#I AM DECEASED . no longer of this world . GONE

[vultursvolans]

i hope you had a nice chat! (do not open in public 🤗)

AWEAAAAAAAAAJAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSDDZZXXBSKSJSBSHhagahsjsjsjUahahagahahhaahahahhahaAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[dancingundermoonlight101]

The times I've thought about you have been plenty. It's a never-ending cycle, for you see, I am falure of a Prime.

Megatron, as you stand before me, blade stabbing through my spark, through the pain and sorrow, I can't help but feel relief. Relief that between the two of us, you are the one to remain alive. With the war over, you having won, I would like to make one final request of you old friend.

Don't kill my comrades.

No matter how much you hate them, what threat they may pose, I beg of you. Leave them alive. It pains me to say, but without me, they won't interfere much with your plans anymore. I can only hope you remember your roots. The kindness and hope for something better your spark held when I was but your archivist, and you, my warrior. It might be selfish to think this in my final moments. But I've always loved you, Megatron.

Perhaps in death, will these feelings finally meet their end.

I love you. I loved you. I never stopped loving you, even in my final moments. I hope to Primus we meet in our next lives and I hope again that it's a much kinder life. One without war or inequality or corruption. One where I can hold your servo in mine without shame. One where you are not Lord Megatron and I Optimus Prime. Leaders of the Decepticons and Autobots respectfully.

Until we meet again in the well of all sparks...

------

Megatron glared at the body of the deceased Prime. A dark pit in his spark. A black hole threatening to swallow all its light. He had thought it a good idea to have Shockwave and Soundwave make a machine that would make the last moments and thoughts of anybot visible and audible. He thought maybe he'd see the Prime's thoughts pleading him to not kill his comrades, as well as fear. Something to explain why Optimus in his final moments commed him ".: Spare them:."

Megatron didn't spare them, of course. He was frankly going to enjoy killing them one by one. But they had all escaped.

How bothersome.

He'd find them someday. He's sure of it. And just to spit in Optimus's last wish, he will torture them, too.

The Prime's face in his last moments echoed in his mind. He growled at the useless longing in his spark, squeezing a random object and breaking it.

He still couldn't believe it. Optimus Prime in love with his arch nemesis. How foolish. How stupid. Ridiculous!

Megatron clawed at the chesplates just over his spark. He could not cry, for his tears had run dry long ago. Foolish indeed. This is not what he thought he wanted. Ruling over Cybertron, having cyberformed earth into a second world for his species.. He had thought he wanted it. Now that he had it, Megatron found it empty. His ambitions were gone, no longer did he have a true equal in this whole galaxy.

None would ever be Optimus Prime.

No, he had to set things right. A world without Optimus is not a world Megatron can live with. Where's the fun in getting everything he wants without a little bit of a constant challenge?

.

. .

. . . .

Megatron, a true Decepticon, able to deceive even himself. Primus mused at this. Silly child, went on to kill his other half. This just won't do.

Their short story won't end like this. Primus will not allow it. He Who is Forever Tainted by Unicron, you will live life anew. You shall only know when the time is right, and your debt to Primus has been paid off of what they have done. Do not make the same choices that lead you to make your biggest regret. Make no mistake, this wish is not for you, but for he who is favored by me.

Make the child of Primus, he who was once Orion Pax and later one of Primus's true Primes enjoy a life worth living.

This is your one and only chance. Make it count.

. . . .

. .

.

M—

—atr–n

Meg-tron

"MEGATRON!"

Megatron woke up with a jolt. He tried to online his battle protocols, and they hummed loudly, ready to come out. But something stopped him. A servo, two, actually. Each cupped his cheeks and wiped away his tears. He turned to look at the bot whose servos they belonged to and found none other than Optimus Prime. "You're alive?"

Optimus looked bewildered for a moment, he could feel it through their bond. Bond? He felt affection, worry, and love from the Prime.

"I am very much alive, Megatron." Optimus leaned in to press their forehelms together. Megatron's servos easily reached to hold the Prime's waist as if they'd done so thousands of times. Maybe even more than that. "You must have had a nightmate."

"A nightmare.." It seemed so vivid. A world without Optimus, one where he had..

Megatron doesn't even want to think about it. His spark was still beating wildly in its chamber, and he recognized he still felt fear. A few well placed kisses from his bondmate further eased his worries and sorrow that still felt fresh in his processor and spark. Right. He and Optimus were Conjuxed now. Megatron greedily leaned into the kiss, but one small playful bap from his beloved made him huff and smile. Softening the kiss that would have become more desperate had it continued.

Megatron held Optimus for a long moment. His helm burrowed on the Prime's neck, the action mirrored by his other half. Small comforting kisses are being pressed on Megatron's neck along with quiet words of love. Primus, Optimus was a soft fool. But he was Megatron's soft fool.

They had layed back down at one point, still as close to one another as they could be. And they remained like that. Optimus having fallen asleep again at one point.

Megatron knew Optimus was a blessing, he just hadn't realized how much of one he was until he had that dream. No. The fragmented memories of his past life. Megatron had never seen them before, and even now they were hazy. But the feelings had persisted and carried over. He realized this now. It was thanks to them he reacted rather irrationally at many points in this life, but his longing for Optimus to be by his side remained the same. It had just taken a much, much more romantic turn than his other self would have thought.

Megatron had no regrets though. None at all. As he pressed a soft kiss on Optimus's audial, he smiled soft. "I love you." He wispered. He had said it so many times already, yet somehow this felt like the first.

[justjudethoughts]

I think my favorite thing Stroud did is introduce Jessica into the narrative, and it's a bit complex to explain why. So I thought I'd start by sharing an unfinished poem written by myself as a bit of a framing "vibe":

There is a very specific, seldom explored, type of grief that accompanies there being more about the person that you don't remember than what you do. Of course, with Lockwood being 9 when Jess dies, he remembers a lot more about her than about his parents. But he was still pretty small, and the older he gets the less he is going to remember, especially considering that the bulk of his memories with Jess would have been before he even turned 9. In the context of Anthony's life, Jess is a historical figure, not a contemporary. And that is a different type of grief than the grief that comes from losing someone when both parties are significantly older.

The type of grief that Jess causes truly is a "ghostly" form. It's the "haunting the narrative" form. And it's a very real thing. It's the type of grief that comes from having a grandparent you never met, but their picture and stories being everywhere around the house and your heart always being aware that something is missing. It's the grief that comes from a tragic, untimely death that leaves the distinct feeling that the person "should still be here."

Our dining room table seats six people, but there are only five of us, so there is always one empty seat that happens to be the seat next to my older brother's spot. My eldest brother was still born, and growing up, sometimes I would look at the empty chair and mentally dub it "Patrick's" chair, where he was supposed to be.

A friend once told me she didn't like the idea of naming a kid after a deceased relative, because it makes the kid "a walking tombstone." That smacked some string in my heart really hard, because if I am honest, that's what I want to be. I want to be a living memorial of the people who have loved me into existence. I want people to know me, and in turn, know the people who my heart aches for. I'm named after my grandmother, who died in her 40s. She didn't meet any of her grandchildren. I also happen to look extremely similar to her. And it is my greatest honor to be recognized because of that. Because everyone loved her. Everyone has beautiful stories to tell. Her funeral was standing room only. If my name and face can be a reason she isn't forgotten, then make me a walking gravestone. I can think of no higher honor.

And I think, in some way (albeit an unhealthy way at first), this is what Anthony is trying to do. He goes by "Lockwood" so the family name always rings out on the lips of the public. He carries on a similar line of work to his parents, and a line of work that could have saved his sister. He doesn't change a single thing in the house. Despite his refusal to talk about them, he organizes his life in such a way that he is a testament to the fact that they are gone.

And then he reads his parents last lecture. Then he puts the pieces together. And something changes in him.

He no longer lives to be a testament to their absence. He lives to be a testament to the fact that they were here. And that it mattered. That everything they were and did mattered. That his parents were close to solving the Problem, and that he is close to finishing their work. That Jessica's death glow never went away so she could save her baby brother. That no matter how short a person's time on earth is, they leave a mark. His family is his reason to keep going. To show the world, over and over again, that they mattered.

And I love Stroud for that.

[insanelayne]

Attention. It's a long story, but I need to tell you.

A few days ago, one person left the world. It happened suddenly. A terrible car accident took the life of a 58-year-old man. In his short life, he managed to gain recognition and respect from different walks of life. His professional achievements were proof that a person who has chosen his own, true vector can reach great heights. I can’t bring myself to say that he was not a wonderful husband and father to his only daughter. And what a leader he was… legends go from district to district, from city to city. Like my father, Michael came from a small provincial town on Tartosa, they started this path together, giving everything to their main family - the guys who worked under them. One day, according to the results of the captains' vote, my father became the head of the family, after his death - Michael, and now this honor, or rather fate, has fallen to me. Can I already start counting the hours until the first assassination attempt?

The memorial service was great, the pastor said the right things, he reached every heart in the hall. Mine, like Beethoven, was going "knock-knock". The only thing that marred this event was the behavior of the deceased's daughter. After so many years, she still torments me, driving me to the limit every time she opens her mouth.

