#New Era COG

[anxietytwist]

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢

[ 𝟷𝟽 | 𝟻'𝟾" | Nonbinary | Lesbian | ❤︎𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 ]

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⟨Fashion⟩

School outfit: 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 & 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴

Mask: 𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘶𝘭𝘭

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⟨Notes⟩

ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ➔ They/Them ʙᴜɪʟᴅ➔ 𝘈𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 ᴠᴀᴍᴘ ᴛʏᴘᴇ➔ Enhanced Vampire ꜰᴀɴɢꜱ➔ 🧛‍♀️ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ➔ “𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘈 𝘷𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢 ... 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳?” ɢɪꜰᴛꜱ➔ Hypnosis, ... ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴ➔ Axe🪓 ʜᴏʙʙʏ➔ Music 🎸

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐚 is extremely hard on themselves whenever their “control” slips, which is quite unfair since they ALWAYS do their best to hold back ... even when they were 𝟷ˢᵗ turned & still with 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐬 (they're terrified of what they might become if they give in to their “darker” instincts)

𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 was their girlfriend & they do their best to completely avoid her (despite still being in love with her 😔💔)

They really appreciate the support they get from 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 & 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨, it's nice to have friends they can bond over shared trauma with

They have a very low opinion of hunters (since they're totally okay with murdering kids simply because of their “species”) 😒

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐚 didn't know how to swim until 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 taught them at the pier/lake

They're an soft-hearted person & living as a vampire has yet to change that (the very thought of harming an innocent person makes them sick) 🤗

...

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𝐼𝐹: @newera-interactiveif

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Picrew used:

[cakelitter]

Intertwined

Leon x Fem! Reader

warnings: mdni, oral (f recieve), p in v, dirty talking, established relationship, slight spanking, slight size kink

summary: playfighting!!!

words: 2.3k

a/n: Mostly intended for re4 Leon, but any Leon after that era works tbh. Downstairs neighbors probably hate the two of you LMAO. But yeah, hope you enjoy!!!!

Play fighting is fun, especially when you have a boyfriend that is double your size.

It’s actually quite beneficial, coming up with ways to escape his death grip each time the two of you declare war against each other; could be vital in critical situations.  Sometimes however, you find yourself trapped, your mind thinking of a strategy to flee from the large hands that managed to get a hold of your wrists.

“Leon, that’s not fair your grip is too tight!” You squirm, pulling your arms away but to no avail as he drags them back. “What happened to ‘Don’t go easy on me, I’m stronger than you think’?”

Should’ve kept your mouth shut is what should’ve happened, you wouldn’t be fighting for your life if you did that. Actually no, you would’ve been doing that either way, no idea why you keep willingly putting yourself in these situations when you have no track record of winning. You struggle, flinging your arms away quickly, rotating your wrists, hell you even tried biting, and he won’t budge. “Does someone need a little help?”

Great, he’s mocking you now. Should’ve went for skinnier guys, not ones that went to police academy for three years, and a government training program for five.

You could try to kick him, but you’d lose your footing on the bed. That would just make it easier for him, this man would not waste a minute to knock you off your feet if he ever had the opportunity of doing so. While you’re over here thinking, the cogs in our brain working in full efficiency, he’s grinning. God, that stupid grin, he looks so cute, yet punching it off his adorable face sounds satisfying.

Since when was he a fucking sadist anyway?

In the midst of your attempts to pull away, the iron grip he has on your arm causes your torso to lunge forward.

Rookie mistake.

His body leans in, placing his head between your arm and waist, throwing you over his shoulder before slamming you back down onto the mattress of the bed below you. Clicking his tongue, he climbs on top, shaking his head in mockery. “Every time, you fall for it every time.”

Rubbing it in your face, typical. Ok maybe he’s correct, you have fallen for this once…or twice… or thrice before but you’re still new to this!

Chuckling, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck before kissing your cheek, his hand caressing your waist, finger slipping beneath the oversized shirt you’re wearing. His lips feel soft against the sensitive skin, causing heat to pool between your thighs.

But you can’t lose, not so early at least.

You try to get up, plopping your hand down on the mattress below, attempting to pull him off of you. Your swift movements however, were met by his familiar hand grabbing your shoulder and pushing it back down.

Your competitive side starts to peek through, trying your absolute best to put up a fight. Albeit, trying to escape his grip is a lesson you’ve just learned the outcome of. And so, one more option is left if you want to win.

Fake an injury.

A yelp escapes your lips, turning your head over to the side, knots forming between your brows as you feign pain. His expression immediately softens, pulling away from you to see what’s the matter, his yank couldn’t have been that rough, could it?

It wasn’t, not even in the slightest, you just got to pull on those sweet, sweet heart strings of his, find that weak spot, that slight glimmer of hope and run with it. Just as you expected, he softens, the hand placed on you shoulder slackens, giving you the golden opportunity that you’ve been hoping for.

With a smug expression, you push him off of you, getting up and dashing out of the room. You don’t look back, but you can just imagine the dumbfounded expression plastered all over his face, betrayed and aghast.

It’s not till you’re in the living room till you hear his footsteps approaching; you stand there, legs ready to sprint at any given moment. His figure walks down the hall and into the room you’re in, he stands a few feet away from you, his lips curled up into a smile.

You wait anxiously, eyes scanning his body, trying to decipher his next move.

“Better start running.”

Without even thinking twice, you sprint; running around the couch as he follows you. Your heart is beating out of your chest as your socked feet hit the hard wood floor over and over again as his follow pursuit.

You’re not even thinking straight anymore, your fight or flight mode activated, trying your best to run around him. And for the first ten seconds you were doing great, jumping over the couch, throwing a few pillows at him, even dodged his attacks.

But it all goes south when you get cornered, the only way out is through him. You’re fucked, and he knows that; slowly walking over towards you, the glimmer of hope that you once had dissipating with each step forward he takes.

“I’m sorry, Leon. Please, please, I’m sorry.” You apologize between squeals and giggles. This is actually so scary; your heart is about to fall out of your ass at this rate. “That was a very dirty move back there, you know?”

Shit, shit, shit.

“I wanted to win, please.” The same grin forms on his lips, the joyful expression on his face juxtaposing yours which is full of anxiousness. “That wasn’t so nice of you, it’s called cheating.”

Realizing there is no point in sweet talking your way out of this one, your legs move on their own, sprinting and praying that you make it through. But of course, you don’t.

His arm grabs your waist, pulling you back before carrying you over his shoulder once again. He laughs as you squirm, walking back over to your shared bedroom.

Plopping you back down on the bed, his fingers begin to tickle your sides as you flop around like a fish out of water. Your laughter echoes through the room, the cramping feeling in your stomach being hard to ignore as you attempt to fight off his persistent fingers.

“Stop! Leon, stop!” you say in-between laughter, the whole experience feeling like torture more than anything. “What do you say?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again!” He stops, his hands resting on the side of your hips as you wipe off the tears on the corner of your eyes. He smiles, leaning in again and leaving a soft kiss on your lips before murmuring against them. “Told you I always win.”

You roll your eyes, hands tangled in his hair. “Yeah, yeah, shut up.”

Smiling, you pull him closer till his lips connect with yours. It’s slow and sweet, affection filled eyes and intertwined fingers, getting lost in each other’s taste. His chest is flush against yours, rapid heartbeats syncing, riding the same high of emotions.

Pulling away, he placed a final kiss on your chin before putting his head beneath your shirt; well, it’s his shirt but that’s besides the point. He plants a tender kiss on the middle of your chest, littering a few more around before moving down you your lower stomach leaving kisses anywhere he could.

You wince as his cold fingertips graze your skin, a chuckle escaping his lips in return. Running his palm up your sides, pulling the shirt off your body. You help, raising your arms up as he discards it behind him.

His eyes fall on your chest, hands immediately fondling and groping the tender flesh. “Look at those, so fucking pretty.”

Blushing, you watch him lean in, his mouth clasping around your stiff peak. Your eyes close in pleasure as he lets out a grunt, tongue flicking and teeth slightly grazing amplifying the pleasure. Blue eyes lock with yours, a subtle smile forming on his lips as he hears the sounds you’re making for him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, can’t wait to hear all those cute sounds you’d make when I fuck you stupid.” He speaks, fingers pinching your sensitive nipples, sending pulses of pleasure to your needy cunt. “Yes, please.”

“Yeah? Have all the neighbors hear how good you feel? How well you take it?” You nod, placing your hand on his muscly forearm. “Want it.”

He kisses you one more time before slapping your ass. “Turn around, baby.”

You comply, turning around till your chest is flush against the mattress with your ass in the air. Biting his lip, his rough hands move up the back of your thighs before caressing the fat of your ass, kneading the soft skin.

His fingers grab the rim of your shorts, yanking them down along with your panties, leaving your wet cunt on full display for him. His thumb presses against your weeping pussy, running it through the wet folds and then moving down to draw firm circles on your clit. “Fuck, she’s crying for me, sweetheart. Got such a slutty girlfriend.”

You moan and nuzzle against the bedsheets below, his words passing through your ears and swimming in your mind. Grabbing your ass with both hands this time, he spreads it, groaning at the sight. Open mouthed kisses are placed on your thighs, followed by a few licks and shallow bites. You squirm as you feel him blow on your cunt, the cool air hitting the hot area.

Deciding he’s had enough, he connects his mouth to your pussy, tongue slipping into the hole, making out with it. You grip the sheets beneath, a whimper escaping your lips as he grunts at the taste of your fluids, a large hand smacking your ass before rubbing the hot skin.

