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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 2 days ago

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Weaponized | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Seventeen

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Words: ~4,000

Series Tags/Warnings: Violence, Trauma, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Auror!Sebastian, Auror!MC, Modern AU, Female Reader Insert, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Ancient Magic, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Betrayal, Reconciliation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Divergent

Auror Division Headquarters, Medical Wing – London

The world came back in pieces—blinding overhead lights, the sterile scent of potions and disinfectant, the ache of something hollow in your chest.

You weren’t in the field anymore, that much was obvious.

The attic floor was gone, replaced by a too-firm mattress and scratchy sheets. No rubble. No heat. No burning magic surging through your limbs. Just a cold weight in your ribs and the rhythmic, mechanical ticking of a machine keeping track of your vitals.

You blinked slowly. Your tongue felt dry. Your limbs heavier than they should be. You tried to lift your hand but stopped halfway when you saw your skin was bandaged and a pinkish-yellow ooze was seeping through the gauze.

A monitor to your right let out a soft chime, and you immediately heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

The door swung open, and a woman stepped inside, her robes marked with the blue-and-gold crest of the Auror Division’s medical wing. She was older, maybe mid-fifties, with grey-streaked hair pulled into a twist and lines etched into her face from years of sleepless nights and worse.

“Well,” she said with a smile, “welcome back to the land of the living.”

You tried to answer, but your throat caught on the first word. All that came out was a ragged croak.

“Don’t strain yourself,” she added, moving to your bedside. A wand flick summoned a class of water, and she guided it to your lips with care. “Small sips.”

You drank, the cold water scraping your throat raw on the way down, but it helped. Enough that when she asked, “Do you know where you are?” you could rasp back:

“Ministry infirmary.”

“Good.”

She reached for a chart at the foot of the bed and gave it a quick glance, then waved her wand to cast a diagnostic charm across your body.

“You gave us quite the scare,” she said, her tone conversational but not unkind. “You’ve been here for a day and a half. Burn damage to the chest and left shoulder, and neural shock from the arcane surge. Nearly stopped your heart.” She gave you a pointed look. “It took two rounds of defib charms to get it going again. You flatlined. Briefly.”

You didn’t respond right away. The words hung in the air, clinical and distant, sounding like they belonged to someone else.

The healer, her name tag read Madra Fenwick, Senior Medic , continued flipping through the file as she spoke. “Whatever kind of magic you used, it nearly killed you. Burned through your reserves faster than anything I’ve ever seen. You’re still resonating with it, which is why you feel so heavy.”

You blinked slowly, eyes dragging toward the sterile lights above.

“What happened to the others?” you rasped.

“All accounted for,” Madra said. “No casualties. Several injuries, but none life-threatening.” She paused, then added, “Your actions protected one of them. It’s in the report.”

"Which one?" You asked immediately, struggling to sit up despite the sharp pull of pain through your side.

Madra placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Easy,” she said. “You’ll tear the dressings if you move like that.”

You ignored her concern, heart pounding now. “Which one?” you repeated.

She glanced down at her clipboard. “Lieutenant Sebastian Sallow.” Thank God.

You sank back against the bed, breath stuttering as the tension in your chest released.

The healer made a soft sound in her throat—something between sympathy and warning—as she set the clipboard aside and drew her wand again.

“We’ll need to change your dressings,” she said gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll numb you first. You’ll feel a bit of pressure, but no pain.”

You nodded faintly, barely listening.

He was alive. You hadn’t failed him.

The healer murmured an incantation under her breath, and a warm glow passed over your body. A second spell followed—cooler, like mint under your skin—and the weight in your limbs lightened slightly. Not gone, but bearable.

You still winced when she began unwrapping the gauze from your left arm, the dried edges pulling at tender skin. The raw scent of potion-soaked bandages hit the air. You didn’t look. You weren’t ready to see it.

“No internal injuries, but your burns were… extensive.” she muttered. “You’ll have minimal scarring thanks to a new regeneration salve that hit the market... Though I’ll be honest, if you’d come in five minutes later, we’d be talking about you in past tense.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Five minutes. That was all that had been between you and the end.

You swallowed hard. “How did I get here?”

“Lieutenant Weasley and Lieutenant Sallow brought you in. Honestly you’re lucky they didn’t splinch an arm off given the state you were in. Your magic was so unstable, I’m amazed the wards didn’t reject the jump entirely.” She dabbed some salve on your shoulder. “I’ve seen medics botch less complicated field extractions. Frankly, you’re lucky they’re both as stubborn as they are.”

You stared at the ceiling, throat thick. You could picture it now in flashes, even if the memories weren’t there: the manor collapsing, smoke choking the air, the roar of magic flaring too hot, Sebastian and Garreth dragging you out of the rubble.

“And Sebastian… he’s okay?” you asked.

Madra’s hands paused briefly, then resumed their steady work. “Just some minor smoke inhalation. A simple charm and he was right as rain.”

“...Has he visited?” you asked quietly.

“He was here yesterday. Sat right there.” She nodded toward the chair by your bedside. It was empty now. “Didn’t say much. Just watched over you.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The ache in your chest wasn’t from the burns this time.

“He was given time off,” she continued, almost as if reading your mind. “I imagine he’s resting at home.”

You nodded faintly, the motion small and stiff against the pillow. “Right. Of course.”

It made sense. Of course it did. He needed rest. Time to recover. The mission had been brutal on all of you. He was probably asleep right now—back in his flat, maybe still smelling like smoke, maybe still hearing the blast in his dreams.

But that didn’t stop the flicker of something selfish and shameful from rising in your chest. A quiet, aching part of you that wanted him here . That wanted to see him, hear his voice, know he was real and whole and close enough to touch.

You swallowed hard. “Did he… leave a message?”

“No.” Madra paused, then added carefully, “But he looked like he wanted to.”

You gave a small nod, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The healer continued with her work, silent now except for the soft swish of gauze and the occasional murmured incantation as she moved from one dressing to the next.

The charm dulled most of the pain, but not all of it. There was still discomfort, tight pulling across your ribs, an aching heat in your shoulders, the sharp sting of raw skin exposed to air before being covered again.

You bit the inside of your cheek and said nothing. Instead, your mind wandered.

Has he fed Moon?

It was a stupid question, a fragile, human thing to care about in the middle of all this, but it stuck in your head anyway. You’d left her curled up on your bed, dozing, warm and safe and unaware of the storm you were walking into.

Now you didn’t even know if she had any water.

You could picture her blinking at the door, pawing at the bottom when no one came. It made something twist in your chest, deep and aching. She didn’t understand missions or conspiracies or ancient magic fallout. She just knew when you were gone too long.

Then you chided yourself.

Sebastian would’ve checked on her. He had to.

Just a few days ago, you’d been curled up on his couch with a blanket around your shoulders and a terrible film playing in the background. Moon had climbed into his lap halfway through and you’d laughed, nudging his leg.

“At this point, I think you’re basically her step-father.”

He’d smirked, smug and soft around the edges, and said, “I take my duties very seriously.”

You’d meant it as a joke, but now you could only hope he hadn't.

You turned your head toward the chair by your bed again. The cushion still bore the faint impression of his weight, and you stared at it for a long moment, fingers twitching slightly against the stiff blanket.

If he wasn’t here now, then you had to believe he was doing something that mattered. That he, Garreth, and Ominis hadn’t wasted the window you bought them, that the Cornwall mission hadn't been for nothing.

The documents , you thought, heart lurching.

They must’ve retrieved them. They had to.

You hadn’t come to Britain expecting trust, but you had come hoping for truth. Hoping to do some good with the magic that had marked you. Instead, Dominion had turned you into an experiment. Turned you into data. And now—you hoped—you had the ledgers and falsified destruction orders to prove it. To prove this wasn’t paranoia or conjecture, it was real. Tangible. A conspiracy with names and numbers and strategy behind it.

You closed your eyes, your pulse flickering behind your temples. Please , you thought. Let those documents be safe. Let them be combing through every page right now and preparing to blow this entire thing open.

Because once you were out of this bed, once the bandages were gone and the burning in your veins dulled enough to stand again, you weren’t going to stop. They’d turned your power into a project. Turned your body into a test case.

And you were going to be their reckoning.

Clerkenwell, Sebastian’s Flat – London

The third pot of coffee was half-empty and going cold. The living room looked like a war room. Or maybe a crime scene.

Sebastian sat cross-legged on the floor, a mug cooling at his side and a growing ache in his spine. Garreth had claimed the armchair, elbows on his knees, eyes scanning another batch of field reports. Ominis paced behind the couch, wand trailing along a document as he read.

The apartment felt… off. Not just because of the mess or the tension humming through the air, but because you weren’t there.

Sebastian had grown used to you being in his space, making the place feel warmer, making it feel more like home . But now it was just three tired Aurors, stale coffee, and the weight of this entire goddamn conspiracy hanging between them.

“I keep coming back to this,” Garreth said, flipping a half-scorched memo toward the center of the rug. “Look right here. ‘Priority asset leverage pending compatibility metrics’. That’s not artifact cataloguing. That’s deployment planning.”

Sebastian leaned over to read, brows furrowing. “They aren’t just storing dangerous objects, they’re testing them. Figuring out which ones can be controlled or weaponized.”

Ominis stopped pacing. “Which would explain the tier system. It’s a scale of strategic value.”

“How many items do you think they have in their inventory?” Sebastian asked, glancing up at Garreth.

“Hundreds, at least.” The redhead replied, thumbing through another page. “Could be more. Most of the records we have are redacted but the Tier II folder has at least fifty pages of entries.”

“And they’re storing them all over the country,” Ominis muttered, pointing to a document that sat askew on the coffee table. “Off-the-record containment warehouses. Private vaults. That’s where they send them after forging the destruction orders.”

“So let me get this straight,” Sebastian started. “They send Aurors to find and intercept illegal contraband according to official protocol, and when those items are on their way to Ministry containment or destruction, Dominion intervenes,” He sat back on his hands, voice low and tight. “They reroute the artifacts. Forge the logs. Make it look like the items were neutralized or locked away, when in reality, they’re being smuggled into private vaults.”

Garreth let out a dry, bitter sound. “All under the pretense of national interest. ‘Securing magical superiority on the global stage’. I’ve seen that line in three different documents now.”

Sebastian snorted. “National interest, my arse. I’ve seen at least five ledgers now with payments routed through offshore accounts. If this is about Britain’s magical dominance, it’s a damn convenient coincidence these people are getting rich off it.”

“A lot of people,” Garreth muttered, pulling a crumpled document from the pile beside him. “Most names are redacted, but with a bit of charmwork I was able to lift the top layer of the ink on a few. Look at this.”

He tossed the page toward Sebastian, who flattened it against the floor with one hand. The faded names emerged slowly under the dim light.

Captain Hale. Major McDonald. Major Iverson. General Ambrose Fletcher. And below them, more, layered like rot in the foundation of a house. Not just people in London, but all across Britain: Glasgow, Manchester, Cardiff, the list went on.

Sebastian’s mouth went dry. "So it’s not centralized. They've got people all over, each with their own operational teams.”

Garreth nodded grimly.

Sebastian’s hand curled into a fist on the floor. “And all the while we were working inside this. All of us. Running assignments they planted, intercepting contraband they wanted, escorting files they meant for someone else entirely. They’ve been using us from the start.”

“Using her most of all.” Ominis muttered.

Sebastian swallowed hard. “Why would they put her on my squad though? It doesn't make sense."

Garreth's brow furrowed. "Bit strange, isn’t it? Surely they wouldn't want to risk her finding out about any of this. Not if they were going to all this trouble to keep Dominion off the record.”

“Exactly,” Sebastian agreed. “If she’s that valuable, Tier One valuable, why put her anywhere near artifact cases? Why assign her to me?”

Ominis leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “Maybe because proximity creates opportunity. They needed to see how her magic reacted in the field. Think about what happened in Cornwall, or in Whitechapel. Each incident gave them more data.”

Sebastian’s stomach turned. “Out in the open, in real time, with no consent.”

“Like she’s a lab rat,” Garreth said, horror dawning.

Ominis nodded slowly. “Walk her into the right conditions, drop the right artifacts nearby, watch what happens. All while calling her deployment here in Britain ‘tactical reinforcement’.”

The three of them glanced back at the coffee table.

The Tier One folder still sat unopened, the red Dominion seal half-melted from the blast. They’d all avoided it when they first laid the documents out, passed over it like it might burn them if they got too close, but now… it sat there waiting.

