#i expected the fan and bot meeting to be way worse than it turned out. I was pleasantly surprised hashtag win

[pankiepoo]

how do you feel about the new ep? :D

fan

[willalove75]

New Girl on the Pitch Ch. 2 Lunch with the Boss

Pairing: Rebecca Welton x f!reader

Summary: Your friend Keeley brings you in as the team's social media manager, Rebecca is impressed, in more ways than one.

Words:

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI

Tags: flirty, fluff, slow burn

Notes: Chapter 2

Your first week was anything but easy, the teams social media accounts were a mess. You spent half of your first week weeding through trolls, bots and angry fans. You've dealt with negativity and navigating hateful comments with other brands socials, but this was the worst you've ever seen. To make things worse, some journalist, Trent Crimm, was sniffing around on your second day asking you about the socials and how the team was dealing with the negativity. As far as you know, more than half of the team doesn't even follow Richmond's social media accounts, it wasn't a good look. You're hoping you were able to make yourself, and the team, look better by telling him your plan to come up with some campaigns to improve the teams social media presence which will, hopefully, ward off the hate comments.

When Trent was talking to you, you did notice Rebecca slow down as she walked past your office. Out of the corner of your eye you saw that she was looking at you with a smirk on her face, which made you even more nervous than you already were.

You were pretty positive at this point that she was checking you out, the few interactions you did have with her over the past week had a very subtle, flirty undertone to them. She was a mystery to you, even when she seemed to be flirting with you, she still seemed so, cold? You want to know what's under that tough, exterior but it seems impenetrable still.

"BOO!"

"OH MY GOD"

Keeley bursts into your office and scares the crap out of you as she laughs hysterical

"Holy shit dude you scared the shit out of me!!"

"Heheh good! Now come on we're going to lunch!"

She spins away as you grab your stuff and follow behind her. You walk towards the double doors and you see Rebecca standing there, looking at her phone. Damn, this woman was so good looking. Her tight dress hugs every curve on her body perfectly, her red bottomed heels accentuate her long, toned legs. Your eyes move along her body stopping at her ass. Man, does this woman have a great ass, and wide, round hips to go with it. It's crazy to you how well this dress shows off her perfect hourglass figure. You take note of her tiny waist, all you want to do is wrap your arms around it and rest your head on her full chest. The deep V neck of her shirt reveals just enough of her soft skin to make you want to drool, she has the best tits you've ever seen on a woman. She's still looking down at her phone, her long, slender fingers tapping away at the screen. You're envious of her sharp jawline, her softly curled hair tucked behind her ear that's decorated with a simple, pretty pair of dangling earrings. Her lips perfectly plump, they look so kissable. You look up to her eyes, a beautiful shade of green, they're staring down at the screen, unnoticing you and Keeley walking towards her.

"Rebecca!!" Keeley shouts as we walk closer. Her head quickly turns and your eyes meet hers, a small smile crosses her face, you smile back. Something about her seems different, like a little of her coldness melted away.

"I asked y/n to tag along with us!" Keeley says excitedly

"Very well then, shall we go?" Rebecca says happily. You're a little surprised at her tone, you expected her to sound annoyed or irritated that you were crashing their lunch date, but she seems happy about it, or at least unbothered.

The three of you walk out of the building.

"My driver will take us" Rebecca says, walking towards her car.

"Yes! Now we can all get drunk!" Keeley jokes, although you and Rebecca both know Keeley well enough to know she's only half joking.

The three of you climb into the back seat of the car, you end up sitting in the middle between Rebecca and Keeley. You've never been this close to Rebecca before and you start to feel a little anxious. You get a whiff of her perfume, it's as beautiful as it is intoxicating. The scent calms your nerves as you all make small talk on the way to the restaurant.

The car makes a sharp, unexpected turn that tosses the three of you around in the back seat. You get thrown into Rebecca, almost landing into her lap. Your hand ends up on her thigh when you try to stop yourself and you immediately scramble back into your spot.

"OI!" Rebecca yells. Fear shoots through you for a second, thinking she's yelling at you; you quickly realize she's yelling at her driver and you relax.

"Apologies ladies" her driver says "This fuckin' twat thinks he's the only bloke on the road."

Rebecca looks at you and puts a hand on you leg. Your heart begins to beat harder and faster. You start to feel a wetness between your legs.

"You okay love?"

"Uh, yeah thanks, sorry. Are you?"

"No apologies necessary. And yes, I'm fine" She says with a smile that makes you want to melt.

Her hand lingers on your leg for a few seconds longer and she slowly slides it off of you. Your heart continues to pound as your thoughts start swirling once again. "Is she into me?" "How can she be into me?" "Fuck she's my BOSS" "Damnit she smells so good" "shit I want her so bad" as the wetness between your legs grows.

You pull up to the restaurant and the three of you get out, Keeley opens the door and you follow behind her, you turn your head to make sure Rebecca is in the door before you let go of it and you catch her eyes looking down at your ass. Her eyes snap up and meet yours. They have the same intensity as usual, but this time you see a hint of lust in her eyes. You flash a quick smile and continue to follow Keeley.

The three of you are seated in a corner booth in the back of the room. Keeley gets in on one side and Rebecca slides in next to her. You go to the other side when you're stopped.

"Keeley slide down" Rebecca says, making room for you to sit next to her as she pats the seat next to her. You sit down and look over at Keeley, who has a big smile on her face and gives you a wink. You roll your eyes at her and look at the menu.

The waitress comes over to take your orders, you each place your orders and the waitress turns to leave

"Oh wait one more thing!" Keeley says "we're gonna get a round of mimosas!"

"We are?" Rebecca says coyly.

"Hell yeah! It's almost the end of the week and we're not driving!"

"Dude, it's Wednesday" you say with as both you and Rebecca laugh.

"Oh whatever!" Keeley turns back to the waitress "three mimosas please!"

Your drinks come out pretty quickly and you guys chat about the team, about Ted, and basically all things Richmond. By the time your food comes out the mimosas are finished and the waitress asks if you wanted a round two.

Rebecca orders a white wine instead and you and Keeley order the same.

After the wine comes out the conversation slowly begins to shift from work to life. Keeley starts talking about Jamie and is complaining about something stupid he had done.

"Well Keeley" Rebecca starts to say "Jamie's just-"

"Fucking immature" you blurt out.

Rebecca and Keeley look at you, a little surprised.

"Well I was going to say 'young' but that's also appropriate" she says with a giggle.

Seeing Rebecca loosen up is nice, the icy exterior seems to melt away with every sip of wine she takes. Somehow she's even prettier when she's relaxed, you notice for the first time how her eyes sparkle when she laughs, and how the laugh lines she has around her mouth and eyes accentuates her bright smile.

You start sharing stories, Keeley talks about some party she went to in Ibiza, Rebecca talks about a wonderful vacation she went on to the south of France, and you share stories from college and one particularly wild party you and your friends threw at your on campus house you lived in. This one party in particular was a rager, you tell them how one of your friends tried to ride your roommates bike down the basement steps, and how someone else fell off of the balcony into the bushes.

"Who the hell did that?!" Keeley asks laughing

"Chris" you say flatly

"Oh" Keeley says, finishing off her wine

"Who's Chris?" Rebecca turns to ask you with a raised eyebrow.

You look into her eyes and look away

"A fucking asshole."

"Yeah, he's the one who convinced y/n to move here with him and then broke up with her and started dating this hot Italian model" Keeley

"You mean the Italian model he cheated on me with, then left me for" you say bitterly "she's just fine looking" you lie to yourself

"Is she really fine or do you just not want her to be hot?" Keeley pries

"Of course I don't want her to be hot! I mean she is, she's really fucking hot" you say, Rebecca looks at you with a bit of a surprised look on her face

"You know she's actually really fucking ugly" Keeley says

"She absolutely is" Rebecca chimes in

Caught off guard you look at Rebecca "do you know her?"

"Nope" Rebecca says, finishing her wine "but I don't have to, I had to deal with a fucking asshole of my own recently. I get it."

Rebecca pats your leg in support. You expect her to pull away but she leaves her hand on your leg, you feel your panties get wet again. You lean your legs into hers, you feel her lean back into you. A small smile comes across your face that you try to hide.

Rebecca pays the bill and the three of you head back to the car. You pile in, with you in the middle once more. Rebecca leans her legs into yours. The three of you keep chatting and Keeley says something fresh, as usual. Rebecca reaches her arm behind you to pinch Keeley. Instead of pulling her arm away, she leaves it across the back seat. You feel her twirl your hair between her fingers.

"Your hair is so soft, y/n, it's so pretty" Rebecca says.

"Yeah I meant to ask you this, who does your hair?" Keeley asks

"Uh, I haven't gotten it done since I left home actually"

"Oh you have to get it done before the charity ball this weekend!" Keeley exclaims "I'll take you to my favorite place!"

"Sure, thanks Keels!"

The three of you get back to Richmond and head inside

"We HAVE to do this again! This was so much fun!" Keeley exclaims

"We certainly do" Rebecca says

"Oh definitely!" You say

The three of you begin to part ways, Keeley starts walking away when you notice Rebecca is staring at you. You look up at her and she gives you a wink and heads off towards her office. Your heart skips a beat and you feel a pulse shoot down to your center.

Higgins runs up to her

"Oh Ms. Welton, I wanted to know if-"

"No." She cuts him off, in her usual, icy tone.

"Oh, okay, uh" Higgins says as he walks behind her

"Don't follow me" she says coldly

"Right uh, I actually have to go this way anyway" as he turns down a random hall.

You're pretty convinced that she did that for two reasons, first, because she genuinely doesn't like Higgins, for whatever reason; and secondly, so you could have a clear view of her ass as she walks away.

You head back to your office and sit at your desk. You notice that you guys were gone for over two hours and your day is almost over. You think back on the afternoon and remember talking about Chris, god that piece of shit can ruin your mood even when he's not there. You remember Rebecca telling you she had her own version of Chris, and you vaguely remember seeing something in the paper about her. You decide to look her up and you read all about Rupert and what he did to her. "Well no fucking shit no wonder why she's icy" you think to yourself "what Chris did to me was bad enough, if he did to me what Rupert did to her, I'd want the whole fucking world to burn."

The day ends and you pack up your things and head out. Rebecca's car begins to pull away as it slows down and stops next to you, the back window rolls down and you see Rebecca smiling at you.

"Y/n, you are coming to the charity ball this weekend, right?" Rebecca asks you with a smile

"Oh yeah, I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

"Good, will you be needing a plus one?"

"Uh, no, I'm good, thank you though"

She jots something down into her notebook and looks back at you with a smile "Have a great night"

"You too"

You give a quick wave as Rebecca shoots you a wink and the car pulls away.

"Oh shit" you think to yourself "I need something to wear"

You pull out your phone and call Keeley

"Keels, I just realized, I don't have anything to wear to the charity ball this weekend!"

Keeley squeals on the other end as you wince and pull the phone away from your ear. Keely is talking a mile a minute and asks "Where are you? I'm coming to get you right now!!" You tell her you're just leaving work and she says "Okay stay right there!”

The lines goes dead and a minute later you hear a car squealing as you turn and see Keeley peeling into the parking lot. She pulls up next to you

