#this was a fun way to shake the cobwebs off the writing gears!

[lesserfandomappreciation]

There be a lil bit of voltron reference in this request, what whole happen or character reaction if Lion-o, Tygra, and Panthor meeting a human who is a resurcher just collecting plant data and just generally not a very good fighter but grate a defense and medical

( I like the galra uniforms and clothes, I think their neat )

Alright so you didn't specify which version of Thundercats so I'm doing a generalized combo of both the old and the newer one that ended too soon.

Human Researcher s/o (Thunder Cats)

General

S/o was minding their business. S/o was happily staying well within their own lane. Collecting samples. Setting up camp for the night. A few last minute notes here and there before calling it.

Shocked furries with swords appearing out of nowhere in a metal ship was none of their business, but the group was intent on making it s/o's business.

The only two types of people the Thundercats have ever met are furries or scalies. The naked (thankfully clothed), tailless primate is a new one for all of them.

Lion-O

Lion-o is recklessly curious and curiously reckless. Once he has gotten semi-passed them being human, he is going to involve himself in their research. What are they doing? Why are they doing it? What does that do?

Semi-passed. It's never not going to be fascinating to him that there's an entire different species of people he's never heard about before. Everything they do is astounding.

There are parts of research that he gets, especially if its technology-based, but otherwise he's got no idea what they're talking it. This is not a problem though. When one is staring lovesick like a love-struck kitten as his crush rants about their research, there's little else going on in the brain. Lion-o will gladly gave with heart eyes as they talk about different types of plants.

Protective. S/o is not going anywhere near combat. Recklessness will cause them to sometimes be in combat as Lion-o doesn't always plan accordingly, but the entire time he is glued to their side. No body is touching them.

Tygra

Humanity? Fascin- is that research data on plants? My, how... interesting. Care to share notes?

Tygra is a nerd. Chronically. Canonically. A chunk of his curiosity is going to be interested in what they are, but it is massively overshadowed by the sheer glee of being able to talk to someone who knows what the hell he is talking about. They are sharing notes. They are sharing theories. If he's not training or spending time with friends he is for sure in their lab, either chatting or partaking in the research or both.

Yes. I did say their lab. Tell me right now Tygra, prince of all nerds, wouldn't make space for them on the ship to continue their research.

Also protective like Lion-o but takes more of a dutiful knightly protector role rather than a "don't be here" approach. Ego causes his arrogance to make him believe - nay, know - that he can protect them from anything in battle.

Panthor

"Why are you so.... fleshy? Aren't you cold?" Unlike Lion-o or Tygra, Panthor does not care about the science part of s/o so much as the anatomical puzzle in front of him. He's old. He's seen a lot of shit. Scales. Fur. Maybe some feathers. Whatever the hell the Elephant folk have. This person is squishy but there's still some hair, are they bald on everywhere but their head? Why-?

His love for them stems more from wanting to keep this squishy weirdo alive rather than science. This person has no idea how to survive and while he didn't pick them to join the team, they're here so he might as well make the most of it. Cue the training montage!

Yes. Training. Protective as he is, unlike the brotherly duo of reckless 1 and reckless 2 Panthor recognizes that he's not always going to be there, and there will be times they are in danger. Hell, sometimes they might be targeted. Having a weapon couldn't hurt.

[jazz-miester]

Lying is supposed to be easy. So why do you make it so hard?

Pairing: Optimus Prime X Reader

Song: weathers- c'est la vie

Warnings: Bit of angst. Cursing.

An: A character/story idea I may never write. Let me know what all of you think!

A cigarette hangs loosely from thier lips. Unlit. The lighter they had pulled out wove around thier fingers. Y/n's mind still undecided if they wanted it lit or not. Granted, it wasn't a normal cigarette. Herbal. Some sort of lavender and chamomile medley.

They had promised to quite long ago. But some habits die hard and it's easier to find an alternative than fall back on old vices.

Thier hands shook slightly as they finally brought the lighter to the cigarette. On hand curling protectively around the flame and the wind howled around then.

Rain fell heavily down to the earth. The first rain in Jasper Nevada since god knows when. They needed it. Desperate for it.

God's knew they missed it. Some old memory locked away in thier mind. Cobwebs dusted away from thier not to long ago childhood.

They were barely into thier adulthood. Some would say.

It doesn't matter.

Smoke spilled out from between thier lips. Curling around and drifting into the cool air.

Thunder roared from the dark clouds. A sounding trumpet for lighting to follow.