The silence dragged a moment longer before Sebastian finally reached out and opened it.

Inside, there were dozens of documents. Some typed. Some handwritten. Some clearly copies of older reports. Others were labeled “Field Observations.” “Resonance Spikes.” “Predicted Outcomes.”

There were graphs. Charts. Arcane diagrams tracking your magic’s intensity across different operations. And next to those, mission dates that matched your entire deployment history from Canada to Japan to Britain.

Garreth sifted through the stack with wide eyes. “They’ve been tracking her for years."

"...Do you think the Canadian Ministry knows?" Sebastian asked.

Ominis shook his head slowly. “No. If they knew, they wouldn’t have let her out of their sight. Canada treats her like their own personal attack dog. Deployed, yes, but still theirs. They wouldn’t risk her falling into someone else’s hands. Let alone a black ops project buried inside another country’s Ministry.”

"So we need to contact them," Garreth said, straightening. “Tell them what we’ve found. Blow the whole thing open before they bury her deeper.”

“No,” Sebastian said sharply. Too fast.

The room stilled. Garreth blinked.

“What do you mean, no?”

Sebastian scrubbed a hand over his face. “We don’t even know who in Canada we’d be contacting. And if we send the wrong owl to the wrong hands, we could ruin everything.”

Garreth sat back slowly, brow creased. “So what, we just sit on this?”

“No,” Ominis said. "We just… wait for her to wake up. She has trusted contacts. The right names. Not just whoever's at the top of some Canadian letterhead.”

The room went quiet.

Wait for her to wake up. Sebastian swallowed hard. At the moment, it felt more like an if than a when.

After a beat, Ominis thumbed through the rest of the Tier One file, setting aside a few pages, but then brows drew together. He held up a page, eyes scanning the text slowly.

“Sebastian…”

“What?”

Ominis didn’t answer right away. He simply turned the document around and placed it in Sebastian’s lap.

Sebastian stared down.

Post-Mission Analysis – Whitechapel Assignment Filed by: Lt. Sallow

His blood turned cold. It was his report. The one he’d filed months ago, back when you were still a stranger. Back when he hadn’t known a damn thing about you.

He’d forgotten all about it until now, but then he scanned his writing, and dread settling in his gut.

“...Subject remains emotionally detached from the team. Displays minimal engagement outside of mission parameters...”

Sebastian swallowed hard.

“...Strong tactical value, but limited interpersonal reliability. Recommend paired assignments only, preferably under direct supervision. Not suited for independent deployment...”

He felt sick.

“Why is this report in here?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Garreth reached for the paper, sliding it gently from Sebastian’s hands. He scanned it quickly, his eyes narrowing. Then he flipped it over.

On the back, scrawled in familiar handwriting, were two sets of notes. Slanted, abbreviated. Barely legible in places. But Sebastian recognized them instantly.

Captain Hale. Major McDonald. Their handwriting.

Garreth read aloud, voice tight. “ Subject’s psychological detachment confirmed via independent field report (see Lt. Sallow). Reinforces projected Tier One suitability. Minimal personal entanglements suggest low risk of internal interference.”

“Magical instability noted as tactical advantage under controlled observation. Recommend continued integration into Tier I for artifact recovery and data acquisition."

Sebastian’s voice was low, bitter. “They used me,” he said, eyes fixed on the ink. “I gave them exactly what they needed to justify classifying her like this. To keep her under their thumb.”

Garreth didn’t say anything. Neither did Ominis.

Sebastian shook his head, the guilt clawing deeper. “They didn’t even have to falsify anything. I handed it to them ."

“You didn’t know this would happen,” Ominis said quietly.

“No, but I only wrote all of this because I was…” Sebastian trailed off, jaw tightening. “Because I was pissed off and insecure and stupid."

Ominis frowned. “You weren’t—”

“I was ,” Sebastian cut in. “You remember how I treated her. I thought she was assigned to my squad because someone upstairs didn’t think I could handle things on my own!”

Garreth rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, well. None of us were exactly rolling out the welcome mat."

“ Fuck .”

Sebastian stood abruptly, ripping the report from Garreth’s hand, fingers crumpling the corner. His pulse thudded hard in his ears as he paced to the edge of the room and back, trying to burn off the fury rising in his chest.

“Fuck. Fuck. She trusted me , and the whole time I—”

"—Sebastian, none of us knew , "Ominis tried. " You didn’t know."

Sebastian collapsed into the nearest chair, the document slipping from his fingers and landing on the floor. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands dragging through his hair.

"We kissed,” he blurted. “Did I tell you? We kissed yesterday. And I think I love her and now I have to tell her that I helped build the cage she’s been living in!"

Neither Garreth nor Ominis moved.

Sebastian stared at the floor, breathing hard through his nose. “Do you have any idea what that’s going to feel like? Telling her that I was working against her the entire time she was here, the entire time she let her guard down and chose to trust me?”

Ominis sat down beside him. “Sebastian… you didn’t know. You were angry and you just happened to put it on parchment.”

Sebastian gave a hollow laugh. “Yeah, well. This bloody parchment’s part of the reason she’s in a fucking hospital bed now, Ominis."

Garreth shifted uncomfortably. He glanced toward the report on the floor, then back at Sebastian.

“…Then maybe we don’t tell her,” he said quietly.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“I’m not saying we lie ,” Garreth added quickly. “Just… maybe this part doesn’t need to be in the pile. Maybe we just let the rest speak for itself. There’s enough in the other Dominion files to bring the whole thing down. She doesn’t need to know everything.”

Sebastian stared at him. “...You think I can look her in the eye and pretend this didn’t happen?”

“I think you care about her,” Garreth said carefully. “And I think she’s already carrying more than any one person should. Maybe we don’t add this weight to her back, not when it won’t change anything.”

Sebastian was quiet for a moment. "...Maybe you're right. She’s already been through hell. Knowing I wrote that report—knowing I helped them build the case against her—it won’t undo any of it. Won’t heal what they did.”

Garreth nodded. “Exactly. So maybe we just… protect her from this one thing. Just this.”

Sebastian didn’t speak for a long moment. His eyes stayed fixed on the report lying on the floor, its edges curled from the blast, his own words staring back at him.

“Alright,” He said at last, his voice rough. “We keep this between us. No slips.”

Garreth nodded. “It dies here.”

They didn’t say much after that. It was late. They needed sleep.

Garreth gathered the files slowly, stacking the Dominion documents into one of the reinforced binders they’d used for transport. Everything but the one report Sebastian had damned himself with.

That one, he left behind.

“I’ll keep these in my flat,” Garreth said quietly, tightening the strap on the binder. “I have a charmed safe. No one gets in but me.”

Sebastian nodded, still seated, still wrung out. “Thanks.”

Garreth offered a faint smile and then glanced at Ominis. “You staying?”

Ominis nodded once.

With that, Garreth slung the strap over his shoulder and let himself out.

The apartment fell still.

Moon had moved closer to the edge of the couch, her eyes open now, tail flicking lazily. The coffee had long gone cold. A draft slipped through the cracked window, brushing the curtains with a whisper.

Sebastian didn’t move.

Ominis waited a beat. Then, without looking over, he said, “So… you love her?”

Sebastian exhaled a dry laugh. "That's what you're hung up on?"

Ominis shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “We’ve just blown open a conspiracy operating out of our own Ministry, but yes, your emotional development remains the most shocking revelation of the evening.”

Sebastian let out a quiet snort, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know when it happened. It just... did."

“And you kissed her,” Ominis said.

“Yeah.” Sebastian leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “Well. She kissed me, actually."

Ominis hummed, amused. “Braver than you, then.”

Sebastian huffed a tired laugh. “Always has been.” Then he closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slow. “...What if she doesn’t wake up, Ominis?”

“...She’s strong. You know that better than anyone.”

“Strong doesn’t mean invincible,” Sebastian muttered.

There was silence again, save for the creak of the couch and the faint scratch of Moon’s claws against the wood floor as she stretched and settled closer to Sebastian’s feet.

Ominis got to his feet, pacing a couple steps. “She’ll wake up. And when she does, she’s going to need something solid to come back to.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened. “You think I can be that for her?”

“I think you already are,” Ominis said simply.

Sebastian looked down at his hands. The same hands that had wiped powdered sugar off your cheek yesterday. The same hands that had held your waist when you kissed.

The same hands that had written that report.

“Get some sleep,” Ominis said finally, heading for the door. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Sebastian muttered, a faint smile ghosting his lips.

“...And Sebastian?”

He looked up.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but... the truth has a way of getting out, one way or another.”

Sebastian’s smile faded.

Ominis continued, softer now, “Better she hears it from you.”

And with that, he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

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the-tin-dog · 2 months ago

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- Europa Chronicles 7 -

Hard to describe what it felt like walking out of the brief room after that funeral. If we were at full Terra gravity, the weight of the air woulda crushed us.

Didn't have too long to think on it though, suddenly a pitched screech filled the tunnels, as every one of us got a priority alert on our wrist communicators.

If I'm being honest, it took us all a bit to even realize what the damn thing meant. It was a code none of us had seen, to be honest, most of us never expected to see it.

“DO I HAVE FROSTBITE IN MY EARS? Why don't I hear movement out there, soldiers? Does this look like a drill we are being attacked! Move out.”

With the discipline we'd all thought had worn off by now, we snapped to it. No longer were we friends with an Angel, we were the weapons of a Demon.

Something about these halls felt different this time. We'd all spent years and lives carving out tunnel after tunnel, command hub cavern after cavern. But actually seeing why? Feeling for the first time like this was a real war, we were here as real soldiers… it felt strange. When you’re fighting the ice it's like you’re fighting your own body. Every move feels hopeless, it feels draining. Like a slow painful torture. You can kill a Zealot, sure. But you can't kill the cold. Jove claims all in the end. Picking up the standard issue rifle, bolting on the heavy ThermaVac armor plating, guess we found a new way to die. Funny how Terrans can do that.

The bulkhead flashed it's warning, I led my squad into the surface heat lock.

The engineering personel shutterd the heavy titanium hatch once more and clicked over the com

“Alright squaddies I this doesn't happen much so let me refresh your training!

Bolt into that crash seat and listen up! The Heat Lock will begin cycling as you ascend vertically with enough force to turn you into meat pie on Terra Gravity. Double check that latch on your visor! The Heat Lock is designed to reduce base Temp to Europa surface as fast as possible without blowing that glass straight into your eyes, but this has one hell of a thin margin of error. If your ThermaVac is compromised at any point in time you’ll learn what real cold is the hard way got it? Godspeed. May the Angel guide you to Jove.”

With that, the lift shot up, ascending through tunnel after tunnel after tunnel. The thermometer read cycled down. The read out was exclusively in Kelvin, only number that made since in this cold.

The lift speed and came to a stop.

“Heat cycle complete.”

“Airlock cycle initiated”

“Warning- Venting Atmosphere”

And just like that the front door shot open, and we all hit the ice as our boot spikes dug in. My HUD showed the flatline before I even saw the projectile. A constellation of frozen blood, ice, and metal drifted in the low gravity like a violent nebula, made of the souls of our comrades.

“Cover the sides! Stay low! Make those shots count, we don't know how long our ammo is going to last and it's a long walk to Terra for more!”

The squad open fired in all directions, as we finally saw the Zealots charging in. It was over as quick as it started. We lost a lot in the initial ambush, but we were all surprised to see our screens clear of any hostiles. My visor pinged, a request from recon.

“Sgt. Donovan, of the 67th Division. Go Recon.”

“Sgt. Donnovan, This is 2nd Page, Turner of the 93rd Recon Division, Command requests reconnaissance of the casualties. We've never seen a top-side attack before and are asking all squad leaders to document Intel.”

“Ten-4, Page, I've disabled link jammer, go for remote Jack in.”

My helmet cam flickered, a small display in the left showing what the cam received. I flicked my eyes to dismiss the window. Scanning the battlefield, all the frozen blood looked like the Eye of Jove itself had wept over us. Gusts of wind kicked up, yet the weight of Jove's Tears held them solidly to the ice below.

Red sure is a color you don't forget out here.

“Get a close up of that ThermaVac, Sgt. First time we've seen a zealots surface technology.” I expanded the window again, and used the glove controls to zoom in, scanning for composition and electrical components just as much as visual. As the camera made it up to the visor, I gasped.

