I love these! The colored pieces are apparently by Sharkrocket here on tumblr and the black and white is by gregemann also on tumblr. I’m not going to tag them so they don’t get spammed my questionable writing, though xD
Lifeless Ordinary Pt 32
Scavengers x Reader
• Head down as you settle yourself in Spin’s hands, it’s hard to imagine that he’s secretly disgusted by how alien you are. It’s hard to imagine him keeping a secret at all, but that doesn’t stop the self doubt. Doesn’t stop you from thinking about every little thing you’ve never liked about yourself. Imperfections that you’d told yourself you were okay with, now bothering you. Unable to meet his optics as you huddle deeper into your blanket, your fingers clutch the material closed around you. “Hey, Spin? What am I to you guys?” You ask.
• Frowning behind his mask, he tries to figure out what he’s done. You’d said he didn’t do anything wrong, but you won’t look at him. Knows he gets confused sometimes. Actually, a lot, but not about you. “Family,” he answers, puzzled why you’re asking. Don’t you already know what? Why won’t you look up? Meet his optics. “Are you sure I didn’t do something wrong?” He asks warily and you look so tired his spark aches when you finally look up.
• At a loss, Fulcrum follows Misfire. Angry and defensive, he glares at the back of the seeker’s head. “I didn’t ask for this,” he growls. “In fact, I told all of you that I didn’t want to do this,” he adds in frustration and the other mech’s wings lift aggressively before the mech looks back at him. ‘But that didn’t stop you,’ Misfire accuses, smirking even as his optics narrow. ‘Did it?’ Irritated, he clears his vents and crosses his arms over his chassis. Doesn’t want to untangle the confusing knot of how he feels about you. That he likes you, wants you, but still struggles with how alien you are. That he can be attracted to you and find you deeply unsettling at the same time.
• Disgusted, Misfire shakes his head at the other mech. Tempted to call him a coward, to find something to say that’ll hurt the most. “Tiny didn’t deserve that,” he says instead, turning away as his wings lift. Daring the other mech to follow him. Because he’s spoiling for a fight. Can’t get your expression out of his head. The way you’d shut down completely after Fulcrum had gotten sick. And it’s almost disappointing when he hears the other mech stop short instead of following him. Doesn’t know how to fix this. How to deal with an emotional organic when he’s always played off and joked about that serious, heavy stuff.
• Turning when Misfire storms into the control room, Krok fidgets with the dismembered servo in his hand, smoothing his own servos against the surface. Worrying at it even though he knows this isn’t normal. Isn’t healthy. But the idea of getting rid of it makes him feel chaotic. “How’s Fulcrum?” He asks and Crankcase makes a rude noise. ‘A coward,’ Misfire growls, slumping into a seat at a console, optics staring out at space. ‘Do you have to be constantly fragging with that thing?’ Ignoring Misfire’s hostility, he wonders what his old team would have thought of you. If you’d even have survived a joor with them. With the old him. Would he have even looked at you twice?
Y/n*Putting on an apron you bought in the galactic market, found some human stuff, and smiles, getting ready to cook yourself a good meal in the electric stove brainstorm and Percy made for you, smiles seeing Rodimus arrive*Hey, Roddy!
Rodimus*Sees the apron and reads it, instantly grins*...
Y/n*Knows that smile and sees him approaching you*...
Y/n*Makes a run for it, chucking towards him the apron*!?!
Rodimus*Chasing after you*IT'S THE RULES Y/N!IT'S THEEEEE RULES! IT'S THE RULES!-
As you run, You passed by Tailgate, Rewind and whirl who see you rinning from rodimus but he tells them about the apron and now you got FOUR AUTOBOTS Chasing after you to kiss you...and THAT day the bots realize how much HARDER it is to catch a human who doenst want to be caught, from getting into vents, sliding under pedes and making it to the elivator
Y/n*Pants and sees tailgate and rewind cornering you and drive in to grab you for kisses, only for you to jump over a table, making them crash into each other helm first*
Tailgate & Rewind: AAACK!?
You run up to the medical room and run to hide behind Ratchet. He looks at you, worried, and sees Rodimus, Whirl, and the two mini-bots and starts to lecture them, making them back. You think it's finally over until...
Whirl*Holds the kiss the cook apron to show ratchet*IT'S THE RULES DOC!
Ratchet*Glares at the four then facepalms until he looks down at you with a smirk*...
Y/n*Blinks and shocked gasp, and once again you sprint away from them and the other med bots as they joined the group in getting you*"He's one of them-"
Rodimus*Is now speaking on the comm speakers of the ship, ' THE HUMAN WORE AN APRON THAT SAYS KISS THE COOK, I REPEAT KISS THE COOK BY HUMAN CULTURE, RULES WE MUST NOW KISS THEM!"
The human currently:
When you finally get saved by the ONE Autobot, Ultra Magnus takes you into his office, hands you some water, gives you some cookies and puts you on his desk. You rest up and slump down to sit on the edge
Ultra magnus*Is patting your head and goes around his desk as you smile at him, he seems to pull something out from the cabinet and puts on the you "Kiss the cook" apron. He lets out a small, short laugh at your shocked and dumbfounded face of defeat*...
