#Vorath

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Deep in the Bowels of Gluttony

I am forcing more CAVE WHUMP into your enclosure (with an added dash of inspiration from my favorite national park that I can never visit ✨)

Suggested Vibe: Duma’s Scourge from Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia (youtube)

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Ingredients: a lot of gore. eating is involved in the goriness if you couldn’t tell. it is also very gross. Wow! Oh and there is a little bit of burning

By the time Erebus finished crying, his hand had grown back.

He hadn’t even realized it at first, too caught up with gut-wrenching sobs to be aware of anything else besides how much his head hurt, how hard it was to breathe, how terrified he was to be in this strange place all alone, how he might never make it back home, or even back to his cell, how hopeless he felt, how-how-And then he’d noticed the stump of his left hand, no longer ending in a jagged tear, little strings of skin dangling off of it, but a-it was growing, it had to be, those little white nubs poking out of the mass of muscle had to be the bones of his hand, bones that had definitely been…Before he knew it he was crying in earnest again, his body’s sudden strange capability to repair itself overshadowed by the trauma of the past hour, fear and exhaustion replacing awe and relief, because even if he could heal, it didn’t change the fact that he was stuck here, now saddled with the possibility that not even death could set him free.

If there was one good thing about this world, it was the fact that he was more alone than he’d ever been, and no one knocked on the door to interrupt his crying, no one commented on the redness of his eyes or asked him if he was okay too soon after he’d started to calm down. He caught his breath slowly, peacefully, washing the tears off his face using the fresh water from one of the pools near the sea, scrubbing the dried blood from his perfectly healed arm, revealing a ring of scar tissue around his wrist. The thought that neither of these hands were the ones he was born with almost sent him into another spiral, but he shook his head and put it out of his mind. That was enough for today. 

Today…Frowning, he looked up at the sky. Its blackness hadn’t changed in the slightest since he’d arrived here, and something told him it wouldn’t anytime soon. Even back in the windowless cell, he’d had meals and Neteri’s visits to help him keep track of the passage of time, but now there was just…nothing. It was all down to whatever cycle of waking and sleeping he fell into, and given how tired he was now, he was ready to get that started. 

Walking back to his pack, left at the base of the cliffs, he noticed his leg was no longer in pain, either. Once he arrived, he pulled the knife out and used it to slice the stitches still woven through his flesh, wincing a bit as he pulled the thread out. The holes left behind healed quickly enough that he could ignore them and busy himself finding a good place to lay his bedroll for the…night? For now. 

He ended up settling down along the cliffside, too afraid to lie out in the open despite how quiet it was here, and it wasn’t long before his exhausted body gave in to sleep.

When Erebus woke up, the sky was the same empty black as before, and it was impossible to tell how long he’d slept for, but he felt rested enough despite the circumstances. So now he was just supposed to…wander until he found something? He considered flying to get a better idea of what was around, but he decided it would be better to save his strength for the next fight. Since crossing the sea was out of the question, he headed back into the rocky maze he’d first arrived in. Eventually, he found himself at the entrance to a cave, a gaping hole in the side of the mountain rising even higher than the cliffs around him.

If the demons were tied to elements like their counterparts, the dragons, then whatever one was tied to the element of earth was definitely in that cave. His instincts screamed at him not to go into the dark, cramped space where his wings likely would be more of a hindrance than a help, but if he was going to get out of this place, then he’d have to go in eventually. So best to get it over with while he was here.

Erebus had never been inside of a cave, but he’d heard about how beautiful they could be, and…how dangerous. But he’d be okay. He could heal, for some reason. He’d be fine. He could handle this. He had to.

Burying his doubts, Erebus headed inside the cave, almost immediately tripping over a small, rounded protrusion of stone. They littered the ground, and the ceiling, too, their lengths varying. He’d have to take care to avoid them, then. 

