#I am very normal about cryptids

[muffinlance]

@katharkness Ooo, ooo, I can do this one!

Cryptid hunters are, by definition, trying to Hunt the Cryptid. AKA: find it.

Once you find the cryptid with sufficient evidence, it ceases to be a cryptid, and just becomes a Regular Animal.

When I was growing up, "pictures" of the "washed up corpses" of giant squids were displayed in the cryptid hunting books I voraciously checked out from the library along with all the other "proof" of other cryptids.

If we had continued to have only a handful of possibly staged black and white photos and dubious accounts of corpses that were ground up and fed to livestock and/or rotted away before they could be properly preserved, the giant squid would still be a cryptid.

But then we literally Found the Cryptid, and all that past "evidence" lost the air quotes. Now the giant squid is Just Some Guy™: Nautical Edition.

Whereas Big Foot, despite "living" in much easier to reach areas than *checks notes* the depths of the ocean, continues to have... a few "footprints" and only terribly blurry "videos."

Hence the very scientific graph above, re giant squid v bigfoot searcher beef. Giant squiders absolutely won the cryptid hunt, by hunting so well they found it.

Source: I was the kind of elementary schooler who very seriously penned hand-written letters to towns with local cryptids, asking very nicely for them to send me any news reports and eye witness accounts they may have on hand. This is what the back of my cryptid hunting books advised me to do (presumably because their editors frowned in the idea of elementary schoolers taking a flashlight and marching off in the woods to see for themselves) and I very seriously agreed. Judging by the amount of hand-clipped articles and city-branded pens I was sent in return, I'm pretty sure I made the day of several city hall workers.

In conclusion: WE LOVE YOU GIANT SQUID YOU ARE A BEACON OF HOPE (and an exemplar of actual evidence) TO US ALL

[lavenoon]

I feel super conflicted. Why did you make sun/moon kill and eat that innocent cryptid killer? It feels so out of character....

I think this one goes to @naffeclipse!

But also, well... "Innocent cryptid killer" is definitely an oxymoron for the demonic cryptid! It may not have been a particularly wise choice (since we all know there will be hell to pay), but that doesn't mean it's out of character. I'm already wincing thinking about the fallout (it's gonna be delicious angst <3), but personally I... I don't see what other course of action they could have taken once they were spotted?

I mean, look - here's a demonic cryptid who is soft for 1 (one) "special" cryptid hunter, just about to enjoy their meal, when theres another cryptid hunter not only interrupting that, but actively threatening them with pursuit and death (and, unbeknownst to the poor sod, the reveal of what they are to Y/N, something they want to keep from them forever ideally!) - what else is a cryptid supposed to do?

It's going to cause a mess and it's going to hurt Y/N, but the boys are well-rounded characters that make painful mistakes and we still end up rooting for them, I have no doubt <3

This scene will come back. Anon, if you've read Naff's works, I think you know you can trust her to handle this appropriately - it won't be swept under the rug, it'll be addressed, and we might all scream a little, but it'll be good <3

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Several therapeutic white boards were drawn on. Everyone reading was so good and normal about it. So were the characters, presumably.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Additionally: apologies to Adwen and Allmune on ao3, to whom I directly said I wouldn't do this; I lied. (Whoopsie).

Also additionally: Bonus fic snippet you may have missed

💚👻👽👻💚

“Are you hungry?” Danny’s new therapist asks, her fingers playing with her pen.

Danny shrugs.

Pretty quickly, they’d figured out that these sessions went…worse…when Danny was hungry. Hunger makes him upset. Being upset makes him want to speak less. Not talking ruins the whole affair.

“Want to talk?”

Danny shakes his head, and sprawls out onto the couch—he’s allowed to basically position himself however he feels comfortable in the room, and if he has a choice, he’d rather just hang out horizontal. Does it make getting back into his chair harder? Yes. Is there a lady with super strength right outside his the office door who is willing to pick him up at a moment’s notice? Also yes.

(It’s kind of silly, but, if his legs ever stop feeling so sore…Danny is. Well.)

(He’s kind of curious how tall he’d be if Diana held him piggyback.)

“Want to draw? Paint?”

Drawing is a high-stress activity. Danny tends to default to memories when he draws these days, and he’d rather not think about that right now. Finger-painting is another option, but it’s pretty messy…even if it would be fun…

Danny’s therapist (?) (he's pretty sure that’s what she is?) is a blonde woman, with a quiet face and piercing eyes. She’d probably be less intimidating if they knew each other’s language, if Danny’s being honest; usually these types of people try to talk their way out of being intimidating. Instead, Danny sits on her pinstripe couch in unbranded sweatpants and a thin white tee, and she wears a suitjacket over her tights.

It’s all very strange. It’s not more strange than his chaperone’s usual outfit of plate armor and tiara, but still.

“Want the language bócastréon again?”

…Danny hums in thought, hands crossed across his chest. He’s pretty sure they’ve tried building a thing that’ll detect his language, like, three different times by now, but every time it winds up like the Fenton Ghost Gabber: mindlessly repeating his words back to him, unable to make heads or tails on translation. At least these trials don’t end every one of his statements with I am a ghost, fear me.

Oh well. It’s better than nothing. Danny shrugs.

The therapist clicks the machine on from a switchpad at her elbow, and a blue holographic screen fills the air. Danny only spends a little bit of time batting at the display like a cat, watching the light play off his hands for his own amusement.

“Please begin,” the thing says, and the same text pops up on the screen.

“S’up,” Danny tells it, and grins when the little display starts its very, very, long, and very, very familiar, buffering process.

Danny already knows this isn’t going to work. He might as well have fun with it.

He talks about his day, he talks about his old bedroom; he talks about what he had for lunch, toying with one of the sucker-toys he woke up with ages ago even though he doesn’t know who gave them to him. He talks about his friends, because he loves them—not Tuck and Sam, who he’ll miss the rest of his life, but Mikey and Poindexter, and what school had been like for him. Quiet topics. Easy topics.

Normal topics.

…Danny isn’t’ sure he’ll ever have normalcy again, but…remembering it isn’t so bad either. He plays with his weird suction cup toy with both hands and he talks.

“…So I ended up getting stuck without the Speeder like a million zillion miles from the portal. I thought Jazz was going to kill me, since she needed it to take her girlfriend to prom the literal next night, so I had to run around for like forty minutes looking for someone to help me out— but at least Wulf was like ‘Ne estas problemo’ and he helped me sniff out the weird cheese Vlad had left in the center console of the Speeder the week before—“

The box beeps. “Lingvo identigita: Kryptonian.”

Danny bolts upright as fast as his limbs let him.

Danny was never as good as Tucker was with Esperanto, but—  But that’s Esperanto. Danny’s hung out with Wulf long enough, did enough Duodioma with the stupid little muppet bird mascot. The box didn’t call it the right thing, but—

—But—

The therapist looks at Danny, eyes wide. Danny can’t even look at her. He’s too busy staring at the discount-aisle Ghost Gabber.

“Diru ĝin denove,” Danny demands sharply. Say it again.

The screen automatically translates his words as he speaks—in Esperanto, and then into their own language, the two transcriptions populating side by side when Danny speaks.

At this point, the woman’s mouth is open. Danny would be right there with her, but—

Danny sits there, numb.

He has a language. A language that is mostly guesswork on his part and the occasional swears Wulf will teach him as a joke, but, still, a language.

A language made up by a doctor in Poland. In the eighteen…somethings. And these people with superpowers know it. And they know what it is.

And the therapist looks at him, stunned, with new eyes, as if she knows something new about him now.

…What the hell is Kryptonian?

*

There isn’t Kryptonian plural. Danny thought there there might be.

There isn’t.There is pretty much only one.

One. Singular. Kryptonian.

That feels worse, somehow.

*

Notes taken [DATE REDACTED] 2023, 22:37 UTC.

Participants are:

KE: Kal-El of Krypton, Codename: Superman. JD: Patient, John Doe, Codename: N/A. Patient file attached.

