#((onyx prime is in for a surprise))

[holos-prim]

:)

Uncle necklace:))

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Heel, Stay, and Shake.

🐦‍⬛ What’s this? A wild bird in our classroom? Now we can’t have that, can we? 🧪

By My Hand.

Raven didn’t know what to expect when Professor Crewel asked to see him after class. A summons from him typically meant one of two things: a thorough scolding or remedial work. Sometimes both.

She wasn’t the type for either. Raven kept her head down and behaved—and thus stood off to the side of his wrath. And now here she was, standing in the line of fire.

“Wooow, sucks to be you,” Ace had sneered on his way out. “The goody-two-shoes finally gets into trouble herself!”

“Leave her alone, Ace,” Deuce grumbled, “You don’t want to make things worse for her than they already are.”

Even the Prefect, Yuu—level-headed, neutral—had passed her a look of sympathy. But they cleared out of the laboratory the same as the rest, leaving Raven to her doom.

The heavy wooden door slammed shut, trapping her in with their teacher.

Crewel had traded his lab coat and safety goggles for his usual attire: a black and white color-blocked vest, black undershirt and slacks, smart shoes that clicked with every step, blood red gloves, socks, and tie. Over this, a striped fur coat with several tails, the insides a shocking scarlet.

He ran a hand through his hair—black slicked back, white in a graceful sweep of parted bangs. His eyes, a shade of iced onyx, dug into her like the teeth of a dog. Not enough to pierce the skin, but enough to threaten to.

She struggled not to tremble under his gaze. Raven knew it to be discerning and, more importantly, unrelenting in its critique.

“Crowley.”

“Y-Yes!!” Raven yelped, standing at attention. Her posture naturally corrected itself at his voice. Back stiffening, head lifting. “Wh-Whatever it is I’ve said or done to offend you, I apologize! I will reflect on my actions and do better in the future!”

“Offend me?” Crewel’s surprise melted into a devilish smirk. “You’ve done nothing of the sort. However, I’m flattered that you would think yourself in such dire need of my private instruction.”

“Eh? Then what did you need me for…?”

“A curiosity of mine. I hope you do not mind.”

“N-No, sir! Curiosity not minded!”

A chuckle.

Crewel extended his pointer to a line of shelves. “I’ve heard from the headmaster that you care for colorants. Is that correct?”

Raven was all too eager to provide the answer and then book it out of there. “That’s right. I brew some in my spare time. They’re enchanted inks, meant for writing and journaling.”

“Inks? What, may I ask, makes them ‘enchanted’?”

“Well…” Raven gestured to a potted mandrake. “It’s like cultivation. I infuse magic into the ink, which grants them fun properties. Smelling like an orange slice, glowing even long after you’ve penned it, words that produce the sounds they write out.”

“I see.” Interest had started to seep into Crewel’s voice. “Have you ever thought to extend this skill to other areas of application?”

“No, not really. It’s just something I got into to save on pocket money. Commercial inks can be expensive, so I thought to make my own with the ingredients gathered from around campus…”

Raven trailed off.

A glint had settled into Crewel’s eyes. The very same shine that came into Crowley’s at the mention of money or fresh game.

“It seems to me,” Crewel said slowly, “that you have a talent.”

A stone dropped into her stomach.

Uh-oh, here comes trouble.

“I would very much like to train that talent.” He tapped his pointer into an open palm. Each strike light, but had all the gravity of a gravel.

“Huh?!”

“You’re familiar with Night Raven College’s charity ball?”

“Yes…”

She couldn’t forget it even if she tried. The headmaster had droned about it for the last several weeks, declaring it a “prime time” to look good to the public. (Half of those weeks had been spent preening and wondering which suit and tie to wear.)

“School staff are to be in attendance to oversee the event. This year, we’re donating the proceeds to an animal shelter on Sage’s Island—a cause I’m particularly passionate about. As such, I would like to wear something stunning—and to dazzle at a show, you must have the element of surprise. I will be designing my own outfit. That is where you will come in.

“I will provide the materials, and you will prepare the dye for it. I want a unique color and magical effect that suits my image and enhances it.”

“But I don’t know the first thing about fabrics or treating them,” Raven protested faintly.

“Which is why I will mentor you. It will be a collaborative effort.”

“I-I’m sure you’re entirely capable of accomplishing this on your own, Professor! After all, Crewel-sensei is so very skilled…”

“Tch.” He frowned, making his displeasure clear. “You are missing the point, pup. Do you really think I wouldn’t have already done so, were that my intention?”

Raven flinched. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Night Raven College is making efforts to promote teamwork in its curriculum and extracurricular activities. For such a front-facing event, our new direction will be center stage. You’re a clever girl. I’m certain I do not need to explain the importance of this.”

“Surely there are more ideal candidates, sir… Students far more qualified than me. V-Vil-senpai? Or a Science Club member? Rook-senpai might be interested.”

“Of course I am aware of that—but this isn't about them. This is about you."

His pointer sliced through the air, so sharp that it cracked like a whip, aiming itself right at her. Crewel's face was the picture of arrogance, a high and mighty king looking down at the peasants. (Raven suddenly understood why he, of all teachers, was a Night Raven College graduate.)

"Since the day you scampered into my classroom, you've been nothing but a meek little thing. Obedience is all well and good, but you lack a bark and a bite, the confidence to be bold and to demonstrate your ability with pride. Schoenheit and the others already have that.

“You must learn how to speak up, pup! And this Crewel-sama will be the one to teach that to you.”

“B—But…”

“No buts!” he snapped. “If you’re going to reject the idea, then do so with your entire chest! I will accept it as proof of your bite. If you cannot muster that, then you will submit yourself to my guidance. What will it be?”

Raven shrunk back—proving his point. Speak up? Louder, more sternly—against her own teacher? She couldn’t.

Yikes, he’s so fired up about this… There’s no way I can comfortably say ‘no’!

She balled her fists up, terribly twisting her skirt. Raven sighed deeply, resigning herself to her fate.

“… Alright, I will do my best to assist, Crewel-sensei. In return, I will be relying on you too.”

“Good girl. You’ve made your choice.” Crewel offered a hand. “Then let us shake on it.”

She hesitantly took it. His grip was firm and resolute, hers limp and unenthusiastic.

At last, he smiled in satisfaction. “I look forward to instructing you, Crowley. I expect you to keep up.”

Never in her life had she felt more like some poor dog strung along on a leash.

[katerinaaqu]

Ruthless Justice

This fic is dedicated to my dear friend @artsofmetamoor as a gift! She had also expressed an interest to the events of the murder of the suitors but I decided to take it into a more tragic level; the excecution of the 12 maids and I added some random emotional scene afterwards! You are warned this fic includes dark themes!

The cries that filled the room were deafening. The young ears of Telemachus could not bear them. The slave women were forced to clean up the room from the corpses of the blasted suitors that nearly killed him and took the kingdom of his father. It was the first time Telemachus had killed. He still couldn’t believe it how easy it had been! It was almost easier than hunting wild goats and deer in the mountains of Ithaca! Some part of him had felt a wild pleasure, almost hedonic gladness, when he had stabbed that first body and continued. This hedonism increased by the happiness he felt that he was helping his father, that he was useful. He felt pleasure for this justice that was finally prevailing in the halls of his house; finally the constant harassment and insults his mother and himself had gone through was punished and he had finally found his father. He had witnessed his brain and his ferocity, his dexterity and cunning first hand! So far he had only heard of it from others that had met him and yet now he had actually seen it before him; his father who was no longer at the prime of youth he had managed to clean the hall of 108 men 10 or even 20 years younger than what he was. Some part of Telemachus wondered; how was his father in his prime? How much more ferocity in battle he possessed? How much more wits and wiles could he loom in short amounts of time?

