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cosmicswritings · 1 year ago

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Predastar content predastar content predastar co

It's been some time since I've written predastar content tbh. I've been having some feelings overall about them and this was soo fun to write. Thanks for sending it over.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Accidental Self Harm

“You and those little heels aren’t going to be able to get that far.” Skylynx sneered. “You’re as thin as a twig, why not give it to one of us?”

That was a challenge, especially to someone like Starscream, and as Predaking slept peacefully down in the lower crypts of the fortress he could hear Starscream respond with the same fire.

“Hand it over.” Starscream snapped angrily. “The box with the relics.”

“Starscream, you’re going to fall—” Darksteel was promptly cut off.

There was clearly a scuffle that ensued, but eventually, Starscream’s heeled steps were heard tippinng down the staircase leading into the lower level where in the corner, Predaking remained in his primary form, optics slightly ajar when he heard Starscream coming.

He purred softly seeing the Seeker pass his direction, and growled in a bit of a chuckle. Starscream held a large box in his servos, one clearly too big for him, yet he was managing quite well. Predaking looked on, his tail thumping lightly against the ground as he did so. Starscream hadn’t noticed him yet, for the lower area was dark at that moment.

Muttering to himself, Starsceam continued to walk down toward the opposite end of the basement where the other relics were housed.

In the darkness, he hadn’t even realized that Predaking’s large tail was laying in front of him, effectively obscuring his path. Predictably, Starscream tripped. The box with the ancient relics went flying and Starscream crashed to the ground right in front of Predaking, face first.

Predaking growled as he heard the relics shattering. Millions of years of knowledge were destroyed because he did not have the foresight to move his tail out of the way. And then, there was Starscream who was still on the ground.

Retaining his main form, he stood, stretching slightly.

He saw Starscream laying upon the ground, and the seeker suddenly jumped to his feet and scrambled toward the box. He gasped in horror at the shattered relics, holding them in his hands as if he was attempting to put them back together.

“No…no…” He said to himself, repeatedly. He was clearly frantic, ex-venting quickly.

Predaking simply sat behind him, wings drooped and tilting his head in confusion. The loss of the relics was unfortunate, but there were so many more they’d discovered. More so it wasn’t Starscream’s fault, at least not solely his fault. Skylynx and Darksteel should not have tainted him, Predaking himself could have moved or at least offered to help.

Regardless Starscream's actions were strange. It was as if he was genuinely disappointed in what he'd done or more so, scared of Predaking's reaction.

"I'm sorry I…I…" He looked over his shoulder and saw the dragon looming over him. "It seems I can't do anything right." He did not say this in a pitiful way. He was angry, furious at himself almost. He grabbed at the shards, still attempting to piece the relics back together. It was then, Predaking realized that Starscream's servos were leaking energon; he had cut himself.

That is when Predaking transformed into his alt mode - it was the only way he could properly communicate with Starscream. He shifted to get used to the setting gears; Primus did he hate his robotic form, but he’d manage it to speak to Starscream.

“Your servos - you are hurting yourself.” He knelt down behind Starscream and attempted to grab him to calm him. Starscream managed to squirm from his grasp, shaking in his own fury and still making a failed grasp at the shards. Predaking simply grabbed him again, steadying him.

“I know–just let me do something—”

“Starscream.” Predaking gently took him, turning him around so they could face one another. “They are broken. What is this about? What is wrong?”

“It was a relic–”

“There are thousands more we have just discovered; this is about something deeper, that much I can tell.” Predaking kept his voice low, but it was stern. He had Starscream restrained now, grasping his bleeding wrists so he could not hurt himself anymore.

Starscream kept up a cold expression until he could no longer. He faltered, looking away shamefully.

“What is it?” Predaking pushed again, softly. He pulled Starscream closer to him.

“I…” Starscream ex-vented. It was evident that he did not want to divulge so much, but there was something about Predaking that made it impossible for him to lie.

“I just want to make sure that everything is perfect. I don’t want to ruin this because this is the one place I want to belong. I don’t want you or anyone to question my place here because if you push me away, I don’t know where I’ll go. I don’t…I don’t feel like I really belong anywhere if I’m being truthful. I’m an outlander. Making foolish mistakes like this--”

“You think that because you broke a relic I’d turn you away. Starscream I…” He shook his head. It seemed foolish, and for any other bot, Predaking would have been beyond shocked by such a reaction. But for Starscream, it made sense. Before the Predacons had accepted him, he really was an outlander.

He had been abandoned by Megatron - who had since been welcomed back to Cybertron, and was not treated well by him during the war. He had many times attempted to flee to the Autobots during and after the war. Not only had they practically abandoned him as well, but treated him with violence.

After the war, he had no one after he was thrown into prison. He had only managed to escape with the help of some other prisoners and they too left him alone. The Predacons themselves were not kind to him at first either. Predaking had tried to kill him numerous times when Starscream was on the run after the war (Starscream would always say that he himself deserved it. He had taken accountability for a lot of things he’d done during the war. The way he treated Predaking was one of them, though Predaking argued that it was not only Starscream that mistreated him and Starscream himself was also a victim of the Decepticon’s cruel plan. Starscream didn’t care to listen.), only a couple of years ago had they accepted him with open arms.

Starscream feeling like an outlier made sense, because everyone had treated him that way.

Predaking ex-vented and pulled him into a hug. Starscream returned the embrace.

“You’re worth more than any relic and you will always have a place with us.” Predaking whispered softly. “This is your home.”

Starscream didn’t respond, and that was either a good or bad sign. He had not been treated well during his life, and the relationships he’d formed or at least, attempted to were subpar. Regardless, Predaking knew he’d have to show Starscream as words these days had little effect on his trust, let alone hope.

Luckily for Starscream, Predaking had no problem showing Starscream just how much he cared for him. Even if it took a million years.

Hope you enjoyed! And if you have a request you wanna send it, go ahead and send it over!

#starscream #predaking #predastar #starscream tfp #transformers

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knnichs · 11 months ago

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HOW YOU GET THE GIRL — guitarist ! childe x fan ! reader

sfw smau gn ! reader

– ♫ ⁺ @childe_11 is streaming!

“newbies guide to 2ydro”

Stream 1 : INTRODUCTION

⁺ ▸ ABOUT : You will play as Y/N. Your accounts are @ kiwo.yn (Public), and your private account is @ lockedawayn (Private).

– You will be using photos of Nayeon from TWICE, but this will still not affect the way others will call you. I will do my best to use gender neutral terms as much as I can.

⁺ ▸ SYNOPSIS : sunny days give you warmth, energy and a guitarist named childe (that you are coincidentally a big fan of.)

– being one of his supporters since he had just first started, childe slowly started growing fond of seeing you on his post notifications. be it on twitter, youtube or tiktok; he's seen you praise his work every single time. call it fate if you want to, but you two accidentally meet each other in a bookshop you're always visiting, in the same aisle that you love, and he's holding the same book you want.

⁺ ▸ TAGLIST : @arraxthatsonjah @inlovewithlondonn @trinketbeans @neuvilutz @esthelily @a1-ic3 send a message to my inbox without anon to be tagged!

@2ydro_official

A pop/alt-rock band that was formed in 2019. The band consists of 5 members, Yelan as a bassist, Barbara and Furina as vocalists, Ayato as their drummer, and Tartaglia as their guitarist. All 5 of them independently write and produce their own songs.

They will be touring their hit album, Caught in the Sea, in January 21, 2024.

⁺ ▸ 2ydro’s members

@ tart_aglia — Childe

Guitarist of 2ydro. YT : @childe_11

@ yato.hydro — Ayato

@2ydro_official ‘s handsome drummer

@ furiinas_ — Furi

Did you get the tickets yet? Furifurina everywhere!

@ raryan_283 — Yelan

Touring soon.

@ barbara_hydro — 🦋

@2ydro_official

⁺ ▸ Private / Personal accounts

@ kiwo.yn — k.wo

Private account : @lockedawayn

@ 11_dumpz — 11

Also known as “Childe” or “Tartaglia”

everything is made & written by @staarri . i do not allow reposts, modification, translating and copying any of my work without permission

masterpost / masterlist of this series is linked here.