“SHOPPING TRIP!!!!” She squeals as you jump into the car. She peels out and you two are off to fine the perfect dress for the ball.

~~~ part 3 will be posted soon ~~~

[skrltwtch]

Muse

Prompt 1: Just like some people sleep-walk, you tend to paint or draw while in your transformed state because it calms you down. And apparently, people really like your art.

Prompt 2: A is a popular artist, and B messages them without thinking one day. They didn’t expect to become friends, and they definitely didn’t expect to become more. Person B just felt that connection between the two of them.

Prompt 3: A/Werewolf has a tendency to curl like a dog in front of the fireplace a lot (usually in their werewolf form, but it’s not uncommon for them to do it as a human). (Sources in master list)

Word count: 3,721 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I put up with the long commute to and fro between home and work for two reasons, and two reasons alone: the decent rent for a place with a picturesque view and that catered to my monthly needs, and the glut of time to catch up on my reading. And by ‘reading’, I meant ‘scrolling through the handful of social media feeds that survived my latest cull of shit that was taking up my time and storage space unnecessarily, and occasionally attempting (and failing) to pay attention to my Kindle’. Hey, at least I was aware I had a problem …?

Instagram was my first hit of the day. I flicked past images of makeup, friends in situations I wouldn’t be finding myself in anytime soon, and cute animals. The occasional meme and comic draw out an exhalation of air from my nostrils. I marvelled at artwork and photography, half wishing I were half as good as the people I followed and admired, half chiding myself for not practising either enough and losing interest quicker than I’d dropped money on new equipment in the name of my new endeavours. You could say one of my hobbies, the ones I’d been consistent about, was amassing gadgets obtained to indulge my whims and fancies.

My heart skipped a beat — or was it the pothole the bus went over? — when I came across a new post by George. I didn’t know him personally to refer to him by his first name like that, but hadn’t social media broken down boundaries between people, making them seem closer to each other than they really were? He was an illustrator whose work I chanced upon on Reddit a while back. His portfolio was a patchwork of subjects, often portraits, rendered mostly in traditional media like watercolour and oil paint. He sometimes shook things up with abstract, contemplative pieces. He had something for almost everyone. For me, it was his attractive, angular yet distinctive faces and statuesque figures, use of watercolour, and versatility: one piece could be superhero fanart, followed by a collection of moody, atmospheric paintings of the English landscape with some fantastical additions.

It also helped that he seemed to be a nice, chill person, and a handsome one at that, too, based on the smattering of pictures he had of himself on his feed. Please, let me imagine a world in which someone as ideal as him — or what I knew about him — wasn’t beholden to anyone for a moment.

His latest post was a drippy bust of a snarling wolf with full moons for eyes. The caption simply read: ‘Mood.’ I smirked as I hit the like button. Did I mention that he drew wolves a lot as well? Sometimes his wolves were feral; sometimes they were humanoid, but still wild. The latter featured heavily in his conceptual works, albeit as hazy, indistinct forms, like blurry photographs. In any case, I liked that he had a fondness for wolves and werewolves, as the constant presence of the full moon in art of the latter would suggest. Anyone who liked wolves was a-okay in my book. Anyone who liked werewolves was even more so. Because.

An interrupted connection between my brain and my reflexes led me to visit his profile. Instead of returning to my feed, my thumb gravitated toward the message button at the top of the screen. Not a single cell in my body resisted this turn of events despite the restored connection. Oh, what the hell. Why not? Like, what were the chances he’d read my message? He had tens of thousands of followers, a likely considerable chunk of them being bots aside. He must receive DMs every other minute. I’d be another sycophant in his sea of fans. Or he’d see my homely mug and locked profile, and he’d think I was driven to add to his never-ending count of unread messages simply out of misguided thirst.

The beauty of the Internet was that it made ‘out of sight, out of mind’ fairly easy to put into practice.

I got the following out of my system and into his inbox: ’Hi! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your Instagram for a while, and your latest post just made me want to say your art is amazing. (I can totally identify with the sentiment behind it.) I especially love your more abstract pieces. There’s something so … raw about them. And I like that you seem to like wolves a lot, too. They’re beautiful animals, and your art really captures that about them. Anyway, keep up the great work! Take care.’

I exited Instagram, not caring about the rest of my feed anymore and not wanting to feel like I was stalking my notifications for something that’d never come. My phone buzzed with several notifications as I went down my Reddit homepage. I swiped away the banners with green icons that pelted the top of my screen. Those could wait. What couldn’t were the banners stating that I had a new message and a new follower request from —

‘Oh, my God!’ I said, loudly enough for me to hear my own voice above my music (the chorus of Walk the Moon’s ‘Shut Up and Dance’ at half of maximum volume, so … loud). Not one soul on this lightly populated bus acknowledged my exclamation — not even the woman sitting next to me. (Come on, lady, the front was mostly empty.) Thank God for technology making hermits of us all. Or my sudden outburst paled in comparison to the shit that could happen and had happened on public transport. When you took long journeys as I did every day, you’d see some real shit in due time, too.

I launched Instagram for the second time this morning (stop judging, Screen Time) and the first time ever with trembling hands. The notifications were real. I approved his request first. My mind raced to recollect anything on my profile that might make him regret his decision to let my piddling photos of food, myself, my cat, and random junk take up precious space on his feed. Nope, couldn’t think about that now, because I was now staring at an actual, honest-to-God message from George:

’Hey! Thanks for reaching out, and thank you for your kind comments. They mean a lot to me, especially what you said about my experimental stuff and wolves. They are stunning creatures, aren’t they? And yeah, I drew that last picture after a particularly rough night. You could call it a self-portrait of sorts, I suppose.’

I snorted. Change the fur colour and make the eyes normal, and it was a portrait of myself every full moon. Okay, not something I could tell someone I just met, let alone a popular artist on the Internet …

Before I could recover from the shock that my inbox held an actual, honest-to-God message from George Holden (that was his last name — the oxygen made it to my brain for me to remember that he had his last name on his profile), he sent another one: ’Anyway, how are you? I took a look at your profile, and it looks like we have quite a number of things in common.’

What, really? No way. Was it the lashings of sweet treats I subjected my stomach to every weekend? The horror and science fiction titles, celebrity memoirs, and comics, sometimes paired with an iced coffee at either a café I put down roots for the afternoon or the one-bedroom house in Waltham Forest I called home, I showcased to put forth some form of air of intellectualism? The cross-stitch projects featuring memes and popular culture icons? His profile was quite barren of anything that could provide insight into what else he enjoyed doing besides his art. Which, hey, was perfectly fine: no one was obligated to share their personal life online.

I replied, ’I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to work. Favourite part of my day, really. And really? Like what?’

Most of my notifications that day were from him.

✦✧✦✧

I was a bustling hub of activity in my seat: A sip of my drink. A shake of my knee. A lift of my phone. A turn of my neck. A shift of my weight from one butt cheek to the other. I was certain I was generating enough electricity to power a lightbulb in five-second intervals. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so excited — and so, so nervous. This was my and George’s first time meeting each other in person. There’d be no screen between us. Actually, what difference would that make? We’d been talking to each other for months, either through text or video calls, the latter more common in the weeks leading up to today. We’d seen each other even on our ‘I’ll put on a clean shirt, brush my hair, and hope for the best’ days. What could either one of us do in person that would irrevocably alter our friendship for the worse? Well …

The sound of someone entering the café stopped me from starting on a list of things that I could do to fuck things up. I looked up, probably the seventh time I did so in the last ten minutes. This was on me. I grossly overestimated the amount of time it’d take me to get somewhere as usual; a natural by-product of living far from the city. Seventh — probably — time was the charm: it was George — and right on the dot, too. His punctuality added to his attractiveness, which had already gone through the roof and was heading straight into the stratosphere. I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate exclamations. He was a friend, Evelyn … just a friend, and I had no illusions otherwise.

I called out to him. He waved at me and joined me at the table I picked out for us. And the second our eyes met, devoid of any barrier between us, everything about him — and everything about us — clicked.

He was just like me.

And I was just like him.

And he was as astonished about it as I was, going by the long silence that passed between us, a first since we got to know each other.

‘Hi! Oh, my God, it’s so good to finally meet you!’ I said with a grin to break the tension. He broke out into a smile, his posture relaxing. Success. Should I go in for a handshake? No, that’d be too stuffy for a months-old friendship. A hug? No, that’d be too intimate for a months-old friendship, and an online one, too, no less. Was it obvious this was my first time meeting someone I met online?

‘It’s good to meet you, too,’ he said, his expression of cheer unabating. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink first, and then we can shoot the shit.’ His smile turned into a grin. ‘Do you want anything? My treat,’ he added as he spotted me reaching for my wallet.

‘I was thinking a red velvet muffin, please.’ I didn’t know why I didn’t get one earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’

As he left, my nerves turned into happiness that I met another werewolf. It was rare to meet other werewolves just about anywhere. What were the odds that two werewolves, one of whom was Internet-famous, would become friends because the other one had a brain fart one morning to send a message to the Internet-famous one? You couldn’t make this shit up. In all the years I’d been a werewolf, George was the first one I knew. I didn’t even know the one that turned me. I got bitten one night, and that was my life changed forever. I figured everything out on my own — I had to. And my puny social network of werewolves made sense: this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would advertise about themselves.

Once George settled down and courtesies were out of the way, the first thing out of his mouth was ‘I never thought I’d meet another one like me’.

I moved my chair closer to him so that we could speak at length about what we were without the fear of being overheard. ‘Me neither.’ Then it hit me, and I quickly said, ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though.’ Personally, I was okay with what I was. No existential dread here, contrary to what one might expect of a werewolf. It happened. I learnt to manage it in a way that made it not have any kind of significant impact on my life. I refused to let it define me. And honestly, I lived for particularly bad days that coincided with full moons.

‘Are you kidding me?’ His face lit up with boyish glee. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! As in, us meeting up in person for the first time and me getting to know another werewolf. Two birds, one stone: the only kind of killing I endorse. And I’m so fucking chuffed it’s you. I always felt like I could talk to you about anything, and now that really, really means anything.’ It was his turn to be able to power a light bulb, but in twenty-second intervals this time.

‘Same. How were you turned?’

‘I was bitten during a camping trip with friends a couple of years back. You?’

‘Secondary school. I was walking home from the library.’

‘Shit, that was some time ago, huh?’

‘Almost half my life a werewolf.’

‘Do you know the werewolf that did it?’

‘Nope. How about you?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, that you’ll never get to know the person who’s changed your life so … deeply? They won’t remember either that they turned someone. If only having kids was like that, yeah? Absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever.’ He gave his teaspoon a lazy twirl, causing a faint plume of milk to rise and sink into the dark, bittersweet depths from whence it came. ‘I struggled with what I’d become the first couple of months. The transformations were one thing.’ Oh, yeah. ‘I felt … grotesque. God, the amount of self-pity, like, why was I the only one who had to go through this every month when there were four other guys ripe for the picking? So, I decided to start incorporating wolves in my art to get to know and reclaim that part of me. I didn’t want to see it as something ugly. I mean, you get to experience a kind of rebirth every month. That’s extraordinary if you think about it. And I told myself that like myself, the wolf didn’t ask to be born. Ha, ha. Millennial humour. Anyway. Then the most miraculous thing happened one full moon: I woke up next to a coherent painting that wasn’t there the night before.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Right? My more artsy stuff? The ones I hate coming up with captions for? Almost all done while I was transformed. I’d started some of my art — bet you can’t guess which one — on full moons, too, and I finished them after I changed back. It’s as if the wolf knew we were now cool with each other.’ He took a big chunk out of his apple crumble and jammed it into his mouth. ‘Sorry if that sounded like spiritual woo-woo. I’ve been wanting to tell someone about this forever.’ Crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Shit, I’m such an’ — he shot me an impish look as he swallowed — ‘animal, aren’t I? Fuck, I can make stupid references like that now, and someone would get it!’

I laughed. He was such a dork. ‘It’s not “spiritual woo-woo”. It’s amazing. How is that even possible?’

‘I have no idea.’ He held out his hands in front of him. ‘So thankful we get to keep our hands and not have them turn into paws.’ He waggled his thumbs. ‘Fuck, yeah, opposable thumbs. And I want to say it’s like when artists get high and make stuff. I do know artists who do that, and hey, no judgment. To them, I do the same thing, too.’

‘And here I am, feeling accomplished whenever I make it through another full moon without waking up in a trashed place. Seriously, that’s amazing.’

‘I think that’s what’s keeping me from losing it while transformed. I was surprised people liked those pieces when I started posting them, considering they’re such far departures from what I usually post.’

‘That explains why they’re so … visceral.’

‘Yeah? I figure you’d appreciate them even more now.’ He smirked. ‘And you know, no one really talks about my wolf art, and especially my werewolf pieces. Maybe if I didn’t make them blurry and made them more explicit …’ Oh, he’d get a different breed of followers altogether. ‘But that’s fine. I don’t want my lycanthropy to define me and my work. It’s just a part of who I am.’

‘My turn to say something possibly corny: I like your wolf art because … they make me feel seen, because they’re drawn by you.’

He put a hand on his chest. ‘That’s not corny. I’m happy my art makes you feel that way. You know I don’t care about the likes or comments. It just so happens I like drawing things that make me get likes and comments.’ He pushed his plate toward me and motioned at me with his fork to try some of his apple crumble. I obliged him. ‘Did you ever suspect anything? Not that, you know, I purposely drew wolves and werewolves as a kind of signal for other werewolves to pick up on. That’d be giving me way too much credit.’

‘No, I just thought you like wolves a lot.’

‘Same here. What you said about wolves being beautiful creatures when you messaged me the first time … that made me feel something, too.’

‘Then I’m very glad we got to be friends,’ I said. Born from the same blip in brain activity that set us on this path, my hand found itself on top of his. His touch had a pleasant, almost familiar heat to it.

‘Me too.’ He turned his hand over and clasped mine.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, mostly to distract myself from how right this felt. ‘Do you want to meet on the next full moon?’

‘Sure. I can’t wait to see what kind of inspiration will strike with another werewolf around.’

‘Your place, then?’

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re cool with me possibly trashing your place with paint and stuff. That hasn’t happened before, but who knows? What if wolf-me doesn’t like change?’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘I can’t help it. You have no idea what kind of beast this has unleashed. Oops.’

We sat and talked in the café the entire afternoon; we took turns treating each other to food and drinks to justify our occupancy. Our conversation moved on to other topics besides the one special, biggest thing we had in common. Just like we didn’t want it to define who we were as people, we made a promise to each other, and we did so over a strawberry custard tart, that we wouldn’t let it become the foundation of our friendship from this point on. It’d be unfair to the moments we shared before this. We were friends because we cared about each other, we brought out the best in each other, we could truly be ourselves around each other, and, honestly, I didn’t think anyone else would have the patience for his goofy in-jokes.

✦✧✦✧

I lay in front of the fireplace, rejoicing in the warmth it offered on this cool night, while George was working on his newest painting. Since getting to know each other in these forms, we’d been able to exercise better control. For me, that meant greater peace of mind; for him, that meant a more refined grasp of his artistic sensibilities. As with much about our condition, we didn’t question this. What could possibly be a drawback of us spending more time in each other’s company? I now understood why animals curled up by a fire was a common sight in media and real life, too. Wait, what if this, and not George’s presence, was what I’d been missing all my life?

My tail wagging like a fiend when I felt his breath on my skin begged to differ. I licked his face. He gently parted my lips and slid his tongue onto mine. Our tongues engaged each other in a playful scuffle; the fire crackling in the background could only dream of coming close to causing the rise in temperature in the pit of my stomach. The tussle between our tongues didn’t get to turn into something more: he’d had a long night. I nuzzled him to convey reassurance. He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me, his hold firm yet tender. We fell asleep like this, keeping each other warm long even after the fire had died out.

We wished each other a good morning with a kiss — no, two kisses, and we got ourselves ready for the day. As we were having breakfast, George piped up, ‘Do you want to see what I painted last night, love? I’m really proud of it, and I think you’d love it, too.’

I nodded excitedly, my mouth too full of scrambled egg to speak.

He returned as quickly as he’d left the table. His hands held on to a painting … of me curled up by the fire last night. The figure was the clearest, most detailed he’d ever done; the lighting was phenomenal. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, tearing up a little, frankly. ‘I love it. It’s going to look so good in our new place’, along with the recent paintings he’d made of a similar nature. He’d come so far from the gauzy forms that once populated his attempts at capturing his — our — condition on canvas.

‘Of course, when I have the most stunning model.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I love you, my muse, my mate.’

[thanksjro]

The Transformers #23- Chaos Theory Part 2: Everything Ever is Whirl’s Fault, and He Didn’t Even Do Anything This Issue

Before the war, Orion Pax is watching the news. Turns out Nominus Prime got blown up earlier in the day, as Blaster reports from the scene of the crime. We get our first mention of the Militant Monoform Movement as we take a gander at all of Orion’s awards.

Turns out Orion went to college. Wonder what tuition’s like at the Institute of Higher Programming.

An incoming storm messes with the reception, and in walk three guys looking for trouble Whirl. Whirl’s currently in custody, seeing as Orion doesn’t take too kindly to beating suspects within an inch of their life.

General rule of thumb: anyone calling Whirl “popular” or a “friend” is either trying to kill him, or has made the attempt in the past.

So these guys are trying to get Whirl out of jail, using the power of persuasion and being generally threatening. Orion Pax is too much of a good egg to be swayed by such tactics, however, so they’ll have to up the ante.

In the present day, Optimus is having a brooding session in the engine room- I’m only assuming it’s the engine room- and Ratchet checks in.

I suppose “frazzled” is a word we could use, Ratchet, sure.

Optimus feels as if his decision on whether Megatron should be executed or imprisoned for the rest of time is going to be biased either way. Dang, almost sounds like putting it to a vote with the leader of the Autobots would be a better way of handling this, huh Optimus? It’s almost as if you’re compromised here, and we need a little friggin’ democracy going on.

