Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss

add   ‘reverse’  to the ask for the positions to be reversed

1. a kiss to the palm

2. a peck on the lips

3. a sad kiss goodbye

4. a peck on the cheek

5. a kiss on an old scar

6. a kiss to the knuckles

7. a kiss to the forehead

8. a kiss on a healing bruise

9. an excited kiss as a reunion 

10. a kiss to the top of the head

11. a kiss on a bandaged wound

12. a stolen kiss somewhere public

13. a sleepy kiss in the early morning 

14. a deep, passionate kiss on the lips

15. a kiss goodnight after a date gone well

16. a desperate kiss to your wounded muse

17. and awkward kiss after a date gone wrong

18. a lot of laughing, little kisses across the face

19. a kiss on the shoulder while hugging from behind 

Honestly, Longarm couldn't blame him. Truly, despite everything, where he lived on Cybertron was definitely the nicest accommodations he'd ever had in his millennia of life. As infuriating as it was sad.

"My own? Like, no roomies?" He says, looking over at Longarm in surprise. He gets his own digs? Like, a whole apartment to himself? Not, shared with anyone like a squadmate, a coworker, a recruit?

".... Seems risky. You are a Prime here, of intelligence, and while I have no doubt you can handle yourself, you also have to stay in that frame without drawing attention to yourself or without having the strength of a decepticon. If anyone wants your job, they are going to get you when you are most vunerable, which is before, during, or after recharge. If we shared, it would be easier collaboration."

Honestly, he didn't expect for Seacrest to actually propose staying with Longarm for the assignment. Most Cons would've been delighted to be on their own and not hesitate to snatch up the chance. Personal comforts a priority even while on a mission like this.

And it was obvious that the idea really did appeal to the seacon, even as he made argument against it almost immediately. Shockwave had to respect that focus towards the goal.

".........I can't find fault in your logic. There have been no attempts on my life while on Cybertron, yet. But I've also never had backup before. So now that you are to be with me, there is strength in numbers....."

He muses, calculations already running triple fold within Shockwave's processor.

"I have unused rooms in my accommodation, so you'll have space to call for yourself. I will still arrange for you to have an official address of your own for our use, but you can stay with me."

"I'll take care of it. We just need you to get scanned and get some support for your arm to heal properly.'

On Velocitron, it hadn't been so bad. Whether that was just everything moving at a speed he couldn't compute, or his means of flying from A to B to avoid the chaos of sidewalks and highways, he hadn't really had any of these 'accidents' like Cybertron. Was there something different about the two planets? Something in the air, the fuel, the chemical compounds? He can't remember these issues back home.

Arm tucked close to his chassis as he slinks along after Longarm, optics landing on any source of motion to ensure the medical staff keep to themselves, and Longarm will find himself as a buffer with any staff passing by a little too close, optics trained on their servos until they are deemed out of range. For all the Primes' curiosity, this might be the one place contact is truly avoided. He looked ready to throw hands down in the holding block, but here? He looks ready to smash his way out a window.

Even as one of them went up to Longarm and led the way to where Weaselwing could be sat down to be scanned and treated. Shockwave just glad that the Autobots actually had access to advanced devices for this sort of thing.

Longarm replies lowly, Shockwave trying to acclimate to the barrage of emotional data his processor was getting even as Weaselwing began to settle down. The experience was almost like if they had their EM fields fully enmeshed, instead of just brushing like they were.

Finally he can't take the contact and lets go slowly, letting out a soft vent as he does. His optics studying the smaller flight frame with a new clarity.

"...not a surprise the medics still planet side have failed you so. Anyone who'd know what they were looking at is either offline or on the front lines out in space...."

He can't help but mutter. As he speaks they finally get to their floor and the lift settles. He rubs a hand over his faceplates, wiping away the tears that still lingered there.

Still, the fact that there were people who knew about his condition out there, alive, made him a little hopeful at the possibility of a cure or treatement. Yes, they were on the front lines, but surely the Decepticon's would yield at being barred at every turn by their wonderful Magnus and relentless barrage against occupied planets. They had fuel, infrastructure, economy, medicine, civilisation. They decepticons were just wallowing in the mud in the boonies.

"I'll take care of it. We just need you to get scanned and get some support for your arm to heal properly.'

"Figures someone as rusty as you would know more about imaginary figures than current bots." The bug sighs tiredly

But he hadn't grown up with that lore. There was barely teachings about Primus himself on Velocitron. Religion a low priority for the mainstream audiences. Herbie merely staring blankly at the comment, not giving whatever emotion reaction Haybail might've wanted to get for Shockwave to see- because he wasn't sure what to give.

"It was perimeter patrol, old mech. Surveillance."

And the energon of earth didn't belong to Decepticons, but Herbie holds off from saying that.

---

"-and I have former Interrogator Haybail working the prisoner as we speak. In exchange for remaining known as 'Missing in Action'. All goes well, I will have the information you seek by end of cycle, my Liege."

Moving himself, the former Decepticon got to his pedals and took one final intake of his smoke.

'So, that's it? You promise you won't come back here?' Even when he was knee-deep in the Decepticon cause, not every interrogation ended with him breaking someone down. Sometimes, it was just this. Sometimes, he really did have nothing to work with. He moved behind Herbie and raised a servo. 'Thank you.'

His entertainment dies down when the elder mech gets up and starts moving around again, moving to be behind him. And the racer resists the urge to look over her shoulder, simply sits there. Bracing for what he thinks is going to be the next stage of whatever questioning Haybail was going to play act....

"I don't even know where here is...." He starts, suddenly growing antsy from the other's tone.

"What-?!"

But he doesn't get to finish the question. The impact to the back of the racer's helm hitting with enough force in just the right place to render him unconscious near instantly. He'd definitely feel pain once his processor rebooted later, but otherwise he wouldn't be worse for war.

Herbie's limp frame would slump onto the table due to the momentum, leaving him fully at the mercy of whatever came next.

At the same time as this, Shockwave was finishing up his conversation with Megatron and closing the connection. Then he would turn and start making his way back, checking the video feed as he did.

Small. Feeling so small and helpless! Horrified relief! Panicked realization of a danger narrowly avoided-!

He gasps and lets go - for a klik. And then he's grabbing onto Weaselwing once more, hold firm on the shorter mech's shoulders. Now using both hands to get full contact.

THIS! THIS WAS IT!

The effect was the same! Sudden emotions that were not his own!

Was this why the heli avoided touch at all costs-?!

Liquid begins to leak from Longarm's own optics, making him look as if he were crying with his assistant. But it was just run over from the emotions steamrolling through the larger mech's processor. He grit his denta, determined to investigate what was going on here. And get Weasel to calm down before they got to the medbay.

"I saw the security footage. They antagonized you and threw pointed accusations around.....you hit a breaking point due to their treatment of you."

He reasons, thumb rubbing slightly in a mechanical effort to soothe.

For the first time in what had been decacyles here on Cybertron, there was a form of contact long enough for him to actually feel frame heat on his sensors of another being. An em field resting against his. And .. Longarm hadn't pulled away. Usually people recoil at a mere brush. They shout or they yelp like they've been struck, they flinch away like they have been shocked. He's had a medic scream at one point when he'd crash landed and had tried to see if he'd broken anything. Official Diagnosis: Standard Unexplained Flight Frame Static, nothing to worry about. Official Treatment Plan: Avoid physical contact until further notice.

And yet, here was Longarm, two palms pressed to his shoulder, telling him everything would be alright, despite the little rivulet of tears trickling down their own cheeks.

I have your back

Well, consider him calmed down. If not, dumbfounded.

Longarm replies lowly, Shockwave trying to acclimate to the barrage of emotional data his processor was getting even as Weaselwing began to settle down. The experience was almost like if they had their EM fields fully enmeshed, instead of just brushing like they were.

Finally he can't take the contact and lets go slowly, letting out a soft vent as he does. His optics studying the smaller flight frame with a new clarity.

"...not a surprise the medics still planet side have failed you so. Anyone who'd know what they were looking at is either offline or on the front lines out in space...."

He can't help but mutter. As he speaks they finally get to their floor and the lift settles. He rubs a hand over his faceplates, wiping away the tears that still lingered there.

He explains, and gives a light shrug.

Well now he's just star eyed and little wings waggling in excitement at the idea of personally being praised by their glorious leader.

"Got it. Fake it till you make it" He can totally pull off the look of being a productive little bean counter until he's needed for other stuff. Oo! Espionage! He could spill some requested drinks all over someone's console if they've got incriminating content on it. Yess, plotting and scheming.

"Wait, don't these guys have, like, plush pillows and little blankets on their berths to keep them cosy?" Sign him the frag up! He's making a nest.

Honestly, Longarm couldn't blame him. Truly, despite everything, where he lived on Cybertron was definitely the nicest accommodations he'd ever had in his millennia of life. As infuriating as it was sad.

"You will just need some training in the filing system and the terminal platform, then. Acceptable."

He notes, before letting out a soft vent. The corner of Longarm's mouth lifting just a bit in the ghost of humor.

Acceptable.

He's not sure if its a promotion, or a demotion. You go from mining energon on water worlds, or smushing the locals in preperation of the next advancement, straight into a desk jockey.

He explains, and gives a light shrug.

So the pair walk back out of the cell block and into the are beyond, Longarm holding out a limb to give his assistant space from the crowd but making no body contact himself either. His demeanor the same as when he arrived, at least until he spots Brakecheck within the crowd once more.

"Be advised that I will be filing a long and detailed report about all of this to Ultra Magnus."

His tone is even, as if stating a simple fact. But the cutting look in the Prime's usually soft optics would make it clear that the statement was not just a promise, it was a threat. Helms were going to roll, specifically that of Gearshift and Crankshaft. And Brakecheck himself, if Longarm could swing it.

Get the trio of antagonistic - and far too perceptive - bots demoted down to janitorial detail. Or boot camp staff. Processor numbing backbreaking labor that'll keep them too busy to make accusations. Shockwave was already mentally writing up report drafts as they made it to the lift and got in. It's only when the doors close and they're finally alone do his shoulders slump a bit with a vent. He rubs a hand over his face, ruminating, when he hears the absolutely smallest 'thank you' being said to him.

He turns to look at Weasel and Longarm can't help his optic ridges from raising slightly when he sees the smaller mech is leaking from his optics...

Crying. That was the word for this. He was crying from....relief? Perhaps....?

The Prime stares, expression openly lost for a klik as Shockwave flounders and releases active control of his face plates. Then his expression shifts to concern and he moves forward, the spy going for broke and reaching to take Weasel's shoulder. In an attempt to ground the understandably distraught flight frame.

I'ts going to be alright.

Well, that gets a whole new bubble of tears and sobs pulled from the little aerial, not even noticing the hand curl over his shoulder supportively in his fight in trying to push all these tears away.

He felt so small ... Why did he always feel so small.

Small. Feeling so small and helpless! Horrified relief! Panicked realization of a danger narrowly avoided-!

He gasps and lets go - for a klik. And then he's grabbing onto Weaselwing once more, hold firm on the shorter mech's shoulders. Now using both hands to get full contact.

THIS! THIS WAS IT!

The effect was the same! Sudden emotions that were not his own!

Was this why the heli avoided touch at all costs-?!

Liquid begins to leak from Longarm's own optics, making him look as if he were crying with his assistant. But it was just run over from the emotions steamrolling through the larger mech's processor. He grit his denta, determined to investigate what was going on here. And get Weasel to calm down before they got to the medbay.

"I saw the security footage. They antagonized you and threw pointed accusations around.....you hit a breaking point due to their treatment of you."

He reasons, thumb rubbing slightly in a mechanical effort to soothe.

He'd have a generous sip with relish then.

He agrees with a noise suspiciously close to a snort. He has another, less greedy, sip from the cube.

"All in good time."

Several sips and another cube between them later.

Comes the tired reply, Shockwave leaning towards Data slightly as he worked hard to not slur his words. Despite definitely having consumed enough high grade that no one would blink twice at him for doing so.

"You are hardly the first to think of such a plan.....Starsscream is hard to offline."

Not that Shockwave had ever tried to off the troublesome scheming seeker.....nor had he ever done anything to stop any schemes he caught wind of either...

But he also wasn't feeling very logical right now.

"Hmmmmm, an accident would be more practical. No prominent culprit would keep any flight frames within the ranks from trying to retaliate against us."

These idiots were mad that Weaselwing had gotten 'promoted' over them. And were connecting dots just to have something to say.

Honestly. Autobots were just as bad as Decepticons. Truly so.

When arriving onto the lower levels, Longarm Prime is nothing but the image of patience that would be expected of him. Even as he's swarmed on all sides. Calmly making his way through the crowd even as those who had spoken conspiracies about him were now looking to him for 'justice'.

Idiots. Hypocrites. Reminded him of Starscream, honestly....

"There are no Decepticons here. Maybe your insistence to otherwise, is why he's remained hostile?"

Is the only pointed comment he says to the attendant, Longarm not even pausing long enough to see who it was. Not important.

--------------------------

Honestly? He expected for Weasel to look worse than he did. Considering the injuries on his opponents in the 'incident'. Though, the cracked lens and the injured arm are still of concern. Both would negatively affect the flight frame's flying if not properly tended to.

"Let's get you out of here and to medbay. Hnnn?"

Weaselwing wasn't sure what to expect from Longarm stepping through the threshold into the cell. Would Longarm turn on him as well? Expressing disappointment for his assistant being a double agent? For harming two perfectly stellar Autobots? Would he be angry? Would he be loud? What he was not expecting, while stoic, was that usual kind tone to join him in leaving and making their first stop the med bay.

Compassion.

Paranoid fists lowered, instead cradling his sore arm against his cockpit, and Weaselwing was giving a quick little nod to get out of there and join Longarm at his side, through the parade of stares and protests, until the elevator doors could seal the pair away from the last 18 hours of terror. He wasn't aware the breath he'd been holding until it is wrenched from his chassis at the same time adrenaline finally gives out, slumping against the wall with a shaky little inhale.

"Thank you"

So the pair walk back out of the cell block and into the are beyond, Longarm holding out a limb to give his assistant space from the crowd but making no body contact himself either. His demeanor the same as when he arrived, at least until he spots Brakecheck within the crowd once more.

"Be advised that I will be filing a long and detailed report about all of this to Ultra Magnus."

His tone is even, as if stating a simple fact. But the cutting look in the Prime's usually soft optics would make it clear that the statement was not just a promise, it was a threat. Helms were going to roll, specifically that of Gearshift and Crankshaft. And Brakecheck himself, if Longarm could swing it.

Get the trio of antagonistic - and far too perceptive - bots demoted down to janitorial detail. Or boot camp staff. Processor numbing backbreaking labor that'll keep them too busy to make accusations. Shockwave was already mentally writing up report drafts as they made it to the lift and got in. It's only when the doors close and they're finally alone do his shoulders slump a bit with a vent. He rubs a hand over his face, ruminating, when he hears the absolutely smallest 'thank you' being said to him.

He turns to look at Weasel and Longarm can't help his optic ridges from raising slightly when he sees the smaller mech is leaking from his optics...

Crying. That was the word for this. He was crying from....relief? Perhaps....?

The Prime stares, expression openly lost for a klik as Shockwave flounders and releases active control of his face plates. Then his expression shifts to concern and he moves forward, the spy going for broke and reaching to take Weasel's shoulder. In an attempt to ground the understandably distraught flight frame.

Instead he turns to look over at the reclining Seacon,

"You will just need some training in the filing system and the terminal platform, then. Acceptable."

He notes, before letting out a soft vent. The corner of Longarm's mouth lifting just a bit in the ghost of humor.

"I'll be sure to give you a tour. And you'll learn how everything works as I teach you."

Lucky for Shockwave, she seemed to be more accustomed to silence. Rather than talking his audial off, the hybrid either hummed to herself in a chilling yet merry tone, or enjoyed the natural forest ambience. Although most bots would find it quite off-putting, especially due to the fact that Mourningstar's optics were constantly on Shockwave and she lingered by him as if afraid to get lost the nanoklik she got distracted.

Logic dictated that Mourningstar's actions were nonthreatening and from a place of genuine good feelings. So he wasn't worried about her at all.

And he didn't mind the silence. An unexpected positive that she could be fine with 'companionable' silence too.

Eventually they made it to his "lab", some long abandoned human made observatory building that had been left to rot away in the woods. But the door had been freshly reinforced and repaired, obviously by Shockwave.

“Isn’t it interesting how humans actually have places like these that can be used for Earthbound bot bases?” She mused, beady optics dilating within their sockets while her helm swiveled on a three-sixty rotation in order to take in all that she could.

Comes the reply, tone full of dry humor. Shockwave simply watching the femme's odd movements with the same air.

Yes. She was very....out of the standard for Cybertronians...

The observatory was....an observatory. Beyond the old entry way and past long abandoned office spaces, there was the actual lab full of instruments and related areas. The equipment there a mixture of Cybertron based tech and what useful human things Shockwave could scavenge.

While the antlered mech allowed for Mourningstar to have free reign to explore all she liked in other areas of the place, the lab itself strong restrictions. While she could roam, her servos needed to be kept to herself unless she was handling the simplest - and sturdiest - of equipment.

"As you gain experience and knowledge, these rules will be eased. But for our shared safety, and that of the surrounding area, I prefer caution above all else. Hnnn?"

"Whoa! WHo?--" too late, he's afraid. Who is this slenderman-looking, shockwave-looking, beetle-pincher-head-looking rando?

They were Decepticons, after all.

Either way, he'd keep an optic on this new mech. In case he proved to be a schemer like Starscream.

"Very well." The cycloptic mech finally answered in just as vague acceptance of A113n's excuse.

He didn't think much of it though. It had ONLY been a cycle, after all. So he just makes his way back without calling ahead. Not thinking much of it....

Until he got back. And his department had all the signs of not having some little flight frame moving around in it for a while...

And then he got to his email....

What the frag. He's gone ONE CYCLE and -?!

Longarm didn't know whether to laugh or groan. Though, he is impressed as he reads the results of the aftermath. And watches the security footage. Seemed Weaselwing had decided to get some revenge.....? Basically on the warpath, as it were.... not that the likes of the mechs involved didn't deserve it.

Getting up from his desk to go rescue his assistant from Autobot holding, he puts of an expression of that's all seriousness. Mild eyes and thoughtful frown as he heads down and makes his way through the halls. Autobots making way for the stocky prime.

Only a Decepticon would want a flight frame as their assistant.

We know he takes the agent shuttles. I bet he's using them to meet up with Megatron. I bet Longarm Prime is the spy.

'Keep his name out of your mouth'

He already outed one guy in boot camp to save his aft, he's just saving you for later.

A scrawny little aerial like yourself probably only got where you are on your knees.

'Oh yeah? Big words for the mech about to be on theirs'

Dreaded expressions turn to relief at Longarm stepping out of the lift to the lower levels, even a few smirks in their midst expecting the Prime to be relieved that the 'deceptive flight frame' had shown it's true colours, and Longarm will rapidly find himself breached of personal space by various medics, supervisors and guards. Brakecheck wants him shipped off and tested for whatever diseases Decepticon's carry having been bit. Gearshift was still in recovery, casted shoulder to hip until his axle could slowly straighten back out but would need abdominal plating removed to aid the healing and to remain prone. And Crankshaft, confined to the med bay until both his arm struts healed and a proper investigation could be conducted, was hollering up and down about lawyers and stockades.

"Oh, uh, Longarm, sir? I wouldn't go in there. The con is hostile"

Perking up at the sound of a lock in the door, and Weaselwing is sliding off the little slab of a berth he's been provided, arms tucked loosely by his chassis ready to throw if that medic and guard combo come anywhere near him with a needle, and those rotors are starting to idly spin behind him ready to blast the pair on their aft when-

"S-Sir!?"

-Longarm Prime is the one stepping into view.

These idiots were mad that Weaselwing had gotten 'promoted' over them. And were connecting dots just to have something to say.

Honestly. Autobots were just as bad as Decepticons. Truly so.

When arriving onto the lower levels, Longarm Prime is nothing but the image of patience that would be expected of him. Even as he's swarmed on all sides. Calmly making his way through the crowd even as those who had spoken conspiracies about him were now looking to him for 'justice'.

Idiots. Hypocrites. Reminded him of Starscream, honestly....

"There are no Decepticons here. Maybe your insistence to otherwise, is why he's remained hostile?"

Is the only pointed comment he says to the attendant, Longarm not even pausing long enough to see who it was. Not important.

--------------------------

Honestly? He expected for Weasel to look worse than he did. Considering the injuries on his opponents in the 'incident'. Though, the cracked lens and the injured arm are still of concern. Both would negatively affect the flight frame's flying if not properly tended to.

"Let's get you out of here and to medbay. Hnnn?"