#🎏 : my works #🌊 : hygtg #genshin #genshin fluff #childe #cilde x reader #childe x gn!reader #childe fluff #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x gn!reader #tartaglia x gn!reader fluff

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blackjackkent · 7 months ago

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Heyyy, have you ever written your Hec and Karlach with the "blows up at the pier" ending? I am just not sure where to look for it lol but I always love imagining the "alt routes" but I understand if others are too sad to dip toes in

Oh man, anon coming in with the Big Feels out of nowhere. :D I love it. As per usual this got way longer than intended and very out of hand. XD

I have not written that before and it is indeed VERY sad to think about. But I am up for giving it a try! [rolls up sleeves, braces self]

(If you're interested, I also answered a similar version of this question a while back regarding Hector's life in a worldstate where Karlach got mind-flayered, which was ALSO sad. 😭 )

So anyway. Scenario, then: the brain fight didn't go super smoothly and Wyll is unconscious, so Hector is left with no other voice to save Karlach from her self-sacrifice.

-----

No one moves. The pier is suddenly deathly silent as the roaring of Karlach's engine falls to stillness. Hector sways unsteadily on his feet, clinging to the afterimages of the flame still burned into his eyes.

Don't breathe. Don't think. When you think, it will become real...

But there is no stopping it. Thinking is what he does best, after all. She taught him to live, for a while, to see the glory and goodness of the wide world outside the monastery, the bright intensity of its colors.

But she is gone, and he can see the grayscale already fading in again at the corners of his vision.

"No..." he whispers. His voice sounds choked in his throat. "No." Somehow he always believed, deep down, that something would come to save her, that they would find some way to make everything all right. "NO!" He falls to his knees, burying his fingers in the ashes; his palms blister in the lingering heat.

"NO. NO. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO NO NO NONONONONONO!"

He's screaming, he realizes distantly. Sobbing too. Everything has snapped; every ounce of the control that he wears like armor has vanished. He feels detached from his body, unreal, numb with grief. The tears pour down his face, blinding him.

It isn't fair. After everything they have been through, everything Karlach suffered, it isn't fair that this is how she ended, without even a body to bury in the city she loved. It isn't fair that he will never hold her again, never feel her arms around him, never protect her and be protected by her, never see the world at her side, never... never... never...

The world is so cold without her warmth.

"Gods, please... please come back to me!" he howls into the uncaring ocean view. "I can't... I can't..."

The first paroxysm of anguish starts to fade. He collapses forward on his elbows and knees, his face pressed into his fists, and sobs.

In the monastery, they taught him there was no pain that discipline and prayer could not soothe. They were wrong. He knows now just how wrong they were.

"The Moonmaiden sees me… no grief nor pain nor fury shall wrest me from her path…" He whispers the mantra brokenly, instinctively, desperate for the comfort it has brought him in other moments. But there is no comfort to be found even in Selune's light, not for this.

He is alone.

But no... not completely alone. A hand touches his shoulder softly; a form crouches gently at his side. Shadowheart. He can see the sympathy in her eyes, the compassion and shared pain.

"Come here," she says softly, and opens her arms to him, as he did to her after the House of Grief. And as she did then, he falls sideways into her embrace, presses his face into her shoulder and cries bitterly. Her armor feels cold after the furnace heat of Karlach's destruction, but the hug is tight and fierce and she rocks gently side to side, holding him.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers.

His voice is hoarse, almost inaudible. "It hurts..."

"I know... I know..." She looks up. The others are watching at a distance - those who remain, anyway. Astarion is gone into the shadows, Lae'zel to the Astral. Gale is crouched by Wyll's unconscious body, but his eyes are fixed on the back of Hector's head, unblinking. Minsc, his face drawn tight with regret, is standing a little closer, Boo balanced on one fist.

And Jaheira closes with them, moving to sit on Hector's other side. The druid rests a hand on Hector's back just above where Shadowheart's arms hold him. "Silvanus guide the light to the source," she murmurs. "Take her to what she justly deserves. By nature's will, what was given is returned. What was turmoil is now peace..."

Hector draws a long, slow, shuddering breath.

"May the Moonmaiden's light follow her into the dark," Shadowheart says softly. Her voice is still a little unsteady on the Selunite prayer, but she knows Hector needs to hear it. "The silver light always at her back..."

He swallows, sits up slightly, not pulling away from either woman's touch. They are grounding him, drawing him back to himself, and his heart rate begins to calm, the sobs slowing to unsteady, hiccuping breaths. "Perhaps," he whispers hoarsely, "perhaps had I served Shar, it would be easier... I would be prepared for such loss..."

He can feel Shadowheart give a single, sharp shake of the head.

"Do not think it," Jaheira says, her voice low. "You would be empty. It is no better. The grief carries all the meaning of what was; it is the love with nowhere left to go. In time it will be bearable, cub."

He does not want it to be bearable. He wants it gone. He wants her back. He wants the hole in his heart filled back in.

"My Lady..." he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. "See her soul as it travels outward. Take it where mine would go, I beg you."

Karlach once said that she liked the thought of her soul spreading out through the world, becoming part of it. He liked the thought too, for she was always full of life and loved the world so deeply, with such fierce devotion...

But he knows the truth, as it was taught to him. She will go to the Fugue Plane to be judged. And if no god fights for her soul, she will exist in limbo forever, trapped in another unending wasteland.

"Take her to you, My Lady... please. In my place, if you must, but do not leave her forgotten..."

----

Some months later, he and Jaheira travel at Withers' behest to a gathering outside the city.

It has been a good half-year, all things considered. The city is starting to rebuild, to regain some semblance of its former life. Hector has been hard at work among the Harpers, lending his strong back to building projects and his counsel to those in need of it.

He's filled out with new muscle and a sense of pride in the Gate. Jaheira has noted it more than once - with surprise, given that he once lived in such isolation from the city's life. But they both know, truly, where that pride stems from. Karlach could not live to see her city flourish again - so Hector must see it for her.

In his pocket always he carries the three copper coins Jaheira delivered to him a few days after the brain fell. Sometimes he listens to the message recorded on them. More often, he simply places a hand against them when the loneliness threatens to overwhelm him, feeling the soft warm buzz of the enchantment on them and imagining he can almost feel Karlach's touch.

Withers finds him wandering away from the party, late in the evening, and addresses him without preamble, grave as ever.

"Thou feelst it still," the skeleton says, with something oddly like kindness. "She is not here. She who means the most. Hast thy thoughts been with brave Karlach often?"

Yes. Of course they have. He doesn't speak of it much to Jaheira and the others, and he has tried to move on - and some days he can almost manage it. But her loss always sits in the back of his mind, inescapable. Every moment of victory bears its quiet reminder that she is not here to share it with him. Every failure brings the ache for her comfort and her warmth.

"I loved her so much," he says quietly. "It isn't fair."

"No," Withers says placidly. "It is not."

He feels a sudden tightness in the back of his throat. He has not spoken of her aloud for so many weeks, but Withers of all people coming to him with kindness brings the feelings rushing back, stinging into his eyes. "I don't know how I can go on without her," he mutters.

Withers's dessicated lips curl in a slight smile. "She battled in Avernus, fueled on naught but hope," he says. "And that hope came to become truth. In but a dozen tendays, an entire life was lived. More than mortal years-- mortal centuries were hers." He gives a slow nod in acknowledgment of Hector's grief. "Thou might endure a great eon of mourning. But thou must hope, as once she did. Her life... her happiness... was you."

Great, now he really is going to cry. That strain in his throat is rapidly forming into a lump that makes it difficult to speak. "And she was mine..." he whispers.

"Thy life was hers for a while," Withers says gently. "It is now thine again. Live it well." He reaches out a hand and rests it on Hector's shoulder. It is light and skeletal and bears no warmth, but it goes with the intensity Withers suddenly has in his expression.

"In the Fugue Plane," he says, "her soul burns so bright, it pains the gods to look upon. Recall that in time, all changeth and all is rejoined. Thou shalt be with her again."

Hector feels something tight come loose in his chest, and he nods unsteadily. These are not empty words; this is Jergal speaking, not Withers. This is, perhaps, the only voice available to him that could tell him truly what he needs to know - that Karlach is not lost to him, nor beaten into dim submission by the wasteland of the Fugue.

She is still bright. And she is waiting for him. And one day, when he has brought her city back to life, he will go to find her.