Ratchet asks why he hasn’t consulted the Matrix on this whole situation, breaking out the quotation fingers whilst referring to its wisdom, but Optimus ain’t too sure about all that either. When Optimus first got the Matrix shoved into his body, that shit hurt. It hurt a LOT, and he’d interpreted that as a sort of warning that carrying it was a huge responsibility. Way bigger than taking care of a dog. Now he’s questioning whether or not he actually wants the responsibility.

Hey, if you’re having second thoughts about being Prime, you ought to give Bumblebee a little more room to work and be the leader of the Autobots like you wanted him to be, and maybe consider handing the Matrix back over to Rodimus-

Oh who am I kidding? His martyr complex would NEVER let that happen.

Back in the past, Wheelarch and Springarm are waxing poetic about how cool their new boss Orion Pax is. He’s strong, and heroic, and making a difference in the world, and he’s got just the most beautiful blue eyes-

Anyway, they arrive back at the precinct to discover where all the criminal scum have gotten to- Orion already bagged ‘em.

You know, I think tying suspects to poles in the ground in the office section, packing the room so tightly they can’t even sit or stand comfortably… I think that might be a touch illegal, Orion. Unethical, if nothing else.

A bit later on, Springarm wants to know just what the hell that was all about. Orion’s been thinking about Megatron’s writing, and how he thinks the Senate is institutionally corrupt, and that visit from Whirl’s “friends” is starting to make him think that maybe the guy had a point. It bothers him.

Springarm turns to his faith when he’s feeling bothered by deep questions like whether or not the world government is is enacting a caste-system in an attempt to control the populace.

This just in, the future space pope is a goddamned atheist. Perhaps this is why interfacing with the Matrix hurts him- it relies on a mutual respect between itself and its Prime, and there ain’t nothing less respectful than thinking of the thing as a literal ornament.

Orion thanks Springarm for the advice, but he’s going to work through this without spiritual guidance.

In the present, Optimus meets with Rodimus, and asks a question he’s never been able to ask before: how did it feel to interface with the Matrix?

Well dang, Rodders, tell us how you really feel!

It should be noted that Rodimus does have some level of faith in the gods, the Matrix, the Knights of Cybertron, and several other Cybertronian legends and myths- which sort of makes the MTMTE Knight Quest look like a bit of a crusade, doesn’t it? Does believing in the Matrix let it bond more seamlessly with the bearer? Methinks it just might.

Back in the past, Orion Pax gets back from patrol to find the precinct has been broken into, and his two motorbike boys aren’t doing so hot.

Oh man, Valve’s going to be pissed.

Moving real stealthy-like, Orion moves to the holding cells, where he catches those guys from earlier trying to spring Whirl from jail. Well, two of them anyway. The third guy is behind him, and shoots him in the back.

Luckily, Orion’s old body-frame includes a backpack, and this move doesn’t kill him. He sweeps the leg of his assailant, shoots Whirl in the leg so he can’t escape, then runs to his trophy case to grab the fancy gun someone gave him. Wonder what it was for.

Alas! It’s not loaded. Which you ought to expect from an award gun, unless you loaded it yourself before you put it in the case. Which he didn’t, clearly.

Three versus one, and the solo act doesn’t have any weapons. What’s a guy to do?

This is deeply silly. I adore it.

Thinking quickly, Orion drags Springarm’s headless body into a closet. This isn’t necessarily a smart move, but give it a second. As the three thugs discuss murder-based puns, Orion prepares to enact a Roberts’ writing essential.

Corpse desecration.

Riding his coworker’s lifeless body through the precinct, he runs down his attackers, stabs one of them in the throat with one of his arm cannons in front of all the ‘bots currently in the cells, and goes to find Whirl.

Whirl, who knows to get going while the getting’s good, warns Orion that the Senate has eyes everywhere, and if he so much as touches Whirl his whole life is gonna get turned upside down and inside out, and not in a fun way. And he’d know.

Smash cut to the Grand Imperium, home of the Senate, where everything is blue and gold, fear tactics are at play on the political stage, and everyone is suffering from a nasty case of same-face syndrome. Senator Proteus is about to enact the Clampdown, a strict rule of martial law that will, under the guise of protecting the people and weeding out terrorism, in actuality allow the Senate to hoard power like a bunch of dragons.

Then Orion shows up, after fighting off the entirety of the Senate security force, while carrying a one-legged Whirl.

Got a nice shot of some bird ass, and Orion’s honkers are halfway out. I wonder if this particular chunk of fan-service was specified in the script, or if this is purely Milne.

Sentinel calls off the dogs, and Orion has his say. He throws Whirl on the floor, introducing him to everyone as the cause of every problem ever. Well, not really, but pretty close.

Orion, you can’t just say a guy caused two people to die and then not expect to have to deal with the repercussions of pummeling his psyche at some point down the road.

Orion goes on to mention Megatron, bringing up his writings and how they revealed to him the dark, ugly underbelly of the Senate that he’d been blind to until that point. This is still the guy who arrested drug addicts for using and tied them to a pole, by the by. He’s less than 48 hours into this Megatron kick, and still got a lot to rectify within himself.

Orion coins the term “Autobots”, reclaiming a friggin’ slur the other races in the galaxy have taken to calling the Cybertronians.

I wasn’t kidding.

The Senate members are starting to get rowdy about being called out on their bullshit, and have Orion removed from the building, but not before he can ask Megatron’s three questions:

1. In whose interests do the Senate exercise their power?

2. To whom is the Senate accountable?

3. How can the populace get rid of them?

No answers are given, as he’s taken away. He did use Megatron’s name, by the way. His full one, with the “of Tarn” attached and mentioned where he worked. Smooth moves, Orion. Now Megatron’s going to be targeted for politically-charged murder.

In the present, Optimus Prime’s made a decision on what exactly to do with Megatron- and his decision is to let Megatron decide his fate, because freedom is the right of all sentient beings, and part of that is getting to choose your fate.

Megatron picks death, like, immediately.

Optimus gets the Matrix back from Ratchet, who he left its care in- he wanted to be sure that he was still the person he had been back when he made that speech to the Senate. Glad your crisis of self went well, Optimus.

Back in the past, Orion Pax meets with a senator in front of the Ark-1 memorial, very secret-like. See this senator’s seen all the nonsense that goes on in the Senate, and he’s about had it. Forget what all Megatron wrote about, it’s way, way worse in reality. He can’t prove it, but the attack on Nominus Prime was an inside job, so that the Senate could get their hands on the Matrix and figure out how it creates life.

I know, it’s crazy.

Things will probably pop off very soon, so the Senator’s taken the liberty of modifying Orion Pax’s chest cavity while he was passed out receiving repairs.

So the guy made a little hidey-hole for the Matrix in Orion’s body, so that he could one day be Prime.

Hey.

Hey, Senator.

Consent is sexy, man. Don’t be like that.

[jigensass]

Here we are (this is very long so TL;DR this blog is getting archived)

It’s been over a week since I’ve taken a hiatus and a few close people know about what has happened. And I have made a decision in response to an insight meditation retreat I took over the course of this weekend. 

 I’m going to be dropping roleplaying Stephen and possibly roleplaying altogether. 

First, after 5 years of this blog, you’re probably wondering why. Well, I woke up. 

Yes, I’m a talented writer and I can weave your fantasies into realities. Yes, I enjoy every single person I have written for. You’re not the problem. My writings are the problem that is hurting my lifestyle and it leads to toxic behavior. 

Ever since I decided to go into this hiatus and a few days prior, I’ve been peeling back that I am more sensitive than others to certain situations and at sometimes have the ability to as previously stated, weave fantasies into realities and make them feel as real as possible. This can be problematic when I get in too deep. So much as I have in the past without even realizing, begin to dissociate the line and my own reality and the one I made that I have fallen in love with. The two begin to crossover and I don’t even realize I’m doing it until it’s too late. This had led to multiple people getting hurt and I didn’t even know I was doing it.  Why has this been happening for so long and I’m noticing it after 26 years? Well, no one kind of stopped me or I didn’t notice because when I was younger I lived in my own little world. And that own little world became the internet and then the internet started converging with the little world and I didn’t know what to do except the one thing I knew best: make up stories and not even realizing it, they became my own little world. It’s how I coped and got away from the actual reality that I lived in (school, work, family, etc). 

Now how did Stephen come in? Well, (holy shit I’ve been in the sphere of Doctor Strange for 7.5 (8 years in the Marvel sphere) years now that’s the longest I’ve stuck to anything). There was a game on Facebook where I heard of him and at the time in 2010, there were only comics and the movie from 2006(7?) (I remember actually SEEING the commercial for the movie and asking ‘how is this guy a superhero he’s a doctor’ oh how my 13-year-old self was foolish). 

I fell in love with Stephen’s character for one reason: he had all the powers of a god, yet he was still human. It would take me another 5 years to realize where my path was actually headed with this magic man and the actual man named Benedict Cumberbatch. 

Along the way, since this blog was created and many rp threads later, there were many times I felt so absorbed into my work that even though I had an external life with friends and people I knew. It became...a problem. It was obvious when I began to piss off my friends in college for trying to gain this...atmosphere of Stephen Strange and then try to be myself. 

But I didn’t know who ‘Crystal’ was for...like ever. Only until after this weekend did I find out this answer (stay tuned). 

I kept trying different things, nothing felt good. I didn’t feel like a human being unless I was by myself clacking away at a keyboard and being absorbed with the Sorcerer Supreme who I (for the longest time) considered a reflection of who I was or what I wanted to be (at some point Magnus Bane got thrown into the pot in 2014 so that’s just a lovely stew...). It ate at me for years and I wasn’t even aware during points where I became lost that the parasite was there. The parasite was my power to get lost in worlds I created and then believe the world was still there in reality. And it (probably) hurt many real human beings in the process. 

And just recently I yanked that parasite off and threw it away. Realizing that seeing Stephen as a reflection is dangerous and will get me pulled into the looking glass if I don’t stop. 

So as of today for the sake of my mental health, this blog is being archived.

I’m not saying it was all bad. I wouldn’t be typing this because of roleplaying with one person in particular who, even though my coworkers were slapping me in the face (metaphorically, of course) and concerned for my life during the nine months of suffering I held at my new job, was AT THE TIME, the only person who could get through to me and wake me up. The reason this journey started because of a very deep wound that was still scarring, but this person was the one to be my guide on the path to just finding what I needed to figure out what the heck was going on. 

About a month later after this realization, I joined a sangha and began meditation on a weekly basis or when I could. This (and to this day) practice has unearthed a lot of stuff that I’ve buried so deep that it blew my mind how messed up my childhood was. Why I was so...sarcastic...and had to make a joke to every serious detail...and impulsive...and...determined to get out of this hole. Like a certain....doctor

(No joke when I watched Doctor Strange in theatres in 2016 when this line was said I died laughing because of the tone and manner of how it was said was something I would do. I’m a sassy piece of shit IRL) 

Back in late 2016/early 2017 right after I watched this movie, I remember wanting to embrace MCU Stephen with open arms. I felt the pain he was feeling, having to give up his mundane life to become the guardian of the Earth, and I wanted to take him down that journey of suffering, of realizing that he chose for the sake of his hands, provided him with....the power of a god yet he was still human (also I was stunned because he was (I BELIEVE right behind T’Challa) the FIRST Marvel main character to actually DIE on camera. As in no pulse, not coming back dead. 

But instead I got female OCs wanting to bang and marry him, and the funk kicked itself right out the door. And this is when I got into experimentation. Demons, Mermen...the list goes on. 

This is where it became obvious that Stephen was leaning towards men and less towards women and the relationships were slowly becoming....uninteresting. Either for me or the other person. Around this time this was when the shit hit the fan hard and I had a mental breakdown and contemplated suicide (it wasn’t the first time). Yeah, surprise~. The package gets nastier. 

At this point, as many of you know, I was diagnosed with Attention Hyperactive Association Disorder (or ADHD) and I began taking medication which helped, but with the meditation beside it, this was where a nasty load of stuff boiled inside including:

Emotional and some Physical Abuse from my Parents

My mother almost killed me once. She nearly snapped my neck.

Emotional Abuse from Teachers and Peers in School

I was given a nickname that I just passively went with and in the end, I hated it. When I tried to change it, people didn’t listen to me. 

I gave my opinion about how I did not enjoy Glee on Facebook. I was shunned by nearly every music department student. 

Trust Issues that supported the Anxiety because of said Emotional Abuse (and for a point in my life, pretty sure I had Avoidant Personality Disorder)

I’ve been at the same job for over 2 years now and just last Friday I had to balls to tell someone my life was a dumpster fire. 

Depression because I couldn’t hold/meet expectations that I had imagined as being next to perfect standards because of past emotional abuse to be under the impression I could meet nothing less (thus over the years I lowered my expectations, yet nothing changed). Sometimes I had suicidal thoughts and the only reason I didn’t do it was because I thought felt good to suffer

In turn, because I was abused emotionally in a certain manner that I thought that it was okay to do so when I couldn’t get a grounding of having things in my control as well because of my conditioning or just try to be noticed. At the time, it was the only way I knew how to put the board in my favor. It was when I did this and my boss wrote me up that I just...became silent. People wondered why I didn’t talk and then when I did, it was (and sometimes still is) in the most passive tone of observation. Over time I did learn this was one of the most unwholesome things I could do and I have still lost my footing in times of despair that I go back to this way of talking because I’m conditioned to beat myself up when something bad happens (and even during this weekend’s retreat those unwholesome thoughts came up). 

So sorry for anyone I’ve hurt in the past because of this. I’ve disconnected with many because of my ignorance.

Thus the result of this toxic upbringing and my choice to follow it blindly led to a misunderstanding of relationships to the mundane level (romantic or platonic). Every situation that failed, I tried better. But it only felt worse since till this day every single one has failed, minus one or two, have all ended in some kind of disaster merely due to, what probably was my destructive behavior. 

Even now typing this dumpster fire was difficult. Because I have 3 ways of responding

1. I’m a Bot Beep Boop How are you? Good! That’s Good! 

2. I have a mask and there’s no one else here behind the ask

3. You sure you want to talk to ME? You sure you find me INTERESTING? You? Find me attractive?! Kay...Just warning you....*reveals the dumpster fire* You can go backward out the entrance door

So...yeah. I’ve never ‘felt’ until recently that my life “mattered”. That I was just...kind of an empty sponge. Day in, day out. Paying off debt for a job that I don’t even do anymore because I’m better at other things, like deduction. And working with data and information. 

But anywho....if you’ve made it this far in “My Journey to Find out Who the Heck I Am” Congrats, you made it to this weekend’s insight meditation retreat. Because it was both terrible and uplifting at the same time. 

yesterday we meditated for about 8ish hours and I wanted to kill myself (literally) from all the pain in my back. I questioned if I had to go see a chiropractor after it was all said and done. And then something came up that I noticed that I always was aware of.

The teacher kept referencing other teachers before her and near the end of it all when she would keep talking, the references were driving me nuts. Like, she just kept telling us to follow the Buddha like he was some holy person and it clicked: I don’t like organized religion because I’m being told how to do my practice. So when we went outside to walk, it all just kind of clicked when I found a bench off to the side of the business complex (our retreat was at our local sangha and non-residential). I sat on that bench and stared at the fence and the rain and said to myself ‘I am the River’, meaning I should go with the flow and acknowledge and be aware of any ripples made in me. 

And that everything that was being instructed on this retreat had been told to me from another source: all of my coworkers who probably have not sat on a cushion in their life. 

Today when we the teacher did a talk this morning about ‘self’ and ‘not self’, she, in short, repeated what I said from a quote by Thich Nhat Hanh (monk from Vietnam) about how we are not a river, but an ocean. 

And even though the teacher’s story was relatable, it clicked who “Crystal” was and where Stephen stood in Crystal’s life.

Crystal is made up of many individuals parts and is just...Crystal. Stephen is not a reflection, but one of those many parts. 

Even though I acknowledge this wisdom, I currently believe I do not (and might not) have the ability to return to my writings because of why I previously explained. It’s not you, it’s the current in the river. 

So thank you to everyone who has befriended me along the way and helped me down this path. 

Namaste.

*two minutes later* lemme find a Benedict Cumberbatch Buddhism gif to close this story, show me the money Google

GOD DAMN I-

[roseymoseyberry]

Blowing Smoke (one-shot)

Aka Lemon Diesel (bless you @harutemu and @meridianbarony )

Listen, I started this over a year ago, and then when I had to go clean for work I had the deep desire to get back into it

Also my need for TFA OP/Ratch is so strong

Title: Blowing Smoke (Lemon Diesel)

Series: TFA

Ship(s): Ratchet/Optimus

Rating/warnings: Mature/Explicit for smoking Space Weed and getting high, shotgunning, high sex, oral sex, age difference (but both adults). Just a lot of getting high and Ratchet being old and Optimus being very into that

Summary:

“Ok, I’ll give you that I probably shouldn’t try to use the bong again. But maybe you could shotgun me?”

“You need to take a break.”

Optimus frowned over his shoulder and already Ratchet could see the resistance he had expected.

“I had my break earlier--”

“Don’t mean a shift break and you know it,” Ratchet insisted, crossing his arms to make it clear he wasn’t interested in an argument.

Optimus had been running himself ragged again and Ratchet was done watching the young mech push himself closer and closer to the breaking point. With everything they had to deal with, the last thing any of them needed was for their Prime to finally crumple under the pressure he put on himself.

Too young to not still have plenty mistakes ahead of him to make and learn from, and yet too stubborn and prideful to accept that fact, holding himself to impossible standards.

Ratchet had been haranguing Optimus for nearly a week now and Optimus had dismissed Ratchet’s concerns at every turn. But not today. Today Ratchet was going to make the Prime take a fragging night off, even if he had to strap him down to make it happen.

Though, as pleasant albeit inappropriate as that thought was, Ratchet didn’t think it would come to that. Optimus was running out of arguments, and by Ratchet’s estimations all that was left was the how.

Optimus seemed to know it too as the Prime sighed, his shoulders drooping.

“Come on, bossbot. You can’t tell me you’ve never relaxed in your entire functioning,” Ratchet pushed, seeing his advantage and taking it. “It’s just one day. Go. Do whatever it is you need to do to get out of your processor for just a day and you’ll thank me afterwards.”

Finally Optimus turned away from his work screens, his bottom lip momentarily caught between his dentae before he replied, “I can’t just turn it off though. I’d just be thinking about everything without actually doing anything about it, which honestly might be worse.”

“Why do you think engex exists?” Optimus looked a bit appalled and Ratchet smirked as he continued, “Which isn’t to say that, as your medic, I’m prescribing getting overcharged. Doesn’t have to be engex. Lots of mechs get that same kind of disconnect from healthier options. Going on long drives, meditating, that kind of slag. Whatever works for you, kid.”

Optimus seemed to actually consider that, his optics losing focus as his thoughts turned inward.