Rodimus*Comes down out from under his desk with a triumphant smile*
Whirl, Tailgate & Rewind*Appear at the door with glee that their plan works*!!!
Y/n*You see behind them a line of known and unknown cybertronians, Swerve, Brainstorm & Percy, Rung, Ravage, The scaveners, DJD, Megatron, MEGATRON?.... THE DJD!?*....
NOTE - the draft of Dear Memory suddenly disappeared.. luckily I had a backup in my doc, btw I decided to post this instead..
The air stank of scorched energon and melted armor, thick with iron dust stirred by a dying breeze. Somewhere near the perimeter of yesterday’s battlefield, you’d set up your ‘clinic’ — if one could call a dented shipping container with rusted med-kits and jury-rigged tables a clinic
You never thought you'd end up being a "doctor"
Not because you didn’t dream of it—but mostly because the term “medical ethics” meant absolutely nothing to you
What you did know was this: torn-up bots were fascinating. Especially when you got to crack them open and see what was ticking inside
You started small
Salvaging bits and pieces from the battlefield outskirts, selling them on the black market but anytime you found something new, you'd bring it back, clean it up, lay it out neatly on your table like collectible figurines…
Then tinker
Pry – Slice –Rewire
After that, you were hooked
You started studying Cybertronian anatomy for real
Through corpses. Through... well, let’s call them “patients” Most of them didn’t really have a choice and you learned through wild, reckless trial and error
It didn’t take long before they started whispering your name
Some said you were insane
Some said you were a genius
And honestly? You weren’t arguing with either
—
But hey, you’ve seen worse
Today’s patient wasn’t bleeding out — not anymore — but sat eerily still on the edge of your operating slab. SPINISTER didn’t speak a word. He simply watched
With those wide optics, tinted faintly with blue and wariness, he stared at your fingers as they hovered near the frayed conduits in his left arm. You traced one cable with your thumb, then flicked it experimentally. The response: a slight twitch in his elbow
“Hmm…” you murmured, mostly to yourself “That shouldn't spasm unless—ah. Rerouted nerves. Or maybe just leftover trauma from the last missile strike”
Spinister said nothing, his head tilted faintly, almost birdlike, curious, not afraid, not quite trusting, either
Your grin curled up as you pulled a box cutter from your belt. Not a surgical tool — a literal box cutter. You flicked it open with a shnick “Don’t worry. I’ve carved cleaner lines through Decepticon corpses than this.” You winked “This won’t be the worst thing to happen to your arm this week”
Still, he didn’t flinch
You began slicing carefully through the plating at his forearm, easing metal apart with steady hands. The smell of energon and scorched silicon rose up, comforting in its own grotesque way. Spinister kept watching
“You know” you added, conversationally “the first time I tried this, I was working on a dead guy. Well, he was mostly dead. Only his backup battery was still twitching. Sort of like you, except you’re a lot more agreeable”
At that, he blinked once. You could’ve sworn he smirked
Your eyes narrowed in interest “Wait a second... have you done this before?”
No answer — but Spinister reached forward and picked up your wire shears. Delicately. Like he knew how to hold them. He turned them in his hands and adjusted the tension
You raised a brow “You’re either a closet medic or a highly specific kind of serial killer”
He gave a tiny shrug. Then pointed at the junction in his own elbow, looking at you as if to say: "Cut here?"
“…Huh”
You moved aside “Be my guest”
He went to work with silent focus, slicing away burnt cabling and clearing the joint. His movements weren’t flawless — but they were clean, deliberate, and scarily competent for someone who hadn’t said a damn word all afternoon
You folded your arms, watching
“Alright, I’ve decided” you announced “You’re hired. No license needed. Field experience counts more anyway”
Spinister paused to glance at you - you pointed to yourself “Me? Oh, I’m self-taught too. I just have a different definition of malpractice”
Then you handed him a full energon injector “You mind stabbing me with this? My hand’s full”
He took it and administered it with surprising precision
You made a pleased noise “Oh-ho. You are good”
Silence again. Spinister just stared, expression unreadable
You could practically feel the static hanging between you. The buzz of barely understood connection. Maybe it was the shared love of sharp things. Or the unspoken language of: “I won’t kill you if you don’t kill me”
“Say, Spinister. You wanna stick around? I’ve got a few other, uh… experiments. Some of them might even survive”
He cocked his head, considering
Then — a slow, solemn nod
You grinned “Perfect. I’ve been dying to try out this new cranial implant. Might give you night vision. Or seizures. Fifty-fifty, really”
Still no protest — Not even hesitation
You weren’t sure if that meant he trusted you… or just didn’t care. Either way?
You liked him
↓
SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD
DESIGNATION: SPINISTER
AFFILIATION: Scavenger (No one's entirely sure why)
CONDITION: Moderate external trauma. Multiple internal combustions (intentional?). Severe disassociation from reality
NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (still not licensed, please stop asking)
Arrived with smoke leaking from six different panels. Declared “not an emergency” while visibly on fire
Did not react to pain, or to questions, or to gravity when he slowly tilted sideways mid-sentence and collapsed
Possesses an endearing sort of calm, similar to a patient who’s just accepted the existence of death and made it a roommate
Followed instructions silently, then offered me a flower-shaped bolt in thanks. I don’t know where he got it
Repair successful. Patient now smokes from only three ports. Declared “this is probably fine”
RECOMMENDATION: Skilled with basic tools, potential assistant or at least live test subject (consenting? uncertain) and doesn’t scream when I bring out the bone saw — major plus
MENTAL STATUS: Stable… in an abstract, modern-art kind of way
Possibly communicating with beings only he can perceive. Should investigate later—unless they start helping
—
The curtain fluttered again
You didn’t even need to look up from the mech-slagged mess you were currently disemboweling on your table to know who it was. No one else announced their arrival with a loud “Hi!! I brought snacks!” followed immediately by the sound of a ration cube hitting the floor
MISFIRE
“...You brought what?” you asked, finally glancing back
Misfire was standing proudly in the middle of your wrecked, haphazard med-bay, holding up something that might’ve once been a ration cube but now looked like it had been drop-kicked into a trash compactor
He looked far too pleased with himself
“For you, Doctor Scary!” he beamed “To say thank you for patching up Crankcase. I mean, he’s still swearing about it, but I figure that means it worked”
You stared at the cube, then at him “It’s moldy”
“Vintage!”
“It’s fuzzy”
He blinked, then squinted at it “Oh. Uh. That might be a fungus. Adds flavor!”
You sighed and set down your plier-like tool — which was currently half-submerged in someone’s damaged voice modulator “What do you want, Misfire?”
He clutched his arm and gave you the most over-the-top wounded expression you’d seen since the war started “Can’t a guy drop by just to bask in your lovely, mildly terrifying company?”
You deadpanned “Do you need field repair?”
“…Yes”
That was more like it
“Alright” you gestured to your very sanitary examination area — a broken recliner salvaged from a half-melted shuttle and duct-taped to hell “Take a seat. Tell me which part is falling off”
Misfire hopped onto the chair without hesitation, then winced “Okay so it’s my right shoulder—some internal gear’s jammed. Probably happened when Fulcrum accidentally shoved me into that munitions crate last week. And by accidentally I mean ‘on purpose but with plausible deniability’”
You circled behind him, humming “Shoulder joint, hmm... I’ll have to pry open the outer casing”
“You’re not gonna use that claw-thing again, are you?” He pointed at the three-pronged tool still sizzling on the table
You picked it up and grinned “This old thing? Only if you scream too loud. It gets jealous”
His optics widened “Wait, you’re joking—right?”
You didn’t answer. You just flicked the tool and leaned in close
He flinched “You are joking. Right?”
Still no answer. You tapped the casing lightly “Yup. Gonna need to open this. Try not to move. Unless you want an extra joint”
Misfire grumbled something but sat still, occasionally twitching while you worked. Your fingers were efficient, tugging apart armor panels, probing with delicate instruments, and casually muttering things like: “Wow, this is worse than I thought. This looks like someone tried to replace a gear with a coin. Wait. Is that a coin?”
Misfire laughed nervously “Heh… oh hey, is that my lucky shanix? Thought I lost that in the riot on Velocitron…”
You pulled it out and twirled it between your fingers “Found it. Inside your shoulder. Next to a wad of insulation foam. I have questions”
“I have regrets”
The actual repair only took a few minutes, and despite his dramatic flinching, Misfire barely needed any anesthetic. You tightened the final bolt with a satisfied hum
“All done. You’ll be good as new. Maybe even better, depending on how you feel about unlicensed upgrades”
He rotated his arm “Wow, hey—this feels great! I mean, I’m still emotionally unstable and deeply unlucky, but physically? Ten outta ten”
You handed him the shanix and gave him a crooked smile “Souvenir. For bravery”
He smirked “Does that come with a kiss on the cheekplate?”
You stared at him for a beat too long
“…No?” he tried
You leaned in just slightly, close enough for him to short-cycle “You want a souvenir kiss from the bot who’s elbow-deep in your shoulder hydraulics?”
He paused. Thought. Then leaned back slowly, optics wide
“…You know what? The coin’s fine”
You laughed — a bright, buzzing thing that made him fluster even more
“I’ll tell Fulcrum you survived” you said, already turning back to your workbench “Go before I decide to install a third elbow in your leg”
He scrambled up and halfway out the curtain before popping his head back in with a grin
“You’re the weirdest medic I’ve ever met” he said “And that’s a huge compliment”
Then he vanished into the dust
↓
SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD
DESIGNATION: MISFIRE
AFFILIATION: Scavenger (Allegedly. No one seems to have formally admitted this)
NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (unlicensed):
Presented with shoulder malfunction. Initially distracted by moldy ration cube (believed to be edible)
Displayed minor signs of emotional detachment from own physical pain—possibly due to prolonged exposure to Fulcrum’s company
Right shoulder casing contained one (1) lucky shanix, insulation foam of unknown origin, and what may be a chewed gum wrapper. (Origin undetermined. No jaw articulation in subject)
Exhibits nervous laughter and deflective humor under duress. Coping mechanism? Flirting mechanism? Both?
Repair successful. Patient demonstrates increased mobility and decreased survivability due to persistent attempts at charming his field medic
RECOMMENDATION: Do not encourage him but also… maybe do. He’s kind of entertaining
MENTAL STATUS: Stable. In the way a spinning top is “stable” Until it stops spinning
—
FULCRUM walked into the clinic with the same air as someone entering a crime scene they were legally obligated to ignore. He stood in the doorway a few moments too long
“…You’re not going to sedate me, right?”
You didn’t look up from your tools “Only if you scream too much. I do have neighbors”
“You don’t have neighbors”
“Exactly”
He stiffened
With a resigned sigh, Fulcrum sat himself down on the edge of the slab, his posture the definition of regret “I’m here for a system check. Minor internal trauma. No visible wounds”
“Oh” you said, finally looking up
“That’s boring”
“…What?”
You gestured at his chestplate “You’re saying there’s nothing exciting going on in there? No ticking bomb module? No internal shrapnel slowly migrating toward your spark?”
Fulcrum visibly paled “I—I’m 80% sure the ticking is just cooling fans!”
You leaned in, optics gleaming
“Let’s find out”
Before he could object, you’d already activated the scanner, which buzzed ominously. The screen flickered through static before displaying something that looked vaguely like a Danger symbol in three different dialects
“…Heh” you said, tilting your head “You might be fine. Or you might violently combust in 6 to 8 cycles. Either way, not my fault”
Fulcrum let out a strangled sound “You’re supposed to say something reassuring!”
“I did! ‘Not my fault’ is my version of reassurance”
He gave a long, slow blink
“…I’m going to die”
“Eventually” you nodded solemnly
“But for now—”
And with that, you jabbed a connector probe into his side. Fulcrum’s whole body jerked “—your coolant lines are backing up a little. Could’ve led to system overheating. Also explains why you’ve been radiating mild anxiety like a broken anxiety-scented air freshener”
He stared at you in mute horror “…Please tell me that wasn’t an actual medical term”
You grinned “I make them up as I go”
↓
SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD
DESIGNATION: FULCRUM
AFFILIATION: Scavenger (Technically Decepticon, but mostly just stressed)
CONDITION: Mild to moderate plasma burns, stress-induced fuel reflux, excessive shouting
NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (still operating without any actual credentials):
Arrived in full panic, claiming he was “totally fine” while actively smoldering. Body temperature elevated—not due to malfunction, just from yelling
Most vocal patient so far. Screamed “What is that tool?! Is that a bone saw?!” before treatment had even begun. (It was not. It was a wrench. Maybe) Kept mumbling something about “imminent death” and “this is how I die"
Calmed somewhat after being asked to hold tools for me. Gave him a fake diploma to “make him feel included” He still carries it
Treatment completed successfully. Requested anesthesia after it was done
RECOMMENDATION: Let him panic. It burns energy and makes it easier to sneak in sutures
Tell him he’s doing great. He’s not, but he needs it
MENTAL STATUS: Holding on by a wire. Possibly about to snap. Possibly the only one trying to be normal, which makes him the craziest of all
—
You didn’t expect CRANKCASE to walk through your door
Technically, it wasn’t even a door — just a heavy curtain you’d ripped off a wrecked Decepticon dropship and pinned into place. But there he was, looming in your makeshift threshold, glowering like he wanted to punch the wind in the face
Which, from what you’d heard, was a standard Crankcase greeting
You looked up from the mess of servo joints and cracked optics on your workbench “Oh good, another volunteer! Take a number, and by number I mean a seat, and by seat I mean that fuel drum with the mystery stain”
Crankcase didn’t move. He crossed his arms “I’m not here for your freak-show experiments. I’ve got a blown vent coil and a leaking wrist actuator”
You raised an oil-slicked brow “So… you are here for medical assistance”
He scowled “Field repair”
“Same difference,” you chirped, already gesturing him forward “I won’t bite. Unless you count removing faulty plating with my teeth. Kidding—mostly”
The fuel drum groaned beneath his weight as he sat. You could hear his joint hydraulics hissing with effort. He was trying very hard not to look worried
You crouched beside him, lifting his forearm and turning it this way and that “Hmm. Someone’s been punching things they shouldn’t. This isn't just a leak. You've got shrapnel embedded in your coolant line. Wanna keep it?”
Crankcase blinked “Keep it?!”
You gave him your best "I'm totally serious” look “Could turn it into a charm. Lucky shard. Something to ward off infection. Maybe your attitude”
He started to pull his arm back
You yanked it right back “Too late. I’ve named it. This one’s Steve”
“What the frag—”
With a quick flick, you plunged your gloved fingers into the small open seam, locating the shrapnel shard with tactile precision. You ignored Crankcase’s strangled hiss and produced the sliver with a flourish
“Aha! Steve the Shard, free at last. Say thank you”
Crankcase stared at you, deadpan
“You’re insane”
You smiled sweetly, plucking a soldering tool off the table “That’s Doctor Insane to you”
Bzzt
The tool sparked, lighting up your eyes like a child at a fireworks show
Crankcase tensed “You’re not putting that near me”
“I am” you said “Because if I don’t cauterize this line in the next thirty seconds, your arm’s going to start leaking coolant like a sobbing Wrecker”
He snarled — but didn’t stop you
You worked fast, too fast for his liking. Sparks flew, cables sizzled, and Crankcase let out a string of swears that could probably make a Seeker blush. You ignored all of it, whistling a cheerful tune as you worked
When it was done, you patted his arm
“All fixed. And you didn’t even pass out! Proud of you”
Crankcase glared. “I should report you”
“To who?” You grinned “You think we’re in a jurisdiction that still has a licensing board?”
He opened his mouth, paused, then shut it again
You leaned in “Besides... you’re walking out of here with full function, no fees, and a souvenir” You handed him the shard of metal with a crooked smile “Steve says hi”
Crankcase snatched it from you with a growl. But he didn’t throw it away
NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (yes, still me):
Arrived under protest. Yelled “I’m fine!” while leaking energon like a guilt-ridden faucet
Displayed strong resistance to bedside manner. Calmed slightly after being asked if he wanted to watch me extract a bolt with pliers “just to see if it screams”
Requires verbal distraction during treatment; otherwise clenches up like a seized servo. Suggested topics: how annoying Misfire is, dirt, taxes
Responds well to threats. Especially ones that sound made up, like “scalp grafts”
Treatment successful. Patient limped off muttering about “invasive freaks with too many teeth”
RECOMMENDATION: Do not show weakness. Or enthusiasm. Or joy. Pretend you also hate everything—it soothes him
MENTAL STATUS: Functionally cranky. Potentially immortal out of sheer spite
—
The clinic—if one was generous enough to call a rusted-out storage bay with dangling lights and an energon-stained slab a clinic—was unusually quiet for once. No shouting. No crashing. No Misfire trying to flirt with his own reflection or you
Which meant something was wrong
“You’re late” said the voice from the dark corner. It belonged to the ‘doctor’, of course. You were hunched over a datapad, stylus tucked between two digits, not even bothering to look up “Your shoulder is making that noise again, isn’t it?”
KROK stepped in like a soldier reporting for punishment. His frame stiff, his expression more so
“I’m not here for a chat. I just need a recalibration”
You blinked slowly and finally glanced up
“No one ever is’
He hesitated, optics scanning the room. No restraints in sight today. That was probably a good sign
You patted the slab “Lie down”
“I’ll sit”
“I said lie down. You don’t argue with doctors”
“You’re not a doctor”
You grinned “And you’re not winning this one”
Krok muttered a curse under his breath and complied, lowering himself onto the slab with the grace of a war veteran who’d fought too many battles and not won nearly enough
“Left shoulder, right?” you asked, already activating a scanner that beeped in several colors it probably wasn’t supposed to “Tell me what happened”
“Misfire fell on me” Krok replied, voice tight “During training. He called it ‘combat bonding’”
You nodded sympathetically, even as you grabbed a wrench that had definitely once been used to pry open cargo doors “Ah yes. The age-old bonding ritual of ‘launch-yourself-at-your-commander’?"
"Classic"
“I think it dislocated again” he said, biting the inside of his cheek “I can’t rotate it past—argh!”
You'd already shoved it backward with a practiced snap
Krok nearly sat bolt upright “WHAT THE FRAG?! You didn’t warn me!”
“I didn’t have to. I’ve done this to corpses before. You should be grateful you screamed—it’s how I knew it worked”
He glared at you “That is not reassuring”
You beamed “It wasn’t meant to be”
Silence fell, broken only by the sound of metal creaking as you adjusted a few connections, then pressed a cooling gel pad over the joint. It hissed
Krok’s field softened just slightly “...You’re getting better at this”
“Oh?” you replied innocently
“Is that professional admiration or resignation to fate?”
“I’m not sure which one worries me more”
You leaned in, lowering your voice like a conspirator “Krok... You know this makes me your personal physician now, right?”
He stared at you flatly
“I will self-repair next time”
You smiled sweetly, scribbling something onto a datapad “Too late. Already logged it. You’re mine now"
↓
SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD
DESIGNATION: KROK
AFFILIATION: Scavenger leader (self-declared, no one’s argued)
CONDITION: Shoulder joint misalignment. Minor processor lag. Leadership fatigue.
NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (not approved by any health council anywhere):
Walked in with a stiff limp and a stiffer attitude. Tried to diagnose himself
Kept correcting my terminology. Said “That’s not a circuit, that’s a triple-fused control relay!” I responded with “Sounds infected” Believes himself to be the voice of reason. Believes wrong
Endured treatment with the patience of a bot who has seen some things. Possibly in denial about the chaos level of his team
Asked if I could do anything about “leadership-induced migraines.” Suggested decapitation. He did not laugh. Left with improved range of motion and deeply haunted expression. Probably unrelated
RECOMMENDATION: Respect the chain of command—then wrap it around his legs and drag him back when he tries to leave
He's the glue holding the team together. The glue is melting
MENTAL STATUS: Exhausted dad energy. Probably dreams of retirement. Will never get it
more scavengers bc i love them and they're neglected on this app 💔
and more human reader bc why not?
scavengers and their human s/o
krok
similar to fulcrum, he's more private with his love life
he really just treats you like one of the crew in public, although more doting and careful with you
krok has picked up the habit of rubbing his thumb across your back when he's holding you, or petting your head/hair when lounging around, or when he's anxious and overwhelmed
he keeps an eye on you, especially around misfire and spinister. he doesn't need you going underfoot or getting shot at
krok is a cuddle bug, but he'll never admit it
he likes to lounge with you, watching shitty comedies with you sprawled across his chassis
his favourite name for you in private is "my love" or "darling"
in public, he generally just uses your name, or "hun"
crankcase
you genuinely can't tell if he hates you or if he's just like that when you met
turns out that's just his face, don't take it personally
yall spend a lot of time shit talking your crewmates, all in good fun (most of the time)
he's mastered the perma-frown due to his injury, but he swears you might literally kill him one day by making him crack a smile
you're his favourite (and only) co-pilot, he'll teach you how everything works and lets you help him fly the WAP when he needs a break
in public, he uses your name to address you. in private? he's a secret romantic
"love", "sweatspark", "princess/prince", and "baby" are his favourites
fulcrum
he'll probably never fully get over the whole human/organic phobia, but you made it this far with him, and that's to be commended
he still finds all of the fluids and oils distasteful, but he can admit, they certainly help on certain occasions
there will be days he just can't stand it, and does not want to be touched.
and that's what he loves about you: you're patient. he appreciates every bit of caution and leeway you give him
as a partner? he's not too open about it all in public, he's more of a private lover
of course, once he gets more used to the whole "having a partner" thing, he gets more comfortable being romantic in public
he's a sweetheart, and a total nerd
the rest of the scavengers will often find you two giggling/cackling in a corner over your inside jokes, of which yall have many
don't climb him. he will freak out and kick you off without even thinking about it
he calls you "hun" and "babe"
misfire
most likely of the scavengers to get with a human
he's the kind of guy who'll try anything once, and boy does he love his human
easily the most open with affection and proclaiming his love
he ALWAYS has to be near you, loves having you on his shoulder or in his hands
but be careful, he forgets your there sometimes. expect to be jostled around in his hands while he talks, he uses his hands to express himself while talking
and hold onto something when on his shoulder, he's constantly all over the place
he's gotten many a talking-to from krok for endangering you with his forgetfulness
he's the embodiment of adhd, so be patient. he will not remember things you need him to, but he will remember tiny, insignificant details about the most absurd things. it's just how he rolls
he calls you all sorts of borderline humiliating pet names and the get progressively worse
"sweatspark" , "pumpkin", and "babe" aren't too bad, but he goes further with the intent of flustering you, like "pookie", "snookums", "cutie patootie"... etc etc
do not let him teach you how to shoot
spinister
when you met, of course he tried to squash you like a bug
that's just how he is
but once you cracked his shell? he won't let you out of his sight
with all of the crazy shit the scavengers get up to, he's beyond worried about your safety and well being
he always has you safely perched on his shoulder
he teaches you medical malpractice cybertronian medicine and care, though you probably shouldn't be touching energon
he could give less of a fuck what the other scavengers hear him call you
he's oddly romantic, using names like "my love", "my dear", "darling", "angel", or "my light"
tumblr deleted the first draft of this and i forgot everything i wrote. it was originally much longer but tumblr had to be mean about it
Oh NICE a fellow Scavengers lover! Could I get some headcanons on how Crankcase, Spinister, and Krok would react to human reader gently kissing one of their knuckles after Misfire dared them to kiss the most handsome bot on the ship? 👀
Crankcase [MTMTE]
- The earth game you had suggested went over well with most of them
- I mean truth or Dare? Nearly as much of a hit as Shoot Shoot Bang Bang
- But Misfire finally looks at you
- " Truth or Dare "
- " I am not playing "
- " Dare it is "
- Follows up with the worst thing you could have heard that day
- But hey, a dare is a dare
- You strut over to where the Captain was piloting
- Perfectly oblivious to the game, you called out to him
- " Yeh? "
- One big smooch on his cheek, you stood smugly on his shoulder
- You know how he manages to say 'bah'? he somehow managed to say '!!!!!!!!'
Krok [MTMTE]
- Krok was participating only because he had nothing better to do
- And by that I mean he got to tell others what to do and they would listen no matter what it was
- Misfire seemed to have the same idea in mind when he suggested his dare to you
- You had told him of your feelings for SOMEONE on board
- Cheeky motherfucker tricked you into revealing it
- You would walk towards him quickly
- He would back away reluctantly
- That didn't stop you from grabbing his servo and leaving a soft kiss on his knuckles
- He actually shuddered with excitement
Spinister [MTMTE]
- You didn't really think Misfire would go so far with such a casual game
- But you did have a mech in mind
- Perhaps not the smartest but absolutely the most handsome mech you had ever seen
- He still hadn't connected the dots when you asked him to lift you up to his face
- But when you gave a quick smooch to his mouth guard his optics were wide
- He bonks his mouth guard on your forehead after
- Display of affection you guessed??? It was cute though!
----------------
Authors Note - Fun fact: despite Spinister being my fav Scavenger I though his name was Spinster for 4 years (only found out last week) I really am that blind.
Scavenger and DJD fans I am here to serve u...
My birthday was on Tuesday and I wanted to do an ask but couldn’t decide what… then I saw the Ask with Skywarp not knowing his human was sparked and it jolted me. Just haven’t been able to ask with school and work.
Could we get a scenario of the Scavengers with their sparkling? Most of the other stories we get sparkling content but I don’t think there’s any yet with our group of dummies.
So if I may, instead of jumping to once sparkling is here, can we get a scenario of them meeting their sparkling for the first time? 🥹 So we the reader can find out who the sire is??
Thank you. Have a beautiful weekend 💜
Happy belated birthday!
Lifeless Ordinary Scenario- Sparkling
Scavengers x Reader
• Fingers tracing the curve of the blank protoform’s cheek, you feel jittery as Krok shifts at your back. And despite Spinister’s frowning insistence that the spark is ready, you’re still worried that something might go wrong. That the spark might not migrate to the protoform on its own even with Krok helping nudge it along. The fact that they’re all crowding close to watch makes you even more nervous. Sighing because you can hear Misfire and Crankcase placing bets on who sparked you, you’re shooting the seeker a look as he grins unapologetically. Though, you’re curious about that, too.
• “Ready?” Krok asks and he feels you take a shuddering breath. Barely hears your okay as your fingers grip his and he’s shifting his plating. Still can’t believe you’re trusting him with this, to help guide the new spark home. And you make a soft noise when his spark snares you and you pour into him. Wrapping himself around you and the spark you’re carrying before he’s moving your linked hands to the blank protoform Spinister prepared. “It’s okay,” he soothes as your anxiety and worry needles him. “Let go,” he murmurs, mask retracting as his lips brush your jaw. Feels the klik you stop trying to cling to the new spark and then your spiking panic when it slips from you and he wraps himself tighter around your light. Keeping you from reaching after it.
• Wings flicking as the protoform shivers and the living metal stirs, reshaping itself as it pulls air in through its vents, Misfire pushes past Spinister. Aware of you trembling while Krok severs the connection with his spark, righting his plating, but not moving from his spot against your back. And there’s a flicker of jealousy that you chose Krok to help, not him. Stealing a glance at Fulcrum, the mech has his arms wrapped around himself as he stares at the protoform finding its shape, the mech further away than everyone else. “Spin,” you whisper and Misfire vents as his head turns, recognizing rotors, not wings. Hadn’t really thought the sparkling might be his, but he’d wanted it to be. Had allowed himself to imagine it could be. That he’d be a sire.
• Rumbling as the protoform warbles, optics opening, Spinister watches you gather the sparkling to yourself. Something inside him settling at the way you look right now, the muddied chaos of his mind almost calming. Can feel the rightness of it as his servos flex with the need to hold you. And his plating lifts aggressively when Crankcase punches him on the arm. “Fragger,” the other mech growls and he’s not sure if he should punch him back or not. ‘Who’s a fragger?’ He demands as the other mech just shakes his head, looking disgusted. Can’t help but look back at you, at the sparkling in your arms as Krok reaches across you to offer the bitlet a servo. ‘Tiny?’ Reaching to touch your cheek because you’re crying, you grab onto his servos.
• Shoulders slumping, Fulcrum stares at you with Spinister’s sparkling. Sometimes still gets uncomfortable when he’s with you, but watching the bitlet’s mouth open on a hungry chirp, longing spreads through him. Knew it couldn’t be his. Had been certain of that, so why is he so disappointed to see those little rotor nubs? To have it confirmed that the sparkling isn’t his. Maybe because he didn’t expect to live long enough to ever take a conjunx. Knew it wasn’t something meant for him, that his altmode meant that he was brought online only to die. Hadn’t been allowed to hope for more. And Spinister is just staring, confused as Crankcase tells him he’s a sire, the other mech sounding irritated about it. Like he’d wanted to be the sire. Spark aching as you brush your mouth against the sparkling’s head, possessiveness spreads through him. Does it matter that he didn’t sire the sparkling when you’re his? All of theirs? Their conjunx.
• Drying yourself off, you can feel Spinister staring at you and your shoulders hunch. Know that he knows something’s wrong even though the muddled bot probably can’t really figure out what. And that’s probably a good thing. You’re not sure that you can deal with seeing pity in his stare. Can’t stop thinking about Fulcrum’s obvious disgust. What if that’s how they all really feel and they’re just better at hiding it? Maybe you’re good enough to screw, but still too other. Too alien. Wrapping the oversized towel around yourself, you glance up at Spin and he rumbles, stepping forward with his hands cupped together.
• Venting tiredly as he runs his palm over his face, Fulcrum grimaces and avoids meeting Misfire’s optics. Doesn’t need to see the judgement there because he’s loathing himself right now more than enough for both of them. And he knows what it’s like to be uncomfortable in his own body, to feel judged. Had done that to you without meaning to and he’s not sure how to fix it. What to say to make it better.
• Clearing his vents irritably, his wings flick. Because apparently Fulcrum isn’t going to say or do anything about this. Spinister had carried you into the wash rack after and the two of you haven’t come back out, yet. And there’s a good chance Fulcrum’s screwup may have just ruined everything. Can’t imagine you seeking any of them out again after that. Not any time soon anyway. Maybe never. Rearing back and punching the other mech, Fulcrum staggers sideways, scowling at him. But doesn’t say a word.
• Why won’t you meet his optics? Smile for him? “Tiny? Did I mess up?” Spinister asks slowly, because that seems like the most likely explanation and you look up with a frown, towel wrapped around yourself. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Spin,’ you say, fingers fisting in the towel, clutching it to yourself. So why won’t you come to him? Has his hands out waiting and you look away. Rotors drooping slightly, he knows he forgets things. That he gets confused. That something is wrong with him. Those moments of lucidity rising through him from out of nowhere to leave him even more lost. Maybe he said something wrong?
• “Think Tiny will want any of us again after Fulcrum?” Crankcase asks, the words almost but not quite a joke and Krok clears his vents. Isn’t sure. Can’t imagine that having your partner get physically sick after did you any favors. But you’ve never came across as all that insecure. Comfortable with yourself and with them. “We could always toss him out an airlock,” Crankcase offers, voice gruff and Krok ignores him, pulling up star-charts. “Think they’re okay?” Servos stilling, Krok glances at the other mech, the way his jaw is working, the anger in his expression.
Revelboo my main source of transformers fics, we- yes, we need more Crankcase, I'm down bad for that hunk of metal now, NEED that so badly I'm foaming at the mouth. Here is my kitty as sacrifice but for real this time because she's gone across the rainbow bridge, RIP a good soldier ❤️
I’m so sorry to hear about your baby. She looked like a sweetheart
Soft Pt 2
Crankcase x Reader
• Clawing at the collar of your coveralls, he’s choking you and doesn’t even seem to realize, but then they don’t breathe. And it’s a relief when he finally drops you into his hand as you gasp in a breath and start coughing. “You asshole,” you wheeze and his optics narrow, but you’re pretty sure he doesn’t know what that means. Probably. Why would he? Rumbling, he uses a servo to push you slowly over in his palm and there’s no use struggling. Know who’s going to win this battle.
• “What? Not handsome enough for you?” He snarls, plating lifting. And you have the audacity to look up at him. Meet his optics. “What?” He demands again and you push at his servo until he lets you sit up. ‘You know there’s a chunk missing out of your head?’ Servos flexing, he’s tempted to just drop you. See if humans bounce. ‘You assholes can’t just grab someone and declare they’re your caretaker. There’s bureaucracy.’
• Except, you’re pretty sure a few of them have gotten away with doing just that. Not that you’re about to tell him that. You like not having to actually work and getting paid. Would rather this guy didn’t ruin that for you. “You don’t choose?” He demands and you lean back in his hand, raising your eyebrows. ‘Sweetie, I have no say whatsoever. HR decides who gets assigned so you’re out of luck.’ Though HR tends to make decisions based on not pissing off the ETs. Falling over in his hand when he starts walking, you struggle back upright. Where’s he taking you?
• So it’s an arranged conjunx deal? Fine by him. He’s pretty sure he’s seen the letters HR on a building somewhere. Sounds like all he needs to do is demand they give you to him. That attitude of yours just demands an answer. You’re so damn smug. Thinking he’s not good enough for you? Smarting off about his head? “Let’s talk to this HR, then.” Because it has to be you. Decided as soon as you opened your mouth.
• Expression blanking, you know what HR’s motto is. Keep the aliens happy. If he marches you there and demands you be his caretaker, he’s going to get his way. Meaning your free ride is about to end. Well, damn. “You don’t want me. I’ve got a mouth. Attitude problems,” you try and he chuckles to make your skin prickle. ‘Yeah. It’s a turn on.’ How many bones could you possibly break flinging yourself out of his hand in an escape attempt?