#hector carlisle #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #karlach #karlach cliffgate #tav x karlach #karlach x tav #karlach bg3 #bg3 drabble #bg3 fic #WELLP I'M FULL OF FEELS AND DIDN'T GET ANY WORK DONE TODAY #XD #things i love:#a) anon for sending me this unprompted <3 #b) that everyone calls Hector Hec in asks #c) that this somehow ended up LESS sad than the squidlach variant #d) withers <3 <3 <3 #this is all still very sad though and hector would like me to remind everyone that this is not canon XD #and that he and karlach are off for real killing devils in avernus and making out every chance they get :P

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thehuntsmaster · 2 months ago

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SHADOWS IN THE NIGHT I.

Including my tfocs Morgana & Tusk. TFP Dreadwing too!

Tusk has located Dreadwing to—in his optics, has taken away his now ex-wife, Morgana. Dreadwing has effortlessly fatigued the little autobot until Morgana can intervene from offlining her poor foolish ex-husband.

The battlefield crackled with the hum of energon-charged blasters and the roaring of engines overhead. Dust and ash choked the air as Cybertron’s battlegrounds trembled under the clash of Autobots and Decepticons. The war had been long and bitter, but there was something more personal at stake in this fight for Tusk, who stood tense and ready, his optics locked on a single figure that had landed in front of him.

Dreadwing—the powerful Decepticon lieutenant—descended from the skies, his imposing figure landing with a heavy thud, sending shockwaves through the ground. He stood tall, wings flared in a silent show of power. His optics glowed with a stern coldness as he looked at the Autobot before him, reading the emotions that played out on Tusk’s face. Dreadwing had faced countless Autobots before, but something was different about this one. There was a look of burning rage, but beneath it, an unmistakable layer of heartache.

Tusk clenched his fists, sparks flying as his grip tightened around his blade. His alt-mode had given him the speed and agility to evade Decepticon forces for most of the fight, but now that he stood face-to-face with Dreadwing, there was nowhere else to run, nowhere to hide. And he didn’t want to.

"You," Tusk spat, his voice thick with bitterness. "You're the one. You're the one taking her away from me!"

Dreadwing remained impassive, his expression a mask of calm but deeply rooted irritation. He straightened his back and gave a sharp look at the Autobot racer standing before him, clearly agitated and irrational. Dreadwing wasn’t sure what had triggered this specific outburst, but he already knew who the Autobot was referring to.

“Morgana?” Dreadwing said, his voice low and measured. “You are mistaken, Autobot. I have no claim to her. She is a warrior—a Decepticon—just like me.”

Tusk growled in frustration, his engines revving as if he was preparing to charge. "Don't lie to me! I know the look in your optics. You two… you fight together. You protect her. You don’t care about anything else except her survival! You… you’ve taken her from me. She was mine once!"

Dreadwing's optics narrowed, finally understanding the root of the Autobot's fury. He knew who Tusk was. Morgana had spoken briefly about her past, about an Autobot she had left behind when she dedicated herself to the Decepticon cause. This wasn’t just some random soldier; this was the former partner of the lieutenant herself.

“Your quarrel is with yourself,” Dreadwing said, his tone cold as he flexed his massive fists. “Morgana made her choice. She is loyal to Megatron and to the Decepticon cause, just as I am. Do not mistake camaraderie for something more.” His wings twitched as he added, “Whatever you had with her—whatever you were to her—is in the past.”

That only seemed to ignite Tusk’s rage further. “You don’t know anything! She was my spark, my world! And you—” He lunged forward, his bladed arm swinging toward Dreadwing in a desperate, angry slash. “You stole her from me!”

Dreadwing easily dodged the strike, his form fluid despite his size. His expression turned darker as Tusk charged again, unrelenting. “I did not steal her. You lost her the moment you became an Autobot. She chose the Decepticon cause over you, and now you cannot accept it.” Dreadwing blocked Tusk's next attack with his forearm, the clang of metal echoing in the air.

The fight began in earnest.

Tusk lashed out with all the speed and precision of a former racer, his blade flicking through the air like lightning. But Dreadwing was stronger, more composed, his massive frame moving with deliberate power. With every strike Tusk made, Dreadwing deflected, parried, or countered, each movement pushing the Autobot further back, closer to the edge of exhaustion.

But Tusk’s rage wouldn’t be so easily quelled. “You don’t get it!” he snarled, his voice strained with anger and desperation. “You’re just another cog in Megatron’s machine! I loved her!”

Dreadwing’s optics flickered as he finally responded, his voice a growl of irritation. “And you think I do not understand what it is to care for a comrade? She is my sister-in-arms, not some prize for you to claim!” His fist collided with Tusk’s midsection, sending him sprawling across the ground.

Tusk wheezed, clutching his chest as he struggled to stand, but Dreadwing’s shadow loomed over him. “She is a warrior, Tusk,” Dreadwing continued, his voice deep and almost sorrowful. “She is not yours. And she never will be again. If you were too blind to see her for the soldier she is, then that is your failure, not mine.”

Tusk coughed, energon dripping from his mouth as he glared up at Dreadwing, refusing to let go of his anger. “You talk about her like she’s a machine… But she was more than that. She had a spark, a real spark…”

Dreadwing paused for a moment, his optics narrowing. “Morgana has more spark than most, Tusk. But she is not the same as she was. Neither are you.”

In one swift movement, Dreadwing seized Tusk by the throat, hoisting him up as if he weighed nothing. Tusk gasped, his optics dimming as the strength drained from his body.

“You fight like a desperate bot clinging to the past,” Dreadwing said, his voice low and dangerous. “But Morgana doesn’t belong in the past. She’s stronger than you know.”

Tusk choked out a response, his voice barely a whisper. “I... I know...”

Dreadwing hesitated for just a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his optics before he tightened his grip. But before he could deliver the final blow, a voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Dreadwing! Enough.”

Morgana.

The Decepticon lieutenant stepped into view, her presence alone enough to stop Dreadwing’s assault. Her optics moved between the two combatants—Tusk, bruised and broken, and Dreadwing, still holding him by the throat.

She met Dreadwing’s optics with a steady gaze. “Let him go.”

Dreadwing exhaled slowly, releasing his grip on Tusk and watching as the Autobot crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. He straightened, looking at Morgana with a respectful nod. “He was a fool to fight.”

Morgana stepped closer, her optics cold as they settled on Tusk. “He’s always been a fool,” she said quietly, though there was a trace of something deeper in her voice—something almost like regret. She crouched beside Tusk, her towering form casting a long shadow over him as she knelt, inspecting his wounds. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

Tusk coughed, trying to catch his breath as he looked up at Morgana. There was a flicker of recognition in his optics, a sad, pleading look that spoke more than any words could. “I... I thought I could reach you. I thought...” He groaned in pain, clutching his side where Dreadwing’s blows had left him battered and leaking energon.

Morgana’s expression remained unreadable, though there was a faint tightening around her optics. She rose to her full height, stepping back from him with a sigh. “You should have known better. I’m not the same bot you once knew, Tusk. The war has changed us all.”

Dreadwing stood off to the side, watching the interaction with a sense of detachment, though he still held a deep respect for Morgana’s decision. He crossed his arms, his massive frame casting an imposing silhouette against the darkened landscape.

Tusk struggled to his knees, his optics wide with pain and disbelief. “Morgana... please. We were... we were something once. I don’t care what faction you fight for. I just want...” His voice broke as he looked up at her. “I just want us to be like we were.”

Morgana’s expression hardened. “There is no ‘us’ anymore, Tusk. What we had died a long time ago.” She looked away, her optics flickering with something akin to sorrow before her voice grew colder. “You’re an Autobot. I’m a Decepticon. That’s the only truth left between us.”

Tusk’s face twisted with pain—both physical and emotional. “I... I still believe we can fix this.”

Dreadwing's voice cut in sharply, an edge of impatience growing. "Fix what? You cling to a fantasy, Autobot. Morgana made her choice long ago. Accept it or face your own destruction."

Tusk’s optics, dim and exhausted, flickered between Morgana and Dreadwing. His fists clenched weakly as he tried to find his footing, struggling against the pain wracking his frame. “I don’t believe it’s over. I refuse to believe you’re gone, Morgana. We were bonded, sparked together! That has to mean something!”

Morgana’s optics narrowed, her fists curling at her sides as she took a step closer, her towering frame casting an even longer shadow over the broken Autobot. “That was another life, Tusk. Whatever we shared was consumed by this war, by our choices.”

