What Doesn't Kill You
Jun. 5th, 2025 06:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hat_writes_stuffTitle: What Doesn't Kill You
Author: Almighty Hat
Fandom: Transformers Mystic Tales
Characters: Shockwave, Blurr
Word Count: 2,227
Rating: Teen & Up
Pairing(s): Shockwave/Blurr
Warnings: Suicidal ideation, assisted suicide (planned), character recovering from... one immediate and so, so, so many past injuries
Author's Notes: First of all, as with Sworn, the Spellbound AU and thus this fic deals heavily with death and the right to suicide, and this fic in particular is right in the head of someone who is planning his own death. If that isn't the best thing for you today, may I recommend either the Monster Hunter (Drift/Ratchet, completed, Chaotic Good Medic) or Mimics (Jazz/Prowl, ongoing, slow discovery that your government wants you to believe it is god) series, set in the same vaguely-historical fantasy setting deep in Spellbound's past.
Likewise, whenever I write something weird, I make it known that if I fail to warn for something I should have warned for? Please do tell me! If I hurt people with my writing, I want it to be in ways they're grateful for.
CONTAINS SPOILERS for Spellbound up through the most current comic (linked in the summary).
Summary: ... Makes you weird at parties.
Shockwave is a demon twice Blurr's height, several more times his mass, and not, magically speaking, exactly alive. But after a fight that blinds Shockwave and lodges an arrowhead in the almost-vulnerable void of his face, Blurr insists on feeding Shockwave a small fortune in healing potions.
Shockwave feels some kind of way about it.
Based on the latest update of Keferon's Spellbound AU.
Shockwave wasn't used to his pain mattering.
His training as a knight had been part of it, of course; there was no fussing allowed over fair hits. Anyone who wanted to learn to fight had to learn to take blows as well as give them, and Shockwave had, once upon a time, prided himself on being an excellent fighter.
(As Blurr was. Primus, he'd been incredible to see in that skirmish, ferocious grace and streaming magic, living up to his name. Seeing Blurr in a real fight, not a spar or simple movement practice, was enough to remind Shockwave of certain feelings, certain preferences, he'd thought long dead and buried. He wished he'd been able to see when Blurr told that last bandit to step away from Shockwave-- his voice had been a growl, so far from his usual playful tones-- he must have been a sight to behold. He must have looked heroic.)
But a knight's training had taught Shockwave to put off being bothered by smaller pains until after the fight was won or lost. As a demon, he'd been summoned over and over by hunters, masters, who simply didn't care if he was bleeding, screaming, broken, and he had to learn to keep going anyway. Anything less than being completely deferential led to punishments, and sometimes not even that was enough to keep him from being hurt at the hands of his master as well as his victims, who were easier to understand for it.
He was a demon; demons were supposed to be next to impossible to damage or kill.
So Shockwave was used to ignoring it when he hurt. It always faded away, usually completely, sometimes completely save for a dull ache that became part of the background of existence before too long. Even the loss of his optic wasn't alarming. He'd lost it before and it had come back. The parts of him made of magic-- which was most of him-- always did.
If it couldn't kill him, it stopped mattering, and so very little could kill him.
(Not nothing. He needed to ask Blurr what to do, now that he had Predacon flames and Damus's voice bottled up tightly-- did they need to be combined, somehow, or simply ingested, one at a time or both together? But he hesitated, for some reason he wasn't ready to examine, to even tell Blurr what Damus had given him. Soon-- if Blurr asked him directly, he couldn't lie to him, and he couldn't pretend he wanted a third component as insurance because they only had the two flasks-- but not yet. Not yet, he didn't want to tell Blurr he had both components just yet.)
What didn't kill him just prolonged his suffering.
But Blurr. His knight.
His knight refused to ignore Shockwave's suffering. Refused to leave an arrowhead (and half a shaft, all right) lodged in Shockwave's face on the grounds the arrows were poisoned-- and that while Blurr had been leaking, himself, from a wound to the side. Shockwave had resisted, made Blurr fight for it, work for it, climb him like a tree and grab his jaws and pry them open, fearless.
Utterly fearless.
It hadn't even been disgust in his voice as he looked at the rot that came out of Shockwave's decaying lines-- just confusion, concern. And then, when Shockwave had explained that within the magic, inside the invulnerable demonic shell, there was quite literally the rotting corpse of who he used to be, his knight had shifted from the gridwolfish creature he usually was-- loyal, playful, dangerous-- to some sort of mother hen.