Note: Conversation was recorded in Kryptonian. Machine translation has been provided for convenience.

*Addendum: Yeah, I can get Jor-El on this, no problem –Supes

KE: This conversation will be recorded. Are you alright with that? JD: Conver…? KE: (Writing gesture) This talk. JD: Oh! Yes. KE: Good morning. My name is Kal-El, and I am of Kryptonian descent. On Earth, I serve as a protector. My title on Earth is Superman. JD: Superman? KE: Yes. JD: (Laugh) KE: Thank you. May I know your name? JD: (No answer) KE: Take your time. You may decline as well. JD: …I… (Pause). I do not… KE: That is alright. Do you have hobbies? JD: …What? KE: What do you like to do? JD: …I like to learn about space. I like to…when the fast child…we play games? KE: The fast kid? Impulse? JD: Impulse? (Incredulous) KE: That is his title, yes. JD: Why is his name Impulse? That is… Is that an insult? KE: I think he chose it? JD: (Stunned silence) KE: You like space? JD: Y…yes. KE: Tell me about it? JD: Do they not tell you about me? KE: I hear news. I have not met you face to face. JD: (Shrugs) KE: Not since you bit me, anyway? JD: I bit you? (Incredulous) KE: You were injured, and you were scared. I did not mind. JD: I am sorry! It was an accident! (Upset) I did not mean to! I do not remember— KE: It is alright, it is alright! (Placating) JD: (Cries) KE: Hey… (Touches shoulder) Oh, sorry. I should not do that. It is alright. My dog bit me yesterday, and my son bit me the day before. It is alright. You did not hurt me. JD: (Still crying, hard to decipher) You have a dog? KE: Yes! I have a dog! He is also from space. His name is Krypto. Here, I have pictures! (Takes out communicator)

*NOTE: pictures mentioned contain images of Superdog and Superboy(II)

JD: (Still crying) Are you supposed to ask me questions?? I have been here… I have been here for a long time. People want to know about what I am, and where am I from, and what I can do, yes? KE: Well…yes, but there is a lot of time. There is no limit. JD: (Wipes nose.) KE: All I am supposed to ask you today is if you have any allergies. See?

        *NOTE: List of potential allergens has been attached to patient file.

JD: (Takes list from KE) Allergi…? Oh. No. I am… No food makes me sick. I can eat all foods. I cannot take…there is a sick medicine. For a cough. I cannot take that. KE: Good to know! (Alarmed) I’ll tell your doctors. Do you like your doctors? JD: …Yes. (Shyly) They are nice. KE: Wonder Woman says that she already asked if you feel safe. Do you feel safe with your doctors? JD: I do. Everyone here is kind. I eat a lot. I get exercise. We play games. I take breaks. I see space. I do not worry here, unless I get scared by accident. KE: I am…very glad to hear that. (Chokes up.) My son is about half your height. If my son was far away, I would want someone to help him too. We only want to do our best for you, alright? Please tell us if something is wrong. JD: So I can fight? KE: Pardon? JD: I am meant to fight, right? KE: No, no—not fighting. Just healing. And resting. JD: And then after… I am supposed to fight? KE: No. No, not—you don’t have to fight. The only thing we need is for you to be healthy. We don’t need you to fight anyone. JD: Everyone wants me to fight. (Begins stimming with slime) There are many children here. They all fight. I am eventually going to have to fight. I know.

*NOTE: Slime was provided by Medical team for therapeutic use.

KE: (Pause) Who is everyone? JD: (Silence) KE: Did someone make you fight, before? Is that why you were injured? JD: (Silence) KE: I am sorry if they did. That is not fair. You are not an adult yet, and even adults should not have to fight unless they enlist purposefully. You are a child. JD: No one thinks I am a child. KE: Who said that? JD: (Silence) KE: Did someone hurt you? JD: (Pause) I do not want to talk. KE: Alright. Can you tell me why you do not want to talk? JD: (Silence) KE: Would you like to fight? JD: I am good at fighting. KE: That is not what I asked. JD: There is no choice? When there are bad things and bad people, someone has to fight. I am strong—when I am not injured, I am strong. I fight. There are people who are not strong, and cannot fight. I can fight. I fight. KE: (Silence) JD: This is why you are healing me. KE: (Pause) No, little one. That is not why. JD: (Pause) Oh. (Puts down slime) Am I…am I going to be data again? Are you going to test my body? KE: (Puts face into hands)

[PAGE 1 OF 4]

[Interview is to be reviewed by Black Canary and Dr. Pranathi Russo MD, Pediatric Psychologist.]

*

��It’s bad!” Clark says with a watery smile, because Clark isn’t Superman at the moment—in Bruce’s home office, as private as a place as the world can get, Bruce is only Bruce, and Clark is only Clark.

When Black Canary had suggested that their debrief happen somewhere private where Clark felt safe, Bruce had known that there would be bad news. Still, he pours a mug of coffee that Clark will metabolize all the caffeine out of anyway, and pours a long, thick cup of the stuff for himself, and settles back into his warm leather chair.

“Tell me,” Bruce says, not quite Batman, but not quite Bruce either.

“Bruce, he ‘knows’ we’re going to make him fight. He thinks we’re healing him to be a child soldier.” Clark’s laugh is half joke and half derision. Bruce thinks that he understands. “He thinks we’re keeping him here as—like property, where if we pick up something dumped on the side of the road, we can fix it back up and put it to work. Like an engine, or, or…or like a lawnmower. It’s awful.”

Bruce skips the creamer and goes straight to the Baileys beneath his desk for garnishing.

On the one hand, Dick has been flying out in Gotham since he was a preteen. There had been no question about training him; training was the way one kept their children safe, the same way that Alfred had taught Bruce how to shoot as a child—no matter how much Bruce had loathed it at the time.

On the other hand, Jason’s death plays out in his nightmares in technicolor around…once every few months.

The fires. The flames.

(The alien boy found in a wrecked vehicle outside the Kent farmhouse, curled up in fear.)

Bruce thinks about Damian, and how long it had taken for Damian to understand he could be loved as a child who loved animals, and not a future prince of Gotham.

…Bruce passes the Baileys to Clark.

The Kryptonian won’t absorb any of the alcohol in any meaningful way, but he dumps the remainder of the bottle into his coffee nevertheless.

[pomefioredove]

please, PLEASE write a rollo x reader fic where rollo wakes up from a nightmare about his brother and where there to comfort him PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

let it be known that the only reason I started playing this game was because they added frollo. rollo is like a cryptid in the HoND fandom

summary: nightmares and comfort type of post: fic characters: rollo additional info: romantic, established relationship?, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, not proofread, rollo vaguely implied to have ptsd because I do and am a scholar in trauma nightmares ^-^

There's a certain point at which bad dreams and reality melt together.

Where the line blurs, and you can't be sure where the nightmare ends and you begin. They so often feel one in the same.

Rollo is familiar with bad dreams.

At one point, he thought there would be a solution. Something to hold them back, to release him from their sticky grasp. He journaled, for a while, but all that brought him was grief.

It happens like clockwork.

Four or five nightmares in one rest, for one to two weeks, at the same time every year. He keeps track of them. How could he not?

They culminate on a certain day, one he dreads in and of itself, and then slowly, painfully die off, leaving him wounded and alone.

It's dreadful.

And it's worse that he knows exactly why they happen.

You had once asked him what keeps him up at night, as a sort of conversation starter when you were first getting to know each other. What a strange question to ask someone, and in such a light-hearted tone.

He told you he sees no use for excess sleep when he can be diligent, instead.

Sloth is a vice, he said. Detestable.

You seemed to accept that as an answer, much to his relief. The truth was far too ugly for someone as pure as you to shoulder. He was only protecting your feelings, after all. And perhaps his.

Rollo hoped, for your sake, that you wouldn't notice. He was still getting used to the idea of sleeping beside another person, and the very last thing he wanted was to burden you with all of what he is.

To put it plainly, he didn't want to scare you off.

