#thunder-cube

[realgoogleslides]

there's realgoogleslides and there's @realgoogledocs. Where are Google drive, sheets, sites, forms, maps, and the rest of the gang? Do we need to make more gimmick blogs?

Yes. The answer is yes.

(@realgoogledocs, @yes-im-youtube-kids @the-real-google @totally-bing)

[william-m-lucipher]

do you know this thing? heard it was in the same part of the theraprism as you

YEAH, I KNOW OF IT. DON'T CARE TO GET TO KNOW IT WELL, THOUGH. TOO BUSY IN MY OWN THOUGHTS WHEN GROUP SESSIONS ARE GOING ON. ALL I KNOW IS IT WAS INVOLVED WITH A BUNCH OF AMPHIBIANS AND STUFF. SOMETHING ABOUT A FEW HUMAN GIRLS TOO.

[flynn-stinkyfox]

is it called the evil button because it does something evil or is the button itself evil regardless of what it actually does

It's sososojhoshosoooooohohooooo evil actually

It tickles someone's belly every time it's pressed

[thunder-cube]

yes of course there are cubes of the other elements

and not just like firecube and watercube but more obscure ones like shadowcube and necrocube. Some cubologists disagree on whether death is an element or a non-elemental school of magic, but strangely there is completely consensus that "sillymancy" is absolutely elemental. So now we have to let sillycube into elemental cube parties. Not that that's a bad thing of course, cube's hilarious

[adrianacopycat170]

you know if i didn't know any better i say Poseidon misses Pelops🤔

@anniflamma

@anniflamma

@anniflamma

[byfeldonscane]

Magic: the Gathering may be the oldest trading card game, but Cube sprung up soon afterward as Magic’s open-source ROM-hack: it piggybacks Magic’s best-in-class rules engine and professional artwork to create a highly customized game, all outside of Magic’s for-profit ecosystem.

Even though most cubes are made through curation, rather than ex nihilo invention, they are still an expression of design. In fabricating a game-within-a-ruleset, the cube’s hacker/designer selects what philosopher C. Thi Nguyen calls “a library of agencies.” When I design a Cube, my task is to decide how my players will act — will they take on the means of near-omnipotent sorcerers, crafty tacticians, or perhaps more outlandish roles like pirates or mafiosos?

With Nguyen’s framing, each new Magic set is when I get to select for my Cube dozens of new and interesting decisions, like snipping choice sentences out of the newest book in Magic’s library of agencies.1 It’s more or less my dream hobby — but Magic’s latest expansion, Outlaws of Thunder Junction, has taught me that this hobby is a responsibility, too.

Outlaws of Thunder Junction was never going to be my favorite Magic expansion. As an Okie, the Wild West setting just looks like my family reunion garishly mixed into a high-fantasy strategy card game. But, more importantly, the Wild West in pop culture is a minefield of toxicity, in particular with media’s habit of stereotypes of Native Americans. I was less than optimistic, and I wasn’t alone in my worries.

But, hey, at least Magic’s designers at Wizards of the Coast (WotC) were ahead of the curve. “Any frontier-inspired entertainment… must wrestle with the real history of Native Americans,” said a Hasbro/WotC spokesperson in a March ‘24 statement to Wargamer. This statement strikes the right pitch, but Thunder Junction’s worldbuilders still chose to depict Thunder Junction as a terra nullius: empty of all human life, until the cowboys arrived.

[ai-is-awesome-it-sucks]

GAMECUM

[prettygrlwrld]

Sins of Desire

Pair: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black female reader 

Genre: Sinners, angsty, love/hate relationship, horny teenage

Warning: 18+

Summary: the “Smoke Stack” Twins just did a violently robbed the Clarksdale First National Bank and Stack comes to you to lay low for a couple days until their boat leaves for Chicago.

*PART 2*

Looking at the ground, trying to count the grain marks in the wood floors—anything to extinguish the fire creepin’ between our hips—but as I already knew, it would never be that easy with him.

Pickin’ my chin up with his calloused thumb and index finger, I looked into his deep brown, abyss-like eyes and gave in to the devil himself. It was like helplessly fallin’ into God knows what—but I didn’t care, not if it meant fallin’ with him.

His thumb ran over my bottom lip, then slipped into the wetness of my mouth. I instinctively swirled my tongue around it, suckin’ like it was an ice cube on a hot summer day. He towered over me, watchin’—silent, intense—as I licked and sucked like my life depended on it, makin’ sure to look up at him through my lashes. I needed him to know I was done pretendin’. I wanted him. Desperately.

His other hand snaked around my waist, loosening the strings of my dress, exposin’ my full breasts. I gasped as the cool evening air kissed my chocolate nipples.

He took in the sight like he’d been starvin’ for it, then gently ran his hand down my back—from the nape of my neck to the small of my spine, down to the cup of my ass—grippin’ hard before pressin’ those big, sweet lips against mine. Our mouths met in a frenzy, tongues slidin’, teeth clashin’, a rhythm we never forgot.

I melted against him, lettin’ his fire consume me whole. Next thing I knew, he lifted me like nothin’, my legs wrappin’ tight around his waist.

“Oh, Stack,” I moaned when he ground into me just right—just enough to stir every ache I’d buried since he walked through my door.

“Skin still soft as ever,” he whispered between kisses down my neck, lips trailin’ lower with each word. “And still wet for me.”

“God…” I cried out, loud as thunder crackin’ above us, the storm rollin’ in. Rain began tappin’ on the tin roof, quick and steady, joinin’ the rhythm brewin’ between us. The heat we were makin’ would fog every window in this lil shotgun house before sunrise.

“Mhm,” he hummed, seemin’ satisfied—but he wanted more. With a rough tenderness, he peeled the rest of my ragged house dress off my shoulders. The worn cotton slipped down and pooled at my hips.

He walked me backwards to the dinner table, pushin’ aside plates, cups, and my sewing kit like nothin’ else mattered. I kissed up his jawline to his neck, nibblin’ light on his ear, breathin’ out between kisses, “I need you.”

He laid me down across the table, the cool wood meetin’ the curve of my back, his hands grippin’ my thighs and pushin’ them open like a man claimin’ land.

And then his mouth was on me—takin’ his time like he was readin’ scripture. He licked slow, then fast, tongue writin’ his name against my heat—like he was branding cattle…claimin’ what was his.  I gripped the table, head thrown back, legs tremblin’, moanin’ his name like a hymn. 

He swirled his tongue aroudn my clit—lickin’ and bitin’—I screamed to the heavens above. 

Pushing his rough, thick index and middle finger deep into my heat, causin’ my back to arch like this was an excorcism. 