We were sitting in the front row, she was wailing and crying non-stop. I, like a small child, fussed with her for several years. My attitude towards her is tender and reverent, I love her because I have known her for a fucking ton of years. She was sweet when she was little, but after her mother passed away, her spire was blown off. I was understanding, and will continue to be. I will not leave her, I will not abandon her to her fate. I am responsible for her life at the request of her father.

We flew to Tartosa together on business, that evening was great. Like the good old days, when my father was still alive. A relaxed atmosphere, we dined in a restaurant, drank. We drank so much that we could barely drag our feet to the hotel. That night he told me "don't get cocky, but the next stop is "Don", because that's what your father wanted". He raised me for this and I always knew that sooner or later, I would first become a capo, like my friend Jesus, and then move up. I showed good results 10 years ago, when I started out, like everyone else, on the street. And this offer was one of those that you can't refuse. We were no longer gangsters, the times of "The Godfather" and "Scarface" were gone. It was the 21st century outside the window and now it was proudly called "businessman".

I looked at the child at the grave and remembered myself at exactly the same moment. I was the same age as her then, but I was one thing, and she… A broken girl, trying to restrain her impulse not to jump into the same hole where the coffin had been lowered a minute ago. I remember the day my father died in as much detail as possible. Xanax that I took in fucking doses dulled my feelings exactly to the moment of hammering nails into a wooden box. I remember that I also did not want to go to the funeral, and Gie persuaded me, I remember Luna's screams that it was I who brought our "papa" to an attack.

All my life I was drawn to the darkness, existed as if it was my last day, but recently I celebrated 5 years of purity. In my lifetime, two dons were buried, and looking at this, I realize many things more clearly. I recall my deeds, I think, how would I do it, strategy is an important thing in our business. And if I have understood anything in my modest 28 years, it is that my life is not more valuable than a handful of earth, but if there is a need, I will kill for it.

On the way to the car, I had to explain to Adriana again why she should move in with me. In the presence of everyone who came, in the presence of reporters and the FBI, she started to get hysterical and beat my chest. I was already used to these mood swings. Yesterday she agreed, and today she started to comply again. I grabbed her by the sleeve, she tried to break free, screaming something unintelligible in Italian.

So, bypassing diapers, first teeth and even school, I had a "child".

[emergency-vehicle]

Saudade, Saudade

TRANSFORMERS PRIME | SONG FIC

CHARACTERS: Optimus Prime (Deceased), Ratchet, Original Character- Daniel Tarfeld

RELATIONSHIP: Optimus Prime/Ratchet

WORD COUNT: 4.2 K

WARNINGS: Semi-Graphic depictions of depression, grieving loss of a loved one, self neglect

SUMMARY: It's been well over three vorn since Optimus Prime's passing, and Ratchet is taking it about as well as the next bot. Stationed back on Earth, the old medic spends most of his time alone. Most. With his only sort of contact being a human, Ratchet would much rather sit in silence as they work together. However today, Daniel Tarfeld (his government assigned apprentice) has different plans.

RECOMMENDED LISTENING: Saudade, Saudade - MARO, Better in the Morning - Birdtalker, Sound the Bugle - Brian Adams

“I did not come to this planet to save one life, only to lose the life I care about the most!”

The words ripped from Ratchet’s vox. The world around him was crisp, white, hazy. There was a rising panic running up his neural array, making the hydraulics in his arms and legs tense up, poised and ready to run.

“Ratchet…” His name was sweet to the audials, Prime’s voice thick with emotion.

“Optimus…please.” Ratchet’s voice was soft, ragged. “Don’t leave.”

His Prime smiled at him. Softly, sweetly. It pulled at his spark, the pain in his chest growing. He could see the reflection of it in Optimus’ optics, the way the smile didn’t reach them. Optimus stepped forward, away from the well. Ratchet couldn’t help the pitiful, pleading swell of hope that came from his EM field, reaching out to him.

Optimus’ smile turned sad as he placed his servo on his lover’s face, his thumb gently tracing the tracks below his eyes.

“You know I must.” He whispered. Ratchet relished his voice. “But I will never be truly gone.”

His hand moved to cover Ratchet’s chest, feeling the raw sorrow that emanated from his spark.

“I will always be with you, even if you cannot see me.”

Optimus’ bright optics searched his own. Their fields mingled, Ratchet could feel how his own grief was mirrored tenfold by his Prime. He knew that this choice wasn’t a choice. It was Optimus’ charge, his duty- his mission.

Ratchet leaned his head against his Prime’s sturdy chest, relishing his sparkbeat one final time. He could hold his emotions in no longer as a sob so forceful came from deep within him it made his voice modulator crack and reset. He had never dreamed it would end like this. At so many points he thought he would lose Optimus- his battles with the Decepticons, the cybonic plague, the destruction of their base, the endless war. That? Those endings? Those were expected. Those he could make sense of.

But this? No. Never this.

“I’m so, so sorry, old friend.”

The apology rang hollow in his audial sensors, no matter how heartfelt it was.

Ratchet let Optimus pull away without a fight. The world spun around him as he took his place at the lip of the well, the words that came from his vox muted and unintelligible. He could only watch in abject horror as Optimus Prime fell backwards into the well.

The new sparks, their bright colors flitting around could not bring Ratchet out of his trance. He was barely aware of how the others reacted, their oohs and aahs falling on deaf audio processors. All Ratchet could see was the space in which Optimus Prime said his last words. The space in which, only mere moments ago, Optimus Prime had stood. The space in which Optimus Prime made his ultimate sacrifice.

—

Ratchet woke up with a start. He always did. Ever since the nightmare on Cybertron happened, he was lucky if he got three hours of recharge.

Wearily, the Autobot pulled up his HUD. It was showing to be 5:34 AM, Eastern Standard time. Huh. Maybe he had gotten more recharge than he thought.

With a groan, he stood from his berth, stretching his struts and reaching his servos above his helm. The stretches had become more painful as time went on, and it certainly didn’t help that he had…neglected…his personal upkeep.

Ratchet drank energon, he oiled the joints connecting his digits to his servos, but anything else had simply become a waste of time. Once, maybe twice a week, did he visit the washracks. Not that it mattered, mechs did not emit the same terrible smell that the children once did. He only did it because he had found himself traveling a lot more than before.

True to his word, Ratchet had stayed back on Earth. He preferred it this way- no reminders. Nothing but his sterile lab and the meetings with annoying bureaucrats. Agent Fowler had graciously relocated Ratchet to a much smaller base, somewhere far away from Jasper, Nevada. The old medic found himself in a place called Oakridge, Tennessee.

He was placed under the watchful eye of an Army reserve base, which suited him just fine. Ratchet liked the routines of the base. They were familiar, and somehow, oddly comforting. The same as Unit E, but different enough to put his neural net at ease.

The humans of Tennessee were much different than those of Nevada. It was hard to believe that they were of the same country. Their speech was slower, their smiles more abundant, their culture far more community focused. Not that Ratchet would ever spend more time than he had to with them, of course. He simply preferred to observe.

Still, he could imagine that Optimus would- would have- gotten along quite well with them.

Ratchet had to stop, shutter his optics, and take in a deep vent. Nope. He would not be thinking about that today.

He let the vent out slowly and refocused.

Ratchet had work to do. Work was good. Work kept his mind busy, and more importantly, distracted.

He drug himself out of the small berthroom and into the nerve center he called his lab. Pristine scientific equipment, that was certainly in much better shape than him, greeted him. The project that was currently in progress stood in the middle of the room. If someone were to walk in on his work, they would think they had just walked into a clean room. Nothing was out of place, nothing was dirty, and everything was in perfect repair. Just how he liked it.

Graciously, once the Deception threat had passed from Earth's history, Agent Fowler had somehow found the funding to give Ratchet what he truly needed to work. It sat bitterly in the bot’s chest. His team was not deserving of this equipment, but as soon as there was a promise to share technological advancements, suddenly he had everything he needed.

Fragging bureaucrats.

With a heavy vent, Ratchet set to work.

The decision to share Cybertronian technology was a difficult one. At the start of his employment of sorts, he had to act as a liaison between Cybertron and Earth as they fought over agreements and boundaries.

No, they could not share biological information. Yes, they could share fuel efficiency techniques. No, they could not have space bridge technology. Yes, they could work on upgrading their spaceflight program.

It was a terrible back and forth that Ratchet had found himself in the middle of, but by the grace of the Allspark, agreements had finally been made, and he could stop with the nonsense of intergalactic politics.

He had just sat down to work on engine schematics when there was a knock at the door. Ratchet’s left optic twitched in irritation before he turned.

“Come in.” His voice was biting, tired. The usual.

The tiny door opened and an even tinier being walked in. It wasn’t Fowler. No, Fowler had much more important things to tend to nowadays. This was Daniel Tarfeld. He didn’t bother to remember his rank. Ratchet had given up on getting close to humans.

“Good morning, Ratchet.” Daniel said.

“Daniel.”

The man- really a boy- had a shock of red hair and freckles that smattered around his face and arms. He was built smaller than other males of his species, but his ferocious spirit more than made up for it. If Ratchet had been softer, he would’ve imagined that Daniel would be delightful company.

