what's wrong?"

"Ah." Vyn adjusts his collar with one of his hands. There it goes again. Another nervous tic, you note.

You walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Vyn? Anything troubling you?"

"Rosa..." He begins. "Do you...do you think you can stay the night? Are you busy? Do you have anything to do tomorrow...?"

His voice sounds pleading, almost.

"Of course I can stay," you smile at him reassuringly. "I just didn't really bring it up, since I thought you needed time alone to help your recovery."

"And yes, I do need time by myself," Vyn returns your embrace, his arms around your shoulders. "It just...gets lonely. I think I have established boundaries enough. And I need you inside my...territory, if that makes sense."

"Are you sure, Vyn?" You look up to him. "Is it alright?"

He nods. "Yes."

"Okay then," You stand on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek. "I'm not prepared for an overnight stay though, so I need to borrow some nightclothes..."

"That would not be a problem," Vyn says, now smiling, as he ushers you back into his home. "Come, let us spend more time together..."

And he certainly does not waste time making use of your extra time together, as an hour later he has you bending over his kitchen countertop, moaning and singing his name as he once again comes inside you...

#tears of themis #tears of themis fanfic #mo yi #vyn richter #marius von hagen #lu jinghe #tot smut #tears of themis smut

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anon-e-miss · 4 years

Note

I'm so sorry you're going through such a tough time. I love your writing and I'm glad you can escape a bit through it. Do you mind if I request another prompt form the ask meme? "I hit my head, now I don't feel so good"

Thank you. 🖤🤍

As mega-cycle’s went, Prowl thought this had been a rotten one. His energon press had malfunctioned, and he had faced a light-cycle of paperwork and disciplinary meetings with benefit of that quick burning fuel. There was pressure behind his optics, a tension helmache perhaps, or the continual drag of his ATS as it scraped along. Unfortunately, while there was a rather fancy press in the mess hall, it did not have a setting remotely close to “black like Prowl’s spark”, and the two cubes he had downed had not been able to give him the quick burst he needed to clear the static and to get his processor running smoothly.

Why Prowl would reasonably blame the Twins for most misfortunes that fell upon him on base, he was the favoured victim of their pranks. His press had not fallen victim of a petty prank, however. They knew better than to touch it. Prowl tolerated friendly mischief, but there were lines you just did not cross. It had been falling apart for a long time, and it had been getting touchy of late. This final collapse had been coming, Prowl had only hoped his press would hold out until he finally found a suitable replacement. Unfortunately, he had never been a lucky mech.

Prowl glanced at the datapad containing the agenda for this officers’ meeting he was already a bream late to. For a mech to whom punctuality was almost of religious importance, Prowl loathed being late by even nanokliks but the matter of Brawn and Cliffjumper had run long. Getting the minibots to stop arguing long enough to give them their punishment duties had taken Prowl half a joor. Though his colleagues considered him a consummate bureaucrat, Prowl actually loathed these meetings. They took precious time away from his real work. His mood was foul, and the prospect of the meeting he was meant to be chairing did not make Prowl any sunnier. As Prowl hurried around the corner, his peds slipped out from under him. Before he even realized he was falling, Prowl crashed to the floor with a crash.

“Ah,” he gasped.

For a klik Prowl lay sprawled on his back, his ventilations having been knocked out of him.. His padded back plate had done its job, and though his doorwing sensors flooded his sensory grid with a grating burn, his joints were unharmed. Some of that insulation would have been good in his helm, Prowl groaned with pain as his digits brushed against the back of his helm. The tension helmache that had been haunting him all light-cycle exploded. He held his helm in his servos as and gritted his denta. That fragging hurt.

“Prowl?” Optimus’ voice burst into his helm as their comms automatically linked. Prowl had to stop himself from hissing a curse. “Did you forget the staff meeting?“

“Of course not,” Prowl replied. Scowling, he looked to his scattered datapads and dragged himself up onto his servos and knees and quickly collected them. His helm spun for a nanoklik but Prowl summarily ignored it. “I was delayed with Brawn and Cliffjumper. I will be there shortly.”

The meeting was a waking memory purge. They argued over the same points, revisited decisions long decided. Prowl hated these things. He snapped, more than once, as he forcefully brought the meeting back into focus. Though he got some dirty looks for his highhanded behaviour, Prowl could not have given less of a damn if he had tried. When the meeting wrapped, Prowl tried to think if they had accomplished anything. Probably not. All he wanted was a half joor in the quiet and dark of his office. His tank churned a little as he rose from his chair. That energon from earlier was not sitting right. He had always had a nervous fuel tank.

“Ready for our session?” Jazz asked as he sauntered up. Right.

“Of course,” Prowl replied. He cursed himself for forgetting. They to go over the intelligence packet Mirage had sent in the other mega-cycle. It would only take a joor, probably. If he could keep Jazz on task, rather than letting the saboteur get... conversational.

“Yer office or mine?”

“Mine. I am not convinced you even have a desk under all that scrap.”

“Oh there’s a desk. Somewhere. Although Sideswipe did steal it last quartex and it took me an orn to notice anything had changed.”

“That may not be something a mech in your position should be admitting.”