After a moment, those optics brightened again, but his brows furrowed.

“Well, not that,” Optimus muttered to himself, his optics fading. However, Ratchet wasn’t about to let anything slip by.

“Ah-ah! Not what?”

Optimus didn’t meet Ratchet’s gaze.

“I mean, I can’t say it’s a particularly healthy idea--”

“Let the medic decide that one, would you?”

That got a quick glance from Optimus before he looked away again, now shuffling on his pedes. “I—look, I only tried it a couple times, and I wouldn’t even know where to get any now--”

Ratchet lifted a hand to stop the Prime.

“Dross?”

Optimus only nodded once. Primus did the young Prime look chagrinned at the admission.

Ratchet, however, felt a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I’ve got you covered, bossbot.”

Optimus’s mouth was agape as Ratchet placed the large bong in his hands – “Hold this” – and then went back into his cabinet to consider his collection of dross strains. They were all his own mixtures, each specialized for specific needs, though it had been at the very least decades since Ratchet had strayed from his usual. In his younger days Ratchet had preferred his party strains that left him giggly and energized or chill out strains that left him melting into the couch, but since the war Ratchet had found comfort in strains that eased the aches in his frame and let him recharge soundly and dreamlessly. Optimus was probably expecting something more uplifting than that though. Something giggly but laid back would probably work best—

“Ratchet?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“What,” Optimus started before audibly rebooting his vocalizer, “what are you doing with all this?”

“You’re a smart bot, Optimus. I think you can figure that one out yourself,” Ratchet replied as he picked a vial. The crystals inside shifted and rolled over each other as he considered them. Ratchet couldn’t remember the last time he had used this particular one, but the seal was air-tight and the crystals were all still intact and separate, so they would still burn well.

“So you…” Optimus trailed off, still sounding dumbstruck, and this time Ratchet chuckled.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed before. Figured the smell alone would tip you off.”

With his selection made, Ratchet shut the cabinet and set the lock on again. That done he turned to Optimus who was dutifully holding the bong.

And looking rather embarrassed.

“If we’re both being honest, I thought it was Bee this whole time.”

That got a genuine full-frame laugh out of Ratchet as he waved Optimus towards his private quarters.

No doubt it was because of the associations with the pleasant high that would follow, but Ratchet could already feel his frame ease as he let the first burst of smoke cycle through his ventilation system. It required him to focus on his frame, to make sure all his vents were sealed shut and his fans ever so gently turning to keep the smoke moving, trapped once his mouth closed to seep into his lines and work its magic. It was an almost meditative process that had many a time centered him when Ratchet felt lost in his own processor.

After a few seconds Ratchet tilted his helm back to blow the smoke up towards the ceiling.

“—And that’s it. You got it?”

Optimus nodded as Ratchet handed the bong and lighter to him, though his brows were still furrowed.

“I think so. I mean, I’ve done it before, but I wasn’t any good at it.”

“Just takes practice.”

“If you say so,” Optimus said, sounding hesitant. His optics flicked from the bong up towards Ratchet’s face. “And you swear this isn’t all some elaborate trap--”

Ratchet snorted as he slapped Optimus on the shoulder. “Kid, what did you just watch me do, huh? If anyone is getting us in trouble, it’s you.”

Optimus smiled a little at that before cycling a ventilation and taking his hit.

Well. Attempting it.

Ratchet already saw the danger signs – aiming the flame over the middle of the bowl and sucking too hard – but there was no time to stop him before Optimus had set the whole bowl ablaze and overwhelmed his frame with thick, dense smoke.

“Whoa, whoa! That’s enough!” Ratchet insisted as he grabbed the bong from the Prime. It was too late though. Smoke billowed from the top of the bong as Optimus started coughing harshly, a thick haze of smoke surrounding him as his vents dumped it out as quickly as they could. Ratchet winced as he covered the top of the bong to keep the remaining smoke in and with his other servo slapped Optimus on the back to help him get it all out.

“S-sorry—I told you--” Optimus managed between coughs, though they were finally starting to slow down. Ratchet just nodded as his servo stopped patting to instead rub soothing circles.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Luckily I don’t think you’re gonna need more than that,” Ratchet said, unable to keep from teasing as Optimus blinked at him. “Just lay back and relax, bossbot.”

With a couple more hacking coughs, Optimus let himself lay back on the berth. Ratchet had brought out his extra blankets and pillows to pile up on the slab, and while Optimus had insisted that was all unnecessary earlier, he was now grabbing a pillow to cover his face with.

Ratchet let the Prime have a moment to compose himself while the medic sucked up the left over smoke still trapped in the bong. It was thick and highly concentrated, but Ratchet’s frame accepted it with practiced ease. He hummed lightly as he let it cycle a couple times before finally letting it billow out from his vents.

Optimus was still hiding behind the pillow.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Ratchet said as he set the bong aside for the moment, settling back against the pillows he had stacked against the wall. “There’s no shame in coughing when smoking.”

Optimus’s ventilations were evening out now as he said, muffled by the pillow, “You made it look so easy.”

Ratchet chuckled as he got comfortable in the little nest of pillows. “Well, sure. That bong’s older than you are, so I’ve had plenty of practice.”

The pillow finally shifted so that Optimus’s optics peered over it.

“Really?”

“Mmhm,” Ratchet hummed. He reached out towards the bong, patting it fondly. “Ol’ Faithful and I have been together since med school. I had other glassware, but she’s the only one who made it through the war with me.”

Optimus moved again, rolling onto his side while keeping the pillow close to his chest, and gazed at the bong with rapt attention.

“Wow. She’s sure seen a lot then, huh?”

Ratchet couldn’t help the way his mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Optimus. She’s still just a bong.”

Optimus’s face scrunched up, but it was more petulant than anything as he said, “Well, ok, yeah, but I mean. People say that about old things. That’s not a weird thing to say.” His lips pursed as his optics narrowed thoughtfully. “Right? I’m not just making that up?”

Ratchet just snorted as felt his lips wobble and the seemingly ever-present tightness in his chest shook loose.

Optimus groaned with embarrassment.

“Scrap. I’m already so high.”

“Damn right you are, kid.”

There was a moment of quiet before Optimus giggled.

And Ratchet mentally patted himself on the back.

It seemed silly considering his long history with dross, but Ratchet had forgotten how, well, silly he could feel when he smoked more recreational strains. It had clearly been too long since he had smoked to have fun and not just momentarily chase away pain.

But, to be fair, it wasn’t nearly as fun without someone else to be silly with.

Optimus was like melted slag as he sprawled on the berth, his face lax and often curled into a soft smile about whatever they were talking about or whatever was happening on the screen that Ratchet had set up. All they really got here on Earth was the humans’ banal tv shows they called entertainment, but Ratchet had to admit that the dross was helping him to actually enjoy it some.

That and openly mocking it with Optimus. The Prime had a surprisingly sharp glossa when it was loosened up.

Not that Ratchet was thinking about Optimus’s glossa.

Much.

The occasional thought would flit through Ratchet’s processor, unhampered by his usually tight control over such thoughts. It didn’t help that the high came with some warming of his libido.

But Ratchet knew better than to think on it much. If he had the energy and desire to he could overload himself once Optimus left, but for now it was a pleasant hum that was enjoyable all on its own and that was very likely going to be the full extent of it. He didn't feel any need to do anything about it

Primus, he really was slagging old.

Luckily that line of thought was stopped right there as Optimus’s leg dropped unceremoniously across Ratchet’s, startling him enough to jolt, optics going wide and bright.

Optimus gave him a scrap-eating grin.

“Don’t tell me Sammi and Ronnie’s newest fight isn’t holding your interest. This is obviously important and I’d hate for you to miss any thrilling dialogue from spacing out.”

Ratchet rolled his optics, smacking Optimus on the shin as he growled, with far more fondness than he had intended, “Brat.”

And Optimus just snickered.

While it would have been impossible for Ratchet to not notice every damn day just how young all his fellow team members were, relaxation had done Optimus wonders. His expressions were open and wholly honest without any second guessing or forced professionalism. The lines of his face weren’t twisted by tension or stress, leaving them to fully showcase how very handsome the Prime was; handsome and youthful and ever so slightly mischievous as he grinned up at Ratchet.

Ratchet realized he was still touching Optimus’s shin, but couldn’t muster the energy to move it.

“But also, hey, uh, Ratchet?” Ratchet just looked at him expectantly and Optimus’s face wobbled with barely held humor. “You wanna smoke some more?”

With a snort, Ratchet patted Optimus’s leg as he replied, “You sure about that, kid? If you have another hit like that last one, I don’t think you’re gonna be able to move your struts again until morning.”

“I’ll show you moving,” Optimus argued as he lifted one of his pedes again and gracelessly aimed it at Ratchet’s face. He only laughed more when Ratchet caught it with his servo with ease and couldn’t help a chuckle of his own.

“Truly terrifying, bossbot.”

The leg was placed down next to its twin across Ratchet’s lap again, but still Optimus moved, pushing himself up just enough to brace back against his elbows.

“Ok, I’ll give you that I probably shouldn’t try to use the bong again. But maybe you could shotgun me?” Optimus asked, still smiling but his tone softened.

Not that Ratchet could even begin to parse what that might mean when his processor was addled with dross and busy coming to terms with just what, exactly, Optimus was asking him for.

“You--” Ratchet started before his mouth closed again. He could feel how his face was contorting with confusion. More than that though, he felt a pang of heat twist low in his frame. “Really?”

Optimus’s bottom lip caught between his dentae, only to be released when he shrugged and said, “I mean, it’s easier that way, isn’t it? You have better control over how much I get and it’s less harsh, so. It makes sense, right?”

It did. Shotgunning was a perfectly reasonable alternative.

Ratchet still felt his mouth go dry.

“Sure. Just give me a second to get Ol’ Faithful billowing again.”

Optimus perked up and grinned as he pushed himself up straight. His legs stayed draped over Ratchet’s but he was sat upright at least, watching with optics overbright from some mixture of his interest and his high.

“And you know how to shotgun?” Ratchet confirmed as he picked up his bong and lighter again. Some part of his processor was trying to remind him what a terrible idea this was, but it simply couldn’t compete with the almost giddy arousal simmering in Ratchet’s frame. And what harm could it really do? It would give Ratchet a rare thrill, and give Optimus the high he was seeking, and then they would settle back into their relaxed stupor without any harm done.

“Yeah. You blow it out and I suck it in.”

“Good enough,” Ratchet said. “You ready?”

Optimus’s optics managed to flare even brighter with excitement.

“Very.”

When Ratchet pulled his hit from the bong this time, he didn’t cycle it through his frame like before. Some of the smoke swirled down his intake but the majority lingered in his mouth, held there as Ratchet set the bong aside with one servo and the other reached up to coax Optimus’s face down towards his own.

There was an undeniable heat in Optimus’s optics as his full lips parted, tantalizingly close as Ratchet let the smoke in his mouth billow out to get immediately drawn into Optimus’s. Stray wisps of smoke curled up between them as, slowly but surely, Optimus pulled more and more from between Ratchet’s lips.

Primus.

Finally the stream of smoke between them was practically nonexistent and Ratchet forced himself to pull back. He couldn’t however stop himself from watching as Optimus’s lips never fully sealed, instead just left slightly agape as the Prime’s frame lazily cycled the smoke through his frame. There was no coughing this time, just a nearly inaudible hum before Optimus finally let the smoke waft back out of his mouth to dissipate between them.

And something shifted. Intangible and inexplicable but very much real.

Ratchet’s array throbbed.

“See? Told you it would work,” Optimus said, lips curling at the corners, lazy and self-satisfied.

“Didn’t say I doubted you,” Ratchet replied. He was only half aware of how his glossa peaked out to wet his lips, but Optimus’s optics flicked down to watch it before finding Ratchet’s gaze again.

“I think I could handle another.”

“Don’t blame me if you get in over your head.”

“I’m a big bot,” Optimus insisted. “I know my limits.”

The metaphorical ground was slipping from beneath Ratchet faster than he could keep up, urging him to simply follow along, and the dross thrumming through his frame eased him into doing just that.

Another hit, and this time when Ratchet tilted Optimus’s face with the tips of his digits, Optimus moved in closer still, his own servo cupping the side of Ratchet’s face. Closer and closer Optimus leaned in, moving so slowly, and yet still Ratchet was surprised when their parted lips brushed as Optimus pulled the smoke from Ratchet’s frame.

Neither of them pulled away as Optimus held the smoke and then, slowly, released it to linger around their helms.

“You sure seem to know what you’re doing.”

This close, Ratchet felt like he was drowning in the brilliant glow of Optimus’s optics and the too soft gust of his ex-vent against Ratchet’s lips.

“I’ve done this a couple of times,” Optimus admitted, abashment finally managing to tint his tone.

Ratchet snorted.

“Yeah? And tell me, bossbot, how did those couple of times usually end?”

Optimus’s servo moved further, slipping around to cup the nape of Ratchet’s neck. The bravado of before gave way to earnestness.

“Want me to show you?”

Frag.

Ratchet’s frame heated, eager for such a rare chance and emboldened by dross. Yet still Ratchet kept his joints locked, forcing his logic processes to keep running.

“I think you’re high and will regret it later if I let you,” Ratchet stated.

Instead of being put off, though, Optimus actually giggled, his forehelm meeting Ratchet’s.

“Ok, yeah, I’m definitely high, but also – ok, can I be totally honest for a second?” Gone was the none-too-subtle seduction, but truthfully the Prime’s goofy sincerity didn’t lessen Ratchet’s lust in the least. There was something truly lust-inducing about the genuine glee with which Optimus confessed, “I’ve really wanted to do this for a while now.”

Still, even beneath the lust and dross, uncertainty twisted in Ratchet’s tank.

“I’m just an old mech,” Ratchet point out. Because ultimately there was no denying the simple truth of the matter – Optimus was young and beautiful and full of potential. Ratchet was old and bitter and felt most days like his frame was falling apart.

Yet Optimus looked unbothered, shrugging as he grinned.

“I like old,” Optimus insisted as he started to move, his free servo bracing against Ratchet’s shoulder as he shifted his legs. He was trying with some difficulty to either straddle Ratchet’s or kneel between them – which he was aiming for was unclear. Ratchet’s frame decided for the both of them as his thighs parted and his servos helped Optimus to maintain his balance as he fitted between them like he belonged there. Once Optimus was settled, one servo trailed down Ratchet’s chest to rest atop his protruding abdominal plating while the other found its way up to Ratchet’s face, tracing the deep creases and divots of his aged protoform.

Optimus’s glossa wetted his lips before he insisted, “I really, really like old.”

Ratchet wasn’t sure what he had to say to that, but it didn’t matter since that’s when Optimus kissed him.

And Primus could the Prime kiss. It was soft and unhurried, full of sweet lips and a wicked glossa, the taste of smoke and charge thick between their mouths. Ratchet couldn’t get enough of those plush lips or how Optimus’s ventilations stuttered when he held them between his dentae and pulled.

Ratchet couldn’t be sure when his servos had found Optimus’s hips, pulling them in closer as they gave small, gentle rolls against his panel. But nonetheless he could feel the heat coming off Optimus’s array and there was little doubt the Prime could feel his in turn.

“Only feels fair I warn you that old is what you’ll get,” Ratchet said when finally Optimus moved away from his mouth to nuzzle under his chin, laving the plating with open-mouthed kisses. Ratchet’s processor was getting sluggish from the onslaught of pleasure and the haze of his high, but he pushed through even as his engine rumbled with one particularly well placed lick. “I don’t get wet like I used to and it can take perseverance to get my spike up.”

“I don’t mind,” Optimus replied, his words muffled against Ratchet’s neck. “You don’t need to get wet or hard for what I have planned. It still feels good down here, right?”

Optimus’s servo caressed the bottom edge of Ratchet’s abdominal plating, clever digits tracing the seam where it met his pelvis, and Ratchet growled lowly at the pleasure it sparked.

However, Ratchet nearly jumped out of his plating when Optimus’s digits continued to move down to cup his valve unobstructed, though Ratchet couldn’t for the life of him remember releasing his modesty panel.

“Can I take that as a yes,” Optimus teased, and despite himself, Ratchet snorted.

“You better. So what exactly is it you have planned?”

Finally Optimus pulled back from Ratchet’s neck and grinned wide and bright. His digit tips slipped between the lips of Ratchet’s valve to circle the rim once before moving higher to press against his anterior node.

“I was really hoping to eat you out, Ratchet.”

The wave of lust mixed with high flooded Ratchet’s senses.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, kid.”

Time had become a meaningless concept. Between the dross and the slow blissful torture burning his frame up from the inside out, Ratchet couldn’t tell if it had been hours or mere minutes since Optimus had slid down onto his front and first pressed his lips to Ratchet’s valve.

It didn’t matter either way, really. All that Ratchet could focus on was the perfect wet heat stroking his valve from bottom to top, lapping up what little lubricant he could produce before suckling on his anterior node until Ratchet bucked his hips and the suction was gone again. Ratchet couldn’t even get any warning regarding which part of his array would have the pleasure of experiencing Optimus’s mouth next since Optimus’s face disappeared behind the protrusion of Ratchet’s abdominal plating.

Optimus wasn’t in any hurry either. The Prime seemed to revel in the act of tasting Ratchet, humming to himself as he licked and sucked and drove Ratchet mad with waves of ecstasy while lazily grinding his own hips down against the berth. Ratchet could only imagine Optimus’s spike trapped between his frame and the berth, leaking beads of transfluid to soak into the sheets.

Ratchet’s spike twitched in Optimus’s servo, still only half pressurized but still eagerly translating every stroke and press of Optimus’s digits into pure pleasure.

And Optimus had to know full well the way he was slowly but surely building Ratchet up towards overload. He had to considering Ratchet couldn’t keep his mouth shut, rumbling curses and groans aplenty.

Ratchet reached down to where he could see Optimus’s finials poking up over his abdominal plating, grasping one carefully but firmly as a particularly loud grunt escaped him. Optimus’s engine purred and his helm tilted so his finial pressed harder into Ratchet’s hold, sucking on Ratchet’s node again in reward when Ratchet rubbed his thumb along the length.

“Frag,” Ratchet hissed between gritted dentae as his valve throbbed. “C’mon, Optimus, I’m so close--”

The world went hazy as Optimus’s servo pulled at his spike more pointedly and his glossa stroked along Ratchet’s slit with greater pressure, stopping to mouth Ratchet’s node more often and for longer. The pleasure overwhelmed Ratchet’s drug-addled processor to the point where he could feel it lag, unable to do much at all except experience the pleasure.

When overload finally hit Ratchet’s frame seized up from the intensity of it, sharp shocks of climax shooting up his spine and narrowing his reality to the lips suckling him and bringing him sheer ecstasy.

And in the seconds or minutes or hours that passed as he came down from it, Ratchet idly wondered when he’d last had an overload like that, or if he even ever had.

And then Ratchet felt that maddening glossa lick at him again.

“Hey, that’s—frag me, that’s enough, I already overloaded,” Ratchet managed as he tugged at Optimus’s finial. There was one last long lick up Ratchet’s valve that sent a shiver up his spine before Optimus’s arms retreated from where they had made themselves comfortable around Ratchet’s thighs, and with some effort the Prime pushed up onto his elbows so he could peer at Ratchet over the girth of his abdominal plating.

His lips were pursed in a near pout.

“Well, maybe I want to give you another.”

A quick check of his chronometer confirmed for Ratchet that it hadn’t, in fact, been long endless hours since they had started. It wasn’t a short amount of time by any stretch, but not the unending swath of pleasure that Ratchet swore it had felt like. A second overload would easily take twice as long to achieve, and Ratchet considered the fact that that may actually fry his circuits for good.