However now that the first thrill of battle had gone, now they had finished cleaning the chairs of the hall with sponges and water, Telemachus was shocked at their own strength and results. He looked around at the hall that was basically full of wrapped bodies; the bodies that used to belong to vigorous, young nobles and his father now stood at the hall, hard as the stones that built that very palace. Odysseus was not a tall man (that much was a surprise to Telemachus, for from the conversations he had heard about his father’s strength and name he had expected him to be as tall as he was, perhaps taller), he barely stood at average height, maybe a little less, but his physique showed the power that his hardships built upon him. His raven hair, which had already started turning silver from time and hardships, was curly like his own and long till his shoulders; those strong shoulders burnt by sea and sun. A thick bushy beard was hiding a strong jaw line and mouth shut tightly closed. However Telemachus particularly noticed his stone look as the onyx eyes of his seemed soulless like glass even if they burnt with hatred and anger. Right now he could see before him a man who lived up to his name; “The Anger Bringer”. Odysseus was indeed enraged; that much Telemachus could tell. The almost full day of slaughter seemed to have created a curst thick like salt upon his face, just as thick was the blood that had splattered it, the blood he didn’t have much time to clean. And yet, despite all that, he seemed to stand naturally within that chaos; like only a war veteran would stand naturally amongst corpses and cries. He remained there as the lamenting women were literally dragged and pushed at his feet as he stood at the podium of the throne. He seemed like a judge; a ruthless judge ready to pass judgment. Telemachus had seen him angry, hopeful, crying, tender and then ruthless in his killing but now he was truly disturbed at the shadow that had passed over his face. He saw then the one that had come from war; the Sacker of Cities… Odysseus looked down at the maidens crying and struggling, as if they were insects.

“I took you to my home…” he said, his voice cold as ice and sharp as a knife, “I gave you a bed, fed you, dressed you…made sure you would want of nothing while you were under my roof… I respected your wishes…never mistreated you and this is how you repay me? By mingling with my enemies…the very men that wished to violently claim my wife and kill my son?”

Every word was a hammer upon a nail. Telemachus felt a shiver down his spine. He wouldn’t want to be to the other end of that look that was for sure! The women seemed pale like bed sheets; like the sheets that were covering the bodies they had gathered with their own very hands. He saw the other two helpers of theirs; the two herders Eumaeus and Philoetius, standing over the crying maidens, watching at their master with pride. Telemachus had never seen so much wild triumph to the old face of Eumaeus’s before. Never.

“Eumaeus….” Odysseus addressed him, “What is the punishment for treason?”

“Death, my lord” his voice didn’t even hesitate

“Quite so…” Odysseus nodded.

He glared at the slave girls like a hawk.

“Normally I should drag you all out and stone you to death!”

Odysseus didn’t have to yell. All he needed was to speak in that low voice that boiled with anger, like the bubbling water in a cauldron. And yet that was more than enough to emphasize his anger.

“However we have caused enough ruin already! And I shall not even spare one single sacred stone of this palace for you!”

One could wonder whether he was about to say he would sell them away or something of similar manner, which would already be cruel enough. However the king of Ithaca said;

“Philoetius! Bring me a long piece of rope! Eumaeus, help me bring these treacherous women out! They shall be hanged!”

The word sounded as terrible as I was clear and the women broke to a woe Telemachus had never heard before (and, by gods, had he heard enough woe in his house ever since he was a baby!). The screeches and the cries they released along with their already blood-painted hands trying to claw themselves out of the swine herder’s strong grip, nearly made him throw up.

“Father!” he protested, “you can’t be serious! They are just helpless women!”

His father’s onyx eyes stuck within his own and Telemachus felt that same shiver down his spine. There was fire in those obsidian eyes! The same fire of earth that had forged the volcanic glass that gave his eyes their color seemed to be now burning deep inside those black orbs; it was though a cold fire that burnt like the ice burns the skin!

“Is the betrayal of a woman less serious than the betrayal of a man?” his voice was sharp as a broken sword; sharpness you wouldn’t know where it would cut you the worst; the actual blade or the broken tip

“N-No…” Telemachus stammered, “B-But…”

His voice was being drowned by the shrieks of the women. He couldn’t stand it.

“Does the dagger being wielded by a woman draw less blood when it stabs you in the back than the one wielded by a man?”

“Father please!”

“Stay back, Telemachus!” his father commanded, pushing him out of his way, “You are not to see this!”

Telemachus felt his heart clench but he held his ground.

“No, father, I shall help you” he said determined, “If I am to become king of this land, I must help justice prevail!”

His father eyed him once more but Telemachus stood his ground. He was Odysseades Telemachus. He had to live up to his father’s legacy. Odysseus eyed him in wonder for one second but he did not protest his request any further. Part of Telemachus had wished he had. However he knew he had to be strong and stand by his father’s side. The cries of the female voices still haunted his ears as they went out to the trees of the garden. Odysseus pointed towards the direction of one of the trees. Telemachus gulped. He knew that tree. He had played so many times around it when he was a kid! He had named it “Troy” at some point, running around with his horse (in other words a stick he fantasized to be his horse when he was five) and he would yell at the people of Troy to open their gates for him, like he had imagined his father would be doing, on occasions scaring the birds that sat on the branches. As he grew older he would climb and sit on them, joining those birds, and looking over to the horizon as if waiting for a ship to appear, as if waiting to see the sails of the 12 ships of Ithaca arriving.

How weird indeed that Odysseus chose that particular tree for the execution hall to be built behind it! Telemachus never made that connection so strongly before!

As the men dragged the women out to their final spot; behind that said tree lay the dome of court where a small, confided space, where the women tied up with one single piece of rope from the throats like cattle being led for slaughter were crying and moaning. Telemachus felt his stomach turn. Oh, Athena, he prayed silently, please give me strength to do what I must! He felt then a gentle touch upon his shoulder; like the sun warming him with his rays. His racing heart slowed a bit in beat and he breathed in deeply. Yes, he could feel Athena’s reminder of his own strength. Yes, he had to do it. He was his father’s son. No one dared to speak at that moment. Apart from the endless woe of the women that were about to be executed, it almost felt like a macabre ritual that was about to happen. The women were forced to their final resting place; the narrow hall that was closed up by the neatherd and the swineherd. Telemachus held onto the end with both hands and sighed again, feeling weirdly calm. It was as if all his essence had gone numb. He was self-conscious that his father was looking at him. He almost felt him regretful as if he tried to release him from his task but Telemachus made a mechanical move with his head to stop him. I am Odysseiades Telemachus, he thought, this is my duty! Instinctually he looked towards the sky.

“May this be no clean death…” he heard himself whispering, breaking the silence and the cries of the women, “…that I take the lives of these women…for they were wishing for my head…both mine and my mother’s…when they betrayed us and lay with the suitors…”

His father made half a step forward. Telemachus had made his resolve

He threw the rope over the dome and pulled with all his might.

The cries stopped to give their place to chocking sounds.

Telemachus didn’t cry. He only sighed and closed his eyes.

Soon the haunting sounds stopped.

There was only the creaking of the swinging rope…

~ ~ ~

Telemachus chocked and coughed as he threw up the little contents of his stomach behind a bush. How strange, he thought, he didn’t feel the need to do that when he killed all those men he hated by his father’s side and yet he reacted upon an execution he performed with his own hands. It was, maybe, because he always learnt to respect women and protect them. Quite frankly he never raised a hand against a woman before in his life. And now he had, with one fateful move he had removed the lives of 12 women he considered helpless. And yet that moment of clarity it was as if Athena was speaking through him; these women are not innocent, he thought she said to him, they betrayed you and your father, they betrayed your mother’s secrets and led to more torment to her. They conspired to kill you.

“Then why…?” Telemachus thought, “Why was this so difficult?”

He felt two warm, calloused hands on his shoulders and looked up. He faced the tired look of his father’s; his face full of the blood of the victims they had killed. In one moment Telemachus felt self-conscious and realized he could possibly look similar to this. He turned his look away in shame. What would his father think? What would he say for his weakness? Instead, though, he heard him whisper:

“I am so proud of you, my son…” the voice echoed somewhere in his soul, “I understand that was not an easy decision to make…”

“F-Forgive me…f-father…” Telemachus stammered trying to stop the sobs that were chocking him, “I…I wasn’t strong enough…”

“You’re wrong, Telemachus” his voice was whispery and yet adamant, “You are strong, much stronger than any man I have seen so far. I understand the task that I placed upon you was not a pretty one or a pleasant one. And yet you fulfilled it with the bravery that many men didn’t show in thousands of wars. I am proud of you…”

Telemachus realized what had bothered him so much; his father indeed didn’t seem to separate women from men before the ruthless justice he threw upon them. Telemachus was taught to protect and respect women. However when Odysseus arrived at the hall and ordered the demise of 12 women with hardly even blinking disturbed him. How much had he changed? This was not the father that his mother was describing…nay, he wasn’t the father he had met in the hut of the swine herder that embraced him and kissed him like he were his own soul. He saw some of that father he met right now, to the father trying to console him but before? A few minutes prior he saw an executioner; not the father he knew and loved.