Her optics flickered with a flash of emotion, but it was quickly buried under layers of hardened resolve. “You chose Optimus’s cause, and I chose Megatron’s. That can’t be undone. Stop holding on to the past. You’re only making this harder for both of us.”

Tusk’s face twisted in anguish, his body trembling as he struggled to rise. “Morgana... please…”

But before he could say more, Morgana’s voice rang out cold and final, cutting through the battlefield noise like a blade. “No, Tusk. It’s over.”

She turned her back on him, her optics locking onto Dreadwing’s as she gave a nod. “Let’s finish this.”

Dreadwing, ever the loyal warrior, acknowledged her words with a deep rumble from his chest. “As you command, Lieutenant.”

Tusk, broken both in body and spirit, watched as Morgana walked away, her allegiance to the Decepticons clear and unwavering. The realization hit him like a final, crushing blow—she was lost to him, not because of Dreadwing or anyone else, but because of the choices they had both made.

The war had taken more than lives; it had taken everything that had once been between them.

As Morgana and Dreadwing rejoined the Decepticon lines, Tusk remained kneeling in the rubble, his spark heavy with loss. The battlefield continued to rage around him, but for the first time, Tusk understood that the war wasn’t just about factions. It was about everything that had been sacrificed along the way.

And Morgana was one of those sacrifices.

#maccadam #transformers oc #transformers #tf oc #morgana #tusk #dreadwing #decepticons #decepticon oc #autobot oc #autobots #transformers prime #Spotify #tfp #shadows in the night

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theghostoficarus · 2 years ago

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Enemies to Lovers They Say

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

This is a fanfic made by me, of a sort of future jump alt reality kinda thing? Basically MK is now the monkey king and Red Son is on the run so Mk does what MK do and helps!

It'd been three months. Three full quiet months of pure peace and quiet. MK didn't like it. He had been dubbed the Monkey King a few years ago, making a peace treaty with the Demon Bull family. Ever since then the city has been eerily quiet. The monkey, the king was out on his routine patrols gathering info on demons. He was talking to a shop owner about demon sightings; when a commotion sounded from outside. MK ran out and much to his surprise he saw Red Son fighting off a group of rag-tag teens. A ring was forming around them and MK saw that Red wasn't using his fire.

"HEY! What's going on here?!" MK hollered, taking out his staff and getting ready for a fight. The humans that had ganged up on Red turned and ran to MK.

"This demon monster went into my pops store!" The head of the group exclaimed pointing at Red who was beaten and bruised. The humans on the other hand looked practically unscathed.

"Okay, and?" MK asked crossing his arms.

"What do you mean okay and? He's a demon! He was probably going to rob us!" One of the team retorted. The large mass of standbys shouted in agreement. MK sighed and glanced over at Red who avoided his gaze.

"Red, come here," MK called over. Red Son walked over his head high, still not looking entirely at MK. The gang of teens backed away from Red Son.

"Mind explaining?" he asked staring at Red up and down. Red Son didn't speak merely nodded.

"I was going to get fabric and flowers from those two stores. My Mother started a garden and I wanted to make her an apron," Red Son explained, nodding to the stores.

"Lair!" A boy screamed from the crowd. MK rolled his eyes and sighed. He turned around and glared at the crowd. It soon started to disperse. After a few minutes, it was just MK, Red Son, and the teen group.

"Look, you can't just jump someone just cause they're a demon. That's rude and stereotypical." MK explained to the teens. They looked appalled.

"His family recked our city! You're a hero, do something already!" The leader retorted with fury.

"I already did! We made a treaty, they promised they wouldn't attack again and if they did they would have died already." MK replied sternly, anger boiling under his skin. Red Son stood a stoic expression on his face. Red was slightly shocked, sure he hadn't seen the noodle boy in a year, but he had never seen him this angry over something as simple as a small fight. After a bit of bickering the gang left as sour as they came. MK turned to look at Red Son. The redhead was beaten and bruised. His hands had band-aids scattered all over and up his wrist. He wore a black sleeveless turtle neck with a plaid long-sleeve shirt underneath. His hair was as fair as the last time, kept in a neat ponytail. To MK he was as stunning as the brightest star.

"I haven't seen you in a while Red," MK greeted smiling as if nothing had happened. His hair was up in its usual do. His bandanna was faded from red at the base to a faint light pink. A mask-like mark was on his face similar to Sun Wukongs or Macaques. Although MK’s mask was a brighter, more orange version of his skin. Dots scattered the edge of the mask, like freckles.

"Same to you," Red son replied as formal and stiff as ever.

"You okay? You look a bit beaten up." Mk asked raising a hand to touch them.

"I'm fine," Red stated through gritted teeth swatting away MK's hand. MK blinked slightly taken aback.

"I don't need help from some peasant!" Red Son hissed embarrassment seeping under his skin.

"Technically not a peasant but whatever, If you need me you know where to find me!" MK says chuckling and walking off waving. Red Son stood there a moment in utter humiliation until his hair turned to flames and he left in a swirl of flame.

this is just a sample chapter but I hope you enjoy it all the same!

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 8 months ago

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Hail Hydra - Chapter Fourteen "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation."

Bucky finds out what it is to be a part of Zola’s experiment, and is marked as Hydra’s property. Prompts fulfilled; - ‘Apocalypse Cult’ – @multifandom-flash (Beehive); - ‘Tattooing Over a Scar’ – Winter Wonderland Bingo @seasonaldelightsbingo ; BLACKOUT! (with alts XD) - “Say Please.” – @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition); - ‘Disturbing a Grave’ – @halloweenhorrorbingo; - ‘Exposure’ – @badthingshappenbingo; - ‘Eternal Agony’ – @fnafbingo; “You Broke the Rules. And Now You Gotta Pay.” – @anyfandomdarkbingo. CW: Death of an unknown character, corpses, non-con body modification, sexual assault.

Boards at the bottom. Check it out below, or on AO3 here!

Dividers by @atlasscrumpit

By the time Zola came to see me the following day, I was already sat upright on the edge of my bed, fist curled loosely in my lap.

“Ah, up already, I see!” His tone was upbeat and jovial, but I simply raised my head to stare at him blankly, devoid of any emotion. “I expect you’re excited to get underway with your training.” A simple nod, and I stood, not bothering to point out that it was, in fact, the never-ending ache radiating from tailbone to navel that had kept me awake. “It’s going to take me a short while to make your arm. In the meantime, we have a job for you.” He handed me a chunk of bread, and I bit into it without enthusiasm, the dry wheat clinging to my tongue as I followed him through the halls.

The machine set up before me was distantly familiar, and a spike of fear shot through me at the memory of a pattern of bruises across cheekbone and forehead where the restraints had dug into my skin, holding me fast as convulsions wracked my body.

But this time the seat was occupied by another – one who looked significantly worse than I did after my time in the chair.

“What is this?” I breathed, inching closer uncertainly, taking in the slack jaw and soured complexion, heightened hearing straining for any sign of a heartbeat.

“Another failed experiment,” Zola replied dismissively, waving a hand. “Get him out. The soldiers will show you where to dispose of him.”

I fumbled with the contraption until one of the two soldiers standing guard sighed in frustration, leaning closer to press a button, the deceased man’s head falling forward with macabre reminiscence of a marionette with severed strings. Biting back fury and nausea at touching the cooling skin, I freed his limbs form their loosened shackles and draped him carefully over my shoulder.

Inanimate fingertips sent a shiver through me as they brushed my lower back, swaying with the motion of my steps as I followed my guard down the endless, twisting corridors.

He paused beside a heavy door, and we trembled in unison at the bitterly cold wind that swirled around us when he cracked it open.

“I’m not going out there,” he muttered, eyeing the flakes flowing readily through the gap and picking up a shovel to press it into my hand. “Find a spot. Dig a hole. Drop him in. Make sure you cover it over, else there’ll be wolves and bears and all sorts hanging around. I’d hate to have to find something else to feed them to draw them away,” he added pointedly. I simply nodded, skin erupting in goosebumps as he opened the door wider and pushed me out.

The snow piled into my boots with the first step, freezing my toes and soaking the thin socks I’d been provided with. I struggled on through the knee-high drifts, almost floundering under the uneven weight of my load and the lack of hands available to hold both shovel and corpse.

