Now that I seen the post about CatNap saving an employee because they got attached, it got me thinking a new idea, (idk why but I just love The Hour of Joy, like, it's an interesting event that nobody tries to explore it enough) What about a DogDay one, where of course he participated (because every toy participated in this) and was in the playhouse where he found his caretaker hurt, but alive (aka, the reader. And since you treated every toy kindly because you suspected that they were more than toys, you through they were robots with a very advanced program) so DogDay holds them, trying to not go crazy and helps his caretaker, and protects them. (That's all, if you don't want to make it's fine, I love how you write! Have a good night/day!)
🌤️ — I think people doesn't pay attention to The Hour of Joy because there's not much to review. to be honest, it's difficult for me to describe this event myself
🌤️ — but heyy, I don't mind writing this, so enjoy!
°.✩┈┈∘*┈୨୧┈*∘┈┈✩.°
❝ At the wrong time, in the wrong place. ❞
— FANDOM: POPPY PLAYTIME.
— PAIRING: DOGDAY x FACTORY EMPLOYEE!READER.
— PLATONIC.
— ONESHOT.
— TW: BAD ENGLISH, BAD GRAMMAR, OOC, SOFT ANGST, DESCRIPTION OF VIOLENCE, MENTION OF BLOOD, MENTION OF DEATH, I MEAN IT'S POPPY PLAYTIME OBVIOUSLY THERE WOULD BE VIOLENCE AND DEATH.
°.✩┈┈∘*┈୨୧┈*∘┈┈✩.°
You wipe the sweat from your forehead by waving your hand in front of you. It was a pretty hot day today, and air in the factory was stuffy.
You look around uninterestedly at the number of visitors gathered around the Huggy Wuggy, while the tour guide enthusiastically tells the visitors about the wonderful toys they can find here.
To be honest..You've always been bothered by the fact that none of the visitors seemed to care that the toys were too realistic, and they treated them like ordinary objects.
It's not like it's any of your business. You don't care about their opinions, your job is to keep an eye on the condition of the toys at the factory, at least a few of them.
He's a creepy guy. You don't understand why children like this creature with an unnerving smile. Especially since you've seen that he has a lot of teeth inside. It's strange that they were even added to him during creation..
As Playtime Co has assured you, the behavior of all the toys is nothing more than a program, even though it doesn't seem plausible. Maybe it was robots, that at least sounded more or less logical.
You look at your watch on your arm, checking the time; 10:48 a.m.
Hm, it's time for you to go check on the Smiling Critters toys. You've been entrusted with taking care of these guys, and you don't mind, considering that some of them are really cute, for toys.
It seems that everything is fine with Huggy, so you can probably go. Slowly, you turn around and walk back into the factory towards the staff door.
Unaware that in a matter of minutes, hell will break loose in the factory.
..?
You hear frightened screams and a crunching sound. Tensing up, you turn around and see a scene that makes your stomach turn and your lunch feel like it's about to come back up.
Huggy Wuggy's teeth were sunk into the neck of the customer standing next to him, the limp body hanging from his mouth as if it weighed nothing.
He quickly spat the carcass to the side, causing the body to fall to the floor with a thud, leaving a pool of blood, and as you watched, his body twitched and he ran towards the other people.
He had killed a human.
And he clearly had no intention of stopping.
— "What the hell..."
You muttered under your breath, feeling a surge of fear at the sight of your familiar toy tearing people in half.
People started to crowd, everyone tried to run in different directions, and countless people rushed past you, pushing you and each other in the hope that it would help them get out of here faster.
This should never have happened..
What is going on?
You started to panic quickly. The screams drowned out all the other sounds, both the fearful ones and the deathly ones. The bodies of your colleagues lay on the floor, either headless or smushed into the ground, leaving a trail of blood and gore in their wake.
The first thing that came to your mind was to run to the main entrance. It was the only way out of here, and there was no other exit in the factory. But as soon as you started moving, Huggy entered the doorway.
His gaze fell on you before slowly moving to the janitor next to you.
Crackle!
At an unrealistic speed, he ran inside, slashing at the people in front of him, forcing you to turn around and run in the opposite direction.
You ran, hearing the people dying behind you. Many people. The screams were so painful that you wanted to stop and cover your ears to avoid hearing them.
You didn't notice how you reached the stairs, your stomach pressed against the cold iron bars. As you tried to turn in the other direction, you noticed Huggy rushing towards you.
Before you can react, you lean too far over the edge of the stairs and fall, screaming.
Boom!
Pain. You feel an unbearable pain in your back and legs. When you try to open your eyes, the light from the lamp hits them, but you see the familiar silhouette of Huggy watching you from above.
Apparently thinking you're dead, he turns around and leaves. You don't know where he's going. Probably to kill someone else.
You close your eyes again, feeling your eyes start to water. You've clearly broken something...
But you're more concerned about something else.
How are you going to get out of here?
As you try to turn over, using your elbows, you groan in pain, seeing a small pool of blood where you were lying. You don't even want to look at your wounds.
Taking a deep breath, you look around, and suddenly a siren sounds, warning you of danger, and the warm light from the lamps is replaced by a bright red light that stings your eyes.
You clench your jaw and bite your lower lip as you feel another wave of pain sweep through your body.
Gathering the last of your strength, you crawl deeper into the factory, relying on your hands to help you make it to the Playcare medical center.
You won't be able to climb the stairs. It's better than just lying there and waiting to die of pain or for someone to kill you.
------------
It's terrible. They're terrible.
You wince as you tighten the bandage on your leg, though..it's hard to call it a bandage, it's just a piece of your torn clothing. You had to keep leaning on a damn plank that probably broke off during this goddamn..
Rebellion, and you barely made it to Playcare, but you never made it to the medical center.
You would have liked to, but..There are too many toys wandering around. You were almost certain that sooner or later, you would be eaten. And you might have been.
...
You had to..Kill three small toys that attacked you. Armed only with a piece of glass, you stabbed several of them as they pounced on you. You tried to wipe the blood off on your clothes, but there was still a dirty crimson hue on your hands.
You don't have the strength to move on, so you try to find a safe place, and that's was Playhouse. There are no children or toys, just blood and bodies of death adults.
Hell, you're not even sure if you'll make it out alive...
..How did this happen? Why? You're tired of asking yourself this question, but you can't find an answer.
You rest your head on the cold brick wall, which is splattered with blood and has several bloody handprints, and close your eyes.
You've seen a lot of corpses on your way here, and you've seen some of the toys taking care of other employees and regular visitors from a distance.
It's a miracle that you're still alive..but it's also a nightmare, as you won't survive for long.
Is this really your destiny?..To die just like that? After walking a bunch of kilometers, at a cold wall, where will they find you sooner or later?
...
Time passes terribly slowly. Maybe an hour has passed, maybe more. When you came here, everything was already quiet, only somewhere in the distance you could hear footsteps and other sounds.
And in all this tense, frightening silence, you hear footsteps that are somewhere nearby.
You immediately open your eyes, but you wince, feeling pain in your back. Unable to stand, you look around, noticing how the light from the lamp reflects a silhouette on the floor. It's distorted, making it difficult to identify.
Though..what's the difference? Based on what you've seen, all the toys have gone mad.
You narrow your eyes, holding onto your leg, and wait with apprehension to see who will end your existence, which you've fought for.
A furry, large paw rests against the wall, and the familiar face of a dog toy emerges from around the corner.
DogDay.
Well. At least it's better than CatNap. You're hoping so.
His white irises, which were wandering around, stop on you, and you see them narrow.
He comes around the corner and starts approaching you. You've never felt that you'd be afraid of him out of all the toys..
He was one of your favorites, you might say. And, now you will die at his hands?..
Life is such an irony.