Y/n's old chevy rattled with it. Thier heater sputtering a few times before finally giving up. Soon blasting cool air instead. They cursed. Smacking the dashboard.

"Mother fucker." They hung thier hand out the window. The cigarette almost put out by the wind. "First the fucking tire then this." Y/n hisses through thier teeth. They smack the dashboard one more time. "Last time I let someone else work on you." They turn the truck off. The silence sudden and heavy broken only by the rumbling thunder and rain smacking against the trucks roof.

Y/n checks thier phone. It was six now. Two more hours before nightfall. The tow company said they be here four hours ago. They wonder if the company decided to stay because if the rain. Wait for it to pass. Maybe this wind knocked down a power pole or two.

Or maybe the company was just lazy.

Y/n's stomach growled and they glanced over at the take out in the worn seat next to them. Chicken teriyaki and rice. Should they eat now? Probably. Before it got cold.

They blew out another huff of smoke. The window frame was wet now. As well as part of thier leg. They smashed the end of the cigarette into the ashtray and rolled thier window up. The hand crank sticking momentarily before letting go with a squeak.

They began to eat. Still keeping an eye out for the tow truck in the rapidly dimming light.

Halfway through eating thier phone buzzed. Rattling across the dashboard and onto the floor. Cursing they swallowed thickly and sputtered. Clearing thier throat before answering.

"Hello?" The phone cracked in and out. Reception was spotty this far out if town.

"We..... Can't..... Unable." Thier phone screen lit up. They held it out in front of then. The screen cracked. Obscuring part of what they could see. They looked at the number on the phone. Then to the one on the crumpled piece of paper.

"You have to be shitting me." They tossed the styrofoam back into the seat. The plastic fork falled to the ground. It was the tow company.

The bastards. Couldn't have called sooner.

Fuck it. They'd walk home and tow it themselves in the morning. Before work.

Or at least they would have if it weren't for the rumbling semi heading thier way. It came to a stop next to them. Engine deep and rumbling. It was fake. They knew. Ment to imitate earth's vehicles.

Thier phone rang. An image flashed across the screen with the caller id. Optimus. He had looked all to peaceful in that field to not take a picture.

"Hey Big Guy." They chuckled.

"Y/n. Hello. Is everything alright?" Y/n snorted. Oh fucking peachy they were. First they were late for work. Got yelled at by thier boss for shit they didn't do. Had thier piece of shit phone stolen so they had to go fucking find it. Paid sixty bucks to get it back. Had some dickhead think they didn't know shit about vehicles so they tried to scam them.

And the list goes on.

They looked over at the semi as they spoke.

"I'm fine Prime." Optimus rocked on his wheels.

"Are you sure? I was unaware one could drive with a blown tire." Y/n scoffed. Brows shooting upwards with disbelief.

"You sarcastic-" They cut themselves off. "You here to make fun of me?" The truck rumbled.

"No. I'm here offer help." He paused. "You have been here for over six hours." How. Oh ya. Patrol. They forgot he frequently came through here to and from base.

"I. Ya. I could use the help." They hated admitting that. That they needed help. They knew they could manage and y/n always felt like they owed the person back.

Optimus pulled in front of their chevy. An unspoken "I'll tow you" hung in the air. He would. Optimus knew they would come back shortly to get their truck back. Might as well help so they don't try to do it in the dark.

They were shivering and slightly soaked when they finally got in the driver's seat. Optimus wordlessly turns the heater on. Angling the vents to point at them.

"Sorry for tracking water in." Y/n muttered. Doing their best to wipe off any excess water that got inside.

"There's no need for apologies." The semi pulled away from the side of the road and began to drive. Slightly clicking gears as he rumbles downwards. Rain splattered across the windshield. Wipers working overtime to keep it away. They new it was more for them than him.

His headlights were dim, they noticed. Barley lighting up the old gray road.

It was silent. Comfortable.

It was dark now. Even more so without the full moon. Heavy cloads still cloaking the sky.

"Are the kids home?" Y/n broke the silence.

"Yes. I had to drop Rafael off at home." That's right. Bumblebee has been busy on a scouting mission. He's supposed to be back tomorrow. Short. By cybertronian standards.

It's been almost a month for us.

There's was flashing in the distance. Orange hues erie in the heavy rain. They can make out more shapes the closer they get. A red blob turning into a car. Two small blurs turned out to be a couple.

Optimus stops next to them at their urging.