“But how much do I know him, really…?” Telemachus realized, “I first saw his face a few days ago… What kind of man is he? Really?”

Odysseus patted his son on his shoulders and helped him straighten himself. They walked past the tree where the women still hanged like doves from a hunter’s stick. Telemachus couldn’t look up at the blackened and bloated faces of death. Not Odysseus. Odysseus looked up steadily and steadfast. There hardly was a reaction on his face apart from a wrinkle playing between his eyes. He seemed tired, sure, he wasn’t feeling pleasure he wasn’t smiling and yet Telemachus wondered; does this man have nerves of steel or a heart of stone to look up so calmly? How much horror had he seen so that this gruesome sight wouldn’t make him avert his eyes?

“How…?” he whispered, “How can you take this…?”

His father was silent for one second until he finally decided to talk.

“One can get awfully accustomed to the face of death…when they have seen so plenty of it…”

His voice was almost dead; as if he was just stating a simple fact such as that the sun rises from the east rather than talking about the lives of people. That rubbed Telemachus in the wrong places even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“Sometimes…” Odysseus continued, “I feel like my heart has turned into stone… Sometimes I feel like it has no more space apart from you Telemachus…”

It took him a few seconds to realize what his father had just said. Perhaps not even Odysseus himself had realized it!

“What about mother, father? What about her?”

There was silence for one second. However that silence seemed to Telemachus more cruel than any other eternity in Hades’s kingdom!

“Father!” he urged

“Of course, your mother too…” Odysseus finally whispered, “I love her more than life itself! I did everything I could so I can come back to her…to you…”

“You doubted her!” Telemachus whispered in cruel realization, “Oh, gods! I don’t believe it! You doubted her! Even after everything she went through for you!”

“No!” Odysseus immediately retorted, “No, I didn’t doubt her! Not really…it is just…”

“Just what? I don’t believe you! After all these years she waited!”

“I know this” Odysseus retorted almost calmly, “Or rather I absolutely know now. However I needed to make sure…beyond any shade of doubt. This is why Athena encouraged me to hide who I was from your mother, even if it tore me apart inside…”

“But…why…?” Telemachus was almost in tears and he was struggling really hard to keep them under control. “Why would you even doubt her so?”

They had spent years on their own and for as long as he could remember his mother was always waiting, crying and expecting a miracle. He didn’t remember one day to see his mother genuinely happy. She was smiling or complimenting his accomplishments but he had never seen her truly happy; all their life was darkened by the shadow of his father’s absence; of the lack of information whether he lived or not and now his father said that he had doubt, no matter how small it was?! Odysseus sighed deeply and looked at his son. His eyes were almost pleading even if his voice was steady.

“Son…” he said gravely, “I spent years out there…years of ordeals and pain and…many of them changed me… I cannot say much…not now…however there was someone…a woman…”

He gulped. He almost seemed ready to cry himself.

“She…she did unspeakable things to me…for years I endured hoping to come back to you and your mother… She…she kept on planting doubts in my head for years… I didn’t believe her…I didn’t want to believe her! And yet…yet all those years… Telemachus I couldn’t do otherwise! My brain was rejecting what my heart knew… And so I had to make these two come together… I had to…! Please! Perhaps one day I will be able to explain to you…and then you will understand…”

His father began walking away but Telemachus, in the heat of adrenaline and battle didn’t seem ready to let go. Not yet.

“Does this have to do with some goddess Calypso?”

His father froze and then he saw him turn around and saw another emotion he never saw before; fear. There was pure terror on his face. All color had left it; his eyes as wide as plates.

“Where did you hear that name!?” his father croaked out, “Telemachus! Where?!”

“Father…” Telemachus was more concerned and surprised than pitiful at that moment, “Look at you! You’re pale! You didn’t turn pallid when you ordered the execution of these women and yet you lost all color at the name of that woman!”

“Telemachus!” Odysseus called out desperately

“Tell me what happened father! What does this woman have to do with this?”

“I can’t!”

“Please tell me! What did that woman do to you to make you doubt your own wife?!”

“I can’t! I CAN’T!” Odysseus’s voice rose in a constant crescendo, he held his head with both hands as if suddenly his head was splitting in two

“Father, please!” Telemachus urged, “Who is that woman? Who is Calypso?”

“Telemachus!” Odysseus grabbed the shoulders of his son

Telemachus nearly whelped feeling the unbelievable strength of those hands, squeezing him in almost bruising grasp but he didn’t make a sound. He stood his ground. He was his father’s son.

“Where did you hear that name?!”

“Y-Your friend told me about it…” Telemachus finally replied, “I traveled, father. I myself tried to find the answers that I was seeking…and in my travels I visited Pylos…and Sparta…there I met your old friend… He said he had a dream in which you were trapped at the island with some goddess Calypso, but he didn’t know more… You remember him, don’t you? Menelaus the king of Sparta…”

“M-Menelaus…”

He took some breaths and he seemed to find his composure. He slowly released his son. Telemachus noticed that indeed some color had returned to his face. How much had that woman done to him to make his father react that way?! How many horrors had this man experienced to the hands of that goddess so that he would turn pale in terror even if he was completely unhinged by more than 100 vigorous men?

“Yes…of course I remember… Menelaus…he was one of my closest friends…in Troy.” That little recollection somehow calmed him down, “I…I haven’t heard of him for years… Th-Thank gods that he is fine…”

“He is in good health from what I could see…” Telemachus couldn’t lie, he didn’t know much on Menelaus but he knew that ‘fine’ was not exactly the word that described him, “He misses you a lot, you know… He didn’t speak with so warm words for anybody else…”

A sad smile spread to Odysseus’s lips.

“I remember… Menelaus was a really dear friend to me…”

He passed his hand over his face to mop some of his sweat.

“Forgive me, Telemachus…I really didn’t want this feeling to be inside me in the first place but…please understand me…that’s all I ask. That and some time… I will explain everything when I can…”

Telemachus breathed in, defeated.

“I will not pressure you, father…” he finally said, “I understand it is hard. Forgive me for insisting… It is just…”

His father’s arms wrapped around him. That moment he stopped being the heartless judge. He was the caring father again..he was the one Telemachus first met; the caring, protective father…

“Please don’t apologize…” he murmured to his son’s ear, “You have every right to be angry…you have so many questions… I promise you, my son, I will do my best to answer them all…just not yet…I can’t…not yet…”

He pulled back and looked at his son’s eyes.

“Okay?”

Telemachus smiled sadly. Suddenly his own accumulated frustration from the events of the day was evaporated. He needed this breakdown and somehow he knew his father needed it too.

“Okay” he nodded in agreement.

Odysseus patted his shoulders.

“Good.” He said, “Let’s go in now and we must order to get ourselves cleaned now. We must, sooner or later, cleanse ourselves from this murder for we both look like we went mad!”

Telemachus scoffed a bit. He began following his father; never daring to look back towards that grim execution place.

“She didn’t ask, you know…” he suddenly said

Odysseus stopped and turned around.

“What?”

“Mother. When I told her about king Menelaus’s vision, she didn’t ask. She didn’t make any inquiries. She didn’t doubt your integrity not even for one second…”

He saw his father’s chest palpitating almost suddenly. His face almost twisted with another unspoken sob. He turned around, showing Telemachus his back.

“Thank you…” he murmured

Telemachus managed to see one tear running down his father’s bloodstained cheek. There was so much behind that silent cry! Telemachus knew his father was keeping many things inside; perhaps he even blamed himself for everything. He didn’t know. He only hoped that with that last comment, he managed to give him some peace of mind. Apparently either he was right or Odysseus was a very good actor indeed, for he was back to his previous steadfast and calm self. He was once more the king.

The King of Ithaca

The Anger Bringer.

***

Not much to say here. Homer said most of it before me.

I found it disturbing and interesting how it was Telemachus the one to pull the rope of the execution so I thought to add a bit ore angst to this and show this aftermath whirlpool of emotions that could be going on inside hm.

And of course Odysseus and the years of torment, especially Ogygia.

Also in the Odyssey Rhapsody 17 Telemachus does mention to his mother how Menelaus saw Odysseus imprisoned by Calypso but Penelope didn't react to it much. She either believed not much of it in her sorrow or at the same time she felt no need to react at the name of another woman because she trusted her husband.