“Did I mention that you’re going to be the death of me? Because if I didn’t, then this is me putting it on the record,” Ratchet insisted. Optimus still held his now fully depressurized spike, and with a flicker of his optics he leaned in to lap up the lines of transfluid that had dribbled down to pool in the crevice between Optimus’s fist and Ratchet’s soft spike. Pleasure registered in the sensors, but Ratchet’s spike didn’t so much as twitch. Ratchet tugged at Optimus’s finial again as he explained, “Seriously, kid, you have to give my frame a break. It’s gonna be a while before I can overload again.”

Optimus’s servo pulled up along Ratchet’s spike one last time, collecting most of the mess on it before letting go. His optics were dilated and dimmed as he licked Ratchet’s transfluid from his digits, and while Ratchet’s array was momentarily dormant, that didn’t make the sight any less arousing to watch.

And the choked noise Optimus made when Ratchet stroked his finial was the stuff of fantasies.

“Now get up here and let’s see how many overloads I can get outta that big frame of yours in the meantime.”

With a flare of his optics Optimus was moving, quick but uncoordinated. His spike bounced into view, a handful if Ratchet had ever seen one, and lubricant aplenty was streaking down the inside of his thighs.

Ah, to be young again.

Ratchet’s itched to take full advantage of the opportunity to enjoy such a treat.

Ratchet pulled Optimus close and Optimus kissed him, moaning as Ratchet reached down to grasp his spike.

“Just so you know, I’m expecting you to be good with your hands, docbot,” Optimus teased, and Ratchet grinned smugly as his other servo stroked down past Optimus’s aft to reach his drenched valve.

“These hands have been overloading bots since before you were forged, bossbot.”

And, of all things, Optimus snickered, even as his hips jerked, caught between two sources of pleasure.

“Wow. They’ve sure seen a lot then, huh?”

And Ratchet couldn’t fight the full frame laugh that overtook him.

Dross didn’t come with a hangover the way that engex did. There were no pounding processor aches or frame pain or the anything of the like. Some bots didn’t feel anything at all. Ratchet though would wake with a hollow sort of feeling in his tank. It wasn’t usually due to any actual lack of fuel in his system, but rather just an odd but not uncommon side effect of sobering up from a dross high.

As he drifted out of recharge though, he couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t also some apprehension at play as he noticed he was alone in his berth.

Not that there wasn’t still evidence to prove that Ratchet’s memories weren’t faulty. Ol’ Faithful was placed on the berthside table, the ashes of burnt dross still packed into the bowl. The extra pillows and blankets were still on the berth, though now most of them had been neatly folded and stacked at the end of it. The couple of blankets not folded were either draped over Ratchet with enough care that Ratchet knew it hadn’t been his own work, or were outright missing.

If Ratchet had to guess, those missing had probably had some very incriminating evidence and had been thrown into the wash.

No doubt it had all been Optimus’s doing. Nice of him too.

But Ratchet couldn’t help the pang of disappointment.

“Hey. Nothing burned down while we were gone, did it?”

Optimus looked up from the datapad in his servos, his optics now their typical shade and brightness. The slight twitching of his lips was at least half forced as he glanced back down at the datapad, waving it a bit for emphasis.

“Not that I’ve seen so far. Prowl did a good job keeping things running.”

“Who’d have guessed?” Ratchet remarked, and at least this time the way that Optimus’s mouth continued to curl seemed genuine.

“Alright, turns out you were right. It wouldn't kill me or anyone else to take an actual break every once in a while.” Optimus’s smile faded again and, after seeming to take a moment, he placed the datapad in his lap and looked up at Ratchet, every inch of his frame serious. “But listen, Ratchet, I—obviously I got a little too lax last night, so I apologize if I took advantage--”

“Ah, ah, stop right there,” Ratchet interrupted, lifting a servo to wave the concerns away. “You know I’ve never been one for decorum so don’t worry about it.”

Optimus’s face still screwed up further as he insisted, “But I’m your Prime. I need to worry about this.”

“Since when have we ever done anything by the book?” It wasn’t the right thing to say considering the stern frown it earned Ratchet, so with a tired sigh Ratchet changed tactic, saying, “Look, sure, I suggested you take a break because I’m your medic and you’re my Prime. That was a part of our professional relationship. But I forced the issue because I care about you, and I smoked with you because I enjoy your company, and frankly? I fragged you because we both wanted to frag each other.”

Finally, Optimus’s expression softened again.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And you’re not just saying that because I’m your--”

“Stuff it,” Ratchet growled, and Optimus laughed.

Ratchet fell heavily into the couch beside Optimus, one arm slung along the back, not touching but certainly within close enough range that it would take nothing at all to initiate it.

“So. How long exactly had you been wanting to do that?”

“I mean, look, dross hadn’t been part of the fantasy since, again, I thought it was Bee who was smoking it, but…” Without the dross, there was far more bashfulness to Optimus as he rubbed at the side of his neck, optics flitting from Ratchet’s face to off to some random corner of the room. “A while. Not right away, obviously, since I wanted to get to know you first but… yeah.”

And perhaps the bashfulness was spreading as Ratchet felt his frame heat up.

“Well, that’s flattering, kid. I am worried that I’m gonna have to do a check up on your processor, or at least your optics--”

“Hah hah, very funny,” Optimus interrupted flatly, knocking his shoulder against Ratchet’s. In truth, Ratchet had only be half teasing, since he still couldn’t see what a mech like Optimus could see in an old rust bucket like him. But there wasn’t time to ruminate on that before Optimus continued, “And you? Was last night just a spur of the moment thing for you, or am I your type too?”

Ratchet gave Optimus an unimpressed look as he said, “Are you kidding? Bossbot, you’re everyone’s type.”

The heat coming off Optimus was palpable as he squirmed, insisting, “That’s not true at all.”

“Well it should be. Anyone who doesn’t wanna frag you is a damned idiot and blind to boot.”

Ratchet got another shoulder-to-shoulder shove, though Optimus didn’t move away and he chewed on his bottom lip as he looked sidelong at Ratchet.

“So does that mean you might want to do that again?”

And, just as planned, it took nothing for Ratchet to let his arm fall against the length of Optimus’s broad shoulders, his servo squeezing and tugging him close.

“Honestly, if you hadn’t gone running off so fast this morning, I was planning on illustrating how much more cooperative you’ll find my spike after a good recharge.”

It had been meant to be at least partially self-deprecating, but Optimus’s engine started to genuinely purr and his face moved in closer.

“I mean… Prowl is off today, and Bee and Bulkhead shouldn’t be back any time soon.”

“Bossbot, are you suggesting skipping work to frag?”

The mischievous grin was back, and it took effort to not immediately kiss it.

“I mean, I can still work. I’m a great multitasker.”

“I think you’re underestimating my spike.”

“And I think you’re underestimating how really good I am at multitasking.”

“Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

Optimus’s helm tilted opposite of Ratchet’s, lips slightly parted, and Ratchet felt nearly dizzy from how they were sober in the light of day and kissing.

And it felt just as easy.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Hey I saw you support trans keith! Right on you, mate! Got any headcanons for us?

bOY DO I HAVE HEADCANONS (though disclaimer: I myself am cis, so if anything I say is wrong please tell me; I really don’t want to offend anyone so don’t be afraid to speak out if I say something wrong okay? okay now let’s go)(also I apologize in advance this is way longer than I thought it would be)

•When Keith was at the Garrison and then living alone in the desert, he would act as masculine as possible because when he was in foster care his families always insisted on him taking part in more “feminine” activities, so you can bet Keith did stuff like work on his bike and get all grimy and let it stain his clothes and later buy ten different colognes and wear all of them at once. Why do you think he loves swords and sword fighting so much? It makes him feel masculine!! Honestly any stereotypical ‘manly’ activities make him feel so much better, he just enjoys them so much

•People ask him sometimes why the long hair but guess what!! He doesn’t need to have short hair to be a man, he’s already a man and he likes his greasy mullet so stay in your own lane dude he’s happy with his long hair and having it doesn’t make him any less manly

•When he started hormones, every day he would practice talking as deeply as he could. Once he found a lizard sitting on a rock and recited the entire Bee Movie script to it in his deepest voice possible

•For most of the time during his time at the Garrison he’d just wear two sports bras instead of a binder because he didn’t really know how to get one and was too scared to ask. Plus he had like four dollars at most on a good day so how could he possibly buy a binder? He started resorting to ace bandages which oh no Keithy boy that’s not how you bind you’re gonna mess up your ribcage sTOP

• But don’t worry, Shiro the Hero™️ is here to help. Back at the Garrison, Shiro was the only person besides the teachers who knew Keith was a trans boy. And lemme just say Shiro is the most supportive human, he did as much research as he could and always stood by Keith whenever people were being jerks (and beat them up when he had to because Keith gets into enough fights as it is, he’s already gotten too many strikes so he’s not allowed to get into more fights or else risk getting expelled and it kills him when he can’t punch someone out for bullying him but guess what Shiro has no problem with that he’s the teacher’s pet anyway he’s not worried about getting in trouble) So when he found out Keith was binding with ace bandages he was like “okay first of all no, I don’t know much but I know for a fact that’s gonna destroy your ribs come on man I’ll go with you we need to buy you some binders”

• When Keith first got to space, one of the things he worried about the most was the fact that he only had the binder he was wearing and that was all, and he was terrified because what if something happened to it and he couldn’t find anything else to bind with oh no

•But never fear, Coran is here!! He asked Coran about it one night because he trusts him and turns out that plenty of Alteans are trans too!! However, they didn’t exactly use binders because they could simply shapeshift to fit their ideal body expectations, but Coran is amazing so he used Keith’s binder as a reference and made a ton of new binders out of this great alien material that stretches in a way that makes them safe to fight in too!! So hooray for Keith not having to worry about breaking a rib during a fight anymore

•And the hormone situation turned out to be easily remedied as well. When Keith realized he couldn’t go much longer without his hormone treatments he worked up the courage to ask Pidge for help, who managed to come up with an alien substitute that worked about the same as his regular hormones from earth so yay!! Now he can get his hormones without any trouble!!

•And at this point Shiro, Coran, and Pidge all know, so Keith figures that he might as well come out to the rest of the team since half of them know already and he may as well get it over with now, since telling them is easier than them all finding out through some accident. And it goes roughly the same way it had when Pidge revealed she was a girl.

•Keith walks into the dining hall one day where everyone is eating breakfast and he kind of just announces “hey by the way I’m trans, guys” and plops down to eat his food goo. (Shiro doesn’t even look up from his book and says “hi Trans, I’m Shiro”) and Hunk is like “oh rad, dude. I mean I kind of suspected but I wasn’t sure and didn’t know how to ask but this is awesome! So what pronouns are you okay with then?” “He/him, thanks” “Okay, cool cool cool” *goes back to eating* And after they explain what the term “transgender” means, Allura says “Oh, we have that on Altea too. For a moment there I thought trans was another alien species and you were admitting you were more than just galra but this is much better” “Thanks..? I guess?”

•And then you have Lance. It takes him a little longer to catch up to speed, but once it sinks in he’s like “but wait what about that time I called you Dolly Parton because of your mullet and when you said y’all oH MY GOD I MISGENDERED YOU IM SO SORRY” “seriously dude it’s fine, chill” “AHHH BUT WHAT IF ITS NOT” It takes him a long time to stop walking on eggshells, and pretty soon Keith being trans is just another fact of life, same as Pidge being a girl and Keith being galra and Shiro being a closeted Taylor Swift fan

•Keith: “I’m trans” Lotor: “I thought you were galra”

•When Keith starts growing facial hair oh my gosh he gets so excited. He starts strutting around so proudly, showing off the hair on his chin and when he walks into a room Hunk is like “heyyy nice beard dude, super manly” *thumbs up* Though the first time Keith tried to shave he cut himself like five times because he did it with his BOM knife, so that didn’t work out too well. Luckily, Lance decided to take pity on him and educate this poor boy on face management and helped him shave properly to avoid future fiascos

•Shiro: “Keith you can’t bind while you’re training, stop ignoring me you’re gonna kill yourself” Keith, firing up his bayard and already turning on the training bot: “What was that I can’t hear you” Shiro: *disapproving Dad Glare™️*

•Keith is an irresponsible boy so he leaves his binder on for like ten hours at a time (which!! please don’t ever do!! this will kill your ribcage please bind safely don’t be like keith!!) After so long of this routine of reminding Keith over and over again to take a break with his binder off and him blatantly ignoring it, Pidge modified the training deck so whenever Keith is in there training for hours at a time he will get alerts to take his binder off which thank god for that because he always either forgets or doesn’t care enough to

•Because he’s not fully transitioned, Keith still gets periods which really sucks. That’s usually when the dysphoria is at its worst so not only does he have to deal with stupid cramps but now he also has dang dysphoria to make him feel even crappier. When that happens, everyone on the ship makes an effort to take every opportunity to use masculine pronouns when talking to him and comfort him when he’s feeling Bad. (It’s a good thing Keith has his awesome boyfriend Lance who is so sweet and always supportive and will cuddle on the couch with him for hours as they eat snacks and watch earth movies for hours on end)

•Once he breaks three ribs during a fight and Allura tells him that he can’t wear his binder for a while otherwise it’ll just make the injury worse but like. Keith is so scared to go around without binding, he doesn’t want anyone to see him so he stays in his room for most of the time but on the occasions in which he does leave his room, he gets so worked up because “shit shit sHIT they’re gonna see me without my binder oh no I can’t do this” but. Nobody really notices? At all? It’s like there’s nothing different. He meets up with everyone for dinner and he’s sweating bullets he’s so nervous but it’s like no one even sees he’s not wearing a binder. So that was quite the experience, and after that Keith gets more comfortable with wearing his binder less often because the reason he always wore it too long was because he didn’t want anyone to see and judge him, but turns out it doesn’t matter in the least to them whether he’s binding or not, so he’s more confident being around them without a binder on days when he’s feeling comfortable enough to go without it.

•Keith has definitely taken an Axe Body Spray shower before this isn’t even a debate

•Shiro takes every opportunity to call Keith his brother not only because wow gotta love that wonderful honorary siblings broganes bond, but also hell yeah calling Keith masculine names.

•Shiro, introducing the paladins: “—and this guy over here is my brother Keith” Keith: *beams*

•Keith: “Zarkon is transphobic” Lance: “why” Keith: “Because I’m trans and he annoys me”

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Random Concept: Zarya

The snow falls so thickly here it is impossible to distinguish bloody bodies from the broken bots littered amongst them. Even now, even years beyond the great omnic wars there were always battlefields like this... some public, others far more secretive, the cost of keeping the citizenry safe kept hidden.

Null Sector had long been a driving force of the omnic war, their bastion units and OR14s still plagued the nightmares of the veterans who somehow survived. Thought routed out, both by force upon the battlefields, and through purging of the infected sector technology... Null Sector was declared dead, vanquished, many years ago. However, there were those who knew the truth.

Overwatch, or more specifically Winston, had discovered a series of attempted breaches in his firewalls at Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Upon investigation, it was clear something intelligent had been probing cautiously against the base databanks of other sites; bearing none of the standard hallmarks of the infamous hacker, Sombra. This was a clear cause for concern, and sent a ripple of anxiety through the gathered heroes; Talon was a threat, yes, but they were well-known.

Fighting the unknown again brought up painful memories, even if they weren’t acknowledged on a conscious level. There was always the chance that something had survived, a remnant... an errant patch of code that had access to the internet...

Or worse yet, as Winston had gravely confirmed, a sliver of what had once been the base AI of Null Sector being deliberately uploaded via neo-facist omnics. Robots of all different makes, who felt that their natural right to rule the earth had been thwarted in the past, only through the corruption of omnics by humans. The very idea of cohabitating with these biological entities and the ‘code traitor’ omnics who sympathised, revolted them to their core.

It was their handiwork that had seen small scale data incursions on less encrypted sites, leading to both the loss of information... and life. 

Though omnic citizens were often provided with the latest updates and anti-virus programs by the government, in much the same way their human counterparts received vaccinations and healthcare for free, it could not cover everything. Say, a malevolent viral AI that infected them through the ever-present wifi and reactivated ancient code deep within their cores. 

Not all omnics were created as killers, no, but somewhere at the base programming level there were remnants from the days when they had been made as war machines by desperate, ruthless humans. Much like there were lingering pieces of genetic code in DNA that served no function unless activated...

Security breaches began on a global scale, and incidents involving compromised omnic citizens were increasing on a daily basis. Always spread out, always devastating to everyone exposed and leaving few survivors.  Hate had begun to spread, spurred on by the fear of what was happening; the elderly recalled how it had been not so long ago, and children screamed themselves awake, uncertain why they could ever think the omnics would hurt them. 

Null Sector wanted this, of course. Though the end game was clearly dominion, and a proper form once more, this end could only be achieved by... fanning the flame a little, instilling an Us and Them schism between organic and omnic. 

It was getting exactly what it wanted. 

When Winston caught on to what was happening behind the seemingly random attacks, he immediately briefed Commanders Amari & Morrison. So far Overwatch had been deploying teams whenever news of an incident occurring was received; but that was merely patching up the bullet holes, not unloading the gun, as it were. Something had to be done, something preemptive.

Junkrat and Roadhog had been pretty vocal about their thoughts on this whole mess, as they would, given the hellhole they’d come from. Omnics had always been a source of fear and anger for inhabitants of the wasteland; although it had meant that Junkers were well prepared to tackle sudden attacks. 

They were stretched thin as it was, with agents all over the globe right now.  Certainly the aim was to subdue, not destroy, but it was proving difficult and exacting a heavy psychological cost on many of the heroes. With the support team working overtime to keep everyone functioning in the meantime... and Ana making sure the healers got a good nap in every so often, with no arguments.

DVa and Lucio had been working overtime to try and instill calm in the global populace, through direct action and appealing to their fanbases to understand that clearly it was not just ‘robots gone bad’. Child-genius Efi, had personally upgraded the security tech on the omnic and cybernetic members of the group, trying to keep them out of reach. She had been helping Winston track the source for over a week, before they had pinned down the AI’s whereabouts.

And of all places, it was laughably ironic.

Of course, of COURSE it would be there... hiding under the very noses of the only people who hated omnics more than Junkers ever could.

Russia.

Of course.

-

She had not been particularly amused by the discovery. 

In fact, it had infuriated her no end. A white-hot rage burning bright in her gut that seemed to flare with every beat of her heart; to think of the motherland so defiled once more, by the very thing that had nearly brought the world down in flames before! 

No, Zarya was angry. Furious, one could say, but buried deep under a stony expression. A human volcano, threatening to erupt at any moment.