The first few nights were easy enough. Nasty imagery wrapped up in otherwise normal dreams, those of which could hardly be considered nightmares.

He'd wake up in a cold sweat, and toss and turn until he could manage to fall back asleep, never stirring you.

This time is different.

He wakes, not quite jolting, but certainly thrashing himself back into the present moment like an animal caught in a trap.

His eyes snap open, and there's nothing but darkness, his breathing, and the uneasy feeling of his stomach. It takes a moment for him to adjust to his surroundings.

You're still asleep. Thankfully.

He liked to keep some distance between the two of you, anyway. Rollo had to ease himself into the idea of being physically close with someone without being utterly repulsed.

The only reason he'd entertained the idea in the first place was because it's you, you, pure and good, who would never do anything to discomfort him, you, who even now, sleeps like an angel in his bed.

There's something unclean about that thought, although it's not your doing.

Rollo gets up, careful not to disturb you, and paces around the room while he tries to get ahold of reality. He reminds himself of the date, the time, his full name, anything that will shake the lingering terror coursing through is body.

He does not cry. He hasn't since...

Well. Never mind, that.

Now is not the time to make a fuss. He's not a child, he's not fragile, he can handle his own nightmares without needing someone to tuck him back in.

The dream was so terrifyingly, disgustingly real, though.

The nightmares which aren't nightmares are the worst sorts of dreams, because he instantly feels silly for scaring himself over something so mundane, even if that looming sense of dread and fear still makes him feel ill.

This one was but a normal conversation, with...

...He didn't want to remember it.

The point was more so that it felt so utterly real that waking up like this, having it fall apart around him like the rotting pages of an old book, was like having his head dunked in freezing cold water repeatedly.

Not a pleasant feeling.

He paces, back and forth, in front of the now-dead fireplace, trying to regain his bearings.

He's quiet; he so often is; and yet, still, roused either by the sound of his footsteps or the heavy, uncomfortable feeling in the air, you wake.

The sound of your voice nearly scares him.

Rollo turns to you, eyes wide as you sit up, drawing your knees to your chest. "What?"

"I asked if you're okay," you repeat, turning to the space beside you to check the time. "It's two in the morning."

His answer is immediate, as calm as he can muster, although there's a faint crack in his voice on the last word. "I'm well. I was just thinking,"

"Thinking? Now?"

He nods, and turns back to the mantle. His arms are crossed over his chest, acting as a sort of armor, protecting him.

You tilt your head to the side. "Did you have a bad dream?"

He hates how perceptive you can be, sometimes. It takes him a moment to think of a suitable answer- is it worth telling you the truth?

"I have bad dreams all the time," you say. "Like... all the time. Weird ones, too. It's nothing to be embarrassed a-"

"I am not embarrassed," he snaps, whirling around on his heels to face you. His tone softens when he sees the perplexed expression on your face. "I was just trying to tire myself before returning to bed. I didn't want to disturb you."

You shake your head. "I wouldn't have minded if you did. I understand... do you want to talk about it?"

He's silent, looking away again, which is enough of an answer to you.

"Then will you at least come back to bed?"

Rollo supposes he should. He doesn't want to risk worrying you any further. That would only stir up more questions.

He settles himself in bed, lying flat on his back with his arms crossed over his chest, more cadaver than human. You always found that position so amusing, for whatever reason, and even now you can't contain a laugh.

"Are you cold? You're shaking,"

Damn it. He is. He hadn't even noticed... and though his tremors aren't from the temperature, he agrees with you anyway.

"Yes. It's rather cold tonight,"

You hum a small note of contemplation and inch closer to him. "May I?"

Rollo's face immediately turns red, although he can't help but indulge himself... just this once. For your sake, anyway.

He nods.

You come closer, resting your head on his shoulder and putting an arm around his waist in the most comfortable position you can manage while he's lying like this.

Your body is warm, soft, comforting... all things that would normally repulse him, but it's you...

He pats the back of your hand with one of his in a reassuring, though awkward gesture. As much as he expected to feel his heart pounding even harder at your closeness, there's something quite... safe about the embrace. He can't deny it.

"Good night," you murmur, already half-asleep.

He closes his eyes, allowing his body to relax... just the tiniest bit.

"Good night,"

[cloudnstarry]

Now listen, I'm normally a very hungry person. Now gazing at this image here? Hungry is not the word I'd use.

Maybe a better way to say it is "oh my god if I don't have that in my mouth in the next 2 seconds I will commit atrocities for this delectable looking meal"

[brucewaynehater101]

I have a spooky Tim au that I think you would like.

Tim is not human and has never been. He knows this. His "parents" know this. The rouges know this. However, none of the Bats but one know this. When around the Bats, Tim looks like a Normal Human. His skin is pale but does look like flesh and his eyes are weirdly pale but they still look like eyes. His hair has a weird texture but its prob just his shampoo, so surely the slightly off texture in how his skin feels is just his lotion, right? His teeth are a bit sharp but still human teeth and his movements a bit odd, but what Bat doesn't move strangely?

However when they aren't around, it is a totally different story. His skin changes to look like porcelain and his eyes are so very clearly made of painted glass. His hair is made of string and twine died black and when its fist or foot lands a blow it feels like being hit by a sand bag and not flesh and bone. His teeth are made of shards of broken glass and his movements are far to Jerry yet smooth, like a puppet on strings that glides through the air in a horrible mimicry of walking. This Thing that wears the Robin Suit is Not a human, as long as it isn't around Batman or Nightwing. When either are there, The Rouges can see the shift. The way it suddenly looks so *human*. But once Batman leaves it shifts back into being a *thing*.

Tim is only a Thing when he is either scaring the rouges or Truly Comfortable. Young Justice knows that Tim is not a human and he doesn't hide it from them. There is never any fight about his civilian identity because he freely tells them, "I am a Thing made from Glass and Sand and Fabric and Magic. He is not a Person nor has he ever Been A Person. He is not some poor sap who was transformed into a Thing, he is a Thing that was created and then given life with Magic.

As for how Jack and Janet acquired a Thing like Tim, well. They're archeologists. They dug up an old tomb, found a coffin that was chained closed and bolted to the ground and like every White Person In A Horror Movie, they opened it without a second thought. Inside they found an ancient, cursed doll. It came to life when Janet cut herself trying to clean off one of its broken glass eyes to get a better look and the blood fell on it. The pair then decided this was a lot easier than child birth and kept the cursed doll, naming it Tim.

My gods. I love the ending of this cause it gives off the same vibes as "humans will adopt anything" tropes in space travel fiction.

I have one caveat with the Bats not knowing. I hc that Cass knows. Tim's body language is too strange for her not to notice something.

Everything else? Beautiful. It would be hilarious if people keep trying to tell the Bats. Here's a possible scene:

Goon: *points finger at Tim* "That thing beside you isn't human!"

Tim: *fakes having his shoulders drop as he turns slightly away in dejection*

Dick: *absolute fury as he beats up the goon*

Tim: *decides not to get revenge after seeing what Nightwing does to the person*

or

Rogue: "I'm telling ya, whatever he is got string hair, porcelain skin, and doll like movements to him."

Batman: *hums, takes them out, proceeds to Batcave*

Tim: "What's up, B?"

Bruce: "[] said that you look different when we're not around you."

Tim: *tilts his head* "I mean, I like playing up the rumors that the Bats are cryptids, demons from hell, spirits, or whatever when I can. I add effects to my costume to increase the spook factor."

Bruce: *nods and turns away to end the conversation for now*

Tim: *makes plots to ruin that rogue's life for a bit as revenge and a message*

I'm curious how wounds and scars look on Tim's porcelain skin. How does he heal? Does he even have a spleen?

I'm also down for two avenues:

Jason doesn't know like the rest of the Bats. After they start to become close to each other, Jason retaliates against folk who try to demean Tim. He tries to hide the comments from Tim until he learns that the teen finds it funny and ramps up the rumors on purpose. Then he switches to pulling pranks on people with Tim to create more wild theories and gossip.