You closed your eyes, not wanting to feel fear as you watched him approach you..
However, instead of the expected pain and the end of your anxious thoughts, you felt the soft fur on your leg touching you.
If only you knew that he was just as confused as you were...
The Prototype said that those who were responsible for their suffering should be killed. Not innocent people. The children were also taken away, and DogDay is certain that they were not taken to the exit.
So it was all a lie? The toys were just massacring people in the factory? Not revenge, but genocide?
— "..."
— "I'm sorry.."
His voice is raspy, making you flinch and open your eyes. He looms over you, his shoulders hunched, and although his expression is unchanging, you believe that there is pain hidden behind his smile.
DogDay carefully lifts you into his trembling arms, taking care not to disturb your body's position. You struggle to free yourself from his grasp, causing him to shake his head with a sigh.
— "Don't move, I can see that you're already seriously injured."
Holding you close, he turns around and begins walking towards the exit of the Playhouse.
At first, you remain silent, too frightened and tired, but you can't help but ask.
— "What was that?.."
He doesn't respond immediately, taking a moment to pause before replying in a somber voice.
— "..They call it The Hour of Joy."
Meaningless, merciless, and disappointing...
He knows that helping you won't be enough to forgive him, but it will at least provide him with personal solace.
— "Everything will be fine, just..wait until we'll find safe place."
— "Please, don't close your eyes.."
..:*･ﾟ☆.｡.:*･ﾟﾞ｡.:*･ﾟ☆.｡.:*･ﾟ🌤
🌤️ — if I got paid for writing creepy oneshots with The Hour of Joy, I wouldn't be rich, but it's funny that it happened a few times.
🌤️ — I spent most of the description about how this meeting would have happened, rather than the actual meeting with DogDay, hope you don't mind. aand hope you like it, have a good day ☀️
“He’s not a baby.” Dogday mutters into his pillow. He’s half asleep, yet somehow can glare at the pup in your arms with his eyes still closed. “Should sleep in his own bed.”
“Says the overgrown kid in who crawled into my bed the first thunderstorm that rolled through here.” You retort. Dogday just huffs at you, rolling over to face away like he doesn’t have his legs all tangled with yours. “Besides, he’s my baby.”
Peanuts gives the tiniest ‘awo’ you’ve ever heard him make, buried so deep into your arms he feels almost like an extension of yourself. Each soft rumble of thunder shakes the house, shakes him too, as he trembles.
Dogday shuffles so his back presses to your side. You roll towards him, tucking Peanuts between the two of you, caging him in warmth and heart that beat with love for him. The pup eases near instantly, tired eyes lidded as safety replaces the fear. No loud noises can get him when he's protected by the both of you.
And in the morning, when you wake up to find Dogday clutching you and Peanuts to his chest, you find that similar sense of safety and love curling within your heart. Nothing could touch you, so long as you all stayed together.
Your fingers ran over half healed stitches, checking the condition of the surrounding fabric. The rain pattering softly against the roof created a background symphony to the rhythmic thump thump thump of Dogday’s tail against your side. Insistent and ever present.
The bigger toy had practically thrown himself from the couch when he heard the rain start up, begging you to go outside. Of course, you weren’t taking any precautions, and forced him to let you check his stitching before he got himself soaked with rain water and mud.
“Now can I go?” He asked for the fourth time, prompting you to sigh and stand from your crouched position.
“Yes, Dogday, you can go now–” Before you even had a chance to do much of anything, he bolted past you and through the front door. “Stay in the front yard!” You called after him.
The only response you received was a joyful ”WOOP!” and the sound of splashing water as Dogday landed in the biggest puddle he could find. You were definately going to have to hose him off later.
Hi! I’m not sure if the check means request are open or not but I was wondering if I could request a Dogday x reader where the reader is “the angel” a symbolic and powerful figure (kinda like the avatar from atla) and Dogday is a prince getting ready to be crowned king. They just ended the war against the prototype and they just finished the parade in the crews honor. The reader is on the balcony and they look wonderful and they are staring out at the party down below and the starry sky up above then Dogday comes to check on them and they have a sweet romantic moment together and they talk about how weird it is that this war they’ve fought there whole lives is finally over and then they get interrupted by the rest of the crew coming to get them!
Anyway I hope it’s not too much to ask! Thank you so much!
Sound Of Peace
Pairing: Dogdayxgn!reader
Warnings/Tags: Established relationship, fluff, short oneshot, pet names, second person pov, swearing, reader is called gorgeous but not in a gendered way
Words: 803
A/N: Hello! Yes! the checkmark means requests are open and thank you for submitting one this one sounded super sweet!
Menu | AO3
Many years ago, war had plagued the land. There was no end in sight until today. You, a powerful figure of hope, had a part to play, and you played it well. You aided your allies until the very end. And now you were here. At a celebration thrown in your and your friend's honor. All of you relished in the praises and cheers, especially Dogday, who was to be crowned king. After that, your adventures together would come to an end.
Poppy noticed the shift on your face while you were lost in thought. She lightly nudged your leg and gave a comforting smile. You have a small smile before returning your attention to the people waving at them.
The celebration wasn't over just yet, and your town is known for throwing celebrations that lasted for weeks. Once you reached the final destination, the carriage came to a halt in front of the palace. You've been here a few times considering your relationship with Dogday, but it felt so surreal seeing it decorated in your honor.
Dogday helps you out of the carriage, and you both walk hand in hand up the stairs, Kissy and Poppy right behind you. As you enter the walls of the palace, suddenly everything feels suffocating, too loud, and too bright. Even during the celebratory banquet, you were so out of it, your anxiety and fears ate through you. If only the people could know their Angel too had their own problems.
“Excuse me, I'll be back.” You excused yourself, walking down the long, unfamiliar corridor. Each photo on the wall depicted a time in history of the Dogday's family reign. Generations upon generations of royalty ran through his blood, then there was you…
It didn't matter how much power or status you had. You didn't have the right blood streaming through your veins, and that made things difficult.
The guards opened the double doors to the balcony. Down below were screams and cheers of your name. Lifting your head up, you wave, only making the crowd grow more vigorous.
“There you are, my angel.” Dogday wraps his arms around you, earning awes from the crowd. You laugh, trying to squirm away from him, but his grasp on you was tight, possessive, and grounding. He was always your source of comfort, even during the most grueling of times.
“I just needed some air is all, my love,” you replied. The night was hot. Your forehead grew damp. Dogday takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and lightly dabs your forehead. You grow flustered.
“Sorry… I'm so gross.” You breathed. Dogday shakes his head. Once he was done drying you off, he folded and put his handkerchief back in his pocket.
“Oh, enough of that, my love. I could never be disgusted by you.” He takes your hand and twirls you around. “And look at how stunning you are! My gorgeous angel.” Dogday leans in, giving you a soft kiss on your lips. For a second, it felt like it was just the two of you, the sounds of cheer drowned out, and the only thing you could hear was how loud your heart was.
Dogday hesitantly pulls away, then looks up. You follow his gaze and turn your face towards the sky. The stars seemed to glow just a bit brighter tonight, maybe out of celebration?
“It's so weird,” you take his hand in yours. “The war against the prototype is over after so long… now you can be crowned king.” You swallow hard, knowing everything will change once he takes his pledge to his people. Dogday reassuringly squeezes your hand, his tail wagging, making his tail coat swish along with him.
“And you will be the monarch by the king's side, of course.” He goes in for another kiss. “GUYSSS!” Poppy and Kissy rush to where you're standing. “There you two are! Come on, it’s time to dance with the others!”
Poppy grabs you by the hem of your outfit and tries to pull you back into the palace with all her strength. You laugh, picking her up and placing her on your shoulder.