“Bah,” Jazz laughed. I know there’s nothin’ important in there. That’s the point. If one o’ Soundwave’s minions ever gets in they can dig through that scrap, waste a few joors, ‘n maybe lose a digit or two to one o’ my traps.”

“You have the most peculiar of methods,” Prowl replied. Jazz’s workspace was chaos incarnate, it matched the mech. Upon seeing it the first time, Prowl had voiced some serious concerns to Prime but Jazz had proven himself to be a singularly talented operative. Chaos got him, and the Autobots, results.

Jazz talked as the walked. Prowl tried to listen but his processor was throbbing. He considered taking a pain blocker but they muddied his processor, and it was hard enough to really get his ATS going without his “rocket fuel”. At least Jazz did not expect more than one glyph answers or the occasional affirmative noise. As always, Mirage’s packets came heavily encrypted, but Jazz had already cracked it before they had booked this session. He had already gone over himself as well. Prowl’s purpose here was to lend Jazz his tactical systems so they could more quickly sort the junk of the jewels. Except his tactical systems felt like junk right now.

“Ya a’ight, Prowl?” Jazz asked as they sat opposite each other at Prowl’s desk. It was a bit weird. Jazz was sitting straight, not sprawling.

“Fine.”

He tried to think, really he tried. Prowl studied the schematics of Shockwave’s lab, and tried to make sense of the chemical samples Mirage had taken. As they moved on to the next file within Mirage’s packet, alluded to a device within the lab, and Prowl had to go back to the blueprints to remind himself where it was in regard to the other equipment. He flipped back and forth, twice, three times. A 3D map was projected from the communicube, it turned. It turned. Prowl grabbed his waste bin and purged.

“Scrap, Prowl,” Jazz cursed. Prowl groaned. His tank was rolling, and his helm was throbbing in time with his spark. When Jazz touched his servo to Prowl’s browridge, Prowl recoiled. The sharp movement had him swaying from side to side and he would have toppled out of his chair if not for Jazz catching him. “What’s wrong, Prowl. Got a crash comin’?”

“No,” Prowl groaned. “I hit my helm... Now I do not feel so good.”

“Scrap. When?” Jazz asked. He held Prowl’s shin and moved a digit back and forth across Prowl’s field of vision. His optics dimmed.

“On the way to the meeting.”

“I thought ya were a bit off,” Jazz declared. He shook his helm. “Silly mech. Ratchet was right there. He coulda had a look at ya.”

“Was not that bad,” Prowl argued. It had been. Maybe.

“Ya got a worse self-destructive bent than I do,” Jazz said. “‘N that’s sayin’ somethin’. Let’s get ya to Ratchet ‘n see just what ya knocked loose... Lean on me.”

“I might purge on you,” Prowl worried. Jazz shook his helm as he pulled Prowl’s arm over his shoulders and looped his own arm around Prowl’s waist.

“I’ll forgive ya if ya do.”

#anon-e-miss writes #maccadams #tf jazz #tf prowl #prowl hates meetings #and he needs his coffee

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hypnosiacon-archive · 1 year

Text

Macharkallion Flag

[ Requested by Anon ] [ Tag List: @ophelia-thimgs, @liom-archive, @hoardicboy-main, @radiomogai, @xdle-coxns ]

#encrypted schematic : other makings #mogai #mogai identity #mogai label #mogai blog #mogai term #liom #liom term #liom label #flag coining #allion #macharkallion

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swaps55 · 4 years

Note

For your WIP list: How about White Noise?

Oooh. This is an odd one. Before Andromeda came out, I started doodling a “what if the AI approached Kaidan Alenko?” story. I didn’t finish it before the game dropped, and then never came back to it. I now have plans to cannibalize parts of it for my next fic, but here’s a (lengthy) snippet that isn’t one of those useful bits. Pardon the rough prose - I was really rusty at the time.

Kaidan should feel a twinge of guilt. Being overdue with a mission debrief, even for something as useless as the Hammerhead field tests, isn’t exactly characteristic. Something the Admiral had been sure to point out. But it is useless. The Hammerhead is a waste of time. It all feels like a waste of time, ever since-

Even thinking the word 'Alchera' makes his chest tighten in a way he’d rather it didn’t. Almost two years later and he still fights the urge to brush ash off his shoulder plates, to force himself to turn around and go back instead of get into that pod.

In the corner of his eye blooms the phantom glow of a drive core going up, and followed by the same cold punch in his gut that knocks the breath from his lungs as hard now as it did then. He wipes his mouth with one hand, raises the other to signal the waiter for a beer.

“Lieutenant Alenko?”

Kaidan jumps, looks up and sees the N7 logo emblazoned on a breastplate of black armor. His heart stops.

“Mind if I sit?”

It takes a moment for the blood to stop rushing through Kaidan's ears. It’s not Shepard. Of course it’s not Shepard; Shepard’s dead. This man is older, maybe by a couple of decades, face craggy and riven in a way that reminds Kaidan a little of Admiral Hackett. The only resemblance he has to the Savior of the Citadel is the grim set of his jaw, a soldier’s exoskeleton of starched posture and that keen sense of awareness that makes it clear he knows where every exit is and how to take as many down as he can on his way out.