“No. Uh-uh, I refuse to submit to such laughable conditions.” she informs Soldier 76, who looks harried even from behind the ever-present mask. Her brow furrows, “You cannot stop me from going back to Russia, to fight for my people... and you cannot make me agree to join... what you laughably call a team.” 

“I understand you have an issue with the fact that they’re-...” he attempts to negotiate, but she cuts him off by raising a hand to forestall any counter-argument. 

“You have not heard me, Soldier. My answer is no, and I will be leaving immediately, the people have need of my protection.” She stated with clipped precision, before turning on her heel and marching to the door.

She felt, more than heard, his sigh. Soldier 76 looked down at his desk, expression unreadable as he said, “You’ve gotta do what you feel is right, Zarya, I just hope you’re making the right call...”

As the door snapped shut behind her, the words seemed to echo throughout the antechamber of her skull; but they did not fracture her resolve. Straightening her spine, Zarya strode towards her assigned room, to ready for departure.

-

Far from the sleek design of the dropships Symmetra had constructed for Overwatch, the rickety military transport shuttle sent to fetch her home was most assuredly a relic of the war. Unearthed from a museum somewhere, perhaps. 

Several teammates had tried to talk her out of stepping aboard that thing, but ultimately failed. She was known for being stubborn, resolute upon seeing through her set course of action no matter what may come. 

By the time they had arrived at Volskaya Industry Headquarters, Zarya was violently aware of every bone in her body, and the manner in which the juddering ship had rattled them on the long flight. A few aches and bruises were inconvenient, but she could most assuredly ignore them for now; she had had worse and survived. 

The meeting with the President was terse, as Zarya relayed the information she had on the situation. It was clear that the other woman knew more than she was saying, her expression falsely companionable, but her words guarded.  Tired, and unwilling to play the word game politicians seemed to enjoy so much, she dropped her weapon on the polished surface of the Presidential  Desk. It earned her a shocked look of disapproval, but also the silence in which to ask whether the exact location of the Null Sector AI was known.

“No.” came the reply, then a pause. “Well, more precisely, not the exact coordinates, but we do have a general area of interest that our sources appear to believe is the epicentre.” 

“Good.” Zarya nods, almost to herself. “I will go there myself, and end this.” 

She had expected the President to countermand her, but silence was the only response. Zarya hefted her weapon, engaging the charging mechanism that sent little pulses of light throughout her suit and reflected in her eyes, before turning to leave the room. 

-

Screaming filled her ears long before the transport landed on what little of the impromptu battlefield their forces occupied. From the intel she had gathered from the pilot en route, it appeared that one of the underground bunker facilities built by the government to protect the populace’s top minds and advanced technology, was the source of the AI’s reign of terror.

The neo-Null Sector group had found one of the many emergency tunnel exits several kilometres from the actual facility site, and broke in. By the time local forces had come to investigate the security breach, the hatch had been sealed again, and fused shut. Alternate exit tunnels were spread in all directions, and they could not waste time searching for the next one; instead alerting the Russian military of the situation.

Although predominantly human teams had been dispatched to each of the exits to forestall any manufactured omnic units escaping unnoticed, the main battle was by the official entrance to the underground bunker facility. It had been cleverly seeded underneath a large stretch of land that normally appeared as former farmland, a carefully maintained cover. At current, all was blanketed in thick snow, icy winds curling over the landscape and draining the endurance of even the hardiest soldier.

Bodies and bullets clashed against omnic metal. Sharpshooters tried hard to target weakpoints before they, in turn, were shot down; ground troops swarmed in organised chaos, attempting to wear down their enemies through sheer force of numbers alone. Screams and beeps rang out, as one or another fell; the few medics dodged through the mess and tried valiantly to save whomever they could.

Towering over all, a large anti-aircraft weapon was being constructed, behind the raised entrance to the bunker, and well-attended by swiftly moving techbots. They seemed to be harnessing light construct technology, like that of Symmetra and Vishkar Industries, leading Zarya to surmise that at least some of their manfacturing omnics had been compromised by Null Sector. 

The entrance itself was designed to swiftly rise from the snow in a large rectangle, and recede just as quickly; the main ideology being that the top minds could be quickly dropped off and hidden before the area was overrun. It was raised, and an almost never-ending stream of robotic beings trudged through the large open doorway. 

One would think the large ones, the OR-14s and Bastions, were the greatest threat; but Zarya knew from experience that it was the smaller, faster compact omnic creatures that were deadlier. Often overlooked in the frantic melee of close combat,  they zipped unseen across the ground; some used electricity to stun targets, others injected all manner of concoctions. To be tagged by them, was death itself out here.

Dotted amongst the throng of metallic bodies were omnics, some still wearing the clothing of their civilian lives as they viciously tore at the humans they had previously professed to care for. Hah! 

Though in all honesty, Zarya found no comfort in being right. Even if the omnics here were fulfilling her greatest nightmare by turning on the humans they had previously lived alongside in ‘peace’, she knew rationally that the majority were simply coerced into it. Humans could be too; brainwashed, and made to do awful things. She shook her head to clear the vague flash of memory regarding Widowmaker from within her mind’s eye; all too well, Overwatch knew that people could be broken and remade as Talon wished.

So too, in a way, these robotic creatures had been stripped of whatever it was that drove them... and had it replaced with a burning protocol of extermination. It was not quite like the battles of the past; every so often a face within the melee would be streaked with distress as they fought for their life against an omnic clearly familiar to them. 

Cruel, though somewhat unexpected. Russia was quite against omnics as tourists, let alone citizens; but given the degree of interconnectivity the world had these days, it would not surprise her to learn they had met online. 

Likewise seeded throughout the mess were Null Sector supporters, their gleaming purple armour signifying which side of the war they fought upon; and the obvious fervour with which they tore their enemies apart. Her gut clenched at the sight, the rage roiling around as her grip on the gravity cannon tightened; even if she could never bring herself to trust an omnic, this... this was far worse than that. To have learned of the terrible toll that Null Sector had wrought on the world the first time, and then to idolise them to the point of enacting the same thing once again? 

It was sickening. 

It was, she almost laughed to herself, utterly inhuman.

But they weren’t, were they? Human.

And that... she could work with.

-

With a primal cry she leapt from the open door of the transport, boots thudding into the snow and sinking deep with the combined weight of herself and the cannon. Zarya couldn’t even feel the cold lapping at her exposed skin, the thrumming fury inside kept her warm as she began to fire into the melee. 

With deadly precision, she targeted the thicker knots of bodies clashing against one another. Bubbling those she could with a few seconds of safety, and drawing fire upon herself.

She was well-known as the hero of Russia, and when she commanded, people hurried to follow her orders. Moving steadily forwards with all the menacing might of a tank, Zarya did her best to protect the soldiers, and disrupt the omnic advance. It was key that they break through to dismantle that anti-aircraft gun, but for now reducing the clutter would have to do.

The laser charged swiftly under continuous assault, and she easily cut through several OR-14 shields, leading a swelling mass of military might behind her through the omnic-occupied territory. The OR-14 to her left manages to throw out a gravity orb, yanking her roughly off her feet and crashing into bodies several feet to the left. Nothing feels broken, but something is likely bruised; Zarya shoves the weapon to the side and pulls the closest personnel upright. 

You should never linger on a battlefield unguarded, after all, and she would not leave comrades stranded. 

Grimly amused, she faces the ragtag group of omnics hiding behind the OR-14′s shield, alongside a hastily self-repairing bastion. “Two can play that game, rust bucket.” she calls, and activates her ultimate, Graviton Surge. “Fire at Will!” 

The black hole launches across the minor divide and hangs in the air, sucking bots of all sizes just high enough that they were free of the protective shield itself. The OR-14 fires frantically, making a distressed dun-daaah sound, as the omnics around it try to aim; the bastion is tilted to the side and cannot fire anywhere but straight through its allies. Several are cut in half by the turret, but overall it succeeds in killing several of Zarya’s group. 

The soldiers following her do manage to do some damage, but take an equal share. Bullets spiral past so closely that you can feel the heat sear your skin, and she curses the makers of her weapon for not finding a way to produce protective barriers at a swifter rate. So many she could save, and yet, not enough time to do so.

Shrieks and screams, the sounds of the dying will fill her dreams for years to come. This is a fact. It is her penance for not protecting them, as she should.

Graviton Surge dies with a sthlwip sound, swiftly swallowed up by the noise of other clashes occurring all around them. They are not even remotely close enough to the anti-aircraft turret  to land a shot, and every second they waste on this endeavour seems to be counted in blood... her forces are depleted. 

Zarya wants to regroup and save them, but for every bot they take down two more come out through the bunker entrance doors. Null Sector’s AI must have figured out how to reconfigure the manufacturing droid technology stored down there; originally for crafting basic supplies or needs in times of crisis, and now ironically, contributing to their downfall. It was quite literally, now or never.

One foot after the other, the ache of carrying her weapon for so long beginning in her wrists, and the stinging of small hurts she could not quite recall acquiring were starting to drain her resolve. Minor inconveniences, she told herself, lives depend on your actions so keep going.

One step. Another. Graviton pulse, again, again, again. Another OR-14 and Bastion team down. More omnics, tattered clothing the only remaining signs of their once sentient lives before being reprogrammed into killing machines. 

They did not deserve this, she surprised herself by thinking. Blinking, just in time to see a large arm hit her across the left cheek; Zarya didn’t have time to brace, and so fell hard, twisting swiftly sot he ground was at her back and using the bulk of her gravity cannon to halt the oncoming strike. The metallic arm of a construction droid clanged dully, then it slowly reared back for another attempt; and she took the chance to roll aside. 

In the few seconds it took to turn back and aim, the omnic was toppling over, lights blinking out as it was filling with laser pulses from behind her. 

“Are you injured?” she snaps at them, eyes darting over the assembled group.

“We were just going to ask you that.” says a brunette, a humourless grin splitting her tired face. She was familiar in a vague way, as were several others in the throng of military uniforms; looked old enough to have fought in the last war, which would explain the calm attempted humour.

“Then we proceed.” Zarya nods, turning fully to face their objective. Her cheek aches, as one would expect, but at the very least it had not been one of the bots created to reconstruct the city... there would have been nothing left of Russia’s Hero if it had been. She absently uses a protective bubble on one of the younger soldiers, still somehow full of vigour and fire as he runs headlong at a pair of approaching null-sector bots. She barely keeps their bullets off him. 

She hisses as something hits her in the side, and swears, something about their motherboards being devilspawn. It was not the best, so sue her. Her own barrier comes up and catches the rest, as she begins to slice through the oncoming wave of nullsector bots; distinct from the other omnics on the field via their uniquely uniform nature. It was like your worst nightmares come to life.

There is a crackle, and a cry... then another. Zarya risks a glance behind, to see several soldiers crumpling. One of the others unloads their pulse rifle right into the speedy little omnic zipping between their feet, taser arm outstretched. Someone swears, someone else gurgles and hits the ground on their knees; there is metallic clonking as null-sector troops approach. The brunette’s eyes flare in surprise as her face drains of colour, and she falls dead at the feet of Russia’s greatest hero. 

Zarya throws a protective barrier around the soldier directly behind the brunette, and another of those little omnic assassins slams into it. And again. And Again. like a roomba failing to comprehend how walls work. 

She takes two steps forward and brings her boot down atop it, crushing the thing to pieces. Fluids leak into the snow, no longer a threat. She should have known an electromnic wouldn’t come alone, those blasted things always work in tandem. 

Someone chokes to her right, the distinct sound of someone shot in the throat; there is no time to be sad, or angry. There is only the mission and a pile of bots to turn back into scrap. Perhaps melt them down and make a stylish, if impractical, toilet from, yes?

That thought brings a cold smile to her face.

The fighting is closer here, her gravity balls are no longer as effective as the laser; and even then, it is sometimes simply easier to beat the omnics with the cannon itself. There is little opportunity to throw protective barriers here, too; the space is limited, constrictive. One side bleeds into the other as the fighting gets closer. Humans to the front, intermingling; omnics pressing behind as they take on the soldiers guarding her back. 

She cannot use Graviton Surge without catching a few of her comrades alongside the foe. Zarya tries to hollow out a space amongst the press of bot and body; to find somewhere she can safely deploy her ultimate ability and perhaps help gain more ground. All around, the shearing of metallic limbs, and the sickening rending of flesh from bones is overwhelming; a scent of charred flesh rises, choking those still fighting.

Someone pleads for help, another begs for death, a robotic voice spits out static-filled words of confusion and apology... the cacophony is enough to send one mad. But her eyes are fixed on the anti-aircraft turret, if they can just reach it, this battle might shift in their favour. Retreat, send in a more... missile-laden alternative, and shut this operation down once and for all. 

No more lost lives... 

Everything felt automatic, firing, reloading, projecting the barriers, punching, pushing, shoving, shouting, it was all just movement and noise and action. She had to reach that damn-... 

Zarya is yanked into the air and hurled backwards by another gravity orb, damn these OR-14s; she barely gets the barrier up before it begins to fire. Her heartbeat quickens as the faint sound of a Bastion signals that its’ own ultimate ability had charged sufficiently. Surging upright, Zarya runs a few feet forward and unleashes Graviton Surge; it pulls the Bastion, OR-14, null sector bots and several compromised omnics into the air in a writhing metallic mass that seems to keep growing.

“Fire at will!” she shouts, just in case anyone behind her wasn’t currently blasting away like a machine gun. Pieces of robot fell in dribs and drabs, several powered down permanently; Zarya aimed at the Bastion, drew its attention and kept her barrier up as long as possible as she fired on it. It can repair itself, but not fast enough under continuous attack.

It finally crumpled into spare parts with a loud angry wheet whoo of protest, as Graviton Surge faded and the remaining bots fell back to earth. The OR-14 was damaged, but threw up a shield swiftly, before placing a super-charger beside itself. The remaining Null Sector bots perked up at the boost, and began firing faster, cutting down the remaining forces on the field with devastating accuracy.

She could not save them all. But she tried. 

By the time she took down the OR-14 and smashed the supercharger into fragments, there were few soldiers still behind her, much less on the rest of the battlefield. Everything was covered in steaming bodies and scarlet snow, sightless eyes staring at her and silently asking how she had not saved them. Her, Zarya... Protector of Russia... why not me? They asked.

She blinked. No, not now.

There were still people to fight, so they would. Even though Zarya noted that the omnics from every sector of the field were closing in, now that the human resistance was slowly dwindling to almost nothing under the never-ending onslaught. More and more omnics, nullbots mostly now, were swarming from the bunker entrance; threatening to overwhelm what was left of this foremost defence.

Zarya did her best to keep as many at bay with her gravity pulses and the laser... but there was only so much one person could do. Everytime she heard the hollow clank of an empty gun from behind, her stomach felt a little tighter; it had become the prelude to a scream, a signal of impending doom. 

One by one they fell before and behind. Firing and fighting, firing and fighting until there was no other thought within their minds or muscles but to Keep Going until the end. She was breathing heavily, arm feeling heavy and stiff, face bruising and various points of her body alternately burning or going numb. It was like some parts of her had simply decided to drift away... a strange sensation. 

At least there were now more behind, than before, Zarya thinks as her cannon beeps. She unleashes Graviton Surge again, and her battlecry is rather lackluster given that there are only a handful to hear it. They aim for the omnics in the air, and Zarya takes the chance to run for the anti-aircraft turret; it is huge, mostly completed and whirring as it turns. She fires gravity pulse after gravity pulse at it, damaging whatever she could, until the tell-tale sound of her ultimate fading catches her battle-dazed ears. 

Predictably hurled backwards by an OR-14, she lands in the snow and has to fight to get up before they are upon her. She sees now, what she couldn’t have whilst leading the others... they are, all of the humans, being sectioned off by walls of omnics and null sector bots. Isolated and assassinated. Kept from her line of sight, so she might not project a barrier to save them. 

She curses, tasting blood in her lips. Ah, of course, she’d bitten her tongue as she fell... Zarya fights the urge to laugh at the idea that in this battle, she had been the one to ultimately injure herself worse than anything the omnics had done so far. Picking up the graviton cannon, she aims into the enclosing wall of metal and fires, and fires, and fires again. 

Aleksandra Zaryanova would not be going down without a fight.

Bots fell, others took their place. Screams and battlecries echoed. 

The wall encroached, she could only put up so many barriers... Graviton Surge was nearly ready, but she needed a little more time...

Overhead, aircraft exploded as the turret fired at them, blasting them from the sky with merciless precision. Flaming piles of metal crashed all around them, flattening some nullsector bots, and filling the battlefield with smoking debris. 

Zarya was not going to give up, but it was becoming more apparent that there was no way out of this alive... much less to finish her weapon. She could feel every hit she took, every pulse that her barrier wasn’t able to catch in time... she fired back. But to what end? She wondered. 

Zarya starts when something touches her shoulder, and she whirls around, cannon at the ready. To find... nothing. 

 A quiet voice whispers by her ear, “Miss me?” as something touches her nose, “Boop!”

“Apagando las luces!” cries Sombra, bursting into reality in an explosion of purple electromagnetic energy. It hits the omnics surrounding them like a bombshell, and several appear to deactivate for a few seconds.

“Well?” Sombra prompts, gesturing. “It won’t last forever...”

Zarya blinks, then starts to fire, unable to stop herself from asking, “Why?”

Sombra rolls her eyes and hurls the translocator towards the anti-aircraft turret. “Can’t let you have ALL the fun, mi amigo!” she smiles, fading out of existence and reappearing nearby. Clearly heading for whatever kind of control panel she can get her hands on...

In the meantime, Zarya was left with the issue of taking out as many null sector bots as possible in the few seconds allotted to her by Sombra’s EMP blast. Already many of the omnics were coming back online and regaining control of their weaponry, their sensors, and most importantly, their targeting array. 

She ducked a hail of bullets from the swiftly-recovering OR-14s to her left, and blasted a nearby cache of nullsector bots. Her barrier caught the tail end of their fire, and protected her back for the few minutes it took to reach the bunker entrance. Zarya fired at it, her weapon not strong enough to bringing it down alone but perhaps if she can weaken the structure’s wall enough, they might buckle on their own. Only the roof and top of the facility were made nigh-impenetrable. The rest was standard metals, no one envisioned the facility being tunnelled into, after all. 