“No need to worry. We're coming, guys,” you affirmed. Just down below, the crowd began to grow rowdy again seeing the whole crew together. All of you wave before returning into the palace once more. You let out a heavy sigh once the doors close behind you.
“Are you alright now?” Poppy asks as you four return to the banquet hall. You smile and nod. “Yep, I just needed some fresh air.” You glance back at Dogday, he looks away, and a slight blush forms on his muzzle. Despite the battle scars and injuries, to him, you were more than just “the angel.” You were his angel, and that will never change.
The dinner table was set in awkward silence, the tension between them thick enough to choke on—though, ironically, that would soon become literal.
Lena sat across from Mark, her former brother-in-law. “Former” in every way except legally, thanks to a technicality in her sister’s estate that still bound them together in shared financial matters. They loathed each other, barely tolerated these mandatory meetings, and only conversed when necessary.
Tonight was no different. A bland exchange of words, thinly veiled barbs between bites of food.
Until Lena sucked in a sharp breath, her expression shifting from irritation to something more alarming. Her hands shot to her throat. A strangled cough escaped her lips. Then another. Then—nothing.
She was choking.
Mark noticed, of course. But instead of immediate action, he sat back, an eyebrow arched, his lips curling into something close to amusement.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, watching as she lurched forward slightly, her eyes wide, panic flickering in them like a dying flame.
Lena slapped at her throat, then at the table, trying to signal to him. Mark exhaled through his nose, making no move to help.
“You always were dramatic,” he said flatly. “Come on, Lena. You’re smart. Handle it yourself.”
She stood abruptly, knocking her chair back. One hand clutched the table for support while the other clawed at her own throat. A strangled wheeze came from her lips, her face rapidly losing color.
Mark squinted at her. He knew he should move, should help—but some part of him hesitated, relishing this cruel reversal. How many times had she left him drowning in his own misery after his wife’s death, offering nothing but cold indifference?
Lena bent forward, trying to use the chair to perform the Heimlich maneuver on herself. She threw her weight against it once. Then again. It wasn’t working.
Mark sighed, watching the pathetic display. “Jesus, Lena. You really can’t do anything without making it a spectacle, can you?”
She turned desperate eyes toward him. Pleading.
Mark rolled his eyes but finally pushed back his chair. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Let’s get this over with.”
The moment stretched between them, suffocating in more ways than one. Lena’s body sagged in Mark’s grip, her knees barely holding her upright. Her lips were turning a deeper shade of blue, her fingers twitching weakly at her sides.
Mark’s frustration had long since melted into something sharper—fear. Real, tangible fear that he was about to watch her die.
“Goddammit, Lena,” he gritted out, adjusting his stance behind her. “Breathe, you stubborn—”
He locked his arms around her waist, planting his feet, and hauled upward with everything he had. A brutal, desperate Heimlich thrust.
Nothing.
Mark clenched his teeth and did it again, harder this time.
Still nothing.
His pulse hammered in his skull.
“Come on,” he hissed.
He bent his knees, bracing himself, and with every ounce of strength he had left, he pulled her into one final, vicious thrust.
Lena’s body jolted, her spine arching, and then—
A wet, retching sound.
A piece of half-chewed food shot from her mouth, bouncing off the floor with an unceremonious splat. Her body convulsed, but no gasp followed. No desperate inhale.
She crumpled.
Mark barely caught her as she slumped backward against him, her weight nearly knocking them both to the floor.
She wasn’t breathing.
For half a second, his brain refused to process it. The food was out. She should be fine. She should be coughing, cursing, shoving him away.
But her chest was still. Her lips remained blue.
His stomach dropped.
“Oh, no,” he whispered.
Lowering her to the ground, he forced himself into motion, tilting her head back, checking her airway. Empty. But her chest wasn’t rising. No breath came.
Mark clenched his jaw, pressing two fingers to her throat.
No pulse.
His blood ran cold.
“Lena!” His voice cracked, raw with something he didn’t want to name.
He didn’t hesitate. His hands found the center of her chest, fingers lacing together, and he started compressions.
“One… two… three… four…” His voice was barely above a whisper, breathless, counting each press against her sternum.
“Breathe, dammit.”
He tilted her head back, sealed his lips over hers, and forced air into her lungs. Her chest rose, but there was no reaction.
Mark grit his teeth, launching back into compressions. His arms ached, his breathing ragged, but he didn’t stop.
“Don’t you dare die on me.”
Another breath. Another set.
The room spun around him, narrowing to the rhythmic push of his hands against her chest.
“One, two, three, four, five—”
He gave her another breath.
Still nothing.
Mark let out a shaky breath, swallowing down the panic that clawed at his throat. He steeled himself and started again.
“One, two, three—”
Suddenly—
Lena jolted, her body seizing as she gasped in a sharp, desperate breath.
Mark jerked back as she started coughing violently, her entire body shuddering with the force of it. He sat frozen, panting, watching as color slowly returned to her face.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just the sound of her ragged breathing, his own pounding heartbeat, and the distant hum of the kitchen light.
Lena finally turned her head, her bloodshot eyes locking onto his.
“You—” Her voice was barely a rasp, but the glare she managed was pure venom. “You took your goddamn time.”
Mark let out a sharp, humorless laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face. Relief hit him like a sledgehammer, though he refused to acknowledge it.
“Next time, try chewing,” he shot back, though the usual malice in his voice felt half-hearted.
She groaned, flopping onto her back. “Next time, just let me choke.”
Mark exhaled, shaking his head as he pushed himself to his feet.
“Nah,” he muttered, flexing his sore hands. “You’re not getting off that easy.”
And for once, neither of them had a snide remark to follow.
MMMMM YES now this is the stuff I love to see!! What a treat!
conscious choking in public, heimlich maneuver/abdominal thrusts, back slaps, one victim (F), one rescuer (M)
‘here :)’ Violet sent a text to the group chat, letting her girlfriends know she was the first one to arrive. She looked around, tossing her brown wavy hair over her shoulder and walked up to the bar, ordering a caesar. She thanked the bartender and started a tab. It was that kind of night. A recent breakup with her long term partner Adam had her feeling…complicated. They were growing in different ways and still cared for each other, but were better off as friends, not lovers. Still, it hurt and was painful, and Violet needed a distraction.
Violet took a sip of the caesar, enjoying the savoury drink, waiting for her girlfriends. She enjoyed people watching. She scanned the crowd, recognizing some familiar faces. But one stood out in particular. Her stomach dropped and she spluttered on her drink, coughing, wiping her chin clumsily.
Adam. He approached, a lopsided smirk lifting the right side of his mouth, bringing out his dimples. “Am I dreaming, or is that-”
“What are you doing here Adam?” Violet demanded, trying to regain some composure, a tickle still stuck in her throat. She downed at him, anger simmering in her chest. He stared at Violet, incredulous. “It’s a small town Violet, there’s like three bars total, we were bound to run into each other eventually” he said, tilting his head. He looks Violet up and down, taking in her black dress, wavy brown hair and makeup, “why, what are you doing here? Are you on a date?”.
Violet blushed, fidgeting with her phone. Where are my friends? Violet thinks to herself, feeling annoyed. “I’m meeting the girls here for drinks” she mumbled, “then we’re going to watch my coworker’s band perform across the street”. Adam smiled, genuinely pleased. Violet suppressed an eye roll. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m heading there too, small world. I know the drummer.” Adam said.
Violet stared at him; “Yeah Adam, I know you know the drummer” she snapped. His face fell. Violet didn’t mean to be rude, but she was really looking forward to this distraction from heartache tonight. She sighed, gripping her caesar glass. Violet shook her head, “sorry” she mumbled. They locked eyes and Adam’s lower lip pouted. “Wow, an apology, was that so hard Vi?” he sneered. Violet could hear the joking tone, but she wasn’t in the mood.