Hope you like it.

[askvectorprime]

Why would anyone come up with the Functionist caste system?

Dear Caste Castigator,

As many ideas do—be they dangerous or benign—it began as innocent curiosity. Every generation inevitably asks itself the same question: “What is my purpose? For what reason was I created? What part do I have to play, in our society?” Our alt-modes are important to us, and throughout history, many have looked to our forms for the answer. “Why do I turn into this, and not that? If I was designed this way, then what for?” And as we find that our own bodies have precious few answers to give us, we turn to those around us: “Why are there more cars than particle accelerators?” At the dawn of our civilisation, even my siblings wondered about these mysteries.

It was during the rise of Nova Prime, in response to the war of the Primes, that these philosophical questions morphed into the ideology of Functionism. Nova Prime decided that the tribes had gone astray—that each had their own divine purpose to fulfill, which they had forsaken. He recruited twelve bots—one from each of the original tribes, excepting Onyx's—who formed a council to comprehend and expand this list of functions, forming the first Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy.

Having arrived at what they believed to be a complete set of categories, they thus set out to fit the planet’s population into these categories. At its basis, this meant that Solus’ followers were assigned to work in the forges; Alpha Trion’s followers to the archives; the Darklanders to the barracks. Few at the time considered this societal structure to be asserted unnaturally. Rather, it was seen as codifying the existing cultures of the tribes, unifying them in its view of Cybertron as a single people collectively working to a divine mandate. The dissenting voice of the Beasts was easy to disregard, given their defeat at the Citadel of Light, and most abandoned Nova’s society to live in the wilderness.

As the Golden Age continued, the Taxonomy grew more and more complicated. The original set of castes was expanded, coinciding with the introduction of ratioism: the more unique your alternate mode, the more important you were believed to be. Castes believed to be “important for society” were heavily subdivided into hyperspecialized classes, allowing the Prime and his followers to be seen as blessed. Meanwhile, laborers remained in larger, more generalized castes, where they were treated as interchangeable.

Naturally there were objections to this—but with the weapons held by the newly-formed military classes, the rebellion was halted in its tracks, and society was forced to accept the caste system wholly, even as it grew ever more byzantine and oppressive.

It may be surprising, given his later reputation, but Nominus rose to become Prime mostly on the back of his promises to loosen the caste system. This was supposedly implemented through the introduction of the intellectual classes—those who were judged to be valuable for their minds, not their alt modes. This was a huge development at the time, bordering on heresy... but in truth, this progress proved to be a fantasy.

[darks-lair]

So I've been thinking about Earthspark primes again, as one does. Onyx this time.

I thought of her having a mask that gives her the big part of her power, mostly so she can use it to transform into her centaur and dragon (?) form

I am also now obsessed with centaurs who's animal part is much larger than the human one so I'll be drawing giant gryphon abdomens for a while

I will be so surprised if anyone gets the "la gougara" joke.

Also Onyx being friends with Maximo??? Please?? They sound like such a power duo.

Obligatory low quality OG pic

[melishade]

does a line of Dark Energon

AoP AU where it's not just Optimus who gets sent to Paradis, it's all his siblings. (yes, Solus & Megatronus are here too, no, the Allspark is still functional) Primus did a big oopsie. Cue sibling drama (Prima dealing with a guilty conscience over his List, but unable to articulate it, Megatronus being sad over stabbing Solus, Maximo being ostracized by his siblings over causing the above & him hiding how he feels with his own dickery) while Eren & Co have 12 new dads & a new mom.

Optimus: "How do 12 Primes not have one emotional braincell among them?' Prima: "I-" Megatronus: "That was your job, little brother. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some Marleyan military units to deal with in the Middle East."

This is some of the wackiest shit I've heard...gimme that dark energon.

I actually have brought up with @justawannabearchaeologist and @echoblaze5 lol

But I'm gonna tweek this crack idea for fun.

So Optimus and Megatron still end up in the AOT world like in AOP. However, Primus and Vector monitoring the situation and realizes that not much is changing and see the Rumbling still coming into play.

Primus to his disciples: ...Soooooo.....

Half of them: NO!

(They are not happy with Primus' decision to not let Optimus rest for once!)

The Primes, excluding Vector because he has to watch time unfold, get dropped off in the AOT world. It's a bit awkward to see 11 new titans with crazy appearances and abilities. No one knows what to say, but then:

Nexus: Wanna see what I can do?! Half of the Primes as Nexus falls backwards: No! NO! NO!

Nexus falls apart and splits into his five parts: Hello!

Connie faints in response.

The Primes then immediately spot a flabbergasted Optimus and half of them tackle him into a hug. Happy to see him. Optimus has to explain that they are the original Primes, getting visible reactions out of everyone there. I, of course, won't go into a whole story. This is crack, but I have a few notes:

-Pixis passes out at the sight of Solus.

-Quintus and Hanji immediately become friends, only to have them be separated from each other because of unethical experimentation they've been conducting. Hanji gave Quintus too many notes on Titans.

-Everyone, and I mean everyone, has issues with Alpha Trion and how he completely fucked over both Optimus and Megatron. Megatron is surprised that some of the Survey Corps are actually defending him against him.

-All the Primes are eyeing Eren with extreme caution because Vector has described him as a coin-toss in regards to future events. He either destroys or saves the world and it terrifies them.

-Megatronus does his best to not be involved. (RID2015 is non-canon and I liked the Aligned Megatronus better). He doesn't want to fight and does his best to refuse to help because he's afraid of making the same mistakes. He's also not happy with Megatron for tarnishing his name once again! He's already sabotaged himself once! C'mon! (That doesn't stop the Survey Corps from trying to talk to him)

-All the Primes want Megatron dead, especially Liege, because apparently Megatron was the one who graverobbed him and stole his arm.

Liege pulling out his dagger: An arm for an arm, fragger!

Megatron: You weren't even using it!

Liege: THEM'S FIGHTIN' WORDS!

Megatron gets stabbed a lot.

-Amalgamous scares everyone with how much he shapeshifts.

-The Survey Corps see how often the Primes argue and feel bad for Optimus. He's just the youngest sibling in a sea full of idiots that share only one braincell.

-Sasha enjoys Onyx Prime greatly.

Long story short, Marley is screwed. They can't counter divine intervention.

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

Idea idea idea

What if the Maltobots had been hidden from most Cybertronians for a lot longer than canon, enough that they grew up completely in hiding without contact with adult Cybertronians? Dot would be a former marine, not a GHOST operative, with Alex working remotely and being the primary breadwinner. Dot would end up retiring early due to lack of work after losing her leg, and would mostly be working the farm with adults Robby and Mo.

And, we have already seen that the Maltobots have powers, (Hashtag's hacking ability, Nightshade getting their alt mode from a STATUE and Twitch's OP blaster comes to mind) and the Malto kids are going to get super suits in canon.

So, what if, in an au where the already impressive abilities become full on outlier abilities, Optimus mistakes Nightshade for Onyx Prime and they just roll with it because they have only seen their own kind in movies and here's an opportunity to ask questions with THE LEADER OF THE AUTOBOTS. Sure, they had to correct him with their name, but this was Optimus Prime!

Optimus is under the impression that they and their siblings are reincarnations of past primes, while they aren't aware that the war ended because of being isolated, they did grow up watching the propaganda TV shows and comics produced to drum up support for the Autobots.

Their view of the war is very much something that they aren't allowed to get involved in, and as they get older, Dot uses her own experience in the military and recovering from her amputation as reasons to stay away.

So, when Optimus offers to relocate who he thinks is one of his brothers to the main embassy/headquarters of the Autobots, he's surprised to learn that Nightshade wasn't alone.

They had six siblings, and a pair of loving parents.

Optimus insists on meeting them, and is surprised at the lukewarm reception he gets from Nightshade's human family. (Maybe most of the others are hiding or have left to run errands or are in the woods, so it's just Dot, Alex, the kids, and maybe Twitch or Hashtag)

Like, to Dot, Optimus is just another sketchy military recruiter that would try to use her sacrifices as ammunition to pressure her kids into the military.

Robby, who might be using his gauntlet or suit to do some heavy lifting, catches his attention, and he inquires on what relic he was using to work, and Robby lies on the spot.

Dot backs him up, and manages to kick Optimus out.