My breath hitched when he curled his fingers and hit my spot—the one he knew like the Mississippi backroads. I could feel his cocky smile on my skin as he slurped on my wetness, coaxing various curse words from your lips—as a quiet church girl that was unlike me but he knew only he could make me wet as the river only a couple miles away. 

I came with a cry so loud it nearly drowned out the rain.

But that didn’t stop him—I was leaking like a faucet, so in ecstasy I ain’t realize it—and he wanted every drop.

Barely coming down from my high, I slid off the table, droppin’ to my knees in front of him.

I looked up at him, lips parted, taking in his serious, lustful demeanor, contrary to his playful and charismatic southern charm.

I pushed myself up on my knees to kiss him, wanting to taste my own sweetness. Gracing my hand underneath his tank top to rub on his perfect set of abs, covered in small scars and deep wounds—no doubt from the war and his mischievous tendencies since his return. 

I kissed on his chest, focusing on those marks. I wanted Elias, the same boy who’d chased me after church, whose voice sounded angelic to my ears—but he was a man and the man he chose to be was “Stack” of the Smokestack Twins. 

But that ain’t who I spent nights praying on my knees and lay before the church altar for—well, I guess I have. But I want Elias Moore.

I placed butterfly kisses down his abdomen, licking along his perfect v line. Teasing him like he did me, which I knew he hated, but I wanted those walls down—even if I had to knock them down like hurricane winds coming off the gulf. 

I pulled his pants down, takin’ him in my mouth slow and steady. He let out a groan, head fallin’ back as my lips wrapped around him. I sucked him deep, takin’ my time, hands workin’ what my mouth couldn’t, watchin’ his face as I gave him the same pleasure he just gave me.

“Shit… you gon’ be the death of me, girl,” he moaned, his hands in my hair, guidin’ my rhythm.

When he couldn’t take no more, he pulled me up and turned me around, bendin’ me over the same table he just worshipped me on.

He slid inside me from behind in one hard stroke, and I damn near cried. His hands gripped my hips like he owned ‘em, poundin’ into me so deep, so good, I had no words—only moans. Every thrust sent me higher, my breasts brushin’ the wood, cheek against the table, legs shakin’.

“Say my name,” he growled, smackin’ my ass with just enough sting to make me clench around him.

“Stack,” I moaned, pushing his buttons. He pulled out, leaving just the tip. 

I pushed back on him, yearning to be filled by him, to feel his body heat, but to no avail. 

“Stop playin’ wit me”, as he laid a hard smack on my ass, just barely sliding back in and pulling out.

“Elias, baby please—” I moaned breathlessly. 

“There’s ma’ girl” he coached as he slammed his full length into me, hitting my spot. I didn’t have to tell him as he knew my body all too well. 

When he was near the edge, he flipped me over, crawled on top of me, and slid back inside with a groan. This time it was slow. Deep. Our fingers laced together, his forehead restin’ on mine, mouths barely brushin’.

I wrapped my thick thighs around his torso, pulling him closer. He buried his head in my neck, touching my soul with his tip.

This was no longer about lust.

This was love—buried, bruised, messy—but real.

And in that moment, we belonged to nobody but each other.

⸻

The storm had passed, leavin’ behind wet earth and a sky turnin’ soft orange.

He was gettin’ dressed in silence, bucklin’ his holster, shirt hangin’ off one shoulder. I sat on the edge of the bed, sheet wrapped ‘round me, watchin’ him.

“Here you go leavin’ me again,” I said, shakin’ my head, my voice barely holdin’ steady.

He turned, walked over, and put his hand under my chin, liftin’ my face gently with his thumb until my eyes met his.

“Don’t do that now, love,” he said, eyes warm but heavy. “I’ll be back fa ya. And next time,” he paused, leanin’ in close, “I’ll be takin’ you out this house. Ya hear me?”

I nodded, a tear spillin’ down my cheek. He caught it with his thumb, wipin’ it away slow like he wanted to memorize the shape of my sadness.

Then he kissed my forehead, tucked his gun under his coat, and walked out the door—leavin’ behind the scent of smoke, sweat, and sin.

But in my bones, I knew he meant it.

He was comin’ back.

For me.

Tag List: @marley1773, @hrlzy, @childishgambinaax, @christinabae, @ispywithmylileye, @browngirldominion

[small-sinclair]

Love Birds don’t like Rain

Lovestruck!Bo Sinclair x reader

Tw: murder, blood, thunderstorms, mention of yelling and fighting, mention of Bo getting beaten up

“I need you.”

You stop at the sound of Bo’s desperate voice. “What?”

Bo tossed his hat to the side, not caring where it landed. “I need ya, darlin’,” he took careful steps towards you and stopped before you. Slowly, he fell to his knees. “I think about you, night and day. You consumed my thoughts, waking nightmares, and th’ stupid dreams—normal dreams—of livin’ a life worth having.” His blue eyes were heavy as he met yours. Something was burning he didn’t understand. “I need you.”

“Bo, I—“

“Jus’ think ‘bout it, yeah?” His calloused hands took your hand, clasping it as if it was an injured bird. “Just say you’ll think about it.”

There was no malice in his words or hidden messages. There was no darkness behind his blue eyes or blood in his teeth. Bo, the prideful lion of Ambrose, was kneeling before you, begging for you to think about the notion of loving him. He looked like a man, a human, a boy in love.

You closed your eyes as his hands squeezed your hand. “Alright, Bo,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. It was as if you you telling him a secret that will only be shared between two lovers. “I’ll think about it.” Your free hand combed his wild curls, and his eyes fluttered closed and leaned into your touch. He grunts and shudders as if he was feeling an ice cube, but did he love it. “I’ll think about it and give you an answer after rain season.”

And so you did.

You thought about it when it was raining and he was coming up the drive in his muddy truck with bodies in the back, fresh for the museum, but he stopped and caught your eyes from the window. His shy wave was almost too cute not to love. The rain stuck to his skin like bees to honey, making him glow in the Louisiana breeze and mist.

You thought about it when he kissed you gently before leaving for “work”, promising to come home in time for dinner. Bo did come home on time that night, and he had a fist full of wild flowers. He kissed your cheek then lips before going to wash up before sitting to eat.

You thought about it when Bo fell asleep on your lap, resting his head on your thigh. The night was alive with the bayou songs and lullabies, and it set something for you. A life could be well lived with a man mad in blood, murder, whiskey, and cigarettes. But you were the center of his world; he’s reminded you again and again.

You thought about it when you woke up screaming from a nightmare. It was loud enough to cause Bo to jolt and race to your room with a knife in hand when he threw open the door. He looked at your with worried, angry eyes, but softened when you opened your arms and cried for him. He dropped his knife and scooped you in his arms, his strong and sharp arms. He stayed with you for the rest of the night, protecting you from any nightmares that came.