Kaidan must have acknowledged the man, who looks maddeningly familiar now that he's processing things with a little more sanity, because he sits down across the table. Stiff. Formal. None of Shepard's languid movement. Shepard has an absurd way of just flowing into a space, even with that starched soldier's posture.

Had. You'd think he'd be used that by now.

The waiter brings the beer, turns to the N7 soldier to take his order, but gets waved off.

“I was hoping you could spare a few minutes of your time,” he says, voice like gravel. Kaidan wonders if a piercing stare is a prerequisite for the N program.

“Sir,” Kaidan says, because he’s still not entirely sure if he’s said anything yet.

Nothing shifts in the N7’s expression. It’s like looking at a boulder. Kaidan really wants to take a pull from the beer, but leaves it untouched.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on your career. Eden Prime. Virmire. Battle of the Citadel. I’ve been curious to see what you were capable of outside Shepard’s shadow.”

Kaidan flinches. He tells himself that the N7 didn’t see it, but it’s a lie. If he’s anything like Shepard, he not only saw it, but has already figured out how to use it as an advantage. The bastard.

He’s not sure if he’s referring to the N7 or to Shepard, decides not to try and figure it out.

“I was beginning to think I wouldn’t get a chance to see it before departure, but I just read the mission reports from Aite. Nasty job. But you got it done. I’m impressed.”

Fucking Hammerhead. Fucking Cerberus. Fucking Gavin Archer. Fucking Hammerhead.

Something clicks in Kaidan’s brain. He sits up a little straighter, like someone just splashed cold water in his face. “You’re Alec Ryder,” he says, unable to keep a little bit of wonder from creeping into his voice.

Ryder nods, the movement crisp. Sharp. His shoulders tighten so subtly that a moment ago Kaidan would have missed it. But he’s paying attention now. He thinks about saluting, or Shaking Ryder’s hand. Both seem stupid. He settles for a respectful nod. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

Kaidan thinks about asking him the same questions he probably gets asked by every single person who meets him. What was it like being on the first team through Charon? What’s Grissom like in person? How does it feel to be a hero? But his own experiences as of late push the questions aide. His answers to those kinds of questions feel disappointing; he can’t imagine Ryder’s are any different. You have a job and you do it. No matter what the cost. No matter who you lose. In the end you don’t feel like a hero so much as you just feel…tired.

Ryder’s gaze doesn’t falter, not for a moment, but something about it seems a little more at ease.

Ryder pushes a datapad across the table to him. It’s encrypted. High level encryption that even Tali might have had to pause for a few to crack it open. Kaidan picks it up. The display shows only a simple blue and white logo featuring a long, sleek ship and the words Andromeda Initiative. He glances back to Ryder, who is watching him carefully.

“I’m not familiar with the Andromeda Initiative."

“You’re not supposed to be,” Ryder replies. “It’s not an Alliance project. Civilian run. Do you know Jien Garsen?”

Kaidan racks his brain. “I’ve heard the name, but not much more than that.”

Ryder gives no sign whether this surprises or disappoints him or none of the above. “This datapad will give you the mission details. For your eyes only. Understood, soldier?”

Kaidan nods, more from reflex than intention. He's willing to bet Ryder doesn't hear ‘no’ from many people. Another thing he probably has in common with Shepard.

“What’s the mission?” Kaidan asks, shoving thoughts of Shepard abruptly from his mind. White noise. It’s just white noise.

“Andromeda.”

For a moment Kaidan thinks Ryder is just repeating the name of the initiative. But then it sinks home a little bit. His eyes widen. “Wait. You’re going to Andromeda?”

“Colonization effort," Ryder replies, expression still stoic. "It’s been in the works for ten years. The datapad will give you the details. But we need people. People like you. Tough. Skilled. Resourceful. And I won’t lie, the Alliance training will be a big help.”

“You’re taking humanity to Andromeda.”

“Not just humanity. Asari. Turians. Salarians. This project is huge, Alenko.”

Kaidan inhales. This time he does take a pull from his beer. Ryder offers him the encryption key to the datapad. Waits patiently until Kaidan uses it. Patience is something he and Shepard do not share.

Stop thinking about Shepard in the present tense.

Ryder doesn’t say a word as Kaidan flips through the contents of the datapad. The schematics. The mission statement. There’s Alliance hands in this, civilian project or no. The propaganda has a lot in common with the Alliance recruitment tactics that got him on his feet after BAaTT.

The beer is gone when Kaidan finally looks back up, a second one well on its way. “This is impressive,” he admits. “But I’m not sure why you came to me.”

“We need people like you.”

Kaidan laughs, but it sounds nervous. Flustered. “I’m flattered, but I have a job. I can’t walk away from the Alliance.”

“Can’t you?”

The question hangs like a noose. A sudden urge to flip the table and walk away grabs hold, and it’s only a deliberate sip of his beer that keeps him in his seat. “I’m an Alliance soldier,” he replies, voice quiet. Shepard would recognize it for the thin ice it was. Shepard isn't here.

“An Alliance soldier who knows about the Reaper threat but can’t do anything about it,” Ryder says. “An Alliance soldier who watched as his commanding officer’s legacy was manipulated into political propaganda while his crew was silenced. An Alliance soldier who wants to make a difference.”