Perhaps a hundred yards from the facility, I came to a stop beside a rocky outcrop offering a relatively sheltered spot at which to dig. Pausing, I looked up, peering through the swirling snow. Even with my enhanced eyes, I could barely make out any details of the building – it was unlikely I could be seen by anyone attempting to watch me.

Glancing in the other direction, I gazed out over the blank emptiness, a barely-perceptible, soft haze in the distance the only indication of any break in the endless tundra – a copse of trees, perhaps, or the beginning of an attempt at civilization in this frozen wasteland?

I could run.

I might get shot before I get fifty yards, but at least I’d die out here, as a free man. Not in the endless, eternal agony of being their lab rat, their attack dog on a chain.

I took one step away from the outcrop, then another, shivering violently as the snow soaked quickly through my already damp clothes.

I could run.

I could escape this apocalyptic cult. The torture. The abuse.

I could…

My muscles faltered on the third step, then froze entirely on the fourth.

What the Hell is wrong with you? This is your chance! It doesn’t matter if you die out here! It’s better than staying here! Run!

Despite the voice screaming in my head, I couldn’t take another step, my body rigid with fear the further I strayed from my orders.

My eyes strayed to the body still resting on the ground, coated by now with a layer of thick, fluffy flakes.

I… I should bury him, at least. Nobody deserves to be left to the elements and the wildlife like that.

With a soft sigh of relief at having a clear path before me, I picked up the shovel once more, turning to assess the frozen ground obediently.

The hole was just about deep enough when I came across a sight that sent me sprawling from the grave as my stomach churned.

I was experienced enough in life – and in death – to have recognised what lay beneath the frozen ground immediately, and the off-white bone dotted with residual scraps of partially decomposed flesh was tattooed to the inside of my eyelids as I knelt in the snow, retching. My body, so accustomed by now to emptying on command, acquiesced willingly to the rhythmic gagging, the sparse contents of my stomach steaming as it met the sub-zero ground. My fingers curled desperately as I heaved, breaking through powder and frost easily.

There were others.

How many people like these two – people like me?

When my futile retching finally ceased, I dropped quickly back into the freshly dug grave with hardened nerves and a sense of purpose, kneeling carefully to ease a little more dirt away, revealing thin remnants of dark, shoulder-length hair. My eyes closed in pain, and I diverted my face as I tenderly covered the man over once more, shaking my head the distinct similarities, muttering a hushed apology to my fallen comrade for disturbing his hard-won rest.

Shaking violently from cold and horror, my hand was careful as I lifted the body I’d been sent to bury against my chest, letting his temple fall briefly to my shoulder as I knelt once more to settle him on the ground. His head rested not five inches from our predecessor, and I brushed a thumb gently over the bruising on his cheek.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” I whispered softly. I wished I could remember a poem, a profound quote about death to send him on his way peacefully – but the only thing that came to mind was pieces of the Lord’s Prayer, courtesy of Steve’s soft utterances unconsciously invading my mind. It didn’t feel like enough, but it was all I could offer in a stammering, faltering voice, tears staining my cheeks when I eventually stood once more.

I didn’t dare look to the horizon again until my task was complete, fresh snow quickly falling to obscure the disturbed earth.

Only then did I finally glance up once more, finding myself immediately struck once again by an intense, disabling terror as I found that hazy spot on the skyline. But this time I glanced back down, eyes skimming the last remaining signs that I’d ever been here at all.

This is what will happen if I stay here. Will anybody bother to bury me, or will I just lay under the open sky, finding flesh and bone at the mercy of the animals?

My muscles were more willing this time.

Five steps.

Ten.

Fifteen, and my pace increased – first to a lope, then a jog, and then I was sprinting, flying across the ground, malnourished body screaming in protest as I tore over the open tundra, but there was no way in hell I was slowing, not before I was sheltered by the cluster of trees at last identifiable. My feet churned up the powder as I ran, and-

I felt it before the sound registered in my mind.

My legs immediately crumbled beneath me as I yelped, thigh on fire where the bullet had torn through muscle and flesh. The aim was true, bypassing the femoral artery, but that didn’t stop blood from pumping freely onto the snow, staining the pure white with violent red in a macabre echo of the past.

Glancing back, I could see the figures swarming from the facility, moving quickly as they descended upon me as if a storm cloud. My heart pounded in terror, and I attempted to scrabble to my feet – then cried out in shocked pain, raising my hand to touch tentatively at the stinging wound at the top of my ear. Another bullet had grazed the soft skin there, barely breaking the surface – but the intent here was not harm.

No… This is a warning.

I stared at the trees standing stark against the white, finally close enough to distinguish branch from trunk, fingers curling with my grief. I knew I should stand – should force myself forward once more, choosing freedom over captivity in whatever form it came. But the survival instinct within me was a muscle well-honed over recent months, and no matter how hard I fought against myself, I couldn’t force my legs to move in much more than a tremor as I knelt in the snow. My own body simply disobeyed me, choosing longevity by any means.

I didn’t look up as I was dragged back through the snow, staggering and stumbling with a hand under my armpit to keep me going. I’d have simply laid down, but a cattle prod to the ribs made sure I moved forward, body jerking at the voltage shot through me each time I slowed.

The Lieutenant was whistling tunelessly between his teeth when I was released unceremoniously in the middle of his office, legs crumbling beneath me from cold, blood loss and exhaustion. I hardly dared raise my eyes, but he said nothing as I looked to him fearfully, his eyes still on the rifle in his hands as he wiped it down.

“You were a sniper too, once upon a time,” he noted softly, and I trembled ever more at the sound of his voice, stomach clenching in anticipation of punishment as I nodded silently. “Before Hydra, I was a sniper. And then I came here. Now I only shoot wolves, for fun. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to keep my skills sharp, you understand.” He glanced at me at last, his smile almost apologetic as he jerked his head by way of indication. “I’ll clean that up for you. Lie down.”

Moving where he directed me, I shivered with cold and fear, wincing in pain as my back pressed to frigid metal and he moved closer. My feet, wrist and throat were secured beneath heavy steel, earning me another sorry grin. “Can’t have you wriggling around too much. I might end up hitting something important! I’d so hate for you to lose your leg, too…”

I winced, eyes closing automatically as he bent over me, gulping in air at the feeling of scissors slicing through the thin, drenched fabric of my pants. He hummed under his breath as he exposed my wound, blood still flowing freely from the hole in my thigh, the gory stickiness pooling beneath me and filling the air with the scent of dirty pennies as he stepped back. The sound of his small stack of drawers containing his tools rattling as he searched through them made my skin crawl, and I jerked in surprise at a hand on my knee, lids snapping open despite myself to find him peering at the bullet wound. “A clean shot,” he murmured, gently poking at the skin around the macabre sight. “In and out. You’ll be fine – I’ll just stitch you up, and you’ll be on your way.” I nodded stiffly, mistrustful, and he shot me a broad grin. “Didn’t anybody teach you any manners? Say please.”

“Please,” I whispered immediately, flicking my gaze to the ceiling, desperately wishing I could leave my body. “Please, Sir.”

With a quiet chuckle of delight, he began, and I clenched my teeth minutely at the feel of needle passing through skin, knitting together the ragged edges of my wound in a silence punctuated only by the stomach-churning sounds of squelching and sticking produced by parts of me not normally exposed to the outside world.

It took only a matter of minutes for him to secure the site – albeit only at a surface level and in the most basic way possible, leaving my body to do most of the hard work. I blinked in surprise when he released my bindings, sitting up with a soft utterance of gratitude, uncertainty and distrust heavy as I glanced at him.

It was when I went to move to my feet that his hand found my chest, his smile turning just a little cold around the edges. “That was only the exit would, Asset. I need to stitch up the back, too. Lie down on your chest, if you would.”

I could feel my heart hammering as I obeyed weakly, the trials of the day leaving me in no position to fight. Corpses flickered before my eyes, haunting me as my body met the table once more and my already-cut pants were shredded once more, the material pooling uselessly either side of my leg. His hand was high on my thigh, skirting the underpants I’d be given. The touch was almost delicate, fingertips skimming gently under the very edge of the material. His grip tightened minutely to pull the skin taut, earning a hiss of pain that he quietly shushed away. He hummed under his breath as he slowly stitched me up, fingers brushing between my thighs to swipe away the blood.