Shockwave tried to spare him the expense, the effort, but Blurr wouldn't be dissuaded. They could simply save the healing potions, use them for Blurr, the larger bottles were easily twice the size of what Blurr had needed for his own wounds, that was eighteen times he could heal himself he was wasting on Shockwave.
Who didn't mind the pain, couldn't die of the poison, was more than used to the discomfort.
Blurr had to resort to ordering Shockwave to drink the potions, though he was kind about it, and said please, and argued that they wouldn't stay drinkable forever-- Blurr was so fast they might all go bad before he took another wound.
So Shockwave drank.
He would have, eventually, without the order, simply because Blurr cared so much-- he'd been close to crumbling, anyway, just hearing Blurr's asking get... raw.
His knight worried, it was as sweet as it was unnecessary, and Shockwave could indulge him, even when it was foolishly expensive.
(He was going to have to make time to talk to Blurr about his spending habits. He had no idea where Blurr got his money, but he needed to be more careful with it than spending a small fortune on engex or healing potions on a whim.)
But the healing potions contained a strong soporific ingredient, and nine of them-- plus being blinded-- was enough to have an effect on Shockwave.
Another thing he could do but didn't, as a demon, was sleep.
It tended to come with... dreams he could do without.
But Shockwave still found himself on a bed in a room in an inn (which Blurr had also paid for, and probably overpaid for), that Blurr had said they could share, and Shockwave... didn't resist the notion. Possibly couldn't resist. He'd laid down, and let Blurr arrange himself how he pleased since Blurr was the tactile one, between them, and drifted off. The potion kept his sleep dreamless and restful, and worked very well; when Shockwave woke, he could see again, possibly better than he'd been able to before.
When Shockwave woke, he was curled protectively around Blurr, who was curled comfortably up in Shockwave's arms, Blurr's head pillowed against Shockwave's grotesque neck, his back curved to match the hollow of Shockwave's throat and angle of his chest, his legs tucked up so Shockwave's claws covered Blurr from hip to knee, those strong swordsmech's fingers coiled against the base of his audial as Blurr vented, soft and warm, against Shockwave's antler.
It was peaceful and perfect and warm, and Shockwave held himself as still as he could to let Blurr sleep as long as he needed to. To prolong the moment as far as it could stretch.
Mechs couldn't deceive in their sleep.
He could claim Blurr just had a particularly tactile nature all he wanted, but Shockwave couldn't deny his knight had no fear of touching him. Wasn't afraid, wasn't disgusted, wasn't even the least little bit put off. Shockwave had been so sure that some of it, anyway, had to be bravado, even bravery, but Blurr just... snoozed on. Perfectly relaxed and cuddled close to a demon, his knight slept in such sweet trust.
Shockwave could see again, and could only wish he could twist to see his own antlers, to see how Blurr's face looked not just in sleep-- he'd seen that, keeping watch while Blurr slept-- but in comfortable sleep curled up with...
... a friend.
Shockwave would go that far, and no farther, and not think about it further, he decided-- instead, he tried to turn his thoughts toward how well the absolute buckets of healing potion he'd consumed had worked, and found that they'd worked very well indeed.
Nothing hurt.
Nothing.
Not a single thing, no aches, stinging cuts, or twinges, no lingering soreness-- he felt better, fine, good, even, and let himself wonder if his knight would be openly or subtly smug about it, when he woke up, and for how long. Blurr was right-- scaled up enough, healing potions did help, just like enough engex did eventually have an effect.
(Windblade had invited them back, both of them, to drink again sometime. Both of them.)
And it was out of concern and affection. Care. Blurr genuinely cared about Shockwave's discomfort, it wasn't just idle curiosity, or even academic passion, wanting to see what happened. Blurr cared.
Shockwave already liked Blurr as much as he could afford to like him, as much as he dared, but his knight just kept on... being his knight.
Sweet and small, brave and bold, tested and true. Kind, caring, difficult to disgust or drive away. It was going to break the metaphorical budget eventually, and then where would Shockwave be? His spark still hurt (and if it didn't hurt as much, lately, if it didn't seem too heavy to carry around in his frame anymore, that was only because it was a weight off his spark to have what he needed to leave his wretched existence behind. Surely that was all), and he'd still want peace and rest even after he got up. ... Eternal rest, not the rest of a lazy morning with a peaceful partner he didn't want to disturb so sound asleep.