“Recon. You seeing this?”

“Uuuh teeenn four Sgt. Return to base immediately and report your suit to engineering for a full visual memory wipe. Debrief with your CO immediately following. Do not speak to anyone until after Debrief. This is an order from Terra Command.”

“Ten-4.”

I looked back down at the zealots body, still in disbelief. “Well damn kid. Guess you remembered not to fidget with your rifle this time, huh?”

-- War Forever--

- Part 1

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merbear25 · 2 months ago

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CW: dark (slightly abusive) themes, some stockholm syndrome, gn!reader

Bubbling, bubbling

The beakers overflowed with more than just chemicals. Fumes which carried the pressure you'd put on yourself seeped into your lungs. Each expansion of the sensitive organ made the thin tissue burn: a trick of the mind but with real affliction. Everything you thought you were and wanted to be depended on this. To prove you were meant to be there, that your prior success wasn’t a fluke, a bead of sweat trailed down the side of your face as the fear of failure coiled around you.

Eyes that followed you wherever you went, although a shiver running down your spine was the only thing alluding to their presence.

“Don't let what's been festering ruin your potential.” Something you were told long ago that echoed in the caverns of your mind, self-doubt often acting as a silencer to it.

Anxiety pricked your sides as if to watch itself drip out of the incisions. A long sigh passed your lips to ease your rising nerves. “I can do this.” Words of encouragement that were on the verge of flatlining, and yet you forced them out all the same.

You steadied your hands while transferring each drop. When the final one fell, the twisting clouds dissolved. A change in color that held a murky threat, the desired shade gave you more than relief. Placing the project in a holder, you sat back in your chair to allow the success to wash over you. With the strangling grip around you loosening, you could finally breathe.

Waiting, waiting

You drummed your fingers on the metal table in anticipation. Not knowing when he would deem you worthy of his time, you looked down at your recent accomplishment—in other words at what he could do with his eyes closed.

The sudden unlatching of the lock made you jump. He had casted you away to prove a point, one which you were likely to spend many more of your days trying to make up for, but that was if you were lucky.

“For your sake I hope you finished.” He approached you from behind, daring you to turn around to face him. Looming over you to grab the vial, he placed his hand on the table—trapping you in your place. He held the deadly liquid over your head, pretending that the only reason for doing so was for good lighting. A humph that could be read as approving or the prequel to your demise made you wince.

When he placed it back down, his sigh bordered more on satisfaction. “Very well, you may stay.”

“Oh thank you, I won’t let you down—” Your gratitude was promptly thrown into the guillotine of harsh reality.

“Be sure that you don’t because if I catch you making such careless mistakes again, you’ll have something worse than these four walls to look forward to.” His eyes held yours in a spoken contract.

Thumping, thumping

Your heart heeded his warning. You lowered your head and nodded at the conditions you were already well aware of. A smile spread across his face at your submission, and the slight optimism further casted you in his shadow.

“Now that we have that settled, I was thinking you’d be the perfect person to help me with something.”

The ominous insinuation had your mind racing to how else he planned to punish you. Setting you free from the room wouldn’t have been enough, and if you ever hoped to salvage your reputation, denying him would only end up hurting you—even more than whatever he had in store for you at that moment.

“Of course, whatever you want.” Your voice lacked all the life it once had.

“Don’t be so gloomy. You’re still a part of the team. That’s more than many of the others can say.” A dark chuckle sent dread tingling through your body. Goosebumps spread over you at the thought of those who couldn’t live up to their potential.

“Right, I’m so… very thankful for the second chance you’re giving me.” A forced smile was a smile nonetheless.

You would come around to him once again, he was sure of it. There were things he could offer you that others could only dream of, so the loyalty you had would be your guide through the many dark days that lay ahead.

“You are, aren’t you?”

You had no choice but to agree.

“Then let’s not waste any more time, shall we?” The piercing white light from the hallway was far from heaven sent, instead hellfire rebranded.

“Yes, Master.”

#something for the only 3 mad scientist characters I can think of #one piece #x reader #caesar clown #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #caesar clown x reader #one piece caesar clown #bleach x reader #bleach #mayuri kurotsuchi #mayuri x reader #szayelaporro granz #szayelaporro x reader #bleach imagines

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simplegenius042 · 10 months ago

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Music Monday, WIP Wednesday & WIP Ask Game

Tagged by @aceghosts

Tagging @noodlecupcakes @direwombat @socially-awkward-skeleton @voidika @imogenkol @la-grosse-patate @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @adelaidedrubman @shellibisshe @josephseedismyfather @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @florbelles @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries + anyone who'd like to join.

Two songs for The UnTitledverse on a Transformers Prime WIP called Trust In Us, the sequel to Honour Thy Father, a snippet WIP for A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore, which has a Trigger Warning because the Raiders have evil intentions (but are unable to follow through with them) and also for graphically detailed bloody violence (because Alph is a champ and Ress believes the punishment should fit the wrongs), which is the main reason why this post is labelled mature. And lastly, a list of WIPs from The Silver Chronicles that you can ask about. You can listen and read these below the cut:

There's around two plot points to Trust In Us; the first is simply the Autobots finding a possible Energon Lab that Arcee took the decipherable coordinates of in Honour Thy Father, pushing back against the Decepticons and have them go on a wild goose chase so they can find the lab, and then getting ambushed by the Decepticons at the location. Second plot point is Arcee and Soundwave finding themselves in that lab and finding The Horrors(TM), with faulty equipment and weapons, wounded (from each other LOL) and being hunted by deranged A.Is. Sneaking around and outwitting their foes is a key part of this fic... considering the "deranged A.Is" are smarter than they act. Which is why I chose "You Can't Hide" as a song for this fic:

youtube

"I knew I was right to think I would find you over here Well, isn't it intriguing that you seem to be just A little bit weary enough to run off on me* Well, there's no need We know you want to deactivate us But we just can't let that happen Every night, always, it never changes But we can make accidents happen."

"We can make accidents happen We can make accidents happen We can make accidents happen We can make accidents happen."

[*Bon-Bon doesn't exist in this universe so had to change it up here to better fit the context]

During the second half of the plot, Arcee and Soundwave meet a Cybertronian who claims to have had "deserted the Decepticon cause" and found himself trapped down in the lab. They come to know him as Flatline, and while he is inherently suspicious, they must rely on his medical expertise and mapping knowledge to get out of the laboratory alive. Tumult arises when Arcee begins to trust one of the less deranged A.I's who only pokes holes in Flatline's story, which leads to a conflict on who to trust. Soundwave, while displeased with Flatline's desertion of Lord Megatron, does put more trust in him than the Autobot he's stuck with and the A.I she's been listening to. Shame that both options lead them to the same conclusion.

youtube

"Feel the grove Feel the grove Feel the grove Feel the grove Keep moving Keep moving Keep moving Keep moving

I feel like, you are not trusting me enough And I know what's right, I will guide you safely through this night And though it's true I kidnapped you, please know it was for your own good I've kept you hidden, now phase* four can begin, begin Now phase four can- Now phase four can- Know- I- can begin Know- it's true, I- can begin I kidnapped you

Safely, safely Please know Safely hidden, safely

You are not trusting me enough Trusting me enough You are not trusting me enough."

[*Night four doesn't make sense as a lyric in this context. Phase four better fits Flatline's plans]

Here's a snippet for my Fallout 3 WIP The Waters Of Life Flow. Alph and Amata are held captive by raiders in their first ten minutes of being on the surface. Fortunately (not for the raiders), a bigger fish shows up to steal from the small fry. [TW: While physically "Mohawk" only manhandles Amata, his and the other raiders words indicate more depraved intentions with her and Alph. Nothing graphic ever occurs though. However, TW for graphically bloody and detailed violence, courtesy of Alph's resistance and Ress' mercilessness in a Fallout world. Also strong language]. Read below:

Alph struggled against two of his captors as Mohawk howled with laughter at Amata's frenzied defiance. He had her restrained against the ruin's wall, a grin unnaturally wide filled with a wicked glee.

Sideburn and Iron Nose cackled and guffawed respectively at the display, manic grins all around on most of the thugs. The two that kept Alph pinned to his knees didn't wear smiles, though more from apathy corrupting their hearts than any moral discontent with the situation.

Mohawk chuckles died into a mockery of Amata's terror, mouth gaped wide into an open frown as he sputtered out an exaggerated cry. He soon replaced it with a tainted smile, hungry eyes roaming over Amata's figure.

He glanced over to Sideburn and Iron Nose, cocking his head to Alph, "I reckon we should all treat ourselves to a bit of early desert for lunch... and dinner if the meat lasts long enough."

The other woman, shorter than Sideburn, tittered cheerfully on the locker she kicked her feet on, the attention of her wide soulless eyes locking onto Alph, caressing the flamer beside her.

Alarmed, Alph pushed himself against the weight holding him down, but all for naught as he exerted his limits. He breathed rapidly, panic surged into his heart at how Mohawk gripped Amata's arms above her. Once more powerless to help. And it's all my fault.

Amata shook her head rapidly, a begging no, a choked plea going unsaid. Mohawk was undeterred, "What does everyone think? Nothing like a good fuck to release some steam, eh?"

His gang of monsters cheered in unison, amoral to the evil they were going to inflict. Mohawk bared his dark yellow teeth, "Alright then! Trix, you have a turn of the red-head first. This one's mine."

Trix cackled as she leapt off the locker, skipping her way over to Alph. The vault dweller in question shook his head in pure shock of the immorality the demons in flesh were willing to partake. His eyes became glassy as Mohawk pushed himself further into Amata's space, her desperate attempts to shake out of his hold futile.

When Trix came closer to him, he felt one of the goon's slacken in their hold. He felt a bold and ferocious fire ignite, and with Amata's life hanging in the balance, he delved into a source of fury he's only felt towards Butch and the Overseer.

Once Trix leaned too close, Alph bounced up into a pounce, his forehead colliding with Trix's nose.

A resounding crunch stopped everyone in their tracks, and a blood curdling scream from Trix filled the sparse seconds of silence, crimson splattering her mouth and face.

Alph shook off the pain that pulsed at his forehead. He took advantage of his captor's shock, pulling one arm from the guy on the left before elbowing his mouth, and proceeded to gut punch the other to his right.

Alph didn't spare a second to claim back his baton clumsily strapped to rightie's leg.

Alph made a dash for Mohawk, an action that made the depraved leader shove himself off of Amata for a chance to reach his sawed-off shotgun.

It didn't matter once Iron Nose's fist collided with Alph's jaw.

Alph lost his grip on the baton, and once he fell to the hard ground, he felt the dazed pain of a missing tooth and torn flesh on his lips.

"Alph!" Amata rushed over to Alph's side, hastily turning him over and pulling him up to check on him. She glanced to the approaching Mohawk, and she tried to drag a disoriented Alph to the corner of the ruins to put some distance between them and the thugs.

Mohawk stared at Alph, letting out a bemused chuckle, his eyes narrowing onto the two vault dwellers.

"Motherfucker!" Trix screeched, cradling her broken nose spilling red on the ground, "Fucking cunt broke my nose!"

Sideburn rolled her eyes at Trix, while Mohawk grinned in excitement, "Yeah, these vaulties got some bite in them."

Alph leaned onto Amata for support, spitting out the tooth that had broken off. He attempted to push himself in front of Amata, but his best friend remained firm, eyeing Mohawk with a fury to try and distract them from the tremors of her body.

Mohawk bit his bottom lip in thought, and tsked, "A shame really. We can't have our meat biting us back now can we?"

His hand pulled the sawed-off shotgun from his side, aiming it at Alph, "Let's see how much fight the damsel has when her hero drops dead."

Fear grasped Alph and Amata, the latter of whom hugged Alph closely to her as he weakly tried to push her away, eyes wet from the thought of his failure to protect Amata and find his dad, all the while surrounded by dirty and vile vultures of human beings, who grinned with eager anticipation to reach satisfaction.

"Now is that really necessary?"

Mohawk's gang and their captives turned their attention to the additional voice, spotting a tall woman standing above them on the crest of the slope.

Alph and Amata held onto each other, their eyes scanning the stranger. Her long platinum hair singled her out from the blue sky behind her, dark-tinted shades displaying Mohawk and his gang in the reflection, hiding her eyes from them. Her skin was darker than Amata's, she was cleaner than everyone in the ruins too; including her attire.