Soon enough, though, the ground began to slope downwards, and the dim gray light streaming in from the cave’s entrance began to fade, not enough for even his new eyes to see with. It wasn’t long before he was stumbling along in the dark, unsure how much progress he was making, or if he was even headed in the right direction. He could be a couple steps away from a dead end, for all he knew. Or even a cl-At that moment, Erebus’s boot caught on a rock, his desperate grasps for something to catch himself on meeting empty air, and now he was falling, spinning, bouncing off the uneven stone, everything was slippery enough to slide out of his grasp but hard enough to break his bones, faster and faster until-

Cold. Deep cold, water, he was underwater, he had to get to the surface, had to find it in this spinning dark void, no way to tell which way is up, which way is death, swimming flailing reaching-his hand broke the surface, and he worked his way up desperately, his sodden clothes and heavy sword making it difficult, but he made it, he breathed, he coughed, he dragged himself out and laid on the bumpy stone next to the water’s edge, panting as his body throbbed and stung with a hundred cuts and bruises. Of course he hurt himself before even finding the demon. Of course. If only he had some way to know if he was even going in the right direction, but no, he was just supposed to stumble around in the dark.

One of his horns hurt, and upon poking at it gently, he found that the tip had broken off, exposing the tender flesh inside. Not like they served any purpose, besides telling him where…wait. What he wanted most was to get out of here and go home. To get out of here, he’d have to fight all the demons. Starting with the one hidden somewhere in this cave. So, by that logic, what he wanted most was to find the demon in these caves. He closed his eyes, not that it changed anything, and drilled that thought into his head. He needed to find that demon. Wanted to. Had to.

Erebus couldn’t help but smile as his horns started to tingle ever-so-slightly. 

It took some time to get used to navigating the cave based on the feeling in his horns. The changes in sensation were rather subtle, so it was difficult to tell immediately after changing course if he was heading the right way. It would have been much easier if he could take a direct path, but the twists and turns of the cave forced him to switch directions constantly, sometimes leading him to dead ends or passages he was too large to squeeze through. Progress was slow, but he was making progress, he was, the tingling was stronger now, his scrapes and bruises from his fall earlier had healed, and his clothes were beginning to dry, despite the cave air being rather cool.

Well, now that he thought about it, the air had grown warmer than when he’d first entered. He’d been so freezing from his wet clothes that he hadn’t realized it until now, but it was definitely getting warmer. That had to be a good thing, right? It wasn’t getting any lighter, unfortunately, so he was still stuck feeling his way along through the darkness, nothing but the tingling sensation in his horns to guide him, but at least he wasn’t shivering as much anymore.

It was getting warmer and warmer, hot now, and humid, the stickiness of the air reminding him of summers back home. Were caves supposed to be this hot? He’d been grateful for the warmth at first, but now he was sweating profusely, the thick, moist air making it somewhat difficult to breathe as he clambered up slopes and squeezed through small gaps, the feeling in his horns growing so intense he was starting to get a headache, made even worse by the slightly rotten smell that was starting to permeate the air.

Erebus stopped at the edge of some sort of drop-off. It was impossible to tell how far down it went, only that it was longer than his arm. He’d been scared of this, of having to fly while blind. Out of breath, he sat to rest for a moment, letting the slight breeze cool him off a tiny bit, wishing it didn’t smell so rancid.

Wait…breeze?

The air was moving, pulsing past him in a hot wave, and then a cooler gust in the opposite direction. It was rhythmic, over and over, back and forth, in and…in and out. 

Breathing. It was breathing.

If-if Erebus could feel its breathing, and the intense heat from its body, its stench, then it must be close, just off that ledge maybe, after all this time wandering around in the dark he’d finally found the next demon. With renewed energy, he stood and drew his sword. He’d have to approach this carefully, making sure he didn’t fly straight into the wall instead of hitting his target. After waving his hand over his head and not feeling anything above him, Erebus carefully took flight. It was difficult to move so slowly in the air, especially as he started to head down, but he didn’t want to risk falling who knows how far and landing on who knows what. 

Feeling his feet catch on something, he tried to land, but the ground beneath was slippery and almost gave way beneath him, causing him to fall for the second time today. Thankfully, he landed on something soft, though it was weirdly wet and sort of slimy, like…Erebus cried out and scurried back, but everything he touched was the same, squishy and warm and smooth and…and…It was flesh. All around him. He-he’d somehow flown into the demon’s mouth, he must have, its breath was rushing by him with even more force now, the nauseating scent of rot all around him. He had to get out. He just had to fly up. He could do this. He’d be fine. 

But…where was his sword?

He’d dropped it in his panic, like an idiot, and now he needed to find it. He wouldn’t stand a chance against the demons without it, and then he’d never be able to go home, never see another person again, he couldn’t accept that, he had to calm down, had to focus. He wanted that sword more than anything. It was his way out.