Jason finds out at TT, and Tim ensures no one actually believes Jason. Perhaps he even starts the notion that Jason was affected by the Pit. It drives Jason bonkers that no one is trusting him or accepting his words for what they are.

[novafire-is-thinking]

Speculative Analysis: Why TFP Soundwave is so Terrifying to His Fellow Cybertronians

Time for an essay on why I think TFP Soundwave might have chosen his current cryptid form—electrical tentacles and all. There’s a TL;DR at the end, so feel free to scroll down first and then decide if you want to read the full thing.

This will involve cross-continuity speculation, centered around TFP / Aligned but with some IDW / MTMTE lore thrown in. This could also loosely apply to Bayverse Soundwave, but I won’t be focusing on him. I’m confident you all can infer the potential implications for that version of his character by the time you reach the end.

Okay, so I’ve seen several fellow TFP fans speculate about why Soundwave went from beefy gladiator to bonafide cryptid. Some say it could have been due to the loss of his horde of “minicons” (the term used in ‘Exodus’ by Alex Irvine). Others think it was just Soundwave’s way of adapting to the direction of the war by taking on a form that would give him the best strategic advantage in his position as Megatron’s communications officer. I agree with the latter, but I think there could be more to it than that.

As we see in the flashback for Ratchet’s story and the TFP Titan comics, Soundwave had his current frame type, armor, and alt mode back on Cybertron:

[Sarcastic Soundwave: Superior]

In the real world, Soundwave’s design is based on the MQ-9 Reaper military drone—an earth-based aircraft, but I’m not going to address that small discrepancy since it’s not relevant to this analysis. Skinny, cryptid drone Soundwave existing prior to his arrival on earth supports my theory anyway.

“Can’t we throw a tarp over him? He’s creepin’ me out.”

-Bulkhead in Minus One

On the surface, Bulkhead’s comment and Smokescreen’s subsequent response seem like an interaction between a couple of Autobots who are unnerved because they’re familiar with Soundwave’s reputation—Bulkhead more so than Smokescreen since the latter had probably not seen Soundwave up close in action before coming to earth. However, I think some of Bulkhead’s fear might have been due to an entirely different reason: Sparkeaters.

While reading MTMTE #3, my eyes were met with this lovely sight /s :

[Hey, wasn’t the energon eater in Rescue Bots called “Sparky” too? I guess it’s a cross-continuity tradition to call life-sucking parasites “Sparky” at least once.]

Terrifying? Yes. But I stared in horrified awe at this abomination and thought, “Wait. One. Fragging. Minute. I’m having a galaxy brain moment.”

Mind. Blown. Their overall sharp, jagged appearance, their thin, but formidable frames, their prehensile cables extending from somewhere inside (fuel lines for the sparkeater; multipurpose tentacles for Soundwave). I was—and still am—fascinated by the uncanny resemblance.

[Now who’s Sparky?]

It’s true that sparkeaters aren’t confirmed to be canon in the Aligned continuity, but their existence isn’t denied either. We got something similar with the zombie Terrorcons, but those were a new phenomenon produced either by Megatron’s blind ambition and stupidity or Knockout and Starscream’s lack of forethought and scientific restraint. For the sake of where I’m taking this, let’s assume that sparkeaters, as defined by IDW, do exist in the Aligned universe. What would this mean for Soundwave’s disturbing choice of frame/body type? Why choose a visual motif so strongly associated with death and disease?

One word: Mimicry

Mythologically, historically, and medically, sparkeaters are inseparable from death and disease. Their very existence instills fear in most Cybertronians. What better way for Soundwave to strike terror into the sparks of his enemies (and potential enemies) than to take on a physical form that resembles the sparkeater—something that has been known to kill normal Cybertronians using a deeply disturbing, painful, and even sacrilegious method? Even though the initial shock of seeing a “sparkeater” show up during or around a fight would have dissipated once the Autobots realized it was mostly cosmetic, an impression would have been left. Coupled with his spy capabilities and gladiator-style prowess in combat, a message would have been sent: Be afraid. Be VERY afraid.

And there you have it, folks! Another reason to love Soundwave’s design.

Bonus:

I could see Soundwave being called a few things by allies and enemies alike: “The Decepticon Sparkeater,” “Soundwave the Sparkeater,” or just “The Sparkeater.”

An interaction between two Autobot scouts:

Scout 1, over comms: “You there, kid? Who is it? Who did Megatron send this time?”

Scout 2: “It’s The Sparkeater! He’s here!”

1: “You mean Soundwave!? Do you have a visual?”

2: “How many ‘Cons do we see walkin’ around looking like sparkeaters??? Of course it’s Soundwave! And yeah, I’ve got a visual.”

1: “Aw, hell. Things just got a whole lot more complicated.”

TL;DR: Soundwave may have put more thought into his appearance than is obvious. He may have opted to look like a sparkeater as a way of sending a highly effective warning.

[copperbadge]

Howdy! I am considering submitting manuscripts I've written to a publisher or possibly self publishing. The publisher states on their website that authors must maintain an active social media presence. I'm not normally a social media type, Tumblr is my only one. What would you reccommend for such? Is it worth it to pay someone to make a website for me? Thanks and many virtual kisses for Dot and Deebs!

Honestly, I haven't submitted to a publisher since before a lot of modern social media existed. :D

It is my understanding, but this is secondhand information, that publishers want you to have either a twitter or a tiktok, preferably both, where you're frequently active and have a high follower count, because they want you to be able to publicize your book on it. One of many reasons I don't even consider trad publishing anymore is that I don't want to spend a significant chunk of my time filming videos for the sole purpose of hawking my books.

Now, as I said, that's an inference I've drawn; you may want to speak to someone who has been trad published recently to get the inside scoop (readers if you work in publishing or have been published recently, feel free to add commentary; remember to comment or reblogs, as I don't repost asks sent in response to other asks). I do have an author website but I built my own; I don't know what the going rate is for paying someone to build one these days but most website platforms are pretty intuitive to use -- I built mine on Wordpress and I'm building a new one on Wix currently, and at this point both are very drag-and-drop oriented. I do think a website is a good thing for an author to have, but I wouldn't pay someone to build one for you until you've taken a swing at DIY and decided it's not where you want to spend your time and energy.

In terms of self-publishing, the good news is that none of the rules apply; this is also the bad news. :D Because the thing about selfpub is that you either pay or DIY for...everything. It can be very inexpensive; when I publish a book the only direct monetary cost is what I pay for an ISBN and a proof copy of the book, which I will make back in the first 10 sales or so. However, I am "paying" in man hours in terms of typesetting, cover design, uploading the PDFs to lulu.com, proofing the initial copy, correcting the proof and reuploading (which usually involves further typesetting), and of course all the publicity -- website design and redesign, copywriting, tumblr posting. And while my profit per copy sold is well above what most authors with traditional publishers will make, that's because the publisher is doing a lot of the work for you. And, because I don't have an active twitter or tiktok or a publisher, my books are not very widely publicized. Undoubtedly I sell fewer copies than I would if I had a robust twitter following, but catch me touching that rancid wasteland without inch-thick gloves on.

So -- I think it's probably pretty important to understand that I have deliberately rejected trad publishing for good but not lucrative reasons, and I'm considered at best an iconoclast and more commonly a crank for having done so. If you can go the tradpub route, I would, but I also wouldn't put any money you're not prepared to write off as a loss into that pursuit. Definitely I would see if there's anyone in the industry you can reach out to who can answer these questions with a more thorough understanding of what publishers look for in an author and how to go about achieving that than I possess.

In any case, good luck! It's a journey regardless and I hope you enjoy your time on the path wherever you end up. And I'll give the cryptids a special cuddle for ya.

[tachiharastanacc]

Heyyyy love your posts

I thought about this after I read someone else’s post ( I think they called him tragic little f@ck? Not sure)

Imagine after hd reveal, port mafia starts to think back of all tachi’s behavior and words, then it hits them holy fuck this kid has some issues.