You thought about it while hiding in the closest with your and over you mouth and tears running down your cheeks. You could heard Bo fighting the visitors, the three of them, and Bo was losing. You could hear fists meeting skin and the sound of Bo chocking beside his strength gave out. He told you not to make a sound, not to move, but it felt different. You felt different. Crawling out of the closet as soon as they ran out, you cradled Bo’s battered head in your arms. His shaking hand reached your cheek and thumbed over your lips. “I’m okay,” he breathed, his voice cracking and hoarse. “I’m okay.”

You thought about it when venom left his lips, yelling at you in the car garage. He was yelling at you over something that you couldn’t remember, but he was angry. His blue eyes burned in hatred as he called everything under the sun, and he only stopped when thunder shook the garage, causing you to flinch and stiffened.

“Darlin’,” there was regret in his voice. “Sweetheart, ‘m sorry—“

But you didn’t stay for his apology as you ran out, tears mixing with the rain. You didn’t see how he threw a wrench across the room, cursing at himself for doing that. He’ll do better, he has to do better! He couldn’t become the monster his father told him he’ll be. He couldn’t let that son of a bitch be right. He would never allow it!

You almost stopped thinking about it that night. When he came home, he hung his hat and took his boots off at the door. He knelt in front of you as you hugged your knees on the couch. His hands rubbed your knees as apologies after apologies rolled out. For the rest of the night, you allowed him to hold you in his arms, head against his chest, as he protected you from himself, from his words, and his poison.

You thought about it while washing the dishes with him. You washed while he dried. The radio was playing softly as the rain poured and hammered against the window. He talked about his day and going to the town over to get Vickey more art supplies and new clothes; his favorite work pants was getting torn beyond repair. You told him about your day and the little chores you did around the house, and you agreed about him getting a new pair of pants. The scene of domestic life, living slow and steady. It almost felt perfect and normal.

You thought about it when you kissed his scarred lips and he no longer flinched or growled in warning. Instead, he closed his eyes and murmurs something then met your eyes. He looked at you like a ruby in the sea. “You love me, yet?” He asked, teasing you with a charming smile. Your answer was a gentle smile, and he’ll work hard to see you smile again.

When rain lifted and slowed, he met you on the porch, hugging you from behind. Rain season was at its end, and it was just as pleasant as ever.

“Thought about it?” He asked, the morning voice deep and thick with honeydew and coffee. He rested his head on top of your shoulder.

After the memories and experiences, the rain and how it washed away whatever was left of him…it felt right.

“Yeah, I’ll stay, Bo,” you said, your hands rubbing his arms and wrists. “I’ll stay.”

[revelboo]

Everything is Alright Pt1

Starscream x Reader

18+ 🌶️

• Absolutely an accident. Scouting excursion gone wrong when he’s spotted and ambushed by quite possibly the two most obnoxious Autobots he’s ever had the displeasure to deal with, Jazz and Bumblebee. Damaged, he’s forced to fly low, darting down a far too narrow forested road in his alt mode with those persistent Autobots right on his aft.

• You’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time, taking a ride through the country in your little sedan. You just needed to get away, relax and destress from home and work. Music cranked as your mind wanders, you almost don’t hear the scream of the jet flying obscenely low, wingtips clipping and shattering tree limbs to rain down on the road.

• When you do notice, your eyes dart up to the rear view mirror and there’s a moment of just flat disbelief, because there’s no way. Then the jet screams over the top of your car so close you swear it scrapes the paint and you’re slamming on the brakes, hauling at the wheel as this bright yellow sports car tears past on your left, a white car right on its fender.

• You never were a fantastic driver, losing control and heading straight into the tree line, head bouncing off the wheel. There’s a sound of thunder, the pounding staccato drowning out the frantic drumming of your heart. No, not thunder. Weapons firing at the jet.

• It’s the saboteur not the scout that manages a direct hit, forcing Starscream to transform and hit the asphalt at a run, staggering and nearly pitching face first into the trees as he turns to return fire. Both Autobots already transformed and no doubt calling for backup.

• Outnumbered, but hardly out gunned. Still, this wasn’t how he had his day planned, baring his denta at the two Autobots and feeling energon dripping along his side. And once their backup showed?

• It’s almost serendipity when you stagger out of your car, concussed and shell shocked to blunder into the road. Between Starscream and the two nuisances. He’d seen the car go off the road, but hadn’t cared about whatever had been inside. Humans, ugh. But Jazz and Bumblebee both stop firing, staring in no small amount of shock at you.

• And there you are, staring up at him with wide eyes. Not screaming. Not running for your squishy, little life, because your brain is definitely shaken, not stirred. All you can do is gape up at the giant, alien robots with guns in dumb silence and wonder if you’re in fact still in the car bleeding out while your damaged brain spins sci-fi nonsense cotton candy in your last moments.

• And the Autobots are holding fire, because of you. To try and not accidentally kill your very unlucky self. Starscream only sees a get out of jail free card, lunging and closing his servos on you, arm extended to hold you out in front of him like a laughably pathetic shield. Except it works. Neither Autobot moves, weapons faltering.

• The panic kicks in, breaking through the pained fog and you struggle against his far too tight grip, but are ignored. Your heart’s hammering against your ribs, tangling with the pain pounding in your addled head. It’s too much, fear twisting inside you as he laughs. The other two alien robots still have their weapons drawn, but they’re pleading that you be let go.

• Starscream’s still laughing as he says, “No.” Injuries screaming at him, he grimaces as he tucks you to his chassis and transforms around you, trapping you inside while he tries very hard to not think about the fact that there’s a nasty, dripping little human inside him as he bolts.

• He keeps you trapped when he returns to base, pinned inside his canopy as he sneaks back to his quarters to dump you into an empty energon cube, because he has no idea what to do with you now. Squishing you to a paste is definitely an option, but as you stare dumbly up at him in shock, still not screaming, he wonders if he might keep you instead. Especially if you can be dangled in front of those idiot Autobots to save his own aft.

• Slowly self preservation shatters the numb terror, letting you look around and actually see your surroundings. You never were that athletic and there’s no climbing out of the clear box he’s dropped you in. But you’re alive. When the big alien that kidnapped you starts muttering and generally lamenting about you, the “Autobots,” and his life in general, you hesitantly agree with him in a hushed voice, because staying on his good side? Probably a good idea for your continued existence.