One wall was semi-blackened, but barely showing signs of damage when she was forced to throw up her barrier and move back; the omnics were advancing on her position. An idea seemed to arise as the Cannon bleeped, signalling that Graviton Surge was finally ready again; Zarya backed away just enough that it appeared to be retreat. She was pursued, naturally, by the Null-sector bots and their large robot guards, the OR-14s. 

Without any verbal warning, she unleashed the ultimate right above the entrance, ensnaring and suspending both those pursuing and the newly manufactured nullsector bots leaving the doors. Zarya activated her barrier, backing away and counting quietly in her head, waiting for-...

And it came. When her ultimate deactivated, the large mass of metal came crashing down on the entrance; one side bent inwards, and the other crumpled somewhat. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it would slow the tide and hopefully buy Sombra time to hack that turret. 

What the Talon agent was doing here, was anyone’s guess, but Zarya could honestly say she was not ungrateful for the support. Perhaps her fears for her people had blinded her to the magnitude of the problem; that having backup was note merely an inconvenience. But ah, that was a concern for another time, when there were hopefully less robots trying to kill her. 

There was a loud whrrrrrr as the turret powered down, followed by the sound of a small rapid-fire weapon being emptied into something metallic. Sparks flew as a faintly Sombra-shaped wraith dashed away, disappearing into thin air. 

Well, at least she had gotten awa-...

“Kzz-zz-Zarya?” 

That particular voice caught her off-guard, and she whirled about, eyes wide in surprise as they fell upon the familiar faceplate of the only omnic she knew outside of Overwatch’s team-members. 

“Lynx Seventeen? What are you doing here? It is not safe, leave.” she says, somewhat confused and not really processing the inherent danger of their presence. 

“What I was a-asked to d-d-do kzzzst-z-z-Zarya...” Lynx Seventeen grinds out over static, voice modulator malfunctioning. Their antennae are twitching, moving in all directions as if trying to convey something through semaphore, she would have to make a joke about it another tim-...

Zarya chokes as a crushing weight slams into her chest, forcing the air out. An intense discomfort seems to spread out across her chest, over her shoulders and down her spine.

“I’m s-szzz-so szzz-zz-szorry Zzz-Zarya...” Lynx says, sounding genuinely distressed. “Mmmmmaaaaade Meeee do i-eee-it, c-can’t szzstop Nnnnull Ssszzectttor...”

Her weapon lay discarded on the bloodstained snow, and Zarya fights to gain control of her hands, they seem cold and distant, numb almost. One finally grabs the robotic forearm just barely poking out from her chest, she doesn’t have the strength to pull it back. There’s a faint taste of blood in her mouth which can only mean her lungs are compromised, but she still tries to smile. 

“Is okay, Lynx... Null Sector is doing this... you were not so... bad... for an omnic...” words are slurring out, but maybe because it’s so cold, or it’s hard to breathe properly. Lynx Seventeen doesn’t move, even though they seem to want to run away from here, from this...

Zarya tries to take a step back and free herself, instead crying out as she trips over the severed arm of an OR-14. She hits the ground hard, in a manner that resonates the impact through her tired, battered body, at least free of the impaling arm. 

The world always seems to slow down when you are dying, at least the movies got that right, she thinks. When everything seems to pause, just for a second, Zarya becomes aware of just how few are left alive. Notices the way the world is a stark contrast of white and red, how the snow is unrelentingly covering the broken bodies of human and bot alike.. like mother nature is pulling a blanket over this tragedy. Hah, how ridiculously symbolic. 

She blinks slowly, copper in her mouth and her will to get up dwindling more than a little. There’s nothing to go back to, if they fail here. 

Rapid fire forces several of the remaining omnics back, and she thinks she raises a hand as Sombra manages to hack Lynx Seventeen. Maybe gurgles something, because the hacker pauses to look at her, back to Lynx, and raises an eyebrow. Sombra mimes shooting them, but Zarya somehow protests. 

Sighing dramatically, Sombra rolls her eyes and simply moves on.  She thinks Lynx Seventeen is apologising again, but it’s lost in the background noise. Everything is secondary... the snow isn’t that cold anymore, it’s soft at least. 

There’s a familiar clanking, and she tries to find the words to warn Sombra of an approaching OR-14; wouldn’t make sense for them both to die here, after all. All that seems to escape is a strangled rasp, which annoys her no end, but at least catches the hacker’s attention.

“Not so fast!” shouts a familiarly authoritative tone, as the remaining nullbots and omnics are yanked up by Orisa’s HALT!orb and thrown back. The shield projector hits the snowy bank at her feet and materialises, putting a definite barrier between Zarya and the Null Sector bots doing their best to kill her. 

She hears a string of foreign words as a green streak shoots past overhead; but what catches Zarya’s attention is gentle voice encroaching on the edge of her vision. There’s a strangely weightless quality to her body as something... something she knows but can’t remember the name for... hovers above...

Her eyelids want to close... and she fights to open them again. 

Above her, floating serenely, is Zenyatta. “This will make you feel better, Zarya, please remain still.” he advises, in that gentle tone that seemed to set everyone at ease. Oh, it was an orb of... the good thing. She realised.

Her eyes shut again of their own volition as Orisa moves beside her, firing away at anything within targeting distance. In the same gentle tone, she hears Zenyatta serenely advise the surrounding Null Sector bots to, ‘Experience HOSTILITY’ before a series of metallic crunches announce the omnic monk has unleashed his orb arsenal.

Pain throbs, but lessens. Whenever the healers administered their potives or powers it always felt serenely odd... pain faded, but it was the sensation of your body knitting together again or bullets being expelled that always seemed to feel odd. As the moments pass, breathing becomes a little easier, she lets out a sharp gasp when the orb is briefly used for someone else... discomfort returns instantly and shocks her back to full awareness. 

Zarya’s eyes snap open and she fights to sit up, disgusted by how much of her own blood seemed to be coating her outfit, even if the wound has reduced from gaping to merely barely closed and was no longer seeping any bodily fluids. She nearly bumps her head on Bastion’s turret, he’s in sentry mode and merely turned to wave hello at the Russian before turning back to fire at anything that dared crawl out from the bunker’s squashed entrance. 

That explained why they had not been overrun from behind so far. 

“Where did you come from?” Zarya rasps, settling for propping herself up by the elbows. She notices Bastion pause to wave at her again, and she sighs before turning and saying ‘Hello.’ back. At which, he beeps happily, and shoots a hole through an encroaching construction bot.

Orisa looks down at her, setting a supercharger near Zarya’s head, firing aimlessly as she answers. “We were sent to assist you, the commanders were concerned about the threat you faced. Heroes should not fight alone.”

“I meant...” she struggled to find a polite way to say it. “Why you? This Null Sector creature can control omnics, turn them... evil.”

“Oh Efi has upgraded us to be resistant to this type of corruption of datafiles and purpose. Please be assured you are safe behind my barrier.” Orisa answers, and uses her HALT!orb again to snatch a series of assassinbots into the air, where Genji swiftly dispensed of them. 

As if suddenly remembering, Zenyatta spun around and flicked a wrist at Zarya, his Orb of Tranquillity followed. It hovered overhead again, the gentle golden glow seeping a calming, gentle healing energy into her battered body.

“Thank you...” she said, unsure what else to say. Their interactions up to this point had not been... positive. “But why... would you come?”

Orisa looks down at her, “Are you experiencing a loss of memory, Zarya? Have you received a head injury during the recent battle? Shall I call Zenyatta to check your pupils? Who is the current president?”

Zarya stifles an urge to laugh. “No, I-... well yes, I think I did. But I meant, why would you come out here to a place like this, for me...? I have not been very... polite... to any of you. You have no cause to-...” 

She pauses for a breath, feeling incredibly heavy and exhausted, drained of her will to stay awake. Zarya forces her eyes to stay open, stubborn to the last, and continues. “...-to risk anything for someone who has called you names, or treated you poorly... or said terrible things to your face...”

“Some have been harmed more than others by the War, and by Null Sector, it is understandable when they are crude toward cybernetic beings and omnics. It is not pleasant,” Zenyatta thoughtfully amends, kicking an OR-14′s faceplate in, “but it is understandable.”

“Besides, you are our teammate. Whatever we think of one another off the battlefield, you have never failed to protect us on it, and that is commendable.” Genji adds, sheathing his sword and striding over. He sinks to sit beside her, looking down pensively, but without malice. “I would hope you now understand that there is nothing worth your rage or your fear, in any of us.”

Zarya looks away from the piercingly earnest gaze, and finally lets her own eyes close. “No... you have weathered my misplaced... anger... long enough.”

There’s a bright flash that even Zarya can see from behind her closed eyelids, and then a voice filled with barely contained amusement speaks. “Awww, that’s adorable. But if you are all finished with this telemundo moment, perhaps we could get out of here...”

Sombra.

Zarya cracks open an eye, and spies the camera. “You can surrender that now, or I post your real name on the internet.”

Sombra’s eyes flare with a momentary note of tell-tale panic, then her expression morphs to something so mischievous even the fae must envy it. “Oh you’re no fun, Aleksandra... I was just capturing a beautiful family moment!” she chirps. And in that moment Zarya knows with dead certainty that the hacker’s already found a way to upload that photo.

“Have it your way... Olivia.” she retorts, pushing herself up into a seated position, just to watch Sombra’s expression morph to one of mortification and frustration. A familiar dropship seems to skim overhead, then continue on it’s way; there’s nowhere on the field to land now. Too much debris, human or otherwise.

“Well, aren’t you lucky I called you an Uberwatch?” Sombra teases, then flicks a chip through her fingers with dexterity and grace. “Oh, and the AI, Null Sector? Trapped it on here while you guys were being mushy and dramatic. I’ll give it to you if you promise not to put my name on the internet... and also, maybe... give me a ride?”

“I am sure the Commanders would love to have a chat...” Genji intones, deadpan. Sombra rolls her eyes in response and mutters something along the lines of, ‘Oh I bet they do...’

Bastion shifts back to his bipedal form, and waves at Sombra. Perhaps charmed, she waves back. 

Amidst the conversation, Zenyatta hovers by Zarya, hand not quite touching her shoulder as he asks, “How are you feeling, Aleksandra?” 

She casts about for a good response. “Better?” yes, that seemed to work nicely.

“My apologies, my Orb of Tranquility cannot work as swiftly as Mercy’s nanotech, but I am pleased it has alleviated some of your suffering.” Zenyatta responds, nearly drawing back as Zarya leans back into his touch and smiles. 

“You saved my life, there is no need for apologies...” she pauses, “Zenyatta.” The name comes out a little distorted, it’s the first time she’s actually said it, so it was bound to be a tad strange shaping the foreign syllables in her mouth. The omnic monk seems to brighten considerably at that little overture of companionship...

“You honour me.” he merely responds, turning his head instead towards a nearby snowclad hillock beyond the anti-aircraft turret, above which a blue flare has just popped. “Ah, it is time to leave. Are you well enough to stand, Aleksandra?”

“Yes, of course!” Zarya responds, pushing upright... then falling straight back down in the snow. “Apparently not.” 

Sombra snorts, trying to contain her laughter. Zarya rolls her eyes. “Find something funny, Olivia?”

Sombra snorts again, “N-nope. Nothing. Pffft!” 

Genji takes her arm as she stands again, and he encourages her to lean on him. From her perspective, she could probably break the offence hero in half if she fell on him... but as if sensing the thought, Genji shakes his head. “You are lucky I am indeed more machine than man, you weigh almost nothing to me, please let me assist you.”

She raises an eyebrow, “You do indeed have the heart of a man in there... very, how is the story? Ah! Very ‘Wizard of Oz’, no?”

“Please, never tell my brother that reference or I will never hear the end of it, Zarya, promise me...” he pleads, suddenly very aware what such a pun could mean in terms of sibling warfare. 

She nods, placatingly. “Da, I promise.”

They set off at a slow pace, Bastion continuously sweeping the area as Orisa leads the way, pretending not to notice how joyfully Sombra sits atop her back. Genji props Zarya up as they walk along, she is still tired and damaged to hell and back, but at least she can move forwards under her own power. Well, technically speaking... that is. 

Zenyatta floats behind, sombre as a tombstone across a mass grave of human and omnic alike. He turns, and looks knowingly towards a rather large pile of discarded OR-14 parts, tilting his head. “You can come out now, you are safe, my friend.”

The others pause, turning to see a rather skittish looking omnic appear around the edge; their clothes tattered but still technically on them, and their antennae flat against their head. They were hunched, like an abused animal waiting to be scolded by an angry owner; tense and afraid of what may come next, but unable to stop it.

Genji felt Zarya flinch a bit as the omnic raised their hand to wave, and noted the thick coating of blood that seemed to coat the metallic forearm. He moved slightly in front of the taller woman, trying to give her a sense of security whilst she was feeling vulnerable; as others had for him, when he was... recovering. 

“Z-zarya, I’m so sorry about that... I couldn’t stop, it wouldn’t let me... I didn’t mean to-...” They said, all in a rush, looking anywhere but the Russian. 

“Lynx Seventeen, did you want to try to kill me?” Zarya asked, voice... cool, somewhat emotionless.

“No? No! Of course I didn’t... I mean you can be rude, and annoying sometimes, like when we looked for that hacker for the President...” they pause, looking at Sombra, “that one over there actually... but I would NEVER-...!”

“Then it is not your fault. Null Sector made you do it. No big deal.” Zarya answered, cutting off their panicked explanation concisely. You could feel Lynx Seventeen relax from across the gap between the two parties. 

That resolved, other omnics of all shapes and sizes seemed to follow Lynx Seventeen out from behind the pile. All newly returned to their senses, and the control of their own bodies again; some seemed scared, others traumatised. Zenyatta did his best to console and comfort them all; offering them the chance to follow him to somewhere safe, where they might rest for a time, until they felt better.

A second flare rent the air, as if they assumed the party hadn’t seen the first. 

“Time to go then?” Sombra prompted, sliding up on Orisa’s back and patting the space behind her. “We’d get there faster if you’d just get on...” she sang to Zarya, who looked like she’d rather die. 

The Russian rolled her eyes, steadying herself on her cyberninja crutch, “I would prefer to walk, it is not that far.”

But it was too late.

-

And that was how it came to be that Soldier 76 had to call Ana from the cockpit of the dropship, certain his visor or at least his eyesight, was malfunctioning. For there, in front of them, coming over the hilltop was Zenyatta, Genji and Bastion and Genji, leading a small army of misplaced and half-naked Omnics of various shapes, sizes and makes. 

But the true question of sanity was just beyond them. Over the crest of the hill came Orisa, and mounted atop her back was Zarya, Orisa, and an oddly familiar omnic clinging so tightly to the Russian she might snap in half. 

Ana rubbed her good eye. 

Soldier took off his visor and stared accusingly at it.

They looked to one another, shrugged in unison and got ready for take-off. 

It was just one of those days...

- - - - 

The End

- - - 

This was never meant to be this long, it was meant to be like a 50 word idea, and look what happened, now it’s 1am and this exists.

[droneseco]

iGame RTX3060 Ultra W OC Review: Next Gen Graphics at an Affordable Price

iGame RTX3060 Ultra W OC

8.00 / 10

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With a Turbo button to enable a factory overclock, the iGame3060 Ultra W OC is the cheapest entry to next-gen graphics yet. Thanks to Nvidia crippling the card for cryptomining, you might actually be able to buy one. But probably not. 

However, VR users beware: there's a serious bug affecting VR rendering performance and Nvidia still doesn't know why. 

Specifications

Brand: Colorful

Cooling Method: Three fans

GPU Speed: 1320MHz

Interface: PCI-Express 4.0 x16

Memory: 12GB GDDR6

Power: 170W

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The RTX3060 is the newest addition to NVidia's 30-series graphics cards. It's the cheapest yet, and the strangest, with a whopping 12GB of RAM. There is no Founder's Edition, so while I could tell you the recommended retail price is $330, the price will actually be set at whatever retailers think they can get away with.

Today we're taking a look at the iGame RTX3060 Ultra W OC Edition, from Colorful.cn. But it's a bittersweet review, since you probably can't buy it. It's out of stock on official channels, and I'm certainly not going to link that little buy button up there to eBay scalpers.

But in case you can get your hands on one: this review is aimed at those of you, like me, who are upgrading from a GTX10-series or 9xx card. If you already own an RTX20-series, the performance gains will be minimal, and you've already had a taste of ray tracing.

iGame RTX3060 Ultra W OC Edition Design

Measuring 4.25 inches tall, 11.75 inches deep, and 2.25 inches thick, I had no problem fitting it into a Corsair 500D case.

It requires two standard 8-pin power plugs and draws up to 170W, so you should be fine with a 550W or better PSU.

The card's shroud is predominantly matt white plastic, with three fans to provide cooling. Around the fans, there's a little blue and purple gradient accents, as well some curious red on yellow banding that almost looks like warning tape. The design is certainly unique.

You'll find a small pulsating iGame logo under the power pins—which is largely covered by the 12V cables in my case where the PSU is seated at the bottom. There's no other RGB lighting to be found. But the fact that the card is mostly white means it's reflects nicely whatever lighting your case features, as you can see from the photos.

Alongside the three DisplayPorts and one HDMI, you'll find a Turbo boost button. Children of the 80s may have flashbacks to the early days of computing, when all IBM PCs had a Turbo button (which was technically a "slow down" button when off, as some software relied on the PC clock speed to function correctly). But I digress. Depress the Turbo button, reset your system, and the card switches over to the factory overclocked BIOS settings.

The overclocked BIOS seemed to add a few frames to no detriment, so I left it on after some initial performance tests. Those who like to tweak their own overclock settings will no doubt be able to squeeze more power from the card, but for me, a preconfigured overclock is a welcome addition.

Goodbye, Cryptominers?

Graphics card prices have skyrocketed in the past few years, for a number of reasons.

Firstly, because of a global chip shortage. The pandemic certainly hasn't helped—shipping routes have been crippled—but there's also increasing demands on chip manufacturers to feed the global consumer demand for smart cars, smart gadgets, new phones, and more.

Secondly, the proliferation of scalper bots: automated software that purchases stock as soon as it's listed, then relists it at a higher price on eBay and elsewhere. Changes in the law will be needed to tackle these particular parasites (just as the UK did with ticket scalpers).

Thirdly, and perhaps most significantly, is the use of graphics processors for intensive cryptocurrency mining algorithms.

Starting with the RTX3060, Nvidia is at least trying to tackle the problem of crypto. The latest GeForce drivers are trained to detect when they're being used for the Ethereum hashing algorithm, and will forcefully limit the computing power available, halving the effective "hash rate".

Although Ethereum isn't the only cryptocurrency around that can be mined on standard PC hardware, it's one of the most popular and therefore limits profitability for mining apps that automatically swap to the most profitable coin. At the time of writing, NiceHash estimates you can make about $5/day using an RTX3060 Ti; with the RTX3060, that drops to $2.75. So for miners, the RTX3060 is the least attractive option. Even if they could get their hands on a card at RRP, it would take four months to get a return (and remember, mining gets harder every day as the total hash power increases). Of course, not wanting to leave money on the table, Nvidia also took the opportunity to announce a new line of cards that were optimized for mining, which it's calling the CMP range.

Sadly, this change can't be pushed onto other cards, since miners would always be able to drop back to a previous driver version that wasn't nerfed for mining. Still, it's a good first step, and I applaud Nvidia for taking strides to tackle the issue. It's one less evil entity vying for these gaming cards, at least.

Resizable BAR

Also available first to the RTX3060 cards (but rolling out at a later date to existing cards via a VBIOS upgrade), Resizeable BAR is a PCI Express technology that enables faster transfer of assets between the GPU and host system. Instead of queuing items to load, they should be able to transfer concurrently.