Like, there was a time when he tried to ignore his bleeding leg because ‘we got a mission and that is much more important nee-san!’ Or he was very scared of medica examination and when it ended, he asked so baffled ‘..that’s it?’ And I’m fairly sure he at least once said ‘orders make me who I am’ in front of others-probably gin of hirotsu-and they were just like oh, he’s very loyal. But now that they know how young he was when he joined the hunting dogs, they can’t help but feel bitter about that sentence. I think the reason tachi is desperate to follow orders are not only because government shaped him into perfect soldier, but he was desperate for love, affection and approval. Like, his parents told him they wished him dead instead of his brother! That is something sure will leave a scar on a CHILD.

I rlly want tachihara to learn how to be human again with the port mafia. Black lizards and chuuya probably will be the biggest help because, tachi is closest to black lizards-I think hirotsu will be able to be a father tachi never had-and chuuya has been through this. He knows how he’s feeling. Black lizards will be his family, his emotional support. And chuuya will be there, guiding him through the little things-that is normal as breathing to others but so, so foreign for him(them)-and tachihara feel so understood.

(Whoops rambled..if this does not make sense, pls don’t be mad!)

I’m furious actually /j

No, I just completely forgot I had an inbox lol. But yes!! I agree!!

I think the idea of them questioning everything they knew about him also is super interesting. Because they all saw him one way (reckless, brave, a lil dense sometimes), and everything is different when he comes back.

There’s a level of ‘was this all an act’ that takes a bit to get over. But at the end of the day, it’s still their Tachi, just a different side of him. Personally, Hirotsu specifically wouldn’t mind the quiet if he wasn’t worried out of his gosh darn mind.

Also, he 100% picks up on just how much telling Tachihara he’s proud of him affects him when Tachi isn’t trying really hard to act unbothered and cool.

Chuuya just assigning him self reluctant older brother even tho it was fully his idea. Verlaine’s kinda there too, but he doesn’t really know how to approach him in a way that won’t scar him for life (again) so he kinda just follows him around occasionally like some kind of depressed French cryptid.

This is 100% more terrifying than if he just approached him bc Tachihara fully is aware that he’s been stalking him and is convinced he plans on assassinating him.

Please always ramble to me abt Tachi and his families please lol

[demoniccrowz]

whats the. emeralds one about!!! the one wip with tommy and sbi :33333

I just spent like ten minutes looking for this print to make sure I was ranting properly about it before I decided I literally remember it fine so anyway. Sir, we don’t take emeralds. (Tommy/SBI)

the basis: Tommy works the night shift at a bakery near the edge of the city. Between the hours of 12 am and 4 am, the only customers that come in are cryptids and monsters from the nearby forest. They pay very, very well. The bakery is probably run by Niki, though she’d be a background character, and probably not show up like. At all.

writing this after I wrote the other stuff: I accidentally wrote the first draft of what would probably be drug out into two chapters. It’s under the cut. My bad. Designs (also under cut) are subject to change.

Um, first night he meets Wilbur, a man with no eyes who tries to pay with an emerald. Second night, nothing happens. He wonders if he hallucinated everything. The third night, he meets Philza, a man with black wings and bird talons, who pays like a normal person but tips him a crow feather. He’s confused, but the crow feather looks nice. Someone told him crow feathers are bad luck, but… the feather gives him a warm feeling. Fourth night, Philza comes back. He seems very happy to see that Tommy has stuck the crow feather behind his ear. Philza tips Tommy several more feathers. Fifth night, he meets Techno, a man with tusks and pig hooves, who pays like normal but tips him a golden doubloon. I dunno, he probably gets run out of town at some point, once someone sees the crow feathers. Philza, Wilbur, and Techno rescue him from the mob. They steal him away. Found family occurs.

Tommy moved to the city a few weeks ago, and started hearing the stories almost immediately. Everyone he talked to warned him away from the woods, with tales of what happened to people who stayed out too late or who walked near the woods after dark. The city seems to almost have a curfew, though it isn’t explicitly stated anywhere Tommy can find. Yet, like clockwork, at 11:30 the streets are deserted. The busses don’t run. People are inside, whether at their homes or somewhere else. Businesses stay open, sometimes, but no one enters or leaves. The entire city holds its breath for five hours. Then, at 4:30, it’s once again bustling. Tommy doesn’t believe the stories, of course. It’s just superstition. He signs up to work the night shift (sometimes dubbed the cursed shift) at a bakery in desperate need of workers. It’ll be easy, he decides, to take the shift when there would be no customers.

Yet… there were customers. The first night, a man with tinted glasses and a brown trench coat walks in and orders a few loaves of bread. Tommy goes about his routine normally, until the man hands him a green gem for payment. He stares at it in shock, trying to tell if the man had just handed him an ACTUAL EMERALD. “Sir? We- we don’t take… emeralds.” Tommy looks up at the man, who takes the gem and removes his glasses the squint at it.

He has no eyes.

The man laughs, putting the gem back into his pocket. “Of course, of course. My mistake.” He gives Tommy a fifty dollar bill, grabbing his bag of things and leaving before Tommy can give him his change. Tommy stares after him. Maybe there is something to the rumors, he thinks as he stares at his shaking hands.

He tries to brush it off.

[spicyseonghwas]

blood love - song mingi

pairing :: song mingi x male reader, mingi x yunho crumbs

viewer rating :: varies per chapter (bc of the content of each one)

genres :: fantasy, romance, smut

au's :: vampire!mingi (very old vampire), faerie!reader, hybrid!yunho

content warnings :: most will be listed with each chapter, but the series will include the following:

vampires & fae, kissing, physical contact, blood, death, food, cursing, alcohol consumption, possessive mingi, mind games, hickeys, sadism, masochism, vampire porn :3 (ie: sexual content), and at one point mingi roofies the reader on a date (what a dick am i right)

summary ::

song mingi, the very first- and only- and last- vampire the byzantine empire ever saw, never in all his 1,045 years, 2 months, and 10 days of life, thought eh would ever do something as... human... as fall in love.

love...

what a trivial thing...

or maybe not?

and l/n m/n, the live and existing- and heavily triple-checked- faerie in all of seoul, south korea, falls in and out of love like a flying fish in and out of the summer sea.

until one seemingly normal spring day, that is...

will song mingi change m/n's views on love?

or will m/n just be another snack for this ancient, wise vampire?

masterlist & chapter viewer ratings ::

chapter 1 | 15+

chapter 2 | 15+

chapter 3 | 16+ (potentially sensitive content)

chapter 4 | 16+ (potentially sensitive content)

chapter 5 | finale 18+ (sexual content)

chapter 6 | epilogue 16+

author's notes below the cut! if you want to be added to the series taglist, pleasse go here! no dm's pls! i promise you i will lose track of dm's... divider credit to @cafekitsune !

networks :: @cacaokpop-fics @preciousillusions-net

© bouncyyunho 2023-2024.

author's notes ::

+| please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this series and any updates on it and its progress!

+| this story also happens to be one of the possible plotlines for mingi's interactive on the cryptids!ateez chatbot ive been working on for a good like... nine friggen months... hehe- except that hes a werewolf in the chatbot system, not the legendary byzantine vampire hahahahahahaha

+| but yeh. this is the reason ive been so radio silent lately... (my apologies about that friends :<) ive been working hard on this for like the whole school year so far (three weeks...)

[doodledrawsthings]

Hey, I was looking through your stuff about Shadow of Shady Shore, and I really want to hear the lore behind it! Why is this random dad turning into a fluffy werewolf-adjacent monster? Who are the two women he hangs out with? Did he have a wife of some sort? You don't need to answer, but I am very curious.