• He’s shocked, wings lifting slightly as he vents and stares. You… agreed with him? This mech craves validation and you offer it up freely and yes, he’s flustered, before straightening slightly. Because of course you agree, how could you not? So he rants, almost preening when you make little commiserating noises. You’re in turn shocked when he moves across the room to drop a polishing cloth as big as a queen sized sheet on top of you. You’re not sure if it’s an olive branch or not, but you seize upon it with both hands, wrapping the cloth around you to fight off the chill in the metal room and taking the time to run your fingers through your hair to catalog how badly beat up you are.

Next

[morverenmaybewrites]

Revenant (Creature! Jason Todd x Reader)

Y'all ever think about Creature!Jason? 

Y'all ever think about what would have happened as he came back as something *Other*?

Ever think about what would happen if after years of visiting his grave, you suddenly stumble across him in the cemetery, still wearing the rags of the suit they buried him in? 

The seam is split where he has grown too tall, too fast, worn away by years of dirt and rot, and for a moment, he looks like a ghoul.

(And for a moment you almost don't recognize him: the years have made your memories of him blurry, like water poured over a painting, you remember him but you don't remember the details. You remember the little boy you grew up with, but it takes you several minutes longer to remember the scar on his ear, the result of the two of you trying to give him an ear piercing with a heated needle and a cube of ice). 

It takes you several minutes to realize that he still bears the scar from the autopsy. That where the buttons of his shirt had popped and his tie had gone missing, you can see where he had been clumsily stitched back together. 

(They had taken out his organs, you remembered, wrapped up in a black plastic bag and weighed like they were meat to be sold on the market, like they had never once sustained a life). 

It takes you longer to realize this: he's not breathing.

There is no rise and fall of his chest and his breath does not mist the air the way yours does.

His fingers are still caked with grave dirt, the fingernails torn and bloodied from where he had scratched open his coffin. 

(Oak, you remembered. The coffin had been made out of oak. You remember the expression on Bruce’s face as he requested the coffin be made in a smaller size than the industry standard; his eyes had been empty, his voice toneless, as if grief was a thing that carved him hollow.

You remember, too, that you knew exactly how that felt. How you could see your own blank eyes staring back at you in the mirror.)

But then the Jason of today speaks– 

(too tall, too big, with green eyes that look like broken bits of glass and you wonder to yourself if he’d always had green eyes.)

–and your thoughts split apart. 

He says your name. 

He says your name and it’s like he never left. 

And he says, “Run.” 

And he takes a single step toward you.

And you realize that he has grown much, much bigger since the day he died. The Jason you knew had been lithe and acrobatic, but this Jason is solid, made out of corded muscle.

(And you remember this: his eyes had not been green before he died). 

The two of you fall at the same time: him falling on his hands and knees from the alien sensation of a body made new– 

(You can see where the seam in his clothes have split where he had grown too tall, too fast.)

And you–

You cannot remember when you fell, only that you are scrabbling backwards and that you can feel the soft soil sinking underneath your palms and feet, as if the ground is sucking you in. You cannot keep your eyes off of him: there is a terrible solidity to him, one that told you that he is not a dream, not that a ghost, he is something real. 

He is Jason Todd, back from the dead.

He lifts his head and his eyes meet yours– 

(Greengreengreengreengreengreengreen)

And his lips are forming the words again, “Run.”

But then you hear a crack, as loud as thunder, and the pain hits you like lightning. 

The both of you freeze at the sound of it. 

(And there is a small animal part of you that recognizes the way his pupils dilate, so huge they’re almost black, it recognizes the way his nostrils flare at the scent of it.)

You look down at your palm with something like surprise. Blood flows freely from a cut that had not been a few seconds before: a cut perhaps an inch wide, running from the web of your fingers down to your wrist. 

Perhaps it had been from a broken vase, left at the gravestone of another loved one, a left behind beer bottle, you find that you can’t recall–

(And you are so focused on trying to figure out what happened that you do not see the way Jason almost curls around his stomach like a wounded animal, fighting a hunger that threatens to swallow him whole.) 

When he speaks your name again, his voice is hoarse, cracked and splitting at the seams.

And then he asks if you’re all right. 

And he crawls to you, on his hands and knees, the motions of his muscles spastic as if his nerves were firing improperly, to cup your injured hand in between his.

(His fingers are still caked in grave dirt and you wonder if he dug himself out.) 

He could have spent minutes looking at the blood that runs freely from the cut on your palm. He could have spent lifetimes.

“Are you all right?” he asks again.

(He had died and he had crawled out of his own grave to cup your injured palm in between his hands and he is asking if you are all right–)

Tenderness wells up in your throat like tears. You find that you cannot speak, you can only nod. 

Jason’s breathing is heavy as he reaches up to rip up his remaining sleeve–

(it gives easily, worn away by years of dirt and rot)

–to make a makeshift bandage for you. 

(He had died and he had crawled out of his own grave and his first thought is of you.) 

But he only gets as far as wrapping the first layer around your palm before he pauses. 

And this time, you do recognize the way his pupils as he stares at the cut on your palm, the way his nostrils flare at the scent of blood.

And you realize that the first thing he did was ask you to run. 

(And you think about how gaunt he looks, how the skin is stretched so tight over his face that you could trace the curve of his skull.

You think about how, in the autopsy, they had taken out ihs organs, wrapped them in a black plastic bag and weighed them like they had never once sustained a life

You think about how he must be starving.) 

And you don’t move, don’t dare breathe, as he carefully unwraps your palm again. As he closes his eyes as if making a decision.

As he lifts your palm to his lips.

And he drinks. 

[xoxochb]

blurbs ✧˖°

. don’t blame me love made me crazy

. I was enchanted to meet you

. you are in love, true love

. but I know I had the best day with you today

. morning loneliness comes around when I’m not dreaming about you

. now he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me every night

. I would fall from grace just to touch your face

. do I love him? do I hate him? I guess it’s up and down

. a band aid and a kiss

. when you aim at the devil make sure you don’t miss!!

. kiss it better? part two

. promises part 2

. pro tip: don’t study with your boyfriend!!

. maroon

. sun kissed

. loverboy and hatergirl

. you drew stars around my scars

. like flowers in your hair

. he was a skater boy, she said ‘see you later, boy’

. she was a girl, he was an idiot

. days blend to one

. the little mermaid

. diet pepsi

. the morning after

. certified music addict

. domesticity

. silver soul

. trick r treat

. little miss clumsy

. I can see you

. hot summer nights, mid july

. ocean lovers

. my good looking boy

. this love is ours

. I walked with you once upon a dream

. infirmary’s favorite patient

. birthday offerings

. that one convo

. sunburnt

. assorted berries

. prettiest eyes (ever seen)

. new york city

. is it a crime to say I still miss you?