The hand below my ass relaxed as the tugging stopped, thumb brushing tenderly over my skin. “Good. All done…”

I nodded once more, eyes focused on the long window opposite, the winter sun already beginning to set after a few short hours of daylight. My muscles twitched, ready to move, to be out of this position of vulnerability – but neither his hands nor the restraints lifted. “… Sir?” I breathed, hardly daring to speak as he continued to caress my leg.

“You broke the rules,” he purred, a smile in his voice, “and now you gotta pay.”

My eyes closed in a flinch, jaw clenched with resigned terror. I wished more than anything that I could leave my body – just come back when this was over. This punishment, this life…

But my mind stayed firmly where it was, focused on his hand on my thigh, and the touch of metal to skin. The sound of scissors closing slowly, cold air breathing over my exposed ass, set my stomach churning – a feeling that only intensified as the pointed edge pricked the skin at the base of my spine as he began to methodically remove my shirt.

His free hand trailed almost tenderly over waist, keeping pace with the first until my entire back exposed, the sleeve still wrapped around my arm offering very little comfort in my nudity.

Then he was gone, stepping away from the table seeking unknown instructions of torture. The restraint around my neck held my head fast, no matter how I wriggled and strained, offering no insight into the punishment I was about to receive.

A violent buzzing, intermittent, almost tentative, gave me pause, the pitch wavering minutely as the Lieutenant whistled tunelessly through his teeth. I distantly recognized the sound – there was a sense of faint familiarity, of something passed by on occasion, but never personally pertinent.

It wasn’t until his hand rested lightly on my back and the sharp, dragging pain began that the image of a tattoo parlour Steve and I had walked past frequently flickered behind my eyelids, sending them snapping open in shock.

A tattoo?

… Why?

I dared not ask the question aloud, settling instead into the mild discomfort of the needles between my shoulder blades; the pain was minimal compared to what I was used to, and I’d take his defacing my skin over torture any day.

After all, I was already a monster – there was nothing he could stain me with that could make it any worse.

He’d finished the work with a line that brushed against one of the puckered, tactile scars trailing away from my shoulder. The action caused searing pain to extend along fingers that no longer existed, and I clamped my jaw tighter, refusing to utter a sound at the unexpected intensity.

It was a relief when he stopped, a clammy sweat gathering beneath me at the discomfort. He ran a fingertip over the stinging skin of my back, eliciting a minute wince as he hummed contentedly. “Beautiful… Would you like to see?”

I struggled briefly, desperately trying to figure out which answer was the correct one – which would prevent further punishment. Eventually, stiffly, I nodded, and he stepped into my eyeline as his face broke into a grin. With the edge of something predatory tugging at his lips, he squatted close to my face, mint-infused breath washing over my skin, mingling with the scent of his bodywash and the odour of blood and ink.

He shouldn’t smell good, I noted abruptly, the bizarre thought taking me by surprise. He shouldn’t smell… Pleasant. Not this monster. It’s not right.

He angled a hand mirror over us, showing a quick flash of a delighted gaze and sick pleasure, before revealing the words imprinted across my shoulders.

Hail HYDRA.

Indelible, forever tarnishing my skin, marking me as one of them. As their attack dog. As their Asset.

I swallowed dryly, my stomach churning, as he chuckled softly, lips skimming over my cheek with something close to affection.

“Maybe now you won’t forget who you belong to.”

I could only nod weakly, terrified to look away before I was told to, but eventually he lowered the mirror and my eyes squeezed closed briefly.

I was wrong.

He unshackled me, but I didn’t move.

This was it.

This was the last thing.

I can’t fight anymore.

He hummed in surprise and delight, fingertips trailing over my spine. “So it seems you can learn… Good boy. Roll.”

I obeyed immediately, the metal too warm to soothe the gentle burn of my skin and slick with my sweat. He didn’t bother to resecure me, trusting in my blind obedience. Distantly, I realised that we were alone in the room; I’d never have a better opportunity than this. But I couldn’t even pretend to consider moving. I couldn’t contemplate putting myself into a position of yet another punishment for a slim chance of freedom. It isn’t worth it. He beamed at me, resting a hand gently on my chest. “Look at that! So good. Perhaps you may deserve a reward… Would you like that?”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied immediately, my voice soft and robotic. I had no idea what this ‘reward’ would be, but I didn’t have any capacity left to give anything other than the answer I thought he’d prefer. The smile softened, and his hand travelled down slowly, resting briefly on my abdomen as he leant closer.

My mind was entirely blank when he kissed me, tongue trailing gently over my lower lip, prompting my mouth to open to grant him access. It wasn’t until his teeth tugged tenderly that his fingers his fingers wrapped around my length, caressing slowly. Confusion enveloped me at his gentle touch, the way his free hand cupped my jaw to hold me closer. The combination of the firm pressure of his lips on mine and the expert ministrations on my cock sent spikes of shameful arousal through my body, colouring my cheeks as I began to react to him. “You like that, hm?” he breathed, fingers moving a little more firmly, and I offered an obedient nod.

“Yes, Sir,” I murmured, repulsed and humiliated that the statement wasn’t entirely untrue. He purred with delight at my words and my stiffening member, his hand wrapping more thoroughly around me. To my horror, I let out a soft, breathless whine, earning a soft chuckle, his hips pressing lightly against my side to demonstrate his own arousal.

“That’s it. Just relax. Do you see, Asset? When you’re bad, you will be punished. When you’re good, and obey orders… I can be merciful.”

Nausea cramped my stomach as he kissed me again, tongue brushing mine and making me tremble.

At least when he raped me it was simple.

There was no confusion in violent violation, in fighting and wishing it to be over.

But this… The way my body stirred and reacted to a touch that felt almost loving.

In another time, another situation with another man, I could very easily love this feeling of someone else’s fingers wrapped around my length, lips trailing rapturously over my throat – if not for this specific time, this specific situation with this specific man.

But I couldn’t help the way my hips twitched and my back arched, breath coming in desperate, sharp pants as I inched towards the inevitable conclusion I could feel building under my skin. He seemed to notice my increasing desperation, groaning quietly and working me harder, mouth shifting against my skin. “You’re doing so well, Asset. Almost there – let me here you.”

I whimpered through my teeth – too afraid to disobey, reluctant to follow his orders easily. But a sharp nip of his teeth on my pulse and the steadily increasing speed of his hand on me made me cry out breathlessly, hips jerking with frantic need as I came without warning.

By the time I’d finished twitching, my chest coated with my own seed, my face was burning with shame and horror, humiliation cloying in my throat.

“Such a good boy,” he crooned, kissing my cheek softly. “Hail Hydra.”

His eyes shifted to me expectantly as I hesitated, and I swallowed around the lump in my throat, lowering my gaze. “Hail Hydra,” I breathed, the ink across my shoulders burning.

#fanfiction #mine #fandom: marvel #writers on tumblr #writing bingo #rating: e #whump #dd:de #winter wonderland bingo #seasonal delights bingo #halloweenhorrorbingo #bad things happen bingo #fandom free bingo #fandom free bingo: frosty edition #multifandom flash bingo #five nights at freddy's bingo #fnaf bingo #any fandom dark bingo

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jackitk · 3 months ago

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Took a bit of digging through my sketch book but I think I found some of the other alt Sol Spirit designs that I've done. This one probably being one of the better pages I haven't already ready shared.

It features three fire Sol Spirits concepts I've brainstormed. Spotlight, Fury, and Enguarde. Spotlight mimics the RPG troupe of having a skill that redirects enemy attacks at the user (like Follow-Me in Pokemon). Fury enrages enemies to make them attack more randomly at the cost of hitting harder. Enguarde enables a temporary counter-attack for the turn, where any time the user Enguarde will strike the foe back.

I think the rest of these sketches are much more conceptual/non-serious so I think I'll save them for their own post once I make sure I found everything I haven't shared yet...

I've included more detail in the alt text. ( @n0rtist tag, in case you're still interested)

If you missed my explanation for what are Sol Spirits, let alone alternate forms of them, here's the initial post for all this...

#OC #OC art #Sol Spirits #inspired by a very similar mechanic used in...#Golden Sun #alternate forms

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melishade · 2 years ago

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Dang, I was hoping I wouldn't do a repeat. How about 30?