Moving back, he spits on your cunt watching the tear shaped saliva drip down and mix with your taste before lapping it back up. You chant his name in between moans, your head feeling fuzzy as he eats you out breathlessly.

“Gonna cum.” You whine, looking back over at him as he nuzzles into your heat, before pulling away. “Cum, sweetheart. Cream my face so I can fuck this cute little pussy.”

Your hand moves down to cup your breast as his thumb rubs your pudgy clit while continuing to fuck his tongue into you. Your mind goes blank as you orgasm, legs shuddering and threatening to collapse as he holds you in place.

“Good fucking girl.” He mutters before licking up your release, moaning as his hand gropes your thighs. It isn’t long however before you hear him get up, your worn-out eyes looking back at him as he pulls down his sweatpants along with his boxers, leaving them behind on the hard-wood floor.

The mattress shifts beneath you as he climbs on the bed, his hand rubbing his painfully hard dick. You bite your lip at the sight of it, thick with some veins running along its side. You gulp, your salivary glands becoming hyperactive at the idea of taking him into your mouth.

His rough hand grips your ass again, the other one leading his cock to your entrance. He spits down onto the pink head; not like that’s necessary. The tip bumps against your clit teasingly, running through your wet folds, collecting all the fluids it can.

You feel your walls stretch as he begins to push his hips forward, the sensation earning a moan out of the two of you. You squeeze around him, your face planted in the sheets bellow as you try to adjust.

A familiar touch travels down your back, and back up to your hips. He pulls out momentarily before fucking back into you; feeling the head of his fat cock kiss the opening of your cervix with each thrust. Your sounds get muffled against the mattress, too overwhelmed by the intense feeling of pleasure.

The creaking noises of the bed slows down as he wraps his arm around your waist pulling your back flush against him, his fingers snaking up and grabbing your jaw. “Didn’t we agree on letting everyone know how good you’re getting fucked? Hm? Getting shy all of a sudden?”

You shake your head as his hips continue to snap against yours. “Good, let me hear you, sweetheart.”

His pace quickens, the sound of skin slapping and dirty moans filling the whole room. His head hides in the crook of your neck as he focuses on his thrusts, your hand grabbing his arm for support. “Rub that clit for me, baby; squeeze that fucking cunt around my cock.”

He holds your hand and brings it up to his mouth, coating your index and middle finger with his saliva and guiding them to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You do as you’re told, rubbing your slippery clit as your boyfriend slams into you again, and again.

You begin to sense the hazy feeling of release approaching, Leon’s hot breath hitting your neck as he pants. His hand grips your hip vehemently, a grip strong enough to leave a mark for the next day or two. “Squeezing me so tight, pussy made f’me.”

You’re completely cock drunk, nodding mindlessly at whatever he says; the desire between your thighs being the only prominent thought on your mind.

“Leon, I’m gonna cum again.”

“I know, sweetheart. Let go for me, let me see my baby all blissed out.” You mewl, nails digging into his forearm as your body trembles. Leon’s breath hitches as you squeeze around him, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he chases his own high.

“Fuck fuck fuck.”  He mutters between gritted teeth, his eyes shutting close. The arm wrapped around your waist relaxes causing you to lay back down on the mattress. He fucks into you a few more times before immediately pulling out, white ropes of cum shooting out and landing on your ass and puffy cunt, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

The room falls quiet as the two of you catch your breaths. Taking his shirt off, he wipes away his release, kissing the lower of your back affectionately and discarding the dirty piece of fabric on the floor.

He lays down next to you, pulling you close against his chest, petting your hair.

“Doing well?”

“Mhm.”

“…We should play fight more often.”

divider by: @/cafekitsune

[papaya-twinks]

Another perv!lando with innocent!reader ask since ur in ur freak era (so real me too):

Reader telling lando that she's scared it will hurt when she does it for the first time and perv lando telling her that one way to help with that is by sleeping with his fingers (or his dick) deep in her to stretch her and she accepts bc lando could never take advantage of her right??

U don't have to do it if ur not comfortable with it xx

Warnings: dark fic, 18+, smut, cockwarming, perv!lando

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - SWND ME MORE DARK LANDO FICS PLS PLS PLS

“Lando,” you giggled as he carried you into the bedroom, laying you down on the bed. He chuckled, pressing soft, wet kisses to your neck. Your lips never left his as he moved on top of you, only breaking away so he could throw his hoodie and shirt off. You’d both gone on ‘platonic’ dates for the past three weeks together, five dates in total. Lando had told you they were platonic. He was your best friend, after all 

“Lando,” you paused, hand on his chest as he worked at removing your dress. You’d never had sex before. You wanted to, with Lando, more than anything, but you’d heard from your friends that it hurt, before. Lando had told you it would be cool, and, like, the ultimate show of your friendship. “Hmm?” he hummed, seeing the seriousness in your eyes as you looked to him. “Is it gonna hurt?” you asked, a frown creased across his face. 

“What, sex?” he raised a brow, looking at you under him. He wanted nothing more than to just rip your dress off and fuck you til you saw stars, but it was evident you didn’t want to. For fucks’ sake. You nodded, confirming his question. “It doesn’t hurt if you stretch the girl a bit,” he shrugged. “How d’you do that?” you frowned, still a bit new to the whole sex thing.

“Well,” Lando said, an idea forming as the cogs in his brain turned quickly, “the girl needs to sleep with the guy, but he has his dick in her, so she gets used to it,”. It would be obvious to anyone but you that that was the biggest piece of bullshit ever. “Okay,” you said, somehow the sentence making sense to you. 

“So I need to sleep with you?” you repeated as he nodded. “Okay,” you said, letting him tug your dress down, leaving you in your bra and panties. “So pretty,” he mumbled, pressing his lips to your neck, before moving the duvet back on the bed. You let him lay you down on the mattress, his lips still on your neck as he slid in beside you. 

Lando wrapped his arms round your waist, lifting you onto his chest, your head on his shoulder as he watched you. “Are you gonna go in?” you asked as he tugged his joggers down. “Yep,” Lando nodded, his cock springing, hard against his abdomen. It was a risky idea, doing this, but you were oblivious, as always. 

Your gaze fell to his length beneath you, springing gassing your thigh. Fuck. That was supposed to fit? But then again, you remembered the whole reason you were with Lando right now, so he could help you. Lando watched the flicker of reluctance on your face before you relaxed. “Ready?” he asked, pumping his length a few times. 

“You’re my best friend,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to your jaw as he pushed the head into you. You frowned, a small squeak leaving your lips as he pushed into you, sliding his length inch by inch into you, a deep groan leaving his lips. “Get comfortable,” he said, “and go to sleep,”. You nodded, closing your eyes, the unfamiliar sensation between your legs was kind of unsettling, but you forgot it. 

Lando waited, his breath slow and steady as he heard your own breaths slow down, your eyes closed as you slept, moving once or twice to adjust to his size. The next morning, you awoke, after Lando, who was holding you to his chest, your legs wrapped tightly round his waist, his cock still buried inside of you. It didn’t hurt or stretch as much as it had before, thankfully. 

“Morning,” he said, still somehow resisting the urge to just slam his hips into you. “Ready to try sex, then?”. You nodded, watching as he lifted you, still not quite pulling out. “Slept okay?” he asked, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah,” you smiled, nodding. 

“Kept me warm, you did,” he grinned, the usual banter from your friendship shining through. You giggled at his words, letting him turn you beneath him. You were doing this to, as he said, prove you were a good friend. You gasped as he moved his hips slowly, your body moving with his thrusts as he sped up, holding onto your hips. 

“Oh you’re such a good friend,” he said, his tone borderline condescending at this point as he moved to slams, your body bouncing either each movement. “Lando!” you gasped, holding onto him. This was a whole new level of pleasure for you, and you liked it. Definitely looking forward to proving your friendship more with Lando.

The knot in your stomach built up as he slammed into you, a grin on his face as he gasped. “Such a good friend,” he cooed, “my best friend,”. Those words were exactly what you wanted. The knot in your stomach unraveled as Lando’s cum shot out into thick hot ropes inside of you, your eyes squeezed shut as you held onto Lando. 

“Good girl,” Lando muttered, “such a good friend for me,”. 

[lets-try-some-writing]

"Starscream and his spark-split siblings were supposed to be made into speakers directly following their forging. However, due to mismanagement, they were late to arrive at their respective positions. The Starscream we know took to his position as Speaker for Vos... very poorly." - Rewind, Sanctioned Recorder

Lore below the cut.

City Speakers are always chosen from amongst a very rare selection of Cybertronians. Due to a desire to keep the Titans from becoming political tools, Speakers are required to be spark split twins or triplets. The long standing belief is that if the Speakers are spark split, they will be less likely to turn their Titans into political weapons or scheme against each other. It has worked well enough, and so the tradition has held.

Before they inherited their names and T-cogs, Starscream and his brothers were miners. Due to an influx of newbuilds coming out looking quite similar, no one suspected the triplets to be spark split. And so, no one was ever informed that there were new Speakers ready to be taken and trained. For centuries, the triplets were simple workers and close as could be. That only changed after a chance encounter with a high ranking cogged bot gave them away.

They were promptly taken by the Speakers of that era, separated, and trained to serve and speak on the behalf of their particular Titan. Starscream got the short end of the stick in being given to Vos. Due to his Titan being one of Cybertron's best kept secrets, Starscream had to be both the Winglord and the Speaker at the same time without revealing the latter position. Normally, these roles would align well. But Vos has been flying for millennia, and the ancient Titan is in constant pain due to the overpopulation of his frame. Titans cannot fully comprehend pain, and thus, more often than not, Speakers for Vos can constantly hear him screaming.