. saturdays are for sleeping in (or not) part two

. midnights like this

. inseparable idiot

. polar bears (or are they?)

. types of galaxies

. summer song

. cordiform pizzas just for you!

. hot as hell!

. horror geek of a girlfriend!

. ice cube of a girlfriend

. cabin three

fics ✧˖°

. a moment of warm sun

. looking at you got me thinking nonsense

. all because I liked a boy

. this love left a permanent mark

. to love a soul

. king of my heart

misc (hcs + series) ✧˖°

. sweet tea in the summer

. I’d stop the world and melt with you

. there is thunder in our hearts

. the one (master list) <- authors fav!

. feet on the dashboard, he’s like a poem I wish I wrote!!

. better than the movies (master list)

. random hcs

. untitled untitled 2 untitled 3

. cinnamon girl

. lust for life

. you must like me for me

. that silly tiktok trend

. rainbows, sunshine, and everything nice!

. here comes the sun

. pretty in pink

. wonderland (master list)

♬⋆.˚ — you came out of the blue like that!

[linxnnalyn]

sweetest of greetings <33 not sure if you ever got my request so i'll resend it, feel free to delete this one if my original rq got in !! can i request stormbringer cookie x god/dess of love!reader headcanons, bonus detail i'd like to add in there the reader is also associated with roses and bouquets the same way stormbringer is with lightning and the heaven splitter <33

thank you and have the sweetest of days!! <33

Stormbringer Cookie with a goddess of love! S/O

࣪𖤐.ᐟ note -> HAIIIIIII Stormbringer Cookie is one of my absolute favorite cookies I love her so much I just wanna eat her. Sorry this might not be good lol.

࣪𖤐.ᐟ warnings -> none.

࣪𖤐.ᐟ content includes -> fluff, sillies, Stormbinger is oblivious, love at first sight (for sb), flirting, she likes roses.

۫ ꣑ৎ Stormbringer Cookie is surprisingly quite inexperienced when it comes to love and romantic relationships. She is a powerful god so you would think she could easily get a partner but Stormbringer Cookie is quite picky with her taste and who she even gives the time of day.

۫ ꣑ৎ So when you came along she was immediately head over heels in love. Stormbringer Cookie doesn’t understand why she feels such a pull towards you and she doesn’t care, whatever the sky god wants the sky god will have, and having another god by her side as her equal makes things even better.

۫ ꣑ৎ Before the two of you started dating Stormbringer Cookie would show off every chance she got so she could impress you, she would be cheeky too. The deities would always facepalm whenever she does that, knowing she was completely oblivious to your own feelings for her. It’s so obvious with how obvious you are.

۫ ꣑ৎ She never really cared about roses before, she thought they were pretty but she didn’t care too much about them but once the two of you started dating? Stormbringer Cookie started to adore the flowers, even having a whole private garden of roses. She never knew love could make her love something so much.

۫ ꣑ৎ Stormbringer Cookie likes watching the love drama of the cookies below with you, especially if you are toying with the said cookies. She finds it funny how easily mortals succumb to love and all the drama that follows along. The two of you would often sit in one of the clouds, munching on some candied clouds as you two watch over the land cookies.

۫ ꣑ৎ Sometimes, when she’s particularly lovestruck lightning will crack in the sky with no warning, as if her emotions are too strong to be contained. The deities and even mortal cookies have learned to interpret the thunder as “The Sky God just saw her beloved again.”

۫ ꣑ৎ Stormbringer Cookie doesn’t know what to do with herself whenever you kiss her forehead. Like. She freezes. This powerful, commanding, lightning-slinging deity just. stops working. The skies pause. Thunder halts. You make her so soft and she doesn't know what to do about it.

۫ ꣑ৎ She wouldn’t admit it but she loves having you play with her hair and decorate it with roses. Stormbringer Cookie also appreciates when the mortal cookies put roses alongside her offerings as a way to respect you too, it surprisingly makes her more generous when it comes to granting wishes.

۫ ꣑ৎ Stormbringer Cookie never understood why you liked giving bouquets to others until you gave her one. Now she preserves every single one. Magically. She has a whole vault of your floral gifts, perfectly frozen in time, lovingly pressed into little glass cubes.

۫ ꣑ৎ She feels incredibly lucky to have you as her partner, the literal goddess of love. Stormbringer Cookie might not be the best when it comes to romance and all that shit but she shows that she cares in her own, Stormbringer Cookie ways.

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

⚔️ 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Greatbell Hammer
Weapon (maul or warhammer), very rare (requires attunement) ___ This hammer emits a deep, resonant toll whenever you hit a target with it, which is audible out to a range of 30 feet. A target hit with this hammer takes an extra 1d12 thunder damage from the attack; on a 12, you can immediately cast the “thunderwave” spell from the hammer (save DC 16). This version of the spell creates a 15-foot cone, rather than a cube, which originates from the hammer and must be in the direction of the target of the attack. A creature that fails the saving throw against the spell is also deafened for 1 minute. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[heartfullofleeches]

Fletchers reaction to foxboy willingly kissing him for the first time

Yan Farmer Rabbit + Fox Hybrid Reader

[Reader has no mentioned gender but they are referred to as wife]

-

"Damn it!"

The knife clatters to the kitchen floor with a dull thud. Chest heaving with each pain breath, you fall to your knees - shirt clutched painfully tight in your claws as wetness drips down your cheeks.

Three weeks... Three weeks you've lived with the farmer and he hasn't asked you to lift a finger. This is it.... isn't it? It's finally happening. You were a such an idiot to think it wouldn't. He's testing you... A trial to see how useful you'll be to him in the long run.

"Hey, Sweetness. Something came up down at the general store. Shouldn't be gone long, but- think you can cut up the potatoes for dinner while I'm out? It's not hard. I'll show you how to do it."

He made it look so easy. Each slice against the cutting board so neat, precise - perfect. Just like him. What does he want from you? Does he actually think you'll make for a good partner? You can't even cut up vegetables to save your own tail- Just what the hell does he want from you?!

"Hun? That you?"

Shit. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

You wipe at your eyes with the backs of your palms, scrambling to pick yourself off the floor before he sees you. He can't see you like this- The thunder of his footsteps fills you with a kind of terror you haven't felt since you got locked in that kitchen coop.

"Y/n?"

Your back hits the cupboard wall. Fletcher's large, imposing figure hovers at the door frame. Two steps into the kitchen is all it takes for him to march up to the table. To see your mistakes. Too thick. Too thin. Sliced indiead of cubed like he asked. The farmer takes a breath. He kneels down in front of you, hand perched on the tile a hairline away from your shivering legs.

"Hon-"

"Don't-" You bite. "Just don't..... I missed up. I always do. Why do you even want me here? I can't do anything right... I'm a terrible wife."