She was wearing a black zip-up leather jacket, with a high collar that was broad. She had matching slim black pants and dress boots, a fancy contrast from the blues of the vault dwellers and the faded garbs of the marauders.

"Who the fuck are you?" Mohawk questioned, the vaulties at his mercy forgotten at the appearance of the woman.

"Marissa Bishop," she introduced herself, her head bowing into a tilt, "But my family only have the right to call me that. So how about Ress instead?"

"How'd you even get in here? Jeremy should have splattered your brains against the pavement," Mohawk inquired, aiming his weapon at this 'Ress'.

Ress' lips opened up into a wide grin, showing off teeth too pearly for someone that's living on the surface.

"Well," she said, taking a step down the slope to walk closer to them, "I think I did have a run-in with this 'Jeremy', but our introductions ended with a handshake."

She stopped when she was at even leveling with Mohawk, surveying the group, "But I'd be more worried for yourselves than of him."

Mohawk blinked at her with an incredulous expression, though Trix seemed to have a more visceral reaction at the news.

Alph watched as Trix sauntered up to Ress, mouth and nose stained with her own dried blood, pulling out Amata's 10mm pistol, aiming it at Ress' face.

"What have you done to him you freaky bitch?! What the fuck did you do to my Jeremy?!" Trix shouted at the taller woman, who didn't change her expression.

"Aww, how cute," Ress cooed, replying, "To answer your question; nothing more than trash like him deserved. And the sames going to happen to all of you."

Trix sneered at the taller woman, while Alph and Amata glanced to each other, wondering how the newcomer was even keeping a straight face from being threatened with certain death.

"Oh yeah? Newsflash fucker; I'm the bitch with the gun," Trix cocked the slide back.

Ress hummed, taking a step back before lifting her hand in front of Trix's face; pinkie and ring finger curled into her palm, index and middle finger stacked together and point forwards, with her thumb standing up.

Is... is she for real?

Alph was baffled by the woman mimicking a gun with her hands, and couldn't help but wonder what joke she was trying to pull off, and the sensation of dread at the sinking chances of the likely unwell woman succeeding against Mohawk's gang being as close as Alph and Amata got to actual rescue.

"Mine's bigger," Ress replied, reeking of overconfidence and delusion as Alph began to mutter a prayer.

Mohawk and his cronies burst into laughter, the leader pointing his shotgun downwards as he nearly doubled-over from the embarrassing display.

Trix cackled at Ress' face, shocked and enraged and bemused. The taller woman, with her "gun" still pointed towards the broken nose of Trix, merely shrugged at the reactions. Her "hammer" pressed down onto her index.

Alph could have sworn her saw a small blue light leave from her fingertips until he witnessed Trix's skull caved into the back of her head in an explosion of crimson blood and white cartilage with bits of brain matter spattering onto the concrete ground.

Trix's headless body stumbled back, Amata's pistol falling from its grip as it fell to the floor with a massive thump.

Mohawk and his goons stood shocked, trying to process what they just witnessed, while Alph and Amata began to drag themselves to the corner wall, making distance.

Ress, however, merely wiped away the gunk that got onto her face, taking off her stained sunglasses to reveal captivating ocean blue irises, putting it away in one of her pockets.

She looked from Mohawk, to Sideburn, to Iron Nose, to the two goons who had sullied themselves.

"So," Ress stated, pulling the raiders out of their stupor, "Who's next?"

And lasting the WIP Ask Game for The Silver Chronicles.

Rules: Make a new post (I've broken this rule already) with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPS.

Some of these are NSFW (which in this case only refers to sexual themes, because otherwise I'd have to put an asterisk on everything LOL) so I marked them with an asterisk in case you wanted to ask about something (relatively) SFW.

The Silver Chronicles

Silva's Hope

La Última En Pie

Old Dusk

Call To Arms Duology

Ain't It A Joy?

No One's Safe At Home

An unnamed Bloodborne fic that's straight up depression for the soul like the game but with twin sibling Hunters and a demigod, as well as a mix of the worst unrequited toxic yaoi I've made thus far between the demigod and his ex-buddy.

All Yours*

Faithful

Generosity (or the fic where the sexual tension is strong between Silva and Faith aka Faith tends to Silva's wounds to symbolize the intimacy of trust or something)

Hands On Bare Skin*

No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden

Only One Person Can Frustrate Me (And That's You)*

Strawberries

The Most Wonderful Of Mistakes*

Weaponizing The Obstacle

We're Primal Beasts After All

Where She Belongs

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beesinspades · 1 year ago

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TRIGUN FIC REC LIST ROUND 2 (FOR TRIGUN FANFIC APPRECIATION WEEK)

Like last time, I have terrible memory and not enough brain power to leave a note about each one, but I put a ♡ next to every fic I particularly loved! They're all rated G or T, but three of them are rated M (mainly for violence and canon-typical heavy topics). Most of them are Vashwood, but there's a decent bunch of gen fics as well, and one Mashwood fic :D Please note some of the fics in this list are not spoiler-free if you haven't read the manga (yet)!

VASHWOOD

♡ Willful Ignorance Isn't Blissful by AliceTheBrave

the ruins of the day painted with a scar by procrastinatingbookworm

early blooms and evergreens by SpiritusRex

♡ the priest and the dog by adamantCompulsions

this thing i am by eggmuffinwaffles

♡ Can I Have This Dance (for the rest of my life)? by VampireEnthusiast

♡ A Pocket Full of Hopes and Dreams (and they all bear your name) by antiphrastic

Beelio's comment: Unfortunately uncomplete so you all should read it and comment anyway, maybe it'll be the motivation the author needs....who knows....do it for them and for me but also yourself >;D

where my heart would go if i let it by Windeh

Wouldn't Want To Make You Sorry (For Me) by auroralightss

Hero Complex by auroralightss

you recognize love after the fact by haveloved

But as long as you'd love me so by climberofappletrees

your pride like water in your lungs (drowns all the words it stole) by haveloved

A Multitude of Sins by DespiteWhatShouldBeOtherwise

♡ Never Let Me Go by Puffls

MASHWOOD

♡ Purring by Wordsy

GEN

♡ Bring Me Back Into The Light by CalicoLynx

Beelio's comment: absolutely stellar LivioRazlo characterization!

what you find in the woods by SpiritusRex

Flatline by caffeinefire

and you will see the sky by Evercovi

Clumsy by Wordsy

♡ Tasting the Outer Road: The Outlaw's Guide to Good Gunsmoke Eating by fathomfive

Beelio's comment: the post-canon Knives fic of all time.

♡ tu me manques by curiositykilled

where the world will never find me by curiositykilled

apoapsis by curiositykilled

Beelio's comment: I haven't read these last two yet but I know they're good, trust me.

If you read any of them, please leave a kudos and nice comment for the author if you can, I'm sure you'll make their day! 💜 I'll add a little link to a small post linking some of my own fics, if anyone's interested! Aaand that's all for this time! Happy @trigunfanfic Appreciation Week to my fellow writers!

#trigun #trigun fanfiction #trigunfanficappreciation #vashwood #so many goods fics aahhhh

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flamingskull28 · 2 years ago

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Here's why you should let people beta read your work. With feed back from my friends the first paragraph (which is from Agent 4's guide to the deep-sea metro) turned into the second.

Tw/mild body horror

"Oh my cod.."

In the center of the room sat a large tube with several mutilated bodies of octolings connected to wires floating in a greenish liquid. 4 wanted to throw up, the bodies had giant gashes and lashes lining them. A few were missing parts of them, revealing their preserved insides. Their faces seemed frozen in a state of fear and pain, the ink seemed drained from their skin and tentacles and they were all pale as snow. Crusted fluids seemed to be present around their injuries.

Various wires and tubes went into the machine, seeming to transport data to a small terminal that stood in front of the tank, in front of the terminal stood the scientist with a clipboard. They were pressing buttons

Her fingers pressed at the center of the screen, as she pressed it one of the subjects eyes opened and they thrashed and kicked around violently. The scientist seemed to eye them for a moment before a loud flatline noise played and the subject fell limp.

After feedback

“Oh my cod..”

In the center of the room sat a large tube with several mutilated bodies of octolings connected to wires floating in a greenish liquid.

4 felt like she would throw up.

The bodies had giant gashes and lashes lining them. A few were missing parts of them, revealing their preserved insides.

Their faces seemed frozen in a state of fear and pain, the ink seemed drained from their skin and tentacles, they were pale as snow. Crusted fluids seemed to be present around their injuries.

Her fingers pressed at the center of the screen, as she pressed it one of the subjects, a tall and malnourished woman with tentacles similar to 8, opened her eyes.

She jolted and looked around them, seeing the torn corpse of their friends and their own grave wounds. they thrashed and kicked around violently. Her mouth opened to scream but to no avail since they were submerged…… and since a lower quarter of their jaw was gone.

The scientist seemed to eye them for a moment, uncaring as their thrashing ripped their own body further apart, before a loud flatline noise played and the subject fell limp

#splatoon #agent 4 #ao3 writer #ao3 #writing things #if anyone want some advice for writing you can ask me #agent 4's guide to the deep sea metro

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eldritchships · 2 years ago

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The First Night

Summary: Much of the last twenty-four hours have been spent fighting, locked in the most desperate and arduous battle since the end of the Transformers War. After an emotional reunion, Shockwave and Flatline retreat to a haven for some much-needed rest. If only it were that easy.

Word Count: 5404

Author's Note: A real labour of love, I hope others enjoy reading as much as I did writing it! Spoilers throughout for Season 1 of Earthspark.

Taglist: @payaso-pastel, @szayelinx @chimerakisses, @mystrunmah, @bugsband (If you'd like to be put on/taken off the taglist, just ask!)

Hidden from prying eyes, a lake groggily woke to the peaceful trill of birds. Dense forest shrouded the light that reached the lake’s surrounding clearing, making the trek uphill more difficult for large, metal feet to traverse their way through. The lake’s clear water shimmered underneath the morning sun; the reflection was split unevenly by the shadow of a giant tower in the near distance.

Flatline kept his servo tight around Shockwave’s, leading the way through the trees. He kept his optics on Shockwave, who was keeping his own firmly fixed on the ground in front of him. The yellow circle cast a faint spotlight, watching out for any rocks and exposed tree roots underfoot. The two of them walked wordlessly; the scenery provided plenty of noise to fill the silence, from the low sounds of wildlife, to snapping branches and the creak of moving metal as they ducked around and underneath the treetops.

It was a few hours past sunrise. Much of the last twenty-four hours had been spent fighting, locked in the most desperate and arduous battle since the end of the Transformers War. It had taken everything to emerge victorious, including the brief death of all energon-based beings worldwide. When the dust settled, everyone had celebrated, but Flatline had tried to rush the collective sigh of relief for one pressing reason: Reuniting with the love of his life, previously thought to have died in the war.

Flatline stepped free of the tree-line into the clearing and then glanced behind him. Shockwave remained close by his side, using the hold on his servo as both a guide and a tether. He lifted his helm, optic recalibrating now that they had reached more open surroundings.

Flatline smiled, and he stepped closer to take the head of Shockwave’s cannon as well.

“Come on.” He tugged Shockwave forward, voice quiet but warm. It was only a short distance further before they approached a house, sitting by the lake and seemingly a couple stories high. Shockwave faltered, but Flatline continued on, undeterred by the idea of human presence. He knew there wasn’t a single human around for a long distance, because he’d explicitly tried to keep it that way.

Taking one stride over the rock garden on the lawn, Flatline’s digits slipped from Shockwave’s cannon, although his other servo remained tightly entwined. Instead of a wooden, human sized door, an industrial roller door took its place as the entrance. The gaze that burned into Flatline’s back, analysing everything carefully, warmed his spark as he reached down and unclamped the lock holding the door shut.

“This is your residence.” Shockwave surmised. Flatline hummed in confirmation with a nod, now reaching for the handle. The tips of his digits brushed against the metal, and then Flatline froze, as if startled. He looked back, something loaded behind his stare, although his expression was vacant.

Shockwave was standing in his yard, tall - not as tall as Megatron, but he was nearly a head taller than Flatline, just like he remembered - and purple plating vivid in the sunlight. Behind one of the finials adorning his helm, a windchime hung beside the window, depicting the moon and stars shaped from stained glass. Flatline had hung it shortly after receiving the house, because it had reminded him of…

“Flatline.” Shockwave’s voice reached his audio receptors, breaking Flatline from his thoughts. Shockwave was staring at him, expectant. Flatline didn’t know how long Shockwave had been waiting, but he swallowed, and fought to summon the words on his processor.