Violet rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Adam” she scoffed. She raised the caesar glass to her lips and downed the rest of it, more for something to do than anything else, hoping the conversation would end. She picked up the garnish spear from the empty glass and popped an olive into her mouth, holding it on her tongue, focusing on the salty flavour, trying to ground herself. Someone bumped into her from behind, knocking her forward in her seat, squeezing her against the bar top for a moment. It wasn’t intentional, or particular rough, but it was just enough to make her current situation worse.
Suddenly, Violet couldn’t breathe properly. The olive had slid to the back of her mouth before she even had a chance to chew it, and perched at the top of her throat. The sensation surprised her, the briney flavour burning her nose. Violet focused, trying to move the olive back up with her tongue, but the slippery olive disobeyed her and slid further down, inching its way towards her airway. Panic flared inside of her, but Violet tried to stay calm. She kept her mouth closed and tried inhaling through her nostrils, but realized with horror that this was the wrong move as the olive slipped further back, seemingly in slow motion, and wedged itself fully at the top of her trachea, blocking any airflow.
Violet’s gag response activated, but nothing happened, other than an awkward shift in her seat. Her hands stilled at the edge of the bar top as she tried unsuccessfully to clear her throat. She was choking; honest god, full on choking. She couldn’t cough, breathe, or speak. She was scared, alarmed at how quickly things had escalated, how urgent and lethal it felt. Violet looked around and pulled at Adam’s sleeve, trying to get his attention back. Adam looked down at her, smirking.
“What’s up Vi, you good?” Adam asked, raising an eyebrow. Cocky asshole Violet thought to herself. Violet didn’t respond; rather, she seemed to curl in on herself and gag, but no noise came out. She raised a shaking hand to her chest and tried to swallow, a pained look spreading across her face. “Vi? Vi, you good?” Adam repeated, reaching out a hand to Violets shoulder. Violet didn’t respond. Maybe she didn’t hear him? “Hey, Violet, look at me…” Adam leaned in, frowning, concern flickering across his features. Violet wrapped her hands around her throat, mouth opening and closing, surprise replacing the pain on her face. She tried swallowing again, another silent grimace, then heaved without noise as if she were going to be sick. Violet slammed her right hand onto the bar, causing her empty glass to rattle, left hand still gripping her throat. She turned to Adam, frantic, pointing at her throat, mouth hanging open. Violet’s eyes brown eyes were wide and glassy, frantically searching Adam’s face, urging him to understand.
“Are you okay?” Adam asked, genuine concern in his voice, noting the energy shift between them after their banter. Their breakup had been painful for both of them, but amicable. He’d never seen Violet act like this before, and lord knows she never stayed silent longer than a few seconds. “Vi? Violet, are you okay?” Adam asked again, urgency lacing his voice. Violet shook her head no, hair falling into her face. Violet’s mouth open and closed, not a single noise, not seven a gasp escaping from her full lips. She closed her eyes and banged a fist to her chest, her cleavage peeking out the top of her black dress.
“Holy shit, you’re choking? You’re choking! Shit!” Adam exclaimed, standing up. Before Violet could even nod her head, Adam was pounding her back with his large hand, palm audibly smacking the bare skin between her shoulder blades. Violet rocked forward with each back slap, nearly toppling off her stool. She gripped the bar top and braced herself against the pounding on her back, still working to clear her airway, still silent, still suffocating.
Violet felt a flush spreading across her cheeks- lack of oxygen and embarrassment Violet thought unhelpfully to herself. Violet squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on clearing her airway, fingertips scrabbling at the tiny lump she could feel through the skin on her throat. “Vi! Vi, talk to me….” She heard Adam’s low voice urging her. Her eyes flew open, startled to see Adam leaning so close into her line of vision. Violet tried to talk, but her voice remained stuck behind the olive lodged in her airway.
A freaking olive. Violet was appalled at the absurdity of the situation; unable to breath because an olive was blocking her airway after she childishly downed her drink, at a bar waiting for her girlfriends to enjoy a couple drinks before starting their night out, only to choke and have her life relying on the hands of her ex. The universe is cruel sometimes Violet thought dully to herself.
“Vi! Violet, can you breathe?” Adam’s voice brought Violet back to the present. She looked into Adam’s concerned eyes and shook her head, pointing to her throat again. Adam disappeared behind her and she felt his arms slide around her waist, fingers frantically poking around her belly before settling above her naval. She braced herself, knowing that the Heimlich maneuver was coming. Adam thrust his fists up into Violet’s ribcage. Violet’s mouth opened in surprise; she would have called out in pain if she could pass any air.
Another painful thrust; Violet’s head flew back, knocking against Adam’s chest, lolling to the side as more abdominal thrusts racked her body. Yet her throat remained stubbornly blocked, still choking on the olive. Adam’s arms disappeared from around her, sending her toppling off her seat. She caught herself against the bar top, gripping it for support, half leaning, half standing. Violet was aware of how bizarre they must look right now; flustered and flushed, slumping over the bar, spit pooling in the corner of her mouth, thick brown hair thrown in waves around her shoulders, her ex alternating between pounding her back and delivering powerful Heimlich maneuvers into her aching abdomen.
Adam’s hand forced Violet’s face up towards his, his green eyes searching her face. “Violet, come on” he growled, opening her mouth and peering in. Violet grimaced, tapping Adam’s wrists, urging him back into action as she unsuccessfully tried coughing, her body heaving uselessly. Another round of firm back slaps between her shoulder blades. Violet noticed a bartender approaching, and was faintly aware of the small crowd that had gathered around them. Violet wanted to curl into a ball and die- don’t think like that she scolded herself, not now. The world lurched with each painful thrust Adam delivered into her aching tummy, her ribcage protesting with sharp pains. Pressure built behind her sternum, so close to bursting, her vision blurring with tears, when suddenly-
Pop!
A gag, followed by a desperate wheeze and a weak, unproductive cough. Violet grasped Adam’s strong arms still yanking into her waist, keeping her upright. “Vi? Vi, cough it out, that’s it, come on…” Adam urged, shaking her body with desperation. Violet jostled in his arms, dizzy and lightheaded, and tried to cough. A pitiful noise escaped her throat; the olive had shifted enough to allow some air to pass, but was still wedged firmly in her throat. Violet slapped her palm flat to her chest, desperate to clear her throat.
“I can’t- hurkkkk- get it- hngggg- out” Violet gagged out. Adam rubbed Violet’s back, but she needed more than that. She still couldn’t breathe properly. “Adam, h-help me, please-” her voice was cut off by a wet squelching sound, her airway convulsing, trying to rid the blockage from her throat.
Adam seems to understand and slammed her back several more times. Violet stamped her foot and slammed the bar counter in front of her, frustrated, scared, and angry. Violet drew in a shallow, ragged breath. She attempted a self-Heimlich maneuver, but Adam moved quickly. “No no, let me, here”. He stepped behind her once more and laced his fingers over hers, thrusting both of their fists up under Violet’s ribcage.
“Huckkkk”
Another thrust, “huggggff”
One more, “gckkkakkk”
And suddenly, the olive released itself from its lethal hold on Violet’s throat, popping out like it hadn’t just held her life in peril. It bounced onto the table in front of Violet, glistening in the low light of the bar, mocking her. Violet stared, appalled at how small it was.
Violet gasped a painful inhale, followed by a rough, dry cough. She wheezed, sagging in Adam’s arms. “Violet! Violet, stay with me…Violet?” His voice urged, lips brushing against her left ear. Violet panted, eyes closed, nodding her head, weakly patting his hands still wrapped around her waist. “Violet, talk to me. Vi? Vi, come on, breathe, you’re okay, you’re okay, just breathe…” Adam rambled, voice shaking, “…breathe, you’re good right Vi? Vi, say something, breathe, come on Violet, brea-”.
“I, I’m okay” Violet gasped out, cutting him off, voice shaky and weak. Violet felt a long exhale of relief leave Adam’s body, their bodies melting together. They stayed there for a moment, Adam’s arms keeping Violet upright, the back of her head resting on Adam’s chest, his chin resting atop her shiny brown waves. Violet’s knees were wobbly as oxygen returned to her with an intense head rush. “I’m dizzy” she mumbled, reaching for the bar and propping herself up on her elbows. She was aware of Adam’s reluctance to let her go, but she was overwhelmed by the intensity and the unexpected intimacy of her choking incident. She drew in a slow breath, throat burning, mouth watering, eyes squeezed shut tight as she tried to calm down. She dry heaved, and bile rose up her throat, but she swallowed it down. She dropped her forehead into her hands, chest heaving with each desperate inhale filling her greedy lungs.
“Let’s step outside, get some fresh air” Adam whispered to Violet, and she nodded weakly. He firmly gripped her bicep and helped her up, quickly readjusting her dress for her before slipping a $20 bill to the bartender and guiding Violet away from the crowd. She leaned into him, legs weak, lightheaded, allowing him to take more of her weight as he slipped her arm around his waist. They got outside and he propped her against the brick wall, and he leaned in, placing his hands against the wall above her shoulders and examining her face. She could smell his cologne; the one she bought him for his birthday last year
“Breathe Violet, Jesus…you’re sure you’re okay, yeah?” He asked again, genuine concern drawing his brows together. Violet nodded weakly, pressing a hand to her ribs gingerly and wincing. “I’m okay, that was just…a lot all at once” Violet mumbled. “Yeah…just focus on breathing, in and out” Adam’s eyes anxiously searched her face. “Did I hurt you?” he whispered, his eyes dropping to her lips. Violet licked her lips, flustered, and shook her head. He glanced down, eyes lingering at her cleavage, and placed a hand overtop of Violet’s, resting against her ribs. She wondered if he too could feel her heart beating overtime, pounding against her ribcage. A tear slowly trickled down her cheek. They breathed together, gasping, chests heaving and hitching as adrenaline slowly left their systems.
“Look at these two lovebirds!! Ow owww” a familiar voice called out. Startled, Adam and Violet looked up together, drawing apart. Three women, Violet’s girlfriends, approached, laughing and looking smug. “Sneaking away for some private time? You dirty little dogs, I called it. I knew you two would…wait, what’s wrong?”. They stopped, taking in Violet’s flushed and tear stained face, Adam’s pale and worried face, and the way that Violet held her ribs.
“Umm, so long story…” Adam began, glancing at Violet.
being one of the few aerialbots who didn't join the decepticons in the beginning of the war
being one of the youngest aerialbots in the war, shoving your childhood naivety aside to focus as one of the few pillars of sky support the Autobots have
being part of a trine that isn't really a trine, but what little fliers the autobots have need to stick together
being the aerialbot that catches the optic of Optimus Prime, your frame smaller than the two aerialbots beside you
being the aerialbot that Optimus wants to keep closer to the ground, the guilt in his spark at knowing that while he wants to keep the younger bots out of the war, their air support is diminishing
eventually becoming the only aerialbot on Team Prime, after accompanying them to Earth
being the guarded aerialbot who has a team, but no trine
being the aerialbot who hates flying alone, but has grown used to it
being the aerialbot who misses flying through Cybertrons sky, space, all of it
being the aerialbot who finds Earths sky not feeling right under their wings, even after taking a new aerial alt mode
being the young aerial bot who grew up too fast
being close to Arcee, who always checks the sky when you're flying, she knows you can handle yourself, but that doesn't stopp her spark jumping with each con you fly around
being close to Bumblebee, who is the closest to you in age, and tries to get you to loosen up
being close to Bulkhead, who tries to get you to laugh more, and is already ready to hurl a boulder in the sky at any con chasing you
being close to Optimus, who always has this hesitation when sending you in the skys alone, even if he himself is following you from the ground
being closest to Ratchet, the two of you bonding over missing Cybertron, the medic still gruff, but always lending an audial while he works, as long as you pass him the tool
the humans, who have a variety of thoughts about you: Miko keeps begging you to take her and do a barrel roll, Raf eager to ask you questions about how your thrusters differ from human made ones, Jack being able to read when you aren't in the mood to talk and subtly corraling the others, and wonders if you're okay
being the aerialbot who lays in their berth at right, wondering if any other aerialbot autobots survive, or if your only sky companions are the ones shooting at you
being the aerialbot that witnesses Ratchet's synth-en mishap and sees how confident he was, how his strength and reflexes were incredible
being the aerialbot who has felt numb for centuries, who has lost their youth to war, and continues to waste their young adulthood fighting, who feels alone even on a team
being the aerialbot who is able to convince Ratchet to rest one night
being the aerialbot who goes into the medbay, whoever sees you not batting an optic or eye, as you spend most time with Ratchet anyways
being the aerialbot who knows where Ratchet put the recipe for synth-en
being the aerialbot who has spent so much time with him, that you can navigate the area like it's your own
being the aerial bot who treats the synth-en lab notes like a casual chrome-alloy cake recipe
being the aerial bot who doubles the batch, thinking that even if it offlines your spark, at least you'll feel it
being the aerial bot, who slips out of the medbay and back to their habsuite
being the aerial bot, whose quiet pedes catch the audials of a tired Optimus
being the aerial bot who grabs the rag used to wipe down your wings and stuffing it in your intake to make sure the others don't wake
being the aerial bot who barely hears Optimus' pedes walk closer to your habsuite door, concerned for you
being the aerial bot who Optimus knows has not been well for a while, who he worries about being alone, who was relieved when his old friend got close to you
being the aerialbot whose optics widen the synth-en hits, the adrenaline hitting harder than the first time you perfected a barrel role
being the aerial bot who never had formal learning experience in energon refinement
being the aerial bot who made a mistake, and as you realize you can't move despite the jitteriness in your fuel lines, your processor begins to feel staticky
being the aerialbot whose EM Field spike hits Optimus like a message from Primus
being the aerialbot who Optimus finds writhing in their berth, his spark dropping as he sees the empty injector still in your arm and puts the pieces together
being the aerialbot who Optimus restrains, the paint on your chestplate littered with self inflicted scratches as he frantically pings Ratchet to wake up
being the aerialbot who makes Ratchet run like a madbot to your habsuite, the rest of the base waking up to the racket
being the aerialbot who makes Ratchet panic as he realizes he isn't sure what to do because he doesn't know exactly how you made the synth-en you injected and what went wrong
being the aerialbot that has the whole team awake and panicking, that has those on the night patrol rushing back to check on you
being the aerialbot who Ratchet was able to stabilize after hours of grueling work, who is completely asleep in the medbay
being the aerialboy who, once everyone leaves, Ratchet sits over, his spark aching as he thanks Primus for being able to save you
Part (11) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!
It is 1am. I stayed up waaayyy to late to finish this, but if I didn't get it out now, it would have to wait until Monday, and I really didn't want you make ya'll wait.
This one's a little rough, loves; so grab an emotional support cock(tail).
Btw - little aside! For anyone who no long wants to be tagged, feel free to shoot me a dm or you can submit another taglist just saying to be untagged. For those that want to be tagged, please remember to give me your tumblr name. I've received a few email addresses and several names that don't seemed to link up to anyone. Sorry, but there's not much I can do with that ❤️
Warnings: heavy into medical procedures; a lot of grief, guilt, thoughts of self-doubt; near-death experience; blood; gore; needles; cpr; body horror; eye injuries; profanity. I think that's is, but, As always, please let me know if I've missed tagging something!
WC: 3,867
I used to love forests. Agamar boasted a rich abundance of biomes, but the farmlands where I was raised were far from anything so wild; thus, the thought of finding myself lost in unending stretches of trees so tall and numerous as to grant an artificial night to those trapped within their shadow was mesmerizing in a way that forgave any thought toward what danger those shadows might conceal. I knew better now.
I’d lost Emmy while flying over a forest; the scent of campfire smoke dancing just beneath that suffocating tang of fuel. I’d nearly lost Tech to the dangerous fungus thriving in the rokna trees of Endor. And then my brother… No. Forests no longer held that tantalizing mystique. They were beautiful. And they were deadly. And, as I stood between two of the countless, towering trees mere meters from the still forms atop the ramp of the Marauder, I realized how much I’d come to hate them.
My entire body was shaking with adrenaline and fear and rage, wide eyes darting from the dark armor to the crying girl, pistol still clenched in her trembling hands.
“Sweetie… I need you to put down the gun. Okay?” I murmured, the thin vail of calm forcing my words into something far removed from the desperation simmering beneath them. Her gaze darted to the weapon held before her as though just as terrified to find herself still holding it as she was at the thought of letting it go.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just… just set it down.” I pressed, some ancient, feral instinct forbidding me from shouting at her hesitation. One hand slowly pulled away from the grip, but it was the other one that still had a finger pressed far too snugly against the trigger, and I wondered if she’d ever held a gun before.
“That’s good… You’re doing great… Look at me, honey.” I whispered, surprised at how quickly her attention snapped back to me. “It’s okay. Just put it down.” Her fingers began to loosen. The instant the weapon that looked far too large in her hands began to fall, I darted forward. I wanted to scream at her; to berate her for what damage she might have caused, for the delay her fear had forced between my men and the care they desperately needed, but I didn’t. I raced forward and instantly locked her to my chest, quiet shhh’s leaving on barely controlled breaths as I carried her rapidly into the ship, stopping only when the outside world was hidden by those worn, metal walls and quickly settled her atop Hunter’s bunk.
“Alright, baby; I want you to stay right here for me, okay?” It wasn’t quite an order, but it was far from a request, hands shaking as I swept the hair from her face to ensure she was looking at me. Snot covered her upper lip as tears flooded her cheeks, her entire body convulsing with sobs, but the small nod she managed in response was enough for me to quickly press my lips to her forehead before turning on my heel and sprinting back outside.
It was Hunter’s pistol. I kicked the damn thing inside if only to get it out of my way before dropping to my knees beside them, searching for signs of blasterfire or crushed plastoid or breath, and finding neither.
No. That wasn’t right. Crosshair’s torso was still shifting beneath short, jilted gasps. But Hunter…
“Hunter? Hunter, can you hear me?!” I didn’t wait for a reply I knew wasn’t coming as I struggled to untangle them, belatedly realizing he’d collapsed while carrying his brother up the ramp.
“Cross? Hey-hey, you with me?” I asked, begged as I eased him onto his back, but his body merely flinched with shallow breaths, faint grunts far too akin to whimpers catching on trembling lips. But he was breathing. He was hurt, but he was alive. My heart jolted as I quickly threw myself at Hunter, fingers slipping beneath the sharp notch of his jaw as my other hand quickly yanked at his helmet.
Numb. There’s a quiet that comes in moments like this, born of hard-learned necessity as even a taste of the emotions hiding just beyond the distant storm would bring with them doubt. Hesitation. And when even a second of such hesitation could be the difference between life and death, if takes very few mistakes to learn how to hide oneself in that quiet, to let hands move and thoughts rage with a careful detachment.
My body no longer shook as I wrestled the heavy chest plate from his limp form. I didn’t look at the deathly pale skin that gleamed beside the faded half-skull tattoo, nor at half-lidded eyes that were so violently wrong without laugh lines dancing at the corners or that brooding intensity as his mind raced to find solutions to impossible problems. In that moment, he was a number. He was a list of vitals and pre-existing conditions and a rapidly evolving treatment plan. He was patient 1, triaged and assisted and listed by priority, and if I held to that as I should have, I would have let him die, but I watched with a pointed lack of emotion as I finally freed him of that damned armor, his body falling back to the ramp with a thud I couldn’t bring myself to worry over in the wake of how wrong that stillness was.
It was a thoughtless action, the way my fingers twined together as my hands stacked atop each other above his chest. I needed to move them – both of them – out of the risk of enemy fire. Hell, I needed to move for that same reason; needed to get Hunter on level ground to maximize the efficiency of my compressions; needed to check for lung capacity and inevitably insert another chest tube; needed to see just how bad the chemical burns still eating into Crosshair’s eyes were and try to figure out some way to help him. I could still hear the girl crying and wasn’t surprised to see her standing at the very corner of the hallway, peaking out just enough to watch us, and I’d never felt so impossibly, irrevocably alone.
Curses spitting from my lips, I abandoned the half-completed count of compressions and threw myself to my feet. Couldn’t get deep enough… The tantalizing wealth of muscle I’d so shamelessly admired every time he’d see himself into my bed beneath the guise a massage that we both knew had nothing to do with pulled muscles or stiff joints, that breathtaking display of power that saw him so effortlessly through the endless missions and struggles of this war left his chest too stiff to readily yield beneath the too weak thrusts of my palms.
If I could get him inside – get him on a flat surface, then I could push harder, I could force his damn heart to beat and chase all threat of that encroaching chill from skin I so clearly remembered feeling like fire against mine.
“Honey, there’s a button on that interface, there. Can you press it – close the ramp?” I asked breathlessly as I began dragging Crosshair inside as well. A slightly louder groan caught in his throat making my heart drop. I barely noticed the girl dart forward, tiny hand nearly slamming onto the controls as movement returned to those long limbs.
“Shh, Cross, I’m right here, okay? I’m going to take care of you, but I have to help Hunter first.” If he heard me, if he heard the crippling apology that threatened to rend my breath into hiccuped gasps and rob me of that blessed detachment, he was too lost in a growing agony to offer any form of a response. My hand shifted beneath the desperate need to reach for him, to somehow ensure he knew I was there, but that would waste precious seconds I didn’t have, and I quickly spun back to Hunter, jaw tensing anew at the utter absence of life before me.
Airway. Breathing. Circulation. It was rote. Mindless. But something in me still died at how cold his lips felt against mine. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And I nearly broke at how much effort it took to push even a whisper of breath into his lungs. Crosshair was starting to move, clawed hands reaching toward the black visor I only just realized was shattered, deep cracks spider-webbed across the dark crescent. If I looked, I could just make out slivers of skin between some of the larger cracks, but I couldn’t see enough to even guess toward the damage hidden within as I wrenched the medpack from my shoulders.
Hunter’s body rocked listlessly beneath the force it took to shove the chest tube between his lower ribs, expression void of the pain I’d never been so eager to see on his handsome face. What poured from the fresh wound was dark and thick and filled the small room with the heavy scent of copper and sick, and I refused to even look at it as I dragged the sheers down the front of his shirt, half ripping the fabric away in my haste.
I didn’t hesitate before arching my body over him and slamming my elbow into his chest, ignoring how the sound of ribs cracking beneath the strike was enough to make even Crosshair flinch, ruined helm shifting uselessly toward me for just a moment before that pain overruled his attention once more. My knee pads scrapped loudly against the metal grate as I pushed myself up enough to straddle Hunter’s waist, cupped hands returning to their position over his sternum.
“Crosshair… Cross, if you can hear me, you need to try to get that helmet off.” I panted, voice undulating with the rhythm of my entire body beating quickly against his brother’s chest. His head shifted again, the movement jerky and only barely noticeable, and I couldn’t imagine how the wet crunch, crunch, crunch that so perfectly marked the passage of time must have sounded in the dark, eyes surely blinded by whatever cruel thing had been used to cripple him.
“I know; I know, baby – I’ll help you as quickly as I can, but I need you to help, too.” I pressed on huffed, rapid breaths, relieved when his shaking fingers began groping at the rounded ridge following his jawline, but I couldn’t ignore how quickly that trembling was getting worse, the sound of air hissing through clenched teeth breaking between barely restrained groans that so wanted to be screams, and I realized that Hunter must have given him something stronger – something that managed to knock him out before I reached them, and it was rapidly fading.
But I couldn’t do anything for him. Not yet. Not until I managed to force some bit of life back into the man below me. Kriff, was I just wasting time? The longer I worked on Hunter, the more potential damage Crosshair suffered… I could only guess toward how much time had passed since his heart… how long he’d been down before I reached them… and the longer he’d been like this the greater the risk of…
No. No, no; I couldn’t think like that. Scowling at the way my hand was just beginning to shake again, I reached out to check for a pulse, straining to mediate my own breaths enough for me to actually feel for his heartbeat over the frantic racing of my own. Nothing… I quickly leaned down to push two more breaths into his lungs, wincing at the way his nose cracked slightly between my fingers as I pinched his nostrils shut.
“He’s… i-is he…” I could barely make out words through how shaky his breath was, and I instantly found myself wishing I hadn’t heard him at all.
“I’m doing everything I can for him, Crosshair; just focus on getting that helmet off, and I’ll try to get you more meds soon.” There was that careful detachment again, automatic response unhindered by the grief and panic I tried so hard to ignore.
“To-… told ‘im t… l-l’ve m…” I couldn’t think about the sob that robbed the strength from his voice, nor the hiccuped gasp that followed as his hands clawed over his ruined visor, my teeth grinding into the inside of my cheek to keep my own breath from breaking.
Still no pulse. The precious few seconds it took to dig into my bag once more made my skin crawl, some wretched whisper in the back of my head telling me everything that could go wrong, everything that I’d done wrong; that I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough; that I was killing him – that I was killing both of them.
Guilt made my stomach churn as a small drop of crimson marked where I’d nicked him with the razor as I rushed to clear enough hair from his chest for the electrodes. It was stupid. Such a tiny wound… and yet my eyes kept trying to return to it, as though I hadn’t just shoved a tube through his side, as though I hadn’t just broken several ribs to allow adequate compressions, as though the man beneath me wasn’t, by all medical standards, already dead.
The small device let out a warning trill, and I quickly jumped clear of him, waiting anxiously for the timer to finish. Hunter’s body seized beneath the violent surge of electricity, torso snapping up, spine locking in a tight arch. And then he crashed back to the metal grating, rocking listlessly from the momentum.
I didn’t wait for the AED to finish reassessing, fingers reaching for his throat the instant his back hit the floor. Whatever momentary lucidity had granted Crosshair the clarity of mind to mumble those heartbreaking words was gone, crushed beneath an agony no longer muted by whatever drugs Hunter had given him. His legs dragged uselessly against the metal beneath him, deep, keening groans occasionally breaking into a barked scream as he writhed in pain. And, still, there was no sign of life beneath my fingertips.
One more… I’d grant myself only one more moment of denial, one final attempt to bring him back…
“Dammit; come on, Hunter!” I didn’t mean to let the words escape me as I pounded against his chest. “Don’t you do this – don’t you kriffing dare do this!” I remembered the first time I’d performed CPR on a real person. “We need you, dammit! Come on!” The patient had already been pronounced. “Come back! Please, please, come back!” But residents were encouraged to “practice.” That knowledge that they were already dead, however, did nothing to relieve me of the sharp rush of adrenaline, the desperate urgency to somehow do better – be better… to save them… That knowledge did nothing to rid me of the consuming guilt of failure when I finally walked away.
I couldn’t silence the sob as I pressed my lips against his one last time, pushing the air from my own lungs into him with every unspoken plea and promise and curse forever forced into a silence I feared I’d regret until my own heart stopped as well.
Something beeped. Doubt robbed me of recognition. Fear forbade me from even looking. Barely ten percent of patients come back from something like this. Some horrible, broken part of me had accepted his death the instant I’d realized he had no pulse, but denial had granted me the strength to try anyway. Now, that denial refused to let my eyes fall back to the small device connected to his chest, but Crosshair was screaming, and the Senator’s daughter was crying, and there was too much at stake for even a moment to be lost for something so useless.
Still, I couldn’t understand the dancing line steadily making its way across the monitor. I’d seen it countless times before, but…
My chest bucked in a sharp gasp, body finally remembering how to move. In an instant, I was at Crosshair’s side, hands grabbing at his in an enraging struggle to finally rip that damned helmet off.
“Crosshair! Cross, baby, I’m going to help fix it, but you – ugh! – you have to… stop… fighting me!” I grunted, finally trapping one of his hands beneath my arm long enough to grab the ruined bucket. His scream turned desperate the instant the light reached him, and my stomach dropped. The skin around his eyes was scalded, red and oozing, and how could I possibly give him any words of reassurance that might offer even a breath of comfort in the face of those wounds?
I offered no warning before jabbing a hypo against his neck. He didn’t notice it anyway, lips wrenched clear of teeth gnashing around hitched gasps and feral cries he couldn’t begin to restrain.
“I’ve got you, Cross.” I murmured as those frenzied movements began to fail, one arm wrapping around his back to help guide him carefully to the floor while the other snatched for my med scanner with some futile hope that it might be able to identify whatever toxin was searing into his flesh. “That’s it, love; just breathe for me; okay?” I wasn’t sure if the drugs helped, or if they merely left him too weak to thrash anymore, and I wanted to shout apologies until my lungs gave out, but I didn’t turn away from the small scanner, eyes quickly studying every word that scrolled across the screen before dropping it to snatch my comm.
“Tech! Wrecker! Do you copy?!” I shouted, already pushing myself to my feet and sprinting toward the medbay.
“Yeah,” Wrecker answered barely a second later. “They okay?”
“I’m working on that,” I nearly cringed at the exhaustion in my voice, but quickly moved on. “I need something to neutralize an acid. Are you in a position where you can look this over?”
“Do you have an approximate idea of what the substance is?” Tech asked, words breathless in a way that made my guilt spike. I shouldn’t have to ask them… I should be able to figure this out myself… but the chemical equation dancing across the scanner was far too complex for me to work through in time.
“I’m sending it now.” I replied, fingers already flying over the scanner to share the readout.
“Oh.” I wasn’t surprised to hear the dread in Wrecker’s voice, but if he recognized the chemicals, then there was hope that he knew how to safely wash it away. “Yeah… think I can tell yuh what yuh need.”
Tech didn’t interrupt him. This wasn’t hardware or trivia or anatomy. This was chemistry. And, while I wouldn’t have second-guessed a word the pilot may have said, Wrecker’s knowledge was a matter of passion. The same interplay of atomic bonds and volatile reactions manipulated to detonate a building could be used to form acids powerful enough to melt through entire ships, and I trusted his word without a moment’s doubt. Still, the time it took to prepare the solution was torture, and I couldn’t run back through the ship fast enough to begin to ease that crippling guilt.
He was barely moving when I got back, shivering body curled onto his side, one hand clutching at his eyes while the other was locked around Hunter’s arm, and I felt the tears threaten to suffocate me as I realized he was too disorientated to recognize the steady rhythm still singing from the small monitor to understand that his brother was alive.
“Crosshair; hey-hey-hey, listen to me.” I murmured quickly, satchel of equipment dropping carefully to the floor as I rushed to his side. “He’s alright. Hunter’s alright, but I need to take care of you now.” If he heard me, he didn’t respond, and I didn’t waste additional time trying to explain.
My heart was racing, anticipation searing through my nerves like lightning. He wasn’t going to like this. Kriff, he wasn’t going to like this…
He barely flinched when I gently laid my hand on his forehead, but the instant the first drop of liquid touched his cheek, whatever illusion of weakness the meds granted was gone. His limbs lashed out in a frenzy of panicked rage, kicking himself away while his arms swiped toward me in a vicious attempt to push me back. Cursing, I spun out of his reach just long enough to regain my footing.
Any other day, I’d have no hope in holding him down, but the body can only withstand the degree of agony he’d been subjected to for so long before even his muscles began to fail, so when I pinned his arms at his sides, my own legs quickly wrapping around him in a powerful hold, I had just enough time to empty that first syringe entirely, flooding his face with the neutralizing fluid.
I knew it would burn at first, and my face twisted into a sympathetic scowl at the fresh cries of a hurt I couldn’t imagine ripping through his already raw throat, but by the time I was halfway through the second, his thrashing began to ease, jaw hanging open around sputtering coughs as he spat out what trace amounts of fluid accidentally slipped past his lips.
“Good.” I murmured, hand once more settled atop his brow in an effort to carefully keep him still. “I know; I know it hurts, but this is helping, right? It’s getting better?” I expected no response, and he offered none, but he didn’t need to. I could feel the tension slowly fading despite the occasional twitch and choked grunt.
“Honey, I need to help you open your eyes, now. I need to make sure we rinse all that gunk out.” I warned, and my heart ached at how quickly that tension returned. “I know, but we’ll go slow, okay?” Voice quiet, gentle in a way I could only hope he might understand, I whispered to him, thumb already moving to pull at his upper lid as my thighs tightened at the way his arms wrenched against me. His head thrashed, desperate to escape my touch, but I followed him with ease, relentless until a dozen empty syringes lay strewn about the cabin, tossed aimlessly that I might hurry on to the next.
“Almost done.” I breathed, but he’d already begun to fade, body only occasionally managing a weak flinch as I pushed the last of the solution over his other eye. That redness was still there, and only time would tell how well his eyes would heal… but the danger was over. I quickly coated the abused flesh in a generous layer of bacta before securing thick pads over his eyes with bandages.
They were alive. I could still see the steady rhythm of Hunter’s heartbeat scrawling atop the monitor beside him, and the cruel acid used to incapacitate Crosshair was neutralized. They were okay… Even the little girl had stopped crying, wide eyes watching me with an emotion I was far too exhausted to try to name as I staggered to my feet. Couldn’t leave them here… I’d get them to the medbay… get them settled… then I’d let myself breathe…
Next Chapter
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Car Enthusiast!Reader: is that—biTCH GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY CAR?!?!
Car Enthusiast!Reader: [Shooting wildly at a carjacker] NO ONE TOUCHES MY BABY
Carjacker: (╬☉д⊙)⊰⊹ฺ
Car Enthusiast!Reader: DIE 💥💥 🔫
This is all witnessed by [cybertronian of choice] who's hidden in vehicle mode, and who also takes it as carrier behavior and promptly decides that they need to have a litter of sparklings with this human IMMEDIATELY
My headcanon is I do believe Cybertronian snore. Every bot is, but the noise level is depends on each bot— some are just humming softly almost blended with the sound of air conditioners, some so loud other mech in the room want to rip out their voice box.
So, I think they thought human snoring is kinda cute and strangely soothing. Because compared to their engine rumble sound, human are way much more less annoying. (Just like how we find cat vibrates is cute) so yes, human snoring is Cybertronian’s version of cat purring.
Ever falling asleep on their sight? They are now having record of your snoring AND 34 pictures of your cursed sleeping positions.
omg hai haiii can i request hcs for sonic x reader who's tails' older sibling and originally didn't like sonic bc of them being really overprotective of tails?
HEADCANONS
:
HANDS OFF MY LITTLE BROTHER
CHARACTER — sonic
WARNING — Pure Fluff • Enemies to Lovers (kinda)
PROMPT — You’re Tails’ older sibling and really didn’t like Sonic at first because you’re overprotective of your little brother.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — Here are some Sonic x Reader headcanons for y’all who love that protective sibling turned reluctant crush trope. 💙 (Also, I got more time to write so, I'll be posting a lot more now 🤭) Thanks again for the request! This was really cute!
💙 First Impressions? Rocky.
You didn’t trust Sonic the second you saw him racing off with Tails into danger. You probably crossed your arms, glared, and said something like, “If he gets a single scratch, I’ll make you regret it.” Sonic found that both funny and kind of intimidating.
💙 Sonic thought you were overreacting.
At first, he couldn’t understand why you were so uptight, “C’mon, I’d never let anything happen to the kid!” But when he realized how much you cared for Tails, he started respecting it (even if he teased you for it).
💙 Bickering became your love language.
You two argued constantly: about missions, about Tails’ bedtime, about whether chili dogs count as dinner. Tails would just sigh in the background, muttering something like, “Can you two please stop flirting?”
💙 Sonic secretly liked getting under your skin.
Something about how you’d bristle when he winked or smirked made him want to do it more. The way your eyes flashed with frustration? Yeah… that wasn’t hatred anymore, and he knew it before you did.
💙 You started noticing his good sides.
The way he’d slow down to make sure Tails was keeping up, or how he’d throw himself into danger to protect him, those moments chipped away at your dislike until you found yourself rooting for him.
💙 Tails noticed before either of you did.
The poor kid’s just sitting there like, “Why do you both look at each other like that?” while pretending not to see Sonic bring you snacks or you patching Sonic up after a mission with a little too much care.
💙 Protective instincts shift.
At first, you wanted to protect Tails from Sonic. Now you’re half protecting Sonic with him; making sure he eats, rests, and doesn’t do anything reckless (good luck with that).
💙 Soft moments hit harder.
Sonic’s used to people admiring him, but he’s not used to someone worrying over him. When you scold him for getting hurt, he just grins sheepishly and says, “You sound just like Tails.” But there’s a faint blush there.
💙 When you finally admit your feelings...
It probably happens after a close call. Maybe Sonic takes a hit meant for Tails, and you lose it...yelling, crying, calling him an idiot. Then he grins weakly and says, “Guess I earned that one. …You really care, huh?”
Yeah. That’s how the first kiss happens.
💙 Now you’re both protective of Tails.
You two have become the ultimate sibling-parent duo. Sonic jokes that Tails has “two helicopters watching his every move.” You elbow him for that one but you both know it’s true.
Sonic has been in your shared bedroom for a while now. He's been going through a rough time after losing someone he loved dearly and he blames himself for it everyday, for not being fast enough to save them. Amy and Tails' would often come over to comfort him, to help him through his grief but nothing seems to work he isn't the energetic, confident, easygoing hedgehog you knew and loved.
It hurts your heart to see the love of your life like this, So, you make your way upstairs to your shared bedroom, hoping that somehow you can still comfort him. As you reached the door to your shared room, you can hear his soft, broken sobs through the slightly ajar bedroom door. You gently pushed the door open and step inside, the room is dark, the curtains are closed, but you can see his figure curled up on your shared bed with the faint light seeping through the curtains, he seems to be holding a photo in his right hand, his other hand wipes his tears of sorrow and grief. You slowly walk up to him and you reach out to him, to place a comforting hand on his shoulder and hope your words offer him some solace in his grief.
However your hand goes right through his shoulder and your words died in your throat. And that's when you remebered, you can't comfort him or be there with him.. you are the one he lost. The one he loved so dearly.
(The photo is one of which was taken on your wedding day)
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
titsay
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
areudirty