Optimus can't keep a good secret, and the more religious bots start sending gifts and offerings to the farm.

Lots of offerings.

Most of them booze, candy, and energon.

In no time, there's a shrine just outside of Witwicky, as a nervous conversation with Jawbreaker and some blurry footage of Twitch testing out some of Nightshade's inventions has added them to the list of "Primal reincarnates"

However, the plot truly starts as the Maltobots find the hidden shrine, and take some of the sealed offerings to use or store, leading to the Autobots, who are just a little bored after slaughtering the Decepticons and have a good, solid treaty with the UN and the US government, gearing up and becoming a full on cult worshipping these young adult terrans and their too - old - for - this - bs family.

[witchofthesouls]

Heyy, Anon who made the "would kill for a show about prehistoric/primeval Cybertron" ask (for ease of identification, could I go by "Primeval Anon?"), and shit, your idea for the how the actual molding of Cybertron by the 13's hands (+ how they tie into them thematically) was just incredible. You're obscenely talented.

And now, your answer to that more recent ask (the one of Onyx and Alchemist having dissagreements because of what they represented, and the breaking down of nature on Cybertron) had me thinking regarding the Quintesson's lasting influence on Cybertronian culture, besides the functionist systems that be implemented when Cybertron was cut off from its colonies. More specifically in the religious aspects.

You can't tell that when the Quintessons would try to tamper with, or straight up erase certain religious texts or stories regarding the primes, and perhaps try to replace them with their own cultural bits. So maybe, millions of years after the Quintessons are eventually pushed off Cybertron, the effects of their tampering are still felt by certain City-States in how they refer to the Primes.

Perhaps some call Amalgamous, "Adaptus"

Maybe other apply the name "Epistumus" to Alchemist Prime.

Where do the names come from? Maybe they're the names of diefic figures in Quinteesson mythology. I wouldn't be surprised if Quintus were were viewed by them as some sort of Primus-like figure.

(Sorry for taking so long to answer. Slams down 20 stacks of tf headcanons in regards to Cybertronian religion, the Thirteen, and the Quintessons along with the occupation and the aftermath that culminated to another civil war.)

Oh boy, oh boy. Primeval, you've come to the right place!

I have a lot of thoughts about the Quintessons that's been influenced by Bloodbourne lore and marine biology as the species reminds me of cephalopods. Particularly squids and octopi along with the Great Ones like Mergo (and her mortal mother, Yharbam) and Kos and the Orphan.

Similar to what the hunters had done in the fishing hamlet, the precursors to the modern Quintessons had desecrated Quintus' corpse to dig for all the arcane mysteries of the universe.

Even worse since they essentially killed their own god for greed, out of spite, or hateful jealousy. Or, in a very twisted sense of ouroboros: mortal consuming the divine to become the new generation of gods; from life to death, death to life.

But in some ways, the same can be said of Quintus. Much like how the Great Ones yearn and desire and attempt to bridge the connection to mortals without understanding their boundaries and morality, it can be applied to Quintus.

Did he come across primitive mortals and raise them with his careful guidance? Or, did he come across a fascinating creature that bore his physical traits, and he couldn't help to be moved to a point to make them his own?

Did Ancient Quintesson kingdoms have their own Queen Yharbam along with all the associated horrors?

Narrative-wise, I think it would be really fascinating as a type of distorted mirror that ties Cybertron to Earth and Quintessa, especially with the themes of blood and (re)birth that connects them all.

Unicron and Primus, once one entity, then became two.

Primus created the Thirteen Primes and became Cybertron.

Quintus Prime of Cybertron went forth and became the 'father' of modern Quintessa.

Earth is born of Unicron and rests undisturbed... until the war(s) reaches them.

Now, Quintus himself is somewhat of a strange fellow as he's both described one of the Strategists of the Thirteen, yet a highly imaginative daydreamer with an unparalleled mind.

I'm not saying he can't be both. Many scientists, generals, and highly respected "hard" subject experts had an artistic side or a hobby in the "softer" subjects. But Quintus isn't just an average Joe. He's a god.

Quintus was said to drift along the sets and established Primal groups, so even with his habit of quarrel with the "less imaginative" of his siblings, he works very well with them.

Remember, Quintus did experimental research on creating "new life" with Liege Maximo and Megatronus. He voted to continue the work as well.

I truly believe that Primes aren't meant to be alone. They need another to act as counterbalance. Either another Prime (or a High Lord Protector or a claimed High Priest/ress.)

I'm really emphasizing that tidbit because when Quintus left Cybertron, there was no one to stop Mr. Life in all forms should be encouraged to thrive at all costs.

Quintus didn't have the grounded presence of Solus, Thirteen, Alchemist to counter his more outrageous thoughts and beat ethics, nor the guidance of Onyx to think of sustainability measures and controls to balance out growth versus avaliable resources. There was no Amalgamous to remind him about their limitations. No Liege Maximo with his sly words and warnings about messing around too much. No Megatronus to force him to heed and listen to the flow of the system. Shoot, no Prima, Vector, and Alpha Trion to strong arm him to back down as Quintus overreached himself with his unethical experimentation.

Quintus seems to be the type does things because of curiosity.

Much like the Undertale fan song, his "curiosity over his morals."

The field of science itself has a lot of dark history and violence within it. Even with individuals with good intentions, they're still operating with their current societal biases and cultural framework.

Think of it this way, at one point, medical professionals were highly skeptical that babies can feel pain. As in, there were actual infant surgeries done up to the 1980s with minimal-to-no anesthesia for them.

Science is very much a field that breathes and grows as people grapple and wrestle with it. Challenging long-standing beliefs and assumptions is difficult due to well-established traditions. We celebrate the trailblazers and renegades, but we don't really delve into the nitty-gritty of it because those very individuals would have relegated to the fringes, if not outright laughed or thrown out the door... Unless they had powerful backers or other parties could replicate those results to challenge the status quo. Even if those parties did it decades, centuries later.

It isn't just "infants can't feel pain prior to their first year." Special mentions of debunked prevalent beliefs include, but not limited to:

Earth is the center of the universe. And everything spins around it.

Illness and disease are caused by imbalances of the four humors as well as malevolent spirits and bad air.

Darker skin tones have "thicker" skin, so they have a far greater pain tolerance/can't really feel pain as well as those with light skin.

Women are the "weaker sex." Their bodies are exactly like men, except the "obvious" differences. We can exclude them from studies because such work would upset their child-bearing years.

The implementation of a strict cleaning regime is a slap in the face of the surgeon's blood history of the bloody apron/coat!

Humans are separated by other animals by emotions and as tool makers.

Now imagine an unrestrained Quintus upon a species that he had no clue or framework to work upon...

Yeah, it's going to be messy AF.

So, going back to the question of Quintesson influence during its occupation of Cybertron.

There's the question of whether or not if Quintessa of the era had a dominant religion (or any) and how it would shaped its society combined with its origins with Quintus?

There's the path where they go, "We are the gods now." They devoured Quintus and went forth to consume everything else because the Primal forefather didn't set boundary or limitations upon them. The names of the Guiding Hand could have stemmed from the very first Quintessons that overthrew Quintus. And that's why there's similarities in naming conventions. Quin-tus. Adap-tus. Episte-mus. Solo-mus. Morti-lus. Pri-mus. Plus, all the Guiding Hand's legendary figures are connected to knowledge or associated fields of it. Even Primus, by the etymology, means "the first" in Latin. Easily go into the divine authority territory and how it's their right to go take whatever they want or need.

Then there's the "the native Quintessons had own their gods" route. There are so many ways to unspool this as it can go the route of colonialism and oppressive regimes, massive upheaval as natives then war each other in the aftermath, or a cultural blend in trying to stitch themselves back up. The massive expansion can also be explained by religious doctrine. Made worse as they refined Quintus' methodology... (Imagine if the slaver cities in A Song of Fire and Ice had space tech?)

Last is the "secular" route. Definitely massive upheaval in the aftermath of Quintus' downfall. Could be a caste society based on physiology as Quintessons "rooted out" their Primal forefather's existence. Depending on how you view it, either it's successful or a failure as they took Quintus' name as their own along with his personal and scientific beliefs and methods. (Plus, the five-faced Judges? Five is a Prime number! Ohhhhhhhh!) Functionism had to come from somewhere, right?