This ask game

It's fine. It happens. How about the Dark Timeline, where Optimus' condition after being rescued is up in the air? For more context: Part 11: The Rescue and Part 12: Recovery

“Patch?” Megatron questioned in confusion before his optics widened. “What does he know?! Optimus, what does Shockwave know?!”

“Every…” The Survey Corps continued screamed for Optimus to wake up as the Prime passed out in Eren's arms. Eren roared and tried to shake him awake, but it was no use.

"Wheeljack! Arcee!" Megatron called out for them as the Autobots ran forward. Wheeljack and Arcee grabbed Optimus by his shoulders while Megatron grabbed Optimus by his pedes. Eren could only watch with fear and hopelessness as Optimus was ripped from his grasp and carried to the Jackhammer. The Prime was laid out of the floor, and when Arcee let go, she was trembling at the sight of energon on her servos.

"I'll prepare what's on the neutral ship!" Megatron quickly transformed into his alt mode and flew towards the neutral ship.

"Let us come with you!" Armin begged as Eren pulled himself out of his titan form.

"Just meet us there!" Wheeljack shouted as he shut the Jackhammer door.

"No! NO!" Gabi wailed as the Jackhammer took off towards the other end of the island.

"Horses! Now! Let's move!" Hanji shouted with such passion and fury that hadn't been seen in months. Everyone quickly mounted their horses, and Eren quickly jumped on Armin's horse and sat right behind his friend.

"Wait! Please let me come with you!" Gabi begged, "Please! I don't want him to die because of me!"

"That asshole's on the brink of death because he's a self-sacrificing idiot!" Levi declared as he whipped the reigns on his horse and rode forward.

"Let's go!" Hanji ordered as the rest of them rode towards the neutral ship.

"Please!" Gabi tried to pull herself out of Reiner's grip, but because of her weakened body, she couldn't budge. She cried and begged as she collapsed to her knees.

"Gabi, we need to get you medical aid," Pieck told her.

"No! I can't! No!" Gabi cried as Reiner pulled her close and let her cry in his chest.

"Armin go faster!" Eren yelled.

"I'm trying!" Armin shot back as he whipped the reigns once again.

Eren's titan marks began to fade, but the tears wouldn't stop streaming down his face. Optimus can't die. Optimus can't leave them! Not after everything they went through to get him back! He found himself praying once again to deities he didn't even believe in. He's okay. He's got to be okay. He has to be. He's okay. Please! Please be okay! He can't lose him too!

It took too long for them to arrive, but they managed to make it to the the neutral ship. They all practically jumped off their horses and ran inside. They could hear the sounds of machines welding stuff together. They could hear monitors. They could hear Wheeljack, Arcee, and Megatron yelling at each other in their native language.

"Megatron!" Hanji screamed.

Megatron peered out of the makeshift medbay, and the Survey Corps paused in their step when they saw the energon on Megatron's claws.

"Stay out here! We need to focus!" And without another word, Megatron ran back inside.

Eren tried to run in there himself, but Armin quickly grabbed his friend from behind and shook his head. Eren knew what Armin meant by that. He knew he should stay out of it. But that was his father. Please! Please let Optimus be okay! He doesn't want to lose him!

Eren fell to his knees and cried, dragging a sorrowful Armin with him. Was it all for nothing? Was everything he worked for...was it all for nothing?!

(I just got over 35,000 hits on Ao3. Hooray! Anyway, ask list is up there if you want to ask for more.)

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articskele · 1 year ago

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Yall I just gotta spill my incoherent rambles about Its Name Was Cesar Torres because GRAAAAHHHHH

Spoilers under the cut!

I saw one post that was like “Ok but which would be more fucked up: the alternate killing Cesar while wearing the face of his mom, or vice versa?” And this fic gave us a third and even more devastating option holy shit-

“Picking up the receiver, it paused before pressing at the shapes in the pattern it knew would make Cesar Torres’ friend speak.”

DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS LINE.

Understanding the how but not the why, having the knowledge but not the experience, the inhuman detachment of it all. One small detail that betrays its whole state of being right now: An imitation.

And don't even get me started on the headcanons for how alternates work bc they're so FASCINATING

The way alternates just. Absorb? Things? To take on their form? One of the comments mentioned the alt wearing Cesar's corpse like a parasite and AOUGH

The way emotions have taste- Altsar's initial plan to understand pain just so it could make Mark's suffering that much better to savor- It's just the sheer embodiment of their nature as entities of consumption, born into a state of empty eternity

The way alternates have no personal stake in the war and are just doing what they do best because they can- The way alternates can't die and are just cast back into the void from whence they came, only delaying the inevitable-

Pfffft Mark walks in and just sees Altsar like 🧍 aksjdalkfh- Not a single thought between those eyes dude

Mark with the chewed up fingernails he just like me fr

THE BIBLE REFERENCES THE BIBLE REFERENCES OUGHHGHGHH HOLY SH IT

I don't even know why I love em so much they just make me FERAL- OK BUT THAT SCENE IN CHAPTER 2 WITH MARK RECITING THE FUCKIGNF PSALM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

BRO IS CLINGING. HOLDING ON FOR DEAR LIFE SOMEONE HELP HIM. GO CHRISTIAN BOY GO!!!! Voted God's little lamb most likely to be slaughtered-

THE PANCAKESSSSS. WHAT IF I CRIED. A glimpse of silliness in the storm, and Altsar fuckin grinning from ear to ear (perhaps literally lmao-) I love that and I want them to be ok in the end-

Can we talk about the deer alternate. Can we tALK ABOUT THE FUCKING DEER AAAAUGHH

They had us in the first half not gonna lie with the Mark fakeout- The way I slapped my hand over my mouth like "WUH? HUH??"

AND THEN ALTSAR, OVERWHELMED WITH RAGE, STRIKING THIS ABOMINATION WITH ALL OF ITS THEIR MIGHT. AND YET IT JUST KEEPS TALKING. WORDS DRIPPING FROM ITS SLACKED JAW LIKE SALIVA. WHY WON'T IT STO P.

The moment Altsar realizes he's gotten way in over his head past the point of no return- The constant change of it to they to he, struggling with newfound humanity and unable to see where the alternate ends and the dead man begins. Is there even a difference anymore?

The whole warm and cold thing..... Mark taking Altsar's hands into his and bandaging his its wounds..... Injured. Broken. Both of them living a lie for as long as they can.

AND CAN WE JUST APPRECIATE THE WAY EVERYTHING COMES TOGETHER AT THE END:

The Mary statue and the deer alternate coming back

Mark's righteous fury framed by the shards of the Evangelist

The change from ¬ Shoot me, Mark Heathcliff. I am not what you think. ¬ to ¬ Don’t shoot me. I'm not what you think. ¬

Altsar finally experiencing pain, only for it to be at the hand of his best friend. Bleeding out as he screams for the one thing he just can't go without.

“It hurts, Mark. It hurts.”

IT'S JUST SO!!! GODDDDDDDDD. WHAT IF I CRIED. WHAT IF I TURNED INTO A LITTLE PUDDLE HUH. WHAT THEN.

I just. I struggle to find the words to describe how much I adore this fic, yall. If you were to look in my brain you would just find that one video of the guy shouting "HEEEELP. HEEEEEEELP. HELP MEEE." with the most expressionless face-

I like this fic. I like it a whole lot. And I can't wait to see what comes next ouo

#mandela catalogue #hail true body au #my nonsense

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manuscriptsdontburn6 · 2 years ago

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Here are some thoughts on Lestat’s band! Playlist/song recs at the end.

TL/DR: Lestat could’ve been an early ‘70s glam rock star, and most of the music associated with him has connections to that era.

Descriptions of the band from the books:

“I could hear their whining electric guitars, their frantic singing. It was as good as the radio and stereo songs I heard, and it was more melodic than most. There was a romance to it in spite of its pounding drums. The electric piano sounded like a harpsichord.”