Y/n hope out immediately. The rain quickly soaking through their thin shirt.

"What seems to be the matter?" Y/n asks. A woman turns around. Hand on her obviously pregnant belly. "Well shit." They mutter.

"Our tire blew out on the way to Jasper." The woman brushes a few strands of soaked hair out of her face. "Me and my son can't seem to get the tire changed. We umm." They look over at their kid. Some tiny teen trying to pull the bolts off the best they could. The car wast quite high enough off the ground either.

"Do you want help?" They already began rolling their soaked sleeves up thier arm. A simple tattoo wove from thier wrist up to thier elbow. A memento from a close friend. The woman nodded vigorously.

"Yes please." Y/n points the woman towards Optimus. They hope he wouldn't mind.

"Please Ma'am. I don't want you catching cold." Her cheeks flush. "The kid can help if they want. But they can get out of the rain if they want." The kid grins at them, missing one or two front teeth.

"I can help!" Y/n chuckles and pulls the tire iron gently from thier hands.

"Well then. Let's get going." They popped the bolts off one by one. They themselves straining despite the fact that could easily toss tires like these around. Y/n lifted weights to get stronger and boxed to defend themselves. Thier muscles flexing beneath thier shirt a testament to that.

"God. Who stuck these fu-friggen things on." The kid laughed.

"My cousin." Well damn.

It took a few moments and a bashed finger later to change the tire. Y/n was thoroughly soaked by the time they finished. Practically drowning from the rain.

They helped the women down and out from Optimus. Both of them none the wiser to the alien next to them.

The two got into the car and drove off. Y/n watches as the car gets smaller and smaller until the rain completely obscures thier view.

They grab into the handle next to Optimus's door and hoists themselves up. Smacking thier boots to get off any mud or debris before getting inside.

"Well now I'm even more wet." Y/n snorts and peels thier shirt off. They had a tank top underneath. It sticks to thier skin uncomfortably.

Optimus hums. The deep sound rumbling in the cab. Y/n pats thier pockets fully intending to light another cigarette before remembering where they're at. More precisely, who, they are with.

Instead they pull out a stick of gum. The minty flavor almost overpowering.

Optimus hums again. A sign they've come to find, was of him thinking. A habit he never broke of even after becoming Optimus Prime. Perks of being his charge they guessed.

They never knew why he did that. Became thier guardian. Y/n was well enough an adult. Had a house, payed the bills. They never understood and didn't plan on it anytime soon. Optimus was Optimus and he does what he does. He was one of the few people they never second guess thier opinion.

They held a lot of respect for the old mech.

More so than a lot of people in thier life. They wondered if he knew that. He could tell them to leap off a cliff and they would. Trusting him to be there to catch them.

It took a lot to earn that trust. And they had given it to him. With shaking palms and to high walls.

'Here'. Their actions said. 'Here is the key. Open the door and you hurt me. Guard it. Please. Because I am unable to anymore.'

And Optimus did. Because Optimus is Optimus. A being to good for this world.

Y/n had a scar that reached from thier shoulder to the small of thier back. It would have killed them if Optimus didn't step in. They got the relic. Optimus got thier trust and friendship.

"You do that often." Y/n head jerks up from where it had been resting against the window. Startled from thier thought.

"Do what, Prime?" Optimus slowed down. Rolling to a general stop at the battered stop sign.

"Help others without question. Despite it often being inconvenient for you." Y/n pops thier gum. Thinking.

They never really thought about it. They just did what felt right.

"And?" They scratch at thier neck.

"Why?" A simple one word question. Might as well been a loaded gun. They knew exactly where he was taking this.

"Because I can. Because it's the right thing to do. Because I'd want someone to do it for my friends and family." Optimus rumbled his engine. Pulling off to the side of the road.

Son of a bitch. He's gonna make them do feelings now?

Last time it was from a simple, yet self deprecating joke. Last thing they will joke about around him again was being dumber than a box of rocks. Who knew the old guy could be so silently, and heavily caring without a single word.

"And what about you? Would you not like help as well?"

The rain lessened to a drizzle now. No way we're they gonna do this shit. Not again. Don't make them face things yet.

Y/n reaches to open the door.

Optimus locks it shut.

"Fucken hell man." They mutter. Not for the last time they began wishing for an actual cigarette.

"Hmm." They sunk down in the driver's seat uselessly pushing at the gas pedal urging for him to go on.

"You can ask. You do know this." Y/n chuckles.

"I did." They wave thier hand at the steering wheel. "I called the tow company. Not my fault they didn't call me till forever later." Optimus sinks down on his tires. If they don't wrap this up now and tell him what he wants to here they'll be here forever.

But he can tell when they're lying.

They both loath and like it.

They can be truthful to him. But sometimes it hurts. Because he makes them feel. He makes them know.

They're people to. And they deserve so much more that they give themselves.

Deserve more than the punishing pace they put themselves through.

"And no one else? What would you have done after?" Y/n shrugged thier shoulders.

"Walked home and make tomorrow me deal with it. They're a bitch in the morning but they get shit done."

Shit.

"And you would call no one? Again?" They shake their head.

"It's just a tow Optimus. Not me bleeding the fuck out." They feel bad. A sour taste in thier mouth as they bite their answer out.

"You where feverish and unable to walk last time." His voice was low. Almost sad. He was upset without showing it.

He cares. Cares so much.

He cares enough about me for the both of us.

"It's fine."

"No."

"I.." I shiver. The heater turns on. "Lying 'spose to be easy. Why do you make it so fucking hard." Optimus rumbles.

"Because you care." He's right.

"And so do I. I am here. Always. No matter what. No matter how trivial you think it is Y/n. I am here. And, as you like to say, I am stuck to your side whether you like it or not." He begins to drive. His words stick to me.

"I know. It's hard." Its hard when you don't think you deserve it. Any of it.

I lay my hand on the center of the steering wheel.

"I know. I know. But I will tell you again and again. Until you truly believe it y/n."

I was lost before him.

God's I hate that he makes me feel. Feel more than I ever have. But he got me to quite one bad habit. And he's working on the other.

[seven--eyes]

Toss to the left. That shoulder hurts. Turn to the right. Now breathing is hard. Roll over, back down. Lower back hurts to much. Shift to stomach. Oh no, now I feel like throwing up.

I propped myself up by the elbow and groaned. My head swam and my stomach churned like sea foam crashing into the beaches outside. Note to self, sweet’n’sour fusion does not sit well in the gut, and kissin’ your captains lingers on more than just your lips.

Rolling in the hips, I angled myself to look out the tiny, pathetic window at the top fourth of the barracks wall. The light was dull and grey, but still bright and fresh. Early morning? I guess I would find out. I pulled my pants back on, ignoring the shirt stays. I looked and felt weirdly professional wearing fancy clothes in the morning as a hungover sailor. This sorta thing just didn’t occur to me. It was horrible, so I rummaged through my locker for my coat. Then the outfit was complete. Thus, I sauntered out of the barracks and into the day with a gait somewhere between notorious swagger and drunken exhaustion.

I was right; it was morning, early morning. The hustle and bustle around the base was low like the tide, however. I pondered; had I slept so hard that the world had ended, and I didn’t even notice? Apparently not, because I saw Miss Hudadra at her usual point on her desk. “Good morning, miss ma’am,” I began. “Where is everyone?”

Dollface’s swift shuffling of papers slowed. She cocked her head to me, then started to write.

‘It’s a Sunday, Sergeant.’

“It’s Sunday? It’s not Saturday?”

Dollface huffed. She underlined ‘It’s a Sunday.’

My mind drew a blank. Dollface surely could see the gears turning in my head to make the required connection. “So I slept through the entirety of Saturday?”

‘Yes. You seemed like you needed the rest.’

“Oh, yeah right,” I acted as though I hadn’t moped and recovered from me and Captain’s little endeavor for a whole day. But ol’ Dollface didn’t need to know that. “So why are you here?” I asked through chuckles, trying to keep her from asking her silent, judging questions.

‘We have a routine safety check due tomorrow morning.’

I perked up. A mission! “Oh, Doll, I can do that for you.” She offered only a head tilt to the other side, and a tiny shift of her lashes in response. “Aww, see you’re just beaming in my nice guy light, look at that smile! I’ll be taking that safety report then, please.”

I’m sure under the mask she was not smiling. But I turned over my wrist, playfully dangling it. I saw the faint movement of her eyes under her lashes watching my hand wave back and forth. She made the one sign I truly knew how to translate, and she said ‘fuck you.’

“That’s a funny way to sign ‘thank you.’”

She wrote again, ‘Do you really want to take the report? You’ll have to inspect all the long-range vessels. Skip Captain Gantu’s fleet of mantas, though.’

I signed her ‘yes.’

Dollface sighed, again. She was shaking her head, vaguely annoyed but probably amused. The woman fingered through the tops of the files in her drawers, picking through them, and put together a folder. ‘Take special care around the Messiah, Admiral Sparrow is planning a return to the Blue Circle Project,’ she wrote.

.

I had swiped the folder from her, thanked her for the mission, and went on it. Albeit more of a distraction, in hindsight. But a mission, also! I’m not pathetic. I have a life outside work. It’s just…. A life I didn’t want to get to. The seas are simpler. Sure, you might risk dying, drowning, getting ripped apart or otherwise disembodied or gutted by things in the deep no man has ever seen before or will see again, but it was predictable. More predictable than The Deep Serpent. Which is pretty ironic.

Spending the next few hours with just myself and the fleets was pretty therapeutic. Writing down and describing all the faults, or lack thereof, on the branch’s ships was also fun. I could just look through the supplies and stuff of ships I wasn’t in charge of, or in the same battalion of. Also silently judging everything. Taking my time and being nit-picky for the sake of safety. To absolutely no surprise though, there often was nothing to put on the piece of paper for ‘needin’ fixin’s’, cause all the wear and tear happened on the galleons. The Manta ships. The worst of it on Sparrow’s fleet was a poor bastard who forgot to tie down his supply in the lower hold, and left his ropes to do so in a cobweb of knots and ties around the main mast.

Then there came the Messiah. I stabled my hand on the thick, fine wooden railing as I boarded her. “Good morning, miss ma’am,” I instinctively called out to her. She’s a fine ship, with an even finer set of missions under her mast. Not a scratch on the whole thing or a rope out of place. The newly adorned Admiral sure knew how to take care of the gem of the branch.

I shut the folder and tucked it under my arm, ready to report back. It was mid-evening now, and the melancholic hues of purple and pink mumbled through the clouds. There was a rumble across the horizon as I looked to it. Then I heard a ripple; an unusual splash. I jolted and immediately glanced down into the waters. Perhaps something lose had fallen off the Messiah after all, and only now decided to plunge?

But there was nothing sitting atop the water or sinking just beneath it. My mouth hung open for a moment. There was a creature moving beneath the surface. I stared at it. Trying to register the movement of the aimless limbs of an octopus drifting to and fro like seaweed. I brought my notebook back out;

‘Octopus nested on the Messiah. Large. Not aggressive.’

Then I shut the folder for good, and made for headquarters.

.

Upon my return into the deep, stone and marble hallways of the base, the faint noise of notes sang through the echoing halls. I took care not to bring my footfalls too quickly, and not to stumble in these aching joints. I went along, and passed Dollface’s desk. She didn’t sit in it, but the noise was more clear and satisfying. Someone somewhere was playing music. I turned the appropriate corners to the west side of the building. On the farthest wall, facing the sea, I stepped into the vague light of tall windows. I glanced about the lounge and in the center was a magnificent piano with Donna Hudadra at the keys.

She was still on duty; I could tell by her navy blue uniform. It was stiff in the shoulders and tight to her upper back. But she moved with the music, reaching each note on time. She played like she was the only thing in base. She played so well, I almost forgot the old tiredness in my joints, chest and heart. I did forget the hurt of the heart.

When her song came to a close, my steps echoed in the silent room in contrast to one filled to the brim with musical promise. “Good… Good evening, Miss Hudadra. That was beautiful.”

Dollface jolted as though I grabbed her by the shoulders and yelled ‘man overboard’ in her ear. She brought her hand to her lips in surprise, and started to sign. A bit too complex and quickly for me to catch. ‘Early… Report…. Night… Stop.’ Yeah context was not helping me.

“Yeah yeah, no, yeah. I caught none of that.”

Her arms froze. Then she repeated the movements more paced, ‘You’re early… Report, accurate? Reports...work, into night. Lots of ships.’

“I guess I’m just some kind of professional,” I commented with a smirk, and handed her the folder.

She grasped it and went through the papers. Throwing one leg over the stool, she straddled it. She stopped at one page. Then picking at it. Staring for a few more moments. She set the folder on the stool, then made a gesture that wiggled her fingers about repeatedly. Something that could only mean ‘octopus?’

Leaning back, the keys of the piano thundered as I hit them accidentally. “Probably hitched a ride somewhere between here and the Blue C.”

‘Type? Type, octopus?’

“Hell if I know. But it’s pretty fucking big.”

‘Type, octopus.’ She signed more sure and stern. She handed me back the folder. ‘Thank you.’