But yeah, I absolutely agree that Quintessons had messed with Cybertron's religious sites (the Well of Allsparks), documents, and spiritual practices. The space-squids had immense practice navigating ancient Cybertronian artifacts and is already a major powerhouse on the galactic stage.

Suppression of native practices is the bread and butter of imperialism. Including targeting language and undermining traditions and rituals, especially within the youth.

There's also the route of linguistic clash combined with later attempts on revivalism and revisionists after the end of Quintesson occupation. The names of the Guiding Hand came from Quintessa, who had a Prime's influence, so no surprise if later Cybertronians went, "Y'know, the names feel right."

Think of it like the shared history between Greek and Latin. Look at the word octopus and how the plural can be octopi, octopuses, or octopodes. The word itself is Greek. But there was an assumption that was Latin. Hence, the octopi usage. Octopodes is the Greek ending. (And octopuses for its adoption into the English language. But English is its own fucking beast.)

[tarnishedspark]

Kinda fic spoilers, but tbh at this rate its probably gonna be years before I get up to writing the actual fic this comes up in so maybe it will be a surprise again by then.

art below cut!

Centaur-form Shockwave

Onyx Prime Shockwave

Just Onyx Primes your tfp Shockwave, inspired by IDW Shockwave's shenanigans

He's kind of a triple changer, and has swapped his cannon arm for one that can transform into a hand.

[maelstroms-blog]

In Beautiful Dreams

In honour of Dreamling’s centennial meeting, please enjoy this fic of Dream and Hob dancing, along with a declaration

Enjoy

Hob really should’ve expected this, he’s known Dream long enough. To be fair, he wasn’t expecting him to say yes, honestly, he thought he would balk at the idea. Especially given how many people would be attending.

Instead, Dream just tilted his head, in that bird-like way of his.

‘A dance?’

Hob shrugged, ‘Sort of.’

There would be dancing, but it was far from the glamorous affair he knew Dream was picturing. Hob’s university was hosting their annual staff do, the heads of each department rubbing elbows with the higher ups. Socialising and lording their profession over others, supplied with cheap champagne and the finest hors d'oeuvres from Tesco. An event that Dream’s sister, Despair, would very much enjoy.

Far from glamorous but wonderfully human. A prime example of humanity to show his Endless partner. Hob explained all this to Dream, waiting for the inevitable protests, or for that rosebud mouth to frown.

But, Dream placed his pale hands on the table top, slender fingers splayed like that of a pianist. Artist fingers.

‘Very well. I shall accompany you.’ He said it with the air of a king deigning to answer a peasant’s request.

Hob blinked, ‘Really?’

‘Is this so surprising?’ he raised an eyebrow, ‘You are my beloved. I believe it goes without saying that we have to attend each other’s social functions,’ he sipped at his wine, pursing his lips,

‘After all, you accompanied me to the faerie delegation.’

Hob couldn’t keep the frown from his face,

‘That was…an experience, to say the least.’ Part of Hob’s philosophy was to try anything once, and in his long life that was a lot of things. He’s pretty sure he had a cheese making degree knocking around in his attic somewhere. But that delegation was a lifetime’s worth of experience. Luckily, Hob had a thousand more.

Dream hummed, ‘Not many mortals can boast of meeting Titania and Oberon, or reject their charms,’

Hob chuckled, ‘Yeah, they were pretty flirty, weren’t they?’

The feeling of the faerie queen’s clawed fingers ghosted against his neck, as did the king’s lips when he lingered on a kiss to his palm. Hob shivered, chasing away the bad taste with a mouthful of beer. He sensed Dream tense up, probably seeing his thoughts. He reached out and entwined his fingers with Dream’s.

‘Don’t be jealous, love, I’m already under the spell of a mysterious creature,’ he winked.

Dream rolled his eyes but he couldn’t stop the blush from tinting his cheeks.

And that was it. Dream appeared on the night, just as Hob got out of the shower, he did his usual shriek, followed by a flail,

‘Christ, Dream!’ he clutched his damp chest, gesturing to the towel around his waist, ‘You’re lucky I didn’t flash you,’ he looked at Dream, then looked again.

Dream, as regal as ever, stood tall, clad in an onyx black suit, similar to the Ralph Lauren piece Hob dreamed him in once. Over his shoulders was long overcoat, black of course, and the star filled lining shining bright. His hair was stylishly spiked, à la Robert Smith, and a silver earring hung from his ear. A small gem caught his eye, something golden. Hob peered closer, pale fingers jumped to toy with it, a gesture he knew was self-conscious.

‘It’s nice, duck, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in any other colour but black,’

Dream just fiddled with his earring, letting it catch the light,

‘I thought…we could match,’ he quietly said. Confused, Hob frowned, and that’s when it hit him. It was amber, a tiny chunk of amber. Dream often likened his eyes to the honey-coloured gem. A lump rose to Hob’s throat,

‘It’s lovely, Dream,’ he said, trying to keep the emotion from his voice,

‘A wonderful idea.’

Without waiting for a response, he closed the distance and pressed his lips to Dream’s. It was only supposed to be a quick peck but Dream wouldn’t let go. He drew him further in, pulling him close like a life preserver to a drowning victim. Hob gladly reciprocated, sinking his fingers into feather soft hair. Dream did the same, toying with the hair on his chest.

His still damp chest.

Hob pulled away with a sigh,

‘I still have to get dressed, love.’

He felt rather than saw Dream’s gaze, travelling up and down his nude body. The hunger in his gaze set his skin alight.

‘Do you?’

The baritone voice settled in the back of his head, shooting down into his body, straight to his heart. Hob bit his lip, he wanted nothing more than to let the towel drop, his flimsy excuse for a shield against Dream’s want, and just have him. But he didn’t. Not yet. He had a function to attend, and he wanted to show off his elegant, enigma of a partner. So, mustering what little willpower he had, he turned, not a word to Dream, and headed for the bedroom, locking the door behind him.

Not that it would stop Dream. More like Jumpscare of the Endless.

Hob chuckled at his own stupid joke.

‘What is so humorous?’ a deep voice asked behind him. This time, Hob fell on his bare ass.

‘Dream! Let me get dressed!’

With a pinch of sand, Dream vanished, the last thing to fade was his satisfied smirk. Hob’s own Cheshire cat.

Once he was fully dressed, in his own midnight blue suit, and with a nod of approval from Dream. He took his arm, fitting perfectly, and they were off.

 An hour passed, filled with mindless chatter, and the buzz of background brainwaves, Hob followed along easily, asking questions here and there. Dream tried his best, nodding along, offering a dry comment along with Hob’s quips. Then, Hob went to get them drinks, Dream was only out of his sight for a second, that was all it took. Like he said earlier, he really should have expected it. He searched up and down the hall, trying to spot that familiar mop of hair. The more the search went on, the more his uneasiness grew. It wiggled its way into his chest, twisting like a knife. Did he get sick of it and teleported away? No, he wouldn’t do that without at least telling Hob. Would he?

Just as his unease bloomed into panic, he heard something, a chittering sound, coming from the open balcony door. Hob poked his head out, there he was. Kneeling down, under the watchful eye of the full moon, was Dream of the Endless, holding court with a group of cats. They gazed up at him, marvelling at the king he was. He touched his knuckles to the nearest cat, mewing in their shared language. The cat purred, accepting her king’s blessing. Warmth filled the vacuum left by the panic, he breathed out, and carefully approached Dream. Even with his quiet footsteps, the cats jumped, hackles raised at the interruption. Dream tilted his head, mewing something that settled his followers. The youngest cat, a tabby kitten, bravely stepped forward, rubbing up against Hob’s leg. Dream gladly took a glass, freeing a hand for Hob to offer head scratches. His hand dwarfed the tiny creature but the kitten showed no fear, happily trying to climb up his leg.

In one swift, elegant movement, Dream was up, leaning against the railing, like the model of a perfume advert. Hob didn’t miss the gleam in his eyes as he cooed over the kitten, the other cats, bored, sneaked off, tails flicking.

‘You alright, love?’ he asked, watching the kitten chase after its friends,

Dream hummed, looking down into his drink,

‘Yes, I am…enjoying myself.’

‘Yeah?’ he slotted himself next to Dream, ‘Are you honestly?’

He could see the slight tremble of his hands, the tightness around his eyes.