It is maddening, and the only reason Starscream hasn't gone mad is due to the time he spent in the mines hardening him mentally. With that said, his predecessor was not a kind teacher (being half mad himself). Starscream carries scars to this very day.

[folkloresthings]

❛ HEAVEN KNOWS ❜ ❨ lando norris x singer!reader ❩

📻 track three: you’re just a boy (and i’m kinda the man)

in which the they were the perfect couple, until they weren’t. or in which we take a look back into what made heaven itself fall apart.

… OCTOBER 2023

INSTAGRAM. october second.

liked by irisapatow, rachelzegler and 810,673 more

yourusername time for another track! 🤡 i first started writing you're just a boy (and i'm kinda the man) after listening non-stop to taylor swift and shania twain and i decided what i really needed was to take those feelings and make a female power song of my own. so i wrote one! it helped me to remember that losing the love of a man does not make you any less of a person, and i hope it can do the same for others. oh, and it's also a bop.

view all 499,020 comments

user QUEEN

taylorswift you're kinda making me feel like... i'm the man 💪👸

user i fear this will tear lando's ego to shreds

⤷ user it doesn't feel fair on him, like he doesn't get to tell his side of the story

⤷ user girl there's definitely a reason he's kept quiet 😭

lissiemackintosh soooo excited for this one!!!! my new karaoke song?

⤷ yourusername come at do it at the concerts

⤷ lissiemackintosh i like your fans too much to do that to them

user CLOWN LANDO ERA

REWIND... OCTOBER 2022

"guess what, guess what!"

lando was mid-game when you rushed into the living room, glancing up from the television when you bound into view. he slips back one side of his headphones, eyes following suit a few moments later once the screen is paused.

“what?”

“guess!”

lando sighs, but a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “lewis finally retired?”

“no, silly.” scoffing, you slap at his arm and plonk down next to him on the couch. “management just called — i’ve been asked if i want to do a world stadium tour. the bowl, wembley, madison square garden!”

lando’s mouth fell open in slight shock, your excitement obviously contagious as his eyes light up. in a split second he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tightly.

“holy shit, babe,” he murmurs, squeezing your waist.

“i know,” you squeal quietly, muffled against his shoulder. “they just need to set up the next album release and then announce the dates.”

behind your embrace, the cogs of lando’s head start to turn and calculate the information. sitting back, he looks at you with confusion set in his brow.

“when would that be?” he asks, head tilted.

you shrug, not noticing his growing resentment of the news. “depends. they want the album done for late summer, so that means an autumn release. so probably in the new year.”

“the second half of the season?”

lando’s cold tone makes you smile, almost uncomfortably, waiting for his former excitement to return. uneasily, you nod.

“well, yeah, but—”

“i thought you said you were going to come to all the races, since you’ve only been to monaco and silverstone this season?” he cuts you off. you catch the frustration in his eyes like a hawk, shifting off of his lap before it bubbles over. “you’re not going to be able to do that if you’re on tour.”

“that’s not true,” you try and reason, hopeful that your calm tone might balance his. “there’s texas and vegas. besides, i don’t even know what dates i’ll have shows yet, i could fly in for race days.”

lando shakes his head, pushing himself from the couch cushions and onto his feet. “that’s not the point. you promised you’d be there for me this season. i actually have a chance for once, and you don’t even care.”

the dismissive tone that spits off his tongue makes you flinch, a heavy frown falling around your cheeks. “what am i supposed to do? turn down my biggest tour yet to come watch you race every single week?”

“yes!” lando exclaims, turning sharply. “that’s what good girlfriends do — look at kika and lily!”

anger pricks at your eyes and throat, swallowing hard to keep it at bay. “you haven’t been to one of my shows in months. you don’t even have time to listen to demos when i ask you to. there are two of us in this relationship, lando. it isn’t always about you.”

you see his defence ready behind his lips but you’re quicker, ready before he can speak.

“i went to every single race last season,” you tell him. your tone is calm, steady — making the words even more intense. “every one. i have been your biggest fan since day one. so don’t ever, ever, say i’m being selfish.”

lost for words, lando stares at you. only because he knows it’s true does he halt his argument there, turning and storming into the bedroom to preserve some dignity. you stare at the slamming door and wonder how he can watch on so easily as you slip through his fingers, and not want to do anything at all?

INSTAGRAM. november twenty—fourth.

liked by danielricciardo, maxfewtrell and 928,244 others

yourusername always your #1 fan (even when you dnf) 🫶

view all 630,737 comments

carlossainz55 did he get a lollipop for being a good patient?

⤷ yourusername and a sticker 😄😄

user poor lando

landonorris my favourite nurse ❤️

user they’re sooooo cute

user that crash looked bad

yourusername dw guys i’m giving him lots of kisses and rubs better !!!!!

⤷ landonorris not as many as i’d like 😏

⤷ yourusername you’ve got a hello kitty plaster on your head you cannot be seductive right now

"oh, shit."

the fight that dreaded evening had hung over both you and lando for weeks, both of you much too stubborn to admit to any wrongdoing or, god forbid, apologise. but you carried on. if anything it was worse than not speaking. it was like nothing had happened, as if the conversation never even happened, as long as neither one of you mentioned it. still, there was a tension holding you at arms length from each other.

so to not bring up the same argument again, you followed lando to the next few races. come vegas, you had given yourself so much time to think about things and the way lando had handled it all that your mind was screaming at you to leave. to book a flight home, pack up your stuff and go. because how much more of this could you take? you weren't the trophy girlfriend, the wag whose only job was to look pretty beside her accomplished boyfriend.

you would do it after vegas, you decided. there was a few days off; time for you to talk to lando and explain your feelings, before walking out with your head held high just in time for the next race. then, the worst happened.

chatting idly to lily, the race only just beginning, you almost missed it. for a moment, you thought it was oscar spinning out. the bright orange sparks masked which number was painted onto the car, spinning drastically until the nose of the vehicle slammed into the barriers. lily grasped your arm, her sympathetic eyes making you look twice. number four, lando.

in a daze, you followed the one of the marshalls through the busy paddock until you reached the ambulance area. he had already been loaded in, paramedics and mclaren employees surrounding him. there wasn't enough room, they needed to go now.

"hop in, i'll drive you," charlotte's gentle voice appeared beside you, guiding you into the car as the ambulance hurried off. "they said he's probably fine, they just want to do the usual checks."

you nod, trusting her. you could always trust charlotte, right?

after what felt like hours, you arrived to the hospital and didn't think twice about elbowing every single person out of your way until you reached lando's room. he was laid still on the bed, eyes watching the small television in the corner. his leg was strapped up, an iv stuck into his arm, various bruises littering his skin and face. he looked up when he heard you, a crooked smile playing on his lips.

"it looks worse than it is," he assured you, noticing the panic in your eyes straight away. you breathe out some of the relief, the rest coming in a sudden pool of tears. "hey - hey, c'mere."

lando outstretches the arm that doesn't hurt like a bitch, ushering you to his side. you don't hesitate, lip wobbling as you hurry over and perch yourself on the side of the bed. tucked into his shoulder, you nuzzle as closely as you can without hurting him.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry," you mumble, and you both know just what you're apologising for. what was a stupid fight worth when chalked up to all of this?

"me too," lando replies quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

sitting back, you look over his face. a small scratch from the helmet, just above his cheekbone. his eyes are drooping, tired from the impact and the drugs. you sniffle and smile sadly, thumb brushing over the wound.

"i'm going to move the tour," you tell him, and note that he doesn't protest. "if i'm on the other side of the world and something happens, i—”

lando shakes his head, cutting you off with a kiss. "nothing's going to happen. i'm still in one piece, aren't i?"

you hesitate, then nod, letting him shift over so you can lay next to him. resting your head on his chest, both of you quietly watching the rest of the race, you feel your head spin. maybe he had been losing you, but could you survive losing him?

writers note: we're back baby. lando count yr days my man

taglist: @openthenyoor01 @racingheartsworld @celestialend @cha-hot @gr1mes-cc @bingussthirdtoe @destinyg237 @theonottsbxtch @allywthsr @imsorare @youdontknowmeshh @bellewintersroe @orangetreekid

[quixotical-lymbo]

You saw my post, you saw how I’m obsessed with Bee there’s literally no way of hiding it

Headcanons with bee with a gn or fem reader (whichever you want) who’s sick? Idk if transformers can get sick or not but uuuuuhhh let’s just pretend!

If this isn’t getting your creative juices flowing up there then no worries! Don’t feel pressured to write it!

Pairing: B-127/Bee x gn!sick!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: Getting sick isn't a breeze, but with your honeybee beside you it's easy.  A/N: More Bee content because a certain someone is a simp/j Warnings/Tags: Cybertronian reader, sick!reader, brief mentions of vomiting and general stuff involving sickness, happens after the movie, fluff.  Word Count: 850+ words

Feeling iffy 

🐝 For some reason, you've been feeling off ever since you got a cog

🐝 You worked in lower levels with your conjunx and eating enough energon to be half full was a rarity.  

🐝 Now with Iacon entering a new era, having a cog and having a conjunx 'working for the government' as he put it, you had all the energon you could ever want.

🐝 Of course, you weren't scarfing down on it, but it was definitely an improvement than before you left the mines.

🐝 Your symptoms ranged from overheating, sneezing, to even feeling nauseous to the point you couldn't walk straight. You couldn't even keep down the energon you'd consume in normal amounts. 