“It’s ours, now, I suppose.” He pulled open the roller door, and the clattering of its metal blinds pierced the silence as he stepped inside.

Outside, Flatline’s home seemed like any normal human abode, aside from a few abnormalities like the door. But inside, the home was gutted of interior walls and of a ceiling between levels, allowing a Cybertronian to stand at full height. Indeed, all of the furniture was sized for Flatline as well, a little cluttered in layout but easy to navigate. Flatline’s gaze swept across the interior of his home, taking it in as if for the first time. Nothing was different from how he’d left it - even his favourite laser scalpel was still sitting out on the workbench, from when he’d sworn that morning he would get around to putting it away later.

He could feel Shockwave behind him, taking the same survey of the house. Flatline wondered what it must have looked like to him; Everything so comfortable and with a set place, a home that had visibly been lived in for years. His jaw clenched and he reached around Shockwave, who stepped aside, to shut the door behind them.

“Are you certain we’re safe here?” Shockwave’s servo was still clutched in Flatline’s, and the latter hadn’t removed it for a moment over the last few hours. The dip in his tone was fuelled by caution, shifting his weight to eye the thin steel shutters.

“Completely.” Flatline assured him, glancing up above at the sleeping fluorescent lights. They weren’t needed, even though fatigue made it feel so much later than mid-morning.

“Good.” He felt a cannon arm wrap around his stomach, and a purple chestplate pressed against his back, “I’ve wanted to be with you privately since we were constrained to the Terrans’ base of operations.” Flatline slowly pulled his free servo away from the door. It shook in the air, and he frowned at it before resting it on the arm around his front. He stroked his palm across the plating. After giving two soft pats to its surface, he squirmed until he was able to turn around, facing Shockwave directly. Shockwave lowered without needing to be asked, and Flatline hopped to wrap his arms around his neck, pulling him down further. They held onto each other tightly, a minute passing by that they spent as close to each other as they could possibly achieve, together and alive and shielded from the outside world by the four walls of Flatline’s home.

“You’re not usually the cuddly type.” Flatline mumbled against Shockwave’s chestplate.

“These are extraordinary circumstances…do you want me to stop?”

“No, no, Primus, no.” He clutched even tighter to emphasise his reply, shaking his helm. His optics shut, missing whatever silent response Shockwave gave. Fifteen years without his life partner, with one more thing that was important to him wrenched from his grasp, and Flatline felt prepared to weld their spark chambers together so they could never be separated again. For now, he settled for the long but terribly brief time they embraced, until concern nagged at his processor and he untangled from around Shockwave’s form. “Are you hurt? I can’t believe I didn’t check after the fight, I should have- Let me take a look at you.” His servo searched frantically around Shockwave’s helm, across his chestplate, over each shoulder pauldron and everywhere else in-between, insistently checking for injuries. Shockwave started to pull back.

“The blast of Quintus Prime’s power repaired all physical damages.” His report fell on deaf audio receptors, and when digits started to curl underneath his arm plating to examine the internal workings, Shockwave carefully took hold of Flatline’s wrist and moved it away from him, firm but not intended to hurt. “Flatline, I am fine.” Flatline stared at him, but then averted his gaze. He looked at his servo in Shockwave’s grasp, and after a beat, his optics narrowed as his digits clenched.

“I’m a medic, this is my job.” He said quietly. “This is what I’m supposed to do.” Shockwave’s helm lowered, the angle mimicking a furrowed brow. With the hold he still had on Flatline’s wrist, he guided the servo to rest on Flatline’s chestplate. Shockwave stopped abruptly, staring at the blank pink plating, but the action only lasted a moment before he met Flatline’s faceplate again.

“There will be time later. I am currently uninjured, so it’s illogical for you to waste your energy.”

Flatline remained silent, but his optics flicked back up, returning Shockwave’s gaze. His body still appeared tense, but his fists unclenched, and that was satisfactory enough. Shockwave turned around, giving a single nod towards the further side of the home. “I wish to become familiar with your living quarters.” Shockwave started to walk forward, but a firm tug on his arm stopped him in his tracks. He peered back, and he saw Flatline still standing in the same place, one servo wrapped around the triangular head of his cannon. It squeezed hard enough that without attempting so, Shockwave knew he couldn’t shake it off.

“Don’t-” Flatline’s vocaliser caught and then gave a few soft clicks, betraying his efforts to reset it. Whatever he wanted to say was lost to the air around them, but his optics were pleading. Shockwave paused, and then he shifted his cannon arm, adjusting so that Flatline’s hold on it wasn’t uncomfortable. He took a step forward, and Flatline followed silently, which encouraged Shockwave to continue walking as he had before.

Their extremities once again entwined, Shockwave took an unhurried tour of Flatline’s home, examining anything which caught his interest. One of the tables housed a modest workstation, complete with most of the proper equipment and a Cybertronian computer for data analysis. Shockwave noticed a laser scalpel left improperly stored against a centrifuge, but he didn’t comment on it; much like Flatline’s attempt to examine him, it could wait until there were less important matters to deal with. Besides, Flatline had always kept his station less orderly in comparison. Shockwave turned his helm, and his finials pulled back. Catwalks ran along every wall, level with his chestplate and sized for the average human. It stank of GHOST’s intervention; he had seen similar catwalks traversing the corridors, in the brief time period between his release from the Immobiliser and the control chip becoming embedded in his shoulder. Shockwave’s servo curled at his side, and a foreign one touched his arm, rubbing gently in an attempt to soothe. His finials returned upright and Shockwave filed away that information to be addressed afterwards.

His attention turned elsewhere, cataloguing some of Flatline’s other belongings: a CD player (likely gifted by their mutual musically-appreciative friend), a well-read collection of guides to Insecticon anatomy, an empty spark chamber preserved in a Cybertronian-made shadowbox (treasured as much here, it seemed, as it had been on the Nemesis), and a small selection of human reading material, including a beginner’s introduction to astrology, open to a page on Earthen constellations. His sensors caught on a flash of colour on the wall, and when he focused on it, Shockwave fell still. Of the windows that adorned the walls, scaled for Flatline like everything else, he had noticed a piece of decor on the window closest to him. As recognition crept over Shockwave’s neural circuits, his shoulder pauldrons sank with a soft creak.

A handful of Cybertronian remembrance flowers, pressed and framed above the window. The blue stripes adorning the petals, even while flattened, accented the view of the lake outside with an eerie beauty. Shockwave’s optic flickered across the piece, and then he turned his helm towards Flatline.

“Were those intended for me?”

The grip around his arm tightened, and Flatline stared at the frame.

“You and some others.” His vocaliser sounded hollow. Shockwave watched his faceplate, the microscopic twitches in his expression, until Flatline tore his gaze away and moved to lean into Shockwave’s side. It was another reminder of the war, of the space bridge exploding, and of Decepticons being hunted down and caged. Another reminder of why he had to swallow down what had been done to him and keep going. What had originally been a respectful gesture now made his fuel tanks turn, as if the act were cheapened by having one of those flowers resurrected, tangible and comforting underneath his touch. Flatline pulled Shockwave’s arm, and he was almost relieved when Shockwave shifted and walked away from the window, moving on to the next area of the room. Shockwave remained silent, which itched something in Flatline’s processor, but he couldn’t be certain it was what he thought. Dread crept up into his spark at the idea that he might have lost the ability to read Shockwave, the bot he had spent so long figuring out like a heavy piece of nonfiction, and Flatline failed to keep another frown off of his features.

Shockwave fortunately wasn’t looking at him right now; the improvised path had lured his interest to a shelf of containers, all filled with liquids of different colours and consistencies. A datapad storing a record of the inventory was tucked inside one corner of the shelf, poking out ever so slightly over the edge. Shockwave’s optic brightened and he took the datapad, scanning over the itemised list. Flatline browsed over the contents of the shelf, noting the bubbles that shouldn’t have been present in the KRC-109, until he felt Shockwave step closer towards him.

“What have you been experimenting with while I’ve been gone?” Shockwave’s tone sounded slightly lighter, charged with the intrigue of scientific discovery. A small smile managed to crack on Flatline’s lips, and some of the weight lifted from where it rested on his frame.

“Well, I’ve been working a lot slower lately. Taking it easy.” He glanced towards Shockwave out of the corner of his peripheral, and his smile twitched a little wider, “I haven’t had someone watching my work ethic.” Shockwave’s helm tilted, and he leant forward to nudge the upper corner of it against Flatline’s temple.

“You’re suggesting you need me to create something exceptional.”

Flatline barely stifled a chuckle, and the sound caused Shockwave’s finials to twitch. He thought that if he could manage to rouse the mirth Flatline used to have in surplus, then he was acting correctly. So it was unexpected and disappointing when Flatline’s joy quickly fizzled out, dissipating as soon as it had arrived. Flatline turned enough to reach up and cup Shockwave’s helm.

“I need you.” His palm pressed adamant against Shockwave’s non-existent cheek as his gaze steeled, allowing no room for refusal against the statement. Shockwave stared back at him, the inner workings of his optic spinning in and back out. The weight in Flatline’s vocaliser flooded his processor beyond capacity, and his ventilation fans kicked on to dispel the increased internal heat from computing the full breadth of the words. Even when he did so successfully, he failed to synthesise an appropriate response to encompass every meaning Flatline required. So he relied on past data, and he returned the datapad to the shelf using feel alone, without breaking Flatline’s gaze, to then wrap his servo around Flatline’s hip. His thumb-digit rubbed gently, mirroring Flatline’s comforting gesture from before. Flatline’s expression softened, and he leant forward to press a kiss to the lip of Shockwave’s helm. “Never leave me without you again.”

“I won’t allow that to happen.” Shockwave promised. He swore it both to Flatline and to himself. He had been taken by surprise for the last time, and if Megatron was no longer suitable to lead the Decepticons, he would take authority and lead the faction back to its proper course - an undeniable victory. Then, Flatline would be promoted to chief medical officer; the logical next step of the medic’s climb to accomplishment, and a worthy position for one of few bots Shockwave could still trust.

Flatline’s touch slipped away, and Shockwave was brought back to the present. Another smile was threatening to rise on his partner’s expression, and Flatline removed the servo on his hip in order to move to the cabinet.

“...I can show you my ongoing projects tomorrow, if you’d like.” Flatline slowly suggested, tapping the datapad back into its nook on the shelf with a clawed digit. Shockwave rose back to his full height, and Flatline’s chin tilted up, as if he were expecting the reaction. He looked back at Shockwave over his shoulder pauldron. “You could give me your input on the current problems I’m having.” The idea of working in a laboratory again did cause Shockwave’s finials to perk up.

“Tomorrow, then.” He echoed. He glanced down at his own servos, which he realised were empty for the first time since leaving the Terrans. Shockwave paused. “I had assumed you would want all of my attention to yourself tonight.” The question in the remark caused Flatline to pause, and he slowly turned away from the inventory of chemical concoctions, although his back remained facing Shockwave.

“I’m a little different than you remember. My love.” The words caught before the term of endearment, as if they were rusty on Flatline’s glossa. Approximately fifteen years without use, Shockwave reminded himself with a flash of bitterness. But Flatline’s smile did reappear, and this time it almost became smug as he added, “I’m not affected as easily as I was before.”

“Is that correct?” Shockwave asked. He shifted his weight to his other pede, ignoring Flatline’s nod. He reached over and brushed his servo across Flatline’s side, testing at first, then pressed more firmly along a seam discovered in Flatline’s softer metal. Purple digits travelled along the seam, skirting around rotor blades to massage a spot between the shoulders. Flatline bristled and bit back a pleased-sounding but involuntary grunt. Shockwave cocked his helm, and he tapped a single digit against that spot in satisfaction. Flatline quickly swatted him off, pulling away with narrowed optics.

“Stop that.” He grumbled. His tone lacked any true irritation, but his rotors clicked and twitched more snugly against his back. “Don’t look so smug.”

“You’re incorrect. I’m pleased. You’re much the same as I remembered.” He stepped forward, and when Flatline didn't stop him, Shockwave returned the servo to his back, only to rest there instead of prod. “At least some things haven’t changed.”