‘It is…loud,’ Dream quietly admitted, Hob nodded, he didn’t need him to explain. He explained it all before, it wasn’t just the never-ending chatter, it was the barrage of daydreams, assaulting him from all sides. There didn’t seem to be any reprieve. It sounded like hell, and it explained a lot about Dream. Taking another sip of champagne, he put his arm around his tiny waist, smiling when Dream leaned into his touch.

‘Would you like to leave?’

Dream looked up, eyebrows disappearing into his hair,

‘I thought you wanted to be here,’

Hob gently nudged him, ‘I wanted to come with you.’

Dream just looked at him, not blinking, Hob smiled,

‘Your comfort is more important to me than some staff do, if you want to leave then we’ll leave.’

Dream’s eyes sparkled, sparkled like he was in awe.

‘So,’ he downed the rest of his drink, ‘Let’s go.’

Dream sagged, the tension leaving his body. Just as he was about to pull out his sand, Hob stopped him. A familiar sound reached his ears, a song he hadn’t heard in years, Roy Orbinson’s dulcet tones beckoned to him,

A candy-coloured clown they call the Sandman.

Dream perked up, turning his head to listen. Hob smiled at the sight.

Tiptoes to my room, every night.

Dream closed his eyes, lips twitching minutely.

Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper-

Hob sang along under his breath,

‘Go to sleep, everything is alright.’

Dream turned to him, surprised, his smile more obvious now,

‘How about one last dance, Mr Sandman?’ he wiggled his eyebrows for good measure. Dream rolled his eyes, failing to hold back his smile.

‘Very well,’ he accepted Hob’s hand, allowing him to lead him back onto the dancefloor.

I close my eyes then I drift away.

Hob pulled Dream close to him, steps he once thought forgotten, came flooding back to him as he led Dream with ease.

Into the magic night, I softly say, a silent prayer like dreamers do.

Dream had his eyes closed, letting the words wash over him. Hob could only imagine what he was thinking. Being separated from his dreamers for over a century, locked away from those he was supposed to nurture and protect. Hell, there were some that never even visited his realm. For someone that took his role so seriously, there must be no greater pain. But, as Hob watched him now, swaying along to the music, gentle smile on his face, he knew what he was realising. That the dreamers missed him just as much.

Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you

Dream opened his eyes, tearfully looking at Hob, with his own eyes growing wet, he raised a pale hand and pressed his lips to cold knuckles. Then, he leaned forward, never breaking their easy rhythm and sang softly in his ear.

In dreams I walk with you

In dreams I talk to you.

A sharp inhale was Dream’s only reaction, before melting into his touch.

We’re together in dreams, in dreams.

Hob didn’t want to sing the next part, luckily, Dream didn’t let him. Pressing his lips once again to Hob’s, silencing him. His cold lips tasted cosmic; he knew this was what stardust tasted like.

But just before the dawn, I awake and find you’re gone.

Hob felt Dream’s hands tighten, no doubt thinking the same thing. 1989. Hob rested his chin on his head, gently swaying in time.

I can’t help it

Fixing his stance, taking a chance, he placed his hand on the small of Dream’s back,

I can’t help it

And dipped his sweet Dream.

He overstepped. He knew it. he didn’t have to look at Dream’s wide eyes, or feel his iron grip on his arms, but then, another sound graced his ears, far more beautiful than any song. Laughter. Coming from Dream. It was nothing like his usual amused huff, this was a full bodied, unrestrained laugh that shook his lithe frame. It even ended with a cute snort. Hob found himself joining in. Taking him out of the dip, he gently led the Endless into a spin, watching his eyes crinkle with seldom seen mirth, giggling away like a lovestruck fool. Hob laughed the same way.

It only happens in my dreams, only in dreams

As the song slowed, so did their steps, Dream tilted his head, meeting Hob’s gaze once again, and leaned in close, Hob expected another kiss, instead, he was blessed with three words,

‘I love you.’

In beautiful dreams.

Hob let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Emotion surged through him, heating up his blood. He gazed back at Dream, shock clearly visible in his face. Dream just chuckled, cradling his face carefully,

‘Is it so surprising?’ his words were barely more than a whisper, settling in Hob’s bones, nestling beside the three other words, slotting comfortably in his heart.

‘A wee bit,’ Hob admitted, shyly,

Dream hummed thoughtfully, ‘Then, I have failed as your beloved.’

Before Hob could protest, Dream pulled him close, and pressed his forehead to his. The cold, solid weight grounded him.

‘I shall make it my primary duty to remedy this.’

Hob let out a breathy chuckle, dizzy from the cheap champagne, or the affection Dream was dishing out.

‘You already have, love.’

Dream smiled again, a sight that was becoming less and less rare, thanks to Hob.

‘Perhaps…we could stay for another hour.’

Hob pretended to think about it, running his hands up and down Dream’s back,

‘Nah, let’s get out of here, I’ve had enough socialising.’

Dream beamed. The only way Hob could get a bigger reaction was if he proposed to him. 

AO3

[photobombingcryptid]

The whole complex screamed massive and obscenely rich. Nobody’s sight could escape the assemblage of finely crafted marble and onyx complementing the complex metalwork, ranging from abstract decoration to the sprawling mansion.

Inside, the motion triggered lighting system would flicker on and off as a tall Cybertronian made his way through hallways just as equally decorated as the outdoors. Cracks in the floor were filled with gold, artwork and sculpture of various meaning filled the space and the height of the walls made even the largest beings look like ants. The Cybertronian himself looked like a living piece of art with his polished white painjob adorned with regal brass accents. Archways were wide to accomodate the mech’s attention-grabbing wingspan.

Heavy doors slid out of the way to enter his office. It had all the essentials a pompous office needed: bookshelves filled to the brim with actual organic books, designer sofas for more informal conferences, a mini-bar. Finally, facing the door, was his primed workplace: a heavy-looking desk with only the most sophisticated of high-tech computers. The tall looming window behind him only added to the desired effect of heightened importance.

He was the mech in charge.

He was the ringleader.

With a heavy sigh as if he was carrying some burden, he takes a seat behind the computer. Part of his public facade he keeps up when attending his duties slips partially as he requests a call from a certain business partner. When the other mech - a much more tankish, hulking shape - picks up, the jet addresses him.

“What is the progress on obtaining my target?”

“We are working on it. Just recently I have deployed smaller units to locate and pursue after him. We are getting closer to him with each day.”

“So, what I’m getting from this is that you’re still on a part of some goose chase? This is how I’m interpreting your status, Warhammer.”

“No, Celeste, you have it all wrong. Every update you demand, I have to constantly remind you that he is a highly mobile target who—”

“—I’m sorry, but I’m paying you close to tens of million in Shanix and assets and this is what I’m getting? I did expect better from your team.”

“You are not the only client I have, Celeste.” The tone change in Warhammer’s voice was enough to get the jet to sink in his seat. Warhammer continued. “On a daily basis I run hundreds of different operations, I am under the mercy of unions and I have a prison ship to operate and even though we are friends I do not abide to the system of favours and exceptions. You will get him, when I get him. Is. That. Clear?”

Celeste could only nod, taken back by Warhammer more or less verbally hammering on Celeste. Unlike other figures of equal or lower status than Celeste. Warhammer was the only mech who had the nerve to talk back at him. While friendly, he had a short patience with the jet’s growing entitlement.

Putting him back in his line was satisfactory. At the very least, Celeste appeared to take his words into consideration.

After a moment of tense silence, Celeste cleared his voicebox.

“Very well. Do what you need to do. You’ve already done me a great favour by actively working on the case. Anyway... You said unions, didn’t you?”

“... Yes. I did say unions. Worker unions.”

Celeste blinked. “I didn’t know you had them.”

“You would be surprised how much it improved my employee overall happiness and work performance, despite my bittersweet resentment towards it...”

[aurea-fide]

A message is sent, a communication from a Captain, Teskras of House Dusk. Her voice is clipped and hard—a cover for the conflict she bears sending her nephew to a place of rumors and myths.

"House of Onyx," she began, keeping her voice strong. "I am Teskras of House Dusk. I have heard rumors of you from crews afar and come to trade with you. Your kell is rumored to be a seer, though not a splicer. We have in our ranks one who possesses such a gift, though it is marred by his condition of blindness. Being blind, he will not progress or survive long here in House Dusk, but I know he can be a great asset to you and your house. As such, I offer on his behalf his service in exchange for your training him. He will become a seer and, if possible, a splicer, and do much good for your house. I await your reply."