But, Ratchet was decidedly not soft. He was tired, in constant pain, and terribly sad. Though, he’d never admit that last part to the boy who had been assigned as his apprentice.

Daniel wasn’t army. He was in this new service branch. Space Force. Ratchet had heard whispers about its controversial christening on base, but he cared none for Earth politics.

“Shall we get to work?” Daniel’s voice was raspy, sounding almost as tired as Ratchet felt. Almost.

Ratchet nodded. He reached a servo down and Daniel stepped up. He brought the apprentice to the large desk, letting him step off before turning back to the schematic.

The human quietly opened the satchel around his torso, bringing out his own laptop. Ratchet got the notification that he had connected via bluetooth and soon they shared control of the screens. This was their routine. They would work in silence, with the occasional conversation; always about work. Never about each other.

“You look like shit.” Daniel commented after a few minutes.

Ratchet side eyed him, the corner of his mouth flicking up in disgust, before turning his optics back to the screen.

“You don’t look much better, yourself.”

That earned him a huff, though Ratchet wasn’t sure if it was a laugh, or out of annoyance. He didn’t really care. His digits continued to tack away at the large keyboard as his processor ran complicated equations.

A few more moments passed in silence. Ratchet’s audials picked up on the soft sound of Daniel rustling, but he paid it no mind.

“Were you always such an ass?” Daniel asked.

Ratchet’s digits paused, hovering above the keyboard. He slowly turned his helm towards the boy, optics squinted. Daniel had shut his laptop now, staring at Ratchet with big blue eyes. They were hard. The mech realized he was expecting an answer.

Ratchet did not give him one.

Daniel squinted, his own mouth turned into a bit of a sneer. The silence between them was frigid.

“Get back to work.” Ratchet finally said.

“No.” Daniel said, voice firm.

Ratchet shuttered his optics rapidly, taken slightly aback, “What has gotten into you?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Daniel shot back, “Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve been working together for a year and a half, and the only words I’ve ever heard from you are-”

His voice mocked Ratchet’s own, “Daniel. And, Goodbye.”

“I’m not sure what you’re expecting from me,” Ratchet said. “We are working. I work better in silence. Not listening to prattling about what silly things you have gotten up to this weekend.”

“I’m expecting more than just a cold shoulder.” Daniel said, “I know you’ve spent time with humans before. You must know we are social creatures who thrive on interaction.”

His final sentence had dripped with mockery. Ratchet’s plates flared a bit as he gave an incensed exvent. Oh, how he wished humans could taste EM fields, if only so Daniel could feel the “leave me the frag alone” that was radiating from the bot.

“If you must know, Tarfeld,” Ratchet spat the name, “I do not prefer human company, and I do prefer to keep my relationships professional.”

“So,” The bot waved his huge servo towards the laptop, “Get back to work.”

Daniel shook his head and crossed his legs, his arms tight against his chest. He looked at the mech defiantly, tiny hands gripping his tiny arms so hard his knuckles turned white.

“I am not working until we talk.” The human would just not back down. If it had been three vorns ago, Ratchet would’ve found it charming.

Ratchet offlined his optics for a good fifteen klicks before finally looking at the defiant apprentice.

“If I talk, will you let me work?”

“Yes.” If Ratchet didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he saw a flash of victory in his eyes.

“Fine. Five minutes.” He glanced at his HUD. It was 7:28. “You have until 7:33.”

“What was the war like?”

“Terrible. Next question.”

“How terrible?”

“Very.” Ratchet responded, “Imagine the worst war on your planet. Now imagine it lasting for four millenia. Next question.”

7:29.

Daniel paused, looking away as his eyes searched the air for a question.

“Were you always such an asshole?” The boy finally echoed his earlier question.

Ratchet paused.

“No.” He finally said quietly. “Not always.”

“Why are you like this, then?”

Ratchet couldn’t help the momentary sneer. He did not appreciate this line of questioning.

“War changes people.” He finally answered.

7:30.

“What was he like?” Daniel asked.

Ratchet squinted, his spark starting to sink, “Who?”

“You know,” Hope tinged Daniel’s voice, “Optimus Prime.”

His spark plummeted into his abdomen. He regretted even asking.

“Do I have to answer that?”

“Yes.”

Another beat of silence. The time changed to 7:31 on Ratchet’s HUD. He had half a mind to wait the full two minutes. Anything to keep from speaking about his be- him.

Still, Daniel looked at him with those puppy eyes that humans had mastered the use of when they wanted something. Ratchet felt his resolve melt, if only slightly.

“He was…special.” The Autobot finally answered. “There was no one like him, and no one will ever be like him again.”

He hoped that Daniel did not pick up on the momentary glitch in his vocals.

“Oh, so you do have the capacity for feeling!” Daniel laughed, but the words felt like a sword through Ratchet’s spark.

Before he could come up with a blistering retort, Daniel continued.

“You know, when they finally announced the existence of…” He gestured to Ratchet, “Y’all…I was a huge fan of Optimus. I was one of those teens who always liked aliens and conspiracy theories, so to find out the pictures I saw online were real?”

The human did what Ratchet believed to be a ‘chef’s kiss’, “Incredible moment. I lauded that shit over my high school buddies for years.”

Ratchet struggled to will away the tension that had wound itself in his hydraulics systems. He bit the side of his glossa, desperately trying to use the pain to bring him back to the moment. He wanted to lash out, to use his unkind words to bring Daniel back in order. He wanted to defend his existence, and his Prime’s.

But, a thought crossed Ratchet’s neural net: how could he have known? It’s not like you’ve talked to him much. He just wants connection.

They weren’t Optimus’ words, but they carried the same gentle understanding tone of his dear conjunx. It was enough for Ratchet to release a long, slow vent as his systems relaxed. He felt his plating shift as he hunched over now. No longer alert, just…tired.

“...Ratchet?” Daniel’s voice sounded much smaller as the mech brought himself back to the land of the living, “You…okay?”

It took a moment, but Ratchet managed to look over at the small being and nod. There was a scratch in his vox as he brought his vocals back online.

“Fine.” He let go of the desk, pushing himself away. “I’m fine. I’m…going to get something to drink.”

Without another word, Ratchet left the bewildered human at the desk. He moved down one of the hallways of the small facility granted to him, heading towards storage.

The storage space was mostly used to keep energon cubes, both the large bulk inventory and the smaller consumable ones. Right now, the stores were looking a bit bare. It was almost time for another shipment to come. Quickly, he pulled up the calendar on his HUD, checking for when he would be due for a visit from his compatriots.

Usually, it was either Arcee or Bee who brought him a few orbital cycles worth of energon. While Earth still had some fairly abundant mines, he did not want the humans to get their hands on the substance. Plus, it’s not like he could go out and mine it himself. So, their locations were kept a secret and an agreement was reached that Cybertron would send him what he needed.

The calendar told him that he would be receiving a visit tomorrow. It brought an odd sense of comfort to him. Though he tried to distance himself as much as he could from Cybertron, seeing his former teammates somehow managed to lift his mood, even if it was only for a couple groons.

If Ratchet was being honest with himself, he missed them. He missed Arcee’s biting quips, Bumblebee’s cheerful attitude. To the Pits, he even missed Bulkhead’s blumbering aft.

The mech struggled to put the thoughts of his former team to the back of his neural net. He reached for the closest consumable cube and expertly opened the lid. In one fell swoop, he downed the entire thing.

The energon was lukewarm, and a bit thicker than he preferred. Yet, it still felt good as the fuel integrated into his systems and processors. While his body felt a bit recharged, his mind still remained clouded.

It annoyed Ratchet. He did not want to grieve today. In fact, he never wanted to grieve- ever. If he cried, if he howled, if he sang funeral songs, it made the loss too real. He could already feel the way his spark chamber ached. His vox tightened involuntarily, optics growing blurry.

No. He tried- Primus how he tried- to keep everything buried. Emotions did not serve him, and to deny them allowed him to focus. But focus did not come back to him.

All he could focus on was the absence. The spark wrenching, soul purging absence. Optimus had told him that he would always be with him, but where is he now?!

Ratchet had to force his vocal processors offline to keep the shriek from sounding. At some point, he had found himself sitting on the floor, arms wrapped tight around his legs, squeezing the living metal so hard it hurt. He buried his helm between his knees, begging for this to pass. He had work to do, and grieving someone was decidedly not work.

Even then, it did not leave him. The only thing that passed was the ticking seconds from the clock on the wall. He stared absently at the cubes of energon, their faint blue glow reflecting off his amoured plating.

“Ratchet?”

Daniel’s voice startled the mech out of his stupor. He shuttered his optics rapidly, turning to face the door. The small, delicate human stood in the frame, dwarfed by its size. Ratchet could say nothing as the creature approached him, placing one of its tiny hands on his massive leg.

“Are you alright? You’ve been in here for almost an hour and a half.”

Confusion colored his face as he brought his vocal processors back online. There was a small scratch- akin to a cough- as he reintegrated their processing codes.

“Has it really been that long?”

Daniel nodded. Ratchet looked away.