Performance testing indicates a roughly 10% uplift in frame rates, but with some caveats. Firstly, you'll need both a compatible CPU and a compatible motherboard. Games will also need to be specifically written to take advantage of the technology.

Neither my motherboard nor CPU is compatible, so I can't confirm any performance gains from this.

DLSS2.0, and Ray Tracing

The two headline features of the RTX30 series are Ray Tracing and DLSS2.0. Both were first introduced in the first generation of RTX20 cards, but have received upgrades for this generation.

Ray Tracing is a more realistic way of presenting light sources and how they interact with objects and surfaces in a scene, particularly when it comes to reflections.

It more accurately models the behavior of light by drawing a series of rays to determine where they fall (and where they reflect to). It's the last step on the road to true photo-realistic graphics. But it needs a huge amount of computational power.

Read more: What is Ray Tracing?

DLSS stands for Deep Learning Super Sampling, and I can only summarise it as utterly magic. Since the RTX20-series, Nvidia GPUs have also housed Tensor Core AI chips. These contain neural networks that are trained on thousands of rendered sequences of identical scenes; one of a lower resolution and lower quality, and one of a higher resolution with more details. They learn what must be done to upscale the poorer quality sequence into the higher resolution one, and can then apply that knowledge later to games as they're being played. The upshot is that you can run a game internally at a lower resolution, and simply upscale the output to your screen.

It's a bit like seeing a tree in winter, and imagining what it looks like in full bloom because you've seen that kind of tree before.

While the first generation of DLSS needed to be trained for specific games, Nvidia now has a more generalized model that works on novel games, too.

Personally, I find it fascinating that this is the evolutionary step that graphics cards took. Instead of simply throwing on more RAM and faster processors at the job, Nvidia literally created a form of digital imagination.

Read more: How DLSS Can Give Budget PCs High-End Graphics

Performance Benchmarks

I've been struggling along with a GTX1080 for a few years now, so that's my point of comparison for these benchmarks. All other specs remained identical: 16 GB RAM, Intel Core i7-6700K, on an Asus Z170 Pro Gaming motherboard.

3D Mark TimeSpy DX12 Test

Baseline GTX1080: 6562

iGame RTX3060: 7738 (17% better)

iGame RTX3060 Turbo mode: 7771 (18.4% better)

Next, I turned to VR Mark, and it was here that I hit a bug plaguing many RTX30-series cards since last year.

VR Mark Cyan Room

Baseline GTX1080: 6377 / 139fps average

iGame RTX3060 Turbo mode: 2750 / 60fps average (54% worse)

Clearly, there's something very wrong here, with the RTX3060 achieving less than half the framerate of a five-year-old card. Nvidia is aware of the issue, but seemingly unable to fix. The bug doesn't just affect the 3060. Precisely how widespread the bug is on the 3060 specifically isn't clear; at the time of writing this review, there are only a few other VR Mark Cyan Room results in the world from RTX3060 owners. One other result is very similar to mine, while those with a Core i9 CPU seemed to fare significantly better.

VR Mark Blue Room

Baseline GTX1080: 2229

iGame RTX3060 Turbo mode: 2645 (18.6% better)

Results on the Blue room were more in line with expectations (though still didn't meet the target frame rate). The Blue Room is a more demanding test, designed to check readiness for future headsets rather than current models.

Will It Cyberpunk?

Despite criticisms, Cyberpunk 2077 remains one of the most engrossing depictions of a possible dystopian future that humanity is headed for. It's also graphically demanding with beautiful neon cityscapes, which is why I chose it as my main point of testing to see exactly how pretty it could look running on this card.

For consistency, I recorded average frame rates during the same sequence of events; walking the path outside V's apartment to a little beyond the elevator, and back again. You can view some of the recorded footage and comparisons in the full review video; the screenshots below do not do it justice.

Anytime I enabled raytracing, it was at ultra settings; while DLSS was used on the balanced profile. A summary of results is shown below (including the settings I settled on eventually), with frame rate along the X-axis.

1080p Ultra

As a baseline, my GTX1080 achieved around 50 frames-per-second playing at 1080P resolution, with Ultra settings for everything else. For me, that's playable, but not ideal. If you'd consider 50fps to be unplayable, adjust your expectation appropriately when reading my opinions.

Keeping all settings the same and swapping out for the overclocked iGame RTX3060 Ultra W pushed this up to an average of 75fps. That's a great improvement, but of course one of the standout features of the RTX-era cards is the namesake raytracing. Enable RTX on Ultra settings pulled the framerate down to 30fps. DLSS can compensate somewhat though, and enabling this (at Balanced settings) brought the framerate back to around 58fps.

1440p Ultra

As a baseline, the GTX1080 managed a largely paltry 30fps.

The RTX3060 again showed a roughly 50% uplift, to 44fps. With DLSS activated (but no ray tracing), that went up to an impressive 78fps. As expected, with ray tracing enabled at full quality, it dropped back to 44fps.

4K Ultra

Let's be clear: using this card for 4K gaming is not viable for most modern games. You could tweak everything else to lower quality and perhaps get something playable, but you'd be missing out on a lot.

Still, for the sake of comparison, I did it anyway. As a baseline, the GTX1080 coughed and spluttered up a measly 11fps average.

Swapping that out for the RTX3060 nearly doubled that score to 20fps. Enabling DLSS (without raytracing) managed to push this up even more impressively to around 40fps; but RTX dragged it back down to 22fps.

What does this tell us?

Firstly, that raytracing is a lot more computationally demanding than I'd expected. I'd come into this review thinking I could enable raytracing and otherwise keep the roughly the same framerates as before. Not so.

Secondly, that DLSS can largely compensate for this performance loss of enabling raytracing. Alternatively, DLSS without raytracing can make Ultra HD 4K gaming more feasible (but probably not on Cyberpunk 2077).

In the end, I felt that the resolution upgrade to 1440p was the biggest feasible upgrade, so I made that my target. Though it sounds like a small increase, it's actually 78% more detail compared to 1080p, and if you're playing on a smaller monitor, the jump to 4K after that may not be worth it. I also turned on raytracing at medium quality, and dropped some other settings down to medium quality as well. With DLSS set on Performance, this netted me around 60fps average, which I'm more than happy with.

1440p Cyberpunk is definitely playable on the iGame RTX3060 Ultra W OC with a little tweaking.

4K? Not a chance, but this isn't a surprise.

Should You Buy the iGame RTX3060 Ultra W OC?

The GTX1060 remains the most popular graphics card among Steam users, as of the February 2021 hardware survey. It offered the best price to performance ratio of that generation. The value proposition for the lowest powered card of the 30-series generation is less clear than it was for the 10-series, though.

Compared to the already released RTX3060 Ti ($400), you'll find 3584 CUDA cores vs 4864, and a base clock speed of 1320Mhz vs 1410Mhz. That's roughly 25% less computing power for only a 17% lower price. So if you were purely to look at value for money, the Ti Edition comes out on top.

But in reality, you can't buy either at those prices, so any discussion about the price to performance ratio is ultimately pointless. You aren't buying the RTX3060 because it's the cheapest; you're buying it because it may be one of the few 30-series cards you can actually get your hands on.

Also, if you haven't previously considered Colorful and the iGame brand because you've never heard of it, you absolutely should. It's the most popular brand in the Asian market for a good reason, with great quality kit.

But VR users beware. Nvidia still hasn't figured out what's wrong with these cards for VR in some setups. Your ancient 10-series card may outperform this generation until that gets fixed.

Why Should You Trust My Opinion?

Consoles were banned in our house, so I've been a PC gamer since the early days of DOS. I felt the struggle of getting Wing Commander to run in 640K of RAM. The 3DFX Voodoo was my first real graphics card, and I was gaming in glorious Nvidia-powered stereoscopic 3D way back in 2000, before 3DTVs or VR were a thing. Most of my student loan was spent on PC upgrades.

iGame RTX3060 Ultra W OC Review: Next Gen Graphics at an Affordable Price published first on http://droneseco.tumblr.com/

[fadingfartconnoisseur]

My Best Travel Moments of 2017

Last year, I wrote that 2016 turned out to be a lot worse than I expected. And not only because of the election. It was a rough year in many ways.

2017 has been a lot better, thankfully. A better business year, a better personal year, even in spite of all the fears ushered in by this new political era. And while my travels were significantly more dialed down than past years, I felt like my travel itch was fully scratched. I’m especially happy that so many domestic destinations now have budgets for campaigns — a few years ago, it seemed like the only paid work to be had was in Europe.

This year I didn’t go as far as usual — my travels were concentrated in the US, Caribbean, and Europe, though I did travel to seven new countries (St. Kitts and Nevis, Moldova, Ukraine, Belarus, Lithuania, Estonia, and Russia).

These are the moments that brought me the most joy.

Standing above the ghost town of Pripyat, Ukraine

Visiting Chernobyl was one of the most moving experiences I’ve had during my travels. But while visiting Chernobyl and the plant itself was interesting, the most fascinating part of the trip was visiting the ghost town of Pripyat.

In the 31 years since the Chernobyl disaster, the forest has reclaimed the city. Giant trees now push up against every building. It’s so dense, you often don’t realize that you’re right in front of a building until your guide points it out to you.

Then came the grand finale. We climbed eight floors up to the top of an apartment building and looked across the landscape. Only then did we realize how close the buildings were to each other, and we were able to make out the edges of a town.

Only then did everything coalesce for me. This was once an actual town with everything you could possibly need. It was like the place where I grew up. And it was abandoned in the blink of an eye. What an incredible place to visit.

READ MORE: What’s It Like to Tour Chernobyl Today?

Witnessing the Hemingway Lookalike Contest in Key West

I have a big list of festivals I’ve wanted to experience for years, and one of them is the Hemingway lookalike contest for Hemingway Days in Key West. How hilarious is this? All these men dressed up as Hemingway were so hardcore about it!

This is a serious competition, to become one of the “papas.” Nobody half-assed it — they had elaborate costumes and one-liners. My favorite competitor, a gentleman from Denmark, said that he chose to enter because, “I got off the plane and the immigration officer said, ‘Welcome to Florida, Mr. Hemingway.'”

Hanging out with all those Hemingways in a place as fun and rollicking as Key West? Amazing. I enjoyed that contest so much, I came SO close to spending $1000 out of pocket so I could stay two days longer. Financial sense won out, but I need to return and catch the whole competition.

I even picked out my favorite sexy Hemingway. And no, it wasn’t the one Young Hemingway that was a finalist. Translation: I am old.

READ MORE: A Sizzling Summer Trip to the Florida Keys

Meeting My Feminist Heroes

This past spring I ended up meeting two of my favorite feminist icons within a few days of each other! First, I went to a book reading by Lindy West, whose book Shrill was one of my favorite reads of 2016 (and who is now a New York Times columnist — I’m so thrilled for her!).

Soon after, my friend Amy invited me last-minute to an event promoting reproductive rights and Dr. Willie Parker’s book Life Code. The featured speaker? The legendary Gloria Steinem.

I had to tell her what she meant to me. After the event finished, I went up to her, introduced myself, and told her about the work I was doing to equalize the playing field in the travel blogging industry. “I’m continuing your work,” I told her. “No,” she gently corrected me. “You’re continuing your work and I support you.” How amazing is that?

(Though I have to say that the funniest thing was that Olivia Wilde was there, wearing a mini backpack that was partially unzipped, and Amy zipped it up while saying, “Hey, Olivia, just letting you know your bag’s open and I’m zipping it for you!”)

The Smoothest Arrival in Vilnius, Lithuania

Sometimes the best moments are born out of the worst. Minsk was a struggle for me — it was a large and incomprehensible city with a severe language barrier and almost no wifi. Plus, I nearly had a disaster when I had to get a last-minute flight out when I learned my visa-free terms wouldn’t let me leave by train.

But then I landed in Vilnius and it was all so mellifluous.

I got on actual, working wifi at the airport. I went outside and found a taxi driver. In perfect English, he welcomed me to Lithuania and told me what the estimated cost would be, then assured me he would be using a meter. The ride was smooth; he played great dance music. I got to my apartment rental and let myself in using the key codes, no meetup with the host necessary.

It was late, but I went out for a walk and sat down at an outdoor French cafe, sipping a glass of wine and giggling at the kilted Scottish football fans surrounding me. It was a return to order and beauty that I had been missing for days. All the stress of Belarus melted away in an instant.

Doing Bertie Bots Roulette at The Wizarding World of Harry Potter with Cailin

I love doing Facebook Lives for you guys, but this one was probably the best idea and the funniest result. Bertie Bots Jelly Beans were an invention in the Harry Potter novels that was actually brought to real life! You can get them everywhere, but Cailin and I definitely had to try them at The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios in Orlando.

They look like Jelly Belly beans. Some flavors are normal: marshmallow, cinnamon, banana. And some flavors are outlandish: soap, booger, earwax. So what did we do? Bertie Botts Roulette! We would try the flavors without knowing and act accordingly!

Good flavors were a relief; bad flavors were horrific. But I think we held it together until we got the VOMIT flavored beans! We were shrieking, running away, cracking up everyone around us. If I never have a vomit-flavored jelly bean again, it will be too soon.

Hiking with Llamas in Vail, Colorado

This is probably the single best activity I did this year. Colorado is a brilliant destination for hiking, but it gets even better when you get to bring llamas along! Paragon Guides offers a variety of excursions through the mountains surrounding Vail. I went on a guided hike outside the town of Minturn that included a picnic lunch.

We were given two llamas named Kareem and Bailey. Bailey loved to eat blueberries; Kareem actually sneezed in my face, to the laughter of everyone present. Llamas really are sweet animals. They had the softest fur, they were fairly obedient (assuming they weren’t going to town on a mound of grass at the time), and they made beautiful companions on Instagram!

I also want to give a shout-out to my guide Paul, who was incredible kind, friendly, and personable. Having a great guide makes a wonderful tour even better. I felt like I left the tour with a new friend.

READ MORE: Vail, Colorado, Might Be Better in the Summer!

Rocking Out at the Air Guitar World Championships in Oulu, Finland

This is another festival I’ve yearned to experience for years, long since before I became a travel blogger. The Air Guitar World Championships take place every August in Oulu, Finland, a small city on the Arctic Circle, and people from around the world compete for the title. When my friends at Visit Finland asked me if I wanted to come back for another summer visit, I immediately asked if I could come for the festival. Wish granted!

People were so creative with their costumes and personalities! From the French goofball who performed to “Foux du Fafa” to the hardcore fifteen-year-old Japanese sumo character, to the women who were rocking out in the male-dominated environment, I enjoyed watching and cheering from the audience!

It’s crazy, but even better than the competition was hanging out with everyone at the after-parties. As you can imagine, the kind of people who compete in air guitar are a bit crazy to begin with, and they were a LOT of fun to party with! I had only slept an hour the night before, but somehow I kept going until 5:00 AM…

READ MORE: Finland in the Summer: Quirky, Isolated, and Pretty

Watching Planes Take Off on Maho Beach, St. Maarten

I had always heard that watching planes land just steps from Maho Beach on St. Maarten was a crazy and memorable experience. But this surpassed my expectations. Of course the photo opportunities were excellent — particularly when big KLM planes landed — but it was just a rush to enjoy this unique activity.

Even better was feeling the rush when the planes took off, blasting hot air straight into the beach. It was like the end of the world — a crazy wind tunnel, sand flying everywhere, and the huge noise. I loved it.

There are two things you need to know, though. First, the airport on St. Maarten was severely damaged after Hurricane Irma, as was Maho Beach, so we will have to stay tuned and see if things will be repaired. But before the hurricane, a woman was killed watching planes take off. She was holding on to the fence in front of the pavement. St. Maarten’s police believe this to be the first fatality related to watching the planes, though many people have injured themselves before.

Please be careful. The safest thing to do is to stay out of the planes’ path altogether and just watch and take photos from the nearby cafes. If you do choose to stand in the path, which is still a risk, you should be on the sand, not the pavement.

High-End Coffee in Tallinn, Estonia

My daily coffee break is sacred — both while traveling and on the road. It’s a time for me to pause, reflect, go back into my introvert’s mind, and get a hit of caffeine to refuel me. I’ve discovered so many great coffeeshops on the road, but my favorite was The Living Room in Tallinn.

The Living Room is a cozy cafe just outside the Old Town, which makes it much more of a local place than a tourist place. It’s warm and cozy. They have several different varieties of coffees from around the world, complete with tasting notes. They can prepare the coffee in many different ways. I chose an Ethiopian blend that burst with berry and pepper flavors, and they prepared it in what looked like a beaker on a hot plate! SO good.

I might as well give shout-outs to my favorite new independent coffeeshops from this year: The Blue Cup in Kiev, Peddler Coffee in Philadelphia (get the lavender latte!), Panther Coffee in Miami, Tybean Coffee on Tybee Island, Double D’s in Asheville, Andante in Helsinki, Coffee Fox in Savannah (get the horchata latte!), Artichoke in Bucharest, and Utopia in Minsk.

Getting Glamorous and Hanging with Celebs in Las Vegas

On the first night my three friends and I were together in Las Vegas, we got glammed up with makeup and hair and went to see Ray Romano and David Spade perform stand-up. Why go see that show? The Romanos are close friends of one of my friend’s families (in fact, we first met Ray 15 years ago, right after graduating from high school). Thanks to those connections, we were offered free tickets to the show and got to hang out with both Ray and David in the green room afterward!

I don’t like being starstruck — I like chatting with celebrities as normal people. But after talking to David Spade for a few minutes about regular things, I had to say something — Tommy Boy is my favorite movie. “Oh, and my dad and I must have watched Tommy Boy a hundred times,” I added.

“Thanks,” he replied. “I can’t hear that too many times. And thank your dad, too.”

The Entire Meal at Cúrate in Asheville, North Carolina

I ate extremely well in Asheville — far better than one would expect in a city of its size. But the single best meal was my first one: Cúrate, a Spanish tapas bar that blew my socks off so hard, I swear they were singed afterwards.

I told the waiter to bring me whatever he thought the best dishes were, and boy, did he deliver. Perfect jamon iberico. Crostini with morcilla sausage. Cold almond and garlic soup. Roasted pork and mushrooms that were excellent on their own but positively sang when served together. For dessert, delicately fried eggplant served with rosemary ice cream, and a gin and tonic meringue.

And for booze, it was all about the white vermouth with a twist of lemon. I think I have a new favorite drink.

READ MORE: 14 Reasons Why I’m Smitten With Asheville, North Carolina

An Unexpected Boston Sports Booze Cruise in Key West

Cailin and I had a press pass that gave us admission to several different sunset cruises in Key West, so we grabbed some tickets. As we walked onto the boat, I noticed a few things: everyone was already several drinks in, and most of them seemed to be Boston sports fans celebrating the Patriots’ latest Super Bowl win — or, you know, just being typical New Englandahs.

As a Bostonian, I found this hilarious. Oh, my hometown accents. Oh, my hometown sports fandom. I also happened to be wearing my red white and blue dress that matched the Red Sox and Patriots gear! I had to get a picture with everyone, in between toasts to Tom Brady!

They were also a lot of fun and promptly took me and Cailin under their wings. After the cruise, we ended up at an Irish pub (I mean, it’s Boston people — where else would you end up?!) where we entered a Guinness chugging contest. Oh, Key West. You are one crazy place.

READ MORE: Key West, You Are My New Favorite

What were your favorite travel moments of this year?

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