Flatline glanced towards Shockwave out of the corner of his optic. The sensation on his back felt too familiar to be disturbing, yet too alien to be truly comforting, and he spent a half-second with his jaw clenched as he agonised between the two conflicting feelings.

“Come on.” He pointed to the right. Shockwave’s helm turned to follow the digit, and the two of them started walking again, ignoring the protests of tired pistons and heavy tank treads. They circled around a wall divider made from heavy duty shelving and a tarp, entering another makeshift room. The catwalks still ran by, but there were noticeably fewer windows on this side of the house, blocking most of the brightening sunshine. Flatline had always preferred to fill his personal quarters with ample places to sit and rest, and inside his home on Earth, that preference was evidently still the case. Besides the recharge slab in the far corner, there was an array of different chairs and couches, some of Cybertronian make, some improvised from human materials. Flatline’s course beelined for the closest one among them; a couch sitting back against the wall, made from mattresses and a combine harvester’s tires.

Flatline dropped onto the couch, and he let his entire body go slack into the softer material. His helm fell back and his optics closed, brow furrowing in relief from finally being off his pedes. He sighed, letting his ventilation systems run on high to purge steam and flecks of dirt from his internals, and sunk further into the serene darkness of his closed optics. A solid whir met his audio receptors. Then a touch braced against his knee. Flatline startled, optics snapping open to see Shockwave starting to kneel between his legs.

“Oh. Shockwave, please, I should’ve-” Flatline sat up and dug his claws into the mattress beside him, pulling it forward with the intention of putting it on the floor. How could he have forgotten so easily? He couldn’t let Shockwave be uncomfortable - he’d been through enough - and if he knelt like that all night, it was bound to put strain on his joints.

Shockwave pressed on the mattress, holding it in place.

“Stop it.” His tone was firm, the metallic filter over his voice grumbling more noticeably with the command. He wasn’t looking at Flatline, and ignored his attempt to over-placate. He moved only to lower to his knees, and then forward against the medic’s smaller form. Another momentary wave of panic ebbed, but Flatline still stared at Shockwave’s forehelm, rendered helpless by the large form slumped against his own. The love of his life, back within his arms. He lowered his ventilation systems to the barest level he could achieve without injury, blaming them for the inhale trapped in his throat. Slowly, Flatline touched the side of Shockwave’s helm.

“Someone needs to take care of you.” He said. His optics flicked away with a blink, and his vocaliser lowered to a mumble, repeating old words archived in his memory banks, “A break won’t kill you.”

“Unnecessary.” Shockwave countered, resting his cannon arm beside Flatline’s seat on the couch. He paused, and then sharply pulled his helm back; He didn’t leave the embrace, but his gaze fixed on Flatline’s chestplate, and his finials twitched down and back. “...What I require is a cycle of rest with full control of my motor function.” Flatline’s frown deepened, looking at the cannon lying beside him, and unaware of Shockwave’s sudden scrutiny.

“I won’t let anything hurt you ever again.” He breathed, and he was willing to engrave the promise into his engine block in order to keep it. It was bitterly almost satisfying that most of those responsible for Shockwave’s most recent pain were already dead. But he could settle for knowing Shockwave was alive, and for the moment he had spotted him on the battlefield. The realisation that it was him after so many years still thrummed through Flatline’s circuits.

Flatline returned his attention back to Shockwave’s pseudo-faceplate, and he finally noticed Shockwave’s staring. He almost always stared, since he couldn’t blink, but Flatline remembered enough for his frown to fade from his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

Shockwave rested his servo on Flatline’s chestplate.

“Your display is gone.” He said quietly. “The silence is…unnerving.” Not for the first time, Flatline’s optics softened, and his servo reached up to entwine with Shockwave’s own.

“It’s still there.” A holo-display appeared on Flatline’s chestplate, right underneath their woven digits. Glowing a soft blue, an agitated but steady beeping noise began to tick from the summoned screen. Shockwave’s pauldrons relaxed, and he gently pulled their servos further to the side, allowing him to watch the reading of energon pulsing through Flatline’s systems. He’d spent many cycles in a laboratory or entering recharge with that quiet beeping reaching his audio receptors. A form of constant feedback of Flatline’s emotions. It used to affect his focus terribly, but he’d grown quite used to it over time. Briefly, while rendered without autonomy and mindlessly roaming a cornfield, he had resented its absence.

“Why did you remove it?” Shockwave questioned. He sunk further forward, resting more of his weight against Flatline. Flatline’s free digits found that persistent tense spot in the back of Shockwave’s neck cabling, idly massaging as his optics flicked between his screen and back to Shockwave’s faceplate.

“A side effect of updating my alt mode, I think.” Flatline explained. “Besides, I wanted to better hide how I felt, and the reading sabotaged that. It was the logical choice to hide it.”

“You sound more like me, my spark.” Shockwave’s helm tilted, and the blue holomatter fizzled where the corner poked through the display. It cast small flickers of light in the reflection of his yellow optic. “Should I be concerned?” Flatline’s gaze set on him, unblinking and heavy. The pulse rate on the screen increased, spiking rapidly, and Flatline switched it off, the display vanishing back into the silence of the room.

Shockwave remained still for a moment, and then he pulled back to get a pede underneath himself. He hoisted stiffly into the empty seat on the couch, the movement faltering for the split-second it took for him to be certain the handmade piece of furniture would hold them both. His servo didn’t leave Flatline’s once during that time, and he used it to pull Flatline as close against his side as possible. Flatline remained silent, but he tucked himself against Shockwave’s chestplate; the size and shape would typically cause an issue, but Flatline found a comfortable position with a noticeable amount of ease. Shockwave made a note that Flatline’s claim of being less receptive to physical contact was proved increasingly false.

“Is this more satisfactory?” He prompted. Flatline slung a leg over Shockwave’s thigh, which put a little more strain on his back that promised to ache later, but it lowered the distance between them even further. He squeezed Shockwave’s servo tightly.

“I missed you.”

“That does not answer my question.”

Flatline laughed, although it sounded tired and choked. He wrangled his digits free to slide both arms around Shockwave’s midsection, although his grip immediately resumed being as snug as before. Shockwave watched his expression tighten, and Flatline then turned his helm, pressing his faceplate into purple plating.

“Satisfactory.” He mumbled slowly. His optics closed, and Shockwave shifted to let his helm fall back against the couch. Even the quiet winch of his neck cables sounded pressing in the noiseless room. His own optic cast a faint but perfect yellow circle on the ceiling above. He watched it for a long time, minutes passing by as he expected Flatline to begin recharging.

The body against him began to shake. Arms clenched around his torso and Shockwave’s helm snapped down, finials up and alert. Flatline’s rotor blades flared, his dentae clenched. He was trembling violently, ventilation coming in strangled bursts as his clawed digits dug into Shockwave’s plating.

“Flatline.” Either the rattle of strained machinery or the sudden alarm of the situation drowned out Shockwave’s voice. Flatline pressed against him, burying his faceplate. The shaking didn’t stop, and his claws clutched tight enough to pierce, tearing grey metal and sending an array of flashing warnings into Shockwave’s HUD. “Stop.”

Shockwave dug the head of his cannon into Flatline’s back, his servo cupping his pink helm. Neither action pressed hard enough to hurt, but the sudden sensation was enough to shock Flatline into a sharp inhale.

Shockwave’s finials flicked back, ignoring the readout from his own sensors. Slowly, the tremors lessened, and finally stopped. Flatline’s optics cracked open, the usually bright blue dulled. His digits removed themselves from the small holes they’d created. He didn’t meet the insistent stare looking at him, the silent questions he knew were rising on Shockwave’s non-existent glossa. His spark felt like it was fluctuating wildly, and he waited for it to collapse altogether, saving him from the dread that had been churning in his fuel tanks since the two of them had arrived home together. Then Shockwave relaxed, so slightly it would have been imperceptible to anyone else, and that felt worse.

“I don’t understand.” Bitter venom stung Flatline’s vocaliser, words pouring out in a growl. “Why can’t I enjoy this? This is a good thing, isn’t it?” Flatline’s rotor blades flared again, one side cutting into the mattress padding next to him and hitting springs. The purple body beside him didn’t move, not even to flinch. He shook his helm, frustrated and angry with himself. “You’re alive. But I’m going to look away for one moment and you’ll be taken out by blaster fire.”

Flatline glared at nothing, and his arms squeezed around Shockwave’s torso, torn between staying or pulling away. There was still a servo supporting his helm, and a cannon against his back. Shockwave’s optic flickered, and he leaned down.

“I’m alive. As are you.” He pressed his forehelm against Flatline’s, pulling his partner’s immediate attention away from scowling at himself. “I will ensure nothing separates us again, to the best of my ability.” Flatline clamped his mouth shut once more, staring into the bright optic filling his vision and paying active heed to the feeling of Shockwave’s servo around his helm. Hearing his own promise spoken back to him certainly made it sound more true, although a voice in the back of his processor was screaming that something bad was about to happen. There was one thing he knew was true, one thing he couldn’t doubt.

“I love you.” Flatline said quietly. Shockwave’s finials perked up, and although a smile wasn’t strong enough to reach his lips, it did reach Flatline’s spark. He pressed a kiss to the lower corner of Shockwave’s helm, and some of the tension faded from his body, bringing him closer against his partner’s form again. The servo cupping his helm rubbed a thumb-digit along the surface, pausing only briefly when part of the shape was unfamiliar. Flatline returned to the spot against his shoulder, and brushed over the injuries he had left in Shockwave’s plating.

“I’ll fix those tomorrow.” A soft whir of Shockwave turning, but Flatline added without looking up, “I won’t take no for an answer.” Shockwave was silent, then shifted to get comfortable again, conceding to Flatline’s insistence as well as avoiding the tear that had been left in the upholstery.

Believing the immediate danger had passed, Shockwave read over and dismissed each of the alarms in his HUD, sorting through until his vision was clear again. Sunlight was attempting to creep into the room, stalking around the corners of walls and furniture. Shockwave glanced down, checking on his partner; after Flatline’s moment of panic, he thought it wise to start observing him periodically. Flatline was still tucked against him, arms holding, helm downturned. But he was still tense, and upon closer inspection, his optics were open. Irritation crept into Shockwave’s vocaliser.

“You should rest.” Flatline jumped when Shockwave spoke, only confirming that he was still on alert. “Your stress will be more severe while you are exhausted.”

“Quintus’ power surge restored our energon levels to full.” Flatline replied matter-of-factly, avoiding optic contact. The excuse hardly satisfied Shockwave’s reasonable processor.

“I didn’t mean physically.” He attempted to smooth down Flatline’s rotor blades with his cannon, tracing the blue metal in an attempt to soothe a physical part of Flatline’s anger. “There have been many developments over the last solar cycle, and your processor is currently overencumbered. I will be here when you awaken. …I will rest better if you do, doctor.”

A long minute passed, and then finally, Flatline allowed himself to sink into their second embrace.

“You’ve always been the reasonable one.” He grumbled. It sounded equally as much a compliment as an insult, but Shockwave’s optic warmed, and his arm tightened around Flatline’s waist.

“With some exceptions.” He rumbled back. The corner of Flatline’s mouth turned up as he gave a short hum, and he shut his optics. The tension that had been radiating off of his form petered out, not completely, but far less recognisable than it had been before. Shockwave let his helm lean against Flatline’s, and he felt another squeeze around his stomach in silent approval.

The silence settled on the two of them again, but it felt less constricting than it had before. The light of day continued to pass by, but it failed to reach them through walls of brick and steel. Any further danger had been postponed until the nebulous tomorrow, or eternity thereafter.

Shockwave lifted his helm. He searched Flatline’s faceplates, making certain that he had finally fallen into recharge. Carefully, Shockwave started to shift, cautious for any sign of rousing as he moved his right arm. His digit tapped a few spots on Flatline’s chestplate, exploring the surface with focused intent. Finally, there was a mechanical hum, and the holo-display flickered back into being. Shockwave listened to the soft beeping, much slower now than it had been before. Then, he tucked the lip of his helm against Flatline’s crest, and his optic dulled, as if closing.

With a blanket of darkness over his vision, what few sounds passed by seemed enhanced in his audio receptors. The calm beep of Flatline’s pulse, shadowed by the hum of dormant lab equipment on the other side of the wall divider. Birds continued to titter outside, capturing insects from the surface of the lake’s water. Recharge eluded Shockwave just as it had the pink mech protected within his arm, but it was still the best rest he had achieved in a long time.