“Yes.” He finally said, “I’m fine.”

The mech moved to stand. Daniel quickly backed away, and Ratchet was careful not to squish him with his pedes. He stretched his struts once more, a terrible metallic groan filling the air. Ratchet couldn’t help the look of pain on his face. He really needed to oil his joints more often.

“Look- Ratchet-?” Daniel said quickly, craning his entire body up to look the Autobot in the optics, “I’m sorry. I…I shouldn’t have pried. I-”

Ratchet waved a servo and bent over, offering it to the creature, “It’s fine, Daniel. C’mon, let’s get back to work.”

Carefully, gingerly, the human stepped into his palm. He gripped Ratchet’s thumb the way he always did when he was getting a lift. Carefully, Ratchet maneuvered them back to the desk and gently set the organic down.

There was a soft song playing. It was much different from the music that Bulkhead and Miko used to listen to. No raving guitars or screaming vocals, just a soft melody and quiet words.

Normally, Ratchet would’ve told Daniel to turn it off. He preferred silence. But there was something to this music that calmed the ever present hum in his protoform.

“Tem tanto que trago comigo

Foi sempre o meu porto de abrigo

E agora nada faz sentido

Perdi o meu melhor amigo

E se não for demais

Peço por sinias

Resta uma são palavra

Saudade, Saudade.

Nothing more that I can say,

Says it in a better way.”

The music continued in English, and Ratchet listened. The lyrics were haunting, the accompaniment even more so. It was evident that this was a mourning song, and it made Ratchet’s vox tighten once more.

“I’ve tried, alright

But it’s killing me inside.

Thought you’d be by my side

Always.”

Ratchet took a shuddering invent.

“What language was that?” He asked gently after the song ended.

Daniel paused and looked up at him, surprised.

“Portuguese.”

Ratchet hummed an affirmative, “Do you know Portuguese?”

Daniel shook his head, “Well…kind of. My friend Gabriel is teaching me.”

“Oh?” He asked, “Do you know what the lyrics said?”

At this point, Daniel looked like a deer in headlights. This was possibly the most they’ve spoken- ever. Ratchet couldn’t blame him. Their earlier interaction had left him on edge, but in a way that made the walls he built around himself tumble down. Maybe he was craving connection as much as Daniel was.

“Uh, yeah, let me just…pull them up.”

There was a quick tack-tack-tack as Daniel typed on his computer. Within a few moments, he had dragged a window onto the shared screens. It depicted a website, with the lyrics to the entire song. The original lyrics were on one side, with the translated ones on the other.

Ratchet quickly looked at the screen, reading the whole song. Most of it was in English, except that one verse.

“Tem tanto que trago comigo - There’s so much to what I’ve got with me

Foi sempre o meu porto de abrigo - You were always my haven

E agora nada faz sentido - And now nothing makes sense

Perdi o meu melhor amigo - I lost my best friend

E se não for demais - And if it’s not too much

Peço por sinias - I ask for signs

Resta uma são palavra - There is only one word left.

Saudade, Saudade.

Nothing more that I can say,

Says it in a better way.”

There was a heavy silence between them as Ratchet read the lyrics over and over. His optics blurred, and he didn’t even notice the small leak of coolant until he felt it dripping off his faceplate.

Ratchet brought a servo up to wipe it off, shame and embarrassment flooding his neural net. He shouldn’t be crying- especially in front of Daniel.

“Sorry,” Ratchet said softly, static lacing his words. He tried saying something else, but nothing could come out.

“It…It’s okay.” Daniel’s voice was small, choked.

Ratchet took a moment before speaking again.

“What does saudade mean?”

Daniel paused, wiping his face. Ratchet couldn’t tell if the organics eyes had betrayed it as well.

“It’s an untranslatable word.” He said after a moment, “It’s the feeling of an intense yearning and melancholic nostalgia for something or someone you love.”

“I see.”

Ratchet couldn’t find any other words to respond with. He had known for a while that Earth had hundreds of languages, and even more styles of script. However, he had never bothered to look into them.

He was, in all honesty, stunned. The complexity of the words strung together, the way saudade is a word so powerful that there is no equivalent of it in any language…it was unexpected. What was even more unexpected is the fact that a human song touched his spark.

Is this what people meant when they prattled about “the human condition”? If humans had the capacity to touch his spark so deeply, perhaps the organics were not so different from Cybertronians.

That was yet another way Optimus continued to be right. At this point, Ratchet couldn’t even argue with the logic he once refused to understand.

“Can you play it again?”

Ratchet was taken aback by his own request. It was as if his vox had betrayed his processors and spoke before he could think. But even then, Daniel didn’t say anything. There was simply the sound of a soft electric piano, and the mournful lyrics hanging in the air between them.

Ratchet shuttered his optics, clinging onto every word, every note.

Strangely enough, this time around he did not feel the need to shed tears. But, he did feel a warmth surround his spark, holding him close as he lost himself in the music. It was as if Optimus was standing next to him again, a ghost inhabiting his field and placing a reassuring servo on his shoulder as he had done so many times before.

Ratchet found himself clumsily mouthing the Portuguese lyrics he had studied so intently mere moments before. They rang true to him.

Optimus was his refuge. Optimus was his best friend. With Optimus gone, nothing made sense.

Nothing, but this song.

The final lyric sounded, and Ratchet recalled the final time he saw his Conjunx. “I will always be with you, even if you cannot see me.” Something inside him clicked in understanding.

Optimus was by his side, always. Even if he couldn’t see him, even if he couldn’t feel him, even if he couldn’t hear him. He was there.

The impact he had on Ratchet was profound. He would never forget how gentle his lover was, and how in turn, Ratchet himself gained that quality. By locking it away, he was locking away Optimus himself.

Finally, Ratchet opened his eyes. He looked at his apprentice, who was staring at him as if he had suddenly grown flesh over his frame. Ratchet didn’t expect him to understand right now, but maybe one day he would.

“Thank you, Daniel.” Ratchet said.

[flatlinerburning]

ode to the stars while thinking of my first beer, deceased

blood is thicker than water and mine's runnin into yours fast as anything. orion's watching over us and im drunk for the first time and you ain't bleeding half as much as i am. i know you're gonna make it even cuz the world ain't fair and that's what we're runnin from— bruised bloodied burned and running someplace blood can't find us. highway 17 wont get us there but if we bleed enough maybe something'll change in the mirror. just wait until i'm dead honey, then you'll see. theres shards of glass in my soul and jim morrison's reflects off em from where it's scattered in orion's concho belt. i think about us being tangled in the red string of fate and how jim wanted to live to a hundred n twenty. he died two years after brian jones did and the thought's enough to make me sick. two years to the day. jim wrote a poem about brian after they found him in that pool, and sometimes i wonder if he knew that brian played on let it bleed, cuz he isn't listed in the credits and he died before he could tell anyone. sometimes i wonder if i'll die like that— facedown and fading and forgotten. gimme some shelter honey, before i fade away. i feel sick again and when i look up from all the blood to feel that graveyard air on my face, there's a cigarette-burned feather floating down. there's a mostly gone newport where it lands and i've never smoked before but i stick it in my mouth n light up anyway. thank you dixiana angel. newports taste like savannah and if you've never been to savannah i hope you never find yourself there, but fate's a cruel bitch ain't it? stay in savannah too long and you'll start seeing things. desperate boys with lying mouths and too-big souls tangled up in that cruel red string, ghosts that got more to do with mirrors than they ever did with the dead, blood on blood on blood on blood. stay any longer and savannah she'll get her claws in you. turn you into what you're running from before you get off highway 17. wrap you n someone else all up in it and take a piece of your souls before you notice they've been gone. savannah doesnt let go of her dead and rock n roll doesnt either. you're already on the list of martyrs and i reckon i'll follow you down. i ain't no jim morrison but i'll be there two years after. to the day n all. your bloods in my blood. highway 17's our red string anyway.

[blackkatmagic]

Third and final attempt to get this through without being eaten by the app. Unless all three have gone through in which case I am so sorry Kat please forgive me for spamming your asks. You posted a snippet with dragontamers ask and just, I’m sobbing, come on Jaster you’re not too old to have another child and Granta desperately needs a father. But also Kat, K A T. Tarre came up in here like a ninja and took me out, straight assassinated me, like SIR! Who gave you permission to be so smooth?!?! With the hand kisses and then this line “You deserve to get your teeth in his throat, Master Vizsla.” I am dead, deceased, no longer of this world, I am frikin F E R A L over here Kat! I have reread that snippet SO many times today Kat. So Many Times.

Ah, whoops, it was a combo of me being slow at answering asks and Tumblr not showing me some of the asks I'd gotten, sorry about that. I had your first message, but not the second one.

This Tarre is - for understandable reasons given the unexpected marriage and suddenly being much less of a ghost than he normally is - quite a bit less hinged and restrained than I normally write him, and he's also managed to trip headfirst into thinking Granta is a normal squishy Human unfairly targeted by Tor and the galaxy at large. This, of course, will only last up until Granta kills something very large with a small knife, but for now, Tarre's feeling Protective.