But can’t. The unspoken words hover like a thick fog and refuse to dissipate. Kaidan looks back to the datapad. Anything to escape that goddamned stare.

“Talk to Garsen,” Ryder urges. “Listen to what she has to say. The Reapers are coming. You believe it. I believe it. If we can pull this off, we might still be able to save ourselves. But we need people like you to do it.”

Ryder’s chair scuffs against the floor plates, armor joints creaking as he gets to his feet. Kaidan doesn’t look up, and no farewell is offered. When he’s sure he’s alone, he puts his head in his hands, eyes squeezed shut, willing the crowds in the restaurant and the corridors of the Presidium to fade into white noise.

#ljanderson #mememe #meme replies #snippet #thank you!!#ljandersen

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grayseekerswritinglife · 4 years

Text

Tricks & Treats 5/5

Chapter Five: The Gold-Sweats

“Fly?” Hook broke stride and gave Starscream an incredulous look. “I don’t think you understand the seriousness of the situation. Skywarp is lucky he can walk, let alone fly.”

“I realize that,” Starscream said irritably, falling in step beside the Decepticons’ chief medic as he resumed walking down a corridor of the Victory’s crew deck. “I’m just looking for an ETA. That’s all.”

After their escape, they had sneaked Skywarp back onto the Victory without drawing undue attention to themselves. Hook had agreed to let Skywarp recover in his quarters rather than the medbay, which had been helpful, though it was only a matter of time before Megatron started asking questions. Eventually, the old bucket-head was going to decide that he simply had to have an airstrike. When that happened, it would be Starscream’s neck on the line if all Seekers weren’t ready to scramble.

“Look,” Hook said, in the clipped tones of a medic nearing the limits of his patience. “The best I can offer is that Skywarp will be ready to fly once ninety percent of the gold has left his system. But that could take up to two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Starscream let out a string of curses, which Hook duly ignored. They were nearing the door of the quarters which Skywarp and Thundercracker shared. Hook politely raised his fist to knock, but Starscream shoved past him and barged in. He regretted doing so almost immediately.

Skywarp was sitting in a shallow tray positioned on the floor between Skywarp’s own berth and the one he typically shared with Thundercracker. It was easy to see why. He was literally dripping gold. Liquid metal was leaking from his joints, his vents, his transformation seams, and—it seemed—from every other orifice. It was even flowing, like tears, from the corners of his optics. Gold had pooled at the bottom of the tray, leaving him sitting in a puddle of what was, effectively, his own sweat.

“Ugh.” Starscream crinkled his nasal assembly. “How revolting!”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Thundercracker said with a shake of his head. He was kneeling behind Skywarp, using a rag to clean his gold-streaked wings. This appeared to be an impossible task. Every time he cleared some gold away, more came pouring out to replace it.

“That’s very good,” Hook said in approval. “If you keep his transformation seams as clear as possible, the gold will escape from his system much more easily.”

“But I don’t want it to,” Skywarp complained.

“Too bad,” Starscream snapped. “I expect you back in the air within the week.” Hook shot him a glare, which he duly ignored.

“How are you feeling?” Hook asked, crouching to run a medical scanner over Skywarp’s frame.

Skywarp shrugged. “Okay, I guess. What did you put in the gold, though? It tastes terrible now.”

“Nothing,” Hook replied, his gaze never leaving the scanner. “What you’re experiencing is a common side-effect of gold-poisoning. You might even say it’s your body’s way of protecting you from your own questionable habits.”

“Gold tastes bad to you now?” Starscream asked from the doorway. He didn’t want to get any closer to that puddle of sweat than he absolutely had to.

Skywarp nodded unhappily. “It looks sooo tasty, but when I try to drink it—”

“Drink it? It’s your sweat.”

“So? It’s better than letting it go to waste.”

“Trust me, Warp; it is disgusting,” Thundercracker put in.

“It probably won’t taste bad forever,” Hook assured him. “Once your system has returned to a state of balance, your taste-receptors will probably do the same.”

“But in the meantime,” Starscream said, “I guess I can safely leave this by your bedside, without having to worry about you putting on any additional weight.” He drew a small bag of golden ore—the very bag he’d originally confiscated from Skywarp—from his subspace, and tossed it on Skywarp’s bunk.

“Now you give it back,” Skywarp said with a pout, though he eyed the bag with naked avarice, as if he was thinking of trying it anyway.

“Yeah, I’ll be taking care of that,” Thundercracker said, whisking the bag into his subspace. “I’ll make sure he gets some when he’s ready. And that he doesn’t overindulge,” he added, giving Skywarp a stern look.

Skywarp folded his arms over his gold-slick chest, glaring. Mostly at Starscream. “What are you even doing here?”

“Can’t a Trineleader check up on his Trinemates?”

“Watch out,” Thundercracker warned. “We might start thinking you care.”

“Don’t be absurd. I was merely ensuring that Megatron does not hear of our little... adventure,” Starscream retorted. “Which means making sure the two of you remain alive and intact.”

“Whatever you say, Screamer.”

“I just have one question,” Starscream said, fixing his gaze on Skywarp. “I thought the Autobots searched your subspace.”

“They did.”

"How did you keep them from finding your pranking supplies?”