#ShockLine #my writing #OC x Canon #Flatline (OC)

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devine-fem · 2 years ago

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i have a question. do you know what the newest issue(s) for damian are called? i had read robin... i forgot what year, it had nika (flatline) in it & i read all of it.

i keep seeing an issue with: damian & jon raising a kid?? and then, i believe this issue is 2023 but damian has long hair (he reminds me of tim 💀). sorry if this isn't articulate,.i just kept seeing these images on twit & i'd like to read the comics!

the newest comics featuring jon and damian raising trinity is

Wonder Woman (2023) Issue #3 and #4

and

Batman & Robin (2023)

if you are curious in jondami/damijon the ship between damian and jon then i composed a reading guide of every moment they share together here:

guide

#jondami #damijon

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pluralsword · 4 months ago

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and the trans lesbians, Lost Light #25 edition... :

and one of our favorite MTMTE issues from one of our favorite comic crossovers ever (go read Robots in Disguise/Transformers 2014/Optimus Prime if you want to see more of Arcee's story as a main character that blossoms into intentional trans writing, this reading guide will help), she doesn't actually go to Swerve's in this issue, instead she gets a full body reformat for clearly gender affirming reasons from Ratchet, Flatline, and Fixit :3 :3 the title of the issue is "The Becoming" and it's a pun for more than one thing that happens in it lmao

(if you want our thoughts on her arc and overlaps with real trans history you can check that out here)

Swerve’s

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realtor-one · 2 months ago

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14 Brutal Truths to Dominate Dubai’s Ruthless Real Estate Market

Welcome to Dubai's real estate battleground — where luxury towers rise faster than agents can close, and only the fiercest survive. If you're here looking for fluff or feel-good motivation, close this tab now. But if you're ready to face the cold, hard truths that separate the average from the elite, read on. This guide is not for tourists — it’s for realtors hungry for domination, willing to bleed for luxury penthouses and 7-figure commissions.

This is the exact mindset and battle-tested strategy from Anand Best, founder of the Realtor One Program, a framework that’s generated hundreds of millions in global real estate sales. These aren’t quotes from a book. These are real, gritty lessons from the trenches of Dubai Marina, JBR, Palm, and Downtown.

1. Pain Is the Price of Progress

Want to scale fast in Dubai’s oversaturated property jungle? Prepare to suffer.

Every ghosted call, every rejected pitch, every missed commission is building your muscle. Like tearing a bicep to rebuild it stronger, growth demands discomfort. You can't want six-figure months and also wish for easy days.

Top agents don't avoid pain — they hunt it. If you’re not willing to feel uncomfortable, you’ve already lost to the ones who are.

2. Happy But Never Satisfied

Close a luxury villa, sip espresso at Address Downtown — and then get back to work. Dubai's skyline is full of agents who thought they made it and then flatlined.

There’s always another mountain. When you get lazy, you're toast. Hustle keeps you alive. That next penthouse won’t close itself, and no one cares about your last win. Stay grateful, but stay hungry.

3. Ignore the Critics

Everyone has an opinion — your broke cousin, your skeptical uncle, that colleague laughing behind your back. Let them talk.

Most people are average. Their advice will keep you there. Want extraordinary results? Do extraordinary things, and stop explaining yourself to mediocre minds.

Listen only to people doing better than you. Tune out the rest.

4. Selective Productivity Wins

Doing more doesn’t mean doing better. Every agent blasting cold DMs on LinkedIn, TikTok, and Facebook without strategy is building a ladder to nowhere.

Focus. Pick one platform, one niche, one method — and master it. Consistent execution on one channel beats half-baked effort on five.

Obsess over quality. Eliminate distractions. Commitment is saying “no” more than “yes.”

5. Fear vs. Regret

Dubai real estate is terrifying. New projects every day. Clients ghost you. Markets shift overnight.

But here’s the truth: regret is worse. You can live with rejection. You can’t live with the pain of not trying.

Anand Best moved to Dubai from India with no contacts, no backup, no safety net — just hunger. What flipped the switch? Realizing he’d hate himself if he didn’t try. Be the person who at least went down swinging.

6. Persistence Creates Timing

Everyone’s waiting for perfect timing — the perfect market, lead, campaign.

Here’s reality: perfect timing doesn’t exist. But if you persist long enough, it feels like it does. Show up. Pitch daily. Build content. Follow up even when they ignore you.

Consistency creates luck.

7. Effort Beats Envy

Scroll less, sell more. That flashy agent with the Range Rover? Probably leveraged to the neck.

Social media is a highlight reel, not reality. While you're hating, someone’s outworking you.

Trade envy for effort. Build your pipeline. Track your KPIs. Post content, refine scripts, show up. Mediocrity is your real enemy, not other agents.

8. Conversations Create Commissions

Avoiding hard talks? You're leaving money on the table.

That dodging client? Call them. That teammate draining your energy? Fire them. That awkward negotiation? Push through it.

Avoiding conflict equals missed commissions. Growth lives on the other side of discomfort.

9. Learn to Endure

Dubai real estate is a marathon, not a highlight sprint.

Anand used to sit for hours in sales offices while staff whispered that he’d quit. Three months later, they wanted his closings under their name.

Keep going when others drop out. Show up when it’s 45°C. Cold call when you’re mentally drained. Outlast everyone and the game bends in your favor.

10. Results, Not Excuses

Yes, the market's tough. Yes, leads are cold. But excuses won’t pay your rent.

Your CRM crashed? Clients don’t care. Traffic on Sheikh Zayed Road? They still want results.

Excuses are just permission slips for staying broke. Take full ownership — even for things beyond your control. Clients respect closers, not complainers.

11. The Hard Way Is the Easy Way

Spamming groups. Buying dodgy leads. Skipping follow-ups.

All these “easy” routes? They’ll cost you more in the long run.

Mastering market data, sharpening pitch decks, running solid ads — that’s hard. But it compounds. The shortcut is a trap. Do the boring, tough stuff daily and you’ll outrun everyone chasing hacks.

12. Don’t Give Away Your Power

Blame the market? You just handed it your power. Blame the client? You just gave them control of your mindset.

Own your outcomes. Your follow-ups. Your self-talk. Your emotional state. In Dubai’s fight club of real estate, the strongest weapon is your bulletproof identity.

13. Rejection > Regret

You’re going to hear “no” a lot. Clients will disappear. Deals will crash.

But one “yes” pays for a hundred rejections.

Top agents fear regret more than rejection. They’d rather flop on a pitch than wonder “what if?” the rest of their life. If you're not risking rejection, you're playing too small.

14. Consistency > Talent

Talent is overrated. Execution wins.

Learn ads in 20 hours. Master pitching in 30. Nail closing with 50 tries. But none of it matters if you don’t show up daily.

One year of focused, relentless consistency can change your entire career. Want million-dirham months? Prepare for million-dirham levels of discipline.

Final Word: This Game Is War — Not a Walk

Dubai’s real estate market is not for the faint-hearted. It will chew you up, ghost you, burn your leads, and test your beliefs. But if you stay in the ring — building your system, refining your mindset, enduring when it’s dry — you will win.

If this speaks to you and you want the exact mental rewiring to break through, check out the Realtor One Program. It's where mindset meets revenue. The link's in the description. If you're serious, you'll click.

Until then, remember: comfort is a drug, and regret is the withdrawal. Choose the grind. Own your identity. And sell like your name belongs on every damn skyscraper in this city.

#DubaiRealEstate #RealEstateHustle #RealtorMindset #SalesMotivation #LeadGenerationTips #RealEstateTruths #DubaiPropertyMarket #RealtorOneProgram

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 3 months ago

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The Largely Unfollowed Batfamily Romance Guide

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/BqT12Al by Raven_WitchTales You know, despite Bruce having experience with so many relationships, none of them seemed all that- healthy? Damian's used to looking up to his father in a lot of regards, but perhaps this isn't exactly one of them. A good thing then, that he's surrounded by so many others, family, and friend alike. He'd never been one to ask for help before, but sometimes learning through others was less intimidating than learning through experience. They were minor nuisances proven useful, and he was getting just a tad desperate. It all starts with a visit to his least favorite older brother, and as it goes on and they all seem to be telling him a lot of the same thing, it only grows more apparent that he was perfectly within his right to skip over Bruce. Because who in their right mind would go to Bruce Wayne about communicating? In which Damian has questions, and needs relationship advice. And in a rare case, Bruce is the last to know. Words: 7994, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 4 of My Batfamily Fics Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Multi Characters: Damian Wayne, Tim Drake (DCU), Koriand'r (DCU), Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Selina Kyle, Barry Allen, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Vicki Vale Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Koriand'r & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Selina Kyle & Damian Wayne, Barry Allen & Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Koriand'r, Jon Lane Kent & Damian Wayne, Mia "Maps" Mizoguchi & Damian Wayne, Flatline & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Minor Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne, Minor Flatline/Damian Wayne, Minor Mia "Maps" Mizoguchi/Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne is Robin, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, but he's trying okay, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Implied Relationships, Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Dating, Relationship Advice, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne Bonding, evidently I just like bullying bruce, Teen Damian Wayne, his partner is purposefully left ambiguous, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Batfamily (DCU), Domestic Batfamily (DCU), Alfred Pennyworth's Cookies read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/BqT12Al

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the caped crusader #the dark knight #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed

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apogee-gd4 · 1 year ago

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Writing Initiative #4

Describe 2–3 specific strengths your classmates found in your work and their reasons for identifying them.

My classmates found the inclusion of the black and white screen to be quite successful. They identified this as strength because the flickering added to the overall experience, but did not take away from the audio itself. The layering of simple white and black screens helps to create a more holistic 8D experience, while not overloading the listener/viewer with meaningless color or other graphics

They also enjoyed the addition of voice, but more specifically when I played with effects that made it sound like the voice was further away. They identified this as it added a layer of dimensionality and depth to the audio, which aided in an even more full 8D experience

Describe 1–2 specific ways your classmates thought you might refine or improve your piece going forward.

My classmates thought I might improve my piece going forward by adding even another layer into the soundscape. I would accomplish this by layering the sound using the Doppler shifter where the audio would sound like it was coming from multiple angles. This will help in removing the listener from the space they are in, and feeling as though they are being enveloped in sound.

How might this feedback inform your thinking/making going forward? Describe 2–3 specific ways your classmates have informed how you might continue with one of the other assignments (3D, 4D, Experimental, Reflective Piece) through Reading Week and to be presented next.

As of right now, I am unsure with how I might proceed with 3D, Experimental or Reflective. However a classmate made an interesting comment about what apogee can look like - when applied to life in general (however the application can look the same for addiction). They mentioned that when trying to achieve apogee (or the ultimate euphoria), the journey can look like a few different things:

Hitting a wall, falling backwards,

Ultimately "dying" or stopping, and abruptly flatlining,

Having a beginning, middle (climax), and slow fall back down,

etc.

Taking these other storylines may guide me in different representations of Apogee. Having said this, I would like to work towards my 3D assignment next!

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falloutstasis · 2 years ago

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Reese Cooper

note: general info and hc for reese. under the read more

Name: Reese Cooper

Age: 22

Height: 5"3

Gender: Agender (She/Her/Them/They)

Sexuality: Panromantic

Nicknames: Sonic (Apex Games, Starlight Games)

Birthday: October 1, 2712

Home world: Tranquillus, Starlight

Family: Jack Cooper (Father, Alive, Missing), Daisy Cooper-Ripley (Mother, Alive), Cassandra Ripley (Aunt, Apex OC)

reese was born on the brink of the IMC-Stardust War (2 years before Titanfall 2) on Starlight and considering that the war wasn't safe for a baby and his wife, Daisy Cooper-Ripley, Jack Cooper stayed on a quiet town of Starlight with his family called, Tranquillus. Tranquillus is located on the other side of the Starlight planet.

like most of her family from her mother's side, she's an mechanical engineer but she uses said mechanical engineering skills to build her very first jet boots, with the intention of getting her to run fast. these boots ran on battery's inserted on the backside of the boots. however those jet boots always ran out of juice too quick, which frustrated her. she was more interested in her skills as a mechanical engineer than being a pilot like her father is, which was completely fine with him.

the town held a small amount of people/civilians so most of her friends she's interacted are from said town for obvious reasons. she couldn't go to stardust to visit her mother's family because of the IMC-Stardust War, where they encouraged her into her devolving building her jet boots

later down the line, she joins the apex games and much like her aunt, she got in the games through starlight games. for this au, this would be the second time someone else in the starlight games would jump shift to it's rival bloodsport. she joins after the new apex legend in season 18. one of her reasons for joining the apex games is because she is looking for her missing father, jack cooper. she figures that she'll go to the man who runs the apex games, blisk.

she DOES have experience as a pilot: two years under her belt. it was something she tried out when she was 19. her titan? her mother's titan: a Militia made titan that revolves around fast maneuvering, trapping targets, and melee weapons (such as a sword for example): KL-5241 or Kilo for short. all of the training was given from her mother as her father left tranquillus to join the frontier militia, in hopes to reclaim freedom from the imc.

however, despite the pilot training from her mother, she never travels by her titian. she uses her helmet to be in contact with her father's former titan BT-7274 as an active AI. After the IMC-Stardust war, she finally arrived to the city, Stardust, in order to recover the rest of BT's AI. the Nakamura Foundation's Computer Scientists were successful into recovering BT's AI. from then on out, BT was the one guiding her and helping her find her father.

her season is called Season: Rock with Attitude under the name Sonic and it comes during Season 18

Her equipment

she has one equipment she uses in apex games and one for outside of the games.