This will end very badly for Tor, honestly. And Granta's composure.

[infamoussparks]

Chapter 11: Missed Signs (Rosaline)

Approx. 2,200 words; 15 minute read

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57940441/chapters/167194381

A chill quickly worked its way down my spine. I did recognize that name. It was plastered across the newspapers and television screens as the list of assumed deceased members of the Stratego building fire were amassed.

A year can change you, given the chance. That is, if you can’t stop that chance from entering your life, like a 4-year old child who enters your world as unexpectedly as a meteor. It can… really have an impact.

After the altercation between Team Paper and Team Warehouse, I was left sort of holding the twine of lives I didn’t realize I had been tied up in. It felt like walking into a spider web and being unable to see the thin strings to remove them from yourself. I had friends who understood the fact that I needed to keep a low profile to keep my integrity in place and they had taught me new ways to expand my power. I used my powers to help reunite the team after two were lost and locked beyond mirror tricks. I used it to help strengthen my bond with Caly.

I used it to quit my job as a doctor for the maternity ward. I didn’t feel like that was the right place for me any longer. After all of that, I finally felt that my calling was bigger than telling secrets I shouldn’t share from those who could not even speak yet. I was dooming their fates. Well, not all of them, luckily. But it still felt wrong and it tugged at my heart harder now that Caly was in my life.

Where does that leave me? Opening my own practice in the heart of Seattle as a full time Therapist for conduits and those without powers as well. I get to hear secrets and stories from those who are willing to tell me and I can hold those dear to my chest in both confidentiality and in relatability. It feels… right. Good. As though this is where I should be right at this moment in my life.

Of course, this also opens channels that are not too pleasant for me but I work through them. Beyond the trauma and teaching people how to cope or get through things, I’m also working with the local police force and visiting conduits (or suspected conduits) who have found themselves behind bars. This has been an interesting twist of employment for me and while I am not exactly thrilled that I was given high enough marks to do this line of work, it is somewhat gratifying to be able to offer help for those who may be soon-to-be-released and simply need guidance and support with managing life after their powers have gone awry or had been used in a sort of bad karma deal in their lives. Often the ones within the cells are the most grateful for my help and I always find I am humbled by their experiences.

One case I am currently assigned to is the Stella case. I can’t say much on it right now other than the fact that Orion is pushing my buttons on purpose while he remains under a full lockdown. He believes his tether to his sister will save him but after speaking with Lucky on my own I believe he is very misguided on this. Time will tell how that shakes out for him. Or for the Warehouse crew.

Speaking of time, my new job gives me a lot more personal time as I can make my own schedule. I get as much time with Caly as I want and as much time with my partners as I can squeeze in. Every now and then I feel like my power fills up–like it’s some sort of bucket with a lid that can be reached. When I feel this gentle brush at my ceiling I call Garrett and spend time with them. It’s strange in a way, actively seeking a person to help you offload your power, but they haven’t complained and their aura reads in a way that tells me I am not bothersome for needing help navigating my limits. These are, after all, new to me entirely.

I try to keep my abilities quietly locked away for the most part, only tapping into them during working hours. But now and then I get triggered in a way that screams for me to open those gates and those times have been helpful in reading a situation before something bad happens. It’s not quite a premonition as Lucky would call it, more like “mother’s intuition” based on things I’m learning from being around Caly so often. I can’t say I dislike the extra sense though sometimes it’s a hassle and I’d rather be able to turn it off and just be purely human for once.

But I’ve never been one to shun my gifts, no matter how late in life I received them. Benji told me once he also feels the same in regard to his abilities and that’s a bit reassuring. Makayla on the other hand just thinks I’m crazy for not pushing my limits on the daily to see what else I can do. I have to constantly remind her that I am not going to cross that line and especially will not be telling her about my experiences if I ever do.

So that leaves me with a new job, a practice I love, surrounded with the support of those who love me (and some who simply tolerate me). It’s been a wild year, for sure, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

“Doctor Hutch?” The speaker on my phone startles me from my computer and I press the call button to connect to my receptionist.

“Yes, Meg?” The nurse from the children’s hospital had quit as soon as the news of my last day was announced. I scooped her up for my personal practice and she was thrilled to work alongside me once again, even if it was a bit of a pay cut to start. I made the difference up to her with gift cards for coffee and lunch dates. She was my only employee and my favorite one at that.

“You have a walk-in. Can you see her now? She’s a little bit… impatient.”

I checked my calendar, saved my password-protected journal entry and shoved it to the bottom of my screen. “Yes. Did she give you her name?”

Meg was quiet for a moment and I could hear murmuring through the speaker. Then she cleared her voice as she got back on the phone with me, her voice sounding a little strained in a strange way. “Cindy Signet. She said you would recognize her name.”

A chill quickly worked its way down my spine. I did recognize that name. It was plastered across the newspapers and television screens as the list of assumed deceased members of the Stratego building fire were amassed. I also knew from the warehouse team that Cindy was supposedly the niece of the late Brooke Augustine and also her assumed killer.

And now this ghost was supposedly haunting my office.

I debated calling the police to relay this information but instead I found myself speaking into my phone, “Send her in, please. And go on break.”

“Break? I just got back from lunch an hour ago and I–”

“Meg. Go on break. Leave the office and flip the ‘welcome’ sign to ‘closed’. I’ll be in touch.”

“Oh,” Meg breathed, finally catching my drift, “Yes, of course. Please text me. I’ll send her in now.” The call disconnected and I collected my favorite pen from my hair as I still had a habit of shoving them into my messy bun of red hair. I turned to a fresh page in my notebook and stood from behind my desk with a deep breath. Whoever was about to come through that door would not be using that name without realizing that I would understand the implications of it.

I did not have to wait very long.

The woman who stalked into my office space closed the door behind her without a glance. Her prussian blue eyes were entirely focused on my face and narrowed with a mix of distrust and… anger. I pushed my powers toward her, her aura blooming into reds and violets and golds. This woman was clearly on a mission and I was hoping to just be a stop along the way. But a ripple of yellow around her figure reminded me that this woman was also dangerous–she was absolutely flaring a power I could not identify yet. She was a conduit.

She stood behind the chair I swept my hand toward as I offered her a curt hello. “Please, have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Whatever is comfortable for you,” I state without moving my eyes from hers as I round my desk to lean against it instead of seating myself, “Miss Signet, would you like to tell me what brings you into my office today?”

She studies me right back, running a full sweep over me from head to toe and back again. I notice her right hand twitch as though she is testing a reflex to reach for a weapon of some sort. I’m not sure if she is unarmed but I am seeing danger mix with her colors and I am doing my best to appear as disarming as possible.

“It took a while to track you down. I didn’t even know you were who I was looking for until I pieced together the clues I was collecting,” she was choosing her words carefully, slowly. “You have her.”

I remained as blank faced as possible though I would be lying if I said my heart did not leap into my throat as a vision of Caly flashed through my minds’ eye. “Miss Signet, I have many clients. You’ll have to be more specific and also understand the rules of my practice; I cannot share personal information about my clients.”

“She’s not your client.” Her voice was so sure, so confident. “I want the girl. Project 42. And you will give her to me.”

I hadn’t heard the codename for Caly in over a year and the thought that this woman before me knew Caly by that name made me feel sick to my stomach. I felt the color drain from my face. Lying was the first thing I could think of to do to protect her. “You must have me mistaken for someone else. I don’t know who you are referring to.”

She narrowed her eyes further at me as though seeing through my words. “My mistake. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear.” Her combat boots slowly crossed the space until she was standing directly in front of me. She bent down slightly to be eye-level, something flashed in my peripherals and a sudden noise to my left caused me to jump slightly. “You have one week to hand her over to me.”

I swallowed thickly but my mouth felt dry. Her aura mixed with mine–her reds and purples spilling into my yellows and blues. Her anger and strength bleeding into my fear and caution.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I will take her from you, without remorse.”

“I’ll see what I can find out about this ‘Project 42’ and let you know what I find out in one week.” More lies. I am building a steel wall in my head, fortifying my mental strength as Garrett has shown me. At the moment it doesn't feel like it will be anywhere even close to enough.

She smirks and shakes her head slowly. “One. Week.” 

Then she’s gone from my personal space and at the door to my office in a flash of white that feels hot against my skin. She leaves without a look back at me and I listen for the main office door to close, the beep of the door alarm signaling that I am alone. I release a shaky breath and move to better sit against my desk, my legs weak from the stress of that exchange. As I glance down to practice a deep breathing technique I notice a glinting to my left and realize that the noise I had heard earlier was a single dagger now buried in the wood of my desk. The hilt of it has a single number engraved, “9”. I’m able to remove it from the desk and then I cross back to behind my desk, opening one of my drawers to drop the weapon inside before I drop into my office chair, adrenaline coursing through my body.

Caly was in danger. Again. I needed to review what I knew from between the last catastrophic event one year ago and try to prevent this oncoming one. I had to protect this child and I was determined to do so with my whole heart. I pulled up my client files and started to sort through them, working backward from today until I found the first few sessions from the opening of my practice.

“Something has to be here, somewhere,” I whispered to myself. “How could I have missed Cindy being alive this whole time?” Except I already knew how I had missed it; I had made the worst assumption: that her death was the truth despite the lack of a funeral. 

I would not make this same mistake twice.

[blackhazefanblog]

BH remake ch 15-22

I've missed too many chapters while I was away so imma roll everything into one post to make things easier for everyone

More of the comedy is back yaassssss 🎉

Looks like we did get the chase scene and the part where Rood knocks Chevel off the balcony like everyone wanted!! 🎊

Finally saw Professor Khaaannnn

I would like to note that his outfit seems different from before? He used wear a longer top, but now it seems he sometimes (?) wears a normal shirt. I liked how the old design better presented how he wasn't really built or ready for combat, but the new design makes his gender more clear so that's good (I kid not I was in doubt for quite some time before until I finally checked on the character info post-).

Tess in a ponytail has me deceased with her beauty

If I was in any of her classes I would not be able to concentrate 100% (and given what she teaches I'd probably be dead lol).

I'm personally overjoyed that we FINALLY got the scene of Ruby trio demons HQ... it was so late that I was worried it was removed altogether! But I'm glad we got it, with events going exactly like the old version with Elze trying to act cute for Rubymonter (but the part beforehand where he says "I don't know who'd take her" is absent? Along with Shic not personally smashing Tess into a wall and pulling her up by the hair the new version seems a bit nicer to the girls somehow lol).

I'm so happy we finally got to see Elzeble's design for the remake; he looks mostly the same which is good bc his design was definitely one of the better ones that didn't need much rework.

There seems to be a new line where Elze comments Ruby seems to like the human world (?). I'm not crying thinking of her father I'm not crying thinking of her father I'm not- I feel like in the old version Elze was implied to find humans and their world the most fun so this is certainly new. In the old version in her first appearance Ruby goes out of her way to diss humans, finding books more interesting. But now it seems more like her interest in books is an extension of her interest in human things. (It was already missing but I'd like to mention the lines implying Ruby had discovered books for the first time during their initial appearance also means the subsequent strong foreshadowing that she later introduced them to Gamode for him to like them and become a bookworm too is gone nooo ok so I'm just like them finding books more interesting than people and would prefer to stay indoors reading them is the sole reason I am upset, there is absolutely no plot reason for this rant at all.)

Looking at it now, I see why the author decided to delay the scene with the demons. We saw a lot of Heil clearly being very suspicious if not outright a villain by now, so when we are shown that the demons seem to have an associate in the school we are inclined to think it is him. Even more so, when this demons scene is immediately followed by yet another scene of Heil being a sussy baka.

A major change I'm seeing from the old storyline is Rood's deeper interest in uncovering what went down in the past between Lidusis and Chevel. In the first version Rood was dedicated solely to accomplishing his "mission" which involved him fixing Lidusis' bad life in the present and giving him a brighter future. Whatever happened in Lidusis' past was never a concern for him as Lidusis never mentioned it himself, and so long as the problem was solved Rood presumably didn't see it his place to pry. (Though as a particularly curious person myself, Rood's absolute disinterest in whatever major stuff that turned such childhood friends into worst enemies when he was personally hired to solve that very mess always baffled me lol.) It did eventually grow on me that it was different from other shounens where the main character always seems to be in everyone else's business and needs to know every little detail about all his friends... which wasn't as realistic compared to BH where he helps his friend in the present even if he never knew everything.

But in the remake Rood seems to take it upon himself to find out exactly what happened in Lidusis' past. I think this is to build future set up for him to be more greatly impacted upon eventually finding out what really went down back then and who is truly responsible for causing it all to happen. In which case I approve, but this has arguably been the most significant story change affecting the overall narrative so far. Will be interesting to see where it goes.

Gotta love how unsubtle Master is in this version with wanting Rood to make some friends. "Why don't you make some FRIENDS or get some FRIENDS or maybe find some FRIENDS-" He really do be trying to get Rood everything he didn't have *cries*

I would also like to mention that as of chapter 16, the remake is now one full chapter behind the old version (so the events of new version's chapter 16 correspond to old version's chapter 15)... and counting, as of chapter 22 the remake is 1.5 chapters behind the events of the first version.

[trailblczed]

✧ the whipgraft delusion: the phenomenon in which you catch your reflection in the mirror and get the sense that you're peering into the eyes of a stranger.

obscure sorrows drabble prompts ( 1 + 2 ) | Not Currently Accepting.

WARNING: Injury / Self Injury

Ever since the events in the Fyxestroll Garden, Caelus has been a bit.. cautious around reflective surfaces- primarily mirrors ( especially if it's old or seems far more decorative and designed than a simple wall mirror ). He isn't unfamiliar with being "possessed" ( which is insane to think about ), but that time was.. different. Being actively trapped in a world created in your own mind while your body is used to aide a Heliobus intent on becoming all powerful.

But this... this is different. It's a whole new level of upsetting.

The lad had gone into his bathroom, intending to take a shower at the end of the system day, when the mirror near the sink caught his attention. More so- what he saw in the mirror had caught his attention. Caelus did not see himself, which was odd enough, but what was there was an individual he doesn't know.. at least, he doesn't think he does. The person is more feminine looking than he is- with much longer hair, shoulder width a tad smaller, eyes much larger than his own- but this figure's hair and eye color are the exact same as his own.. Surely it's not- Caelus raises a hand to the air, slowly moving it side to see the one in the mirror do the same gesture. The similarity is uncanny, and Caelus can't help but feel unsettled.

That's not him. This lady couldn't be him. Maybe she was him. Or maybe, he is her. Maybe she was his previous life. Or the person he was created to replicate- to replace. The lad feels tense, hands now clenched at his sides as he stares at the reflection- and the reflection stares back. The woman is no longer mimicking his motions, instead crossing her arms while giving him a bored stare. The action startles him, his own eyes widening with the shock, a single step take to back away. Her voice is lower than he would expect it to be, but it somehow.. seems to be on a same pitch as his own..

❛❛ Do you really think you are your own person? You are me reborn, S̷͚͑͐ţ̴͌é̸̜̝l̸̠̆l̶̛̙ͅĕ̴̯., aŚ̸̩̼͒t̸̞͂͜ë̸̱̣́̕l̴͎͕͗̄ḽ̴͋́ạ̶͊̒r̶͚̥͑o̶͔̝̓ṉ̸̙̎͋ ̵̜̌͝H̶̫̏̿ù̵̯n̵̖̱͒̚t̷͔͂ẽ̴̖̘r̴̤̊̈́. ❜❜

Part of the statement is unintelligible, sounding almost as if it were a glitch in a game, but it hardly matters when all he can focus on is the fact that she is claiming Caelus is her. He always wonders whether he is himself, or some deceased person's soul shoved into a robotic body. He prays this is some sort of hallucination, but part of him drowns at the declaration, accepting it to be true. Even so, hasn't get done enough to be able to say he is no longer who he was created from? That he was his own being? Hell, even if this woman was someone who died and he came from her, Caelus has died twice on his own, and came back with his sense of self still in-tact.

❛❛ You can't hide from your past. You can't change the fact that you are simply a replacement for me. ❜❜

She's not even yelling or being aggressive, she's talking so matter-of-factly that he can't help but believe her. Is this what Kafka meant by being unable to defy fate? Being stuck to a script that has your destiny set in stone? No.. no.. No, he is himself. He's gone against the odds and won, changed an outcome, restored destroyed places and pride. He can't be-- but what if what he's doing is simply what this woman would have done..? What if he is following what she has written out for him? That's can't be true.. No- Nonononono--

❛ I am not--- I am not!! ❜

❛❛ Why do you think Kafka left you in that space station? Because you were a defective substitute that she did not want. She tried to bring me back, but all she got was you. ❜❜

❛ SHUT UP! ❜

CRASH.

He hadn't even realized how close he had gotten to the mirror until a bare fist ( he had taken his gloves off beforehand, he had intended to get clean after all ) made contact with it, shattering the thing into pieces that fell into the sink below and to the floor ignoring the shards still embedded into his knuckles. His breathing is harsh, quick to match his racing heart, chest rapidly rising and falling. He blinks at the mirror blind to his own injured limb slow to process what he had just done. His knees gradually lose their ability to keep him upright, falling to rest on his knees getting a few of the broken shards stabbed into his legs and tearing into his "skin". There's gold staining what is left of the mirror hanging on the wall, there's gold trickling down his arm, and there's a small amount pooling under him. His first instinct isn't to check on himself, but how guilty he feels for damaging something he worked hard to earn from Pom-Pom. Pom-Pom is going to be so mad at him for breaking stuff again.

Tears have already fallen down his cheeks, face growing damp as the amount grows larger the longer he kneels there in his bathroom, surrounded by the destruction of his own making. Everything hurts, and he doesn't know how to make it go away. What is he supposed to do? He's doomed to whatever script has been made for him. He is a prisoner of a fate he doesn't even know. He feels his throat constricting as he tries and fails to get his breathing under control, as he struggles to get the tears to stop, as hands lay limp at his sides, as he tries to get the image of a female look-alike out of his mind, tries to erase a voice similar yet distinctly not his own out of his ears.

He can't take it anymore, slipping off his knees as his body crumples under the heavy weight of his heart. Legs awkwardly folded against the floor, adding a few more scrapes to the limbs as trembling hands come to tangle in his hair, desperately gripping at silver locks as his head lowers in shame and grief. Even as he speaks to himself, every word is croaked out.

❛ I'm not.. I'm not..... I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm no--- ❜

An anguished mantra, repeated to an audience of one in hopes that it will some day be the truth.

[ryuzakemo128]

Smother

Pairing: Alessia Romano x Supermodel Female Reader x Joel Miller

Content Warning: Region (Somewhat I guess?), implication of depression and suicidal ideation. Alessia keeping secrets from Joel and you, I guess.? Cussing, swearing and mild spice.

Note: If you want more with the female reader also involved, let me know, and I'll make more like it in the future. Another thing to keep in mind, the female reader is shorter than both Joel and Alessia. Alessia is also taller than both Joel and the female reader. The song influenced by this is - Smother by Daughter.

Words: 727

Masterlist

Dividers

Summary: Alessia's prayer and midnight confession. "Who am I now that my parents are gone? Who am I if all I do is kill? Will I become my father now? Not that it matters now, my soul is already damned."

I am wasted, losing time On a foolish, fragile spine

"Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven, I come to you with blood covered hands. If I am to die today, then let it be done as swiftly and quickly as possible. They shall dance upon my grave, my death will come with much celebration, I am sure of it.' She said in a hushed whisper, looking upon the portrait of her late mother, deceased for the past fourteen years.

I want all that is not mine I want him but we're not right

"Death, dying in the world of organised crime was always seen as a potential bonus to many of them. Most seem to forget that Rome took ages to build. Yet it took only a single day to bring it to ruins." Alessia couldn't bring herself to finish her prayer. But she knew she had to finish, no matter how much she wanted to run far away.

In the darkness, I will meet my creators And they will all agree, that I'm a suffocator

"Who am I now that my parents are gone? Who am I if all I do is kill? Will I become my father now? Not that it matters now, my soul is already damned. The whispers of the ancients beckon me, but I know they're not there, but I still hear my mother's crying in the bathroom when I was a child. The smell of her perfume still lingers in my nose. The feel of her tears on my face as she told me she was sorry for bringing me into this mess. That's all I remember before she left." Tears trickled down her face, one by one, like ants marching to their own death.

I should go now quietly For my bones have found a place to lie down and sleep Where all my layers can become reeds

"I refuse to remember her as the corpse on the floor of our living room, my father holding her in his arms. He was a man lost, a king without his queen. And now here I am, a pawn in this twisted game of chess, with no queen to save me from the grief of checkmate. I am nothing but a soldier in a war that was never mine to fight. And now I fight for them. For their memory, for their justice. But is this the path they would have wanted for me?"

Alessia could not finish her morning prayer, for it was the fourteenth anniversary of her parent's death, and she couldn't hold in her tears anymore. She did not want to hold in her tears longer than she felt like she could.

Her lungs burning from the dry heaving, the sobbing that wracked through her ribs like a storm at sea, she took a deep, shuddering breath. The grand room, silent, except for the mournful echoes of her sorrow. Walls, adorned with the spoils of her father's reign, stared back at her, as if in judgment. Her heart felt as cold and lifeless as the marble beneath her bare feet.

All my limbs can become trees All my children can become me What a mess I leave

Alessia remained there for a solid minute, her knees pressed into the cold marble, her forehead resting against the wooden chair in front of her. The room felt suffocating, a prison of her own making. She knew she had to get up, had to face the day, but the weight of her sorrow was too great. With a sniff, she wiped away the last of her tears and stood, her legs wobbly from the sudden movement.

Alessia had a warm bath, Joel reading to hear eased her depressive episode to a larger degree than he would know of. The words from his favourite book, "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy, filled the room, bringing a temporary peace to the turmoil within her. The scent of lavender filled the air, a scent that reminded her of her mother's gentle embrace. She closed her eyes, letting the water's warmth seep into her bones, trying to wash away the chill that had settled deep within her.

I sometimes wish I'd stayed inside My mother Never to come out

[prismaticaurene]

The first blighting tree is small and sickly, born far from the depths of the Maguuma Jungle, long before the Dragon wakes. After all, it doesn’t need to be big. Not for what it was made for. Not empowered now as far to the south,  The Glory of Tyria knocks Zhaitan from its perch and the dragon’s magic sinks into the bones of the planet itself.

Caithe makes a mistake, you see, in not burning the body of her fallen sister. She couldn’t have known what would happen next. --- Wynne dies, and for almost twenty years, her soul remained in the Domain of the Lost-- taking the form of the Grove, choked out of life and magic by Mordrem vines. It's not a pleasant place, and she's not in a place where she can pull herself out of it, like the Commander will. Instead, Mordremoth tears her out-- fracturing her identity as he does (the name Wynne no longer fitting comfortably) -- to watch him destroy the world. She's no longer connected to the Dream. Her siblings think her dead. (The Dragon, knowing that she told Caithe the truth, deals one last blow-- and takes from her her voice, so that she can never do that again.) It's by luck that she finds a Priory squad in the Silverwastes. It's by persistence that she makes her way up the ranks, still hoping to find a way to stop Mordremoth. She can't. And when the Call happens, she knows that there's no way she can keep her own mind. The Dragon has its claws in her still. Magister Hestia (self-named after a post-Searing Ascalonian Saint who took up the fire magic that destroyed her people to learn to protect them) locks herself in a High Security vault in the depths of the Priory, so that when she turns-- she cant harm anyone else. (A good thing too -- if she hadn't, the Commander would have found an unfathomably powerful Mordrem Wyvern guarding Trahearne (guarding her brother-- her first friend.)) ...And then the Dragon dies. It takes her ages to regain herself, and longer to start to return to humanoid form. Her co-workers are sympathetic, though they don't know the details of who she was. It's hard for them to help. It ends up being a Lightbringer that helps her-- a Norn named Sigyn with remnants of Jormag's corruption scarring her face that comes to her. She understands, after all, what being corrupted does to you. What others see when they look at you and see that. She's there when it becomes clear that not all of the surviving Mordrem will be accepted back into the Grove. That they can't go home. (That Hestia will never be able to go home.) --

[CLICK] [TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:  PROJECTOR SHOWS A MORDREM WOMAN SITTING IN A CHAIR. SHE TAPS THE TABLE IDLY WITH CLAWED FINGERS, NOT LOOKING AT THE CAMERA. DESCRIPTION MATCHES WITH THE RECORDS OF THE DECEASED FIRSTBORN WYNNE, NOW MAGISTER HESTIA ] [THE MAGISTER CLICKS A BUTTON, AND A TEXT-TO-SPEECH RECORDING PLAYS]

HESTIA:

It started with an idea. I never gave any thought to what I would do after Mordremoth fell. I never thought we’d win. But we’re here, and I can’t go home. My connection to the Dream is gone. The world thinks I’m dead. The dragon’s corruption remains part of me. And I’m not the only one. The remnants of the Pact and the up and coming Dragon’s Watch have already turned to look at Primordus and Jormag. We unfortunate many have been left in the lurch. Dragon corruption has never had an After. There’s no support for us here. The Exalted, inspired by Glint’s compassion, have been a blessing. They’ve kept watch over the Auric Basin for centuries. They’ve offered us a place to set up base camp. They call it 'Gilded Hollow'. Taffi thinks it’s perfect–though any chance she has to study magic in new places is perfect. Lightbringer Frostseer agrees with me though. This place, this haven– if we can make a home for those who have been displaced and exiled–

I’m not a historian. I don’t know what I am. But helping people, recording their stories– maybe I can figure out what to do next. 

[TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: THE MAGISTER PAUSES HERE, STARING AT THE RECORDER BEFORE CLICKING OFF THE TEXT-TO SPEECH.]

[CLICK. RECORDING ENDS]

(Later, she will lead Defiant Heart, the guild that protects the settlement of Gilded Hollow, becoming a champion of Aurene and a world renown blacksmith. It'll take time and therapy to get there first.)

[starzyd13]

The Sovereign

If you're reading this, I'm so sorry. You've had nothing to do with the current events. You know what you've always been to me, my love♡

All I feel is despair, I'm so angry, I'm so hurt, I can't do this anymore, I trusted them. I hate them, I hate her, I hate the three of them. Cowards, liars, users, back stabbers. I can't live in a world like this, who can...? Is this what life has to offer? All I give, all they take. It's a constant stream of cycles, cycles that must end. My mind burns, it's raining heavily, raindrops of acidic disappointment. I'm ending this, I can't end them, so I'm ending myself. It can't happen here.

I have two choices, two places of great worth. The safe haven my former friends and I once found great joy in. And the cemetery...those who rest there never hurt me, they didn't make it all a false hope.

It didn't take long to make this choice, the cemetery is where I will give a last goodbye.

I stand upon the grave of my father's and mother's before my own. I'm not alone, I bring my last gift. My last creation, it seems silly now, but it encapsulates a time before resentment. Before sadness, before betrayal. It seems inconsequential now, but this little game I bring is my essence, my life, my heart, my mind, my last shred of joy and innocence.