His stomach sank when his horns told him his sword was below him.

There wasn’t any choice but to fall further into the belly of the beast in order to kill it.

He took his time lowering himself, but it was more difficult than before. The heat was making his head throb, not to mention the toll all this flying was taking on him. Being unable to glide was putting a lot more strain on his wings than he’d realized, and though he couldn’t quite feel it through the sheen of sweat covering his face, he tasted the blood dripping out of his nose. By the time the buzzing in his horns peaked and his hand wrapped around the cool hilt of the sword, the world was starting to spin, and he all but collapsed next to the blade, which had buried itself partway in the fleshy ground. 

Erebus didn’t know if he had the energy to stand. The heat and all of that careful flying had sapped all of his strength, leaving him sprawled on the hot, soft flesh of the demon’s insides. Was this it? Was he just stuck here until he fell further and ended up digested? The healing he had for some reason was slow, probably too slow to keep up with stomach acid. He breathed in deeply as the slightly cooler air coming in rushed past him, trying to calm himself down. The demon’s breaths were deep and long, so they were difficult for Erebus to match perfectly, but he tried anyway, the less rancid-smelling air coming in making him feel a little better somehow. But why would…memories of dust, Neteri’s forehead against his, the puff of her breath against his cheeks. Sharing breath. He was sharing breath with this huge demon, gaining a little of its life force as he did so. 

Once he felt well enough to stand, he did so, holding onto his sword for support. He could do this. After bracing himself as best as he could, he started to pull, wincing at the awful squelching sound the blade made as it slid out of the flesh it was buried in. It came out with a sickening pop, squirting what Erebus could only assume was blood all over him. Some of it even landed in his mouth, and it…it tasted good. Really good, like a rich, meaty stew. 

His empty stomach started to growl.

This was a demon. Not a person.

He hadn’t eaten in over a day.

No one would ever know.

He needed energy.

Hands shaking, he pulled out his knife.

Just a little bit. 

It was warm, wet, chewy, almost rubbery, the texture making him gag slightly, but he didn’t care, not when it tasted this good, buttery and savory, little hints of spice dancing through it, shifting from one flavor to another, and he was powerless to stop, grabbing more and slicing it off, shoving it in his mouth before he’d even finished chewing the last bite, his hands and face slick with that delicious blood, the perfect sauce to go with his meat, the fingers on his right hand had grown claws at some point, and now he was tearing away at the walls with his hand, ripping chunks off with his teeth, continuing to slice and shred long after he’d eaten his fill, even as the ground below started to shake, a guttural roar drowning out the sounds of flesh tearing and blood dripping, the force of it sending Erebus to the ground, snapping him out of whatever trance he’d been in.

What…what had he just done?

How could he be sure there wasn’t anyone else out there in the blackness? 

He could feel the ghosts of his parents watching him, watching their son turn into the monster he looked like. 

He had to get out of here. 

The walls shifted and pulsed as the demon’s breath sped up, roars and moans sounding out so loudly around him it made his head hurt. Its mouth might be closed now, trapping him inside. He’d have to find another way. Or just…make his own.

A large section of one of the walls had already been ravaged, cut and torn away during his frenzied eating, so he resumed work on it, slicing away chunks with his sword now, tossing them to the side instead of bringing them to his mouth. Progress was faster when he could focus, but it was almost impossible to tell how far he’d come, how much he’d carved away, how close he was to breaking through the skin. He came across a more rubbery section and ended up having to almost saw away at it, blood spurting all over him as he went, as if he wasn’t already covered in it. How whole body felt so sticky and sweaty and gross, and all he could think about was washing off somehow after he got out of here.

Blood was flowing out steadily now, coming out with more and more force, and soon enough it was all Erebus could do to hold onto his sword, his anchor buried in the fleshy wall, praying he wouldn’t get swept away by the jet of hot, sticky, delicious-smelling blood. H-he must’ve cut into a major blood vessel. Those shot blood out like crazy, from what he remembered. Maybe this would be enough to kill the demon? Then he’d just be…trapped inside its corpse. For now, it was still very much alive, its roars and moans starting to get louder, more desperate.