Bed partner.
Bedfellow. Someone he was sharing the bed with. To sleep.
A friend he liked as much as he could afford to like, and nothing more.
Still, in the moment... in the moment it was hard to want anything more than he wanted to see Blurr's face.
If Blurr asked him if he felt better, Shockwave would have to say he did; if Blurr asked how much better he felt, Shockwave would have to try to quantify it... and that would likely lead to Blurr insisting Shockwave fuel, as well, he was sure. Another wasteful expense. He could possibly avoid Blurr telling him to sleep (would his nature force him to sleep when ordered, or only to try? That might be worth an experiment, actually) by pointing out that someone had to be on watch if they were camping, that the bandits were a perfect explanation as to why someone needed to be on watch, but-- they were only still traveling because Blurr still thought they needed a second bottled death. If not for Shockwave, Blurr could probably run back to his own home in a handful of cycles, if not less.
But still.
Still.
Not yet, not just yet. Blurr had taken a wound, Blurr had been racing hard enough to come back a mess, dirt and plant matter caked in all his joints. Blurr was tired, so Shockwave would let him sleep, let him rest, let him have... a little more peace before bringing up what he had. Shockwave would tell him when the moment was right. At the very least, he couldn't justify letting Blurr hunt down-- search out the next death bringer if they didn't need to. They didn't have anything to store that magic in. It would be a waste of Blurr's time-- and likely of more money, if he found himself wondering what else, if Blurr bought ten or twenty times the quantity he'd would need for himself, affected Shockwave. If Shockwave wasn't careful, he'd be agreeing to experiments to try to figure out if consuming like a living mech positively affected the magic he was mostly made of or the decaying frame at the core of that magic. It wouldn't do Shockwave any good to know, but perhaps the next demon Blurr summoned would benefit from it.
Usually, demons fight for their lives.
Blurr would summon other demons after him, Shockwave knew that.
He didn't like it, for some reason, but he knew it. There had been other demons before him, and Blurr had fought with them, Shockwave was sure. He hadn't thought, perhaps, to take care of them the way he tried to take care of Shockwave, but he might have tried to fuel them simply as a courtesy. He could picture that, of Blurr. And Blurr wouldn't send anyone to fight an undeserving target, or indeed send anyone to fight in his stead-- he'd be there, too, fighting alongside a summoned demon, as he had yesterday.
(Blue lightning, graceful and precise and so, so fast, smearing across Shockwave's vision, trailing afterimages and magic in his wake. Beautiful, powerful, and Shockwave wanted-- something.)
Shockwave hoped, slightly sourly, that those other demons could, would, appreciate his knight properly. His kindness, his care, his fearlessness and pure spark. The way he was so careful in his speech, rarely giving orders, and giving careless orders more rarely still, with no punishment and little enough in the way of retaliation when Shockwave gently twisted those words around. ("Do a mustache," he'd said, so Shockwave had. "Not on me!" he'd amended, but as another sentence, without enough detail to properly be an order on its own, so Shockwave had ignored it.) He'd be someone else's knight someday, and--
And that was probably no reason to curl his claws a little tighter around Blurr. To hold onto him a little tighter while he was still Shockwave's knight, and his alone.
Shockwave did it anyway.
For now, Blurr was his knight, with no one coming to take him or share him.
For now, Blurr slept safe in the curve of Shockwave's frame, protected like the bright treasure of a dark fortress.
For now, nothing hurt but whatever passed for Shockwave's spark, and he had his knight's trust.
The moment stretched on, into the morning, and Shockwave let it last as long as it could.
"Better?"
"... better."
"See! I was right."
"I apologize for being dramatic."
"That's okay. I would also get dramatic if I had untreated poisoning."
Original End Notes: I don't have a tumblr, I don't want a tumblr. I want to continue to read selected tumblrs. Tumblr has removed the ability for un-registered users to send asks or submissions... or to see behind cuts on blogs that don't have custom layout support enabled. So if I need to scream about something I see on one of the dozen-or-so tumblrs I follow, what am I to do? Fortunately, where Spellbound is concerned, I have an AO3 account and can scream here, so long as I write a fic first.
So I wrote a goddamn fic.
The time has come for screaming.
Because THIS UPDATE. And this PANEL! Not just that panel, so many of the panels, hngk my god, but-- this is the first time there has been canonical, non-fan-art (from another artist), non-side-sketch sleepy Shockblurr snuggles in Spellbound and just. Behold it.
Also Primus below Shockwave's optic went dead for most of the comic it's usually red all the way through but not this time, and I have seven million questions about everything including how healing potions work.
Also that first panel. Holy crap. Look at them. Back to back badasses. Battle couple. The fucking gorgeous contrast of the magenta and the cyan, the white and the red-on-black. The balance of them.
And on top of all that, behold the previous update, which caused me, a middle-aged fangirl who has been RPing TF stuff and reading TF fic and generally poking around in various creative fandom spaces for, like, twenty-five-ish years? Like I met my best friend through RP wherein she was Bluestreak back in 2003, and my first exposure to the concept of The Fallen was in Insecticomics, anyway. That update made me, an Old, go, "Oh fucking hell, is he groundsick on top of everything else?"
I don't even know if groundsickness is a thing in the current fanon, but it used to be a Thing. You can't ground a flyer too long, they go funny in the head. (But let's not be functionist about it, you probably can't keep a carformer from driving too long or a beastformer from engaging in alt behaviors too long. Alt modes define a few needs, not a mechanism's entire destiny.) Get that giant old man a hang glider or something.
(And the update before that one broke my heart and I say that as the person who wrote Sworn, but it also includes Damus going, basically, Do you need someone to kill that guy for you? Because the rules don't stop us from killing each other's masters. Well done Damus.)
You would think the next thing I'd finish in the Spellbound fandom would be something semi-original with a plot. I have a danged five-plus-one cooking. I have a role-reversal I was playing with that didn't go anywhere because somehow it lost the romantic tension. Nope! Quick little introspective piece based on canon so's I can yell in the notes because Keferon has my heart in a vice grip and I just want these kids to find a nice, satisfying ending with some frickin' justice for Shockwave. He does not deserve to die thinking Primus has been punishing him all these years.
CURRENT NOTE: The five-and-one fizzled, because I was using it to write preemptive fix-it fic, and hey! The plotline turned off in another direction.
Author: Almighty Hat
Fandom: Transformers Mystic Tales
Characters: Shockwave, Blurr
Word Count: 2,227
Rating: Teen & Up
Pairing(s): Shockwave/Blurr
Warnings: Suicidal ideation, assisted suicide (planned), character recovering from... one immediate and so, so, so many past injuries
Author's Notes: First of all, as with Sworn, the Spellbound AU and thus this fic deals heavily with death and the right to suicide, and this fic in particular is right in the head of someone who is planning his own death. If that isn't the best thing for you today, may I recommend either the Monster Hunter (Drift/Ratchet, completed, Chaotic Good Medic) or Mimics (Jazz/Prowl, ongoing, slow discovery that your government wants you to believe it is god) series, set in the same vaguely-historical fantasy setting deep in Spellbound's past.
Likewise, whenever I write something weird, I make it known that if I fail to warn for something I should have warned for? Please do tell me! If I hurt people with my writing, I want it to be in ways they're grateful for.
CONTAINS SPOILERS for Spellbound up through the most current comic (linked in the summary).
Summary: ... Makes you weird at parties.
Shockwave is a demon twice Blurr's height, several more times his mass, and not, magically speaking, exactly alive. But after a fight that blinds Shockwave and lodges an arrowhead in the almost-vulnerable void of his face, Blurr insists on feeding Shockwave a small fortune in healing potions.
Shockwave feels some kind of way about it.
Based on the latest update of Keferon's Spellbound AU.
Shockwave wasn't used to his pain mattering.
His training as a knight had been part of it, of course; there was no fussing allowed over fair hits. Anyone who wanted to learn to fight had to learn to take blows as well as give them, and Shockwave had, once upon a time, prided himself on being an excellent fighter.
(As Blurr was. Primus, he'd been incredible to see in that skirmish, ferocious grace and streaming magic, living up to his name. Seeing Blurr in a real fight, not a spar or simple movement practice, was enough to remind Shockwave of certain feelings, certain preferences, he'd thought long dead and buried. He wished he'd been able to see when Blurr told that last bandit to step away from Shockwave-- his voice had been a growl, so far from his usual playful tones-- he must have been a sight to behold. He must have looked heroic.)
But a knight's training had taught Shockwave to put off being bothered by smaller pains until after the fight was won or lost. As a demon, he'd been summoned over and over by hunters, masters, who simply didn't care if he was bleeding, screaming, broken, and he had to learn to keep going anyway. Anything less than being completely deferential led to punishments, and sometimes not even that was enough to keep him from being hurt at the hands of his master as well as his victims, who were easier to understand for it.
He was a demon; demons were supposed to be next to impossible to damage or kill.
So Shockwave was used to ignoring it when he hurt. It always faded away, usually completely, sometimes completely save for a dull ache that became part of the background of existence before too long. Even the loss of his optic wasn't alarming. He'd lost it before and it had come back. The parts of him made of magic-- which was most of him-- always did.
If it couldn't kill him, it stopped mattering, and so very little could kill him.
(Not nothing. He needed to ask Blurr what to do, now that he had Predacon flames and Damus's voice bottled up tightly-- did they need to be combined, somehow, or simply ingested, one at a time or both together? But he hesitated, for some reason he wasn't ready to examine, to even tell Blurr what Damus had given him. Soon-- if Blurr asked him directly, he couldn't lie to him, and he couldn't pretend he wanted a third component as insurance because they only had the two flasks-- but not yet. Not yet, he didn't want to tell Blurr he had both components just yet.)
What didn't kill him just prolonged his suffering.
But Blurr. His knight.
His knight refused to ignore Shockwave's suffering. Refused to leave an arrowhead (and half a shaft, all right) lodged in Shockwave's face on the grounds the arrows were poisoned-- and that while Blurr had been leaking, himself, from a wound to the side. Shockwave had resisted, made Blurr fight for it, work for it, climb him like a tree and grab his jaws and pry them open, fearless.
Utterly fearless.
It hadn't even been disgust in his voice as he looked at the rot that came out of Shockwave's decaying lines-- just confusion, concern. And then, when Shockwave had explained that within the magic, inside the invulnerable demonic shell, there was quite literally the rotting corpse of who he used to be, his knight had shifted from the gridwolfish creature he usually was-- loyal, playful, dangerous-- to some sort of mother hen.
Shockwave tried to spare him the expense, the effort, but Blurr wouldn't be dissuaded. They could simply save the healing potions, use them for Blurr, the larger bottles were easily twice the size of what Blurr had needed for his own wounds, that was eighteen times he could heal himself he was wasting on Shockwave.
Who didn't mind the pain, couldn't die of the poison, was more than used to the discomfort.
Blurr had to resort to ordering Shockwave to drink the potions, though he was kind about it, and said please, and argued that they wouldn't stay drinkable forever-- Blurr was so fast they might all go bad before he took another wound.
So Shockwave drank.
He would have, eventually, without the order, simply because Blurr cared so much-- he'd been close to crumbling, anyway, just hearing Blurr's asking get... raw.
His knight worried, it was as sweet as it was unnecessary, and Shockwave could indulge him, even when it was foolishly expensive.
(He was going to have to make time to talk to Blurr about his spending habits. He had no idea where Blurr got his money, but he needed to be more careful with it than spending a small fortune on engex or healing potions on a whim.)
But the healing potions contained a strong soporific ingredient, and nine of them-- plus being blinded-- was enough to have an effect on Shockwave.
Another thing he could do but didn't, as a demon, was sleep.
It tended to come with... dreams he could do without.
But Shockwave still found himself on a bed in a room in an inn (which Blurr had also paid for, and probably overpaid for), that Blurr had said they could share, and Shockwave... didn't resist the notion. Possibly couldn't resist. He'd laid down, and let Blurr arrange himself how he pleased since Blurr was the tactile one, between them, and drifted off. The potion kept his sleep dreamless and restful, and worked very well; when Shockwave woke, he could see again, possibly better than he'd been able to before.
When Shockwave woke, he was curled protectively around Blurr, who was curled comfortably up in Shockwave's arms, Blurr's head pillowed against Shockwave's grotesque neck, his back curved to match the hollow of Shockwave's throat and angle of his chest, his legs tucked up so Shockwave's claws covered Blurr from hip to knee, those strong swordsmech's fingers coiled against the base of his audial as Blurr vented, soft and warm, against Shockwave's antler.