It's all of me.

I bring my choice of death too, it's not shiny, but it's a speedy send-off. A gun in hand, I'm opening a new door into a new realm.

I wake up into nothing but red, flesh and the scent iron. A scorching feeling, the burning of corrosion in my skin. I'm not alone. Many speak to me. Voices unknown.They're all speaking to me, right next to me, they're all the deceased I laid to rest near. We're all in one now.

How it happened?

As I ended my mortal cycle, it seems my innards may have fled to the device that my creation lay inside. We all exist within it now.

My creation, is it real?

We live in it now, all within one vessel, it hurts, we're only human at the end of the day. I wasn't prepared to live on, in this body, with these powers, this logic. It burns through my skin, I can't see the decay, but I feel it by the second. I'm burning, we're burning alive from the inside. We can't see, we're trying to find our way.

All dark.

We whisper to each other, which direction to go, how to cope with the burning. It's a scorching sensation, our vessel feels cold and yet so fiery inside, we all feel the holes appear within our flesh as it burns and tears. Is this what remains for us in the afterlife? Beneath our feet our guts lay, our insides spill forth time and time again, the cycle never ends. It hurts, it hurts enough for my mind to stop hurting. My mind is no longer encumbered, I'm with those I can feel a sense of safety with, no matter the corrosion. No matter our decay, it's all guts and gory. No allegory, we are just existing together, a new life, a new world. We can choose any purpose we could ever want, strive to survive for something bigger.

I am not ever truly gone, wait for me. My love, one day I hope to see you again.

We can all be so much more.

[tutchando74]

I'm still waiting for that explanation of your original works.

Oh sorry. I forgot about that. I'm gonna make it another day since I'm busy right now, so I'll give you a quick rundown of things.

Inicio: My touch on the genesis. Funnily enough, I never read the bible, neither am I religious. That's why I love free speach.

Loop: The story between three people who find themselves on a loop.

Layers of Hopelesness: The story of a medic in a world were death has no meaning and society is in chaos.

Brazilian Legends: All the legends once told, now were as real as the kids who once listened to them. It is the job of three warriors, to transform them in story once again.

Meaning: Plato's dialectic with myself.

Cicle of the Broken: Two beings, bond by their negligence to continue killing each other.

Angelic Blood: An angel finds himself trapped in hell, but doesn't allow it to shake his faith.

Kindergarten Nightmares: A kid was given to a kindergarten, but things go way deeper when you look through the walls.

My Myself: A person is living their normal life, then, suddenly, everything changed, literally.

Why?: A villain, or so they call, trying to find a why.

Narrated: A character no longer wants to obey the narrator.

Devilish Journey: Summoned to the human world, he now has tot ake revenge on his parents death.

Facing: In a world were powers come from the unknow source of space, a teen only wants to find himself.

Darkenses: The sun died. All natural light was gone. The darknes became a decease.

Deter: A boy was blessed with a power he cannot control.

Timed End: Powers came out of nowhere, not a single reason is know, but they have to be controled.

Meta-Beliefs: In a world were faith gives you power, we follow the life of a small church.

Raging Arena: Summoned from another world, he's forced to fight in arenas to survive.

Interspecies Interchange: Humans and monster live separated from eachother, but two boys were labled as creatures.

[neverforpickles]

Because I just came back from a fire training, I will tell you some of the things I have learned.

Anywhere in any building in Australia (maybe the world too), should there be a fire near you, if you look up and there is an “exit” sign, it would be colour green, it is guaranteed that there would be a fire extinguishers you can use.

Fire extinguishers are single use. You have about 40 seconds to utilise all of its contents. If you have snap the lock on it and you didn’t use all of it, you can no longer put it up back on the wall because its been used.

The fine in turning off the alarm bells on the fire pannels is worth 11k (Eleven Thousand) Australian dollars in Australia. You can only turn it off if the 000 has told you so. (Do not be scared to turn it off if they told you because those calls are taped). Otherwise, only the firefighters can turn it off.

Too much Talcum powders and deodorants can set off the fire alarms. Spiders too.

If there is a fire caused by a fat fire (when you’re cooking, there’s oils and butters etc), you must never use these to put out the fire: water, sand, wet rug. You can use only three things: fire extinguishers, fire blanket and a lid.

If you put very tiny amount even a drop of water on a 6 drops of oil that’s burning, it’s going to explode.

If you are in a building where you rescue people during an emergency, the first people should go is the independent who can walk, the second are those who uses mobility aids and the last is the bed riddens or full assist individuals.

If you are in a building with a fire and you’re evacuating or there’s a fire alarm ringing in that room, before you open the door, feel it by your palm of your hand, if it is hot, do not go in because the chances are, there is fire inside and whoever is inside, will be most likely deceased already. The firefighters just now need to do a recovery.

In a fire situation, your main priority is yourself and your safety.

DRSABCD applies on this situation especially D. D being Danger, R (response), S (send for help), A (Airway), B (Breathing), C ( compression) and D is defibrillator.

If you have the fire extinguisher and you have gone inside a burning room already and its all sorted out, you close the door and stand the fire extinguisher. If it is laid down, that means you didn’t go in and the fire fighters has to go in and check.

The big fire blanket is better than the small one for three reasons: it can cover you, it covers a lot of spaces and you can put it over the fire for 20 minutes or more.

Fire Blankets are single use only.

The firefighters will not second guess what you have done if you have checked the room already. Therefore, make sure you have check places like under the bed, the closet, toilet, cupboards etc.

Stop, drop and roll is important to remember if someone is caught on fire. Meaning, you stop them from moving like a banshee, wrap them up on a fire blanket, drop them on the floor and roll them under fire is extinguished.

For a house fire extinguisher, powdered type is better to get. 3 or more kilos is better.

I am sure I have forgotten more. I will add if I remember them.

[norahinparis]

Entry #2: Pere Lachaise Cemetery

Outside of the Pere Lachaise cemetery park.

After visiting the Pere Lachaise cemetery, I was overwhelmed by the feeling of many presences that I could not see. I am not a particularly religious person, but while wandering the abounding, winding streets of the cemetery, I was met with a sense of connection to the many people around me. I read many plaques depicting the stories of individuals’ lives, observed many tribute statues of stone, bronze, and granite, and saw many fresh bouquets of flowers left by grave sites. This feeling turned the phrase Lieux de Memoire into something that I had no longer merely read about, but instead experienced fully. Though I have visited many other Lieux de Memoires, or places of memory, on this trip, I felt the memories held in this space the strongest. Perhaps it was the notion that each of the hundreds of deceased people held in this cemetery had a lifetime of memories, or perhaps it was the people walking quietly around observing the stories that each grave had to tell. There is something so beautiful about this cemetery being a park as well, because it allows anyone to come experience these people's stories, and to build an appreciation for the lives that have come and gone. This cemetery/park is incredibly beautiful, and very different from anything I’ve ever seen in the United States. 

There was an incredible amount of diversity between the graves at this cemetery. When we first arrived, the first type of tomb that I observed was one that almost resembled a stone shed. These tombs were tall and narrow, and inside there were typically pictures of the deceased person, flowers, or both. Though these tombs were abundant, some sat on the ground, and were very short and wide. These graves typically were made of granite, and had writing engraved in them. It is safe to say that the tombs that I observed were all incredibly different from the headstones I am used to seeing back home. While not every single tomb was intricate and ornate, they all were much larger than what is typically seen in American cemeteries. 

An example of a few different tomb styles that can be seen inside the cemetery.

Before heading in, I saw that Frédéric Chopin’s tomb was included in this cemetery. Chopin is someone who I already have done much research on, as he was one of my favorite composers. I am a classically trained pianist, so I have played many of his pieces, and have a very deep appreciation for his work. When in the park, I had a very difficult time finding his tomb due to the vast amount of graves. After almost a half hour of searching, I finally found his tomb site. Chopin was known as the greatest musician of his time, and one of the greatest composers and pianists of all time. It has been said before that his technique could be rivaled by no other composer. I knew this all before going to visit his tomb, which made observing his resting place all the more interesting. Sitting atop a large rectangular base is a marble statue of a woman, who looks to be in morning. After some further research, I found that this woman is the Greek muse of music, known as Euterpe. In her arms she holds a broken lyre, which I found to be an incredibly moving analogy for the world of musicians grieving the loss of one of their most beautiful composers. While standing in front of this statue, I felt in awe of its beauty, but more so I felt overcome with a feeling of connection between me and the man who rested before me. A large group of people stood in silence as they took in the site, and felt the connection to this Lieux de Memoire. 

Frédéric Chopin's tomb.

This experience was incredibly educational, and opened my eyes to the customs outside where I am from. It was interesting to experience such a strong feeling of connection, and begin to understand Lieux de Memoire in a deeper sense. 

Paris Perfect. “A Guide to Père-Lachaise Cemetery.” Paris Perfect, September 30, 2020. https://www.parisperfect.com/blog/2018/03/a-guide-to-pere-lachaise-cemetery/.

Word Count: 660