The Vampire Lestat, page 5

“Then came the piercing, twanging fury of the electrical guitar. The drums boomed into a marching cadence, and the grinding locomotive sound of the synthesizer crested, then broke into a bubbling caldron of noise in time with the march. It was time to begin the chant in the minor key, its puerile lyrics leaping over the accompaniment…”

The Vampire Lestat, page 537

I remember reading that Anne saw an Iron Maiden concert as research for writing The Vampire Lestat. She also cited Bon Jovi and the Doors as inspiration. I think in one of the @thecoveninarticulate podcasts, someone even talked about how TVL has a keyboardist but no bass player, which was a reference to the Doors. Also, the description of the keyboard sounding like a harpsichord is reminiscent of the Doors’s sound, which includes a lot of electric organ. So we’re not working with less commercial ‘80s goth music (which I like to think Armand and Daniel were into). TVL probably wouldn’t reach the insane level of commercial success that they do as an ‘80s goth band, as goth was very much confined to subcultural status at this time. The same goes for heavier/more underground metal subgenres. Over-the-top ‘80s rock and classic ‘60s rock are what we’re working with, based on the books.

The Doors are an interesting reference for TVL, since they’re out of the ‘80s time period. They experimented with lyrical and sonic darkness, and Jim Morrison is noted for the boundaries he pushed as a performer. They’re aesthetically associated with the underbelly of ‘60s L. A. Think Once Upon A Time…In Hollywood. Thus, Lestat’s music is meant to cut deeper than his ‘80s hair metal contemporaries, whose music was mostly just good fun.

I personally think it might have been appropriate for Lestat to emerge in the early-mid ‘70s as a sort of dark glam rock star, instead of in the ‘80s during the hair metal/goth era. Lestat’s experimentation with persona is VERY similar to what David Bowie did with Ziggy Stardust. Additionally, the band and singer sharing a name seems like a call back to o. g. Alice Cooper (no clue if Anne intended that or not, but it’s what I immediately thought of). This connects back to the Doors as well; Jim Morrison’s performance style formed the rock star archetype of the tragic figure battling internal demons, which glam rock dramatizes. The sound that woke Lestat up from his vampire nap (abrasive yet melodic and of course hard-rocking) had been developing for a long time before 1984. Plus, ‘70s glam rock was all about pushing the envelope on male gender presentation and sexuality. Marc Bolan (of T. Rex) and David Bowie both came out as bisexual during this time period, and male rock stars dressed more and more androgynously. It’s all very Lestat-core. I really have trouble believing he would have slept through Bowie, Bolan, Iggy, and Alice.

Whatever else we might have to say about AMC’s adaptation, I did enjoy that they played T. Rex during the scene where young Daniel and Louis (plus Armand) meet in the bar. It was perfect for a queer scene set in the ‘70s.

The Queen of the Damned movie from 2002 makes The Vampire Lestat into a nu-metal band. I’ve only seen clips of that movie on Youtube, and I felt like I got a good enough idea of what it’s like…but I have looked at the soundtrack. Its songs were written by Jonathan Davis of Korn and sung by the who’s-who of nu-metal, and ‘90s-2000s alt rock generally. Davis’s dark, sludgy sound seems a bit far from what the books describe and what Lestat’s own tastes probably would have been. Also, it’s important to note that some artists on the soundtrack have turned out to be egregiously horrible people, even by the standards of the very fucked up rock music world. We don’t need to give them attention by incorporating them into our worldbuilding.

That being said, there are a few elements of the overall Lestat nu metal vibe that I think work. Nu metal was a more commercialized version of goth and metal that was recognized more widely, which corresponds with TVL’s level of success in the books. I can also get behind the mall-goth aesthetic for band and their fans. Vampire kitsch, combined with real vampirism. It’s textbook camp. Also, songs about Lestat’s life are going to inevitably have disturbing lyrical content. Nu-metal explores this kind of subject matter more explicitly than many other subgenres.

A lot of the nu metal bands on the soundtrack took inspiration from the early ‘70s, evident in their androgyny, blurring of the line between persona and reality, and campiness. So, even in that intensely 2000s movie, the ‘70s influence remains.

Speaking of 2000s alt rock, I was of course excited to see Gerard Way dressed as Bela Lugosi on MCR’s most recent tour. Lestat also dressed as a stereotypical vampire, cape and all, for his (singular) show. Glam rock is an influence for MCR as well—Gerard Way talks about Bowie in interviews, etc. It’s awesome. That got me thinking—Lestat would have totally written intense and dramatic MCR-esque love songs for Louis.

I think it’s also worth mentioning the final scene of the 1994 adaptation. Lestat jumps into Daniel’s convertible with a leather jacket over his ruffled shirt, which is a look a LOT of androgynous rock stars wore. It’s giving Jimmy Page in a major way. Lestat switches the radio station to play “Sympathy for the Devil,” covered by Guns and Roses. The Stones were precursors to glam rock in their way. Guns and Roses came later but took a lot from early ‘70s glam as well. It’s safe to infer that Lestat’s already going into his rock star era at this point in the movie. This gives us an idea of his music taste and general attitude at this point in the narrative. He’s interested in the dark and glamorous aesthetic of rock music, as well as how its contemplations of evil intertwine with his.

We don’t know what AMC is going to do with Lestat’s rock star era yet. I’m interested to see what route they take.

Here are a few songs that fit with how I imagine TVL, based on all these considerations. It’s a bit of a strange combination because Lestat has been associated with different styles of music, but they all connect with glam rock one way or another. I’d love y’all’s thoughts as well, ofc!

Songs:

More—Sisters of Mercy

Andrew Eldritch, goth icon who denies his own gothness, decided to try being a straight-up rock star with the album Vision Thing, leaving behind the melancholic sound of the Sisters’ earlier work. This song has violin on it—perfect for Lestat. The lyrics are also in character for him: “I don’t know why you gotta be so undemanding/one thing I know/I want MORE,” “I need all the love that I can’t get to.”

Riders on the Storm—the Doors

Imagine it done by an ‘80s band. It works.

Ziggy Stardust—David Bowie

This is Bowie telling the story of his character Ziggy, like how Lestat talks about himself in his songs. Plus it’s very Lestat to describe yourself as having a “god-given ass.” Am I wrong? I’m not wrong.

Ballrooms of Mars—T. Rex

This is one of the best songs Marc Bolan ever wrote, in my opinion. Unlike most of his work, which is whimsical and nonsensical in the best way, the lyrics and descending chord progression create a more ominous and mournful atmosphere. The lyrics can easily be read as vampiric.

Runnin’ With the Devil—Van Halen

Tough Cookie would probably have an Eddie Van Halen-esque guitar tone, as TVL would want to sound very modern for their time period. Themes of, well, runnin’ with the devil. Confessing your own evilness to a rock audience.

Change in the House of Flies—Deftones

The one QOTD movie song I’m including. I think TVL’s songs would have a bit more dynamic variation than the Deftones, but the love/horror combo this song is about plays a big part in VC and in Lestat’s life. Plus, I can imagine it would be a good song to perform live, and, being glam-adjacent, that would be important for TVL.

Sympathy for the Devil—Guns and Roses

Good job, 1994 adaptation.

#manuscriptsdontburnoriginal #well that was. a lot more work #than i anticipated #the vampire lestat #anne rice #the vampire chronicles #glam rock #david bowie #lestat #gothgothgoth #is it ever too much for tumblr #i will need my own 50 year nap now #i hope this is coherent #manuscriptsdontburnanalyzesthings

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cozystars · 1 year ago

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SPIDER-IMP INFO DUMP CAUSE I CAN!!!

IDs in the alt text, with way more info under the cut. Enjoy :)!!!

Insight into Personality

Dali and Araneum differ in their own ways. Take, for example, if someone was being passive-aggressive towards them.

The Human would mutter insults under their breath, hoping this hypothetical subject would never see them shooting daggers behind their back through a glare. Dali has a hard time being nice towards anyone they don't consider to be family, meaning those who give them a hard time doesn't deserve their time...they can't say that out loud, though.

Meanwhile, the Imp would resort to gossip, passing rumors to anyone with an open ear. In her opinion, secrets are how you gain strength, and if someone wants to be like that, she'll return the energy with a petty fury.

What they share in personality traits is the fact that they hate being reminded of how powerless they are. If the imaginary person I mentioned earlier were to confront them about the weird stares and secrets being spilled, Araneum would hide behind Dali, and Dali would melt. Witty one-liners do not come easy to the duo, especially when they are made to feel small. Well, smaller than they already do every day.

This is why Spider-Imp holds such importance for both of them. When fused, they take on a new persona that allows them to actually go toe-toe with others, mentally and physically. Their personality becomes similar to a loner who doesn't say much, but when they do, it's quick, punchy quips to scare assailants.