Jet Boots: with these, she can run faster and climb faster than any legend in the games. she can also jump higher so she can move past large gaps or wants to make a quick escape from the enemy.

Anillo Gauntlet: this has three rings around the gauntlet that she can either shoot out or take out from by hand. the two uses she can do with this is 1.) where she can shoot a ring at a target below them for a Time Break: a move where you can slow down a target for a total of ten seconds. 2.) another one is where she can put a ring on the opposite wrist to activate the other ring in the gauntlet for a Speed Break: a move where reese gains additional speed for ten seconds.

Season 18 and Season: Rock with Attitude

her main loadout she uses is the VK-47 Flatline and Volt SMG.

as far as her Aunt goes, she goes a little bit easier on...whoever's left of the IMC, including Bangalore. however, she'll take whatever chance she'll get to take a jab at the IMC. especially in front of Bangalore. never regrets it every time.

her first two teammates in her first match were crypto and mirage. despite the banter they usually have, she got along well with them.

she's a big fan of mirage, seer, and fuse, and was pretty much excited to team up with mirage on her first match.

one of her reasonings for joining Season 18 and have her own Season is because she's looking for her father who went missing. The other is top secret with the Nakamura Foundation.

if push comes to shove when she has to use her own titian with BT's AI within it to kill ash again, she'll do it. for now, being a pilot of a titian is kept a secret. the only one who knows that she's a pilot is casey.

#i'm reposting this so it can go along with season 18 #i also plan to draw reese AT SOME POINT lol im still focused on my other aus #i changed a little bit of her but its MOSTLY the same

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mallfoii · 1 year ago

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“ How noble. ” He quips, but lets her have space and guides her if, or when he feels she needs it. Of course, she’s a quick study, when it comes to learning she takes to it like fish to water, hungrily applying what little he had explained with somewhat ease. And luckily for her, the war had changed her, the dark magic not as foreign as it would have been years ago. “ Wait here. ”

Draco apparates back to Malfoy manor library, perusing the familiar rows before he finds the books that he would need, he makes sure to test that they have nothing that would make someone like her use them and then returns back to the cottage. “ Read them, practice. You can try and kill me next time, I’m sure you’d enjoy that more than the puppet. ”

Places the information he has for this for her on top of the leather binding before he leaves again. At some points during the week, his thoughts drift towards their meetings in the cottage, usually when he is by himself late at night. Those are the only times when there is some semblance of normalcy. Especially when nothing is normal anymore. The days trudged on, the dark lord never fully satisfied, his own bloodlust making it obvious that there was no end to the madness.

There was nothing that would satisfy whatever he once desired. This thing that had returned was not the man that his father was charmed by in his youth. Another week passes and he apparates back to the cabin. His skin was paler than usual and clammy, a small limp to his movements.

“ I’m going to assume that you have questions about the books I lent you. ” His attempt at smugness flatlines but he smirks anyway. Unsure just how much in pain he really is, the potion had taken most of it away, but he knows he would need to look into treating his wounds better, for now, the pain almost helps.

"I'M NOT SURE I HAVE THAT LUXURY ANYMORE," the high road has been where she's lived her entire life, championing the good and the just, optimism as natural to her as breathing. But this world suffocated her more and more with every death and every injustice and eventually it's enough to make anyone break. When there's little hope left, logic takes over. And she knows that they cannot win with simple body binds and disarmings. It wasn't enough.

Her stomach flips at the explanation of the spell, looking at him through a new lens. He speaks of the curse in a way that feels all too familiar and for the first time, she truly fears him and what he's capable of. It's not only her that this war had changed.

"I believe this will do. I don't much fancy using dark magic on the defenseless," this is only for emergencies, for when she's backed into a corner with no other option. There's a slight tremble to her wand hand as she raises it, but she takes a steadying breath and steels herself. If she couldn't perform this on an inanimate puppet, then how was she expected to use it against her enemies.

All the rage and hurt and guilt builds in her, no longer pushing it down and shoving it away into boxes that are bursting at the seams. Instead, she lets it swell, lets it consume her, intent as dark as every vile thing she has felt in the last five years as she executes the curse perfectly in a yell.

For a second, there is nothing, and she thinks that maybe she hadn't done as good a job as she had thought. Then, the cloth falls away all at once, peeling from the straw and blowing outwards before it falls to the floor, the puppet slumping in a mimic of a lifeless body.

#mugglebrn #v: playing both sides

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eternalglitch · 3 years ago

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So sometimes I take part of a Like Father Like Son chapter and redo it from another perspective, as the way I write means that the narrator’s thoughts are incredibly influential as to what details actually get depicted to the audience. You can see an example of that in Chapter 13: Talk to Me where I redid Donnie meeting Leo for the first time again in Leo’s POV.

One of my close friends, @dovelydraws, wanted to know more about Chapter 21: Flatline’s events from other perspectives, especially after I mentioned Donnie didn’t hear an important piece of dialogue and. Well. Who am I to say no to that. They then went crazy and added some art, so they’ll put that under this post.

This is a rougher cut of my writing, and has the warnings of panic attacks and temporary character death. And heavy spoilers, of course. The rest is under the read more!

Mikey’s POV

Sparks and stars danced in Mikey’s eyes, but he kept staring at two of the three suns that his life revolved around. Waiting, waiting, watching, unable to help. Not able to code, not able to hold onto Leo or Raph to try and weather against this storm. Raph’s eyes looked almost feverish when that shock ended, and Mikey took a moment to pace back to Donnie. He reached out for comfort out of instinct; his fingers curled into a fist before they touched Donnie’s back. The collar sounded again, and Mikey hurried back to stand sentinel by Raph’s side, as if his presence could help guide them through the pain. It was a childish thought. It was a naive thought. It was a thought fit for the Mikey of a month ago, not the Mikey of today. The air around Raph felt different this time, however; like the smell of ozone before a lightning strike. Raph was peering down at Leo, who’s eyes had started to almost go glassy, their brother clearly weakening. With a crackle, the collar roared back to life, Mikey’s pupils burning as they constricted. He refused to look away or close his eyes. If Raph was the one not to let go, Mikey would not look away. The scream that Mikey heard next was the first time he had ever heard something like that come out of his older brother. As Raph crumpled to both knees, slumping forwards for a moment, eyes fluttering shut and his grip on Leo slipping, the red eared slider’s legs sliding onto the floor, Mikey had a terrible, terrible feeling. “Raph? Raph!” Mikey cried, finally daring to touch Raph’s shoulder. It was hot to the touch, and smoke drifted off of the collar. Raph’s head bobbed slightly and then he bolted back upright, gasping for breath, instantly focusing in on Leo, arms shaking as he pulled him closer than before. There’s another beep. Mikey couldn’t get a good enough view of Leo to see how he was doing, but Raph almost fainting terrified him. They couldn’t wait, Donnie would know what to do; maybe a way to divert the shock instead, or… or something, Donnie had said Mikey’s brothers were going to die and they were not allowed to die– “Donnie–” Mikey started to ask, his voice shaking, but Donnie didn’t turn around. “Stop distracting me!” he snapped, not looking up from his screens. Mikey could see his reflection in them, and Mikey knew. He knew that Donnie was terrified, too. “I know, I know I know I know but I’m so close just let me think–” he abruptly stilled, his chin lifting slightly. Mikey turned back to Raph and Leo, knowing Dee had his hands full. But so did Raph. He had gone still, pulling away from Leo for a long, lingering moment as he stared at his face. “Leo?” he muttered to himself, confused. He looked up and met Mikey’s eyes before he gently shook Leo in his arms. “Leo–” their brother’s head rolled listlessly to the side, one arm falling to the ground. Mikey felt the floor drop out from under him. “No. No, no, no,” Raph whispered, each no growing loudly, more frantic, as the collar let out another tone– this one slightly different, longer and a single note, but Mikey didn’t care what sound it made as much as what it might do next. “Donnie?” he asked, and his voice caught, Raph having to try again. “Donnie I think– Donnie I think Leo’s dead. Tell me how to help him,” he started to blubber. Mikey started to shake, his lungs suddenly deciding that the faster he breathed, the less he was able to actually take in oxygen. He tried to say something, anything, but his lungs spasmed, and Mikey staggered slightly, legs threatening to collapse. He managed to turn, getting a hazy look of Donnie’s back just as Donnie turned his head to look over his shoulder. His eyes widened, expression dropping, as Raph yelled at him. A moment later, Mikey finally managed to get something, anything, out past the grip on his throat. He fell to his knees by his brother and screamed.

Raph’s POV

“I won’t drop you.” He had promised. He had promised his little brother that, he had told him that and he had meant it, because that was his job. He was supposed to watch out for them, keep them safe, but Raph had failed. He had failed when Leo was first taken, he had failed when they didn’t find him sooner, he had failed when rescue attempts one and two ended in bitter failure. And, as he came to just as the pain receded again, he found himself failing Leo yet again, his brother almost slipping out of his arms as Raph snapped back to the awake world. Everything hurt. It hurt so much, like Raph had taken fifty kicks to each part of his body. But it didn’t hurt nearly as much as the time Donnie had yelled at him about the phone call, or every day that followed after that. And it couldn’t hurt Raph more than it hurt Leo, who was still in his arms, not even squirming as Raph pulled him closer. “Raph? Raph!” Mikey cried, and a hand brushed against his shoulder. Raph wanted to reassure Mikey, but his arms prickled and throbbed wherever he touched Leo, the pain distracting him with its intensity. There’s another beep, and Raph’s stomach sinks. “Donnie–” Mikey started to say, and Raph shifted Leo again, trying to get a better read on his face. He didn’t know how many more shocks he himself could take, so his younger brother, with the shock collar directly around his neck, was even more of a concern. Donnie shortly said something to Mikey, but Raph no longer was listening. Leo’s eyes were still open slightly, but they stayed that way, staring just a little over Raph’s shoulder up at the ceiling. What? No. He pulled away from Leo for a long, lingering moment as he kept staring at his face, waiting for yet another terrible punchline from his snarky younger brother. He hadn’t heard a good joke in a while. “Leo?” he muttered to himself, confused. He looked up and met Mikey’s eyes before he gently shook Leo in his arms, trying to shake Leo back awake, because if he was passed out– if he was asleep– it was better not to feel the pain that was about to follow but Leo needed to move and he needed to show Raph that he was okay because Raph was suddenly, horribly, terrifyingly worried. “Leo–” his little brother’s head rolled listlessly to the side, one arm falling to the ground. When had he died? How had Raph not noticed, he should have noticed. “No. No, no, no,” Raph whispered, each no growing louder, more frantic, as the collar let out another tone– this one slightly different, longer and a single note, but there was no time to care about the device anymore when Leo was... “Donnie?” Raph asked, his arms shaking, voice catching, too quiet to get Dee’s attention so Raph had to try again. “Donnie I think– Donnie I think Leo’s dead. Tell me how to help him,” he started to blubber, panic crashing over him. He didn’t know what to do. Yet again, he didn’t know what to do, how to help Leo. One way or another, this was the last time Raph would make this mistake.

#glitch writes #lfls #rottmnt lfls #like father like son #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #angst #rottmnt fanfic #my writing #lfls spoilers #reblog the one w dove's art thank you AHA

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