Starscream only asked because Skywarp’s pranks had saved their afts. After they’d gotten past Sludge, Skywarp had used one of his smoke-bombs to distract the two other Dinobots guarding the detention area. After that, most of the Autobots had been in such a frenzy to deactivate the sprinkler system that they hadn’t even noticed the escaping prisoners. Those who had noticed had swiftly fallen prey to Starscream’s null-ray. Or to the reverberations of Thundercracker’s sonic booms, which were deafening at close range. Or—in the notable case of Powerglide—to one of Skywarp’s fake snakes. Which had proved highly effective as a tripping hazard.

“Oh,” Skywarp said with a smile. “They did find them.”

“But they let you keep it all?”

“Noooot exactly.” Skywarp leaned back against Thundercracker, coating his chest in golden slime. Thundercracker made a face, but draped his arms around Skywarp anyway. Skywarp grinned. “The Autobots were all so distracted by the gold that I was able to slide a few things back into my subspace.”

“And naturally you chose the exploding pumpkins,” Thundercracker said. “Priorities and all.”

“Hey, ‘tis the season.” Skywarp smirked. “But you know the part we’re not talkin’ about? The electro-magnetized part.”

“The what?” Hook asked.

“Oh, nothin'. Just the way Starscream busted into the detention holding area and kicked the door open like a ninja and grabbed his null-ray straight from the jaws of one of those Dinobots—”

“Yes, well,” Starscream interrupted. “We simply do what we must, don’t we?”

“Yeaaaaah.” Skywarp playfully flicked gold in his direction. “It’s got nothin’ to do with that picture you keep in your lab.”

“Picture?” Hook looked nonplussed.

“Schematic,” Starscream corrected. “Of the Ark. It’s how I knew where the Autobots were keeping the null-ray. Obviously.” He turned for the door, but Skywarp called after him.

“Know what the best part of all this is?”

“I shudder to ask.”

“The two of you guys comin’ to my rescue,” Skywarp said, glancing warmly between Starscream and Thundercracker. “Nice to see you gettin’ along for once.”

Starscream scowled at them both, and hastily made his exit. He went straight to his lab. If anything good could be said to have come of this, he was at least getting some uninterrupted lab-time. Finally.

“Now,” he said, sinking down at his workstation. “Where was I?” He called up the data-set he’d been analyzing when Thundercracker had invaded, and stared at it for a while. Equations swirled through his mind like wisps of smoke, but his gaze kept drifting to the holocube. Finally, he picked it up and gazed at the two figures pictured within. A silver-and-red Seeker perched on the shoulder of a mech so huge that his wings blocked the stars. Starscream pressed his lips together, sighed, and opened a comm channel. A very old one. So ancient that no one, even Soundwave, would have been able to break its encryption.

“You idiot,” he began.

A soft laugh greeted his remark. “Are you all safely away?”

“Yes, but you took a stupid risk.”

“Perhaps. Or, perhaps, I prevented a retaliatory attack by the Decepticons. I imagine that Megatron would have wanted the three of you back, eventually.”

“If only to prevent us from revealing secrets,” Starscream reluctantly agreed.

“So perhaps it could be said that I took care of a dicey situation in a way that caused the least amount of harm.”

“Which doesn’t make you any less of an idiot.”

“Possibly not.” A pause. “How’s Skywarp doing?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Yes.”

“Whatever.” Starscream shrugged. Then, remembering Skyfire couldn’t see him, added, “He’ll live.”

“Good. And I trust he’s learned his lesson about stealing gold?”

Starscream snorted.

“Thought as much.” Skyfire chuckled. “Thanks for not hurting anyone.”

“Apart from Powerglide,” Starscream pointed out.

“I think it was only his pride.”

“We would have, if we’d needed to. Hurt people.”

“I understand. But you didn’t.”

Silence fell between them. Not an uncomfortable silence; just companionable.

“So it’s Halloween tonight,” Starscream finally said. “I don’t suppose you’re free?��

“Why? Are you going to scare me?”

“I could.” Starscream thought for a moment, then rattled off a set of coordinates.

A beat of hesitation. “Isn’t that where you got captured?”