It was peaceful and perfect and warm, and Shockwave held himself as still as he could to let Blurr sleep as long as he needed to. To prolong the moment as far as it could stretch.
Mechs couldn't deceive in their sleep.
He could claim Blurr just had a particularly tactile nature all he wanted, but Shockwave couldn't deny his knight had no fear of touching him. Wasn't afraid, wasn't disgusted, wasn't even the least little bit put off. Shockwave had been so sure that some of it, anyway, had to be bravado, even bravery, but Blurr just... snoozed on. Perfectly relaxed and cuddled close to a demon, his knight slept in such sweet trust.
Shockwave could see again, and could only wish he could twist to see his own antlers, to see how Blurr's face looked not just in sleep-- he'd seen that, keeping watch while Blurr slept-- but in comfortable sleep curled up with...
... a friend.
Shockwave would go that far, and no farther, and not think about it further, he decided-- instead, he tried to turn his thoughts toward how well the absolute buckets of healing potion he'd consumed had worked, and found that they'd worked very well indeed.
Nothing hurt.
Nothing.
Not a single thing, no aches, stinging cuts, or twinges, no lingering soreness-- he felt better, fine, good, even, and let himself wonder if his knight would be openly or subtly smug about it, when he woke up, and for how long. Blurr was right-- scaled up enough, healing potions did help, just like enough engex did eventually have an effect.
(Windblade had invited them back, both of them, to drink again sometime. Both of them.)
And it was out of concern and affection. Care. Blurr genuinely cared about Shockwave's discomfort, it wasn't just idle curiosity, or even academic passion, wanting to see what happened. Blurr cared.
Shockwave already liked Blurr as much as he could afford to like him, as much as he dared, but his knight just kept on... being his knight.
Sweet and small, brave and bold, tested and true. Kind, caring, difficult to disgust or drive away. It was going to break the metaphorical budget eventually, and then where would Shockwave be? His spark still hurt (and if it didn't hurt as much, lately, if it didn't seem too heavy to carry around in his frame anymore, that was only because it was a weight off his spark to have what he needed to leave his wretched existence behind. Surely that was all), and he'd still want peace and rest even after he got up. ... Eternal rest, not the rest of a lazy morning with a peaceful partner he didn't want to disturb so sound asleep.
Bed partner.
Bedfellow. Someone he was sharing the bed with. To sleep.
A friend he liked as much as he could afford to like, and nothing more.
Still, in the moment... in the moment it was hard to want anything more than he wanted to see Blurr's face.
If Blurr asked him if he felt better, Shockwave would have to say he did; if Blurr asked how much better he felt, Shockwave would have to try to quantify it... and that would likely lead to Blurr insisting Shockwave fuel, as well, he was sure. Another wasteful expense. He could possibly avoid Blurr telling him to sleep (would his nature force him to sleep when ordered, or only to try? That might be worth an experiment, actually) by pointing out that someone had to be on watch if they were camping, that the bandits were a perfect explanation as to why someone needed to be on watch, but-- they were only still traveling because Blurr still thought they needed a second bottled death. If not for Shockwave, Blurr could probably run back to his own home in a handful of cycles, if not less.
But still.
Still.
Not yet, not just yet. Blurr had taken a wound, Blurr had been racing hard enough to come back a mess, dirt and plant matter caked in all his joints. Blurr was tired, so Shockwave would let him sleep, let him rest, let him have... a little more peace before bringing up what he had. Shockwave would tell him when the moment was right. At the very least, he couldn't justify letting Blurr hunt down-- search out the next death bringer if they didn't need to. They didn't have anything to store that magic in. It would be a waste of Blurr's time-- and likely of more money, if he found himself wondering what else, if Blurr bought ten or twenty times the quantity he'd would need for himself, affected Shockwave. If Shockwave wasn't careful, he'd be agreeing to experiments to try to figure out if consuming like a living mech positively affected the magic he was mostly made of or the decaying frame at the core of that magic. It wouldn't do Shockwave any good to know, but perhaps the next demon Blurr summoned would benefit from it.
Usually, demons fight for their lives.
Blurr would summon other demons after him, Shockwave knew that.