All of a sudden, the ground beneath him lurched, and Erebus’s sword slipped out of the cut it was in, sending him tumbling backwards, the river of blood sweeping him away before he could try to stand up, stab the floor, do anything to save himself, but he had to, he couldn’t fall any further down, couldn’t lose the tunnel he’d carved out in this sweltering blackness, couldn’t sink into the sea of blood and digestive acid that was likely waiting for him below, he had to stop somehow, the sword was too long, his wings couldn’t generate lift, nothing to do but desperately scratch at the slippery ground below, dig his claws in, deeper, deeper, deeper, hold on, arm trembling with the effort, he couldn’t afford to let go, to fall, the blood was coming with less force now, the tremors not as frequent, just a little bit longer until…

The great beast fell silent, fell still, its blood merely trickling by now, dripping in imitation of the water in the cave surrounding it. 

Erebus dragged himself to his feet, coughing up blood. He’d tried to keep his mouth closed during the whole ordeal, but some had still made its way in. Was the demon actually dead? It was hard to tell for sure, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He had to get out of here regardless, and any other escape route besides his tunnel was out of the question. Nothing to do but resume work, then, and hope he could get out of here soon.

Time crawled by as Erebus hacked away at the wall, and just when he was starting to think he wasn’t headed towards the surface of this thing’s body, his sword met with a different sort of resistance than before. It wasn’t like the blood vessel, more stretchy and tough, but he was pretty sure he was able to poke through, and soon enough he’d made a gap large enough for him to squeeze through. He didn’t realize how hot it’d been in there until he was sitting outside it, the cave air unbelievably refreshing after being swallowed up by that rancid heat. 

After feeling around a bit, Erebus decided he must be on the demon’s back or something. The slope down was pretty steep, enough that he wasn’t sure he could walk down effectively in the dark. His wings were still exhausted from flying earlier, so…scooting down very carefully it was. For the first time today, he was able to move downwards at a reasonable pace, not having to be careful of random rocks jutting out of the floor or ceiling. He was starting to get a bit excited to leave these caves and be able to see again. The water in the sloth demon’s domain would be perfect for washing all of this blood off of him, and there were few things he loved more than feeling clean. Already, he was starting to realize everything he’d taken for granted in his previous captivity.

He’d taken light for granted, too, and the moment he saw it, the moment he could see at all, he teared up a bit, but that might have just been because it was bright. Navigating the rest of the way down the demon’s body was much easier now that he could see, and it wasn’t long before he was back on solid ground, nearly running towards the cave exit. Finally. 

The dark, starless sky was a welcome sight, almost as beautiful to him as the small pools of water a little ways away. He was lucky this exit dumped him out closer to the water than the entrance he’d originally gone through had been. Curious, Erebus looked down at himself, and couldn’t help but wince in disgust. He was covered from head to toe in blood, most of it dried to a brownish-red, cracking a bit around his joints, little pieces of the demon’s flesh caked on here and there. His hair was sticky and matted with it, and the coppery, still tempting tang of it was all he could smell and taste. He’d never been so revoltingly filthy, and he was secretly glad no one was here to see it. 

It was a quick walk to the nearest pool of water, and while it looked a bit different than the other little pools from before, he paid it no mind. Water was water. He fell to his knees in front of it and stuck his hands in, ready to-HOT! Erebus pulled his hands out of the fiery water, screaming as they burned so intensely he could feel it in his very bones. All he could do was lie on his side and wait for them to heal, tears streaming from his eyes as he wailed. None of the water in the sloth demon’s domain had even been warm, so why was it nearly boiling all of a sudden? Unless he wasn’t…

“You really wanted to make a good first impression on me, didn’t you, intruder?”

Blinking away tears, Erebus looked in the direction of the familiar voice, his blood running cold when he saw who had spoken.

It was Shiori.

Next→

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@mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump

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[thelastgherkin]

LEGACY UNITED VS: G1 Universe Squeezeplay and Lokos

Squeeze me, squeeze me, never let me go...

More like this:

Buzzworthy Bumblebee Worlds Collide Fangry and Brisko

Titans Return Titan Master Class Terri-Bull and Crashbash

Collaborative Draculus

[transformers-mosaic]

Transformers: Mosaic #571 - "The Cassandra Effect"

Originally posted on January 10th, 2011

Story, Art - Richard Cookson

deviantART | Seibertron | TFW2005 | BotTalk

wada sez: Mindwipe forsees Scorponok’s gruesome death in issue #75 of the Marvel Comics series, “On the Edge of Extinction!”. The title of this strip is a little perplexing; Cassandra was a famous oracle from Greek myth, but her curse was that although her predictions were accurate, nobody would ever believe her. Italian translation by Franco Villa below, along with a preview of tomorrow’s strip!