“You’ll like it,” Starscream promised. It wasn’t as if the Aerialbots would be there standing guard, and besides, the pocket valley was private and rather beautiful. Plus, tonight was a full moon. He wanted to see Skyfire by the side of that spring, wet and gleaming in the moonlight. “Bring all your tricks,” he said, “and I’ll bring treats.”

~~~~~~~

This was written for @darkstarofchaos for the @transform-or-treat Halloween gift exchange. There are five chapters of it in all, and I will be posting a chapter a day until Halloween! Many, many thanks to @justawayninja or being my awesome beta. Your suggestions helped me get the story to the next level.

#transform or treat 2020 #transform-or-treat #darkstarofchaos #transformers #maccadam #halloweeen #starscream #skywarp #thundercracker #skyfire #humor #hijinks #pranks #secret relationship #trine dynamics #team as family

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bitcoinbuyerapp · 3 years

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the-blackest-spider · 3 years

Text

What She Found | Drabble

Continued from this.

Tagging for reading purposes.

@specialagentace

@agentsterling

Endless files were expected. She had found the same with JARVIS and Ultron had proved no different. But there was more here than the typical things. For one thing the schematics were not any she recognized, not Stark or SHIELD. Multiple code signatures...

“Does Sterling even know what the hell he has?”

She wasn’t certain and she wasn’t going to go asking or accusing just yet. She needed to dig further. She needed to sort and organize and see what all was there and what wasn’t. It took some time. More time than she cared to run the program to do that, which meant she was stuck in her apartment for hours on end, which wasn’t a problem.

Night began to give way to day and it was close to noon before the program finished. Everything had been sorted into various categories and then sub categories within those. Natasha looked through each, finding what was important and what was trivial.

“You have more emotions than I do…”

So many files for that, variations of files of different feelings and some newer than others.

His memory data interested her the most. But she’d get to that later, this wasn’t a process to rush and make any errors or miss anything of importance. A fine toothed comb was essential and luckily she had the patience for it.

“What is this…”

Natasha stared. A self regulation switch? His safety protocols were odd to say the least and he had a lot of files on him that if he did fall in the wrong hands could be a problem. She had dropped him far too easily and she wasn’t meaning serious business, but if someone did mean business…

She started to make a list, writing down things that she definitely wanted to have a conversation with Sterling about and things she wanted to go deeper into. Anything not useful, that were just average, typical files she purged.

And then one particular file caught her attention. A list of names, relationships and other connections. What was this about?

A lot of the names on the list she knew, a few she didn’t, those she made note of to look into herself.

Everything she deemed important and useful that she wanted to keep going over was turned into an encrypted file and then copies were made, some going into data banks that only she could access, a flash drive, external hard drive and then hard copies. Everything hidden accordingly behind firewalls, viruses of her own making and tracers if anyone tried to access them. The flash drive she would give to Isaiah for safe keeping, the hard drive hidden and the paper copies also hidden, split up of course, rule 101 of keeping things safe, don’t put all your eggs in one basket.

She wasn’t going to hit Sterling up just yet either, not before she had gone through everything she had kept at least a couple of times to make sure she had a good grasp of it. She was going to watch Shepherd a little closer as well, not obviously of course, but study him and make notes, analyze him like she has others for SHIELD, only this was a personal project to protect all of them, Germaine Shepherd included.

#SHIELD 2.0 verse #mcuverse

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rlxtechoff · 2 years

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#IFTTT #Blogger

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green-valkyrie · 4 years

Text

He’s Not That Bad

part 2/4 “Stupid Girl”

Read part one here

Summary: Sarah has been working hard, training with Loki. It's finally time to make a move on the Obsidian Council. Wanda, Loki and Sarah are tasked with infiltrating their facility and gathering some Intel. When things go wrong, Sarah makes a bold choice. One that makes certain members of the team upset with her.

A/N: I am, at heart, a visual storyteller... so I see these things in my head that just need to come out. I’ll probably do a drawing for each part, so enjoy. It’s cringe, I know, but I’m a bit rusty on the creative writing.

Sarah started learning under Loki’s wing and within two weeks her powers became more easy to control. She also discovered, in addition to telekinesis and teleportation, the conjuration of items and Loki and she could communicate telepathically. Loki hated that she could get in his head, just as he could get in everyone else’s; but it made for some fun. The two started telling each other jokes at the most inopportune times. Loki discovered just how funny Sarah really was.

She begged Loki to teach her how to Astral Project, but he vehemently declined. He claimed that was his trick.

“Good morning,” Sarah said, walking into the living area. It was just Loki and her most mornings.

Loki didn’t look up from the novel he was reading. “You’re late.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Relax, it's ten after.”

Loki set his book, spine up, across his legs. “Yes, and that is ten minutes of my time that you have wasted. Don’t do it again.”

Sarah thought she was going to roll her eyes out of her head. “Yeah, okay. Do you want some coffee?” She already knew the answer to her question. This had become their routine very quickly. Every morning, she was late. Every morning, he scolded her. Every morning, they drank coffee.

“Yes.” Loki smiled to himself.

Sarah brought Loki his coffee and sat next to him. She chuckled and picked up his book. “Seriously?” She started. “You are reading Edgar Allen Poe? Why does this suit you?” Loki’s brow furrowed as he snatched back the book.