He didn't like it, for some reason, but he knew it. There had been other demons before him, and Blurr had fought with them, Shockwave was sure. He hadn't thought, perhaps, to take care of them the way he tried to take care of Shockwave, but he might have tried to fuel them simply as a courtesy. He could picture that, of Blurr. And Blurr wouldn't send anyone to fight an undeserving target, or indeed send anyone to fight in his stead-- he'd be there, too, fighting alongside a summoned demon, as he had yesterday.
(Blue lightning, graceful and precise and so, so fast, smearing across Shockwave's vision, trailing afterimages and magic in his wake. Beautiful, powerful, and Shockwave wanted-- something.)
Shockwave hoped, slightly sourly, that those other demons could, would, appreciate his knight properly. His kindness, his care, his fearlessness and pure spark. The way he was so careful in his speech, rarely giving orders, and giving careless orders more rarely still, with no punishment and little enough in the way of retaliation when Shockwave gently twisted those words around. ("Do a mustache," he'd said, so Shockwave had. "Not on me!" he'd amended, but as another sentence, without enough detail to properly be an order on its own, so Shockwave had ignored it.) He'd be someone else's knight someday, and--
And that was probably no reason to curl his claws a little tighter around Blurr. To hold onto him a little tighter while he was still Shockwave's knight, and his alone.
Shockwave did it anyway.
For now, Blurr was his knight, with no one coming to take him or share him.
For now, Blurr slept safe in the curve of Shockwave's frame, protected like the bright treasure of a dark fortress.
For now, nothing hurt but whatever passed for Shockwave's spark, and he had his knight's trust.
The moment stretched on, into the morning, and Shockwave let it last as long as it could.
"Better?"
"... better."
"See! I was right."
"I apologize for being dramatic."
"That's okay. I would also get dramatic if I had untreated poisoning."
Original End Notes: I don't have a tumblr, I don't want a tumblr. I want to continue to read selected tumblrs. Tumblr has removed the ability for un-registered users to send asks or submissions... or to see behind cuts on blogs that don't have custom layout support enabled. So if I need to scream about something I see on one of the dozen-or-so tumblrs I follow, what am I to do? Fortunately, where Spellbound is concerned, I have an AO3 account and can scream here, so long as I write a fic first.
So I wrote a goddamn fic.
The time has come for screaming.
Because THIS UPDATE. And this PANEL! Not just that panel, so many of the panels, hngk my god, but-- this is the first time there has been canonical, non-fan-art (from another artist), non-side-sketch sleepy Shockblurr snuggles in Spellbound and just. Behold it.
Also Primus below Shockwave's optic went dead for most of the comic it's usually red all the way through but not this time, and I have seven million questions about everything including how healing potions work.
Also that first panel. Holy crap. Look at them. Back to back badasses. Battle couple. The fucking gorgeous contrast of the magenta and the cyan, the white and the red-on-black. The balance of them.
And on top of all that, behold the previous update, which caused me, a middle-aged fangirl who has been RPing TF stuff and reading TF fic and generally poking around in various creative fandom spaces for, like, twenty-five-ish years? Like I met my best friend through RP wherein she was Bluestreak back in 2003, and my first exposure to the concept of The Fallen was in Insecticomics, anyway. That update made me, an Old, go, "Oh fucking hell, is he groundsick on top of everything else?"
I don't even know if groundsickness is a thing in the current fanon, but it used to be a Thing. You can't ground a flyer too long, they go funny in the head. (But let's not be functionist about it, you probably can't keep a carformer from driving too long or a beastformer from engaging in alt behaviors too long. Alt modes define a few needs, not a mechanism's entire destiny.) Get that giant old man a hang glider or something.
(And the update before that one broke my heart and I say that as the person who wrote Sworn, but it also includes Damus going, basically, Do you need someone to kill that guy for you? Because the rules don't stop us from killing each other's masters. Well done Damus.)
You would think the next thing I'd finish in the Spellbound fandom would be something semi-original with a plot. I have a danged five-plus-one cooking. I have a role-reversal I was playing with that didn't go anywhere because somehow it lost the romantic tension. Nope! Quick little introspective piece based on canon so's I can yell in the notes because Keferon has my heart in a vice grip and I just want these kids to find a nice, satisfying ending with some frickin' justice for Shockwave. He does not deserve to die thinking Primus has been punishing him all these years.
CURRENT NOTE: The five-and-one fizzled, because I was using it to write preemptive fix-it fic, and hey! The plotline turned off in another direction.