[cerebrosurgeon]

Initially, Cerebros followed Trojan's holoform, his HUD displaying a detailed overview of what needed to be fixed and how. He trusted Trojan, though, and stood his ground until he was given instructions. Cerebros could feel the deep scores in Trojan's plating through Grommet's fingertips, the oil coating Gasket's forearms as he blindly dug deep, seeking out the severed line with precision. It was awful. As much as the tension, the fear, in Trojan pained Cerebros, he kept his gaze on them steady, nodding an affirmative. What Cerebros lacked in electromagnetic perception, Max made up for, and it was him that could understand the extent of Trojan's terror. The information relayed to Cerebros late but was shuffled aside - It wasn't damage Cerebros could repair, not now, not when Trojan's life was endangered. Max reached a hand out, his own EM field tense but comforting, reassuring, hand hovering at Trojan's port side without touching them.

At the sound of the door opening, Cerebros spun on his heel and sprinted through the open door, only hearing his old friend's words once he was over the threshold, and he froze as soon as he saw the sparks housed in the surrogate forge. For a moment, he stood there, even his ventilation fans silent. Slowly, he removed his mask and visor from storage and slotted them back in place as he looked around. Max, outside, was equally shocked. Their biology was so different from Trojan's; Cerebros could stabilise a laser core, transfer mind engrams to CCVs, or operate on brain modules... But this? To save more sparks than his processor could log in a glance, when he'd never even handled one? A sudden slew of data slammed into Cerebros, staggering him as he held his helm; the other Headmasters had seen what he had. Highbrow and Arcana were the loudest voices in his head, Brainstorm and, most surprisingly, Vorath, close behind in volume. They were all telling Cerebros what to do in different ways, and it took Max enforcing command protocols to get them to organise usefully. Highbrow came in first, Cerebros's feet carrying him to the nearest display panel, hands guided into navigating the glitching UI behind the shattered screen, Highbrow seeking metrics readouts through Cerebros.

› Dont even look at the sparks. Look at the mechanisms of the forge. Repair it like anything else.▮

› 𝓣𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝕾𝖕𝖆��𝖐𝖘 𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕷𝖆𝖘𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘. 𝓣𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝓝 𝖊𝖇𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖓 𝓗𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕭𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘.▮

Vorath's advice was both the least expected and the most helpful. Whatever Brainstorm had been trying to communicate via the Headmasters' telepathy was abandoned in favour of spamming Vorath and Mindwipe with endless questions regarding how, exactly, the fellow scientist knew anything about sparks. What readouts Cerebros could parse didn't look good; he was thinking of Galen, bloody and cold, brain activity undetectable. He was thinking of all these sparks winding up like that. Highbrow was piloting him remotely to the best of his ability - Open up this box, replace these fuses, find that chemical, replenish lubricants, swab rust away... Brainstorm's attention returned, destroying Highbrow's tenuous influence.

› ᴘʟᴜɢ ɪɴ!▮

The command was so confident, Cerebros didn't even question it, ejecting an adaptor from one wrist and sticking it in the first slot it fit into, hard wiring him into the surrogate forge's dedicated motherboard. The data stream was routed to Highbrow, course corrected, sent back to Cerebros, and uploaded back into the software. His processor was overheating, but it was working, Cerebros clumsy in his hardware repairs. Tubes needed to be patched, a rod needed to be submerged in a cooling station and replaced, half the sparks' vitals were unavailable due to damaged units, but they were still viable. Arcana patched in formally after pinging Max, presence soothing Cerebros as he settled into almost autonomous motions. This was what he was built for, after all.

› 𝓘𝓯 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝔀𝓮 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭-𝓸𝓷.▮

"Trojan," Max murmured, leaning down towards them slowly, "does the forge need additional parts?"

Wincing at the loud squeak of Trojan's bay door, Max stepped closer to them slowly. He stayed quiet, not wanting to crowd or startle their friend at their most vulnerable; he was waiting for their team to advise his actions. Cerebros had no such reservations, carefully lifting himself up the steep step into their drop bay, crouching slightly to maintain his balance - Trojan was listing to one side where they rested. Visor dimming, