raisedbymoogles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
raisedbymoogles) wrote2022-10-28 01:54 am
raisedbymoogles) wrote2022-10-28 01:54 am
Entry tags:
Me: sits down to write more OBW. Brain: HEY YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE COOL-
Persona 5/TFG1 AU. The ‘I’ here is the player character i guess only in this version you get to choose your gender and aren’t limited to girls as dating partners, yes I am still salty about the whole no-queers-allowed business why do you ask
“The palace is… mine?” Optimus Prime asked faintly.
All optics locked onto me with the nearly audible snap of target locks, and I realized with a slight tremor that I basically just accused everyone’s favorite mechanism of being a Decepticon. “The app is definitely reacting to you,” I explained quickly. “I know all the palace owners so far have been ‘Cons, but it’s not always a matter of being evil. Cognitive distortions can happen to anyone.”
Optimus sank back in his seat, optics averted; it was Prowl who was first to respond. “Absolutely not,” he declared. “The risk is too great.”
“Prowl,” Optimus murmured.
“Palaces affect the environment they’re anchored to,” I argued. “If it’s allowed to continue, everyone’s psyche is at risk.”
Ironhide shook his head. “I’m with Prowl. No offense, but we can’t take the chance. There’s gotta be another way, right?”
“Some form of psychological therapy,” Prowl agreed. “I know it’s much slower, but…”
“Don’t look at me,” Ratchet grunted. “I’m not a coding specialist.”
“Smokescreen, then?” Bumblebee suggested. “I know he’s not that kind of therapist either, but…”
“Smokescreen doesn’t work with officers. It’s a command conflict issue.” Prowl grimaced, clearly trying to think his way around regulations into a workable solution. “We’d have to source someone from Cybertron, but how hard it would be to get in contact-”
“Enough.”
Optimus rose to his full height, and the discussion about his fate over his helmet screeched to an abrupt halt. “I’m aware of the risk,” he informed his officers, as steady as stone. “But I cannot allow that risk to keep me from doing what must be done.”
“Prime, I - we can’t lose you,” Ironhide pleaded. “You fall, the Autobots all fall.”
Optimus’s fans heaved and then just as abruptly clicked off, as though the reaction was something to hide. “If I am so psychologically compromised as to have created a palace,” he told them all gravely, “then right now I am the greatest danger to the Autobots. You’ve all seen the damage such individuals cause.” I winced, along with the rest of the Autobots - the Decepticons whose hearts I’d stolen had left a significant wake of harm that Mementos might take years to recover from. “But rest assured, I have no intention of losing the will to live. You all are my anchors, to pull me back from even the highest precipice, as you always have been.”
While the officers contemplated that, Optimus knelt down to speak to me. “What must I do?”
I drew a careful breath, drew out my phone and opened the app. “To open the way to a palace, I need the subject’s name, a location, and a keyword. Something that describes what the location is to you.”
Optimus averted his gaze again. “The location can only be here,” he admitted. “The Ark. But I don’t know what to tell you as regards the keyword.”
“Used to be a spaceship,” Jazz pondered out loud. “Maybe that’s the answer?”
“No hits,” I reported.
“Try ‘highway,” Ratchet suggested. “Or ‘road.’”
“Home,” Prowl suggested. “Office. A piece of Cybertron on an alien world.”
The app still wasn’t reacting, and Optimus was looking more and more weighed down and anxious with every suggestion. It was all in the optics and the tilt of his head, with most of his face masked. “Guys,” I blurted out before I could lose my nerve. “I don’t think this is helping.”
The officers focused on me again, but there was less overt hostility this time around so I managed not to flinch. “It has to come from you,” I told Optimus, trying to be gentle. “It’s something personal. Maybe something you aren’t proud of.”
“Should we clear out?” Jazz suggested, and Ironhide made the start of a protest but quickly stifled it.
Optimus shook his head quickly, though he didn’t lift his gaze to anyone. “No - it’s all right. If patterns hold as they have been, the deepest secrets of my psyche are all going to come to light very dramatically very soon. Better to get used to it now.”
And, with that distressing comment hanging in the air like a suspended piano, Optimus focused on me. “I think… there is something that comes to mind,” he admitted. “Sometimes-” He cut off. Despite his brave words, he was holding his vents closed again, his hands held in tense fists, something in him rattling enough that if I’d been driving him I would have taken him to a mechanic. He was clearly struggling.
…poor guy. I stepped closer, put a hand on his. I’d stolen hearts to stop their owners, and what happened to them after had been a secondary concern at best; Optimus was the first palace owner I really, truly wanted to help. “I’m listening,” I told him. “No judgement. I’m just finding the way to your heart.”
Optimus let out a brief, painful-sounding blurt of static that sounded like nothing so much when humans were trying not to either laugh or cry. “…prison,” he said, almost so softly that I couldn’t hear. “Sometimes it feels like a prison.”