🐝 One thing was for sure, something was wrong.

Finding out 

🐝 You figured trying to deal with the issue by yourself before Bee found out would work.

🐝It didn't. 

🐝 Bee could tell something was wrong with you after a few cycles of your symptoms persisting. 

🐝 He cornered you in your shared home and that's when he found out you were sick.

🐝 Of course he was upset that you didn't tell him, but more so upset at the fact you were still trying to do daily tasks (whether that was doing your job or helping Elita-1 and Optimus along with him) despite being sick. 

Taking care of you 

🐝 He had to physically drag you to a med-bay to get checked out

🐝 Turns out your condition wasn't too serious, but you needed to get some rest so your body could get used to the fast transitions of having a cog + surplus of energon. 

🐝 Bee heard 'rest' and ran with it.

🐝 He plucked you up from where you sat and carried you out in his arms while yelling about getting you to bed quick. To say you were as blue as, well, energon was an understatement. 

🐝 Now in your shared berth, Bee has taken over the role of being your nurse. 

🐝 He servo feeds you, refuses to let you lift a single digit, and even began reading berthtime stories or what he and Optimus done for the day to get you to fall asleep faster (we all know how much he loves to talk). 

🐝 He could drone on for a longggg time and when you'd eventually drift off into recharge, he'll kiss your helm before he'd leave to give you the time to rest. Sometimes you held on too tight to his servo and he couldn't leave, comm'ing Optimus that his conjunx refused to let him go was a...interesting conversation.

🐝 As much as you appreciated his efforts, you had to remind him you could still function by yourself. 

🐝 He looked confused.

🐝 You offered to get out of the berth and moved to get up, but Bee coaxed you to lay back. 

🐝 You gave him a look. 

🐝 He returned it with his own smirk and a "...don't you dare." 

🐝 You jumped off of the berth and ran off laughing with Bee yelling behind you who gave chase. 

What he does to comfort you

🐝 When Bee is away and not there to 'tend' to you, it gives you a breather to do what you want, but still the symptoms make it harder to find enjoyment in anything

🐝 You could be enjoying a nice energon cube, hurling it back up again until you're pissed and exhausted. 

🐝 When Bee comes back to seeing you in this state, he'll help you back to the berth and cuddle you for the rest of the time he's free.

🐝 Expect to be sung to and him using cheesy nicknames (my sweetest of sparks, energon of my optic, the light of my spark, andddd you get the picture). 

 

🐝🐝🐝Drabble🐝🐝🐝

Your optics fluttered open and the first thing you noticed was a pede in your face. You blinked back the drowsiness and reeled your helm back. Lifting your gaze you noticed the haphazard position your conjunx was in, sleeping next to  you while the upper half of his frame hung off of the edge of the berth. 

You held back a giggle and used one digit to push the bottom of his pede away. Bee's snoring paused as he abruptly woke up and screamed as he fell off of the berth. 

"Huh?! Wha-?" Bee looked up to see your laughing face peeking from the berth. "Ha ha, you think you're very funny, huh?" 

"Oh, I know I am," You coyly retorted as you watched him rise to stand on his knees. He leaned close and stared into your optics, you raised an optic ridge wondering what he was going to do until he lowered his gaze to your dermas. 

"Ah, ah," You moved your helm to the side as he attempted to swoop in. "Not until I'm better." 

 "I know," Bee pouted as he reached over to cup the side of your face. "Can't blame a mech for trying." 

 

"You're adorable and stupid at the same time." 

"Hey!" 

"You're my adorable and stupid mech." 

"Now that's more like it….wait." 

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. like my writing? consider buying me a kofi :)

honeycomb banner(s) by @thecutestgrotto!!

[heavenlymorals]

Red Dead Redemption 1 and 2: Realism Vs Romantacism

(Warning: Spoilers for RDR2 and RDR1 and that this is a long post.)

But first, let's get a better idea on what these genres and philosophies actually entailed.

During 19th century America, there were two famous genres of literature that became wildly popular- Romantacism and Realism. These genres shaped many philosophies and are interwoven into so many famous stories that it is kinda insane, but today, for this retrospective, I want to speak on how these two genres shaped both RDR1 and RDR2.

Romantacism came as a sort of critique of the Enlightment Era. The Enlightment Era was a period of reason and rejection of spirituality. It focused a lot on what was real and in front of a person rather than the experience and interpretation of an event or thing. Dutch represents this idea in this line to John where he says:

"Real. Oh how I detest that word. So devoid of imagination."

And to Arthur:

"We are dreamers in an ever duller world of fact, I'll give you that."

Romantacism is such a broad subject but there were generally three aspects of it that was generally consistent- the relationship between man and himself, man and nature, man and god, and how those experiences create the essence of life. The idea of the oversoul in Romantacism is a deep understanding of nature and spirituality that makes someone as equal to God himself, or that's the simplest way that I can explain it. Romantacism is also about the experience between man and man and ideas of hope, dreams, new beginnings, friendships, life, and love. (Dark Romanticism is way more gloomy, but many of the characteristics are still the same. For this post, though, we'll focus on just Romantacism.)

But what romantacism is about overall is the authentic experience of life and the personal interpretation of it- no matter how imaginative it is. This is where romanticisation occurs. Of war, of historical periods, of certain types of living, etc. etc.

Since that is romantacism, what is realism? Well, I'm sure you already know, but realism is supposed to be a representation of what life actually is and usually in a negative way. Realism isn't concerned with the imagination of an event as it is more concerned with what life is actually like and how it affects people. There really isn't much more to say then that. Realism is about real life and usually in a negative way. For context, realism became popular in the US after the Civil War as for the first time, a lot of people saw such intense pain and death and debauchery.

Like, If "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen is a romantacised story of a woman's love life during a historical time period, then Kate Chopin's "The Awakening" is a story soaked in the constructs of realism. This is just one comparison of the two genres.

So what does this have to do with Red Dead Redemption? Simple. Each game represents one of the genres as its main focal point for story telling.

RDR2 is a game that is all about romantacism, especially if you play it as it should be played as high honor Arthur Morgan.

Arthur's main storyline is about finding redemption, sure, but he finds that redemption through the authentic experience of life and his interpretation of it. Prior to his tuberculosis, Arthur saw himself as only a cog in the bad machine that was their life. He robbed, intimidated, and killed without much thought to what it actually meant for him because well, this is the way it is and how it always has been.

However, when he gets tuberculosis, his attitude changes. With the limited time he has left, he brings himself to ponder life itself and interprets it in a way that contrasts his previous thought process that the world is dark and gloomy and that he's just another part of it. In his limited time, he begins to see good. If not in him, than in others. In the love people have for others, in the strength that people have for others, in the passion that people have for others.

Arthur begins to appreciate life itself and that's also why the stranger missions in chapter 6 are so much more personal as a whole- Arthur's interpretation of life becoming better in the short time he has left makes him much more heartfelt and sentimental- a key component of romantacism. He helps a widow who could've died out there for no reason other than wanting her to live and live well. He becomes friends with a veteran and helps him out even though he knows that death is around the corner for him and his time with the man would be short. And of course, the debt missions and the helping of Edith. Arthur forgives the debts, gives money, and sees human life as far more valuable than the debt.

And in the end? Arthur saves John and dies knowing that he tried his best to not just survive but to live. That's his experience and his interpretation of it- becoming a better man and valuing people more than things. And then there is the epilogue- there is hope and happiness and a sense of accomplishment. All the pain feels over and a new light has been cast onto life.

In fact, this archetype in Romanticism, which is about finding redemption through the larger human experience, is quite famous overall. It's not unique to just Arthur Morgan. One of the most famous romantic stories of the era was Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein", and Victor Frankenstein undergoes a similar journey, albeit more subdued than Arthur's.

In the beginning of the book, Victor starts out as a representation of realism. He's obsessed with science and doesn't really care about his family and friends. He goes on for long periods of time just thinking about science because of his own hubris and desire to become famous and accomplished. He rejects art, love, and all the things that constitute the human experience for the sake of science, which represents realism. As he begins to see the faults in his actions and the mistake of creating his monster, things begin to change. He becomes more interested in his friends, his fiancée, and life itself as a concept rather than what it is in front of him.

Yes, Mary Shelley wrote the book as a criticism of the unregulated pursuit of science, but if you dig deeper, it's not just about that. It's about keeping romance, ideals, and the human experience in your heart, because without them, things will be worse than they already are. Many ideas and philosophies aren't realistic, but we keep them to enrich the human experience. That is what Romanticism is about, and that is what Arthur Morgan's story is about. Like Victor, his story could be boiled down to a rejection of realism and an embrace of Romanticism.

And besides just the story being a love letter to Romantacism, there is the scenery too. As stated, one big part of Romantacism is nature and RDR2's nature is just gorgeous. It's bright and scenic and beautiful like a lot of romantic paintings. Arthur connects to nature by living in it and drawing it and experiencing it. Even the ambiance of the landscape is calm and relaxing, adding to the beautiful experience of the American wilderness.

So what about Red Dead Redemption 1? Red Dead Redemption 1 is all about realism. It doesn't care about ideals or hopes. Its story is one of realism, portraying the realistic end of an outlaw. Where Red Dead Redemption 2 ends with John and his family finally getting the life they've always wanted and possibly starting over again, Red Dead Redemption 1 rejects that. The Pinkertons find John, and he is set out to kill his brothers-in-arms. He can't escape his old life, even if he wants to—it will always come back to haunt him. John has killed and robbed and done so many terrible things that the dream of him being able to settle down and just be a farmer in the end is just that, a dream. Even when John does what Edgar Ross wants him to do, he gets shot down like a dog in the end anyway. He has to pay for his sins, and in a sick way, this is justice for all the men he has killed before in his outlaw life. There is no other end for John realistically than to be put down like a dog. It is his tragedy, his fate, and a realistic fate for an outlaw.

John's path is lonely. Most of the people he meets are people that he does not want to be associated with. Seth is a creepy grave robber, Irish is a drunk bastard, and West Dickens is just a scamming piece of s*** who doesn't scam the rich and people who already have too much, but he scams the poor, the working man, the person who is uneducated. They are all very realistic criminals, and John has to deal with it because all he wants is his family and the men that the Pinkertons sent him to capture. The people that he does respect, like Leigh Johnson and Bonnie McFarland, are professional relationships at best. John has to rely on himself and only himself, which is a very popular theme in realism. Unlike in Red Dead 2, he has no one to turn to, no one to watch his back. He has no family and no friends. He is alone, and he has to deal with his sins because the world will not forget, as he mentions time and time again.

Romanticism is dead. Ideals are dead. A young woman's pursuit of God leaves her dead in the desert, and John can do nothing to help her. The idea of the noble West is torn apart by violent gangs that do nothing but rape, kill, and steal. Men come to exploit the pain of colonialism. Eugenics is a thriving science. The most apparent example that ideals are dead is the Mexican revolution. Abraham Reyes makes the people believe that he will be better, that he will be the Messiah for these peasants, but the reality is that he turns out to be just as bad or even worse than the already established dictatorship in the country. And John doesn't care. He's not there to be a hero for the people; he's simply there to grab Javier and Bill and then go. That's why he is just as comfortable working for the dictatorship as he is working with the rebels. He does not care. All he cares about is his family, and anything bad that happens to others pains him, but it is not his problem. That is what realism is about. It's not the interpretation of life, but what life actually is, and a lot of times, life is cruel and bitter and terrible. Things are unfair, and sometimes people have to pay with their life and identity.

John dies in the end, and like a lot of children and wives of these outlaws and criminals, Abigail and Jack suffer. Abigail does not last long, as she dies just a couple of years later, and Jack has to bear the sins of his father on his back, like many children of outlaws and criminals did. Even when Jack kills Ross, there is no sense of triumph, no happiness or joy; it's just an empty feeling of "what now?" Where revenge in Red Dead Redemption 2 is idealized and romantic, even beautiful in a sense, revenge in Red Dead Redemption is empty and grotesque, leaving the player with nothing but emptiness. There's nothing left; everything is gone.

And just look at the scenery of Red Dead Redemption. Yes, it's beautiful, sure, but it's dull and dark. There isn't a lot of color, there aren't a lot of people or animals; it's drab. If RDR2 is a field with a pretty Instagram filter on it, then RDR1 is the field without the filter. The ambience of the game is also dark and weary, putting the player on edge as John cannot relax like Arthur can. John needs to find his family as he has to pay for the sins of his outlaw life.

Although Romantacism isn't a very popular genre today, often overshadowed by realism, both genres of literature and philosophy are paraded in these games.

Arthur is the romantic hero- someone who finds his own meaning of life and turns hopeful and idealistic because of it. RDR2 is a romantic game.

John is the realistic hero- someone who deals with the cards that life gives him and is exhausted from it as he knows his singular efforts won't cause an end to his pain. RDR1 is a realistic game.

And I just think that's very cool. Understanding those two genres of American literature allows the player to understand the games on a deeper level.

(I ain't reading allat)

[deppiet]

About the yassification of GO2.

Warning: the following text is highly critical of the second season of Good Omens. If you enjoyed it, I am happy for you, and a non-negligible amount of jealous as well. Please scroll past before I inevitably rain on your fandom parade.

So, I did the thing. I binged the entire second season of what was, up to now, my favorite show ever, in one sitting. And I have a great deal of things to say, but hardly any of them is positive.

Let me start by saying that I don't mind the cliffhanger or the melancholy ending, like at all. In our era of Marvel apologists and the instant gratification culture, it is necessary for media to persevere and add nuance to romantic relationships. That said, what transpired during the six hours leading up to this sort of unearned climax hardly contains anything remotely close to nuance.

Who are these people? I don't mean the new characters, all of them written as cardboard-cut anthropomorphic personifications of stereotypes, yassified to the point of representation losing its purpose and getting in the way of, you know, actual writing. I mean the protagonists themselves, Aziraphale and Crowley, up to now my favorite characters in the entire world and -up to now- tangled in a love story so beautiful I had, for better or for worse, devoted a large part of my creative output on it, making art, songs, and metas on why what those two entities had was as close to perfect as anyone can hope to find for themselves.

These are not the characters I knew. The characters I knew spent hundreds of human lifetimes revolving around each other in a treacherous yet familiar dance- they both knew the love was there, it was comfortable like an armchair that has taken the shape of the body using it for years. They argued the way old couples do, and of course, like all fictional beings that are counterparts of one another, had differences to settle, but what stood in their way wasn't misunderstanding or miscommunication, in was their fear of Heaven and Hell, and their fundamentally different approaches on how to keep each other safe.

What is all this teen angst? This will-they-won't-they silliness that lacks any nuance, thematic coherence, or literally even trace amounts of understanding of the source material? Where is the dark humor, the quotability, the chaotic overarching plot, the self conscious camp? The season is so cynically written to cater specifically to a certain part of fandom, that I am losing respect for the original work- because if Neil Gaiman doesn't care for these fictional beings, and he evidently doesn't, why should I?

The thematic core of what made Good Omens what it was, had always been the "Love in unexpected places" trope Sir Terry Pratchett knew how to write so well. It had never been about the fantasy, because Sir Terry wrote satire wrapped up in a supernatural package, it had never been about the romance, because when the ship becomes the end instead of the means, the love rings hollow, like artificial light trying to pass as sunshine. The beating heart of GO lies in its philosophy, in the beautiful notion that the agents of two oppressive systems at war have more in common with one another than with their respective oppressors. That being a nobody, a mere cog in a larger machine, says more about said machine than it does about you, and that you can try to break free and build a life for yourself, where a happy ending looks like a dinner at the Ritz with the one you love most.

Shoehorning an underdeveloped "romance" between Beelzebub and Gabriel not only feels like bad fanfic (disclaimer: I like the ship and feel like it could have worked if developed in any capacity, and presented in a more humorous and character-appropriate way. I hate with passion how much they watered down Beelzebub in order to make them stereotypically romanceable, adding the Ineffable Bureaucracy to the ever-expanding list of characters I don't care about anymore.) but also, it muddles and grossly undermines the thematic raison d'être of Ineffable Husbands. If the ramifications for defecting and fucking off with the enemy were a slap on the wrist for the respective leaders of both sides, well surely the system can't be that oppressive after all. And if fear of the oppressive system wasn't, after all, what kept these beings apart, surely these two entities don't like each other as much as we thought. Or rather, one is reduced to a lovesick puppy and the other to a brainless husk of a character, a plot device, a means to go from place A to place B without spending much brainpower on the logistics.

And if these two new people got to kiss I care not, for they are not the same people I rooted for (props, though, to the actors, who gave, somehow, an almost Shakespearean gravitas to their love affair, underwritten and dumbed down as it was. They both love the characters, and it shows in the minuscule yet brilliant ways in which they added nuance where the script had none.)

What was that thing with the lesbians about? Though straight passing, I have always known myself to be attracted to women as well as men, and I am always highly suspicious when an "ally" writer (see: straight, no shade to straight people among which I live because they are, like, the majority) decides to make all characters queer, in the face of real-world statistics and despite NOT being queer themselves. When a person like Nate Stevenson does it they get a pass because writers self-insert and because, when done well, it can carry a message of equality. But when the ally writer does it, unless it is pitch-perfect, I am forced to examine the possibility of them being calculating about it and trying to score representation points, often because they need the rep as a fig leaf to cry homophobia behind when people start complaining about the atrocious plot.

Nina and Maggie were boring. They had no personalities, no cohesive backstories, nothing to make us understand what they are to one another and to the overarching plot ("plot" is used loosely here, for there was no plot: the series ended where it should have started, with six hours of -progressively more offensive to my intelligence- fanfic tropes in a trenchcoat serving as the, well, "plot"). I didn't care whether or not they'd end up together, because I have no idea who they are. The blandness of the dialogue had the actresses, both very talented as evidenced in the first season, grasping at straws with what little characterization they were left to work with, and the "ball" was so unbelievably bad a plot device no amount of suspension of disbelief was ever going to make it right.

The minisodes, though at parts clever and philosophical, felt out of place. This was another narrative choice I had to raise my eyebrows at, because it felt like a bunch of executives sat around a table and watched Neil Gaiman's powerpoint presentation of what made Season 1 financially successful. They were shoehorned in, largely irrelevant to the, eh, "plot", and most of them lasted far more than I personally deemed welcome, or necessary.

What else is there to say? The wink-winks and nudge-nudges to the Tumblr nation? The in-your-face Doctor Who reference? The narratively myopic choice to make Crowley a former archangel? The cheese dialogue, not one bit of which was quotable?

I am distraught. I am grieving an old friend, and a part of my fandom life I cannot, in good faith, return back to after this gross betrayal. I am happy for those who don't see it, because I wish I could love this season past its flaws. However, the writing isn't simply mediocre, it is irrevocably, immeasurably, undescribably bad, so bad I am shocked to my very core, so bad I find it offensive to Sir Terry's memory and everything his own creative output was lovingly filled with.

I am passing all five stages of grief and very much doubt I will return to this fandom. I loved the original story and the characters with all my heart- now the aforementioned heart is broken, not by the breakup or anything as pedestrian as cheap romantic tropes. But because my old friends, my family of fictional beings, are no longer the ones I loved and could relate to.

Deppie out.

[blueikeproductions]

The Death Trackers are a semi new concept in Transformers, serving as Sentinel’s enforcers and body guards.

Conceptually they’re clearly based on the Vehicons from Prime:

More specifically the space jet variants, though I wouldn’t be surprised if the Trackers had space car variants.

I mean clip the wings, and add some tires, you’re already there, but they also seem to be loosely tied to the IDW Badgeless.

They’re not … particularly that great at their job like the TFP Vehicons, but they function as Starscream’s secret police force on post war Cybertron.

The Vehicons’, Badgeless’ & Trackers’ all descend from the Beast Machines Vehicons, Megatron’s attempt at a “Single Elegant Machine” to control Cybertron by creating mindless drones to replace the individualistic robots that originally populated the planet.

These Vehicons started a trend that slowly started becoming more common place, where the Decepticons used a near inexhaustible supply of drones that the Autobots could now down without worry of killing off too many named characters.

Unlike the original non General Vehicons from Beast Machines, the Prime Vehicons have Sparks and wills of their own, with ancillary media suggesting they’re all Clones referencing the Prequel era Star Wars Stormtroopers, and the Decepti-Clones from the Armada video game.

Cyberverse would revisit the idea of nameless drones where its Decepticons employed identical generics to fill out its ranks.

They didn’t appear much though, and while they’re not referred to as Vehicons, they seem conceptually similar to the Prime car Vehicons. The Tarn based “Perfect Decepticons” are closer to the Vehicon concept though, with Tarn serving as their equivalent General in the finale.

One thing most of them all have in common though: they’re weak as slag.

While the Maximals and Autobots struggle briefly, the Vehicons are ridiculously easy to destroy, making the Prime versions in particular sympathetic like the Star Wars Battle Droids though not nearly as charming.

Case in point, the Death Trackers in One get ripped apart pretty easily like tissue paper, with B-127 killing several by accident without even trying or meaning to with his “knife hands”. Bee’s bloodlust being played for laughs aside, it clearly sucks to be a Death Tracker just as much as if does to be a Vehicon. Presumably the Death Trackers also fought in the Quintesson War, but if someone like Bee can kill them so easily, I can’t imagine they stood up to the Quints any better.

Curiously the Trackers come in colored variants, presumably to designate rank.

What said ranks in story mean isn’t clear as of typing, though Gold clearly is meant to be the highest, though clearly not strongest; Bumblebee’s face mask smashes a Gold’s hand and he easily cuts its head off too accidentally. (I’m leaning towards a headcanon the Micronus Prime donated Cog made B-127 much more powerful, he’s effectively a Prime in strength, but this is never clarified in the story itself.)

The Silver variants appear to be a nod to the Seeker Vehicons used late in Prime, though like the Vehicons, the new shiny chrome detailing doesn’t make them any less blow up-able.

As the Death Trackers technically worked for a Prime, that presumably means any survivors in the overthrowing of Sentinel now work for Optimus, though that’s never clarified. I feel like Optimus wouldn’t want to continue calling them Death Trackers and instead insist they be called Aerialbots, to make it less … threatening.

If TFONE continues in any form, it’s pry more likely these guys get folded into the Decepticons and become the Vehicons, or Eradicons, if Megatron feels like revisiting that old name.

It also remains to be seen if the Trackers get more variants and Vehicle Modes.

[thaisibir]

Faith, Science, and Lessons to Learn in Claymore

Here come my thoughts I've articulated the best I could on why I absolutely love Claymore for over ten years. I love how faith and science are represented and explored in this series, especially how they are not only compared side by side but brought together. And I don't exaggerate when I say this series had taught me valuable life lessons and how to be a better person.

Faith vs science: Rabona represents the institution of faith. The organization is an institution of science. As Claymore is a story centered on, of course, the Claymores, and the world as they know it, we see a lot more than the institution of faith how the institution of science operates. And it's a very cruel, brutal operation. Girls are salvaged and trafficked to be subject to experimentation and training, conditioned to think and work like cogs in a machine. Their entire lives revolve around constant, endless missions of killing yoma. All the while they're fighting against their own inhuman side. They're ticking time bombs destined for nothing but a violent death. It's a vicious cycle. A system set up to doom them from the start.

I have to mention how incredibly disgusting and clever the psychology behind the organization's system is. 47 Claymores are deployed and scattered throughout the continent at all times, but few ever come across one another. I'm sure that after training, most full-fledged warriors go through their entire careers without ever meeting another of their own. The few times they meet up are strictly for missions only. No time for real bonding and fraternizing. In fact, it seems to be discouraged and deliberate. And there is no care or effort whatsoever put into fostering friendly relations between Claymores and the common folk. They have no home, no family, not even friends, no autonomy, only complete dependence on the organization. Not unlike a toxic relationship where the victim has no choice but to be shackled to the abusive partner. That's exactly how the organization wants it to be. They want their subjects to be powerful, dependable, but expendable and replaceable at the drop of a hat. The lonely and isolated lifestyle imposed on Claymores, along with the rules, keep them in line. Keep them apart and they would never get a whiff of the skeleton in the organization's closet and entertain the idea of rebelling. We all know that didn't last forever. (More on that in a later section...)

All right I think I've been beating a dead horse talking about how horrible the organization is. In contrast to their operations involving exploitation, dissection, and separation of Claymores, Rabona is the site of their unity and humanization.

Rabona is the pivoting point for bringing together a Claymore and three humans in their efforts to take down a yoma. It's where we learn that bonds are stronger than the carnal desire to awaken and feast on guts. Years later, it's also in Rabona where the same cooperation happens. Just on a much greater scale. Humans and Claymores collectively learned to fight alongside each other. Irene proved that it's possible to survive outside the organization. Galatea took it a step further, being the first to show that it's possible for a warrior to live happily among humans, albeit in secret. By the end, an era of a truly peaceful coexistence begins. It's a beautiful irony that the city well known for its spirituality, image of holiness, and rejection of the "unholy" becomes the first place to openly welcome Claymores.

The organization topples and falls apart from a single decisive strike. Meanwhile, despite multiple assaults from powerful Awakened Beings, Rabona still stands. And I'm sure it will continue to endure and flourish with the Claymores as its new resident defenders. An institution built on fear and blind obedience is much weaker than one built on the warriors' true sense of allegiance, belonging, and home.

That is not to say that science is all bad in Claymore. After all, surgery is what physically brought Teresa and Clare together.

Father Vincent: I need to talk about this man and how vastly underrated he is. In a story full of incredibly strong and kickass half-monster women, Vincent is not only one of the few ordinary men in the cast, but the best of them morally speaking (second to Raki). That scene of Vincent with Galatea, Clarice, and Miata made him my favorite male character in the series. He had come a long way since his first appearance. Even then, he had come around from a position of prejudice and his city's idea of holy vs unholy to acceptance and gratitude for Clare. His brief sharing with Galatea of that turning point shows incredible self-awareness and introspection, a mindset we should all strive to have. Then, as the head priest of the religious order entrenched in Rabona, he initiates that change at the greater societal level, turning Rabona into a sanctuary that welcomes all Claymores. I especially love that panel where he raises a hand of blessing to Galatea and says he wants to pray "for her and her wonderful companions." I found that incredibly touching. Those words must mean the world to Galatea, and to any Claymore if they heard. After all, they're so used to being dehumanized and reviled. Vincent is the perfect foil to the terrible men of the organization, second to Raki when it comes to showing empathy and compassion to Claymores and regarding them as more human than monster. Vincent sets a great example of what it means to be a decent human being, and just what it means to be human, to be capable of growth and change for the better. I'm sure we all want to be badass like the Claymores, but really we must try to be the Father Vincent in people's lives. You don't need yoma power to be an agent for good and change.

The measurable versus the immeasurable: In this world where only the strong survive, power and rank is everything. Or so it seems. Like I mentioned earlier, the organization is insidiously clever in using a ranking system to define the Claymores and keep them in line. Claymores have very few possessions to call their own: the emblem and armor they wear, the sword they wield, and the number they're given. Numbers are what separate and define them, what seem to give them identity, worth, and purpose. Enter Clare, the series protagonist, who flips a giant middle finger at all that. Unlike some Claymores who obsess over numbers (lookin' at you, pre-timeskip Helen), Clare doesn't let her low rank define or upset her. Mathematically and rationally speaking, with the flesh of a half yoma warrior, she's only a quarter yoma, therefore half the strength of a typical Claymore and the weakest of them all. Clare gives that rationale the middle finger too. What keeps her alive from beginning to end is her limitless, immeasurable, astounding courage and endurance that impressed Teresa from the beginning. And there's her great capacity to love and care for others. Love forged those strong, lasting bonds with Teresa and Raki. The lengths she went to save Jean inspired a loyalty like no other, and what leads to one of my favorite quotes in the series: "She saved my life. Her rank meant nothing then and it means even less to me now."

The Seven Ghosts embody true sisterhood allowed to flourish outside the confines and prying eyes of the organization. Living, hiding, and training together, sharing survivors' guilt from that massacre in Pieta, they are fueled by a drive that's far greater and more enduring than mere petty competition for ranks within the organization. They don't fight just to survive, but to honor the memory of their fallen comrades. Years later, those old ranks they were given mean nothing. The Ghosts become more than that, undefinable, and for all their strengths and weaknesses they come to regard each other as equals, as true friends and sisters ought to.