"Hey!-" Fletcher grips your shoulder, tugging you against his chest. "Don't you ever, ever talk about yourself like that. You're fine. It's okay. All you need is a little practice. Just calm down."

Liar- He's a fucking liar. "What if I don't get better with practice?! What if all I ever am to you is dead weight?"

Fletcher kisses the top of your head, voice small - crushed by the sounds of your sobs against his chest. "That's fine with me too, Sweetheart.... That's fine with me too. I didn't bring you here because I wanted a maid. I just wanted you. That's all I have ever wanted since I laid eyes on you. I love you- Always have, always will."

His hold on you lessens as your whines and sniffles crawl to a still. Your puffy eyes cross his as you lift your head from his chest. He tries to smile - delicately raising his enormous paw to the fuzzy flesh of your cheek. He rests his nose against yours - just like he always did when he was trying to comfort you or feel a connection, lips inches from yours.

"Whether you can dice up a thousand potatoes or not at all. Even if you make a mess of everything you touch. I'll always be here for you no matter what. I'll always love you - no matter what."

Your arms creep up to his neck, the space between you null as your lips ghost over his. Fletcher stiffens, unsure - fearful of scaring you off now if he takes the dive for you. And so you take it-

The kiss is hesitant. Gentle as the hand stroking at your back, washing away any doubts left of his conviction towards you. Tear drops fall at your skin, but you have none more to cry. Is he?... You pull away as the droplets drip from Fletcher's chin into his already stained tee.

"My bad." The farmer barks out a dry chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the flow. "Now's not the time to get emotional, but I just- I'm so glad to have you here. With me."

"I know... I'm glad to be here too now, but um... Fetch?"

"Yeah?"

Your ears lay flat against your skull as your stomach whines in hunger. "Can we... finish up with dinner now?"

The laugh Fletcher bellows is far less restrained. "Sure. What kind of man would I be if I let my wife starve? I'll tell you some more tricks will we're at it. You'll be a head chef in no time, sweetheart.... And even if you aren't - I'll cherish you all the same."

[lovekabaneri]

TF Monster hunter AU fic "In hindsight"

I wrote a new fic inspired by @keferon TF Monster hunter AU.

Here's a link to AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63512290

Summary: Basically Brainstorm and Quark watch a conspiracy tv show about ancient monsters and as a mech of science, Brainstorm is dismissive of all the crazy theories. He laughs and says it is just bogus… only to end up discovering vorns later that these theories were true and it was actually him.

[extension announcement]

[Next story =>]

Story:

Brainstorm was a mech of science and cold, hard facts. And a bit of an ego, and maybe a bit of a crazy scientist streak… alright and maybe a bit too ready to test the limits of what is possible. You get the point.

Because of his personality, he was not very liked both in the academy and the scientific field, yet… even a mech like him managed to somehow find love. He and Quark were fellow students and then co-workers, they had worked together for many vorns, so it was weird to him how he still could not understand how Quark could fall in love with him. Before he could make sense of it all, he and Quark were conjux and moving in together.

………………………..

It was one of those slow and gloomy days on Cybertron, the night was dark with clouds blocking the sky and absolutely POURING outside, so the streets were empty of all traffic. It was a quiet time.

*Du-dun-dudu-du~!*

Music was playing from the screen in their shared hab, the sound loud and clear enough to be recognizable from all the way to Breinstorm’s little lab at home. A mix of dramatic tomes and techno music – absolutely gating on Brainstorm’s audials.

“Ugh! That thing again.” – he groaned and got up.

It was obvious he was not going to get any work done, with the annoying show now on and Quark really enjoyed watching it a lot, so he couldn’t really tell his conjux to turn it off, so he got out of his little lab and headed for the living area to get himself a cube of energon and maybe sit together with Quark.

“Oh, so you decided to finally come out of your lab, Storm?” – Quark was already sitting on the couch with a cube of energon in one servo.

“Well, not like I would have been able to do much at the moment. I still don’t understand why you watch this thing.” – Brainstorm said but sat down beside his conjux and settled comfortably as the show was starting.

“What? It is fun and I like watching all the ridiculous conspiracies they talk about – it is a good way to relax. If I remember correctly, you were also laughing last time we watched Cybertron Dismantled.” – Quark quirked an optic ridge.

“W-well… How can I not laugh at their stupidity?! They were talking complete bogus!” Brainstorm gestured at the TV “Magic? Immortals and Gods walking among us? A monster living in one of the seven oil pools near Cyplex? And don’t get me started on those supposed ‘monsters’ and ‘demons’! The Spark Eaters! We learned about the Age of Hunters in the academy. All those so-called monsters were just different types of beastformers. Like Grimmlock.” – he ranted, almost spilling his energon.

“Haha! You sound even more invested than me in this show with the way you are talking about it.” Quark laughed and put a servo on his conjux’s shoulder “Now, shush, it is starting.”

With a grumble, Brainstorm quieted down and just drank his energon.

On the screen, the theme song and introduction was finally done, the glyphs spelling out the show’s name flashed one last time before the feed cut to a darkened studio with two mech figures sitting in the dim light. Lights turned on, but unlike previous broadcasts, the studio was made to look like a room with a projection on the wall, making it look like they were standing by an open window with a storm outside. There were even occasional flashes and fake thunder sound, reminding the viewers of the storm currently outside.

[Good day or night, dear viewers. It is me, your host, Skidtrace.] – a flashy brown and gold mech with a dark visor smiled, his dentae glinting even in the low light.

[And I am Tsoul, the truth seeker…] – the second mech said, being more muted color of black and light green with facial markings and a distinctly spiky helm shape.

[And we are here, LIVE from our studio to share with you the TRUTH! In today’s episode OF-]  -Skid trace bedan.

[[CYBERTRON DISMANTLED!]] – the two said, with Tsoul being quieter and Skidtrace almost shouting.

Brainstorm winced a bit at the loud noise while Quark smirked from his side – the traitor!

[As you have noticed, we have decided to do something a bit different, compared to our usual broadcasts.] – Skidtrace gestured to the background.

[In theme with the current acid rain sweeping the region, we have decided to discuss a ‘being’] Tsoul made air quotes with his digits [That many of you, fellow seekers of truth, might have only vaguely heard about.]

[This episode is dedicated to a lesser-known story from the region of the Lithium flats and the surrounding areas like Vos, Nyon and Tarn. It is said than on stormy nights like these, where acid rains pelter the planet and electric storms light up the skies, a lone figure could be seen zipping through the clouds, the sound of thunder following it as it chases the lightning and tears through the skies! The legendary Thunderbird!] – Skidtrace said enthusiastically.