The Random Dad's name is Luka (he/him). He's a divorced single father. His daughter's name is Harriet (she/they) but he calls her Bug. One day he kinda just. melted. for some reason. and turned into that big snake/slug/ferret/werewolf adjacent creature you see in some of my drawings. He can shapeshift and hold that shape for only a certain amount of time so he uses that to take on human form to do normal people things like try to hold down a job and take his kid to school. They move to a tiny kind-of-quiet-but-not-really town called Shady Shore. In Shady Shore, they meet some people like the person with the freckles who studies plants (Clover - she/her), and the tall guy with glasses (MJ-they/them), they're an artist and part-time waiter at a local diner. Clover also has a niece she takes care of named Bonnie (she/her). They all become become friends eventually, but I like drawing them post-becoming friends because i currently have no plans to do anything with this at the moment and just wanna draw em holding hands and doing chores. (burnout recovery reasons) Luka's arrival to the town causes a bit of a stir as some of the townies spot him in the woods in creature mode and now everyone's on the look out for the mysterious cryptid that has suddenly shown up in town, both locals and tourists, alike. He did have a wife at some point, but they aren't together anymore.

[anonymous-existences]

Chapter 9[Bonus] : A Reasonable Response

I was bored. Have some of these :33

[𝕆𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 10, 9:47 ℙ𝕄, 𝔻𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖-ℂ𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣]

A week and a few days has passed and they finally found Him.

Dante tossed his cigarette away and chuckled as he heard the subtle footsteps coming from the shadows behind him. "Batman..." He tilts his head and glaces behind him where he saw Batman from afar with Robin by his Side.

Batman was way cautious now unlike before when he presumed Dante as a normal Civilian. "... You... What are you... Dante Jamie Masters." Batman stayed in place as Dante fully turned his body to face the two vigilantes.

"Dan is just fine and that's quite rude yk? Calling me a What instead of a who but it's still a logical question I suppose. How do I word this. I'm... Half-Dead I suppose?" Dante laughed out softly. Batman furrowed his brows and Dante raised his hands slightly. "I'm serious Big Bat. I suppose since you're the JL I can trust you.... Or unless.... You're just like the GIW?" Dante's eyes flickered Green and Red As the headlamps of the streets flickered with him going dark for a moment before turning back on.

Dante was nearer Batman now but Batman did not flinch. "What's the GIW." Batman merely asked as Robin got closer to Batman's back, essentially hiding himself and Batman keeping him closer intentionally to protect him.

"Ghost Investigation Ward, also known as Guys In White Back in good ol' Amity part, Illinois. They don't Investigate those Ripoff Men in Black motherfuckers. They categorize us... Ecto-beings as non sentient people.... As you can tell we have no mercy for Humans. In fact I could destroy this world if I ever wanted! But... It's a good thing my baby brother exists doesn't he?" Dante laughed as he backed off Batman who was more Uneasy now.

"You know, we're sentient too. We have emotions. Yet they made a law against us so that they could experiment on us. Maybe have passed and destabilized... If the JL ever sides with those bastards... I won't be so merciful." Dante turned around and lit another cigarette.

"Danny likes the JL, he likes humans. He's half one anyways... Short to say that... He's the only reason why we haven't waged war in this stupid realm. Your realm is lucky Big Batsy.... Now don't bother me unless you've done something actually beneficial to my cause... And besides.... Scarecrow Deserved it." The lights flickered again and Dante was gone.

"B..." Robin looked at an uneasy Batman, he was thinking deep, "Let's go." Batman decided the safest option is to leave Dante alone for now Because of the unknown potential of what Dante could do it's still at the very least in some sort of... Chains holding him back..

Holding "ecto-beings" back... He needs to Investigate more about this... Laws and 'GIW' organization. He doesn't like the sound of it, especially since it might just be going against the Meta-Protection Rights.

[𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 10, 10:00 𝙿𝙼, 𝙲𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚢]

Jason took a deep breathe before speaking out as Dante Hugged him tightly. "Honestly, that was hot-" Jason blurted out unexpectedly as Dante Buried his face on Jason's Chest.

".... Yeah...?" Dante chuckled and Jason nodded feeling his cheeks flush up even more, Damn is this Big Cryptid Half-Dead Possibly Soon to Be boyfriend of his both very threatening or a Big Damn Golden Retriever.

Dating this big man has been a ride for Jason,

Eventually leading to them having their 'first night' at Jason's apartment. 'Damn am I freaky like that??' Jason thought to himself. "So you really did kill Scarecrow..." Jason said and plops on the couch and Dante followed suit.

"Yep" Dante confirms emphasizing the pop of the 'P' , "The Timothy Guy has been subtly questioning me about it, he says he doesn't plan on telling B out of Spite Apparently. He says as he adjusts his body and Puts his head on Jason's Lap. "Huh. Replacement got his priorities straight" Jason said as he turned on the TV.

"Danny's getting better... He should be back home soon and I'll be finally sane again and he can finally hopefully probably get his life straight and human like again as he's always wanted." Dante sighed in relief, his eyes softening. "Hopefully Bat gets the hint and dismantle that organization that makes my brother illegal.... I won't hesitant to kill anyone who tries to hurt him..." Dante huffs as he sits back up.

Dante hugs Jason and Jason just lets himself melt in the Big Man's Arms. Dante takes a picture for fun and Posts it on his Page. Well. Why?

To brag about his beautiful boyfriend.

Dante kisses Jason's Forehead, Jason's still adjusting to this cryptid man and the pits slowly silencing further more because of this guy. He makes Jason Calm and Jason Makes Dante Calm the Way Danny does as well.

[Next Chapter will be Bat-Fam Centric sort of :33 , I just wanted to write this cuz I'm bored as shit.]

Enjoy <33

[cardinalcanis]

Fire and Blood part 2: The intervention.

[Part 1] [Part3]

Summary: By Tyberos request, Ovidious agrees to try and speak some sense into Zadkiel.

TW: Some good old angst.

Word count: 2498

Collab fic with: @jaghatai-khock

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@kit-williams

@egrets-not-regrets

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ovidious Sulla, Head Logistician of the Adeptus Logisticarum, lit a cigarette on a candle cluster by the elevator remembering how he had promised Guilliman to reduce his amount of smoking. His beloved could relax as he hadn’t broken the vow, this was the only one he had smoked today, setting aside Sulla hadn’t been up for long still. 

He leaned on the railing, overlooking hundreds of floors down of never sleeping voidship activities. Crew, serfs, Space Marines, servitors, guards… the list of roles and positions that composed the lifeblood of the Macragge's Honor could reach the end of the fall if he let the full list unfurl from where he was standing. 

“If you would excuse me, Lord Logistician.” The gray giant accompanying him spoke in spotless high gothic, his tone sober and formal. “Would you specify what service does this indulgent stop provide towards our endeavor?” 

There was a time where the very presence of the so-called Emperor’s Angels would tie his stomach into a knot, but the frequent and intense exposure that his position and place of work provided made for the best shock therapy. Even though from time to time he had to re-adapt to the new ‘flavors’ of less populous chapters, as all things considered the sons of Guilliman were pretty ‘normal’ even if that normal cannot be properly used with Astartes. 

He inhaled more of that poisonous smoke that dulled his anxiety. Tyberos wasn’t Guilliman’s gene-son nor anybody he may have had the credentials to know of, after the uncomfortable silence he was met the first time he asked Ovid knew it wasn’t a good thing to repeat. Even with the Space-Shark’s eyes being orbs of pure black devoid of all light and his exposed upper jaw full of serrated sharp teeth; he didn’t unsettle him as much as Zadkiel did. 

“You are made so you would know no fear Chapter Master, I have no such thing backing me up.” He answered, strings of smoke coming out his mouth and nose as he spoke. 

“I have never heard of fumes that were capable of dulling fear, this is an interesting discovery you have brought to my attention Lord Logistican.” 

Ovidious let air quickly through his teeth in a hiss, unsure if the marine was being sarcastic or truly innocent. He was more on putting his money on the second one, it was surprising how little Astartes knew of normal everyday human life. 

“There is no such thing, Red Wake.” Sulla stepped away from the railing, approaching one of the many well polished Ultramar symbols on the walls where he could check on wrinkles on his clothes or if his hair was in order. Vanity to an observer but to Ovidious was an attempt at keeping a sense of control that would bring calmness.

“Your heart is beating at an accelerated pace Lord Logistican, your fear remedy seems to be a faulty version.” Tyberos kept observing him in stoic guard. “It puzzles me, if you could enlighten me, why is your chest experimenting with similar vibrations as if it were receiving the recoil of an automatic gun?”  

“Is called anxiety, Tyberos.” He answered. 

“I am knowledgeable about the fact that said emotion exists. But my interrogant goes towards asking why would your chest do such a thing, Lord Logistican?” The man pressed on. 

“Because I am anxious, Tyberos.” Ovidious answered with a degree of frustration, he threw his cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it close to where a servitor was sweeping the floor. 

“I see no reason for your anxiety, Lord Logistican.” 

 “Are you aware of the…” Ovidious grunted and exhaled, from all the possibilities of his future, being the grounding touch of reason for a gaggle of giant superhumans with complicated family history wasn’t on the list. “Come, we better find Zadkiel before a blood angel or Emperor forbid Guilliman gets in the room, the last thing I need is someone trying to step in and babysit the man from reality, again.” 

“There is to say, Lord Logistican, that the depths of my gratefulness towards you for attempting to confront my adored one about what ails him have no bounds.” Even with his size and layers of ceramite of armor, Tyberos walked with a level of unnerving silence. One could forget he was following if not directly conscious that he was. 

“There are many things about Zadkiel that worry me, this is not going to be the first battle.”

To say that Ovidious was terrified of Guilliman’s nephew was an understatement, there was a chronic lack of attention towards what really mattered about him. He was a feral beast wearing the skin of an angel, doing a forceful and conscious pantomime to act like one, feeding into his beloved and priest’s delusion alike. 

“The Lord of Ultramar did make a fine choice by letting you claim him as your bounded pair to mate with.”  

Ovidious turned around on his spot, the soles of his shoes crying on the polished floors. 

“I have no idea what Zadkiel told you about… that.” Ovid’s voice as much of a whisper as he could, he eyed around for nearby spectators. “But please speak no word of it.” 

The Space Shark tilted his head to the side, curiosity forming on his face. 

“About your bond with the Lord of Ultramar or that you are the one who…” 

“Neither, Astartes.” he interrupted. “Neither.” 

“Lord Logistician are you…?”

“Not the time for this conversation Chapter Master.”  His voice took the higher pitch on his registry, Ovid swiped in the air with his hands dramatically several times as he spoke. “Look, we are almost there.” 

As stated by the Astartes the hallways were empty of anyone who could overhear, but also anyone that could call for help in case things went south. He wished that Tyberos would be enough backup to protect him, even though he knew that the difference between a human and an Astartes was similar if not smaller to the one between a Astartes and a Primarch. As much as Roboute melted in his hands Ovidious was well aware, and had reported evidence of, that he was capable of punching the flesh off his bones faster than any astartes could react if those were his wishes.

That was another reason for his long list of traits that made him afraid of Zadkiel. Guilliman would not fight to the extent his own strength would harm him, just strike hard enough to get the desired result. From what he had read, from what the Lamenters had spoken of; Zad fought with no regard for his own safety, would break his hand with the punch if needed and would always strike at full force no matter the target’s size. 

Now in front of Zadkiel’s bedroom door Ovidious felt like the not even strong enough veal looking down the barrel of the bolt gun between its eyes at the slaughterhouse. Going by snippets from Guilliman’s confessions, sometimes he felt like the Emperor forgot to add the ‘emotional intelligence and regulation’ gene when he created the primarchs and made it the whole galaxy’s problem, and ten thousand years later he has been the one chosen on a holy mission to fix it. He asked the Emperor for forgiveness due to his thoughts every time it passed by, symbolized by the candle he lit everyday at the altar.

Tyberos grabbed his arm before he was able to knock, the gray giant stood in front of the skull faced terminal by the door and got showered by red light. It produced an approving sound when the authorized genetic imprint was logged, allowing the door to be opened. 

Guilliman was pragmatic and conservative with decor, but his nephew’s ‘minimalism’ was concerning. The room was almost bare, the ungenerous amount of furniture pushed to the corners leaving no way they could block the field of view. Any mirrors were turned or covered like if it were a storage room. Zadkiel’s gigantic bed was in the farthest corner with a view of the whole room, Ovid found the degree of childish flavor of it a bit disquieting for a man ten thousand years his senior. Colorful pillows, plushies and blankets were overflowing out of it, no idea how the lad was capable of sleeping on it. But knowing Primarchs Zadkiel didn’t need to sleep at all. Any spectator would be able to discern how old and worn down the plushies were, there was clear intent spent on keeping them in good conditions with plenty of attempts on mends and repairs. 

And there he was, just as the rest of the objects in the room he was hugging a wall. But the pose seemed unnatural, the man’s face was pressing straight into the walls in some kind of shaky and obscure trance. He turned to them at impossible speed, looking more like a distressed owl creature over its kill. With the same quickness Zadkiel’s gestures softened, a cold tingle overcame Ovidious by the impression that the Primarch’s bones themselves had morphed and rearranged themselves to put up with the appearance he was approaching them with. 

“What a delightful surprise, mine and my uncle’s beloved are gracing me with their presence right in my humble room.”  This new persona was airy and angelic, almost fluttering above ground with the fragile flutter of a butterfly. Ovidious recognized those gestures and poses, the paintings of Sanguinius descending gracefully upon his people. “What is the occasion? Wait, let me guess.” he smiled from ear to ear with naive glee, exposing his long canines. “You wish to help you propose to Guilliman don't you uncle Ovid? I have the best idea, we’ll need a proper white suit that is not as… conservative as what you tend to prefer, 10,000 blue roses…” 

“That is not the occasion.” Ovidious waved the concept of a proposal away with a polite yet awkward smile. “We wish to speak with you due to recent and past concerns Tyberos and I share. You see, Tyberos informed me of the… incident that happened to you recently…”

Zadkiel’s wings trembled slightly before the grandson of the Emperor looked for the next correct pantomime to respond with. The primarch fell to his knees in front of Sulla, his hands between his. He trembled with the thought of how easily Zad could crush them, how those arms could be as thick as his ribcage. 

“I am so blessed to have such caring men in my life.” His tone soft, eyes of a confused abandoned fawn. “I am feeling better, it was just a slip. Get in my shoes, not everyday I see living ghosts of my father, but I am at ease now. You need not to worry for me uncle Ovid, you already have so much to carry when helping my uncle.” Another pose and expression Ovidious knew from all the Ecclesiarchy’s depictions, Sanguinius kneeling and crying when first meeting the Emperor. 

Tyberos hadn’t moved an inch, what a great protector he had. Ovid tried to take his hands away with the least threatening gesture he could and politely put some space between him and Zadkiel. His fear was in the process of being eaten by an equally stronger force: anger and frustration. If someone had stepped in earlier the… man in front of him wouldn’t be forced into this ridiculous set of poses and canned soothing phrases. 

For the first time ever the Head Logistician looked directly into Zadkiel’s bloody red eyes, the pupils on those shrinked slightly into a slit at the sense of possible challenge.  

“Who are you?” Ovidious asked flatly, devoid of emotion. Making Tyberos raise an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean uncle Ovid?” Zad’s wings spread themselves on the ground, trying to give the appearance of a broken pigeon. “You know who I am, I am Zad.” 

“Who are you?” inquired again crossing his arms behind his back, eyes glued on Zadkiel’s. 

“This is ridiculous Uncle, I am Zadkiel!” Rose his voice the Primarch, breaking some of the halo effect around him. Back feathers rising slightly. 

Sulla noticed Tyberos by the corner of his eye, taking one step forwards. 

“Who are you?” Repeated Ovid, who could barely hear himself over the beating of his own heart at the base of his throat. 