“Yes. I’ve taken quite a liking to this miserable man. His works are tolerable to read.” With a flick of his wrist and a green hue, the book vanished. Sarah smiled and took a sip of her coffee. Just then, Tony and Steve came into the living area.

“Oh great. You two are up. We’ve got something to discuss. No Mr. Miagi action today, super friends.” Tony announced.

Steve walked over to Sarah and kissed her head. “Morning.” He said and glared at Loki, who pretended not to notice. Sarah and Loki were getting along much better than they had previously and everyone had taken notice.

“So, while you two were playing sensei and student, Banner and I got a hold of some new information. The Obsidian Council has been working out of a Hydra base in Sweden. Their defense systems are too strong for the front liners to be storming in. We need some reindeer games on this one.” Tony rested his hands on the counter next to the coffee pot. “Sarah, we need you too. And Wanda. Your magic will get us what we need to kick their sorry asses.”

Loki let out a sigh. “What do you need us to retrieve?”

“Schematics for the rune encrypted weapons.” Steve chimed in. “Bruce is working on a counter to these weapons.”

“Sounds good to me. Does Wanda know?” Sarah asked.

“Not yet.” Tony replied. “We needed to make sure you can get everyone out of there if there is any trouble. Can you do that?” Sarah thought for a moment. Before she could, Loki answered.

“She is more than ready.”

“Great. Then meet us in the conference room in 15 minutes. FRIDAY, let everyone know that we’re meeting.” Tony made his way to the elevator.

@shiningloki I thought I’d tag you in this since you said you were interested in reading more of it. :)

#avengers/ofc #loki laufeyson #loki avenger #avengers fanfiction

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libermachinae · 4 years

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Schematics [Or, Another Chance] – Ch. 4, Sensory

Also available on AO3! Notes: Day 4 of @prowlweek and I went a bit squish. Scav’s a good-ish boy.

⏳ 🚧 🚓 ⌛ 🏗 🚧 ⏳

Scavenger apologized probably somewhere around a hundred times. Hook couldn’t keep track of them all, and even Prowl must have been satiated, because he gave up on his lecture halfway through and kept it to a crisp, “Do as you’re ordered.”

“Mixmaster and Scavenger, you’re coming through this time,” Prowl announced as he loaded up the terminal with their next set of coordinates. “Long Haul, you’re anchor.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because that’s your order,” Prowl said.

“Bonecrusher’s the one who caused problems the last time, shouldn’t he be the one stuck behind?” Long Haul’s shoulders were squared and his plating flaring. Though he resented the reaction, Hook could understand where it came from: after being put on guard duty twice in a row, their resentful transporter was probably starting to feel like his skills were being undervalued.

“I’m the leader of this mission,” Prowl said, turning to stare Long Haul down. “If you take issue with my command style, you’re welcome to leave.”

“I’m not gonna do that and you know it,” Long Haul snapped.

“Precisely.” Prowl turned back to the console, as though that constituted a satisfying end to the argument.

Hook tried to get a steadying hand on Long Haul’s shoulder but was pushed off, the larger mech stalking away. Not that there was far to go. The present had been confined to the space of the cave they stood in, their only indication that real time was passing the changing light that filtered in through the ceiling. Their chronometers had fallen out of sync with each journey, but it was pointless to reset them every time, when Prowl had them going back in just minutes after they returned.

He finished punching in the coordinates, the timestream shimmered to life, and the team lined up behind him. Only now, Prowl didn’t bother to specify the order they would travel in. He took the lead, Scavenger slipped in front of Hook, Bonecrusher and Mixmaster lagging behind, and a silent agreement was passed not to bring it up as an issue. If Prowl was relaxing his regulations a bit, that could only mean fewer opportunities for them to mess up.

Part of Hook wondered if they should take a break soon, give everyone a chance to fuel up and ease off, maybe even have a chance to get caught up on everything they had missed. That’s how they’d done it with Scrapper, but he stopped that line of thought before the pang in his spark got to be too strong. This wasn’t the right time to bring it up, anyway, so he put his focus to keeping his processor under control as he stepped into the timestream.

He did a better job of it this time, practice having made him more accustomed to the feeling of time rejecting their intrusion. He reached forward at once point and took Scavenger’s hand, keeping him from rushing ahead like he had the first time, and in response felt a squeeze that held until they nearly reached the exit. This time, Hook could see what they were approaching, but the only thing he was able to make out was that it was dark. Not like the cave, though. There was something familiar about it.

At Prowl’s signal, he let Scavenger slip free of his hand, then followed shortly after, emerging among the roots of another long-lost Cybertronian city.

“An abandoned sector?” Hook said as he peered around. Compared to their last stop, the streets here were barren, lights only distantly visible through the breaks between buildings. Someone turned on their headlights and illuminated the building across the way, its large doors slightly ajar.

“What would the time killer want with this place?” Scavenger asked as he crept closer.

“The what?”

Scav grinned at Prowl.

“The time killer,” he repeated. “We’ve got to call this guy something, don’t we?”

“He hasn’t killed anyone.”

“He’s Cybertronian?”

“Yes, but—”

“There you go! Killer.”

“It’s got a nice ring to it,” Hook said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Prowl said. “Come up with something better. Bonecrusher, you’re on guard duty. Scavenger, Mixmaster, Hook, with me.”

The named mechs followed Prowl into the nearest building, staring up at tall ceilings that only served to offer more room to an incredible collection of junk. Scrapped sheet metal, rusted beams, and all manner of useless spare parts filled the space, a warehouse that had been made to a cheap and convenient dump for some unofficial industrial venture. The whole thing rung familiar to Hook, but it was the rumble of and engine in need of a tune-up that caused his processor to alight in recognition.

“Wh—seriously? Since when do you all show up early?”