— @mantleoflight

[ @mantleoflight ]

As a quiet house and one that prefers to work on the sidelines and not in the open, it's not often that they receive some communication from other houses. Its' a rare thing and something that Jorvek finds both surprising but also good in a way. Because that meant that his fellow eliksni knew not to cross his paths.

The communication that his scouts send him makes him curious. A seer? A potential one anyway. That would explain the odd visions he was getting from his small Prime as of late. He's quiet as he thinks about the request and its a bit before he finally sends a reply.

"Teskras of House of Dusk, let this message find you. My scouts will meet you at the opening meeting area in the cosmodrome to bring you, your squad, and your seer to me. We shall, discuss details in person. Here are the coordinates and time."

[sonicasura]

This ask is based on art made by @jimlikesdrawing of a Cybertronian Luffy and Zoro.

What if during the Corazon in TFP AU, an Artifact of the Primes was discovered that could turn humans into Cybertronians and a visiting Luffy, or Zoro, or any other person from the OP world was affected by it?

How much chaos is caused to Team Prime because of that?

The art in question as more folks should see it: Luffy and Zoro.

If anyone is getting affected by a Cybertronian Relic, then it's most likely Corazón. This man is accident prone and enough awareness dip for it to happen. Now how it will go.

The item was found in the ruins of an ancient town. It resembles metal band with very faded Cybertronian text. Corazón, Optimus and Arcee were on this mission. Things been fine for the most part until they found the artifact. It went to hell as some Vehicons showed up alongside Megatron.

You know that scene from OG Ben 10 where Ben got the watch? The scuffle had the artifact, Onyx Prime's Brand of Kin, latch onto Corazón's throat instead the wrist. It activates and the type of bot he became was unexpected.

A Predacon. One's whose beast mode resembles an amphithere, a type of legless dragon. Corazón obviously flipped out and Megatron dips as he rather not deal with that at the moment. It was super awkward when the three came back.

One: Shockwave hasn't shown up at this point thus no Predacons. Two: A human becoming a Cybertronian is very very very massive discovery. Three: It's fucking Corazón. The accident prone man that already makes a large mess being his normal self.

Corazón's bot mode is 40 ft and Beast mode is 52 ft. He resembles himself but the feathery mantle has spread further out. Black metallic yet surprising soft feathers cover his upper arms, frames his sides, waist, and lower body. Beast mode resembles the Quezalcoatlus type of amphithere with a blend of black, pink and soft white. His crown being blonde since it's his 'hair'.

The Brand of Kin turns Non-Cybertronians into a type that matches who they are. Thus Corazón came a Predacon as his personality matches how legless dragons are depicted. Kind yet powerful guardians who wish to help and guide others.

Anyone the device was damaged thanks to the scuffle so Corazón couldn't take it off for quite awhile. Until then, he took this as an opportunity to understand his Cybertronian companions better. Also the blonde did tell the kids what Energon tasted like.

Corazón: It tastes sweet and tangy. Like honey covered fruit.

Miko: So it's basically tastes like fruit juice? Huh.

Corazón does take advantage of his new form to hug the bots. They all need it and he can fully wrap his arms around them now! Ratchet begrudgingly accepts his fate.

If Miko has the Apex Armor then the Brand of Kin is Corazón's personal relic. He only uses if needed whether the situation calls for it, hugs included. Should Corazón have it during Shadow Siege...

Law is probably gonna get bowled over by a very big robot dragon who wants to smother his long lost chick with love.

[askvectorprime]

i have a question regarding the nature of your collective memories and how this relates to your brother, Onyx: As we all know Shockwave killed an incarnation of him and supplanted his identity. But since he was, for all intents and purposes via paradox, Onyx prime, could Onyx access Shockwave's memories? And if so even his memories from before he took up the mantle of Onyx prime?

Dear Collective Consciousness,

You raise an interesting question, and one that I confess that I do not entirely know the answer to!

The Realm of the Primes is a nexus point; it is at once everywhere and nowhere, a microcosmic skybox on which the entire multiverse is reflected. Ever since the falling of the Shroud, for all our power, we of the Thirteen have been disparate individuals—but suffused in this space, we are able to see the perspectives of our countless parallel selves across realities.

Onyx, though… Onyx has always had a talent for seeing through others' eyes. The powers he was bestowed with at his creation have shaped his identity; could any of us remain truly the same if we possessed the ability to look into others' very souls? I find it very likely that his cosmic insight shapes how he perceives the multiverse, just as my own over time and space inform my own perspective. I would not be surprised to learn that Onyx's field of vision, as it were, is broader than mine.

This is, unfortunately, mere speculation. My brother is not one to often share his thoughts with his siblings—though I believe Shockwave's deceptions sat poorly with him.

[darks-lair]

Ok I Just can't not share the thing i'm doing for pride month (WIP)

It's gigantic so I will not be surprised if I can't finish it in time, but still

For now just Nexus and Onyx are partially ready, and I have about 8 more primes to go.

Wish me luck

(that stick in Onyx' hands is going to turn into a pride flag eventually)

[bluekat12345]

Have you heard of the theory that Cody Burns is the reincarnation of Onyx Prime? Is a little weird but has cense.

Would you make some HC of this theory if Cody had awakened his past memories of powers in the original series? And how would the bots react to this?

I have. A friend and I were talking about this a while ago actually! And yeah, it does make a lot of sense!

For starters, I imagine the memories coming gradually over time. The first memory would come shortly after meeting the bots, and even then, he would think it was just a dream.

Also, how he was able to quickly pick up that the bots were not what they seemed, that could serve as a sort of trigger for his memories to start coming back to him, his instincts were his memories as Onyx trying to tell him that he knew more than what was being told.

So overall, Cody wouldn’t really think much of this at first, he would just chalk it up as his imagination going wild after learning from the bots.

He wouldn’t bring it up with the bots for a while, since he doesn’t think much of these ‘dreams’.

The dreams itself wouldn’t be much, just general things about Cybertron before the war and it would be rather hazy for him to really think they could be something significant.

It would be after meeting Bumblebee that he would start questioning these ‘dreams’, since he would start to wonder how he was able to understand Bumblebee so easily.

The next time he dreams, he tries harder to actually focus on what he sees in these dreams, and they would become clearer, but he wouldn’t fully remember his past life yet.

Once he gets a clearer understanding of his visions, he’ll talk to the bots about them. Naturally, they’re surprised at things he tells them, since the things Cody tells them are things they know they never mentioned to him, and even things they didn’t know.

They would encourage him to keep focusing on these ‘dreams’ and tell them more about the visions he sees.

Soon, after doing some research of their own, they would realize that the things he’s seeing and telling them are moments in the life on of the 13 primes, Onyx Prime.

At first, they would think Onyx Prime is trying to communicate with the boy for something major. So, they keep telling Cody to focus on these dreams and see if he can figure out what they’re telling him.

The visions get clearer, but Cody has the feeling that he’s missing something else, something important

Then in one moment, Cody probably says something that only Onyx would say or knows something only Onyx himself would know.

And as the bots review Cody’s behavior and what he’s done since they’ve met him, and eventually, they come to the conclusion that Onyx Prime isn’t simply speaking to him, Cody is Onyx Prime.

Cody would first deny the possibility, but the next time he dreams of his past life, it completely clear and he realizes that the bots are right, he is, or rather was, Onyx Prime.

For a while, the bots act differently around him, since he is one of the original 13 primes reborn, so they act more formal around Cody, much to Cody’s dismay, because he just wants them to treat him as they already had.

They’ll try to go back to treating him as they normally do, but the fact he’s a prime reborn is still a big deal, and they no doubt tell Optimus, who would even go to Cody for advice on somethings, since Cody’s memories could be a great aid to him.

Cody’s family wouldn’t know what to do with the fact he’s basically a reborn god. They’re shocked, amazed, even intimidated by the knowledge.

I’m not sure if Cody will have any of the powers of his past life, but now that he remembers everything, he’ll use his memories to aid in his family and friends, and hopefully other Cybertronians he comes across.

I even imagine when he’s old enough, he would set out on his own, to try and find any Predacons and Maximals, and help them in whatever way they need, whether helping them settle on Earth or in any other way he can.

I don’t see him going to every bot he sees and telling them he’s Onyx Prime reborn, he would keep that to himself. But he would his skills from his past life to convince them that they can trust him. Maybe only during serious moments that require this to be known or to those he completely trusts.