And finally, the most powerful manifestation of love is none other than Teresa and Clare, the twin goddesses who defeat the one horned monster. The organization had tried and failed many times to replicate that perfect synergy. They left out one important part of the equation. Clare and Teresa's love for each other makes their union a truly powerful thing that defies the limits and bounds of numbers and stats. Many times throughout the series, especially by men from the organization, it's brought up that Clare's true abilities and potential don't align with the number she was given. She's truly a wild card, defiant in the face of obeying the organization's rules and rationalities. It's human nature to assign numbers and ranks to things because we like to compartmentalize, but the real world is a lot messier than that. Clare is there to teach us that we are not defined by the numbers we earn or are given.

All of this is to say that the most important lesson I took away from Claymore is this: it's what you do for others that truly counts, not what others think of you. Love and compassion is enough to move the most powerful being in the entire series to tears.

[prettyswellaus]

To some, Tord looks like he's not from our time...that's because he wasn't. Forged from copper and brass, Tord was once made as a assistant to a mad scientist way back in the time of cogs and steam. However as the years went by, and that era came to an end, Tord found himself in a scrapyard. Rusting away with the sun beaming down on him...Fast forward many years and he was discovered by two scientists named Paul and Patryck. They put him back together, good as new. Tord even views the duo as "Pops" and "Dad" respectfully.

Thankfully, Tord has adjusted well to the modern era, and has even taken on his creator's role as scientist himself. Due to a rule where he can't preform experiments on his housemates, he does them on himself.

[aliensupersyn]

I Solved One of the Great Mysteries of the Heian Era

This reads as a sort of storybook. The pages here all describe Sukuna's rise to power as a divine force in jujutsu society, but it's scattered throughout different chapters. Here, I piece it together for your reading pleasure. I made this discovery while writing my Yuji cog analysis.

Sukuna vs. The Fujiwara Clan

Uro recounting her defeat by Sukuna's hand.

Sukuna sees himself as a divine arbiter who bestows judgement on humans, who he deems to be beings below him. As a divine figure, he condemns humans to misery by his hands. Sukuna's title as the "disgraced one/the fallen," and his talent to forgo a barrier for his domain expansion reflect his defiled divinity. Gege describes Sukuna's domain expansion as a truly divine technique, which adds even more grandeur to his role as the strongest sorcerer in history. Sukuna's undefeated reign of terror ultimately defines his status as a divine sovereign of jujutsu sorcery.

Sukuna's rule of might defines strength as a destructive force. Comparing yourself to and relying on others only makes you weak, according to Sukuna.

Sukuna figuratively acts as a curse; he will never stop spreading misery upon humanity for as long as he lives. He sees his destruction as a divine and just cause. His strength acts as proof for his righteousness.

As the symbol of the greatest force in the history of sorcery, Sukuna enforces a schism within jujutsu society. In the Heian era, and now in the modern era, Sukuna spurs the rule of might. By threatening carnage, he forces sorcerers to come and meet him in battle to test their strength and knowledge against his own. To avoid the calamity Sukuna threatens, sorcerers must either kneel to him or hope to defeat him. In the Heian era, most of the sorcerers likely chose the former after failing to succeed at the latter. After armies of sorcerers died against him, jujutsu society was forced to praise him as their divine sovereign.

This panel revealed that Uro led the Sun, Moon, and Stars squad.

Here, Kashimo reflects on Sukuna's slaughter of Uro's squad. It's also suggested that Sukuna has weathered an army of Angels. Imagine them stacking Jacob's Ladders on him. No wonder he was able to tank Yuta's with no effort.

Here, you can see the outcome of the calamitous battle that Kashimo was reflecting over in the above page. After their defeat, sorcerers began worshipping Sukuna as a God and praying to him for good fortune. His strength had earned him a divine status among the most powerful of the golden era of sorcery. You can also see that they thought of Sukuna as a monster, which resembles another member of the current cast.

The Yorozu panel reveals that Uro once led the Sun, Moon, and Stars squad that Sukuna slaughtered. The second and third pages above describe Uro's squad as powerful sorcerers who challenged Sukuna and died. Yorozu also once challenged the Fujiwara clan and they made her one of their nobles*. Uro detested the very same Fujiwara clan who apparently subjugated her.

Even in a new life, it's not Sukuna that bothers Uro, it's the Fujiwara clan for killing her.

After her squad's defeat, presumably, the leader of the Fujiwara clan used Uro as a scapegoat to appease Sukuna. Her execution would signal to Sukuna that she acted against his wishes and on her own. These events would explain why in Yorozu's reflections and flashbacks, the Fujiwara clan still remains as a supreme power. Sukuna likely accepted Uro's execution as penance for them challenging him.

Yorozu was supposed to be preparing for the harvest festival being held in Sukuna's honor. There, they would pray to him as a God; Yorozu effectively fell in love with a monstrous deity figure. Given her insect theme, there's grounds for a connection between Yorozu, Sukuna, Mothra, and Godzilla.

After he annihilated Uro's squads, Sukuna became the supreme divine sovereign of jujutsu society in the Heian era and sorcerers were forced to worship him to avoid his ire. To stress his divinity, sorcerers prayed to him for a good harvest as if he were a God. The Fujiwara clan likely executed Uro, a leader of some of the forces that challenged Sukuna, to appease their new divine sovereign. The fealty that was pledged to him likely made Sukuna extremely bored. He wished to spread misery, but his opponents had all lost the will to challenge him and instead begged and worshipped at his feet.

The choice between challenging Sukuna and worshipping him pervades even the modern era. The Jujutsu High political leaders feared Sukuna and his fingers. Even without a real body, Sukuna's cursed energy alone enforced fear and awe into jujutsu society. All sorcerers understood that his return would mean another schism; they would be required to either join him or foolishly challenge as a powerless upstart. Throughout history, sorcerers made binding vows with Kenjaku in order to one day challenge Sukuna, as Uro's squad once did. Others knew better and instead attempted to create a jujutsu society that worked to contain Sukuna in his cursed object form.

Notes:

The manga isn't very specific about what Yorozu's status was, just that she was some type of noble in the Heian capital.

Yorozu and Sukuna being Gege's Godzilla fanfiction is adorable and makes me like her so much more.

Uro's horror in these two pages suddenly make much more sense. Sukuna slaughtered all of her comrades.

Regarding the Kashimo page: I'm simply taking Kashimo's comments "to have achieved so much!" as some form of reaction to the narrator. It could be a metatextual reaction, or he could have learned about this war somehow.

Short post, but I didn't see anything else outlining this little story, so here it is.

[machathemorrigaesystem]

SILVA TENEBRIS LOREDUMP

(MAC'S FORGEWORLD)

Silvra Tenebris was a tomb world of the Szaregon dynasty. It was awoken during the early age of the imperium, slowly awakening over time. The awakening quicking during the era indomitus when explorators of the adeptus mechanicus invaded the planet. Once on the planet, the mechanicus forces invaded and scoured the planet. During their invasion of the planet, the mechanicus forces had a rebellion led by a known heratek. During this rebellion, Techpriest scavola sided with the heratek rebellion and killed Fuastinius in on one combat. Due to the fallen leader, the mechanicus forces suffered a skishm, with Lector-Dogmatis Videx dumping all the mechanicus forces on the planet and leaving, thus leaving the new leader Scavola and the remaining forces, which includes Xenobiologis Tiresus, Subdomina Khepra, Quartermaster Rho, Prime-Hermeticon Captrix, and Magos Dominus Reditus. The focres now lead by Scavola managed to establish an alliance with the Necrons of the tombworld. 

They eventually dubbed themselves “The Court of the cog”, with Lord Szaregon and Lady Tech-aquisitor scavola as its leaders, using the mechanicus leaders to supplement the court members that fell during the original invasion. At some point, during interrogations with a void dragon C’tan shard, the shard spoke of an accession beyond flesh, even beyond Magos Dominus Reditus’s ascension. One techpriest, Madoc Fuego, decided to speak with the shard personally, and both disappeared for a long amount of time. After the period of time was done, a machine spirit calling itself Machina Furem emerged, showing a hybridization of the C’tan shard and the techpriest. The machine spirit however, also speaks of memories that was not Madoc Fuego’s, perhaps suggesting it is several techpriests and the C’tan shard. The machine spirit shown extreme interest in learning, so Szaregon and Scavola treated it as their child, and it learned all that the Court of the Cog could teach it. The machine spirit eventually figured out how to open temporary webway portals, and subsequently the Court of the Cog purged the world of the Flayed ones and the Destoryers.

However, not all would be well, as eventually  Lector-Dogmatis Videx returned with a full fleet to perform an Exterminautus on the Heratekinca of the World. The court of the cog used hybrid Necron-Mechanicus tech to create a defense system that woud assult ships with bolts of Guass, and trace the beams with Necrodermis, thus ensaring and webbing the ship. The ships were then siphoned of motive force, thus stunning them. This meant that the exterminuatus fleet were ensared and pulled onto the planet, wrecking them. Lector-Dogmatis Videx’s forces were attacked and subsequntly defeated. Lector-Dogmatis Videx was captured and brought before Lord Szaregon and Lady Scavola. They decided to punish Lector-Dogmatis Videx by stripping him of his augmentics and wiring him into a vox system. 