Hook whirled around, his spark spinning with way too many emotions to process at once.

“Scrapper?” Mixmaster choked out.

“But no Long Haul. Great. I guess we can just start building the arena on top of the scrap piles, that’ll stand just fine.” Scrapper wasn’t paying any attention to the mechs he was addressing, too wrapped up in his planning and calculations to notice anything amiss. The casual ignorance of a mech who was so profoundly gifted in his ability to notice details struck an emotion in Hook that he did not have the words to describe, and he found himself stepping forward.

“Scrapper—”

“Scavenger, stop standing around,” he said, possibly ignoring Hook, though more likely failing to notice him. “I need you to start sorting through this mess and figure out what’s useful. Mixmaster, help him excavate however he needs; your skills aren’t going to be any use until we get this cleared and Bonecrusher gets here to set up the foundation. Hook, you review the blueprints last night?”

“Of course, sir,” Hook said, forcing himself out of his stupor and back into the role of the perfectionist second-in-command he had played for four million years. The changeover was so natural, he forgot he was lying.

“Start laying out the perimeter. Give us a sense of the space we’re working with,” Scrapper ordered. “Once you’ve got that, I’ll need your help with the fine details, make sure everything’s to Megatron’s specifications. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Scrapper turned and walked off, optics fixed to the datapad he’d walked in with. Hook stared at his frame as it retreated, taking in the way his legs bent and arms swung, the cant his helm adopted when he was deep in thought. The last time he’d seen Scrapper functioning had seemed like such a non-event, it hadn’t occurred to him to savor it like this. Now, every frame was saved to his memory, copied to multiple folders and heavily encrypted.

There were so many things he wished he could do to that frame. But, if they really were all the way back to setting up gladiator arenas, then the team wasn’t really a team yet. There were rumors about Scrapper and Long Haul, evidence of Mixmaster and Bonecrusher’s late night ‘science projects,’ and a few nights spent fantasizing ceaselessly, but nothing at all like what would come later. Hook, he reminded himself, wasn’t even the second yet. At this point in the timeline, he’d only recently been assigned to Scrapper’s crew and made up for it with a kiss-up habit he was still struggling to break.

He wished there was time; the things he wanted to do to that frame. Scrapper disappeared through the far door, and Hook made to follow him, reclaim lost days he’d never imagined would be significant enough to miss. A hand caught his arm, he turned to Mixmaster’s optics, and was reminded of their reality.

“Prowl says we should go,” Mixmaster said.

“Oh.” Hook didn’t remember setting his vocalizer that low. “Where is he?”

“I’ve got him,” Scavenger said. He’d been leaned over a pile, sensitive digger arm extended in from of him, now revealing that Prowl had been hiding beneath it. “It’s good we got Scrapper while he was still in planning mode. I don’t know if this will work again if he comes back.”

“It’s not worth the risk,” Prowl said. “You’re all compromised and there is no sign of the target, so we’re going back.”

He led the way back out of the building. Mixmaster complied without much fuss, surprisingly eager to get back to the time portal, but Scavenger lagged, glancing over his shoulder to the place Scrapper had disappeared to.

Hook paused to wait for his teammate.

“Hey, c’mon, Scav,” he said, offering out a hand. It was all he could do to close the distance, because he knew if he went to Scavenger right then, he might not be able to stop his legs from carrying him all the way back.

Still, the mech hesitated.

“Is there a problem?” Prowl asked, back at his side.

“N-no, Prowl, uh, boss,” Hook said, trying to hide how the mech’s reappearance had startled him.

“It’s him,” Scavenger said, with a reverence that he usually saved for just one mech at a time. He glanced back at Prowl, optics bright with something. Realization? Hope? Primus, don’t let it be that. “Prowl, could we—”

In two strides, so quick and silent he might have teleported to Scavenger’s side, Prowl pushed himself into the mech’s space, silencing him with presence alone.

“No,” he said, his voice the blade that cut off Scavenger’s fragile buds of hoe. “No. Scavenger, on this day, four million years in your past, Scrapper had a normal day. He worked with you and the rest of the team, erected Megatron’s next arena, and forgot about it among every other day he spent doing the exact same thing. He did not get removed from his place in time, nor did he mention ever encountering a different version of you. This is how things happened, and we can’t change it, no matter how badly we—you want to.”

He was leaning far into Scavenger’s space, closer than Hook had known he was capable of. And although the display was apparently meant to be domineering, show that Prowl was the one in control, there was something else to it, captured in the way Prowl’s hand reached up and touched, so gently, the excavator’s wilting backhoe.

“That’s four million years ago. More recently than that, Spike Witwicky tracks him down, isolated in an Earth construction lot, and kills him. We can’t undo that, either. It’s not ours to change.”

Scavenger’s whole frame perked up under the surprise touch, subconsciously tilting his stick into Prowl’s hand. Hook watched Prowl’s gray fingers stroke with surprising care, a jealousy coiling in his spark that he was only able to tamp down with the knowledge that Scavenger would be delighted to share the memory when they next combined.

Prowl said something else, so soft Hook couldn’t hear it. When he leaned back, he and Scavenger’s optics were locked, the latter nodding in some private agreement.

“Now move it, both of you,” Prowl said, voice returned to its usual commanding timbre. He turned and proceeded out the way he’d been headed before, leaving Hook and Scavenger to follow. It wasn’t a problem this time, though they walked after him on legs that felt suddenly weak. It still took a great deal of will on Hook’s part not to cast a final glance backward as they left, but he managed it, keeping his optics ahead of him, on the doorwings that swayed with each step Prowl took.

#maccadam #prowl week #prowlastator #prowl #constructicons #transformers #my writing #longfic #schematics #sensory

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