“I am Zadkiel, Son of the Angel, Primarch of the Lamenters!” Zad’s nails left long jagged marks on the floor, his wings extending menacingly like an eagle descending over prey. “And I will not partake in whatever game that you have come up with uncle!” 

“I am confused,” Ovid said in a soft yet detached tone. “You say that you are Zadkiel, but all I see you present yourself as is Sanguinius.” He paused, “Who are you?”  

Zadkiel’s eyes opened widely, wings semi raised but stiff as a taxidermy. Only the sounds of the ship’s rumbling echoed across the room, worrying Ovidious even more. Direct anger is easy to deal with, is clear, but silence? So much uncertainty. 

“You do not know what you are talking about.” Zad said apprehensively, baring his teeth and hugging himself. Wings contracting to cocoon around his body. 

“Enlighten me then, because all I see is a forced attempt to…” 

“WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT FROM ME THEN!” the winged Primarch screamed standing to full height. His wings extended shadowed both Ovidious and Tyberos who had gotten a bit closer to the human. “THIS IS ALL THEY HAVE EVER ASKED OF ME, ALL THEY WANT AND CLAMOR OUT OF ME, WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT ME TO BE UNCLE?” Zadkiel’s pupils had fully shrinked into thin slits. He walked as close to Ovid he could before the Astartes got in the middle, but walked past, he punched the wall and pulled the metal out as easy as peeling fruit. “THIS IS ALL I AM, A MONSTER, FERAL, UNLOVABLE. YOU WANT ME TO NOT BE LIKE MY FATHER BUT THAT IS THE ONLY PART OF MYSELF THAT I DO NOT FEEL REPULSED BY!”

Ovid’s ears were ringing due to the volume of the scream, he had to support himself off Tyberos for his legs not to fully fail him. This is it, they are looking at death right in the eye and it is angry. Zadkiel’s anger was primal, yet supported by layers upon layers of sadness. Under every screamed word there was the silent wail of a prisoner who had stopped fighting his capture way long ago.  

Afterwards, nothing. The Death Angel’s wings contracted back into his body as he himself was hit by a wave of… nothing, as if all the emotions had abandoned him leaving an empty shell where a man used to be. He moved with calm surgical precision in one single direction, towards his sword. 

Tyberos grabbed his bolter but to his surprise Zadkiel kept walking after grabbing the sword, closing the bathroom door behind him with a single metallic ‘click’.

[nebulastarss]

In your description it says you make a lot of AUs and are always willing to talk about them, so like... can you talk about them

Ok that was very non specific babygirl, didn't even give me a fandom so because of that I am rambling about batman

(If you want a different one is ok just ask ^v^)

I have this one specific au, it's cryptid batfam where Lady Gotham is sentient and is the reason for their turning. I squished all of the ages together and basically destroyed the unnecessary family drama for funzies so it's going to be mid-20s Bruce with like 20 kids.

"Oh but Nebby!" You cry and beg because you asked for this and this is therefore your fault, "what type of cryptids? Is it animalistic creatures? Eldritch horrors? Vengeful gods?"

Bruce is batblob. He is a normal human, then he goes down to the cave and Gotham lovingly embraces him in her shadows and suddenly he's 4'2

All of the kids are rubbery, bouncy, even fucking smaller, they do not have bones, they do not have fixed facial features. They look like simplified cartoon children.

"But Nebby!" You interrupt again because for some reason people always interrupt me like shut the fuck up, "Nebby, what impact does that have on the story!"

How are you supposed to look at this 4'2 shadow creature with ears that can engulf and entire room and down everyone in minutes and think you can fight him.

Not only that

How are you going to torture a rubber boy.

Barbara Gordan? I haven't decided yet I don't know her lore well enough

Dick Grayson? Thriving. Living his best life.

Jason Todd? In a small coma and very bruised but hey he's not dead. That'll have consequences.

Tim Drake? Got worried and broke into their house after Jason was missing for 2 days. Joined batfam early, thinks Nightwing being shorter than him is hilarious. Also he's like 9.

Haven't gotten to the others yet but it's in the works

[cod-dump]

*breaks down your Inbox's door* *heavy breathing* I've made my own Shadow OCs but don't think this means I'm happy about it.

*I am actively losing sanity because Graves and his Shadows have me in a death grip*

So here, here are my Shadows. There's like nothing on them cause I've just now made this shit up for ~reasons~

Andrew 'Woody' Fallwood. Gets his callsign from his name and the fact he's a cowboy. Around 5'11", not very big but is plenty strong. He's a silly guy, likes to make jokes and stuff to keep the others calm, especially big boy Moose. Almost always has a cigarette in his mouth. Can be a bit of an ass but that's just cause he's a stubborn little Southern man. More of an Appalachian southern man, and grew up on a cattle farm. Just really loves cows cause he has so many fond memories of the cows under his family's care. Scary good shot. At least it's scary until people learn he grew up in rural Appalachia and then it's just "oh you've been shooting since you were six, haven't you?"

Cole 'Flash' Halley. Tall, lanky guy that stands at around 6'2". Youngest to be recruited into Shadow Company, often gets called "Baby" or similar things since he's so young. Instantly became so many of the Shadows' new younger brother. Gets his name from one of his first days as a Shadow where he beat a record for completing an obstacle course in the fastest time. He holds all the records for "fastest" on so many things on base, including "fastest time to get a hug from Moose". Cause while Moose is a nice guy and all, he doesn't just go around hugging people, especially the newer Shadows. All Flash had to do though was walk up to him in tears and Moose's big brother instincts kicked in. This was his second day on base. He's the stereotypical little brother, though, cause he's constantly doing things to piss other Shadows off/to just be annoying for the hell of it.

Matthew 'Truck' Simmons. Shorter (around 5'8"), but broad, bulky guy. He's been dubbed "getaway driver". He drives everything, from the great big tanks to just normal ass cars. Definitely a truck freak, and is always in the shop, working on any of the numerous terrain vehicles the Shadows have. Had to repeat a couple of school years, and the second he turned 18 he enlisted. He was sick of being told he wasn't "smart" just because he can't do well on academic tests. But put a truck in front of him and a toolkit and he can tell you every single thing about that truck in extreme detail.

Jacob 'Ness' Owens. Not tall at all compared to most other Shadows, only around 5'6". He's a superb swimmer, and is almost always in the water. Loves to dive and do other water related missions. If he could, he'd swim in the outdoor pool year long (it's closed during the off seasons), but luckily the indoor pool's temperature is more easily controlled, thus allowing him to intentionally make it colder. These pools are for training, but the indoor one tends to be more recreational. Ness is required to sign into something when he wants to swim, cause he always makes it colder, and Graves got sick of the complaining from Shadows trying to swim after he's done. Gets his callsign from the fact he's often in his full wetsuit while swimming, and one time, during the night, several Shadows saw him swimming outside and joked he looked like the Loch Ness Monster. He's very quiet and rarely talks, doesn't like to be around a lot of people, but does a good job and is still friendly enough. Prefers giving in to his cryptid namesake (and the fact he's Ohioan) and doing weird things to get out of conversations. (like staring wide-eyed at them and sinking under the table like it's the water level)

*Ness is my baby boy I love him so much*

Anyways, back to complaining over my willing obsession over Graves and Shadow Company

Ah, the brainrot has a firm root if you made ocs HAHAHAHAHAHAH-

-

Moose is actually an excellent swimmer and handles the cold pretty well so him and Ness would bond over that. Moose won’t stay in the water as much but he would definitely join him for a swim.

Flash would definitely be mothered by Moose. Having joined when he was pretty young himself he’s pretty protective of younger Shadows. He tries to not be overbearing but sometimes he can’t help it and worries over them.

Moose would love to hear Truck talk about his vehicles. He knows a few things himself about them, well enough to get them running or to make repairs if needed. He likes listening to people talk about things they’re passionate about.

Woody would definitely be good friends with Moose. The jokes would win him over and they have a shared love for cows. But the accent would definitely have a part in it, something Moose won’t admit. A southern accent is very comforting to him.