Some time after, a large shard of the C’tan Maldogoth emerged, and began a schism in the Court of the Cog, thus starting the War for tenebris. During the War for tenebris, forces lead by Maldrogoth began to use necron biotransferanse technology to capture and convert forces of the court of the cog to his side. Maldrogoth eventually seized the artefact of the Court of the Cog, but in a last ditch effort, the court of the cog split the artefact into 8 shards. Madrogoth seized 4 shards, and began to create a large device dubbed Maldrogoth’s Grasp, emplaced at the north pole of the planet, and connected to the core of the planet. Maldrogoth’s forces began to work on the tombs of the planet, carving strange pathways into the planet, and using scarabs and tomb spiders to carve sections of the tomb. When the carving was done, Maldrogoth used Maldrogoth’s Grasp to ensnare the star of the system, and drag it into the planet, and the purpose of Maldrogoth’s wrath was revealed; the star was ensared and forced into the planet’s core, desabilizing the planet, and the carved sections shifted, enlarging the planet and allowing every tomb to be powered by the star. The maldrogoth shard reveled in this, as it meant that it could use the newfound power to power Maldrogoth’s grasp even more. With more modifications, Maldrogoth’s grasp became even more powerful, allowing it to breech the webway and the warp, ensnaring all neabry ships and pulling them onto the surface of the planet, where tehy are scrapped for technology. The maldrogoth shard was distracted enough during the modifactations to Maldrogoth’s grasp that Prime-Hermeticon Captrix was able to assiante it by pushing it into the star core if the planet, however due to the nature of the C’tan shard, this did not kill it, but instead made it comatose. 

In current times, the Court of the cog are mostly defeated, lying hidden in inactive tomb sections, hoping that machina furem coud organize an effort to purge Maldrogoth’s forces. 

Due to the horrid atomosphere generating constant storms, and the high gravity of the enslaved star, hover technology doesnt work on Silvra tenebris, thus the mechanicus of the forge world adopted achhranid like patterns to their bodies and vehicles. It is not suggested to fly on Silvra tenebris, as the constant storms and dense atmosphere make flying difficult and dangerous. Due to the reshaping of the planet, large pillars of blackstone emerged along the coastlines and beaches of silvra tenebris, much akin to basalt pillars. 

Over the years, many factions have come to or been grounded on silva tenebris, making it a constant battleground. It is of interest to those who know about, as it holds many secrets and technologies on it. 

The factions under Machina furem regularly come to the planet to save the planet, but so far it has been to no avail. The factions include the Mechancus cult of the Machinasiah, which believe machina furem to be the omnisaih, the Adeptus soroitus cult of the Order of the Blessed cog, which are akin to the Machinasiah cult but also are mostly fanatical electropreists, using both augments of electropreists and arcoflagelants to create electrified zealots. The chaos cult of The Lord of Technology, which worship the warp nature of Machina furem. The Tau cult of Fio’Tek-O, which have learned the lies of the Etherals and decided to side with Fio’Tek-O. 

Live doc link:

This is the setting for my Warhammer 40k DnD 5e campaign!

[lisztomaniac-mp3]

friendly reminder that this is how the american education system works:

Chemistry - B - 86.5%

Spanish 1A - A - 92.6%

Video Production - A - 93.5%

Health 2 - B - 83%

Statistics - C - 79.5%

Marketing - A - 95.8%

Sports History - F - 55%

English - C - 76.8%

TLDR: get your shit together our society is shit and the cut off for a failing grade shouldn't be 50-60%

full thing below ↓

If you're American, l probably wondering why tf this matters. I remember a long while ago reading a Tumblr thread of a bunch of people from Europe and I believe even a person from Brazil being absolutely horrified that 50% or 60% = F. Y'know why? Because it's bullshit. If you succeeded with 50-60% of the material, you didn't fail. The grading system is fucked. The entire education system is idiotic and I guarantee everyone here that I could fix it. Our education was made to pump out factory workers, and despite the very small miniscule changes that have been made, the system is stuck. The cogs are rusty and they need replacing. The entire idea of grading is outdated and doesn't work. We are a society based around reward and punishment, but most of all our society based on capitalism is falling apart. Kids are having a constant unending pressure of the idea of needing to work to make money to survive, I watch my 66 year old grandmother riddled with anxiety and depression and undiagnosed autism struggling everyday because she works 5 days a week and is bullied in the workplace. But this is the only thing she knows, it's engrained in her mind that she must work until she is dying from pain both physical and mental until she gets paid so she can continue to maybe just for one more month live comfortably in the middle class. And so I return to education, and all I can think is the rational fear of bad grades because society tells you that if you get bad grades you won't go to college and college is vital for your success and if you don't go to college you will end up becoming a depressing houseless meth head. But I can tell you right now that you can succeed without college and you can become a houseless meth head even if you're successful. And who set that system up? Who's going to give housing and rehabilitation resources to the houseless meth head? We are the new generation we are the change we can change. We can change the education system to help students flourish, like in finland. I don't want to be cringe but generation z is the end of an era and generation alpha is the beginning of another and I don't care if there's millennials or generation betas that want "in" because if you are willing to be apart of the change then you can be the change. That's my cringe thesis about the future generation. If my children have to live with the crushing weight and pressure to succeed I'm going to have a fucking problem. Put your heads back on and send a letter to congress, sign petitions, protest, become informed because unfortunately it's all on us at this point.

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

why do you think Rhaenyra’s fertility is a major part of F&B? And also that she’s really into magic? She’s not one of the Targaryens mentioned to specifically to be into magic like Visenya, Shiera Seastar, Bloodraven, Aerion Brightflame and Aegon V (since you know. Summerhall and all that.)

So Rhaenyra is not some super special Magic Girl™️ who's out here doing spells or engaging in blood magic. But what she is is part of the legacy of a family who has used that magic to subjugate others, whether it was via their dragons (and the magic we can assume was used to bind them) or the blood magic we're told people in Old Valyria, Visenya and Maegor, to name just a few, practiced. Magic and fertility are linked all throughout ASOIAF and we shouldn't exclude Rhaenyra from that narrative. Her fertility is something pointed out very clearly with the amount of children she has at the same time that there are the most dragons for House Targaryen. Against tradition set by Jaehaerys, Rhaenyra's children are all given cradle eggs, which is something discussed in fandom in regards to "why all the new dragons - why aren't any of these children claiming dragons already available and now they all have to be killed off." During this part of F&B and during HotD, we're at the height of Targaryen power, and the fact that all of her many children have dragons continues to build on that theme within the story.

Rhaenyra is representative of a new era that was meant for House Targaryen. Perhaps unchecked power in the negative, perhaps something that could have spelled something good for the house until they consumed one another as their sigil portrays with the ouroborus-lite motif as was always their fate. She's representative of Targaryen power - power we know the Citadel is not happy with.

You're right, she isn't doing magic in the way some of her predecessors and members of generations after are, but she is still a cog in the fucky blood magic supremacy machine and her fertility is very much tied to that.

[zarvasace]

Ok Random question but if The Colors lived in a time when Hyrule had trains i.e. the Spirit Tracks era, what do you think each Link's relationship with the trains would be. Like would they all end up engineers, maybe Shadow gets spooked by the trains since nothing like that existed in the dark world. I dunno this is just a random thought that has gotten itself lodged in my brain

Okay, so Tumblr didn't show me this came in until now. XD sorry!

I don't know much about Spirit Tracks but I can imagine an early industrial revolution AU with some magic just fine!! :) let's come up with a train-centric steampunky AU:

Kingdom of Hyrule, less of a political kingdom these days, specializing in innovation. They've expanded their rail lines within their borders and have been making deals with other countries to build outward. There is one main rail line sponsored by the government, and universities and a few smaller ones trying to break into the growing industry.

Green, Red, Blue, and Vio are all new graduates of the kingdom's university, each specializing in something different. They're all in minor competition for The Title of Royal Engineer, but otherwise good friends with each other and the dean's daughter Zelda.

Using a steampunky mad science/occult ritual, the most relevant bad guy summons Shadow and, I assume, kicks off the plot.

Green would be kind of an officer—I don't know how train hierarchy works but I can pretend it's something like a ship. He's advancing through the ranks toward captain conductor and took officer classes at school. He's considerate but a little snobbish, coming from a rich family and knowing he's on track to be in charge someday.

Blue clashes the most with him, though Blue doesn't have any intention of being conductor (anymore.) He's well-acquainted with heavy machinery, the real greasy bolts and wheels of it all, and not just for trains. His standards of cleanliness and organization are legendary, and Green consults with him about the condition of the train as a whole.

Red is concerned, of course, with the whole steam-power part of it all. He's intimately familiar with several methods of propulsion, and enjoys trying to come up with more and more efficient engines. He knows exactly how much fuel they need and how to portion it out. He got into some trouble in school for several explosions and usually has soot on his clothes. Where Blue is concerned with every wheel and cog, Red knows the locomotive and tender car like the back of his hand. Better, probably, since his hands are usually blackened or gloved.

Vio's more about the logistics, the theoretical, the communication. He keeps the timetables, the financial records, and telegrams. He's a chronic overworker, and it isn't uncommon to find him napping in his tiny little office chair, several drained cups of coffee rattling on the desk. He's often first off the train at a stop, though he prefers to get back to the office as fast as he can.

Shadow is the ghost in the train. He's the silhouette against the oil lamps, the rippling reflection in the windows, the thing out the corner of your eye. He's the false telegram message, the broken face of the temperature gauge, the bell ringing in an empty compartment.

Okay well that was fun XD got a little more Aesthetic than Conceptual there at the end but hey fun times!