I kept my eyes on the Prime’s, but the collection of indrawn vents and startled clanks told me the Autobots had heard that bare whisper just fine. “Okay,” I said, before anyone could blurt out anything and we had to spend yet more time comforting them about Optimus’s feelings. “Let’s test it out. I’m just going to take a quick look to see what we’re dealing with. I won’t mess with anything yet. All right?” At Optimus’s nod, I redirected my attention to the app. “Optimus Prime,” I announced. “The Ark. Prison.”
The reaction was immediate - a wave of vertigo washed over me, reality rippling, colors going strange. “Be right back!” I blurted out, but I had no way of knowing if they heard me before the palace fully manifested around me.
At first I thought I’d accidentally traveled to the Velvet Room somehow - a small cell, one side a set of prison bars. But I was in my infiltration gear, not the uniform and chains of the Velvet Room inmate, and upon closer inspection I realized that the walls were bare metal rather than cushioned velvet and the bars were made of glowing pink energy. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see that my cell was only one of hundreds arranged in a long hall whose boundaries stretched further than I could see. Most of the cells were empty, but here and there in the dimness I could see the flickering glow of blue robot eyes, just like Optimus Prime’s.
And, of course, the bars were impassable. My only way out was escaping back into the real world. I couldn’t have meddled with Optimus Prime’s psyche if I’d wanted to.
I stepped back, sat down heavily on the (bare, hard) bench at the back of the cell. Optimus… this is what the inside of your head looks like? And you hid it so well not even your closest friends knew.
Footsteps sounded somewhere far down the hall, coming closer as I listened. I got up to peer through the bars, expecting to see one of the ubiquitous, near-formless shadows that always haunted such places. But the glowing bars ruined my night vision, and I didn’t see who it was until he was nearly on top of me.
It was Optimus Prime. Sized to be only head and shoulders taller than me, and my head spun with the breaking of scale. Am I bigger, or are you smaller? Neither, I knew, but the effect was still dizzying, and I hadn’t quite got my equilibrium back when the Prime paused in front of me.
“Well, well. A new prisoner, I see.”
…no, this wasn’t Optimus. This was his Shadow, glowing yellow eyes and all, its paint dark blue all over and holding a baton casually at its shoulder. I didn’t respond, afraid that even speaking to it would disrupt the real Prime’s mind, and at my silence the Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll learn to say ‘yes, Warden’ when I speak to you,” it menaced, and the bars were abruptly just gone and there was nothing between me and it, and it was stepping forward and reaching for me-!
I gasped and thumbed the escape button on my phone, and Shadow, prison and all were swept away.
“The palace is… mine?” Optimus Prime asked faintly.
All optics locked onto me with the nearly audible snap of target locks, and I realized with a slight tremor that I basically just accused everyone’s favorite mechanism of being a Decepticon. “The app is definitely reacting to you,” I explained quickly. “I know all the palace owners so far have been ‘Cons, but it’s not always a matter of being evil. Cognitive distortions can happen to anyone.”
Optimus sank back in his seat, optics averted; it was Prowl who was first to respond. “Absolutely not,” he declared. “The risk is too great.”
“Prowl,” Optimus murmured.
“Palaces affect the environment they’re anchored to,” I argued. “If it’s allowed to continue, everyone’s psyche is at risk.”
Ironhide shook his head. “I’m with Prowl. No offense, but we can’t take the chance. There’s gotta be another way, right?”
“Some form of psychological therapy,” Prowl agreed. “I know it’s much slower, but…”
“Don’t look at me,” Ratchet grunted. “I’m not a coding specialist.”
“Smokescreen, then?” Bumblebee suggested. “I know he’s not that kind of therapist either, but…”
“Smokescreen doesn’t work with officers. It’s a command conflict issue.” Prowl grimaced, clearly trying to think his way around regulations into a workable solution. “We’d have to source someone from Cybertron, but how hard it would be to get in contact-”
“Enough.”
Optimus rose to his full height, and the discussion about his fate over his helmet screeched to an abrupt halt. “I’m aware of the risk,” he informed his officers, as steady as stone. “But I cannot allow that risk to keep me from doing what must be done.”
“Prime, I - we can’t lose you,” Ironhide pleaded. “You fall, the Autobots all fall.”
Optimus’s fans heaved and then just as abruptly clicked off, as though the reaction was something to hide. “If I am so psychologically compromised as to have created a palace,” he told them all gravely, “then right now I am the greatest danger to the Autobots. You’ve all seen the damage such individuals cause.” I winced, along with the rest of the Autobots - the Decepticons whose hearts I’d stolen had left a significant wake of harm that Mementos might take years to recover from. “But rest assured, I have no intention of losing the will to live. You all are my anchors, to pull me back from even the highest precipice, as you always have been.”
While the officers contemplated that, Optimus knelt down to speak to me. “What must I do?”