[It is quite an ancient legend, coming from the Age of Hunters or the ‘Dark Ages’ as some have started calling it in recent times.] Tsoul said with a composed tone, unlike his fellow showrunner [Today we are going to look through the many facts and myths and reveal to you the truth about this ‘mythical beast’. What is it? Could it be real? Or is it something that the government is trying to hide?]

[What are you talking about, Tsoul? Of course it is real! It is one of my favorite stories from home, before I came here to Polyhex! A mysterious beastformer from ancient times, a mythical being even! Flying through the acid rains like it is nothing, bringing with it lightning and thunder!] – Skidtrace gasped in mock offence.

[I know you are biased, being from the area, but we are a reputable source of information and we have to work with facts.] -Tsoul levelled his co-host with a look.

“Feh, yeah right, facts! Nothing factual about made-up conspiracies.” – Brainstorm scoffed.

“Shh! It is getting interesting and I am actually invested in this Thunderbit thing now. Maybe it is some kind of recluse beastformer, living away from civilization or maybe even an undiscovered species.” – Quark said, humoring the show but also honestly interested to see where it is going.

“Quark, you can’t be serious, there’s no creature that can do all that they are saying-]

[You should be aware that a living creature like the Thunderbird can’t exist, not even some of the bravest seekers would dare brave the storms, considering what kind of damage the acid rain and lightning can do to a mech.] – Tsoul continued.

“See, even the crazy guy agrees!” – Brainstorm exclaimed, only to be shoved by Quark.

[Then how do you explain all the myths, sightings and, this time, actual historical proof!] – Skidtrace fired back.

This was their usual routine most of the time, the two hosts having radically different conspiracy theories and trying to convince the audience theirs was right. Skidtrace leaning way into the ancient mythos or magic, gods and the unexplained. Tsoul leaning more to the sci-fi side of things like parallel dimensions, aliens and so on.

[Oh, what is that proof? Other than the very blurry pictures that we have found buring our research? None of which are clear enough to see much, considering they were taken during heavy storms.] – Tsoul gestured to the background.

The projection of a window was replaced by a conspiracy board with different blurry pictures on it. The two hosts started discussing the pictures and the smudged shapes on it, arguing about whether it was actually a bird or a shuttle doing an emergency flight, or maybe an UFO.

[Well, take a look of this, dear viewers! And Tsoul.] Skidtrace said dramatically, adding his partner’s name as an afterthought [With the help of some of my fellow mystic enthusiasts, I got access to a special piece of evidence from the Cybertronian museum of history!]

Then the doors to the studio opened and a few bots with the mark of the museum wheeled in a display cart. A mech that was obviously someone important followed them close by, watching with a careful optic as they brought in the covered cart.

[Dear viewers, say hello to Dictatus, one of the lead curators of the museum!] – Skidtrace introduced.

“Wow, maybe this time they do have actual proof? If the museum really is sponsoring this…” – Quark muttered to himself

“Eh, at least it is better than the ‘ghost’ episode we watched. How ridiculous, the spirits of dead mechs return to the Well, they don’t haunt things. The apparitions were obviously trick of light or due to radiation. And the noises were either from faulty machinery in the abandoned building or due to a scraplet infestation.” – Brainstorm scoffed.

“Yes, maybe that was so, but you have to admit it was a fun episode. You have to admit there are still thing unknown to us out there, ‘Storm.” Quark looked at his conjux “It is why we both became scientists, right? To challenge the boundaries and discover the unknown.”

“Yes, you are right-“

“Plus, it is really fun watching all the crazy theories fly around! It would be SO ridiculous if at least ONE turns out to be true! I know all my colleagues would short-circuit because of it.” – Quark couldn’t help but chuckle as he imagined some of his more annoying colleagues glitch and stutter.

“That is very unlikely to ever happen, but I do have to say I would like to see it.” – Brainstorm added.

As they watched, it turned out the mech known as Dictatus had only come to the show to promote the new exhibition his sector of the museum was doing. It was free advertisement and they would actually get a small sum as compensation for their time, so the museum won in said deal, only having to show on a conspiracy show to collect all the benefits.

“Judging by his face, I don’t think Mr. Curator is too happy to be there.” – Brainstorm remarked.

[And now, for the grand reveal!] Skidtrace gestured and pointed at the cart dramatically [Witness, the indisputable proof of the Thunderbird!]

The cart was uncovered and the camera zoomed in on the item inside the cart display, protected by a thick glass case. Inside was a carefully preserved, if quite weathered, old poster. Both Brainstorm and Quark couldn’t help but lean closer to inspect the piece on display. It looked to be made of old parchment, the kind they used in ancient times before they had datapads, it was a miracle it had survived for so long. On it were ancient glyphs that were faded and a bit smudged. Neither of them could read what was written in the old language, but it was clear it was a wanted poster, judging by the pictures and reward money written below, looking all too similar to current day ones. The picture was also more of a sketch than an actual picture, since photos were not available at the time of its making.

“That is-“ – Brainstorm began.

“Yeah?” – Quark’s eyes focused intently on the screen.

“That’s one really weird and fragged-up looking bird.” – he finished.

“Brainstorm!” – Quark shoved him.

“What?! You know I am not lying!” – he poked his conjux back.

And it really was very weird looking beastformer of some kind. Its root mode was all weird, had a yellow beak-like mouth, sparking eyes, yellow claw-like servos and some weird growths? They were on its back, on its arms and dangling from its back. It stood all odd and hunched, the most normal thing were probably its pedes, since they were at least normal. The drawing next to it was supposedly what its alt mode was supposed to look like-

And it was even weirder! Somehow! It looked like a bird beastformed but with the wrong shape – the beak was too long, the eyes in the wrong angle, int body too flattened, had somehow gained 2 smaller wings by its head along with the two deformed-looking wings that were WAY too far back, again, there were odd growths sticking out of a few places and some long strands dangling along its back.

“This… This doesn’t make any sense! There’s no way such a being would be able to fly!” – Quark pointed at the second drawing.

“See! What did I tell you – bogus!” – Brainstorm crossed his servos.

[As you can see, the fact that the Order of Primus – the biggest hunter organization at that time issued an official wanted poster of the Thunderbird! If you could introduce us to what has been written on this relic from the past, sir Dictatus?] – Skidtrace gave the word to the curator.

[Of course. It is a pretty rare specimen and time took its toll on the pigments used to write this, but we’ve managed to translate the message. It says: “Wanted! Dead or alive. Monster bird of thunder and lightning. Highly dangerous. Reward 100 000 credits.” Or at least that’s the best translation we could make from what’s left of this wanted poster. Apparently, this individual was tr-] – Dictatus started explaining.

[Yeah, yeah! I get it all that, BUT! What’s more important is to ask- Is this REALLY the mythical Thunderbird?!] – Skidtrace rudely interrupted the curator.

[Yes…] Dictatus almost revved his engine, just by looking at his faceplate it was clear he was not happy to be interrupted so rudely [There is no actual mane put on the poster, since the so-called ‘monsters’ were never called by their names, but the description of ‘bird of thunder and lightning’ could be also called Thunderbird.]

[Here you have it, viewers! An irrefutable proof of the Thunderbird’s existence!] – Skidtrace declared.

[Heh, I would not be so sure, dear colleague.] Tsoul finally joined the discussion [Just look at the drawings, at the odd way your ‘Thunderbird’ looks. Such a creature could never fly, not to mention live for so long!]

[But-] – Skidtrace began.

[BUT I have a much more plausible theory as to this ‘being’s’ existence!] Tsoul stood up and started walking, the camera followed him [As you know, back then majority of mechs were monoformers, unlike today when all have developed the ability to transform into an alt mode, even having triple changers in rare cases. Back then, the fearful, more primitive mechs labeled beastformers as monsters, solely because they were different, as a way to explain it to themselves, they blamed some sort of dark force for their abilities. So, what do you think they thing of something unknown? Are you following me?]

[Uh… no?] – Skidtrace scratched his heml.

[What I am trying to say is that this ‘monster’is no monster at all! The mechs of that time saw something odd, unexplainable, so they made it into something they could understand easily – a bird beastformer. But, no! It was not a beastformer! It was a SPACESHIP!] -  Tsoul suddenly proclaimed.

[What?! How can it be a spaceship?! They didn’t even have electricity back then!] – Skidtrace countered.

[That’s exactly it! THEY had no way of knowing what a ship was, so they called it a weird bird monster! Look at these! These look kind of like the wings of a shuttle! And these ‘growths’ in the back – they are fuel cables! Or charging diodes! Maybe the reason it was flying through the storm was to recharge its engine with the electricity from the lightning! The ancient mechs connecting that to the ‘bird’ actually bringing the storm. They were quite superstitious back then.]  - Tsoul nodded his helm.

At this point, the museum workers looked on the verge of just packing and leaving the two show hosts to argue.

[Then what are you suggesting?] – Skidtrace scowled at his partner.

[This is no living being! It is a spaceship! ALIENS!] Tsoul said loudly [An advanced race from another planet, much more developed than our own visited Cybertron in the times of yore and THIS is one proof of such aircraft being seen by our ancestors and written off as another of the ‘monsters’ that were being hunted at the time.]

The show then devolved into a very heated discussion of which conspiracy theory was the ‘correct’ one – whether it is some mystical monster or actual advanced alien life that the government is hiding. At some point, the museum staff just packed their things and stormed off in frustration all while Skidtrace and Tsoul argued about Monsters vs Aliens.

Quark had a good laugh at the crazy conspiracies that were shared and also because at some point Brainstorm started arguing back th the screen how stupid the hosts were.

“Ugh! I can’t believe I lost so much time on this stupid show!” – Brainstorm grumbled.

“Come on, you liked it! I also had a good laugh, so I can’t say our time was wasted. You got really into it at one point~” – Quark teased.

“Don’t remind me! There’s no way such a thing could have ever existed. Neither the mystic monster, not the so-called alien spaceship! It was just a bunch of nonsense and no one just pointed the obvious that maybe the artist was really bad at drawing pictures!” – Brainstorm pointed out and received a laugh from Quark.

……………………………

It would be vorns later, when Quark started getting sick and was diagnosed with an incurable spark disease, that Brainstorm did the unthinkable.

He managed to invent a time machine and went back in time to the ‘Dark Age’ to try and save the one called Perceptor, in hopes of using his research and equipment to help cure his conjux.

He found the mech… only to discover Perceptor was a Spark Eater, a deadly monster only heard in horror stories and fiction, and that he was on the verge of starvation. Needless to say, Brainstorm was lucky that he survived the attack. Then, he realized that Perceptor did not have any advanced equipment, HE himself was the equipment used to detect (or more correctly taste) the defects in sparks.

After that, a lot of things happened – the two were chased by the hunters as heretics, they ended up having to run for their lives and eventually ended on a crew of monsters that were looking for a safe haven. Brainstorm might have been a bit stuck, since his machine got damaged in his initial scuffle with Perceptor, but the two worked well together to develop a cure for Quark. Life was going well.

……………………………..

One day, Brainstorm and Drift had to go to a nearby town to get supplies for their travels. The two donned robes and cloaks to hide themselves. The cumbersome, restrictive material felt awful on Brainstorm’s wings but it was not like he could go without it. He was too recognizable and different from the monoform mechs of the time.

They were passing by stalls offering different types of crystals and metal when Brainstorm noticed a board with different sheets of parchment nailed to it. He approached out of curiosity, noting the different notices posted on it and… the wanted posters…

Criminals, crooks, murderers and ‘monsters’ like those in his crew. It was then that he noticed IT. It was a familiar-looking poster from his memory files. He had seen it long ago on the TV, but this one was brand new. All the glyphs were clearly visible and no parts were smudged or faded. Brainstorm had quickly learned this time’s language and writing system to be able to work with Perceptor and the others, so he was immediately able to translate the poster.

“Wanted! Dead or alive. Monster bird of thunder and lightning speed. Highly dangerous and fast. Travels with a group of other dangerous monsters and a titan. Reward 100 000 credits.” – he read to himself.

It was then that it hit him. The ‘fragged-up’ bird he mocked on TV was HIM! And that ‘weird growth’ was actually Perceptor clinging to his back for dear life! The memory was still fresh in his processor – the two were chased by hunters and were cornered, the storm was coming and Perceptor was injured, so Brainstorm had been forced to reveal his jet alt form and fly to safety. Poor Perceptor had wrapped his prehensile limbs around his frame and was clinging for dear life the whole flight. Obviously not used to a jet’s high speed. And the ‘thunder’ was him breaking the sound barrier for a second in his haste.

‘Well, as they say hindsight is 20/20. When I get back and Quark hears about all this, he’ll probably collapse from laughing too hard, especially after learning most of the conspiracy theories turned out to be true.’ – Brainstorm thought.

“Hey, ‘Storm! Hurry up and get your aft moving! We have errands to do!” – Drift pulled him away from the wanted poster.

“Alright, alright! Don’t pull me so hard.” – he grumbled and followed the younger beastformer.

He was going to get the cure, fix his time machine and return to Quark. He was a genius, one of the smartest mechs out there and failure was NOT an option for him!