I drew a careful breath, drew out my phone and opened the app. “To open the way to a palace, I need the subject’s name, a location, and a keyword. Something that describes what the location is to you.”
Optimus averted his gaze again. “The location can only be here,” he admitted. “The Ark. But I don’t know what to tell you as regards the keyword.”
“Used to be a spaceship,” Jazz pondered out loud. “Maybe that’s the answer?”
“No hits,” I reported.
“Try ‘highway,” Ratchet suggested. “Or ‘road.’”
“Home,” Prowl suggested. “Office. A piece of Cybertron on an alien world.”
The app still wasn’t reacting, and Optimus was looking more and more weighed down and anxious with every suggestion. It was all in the optics and the tilt of his head, with most of his face masked. “Guys,” I blurted out before I could lose my nerve. “I don’t think this is helping.”
The officers focused on me again, but there was less overt hostility this time around so I managed not to flinch. “It has to come from you,” I told Optimus, trying to be gentle. “It’s something personal. Maybe something you aren’t proud of.”
“Should we clear out?” Jazz suggested, and Ironhide made the start of a protest but quickly stifled it.
Optimus shook his head quickly, though he didn’t lift his gaze to anyone. “No - it’s all right. If patterns hold as they have been, the deepest secrets of my psyche are all going to come to light very dramatically very soon. Better to get used to it now.”
And, with that distressing comment hanging in the air like a suspended piano, Optimus focused on me. “I think… there is something that comes to mind,” he admitted. “Sometimes-” He cut off. Despite his brave words, he was holding his vents closed again, his hands held in tense fists, something in him rattling enough that if I’d been driving him I would have taken him to a mechanic. He was clearly struggling.
…poor guy. I stepped closer, put a hand on his. I’d stolen hearts to stop their owners, and what happened to them after had been a secondary concern at best; Optimus was the first palace owner I really, truly wanted to help. “I’m listening,” I told him. “No judgement. I’m just finding the way to your heart.”
Optimus let out a brief, painful-sounding blurt of static that sounded like nothing so much when humans were trying not to either laugh or cry. “…prison,” he said, almost so softly that I couldn’t hear. “Sometimes it feels like a prison.”
I kept my eyes on the Prime’s, but the collection of indrawn vents and startled clanks told me the Autobots had heard that bare whisper just fine. “Okay,” I said, before anyone could blurt out anything and we had to spend yet more time comforting them about Optimus’s feelings. “Let’s test it out. I’m just going to take a quick look to see what we’re dealing with. I won’t mess with anything yet. All right?” At Optimus’s nod, I redirected my attention to the app. “Optimus Prime,” I announced. “The Ark. Prison.”
The reaction was immediate - a wave of vertigo washed over me, reality rippling, colors going strange. “Be right back!” I blurted out, but I had no way of knowing if they heard me before the palace fully manifested around me.
At first I thought I’d accidentally traveled to the Velvet Room somehow - a small cell, one side a set of prison bars. But I was in my infiltration gear, not the uniform and chains of the Velvet Room inmate, and upon closer inspection I realized that the walls were bare metal rather than cushioned velvet and the bars were made of glowing pink energy. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see that my cell was only one of hundreds arranged in a long hall whose boundaries stretched further than I could see. Most of the cells were empty, but here and there in the dimness I could see the flickering glow of blue robot eyes, just like Optimus Prime’s.
And, of course, the bars were impassable. My only way out was escaping back into the real world. I couldn’t have meddled with Optimus Prime’s psyche if I’d wanted to.
I stepped back, sat down heavily on the (bare, hard) bench at the back of the cell. Optimus… this is what the inside of your head looks like? And you hid it so well not even your closest friends knew.
Footsteps sounded somewhere far down the hall, coming closer as I listened. I got up to peer through the bars, expecting to see one of the ubiquitous, near-formless shadows that always haunted such places. But the glowing bars ruined my night vision, and I didn’t see who it was until he was nearly on top of me.
It was Optimus Prime. Sized to be only head and shoulders taller than me, and my head spun with the breaking of scale. Am I bigger, or are you smaller? Neither, I knew, but the effect was still dizzying, and I hadn’t quite got my equilibrium back when the Prime paused in front of me.
“Well, well. A new prisoner, I see.”
…no, this wasn’t Optimus. This was his Shadow, glowing yellow eyes and all, its paint dark blue all over and holding a baton casually at its shoulder. I didn’t respond, afraid that even speaking to it would disrupt the real Prime’s mind, and at my silence the Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll learn to say ‘yes, Warden’ when I speak to you,” it menaced, and the bars were abruptly just gone and there was nothing between me and it, and it was stepping forward and reaching for me-!
I gasped and thumbed the escape button on my phone, and Shadow, prison and all were swept away.
no subject
OR IT MIGHT NOT
ONLY ONE WAY TO FIND OUT
no subject
(Anonymous) 2022-11-05 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)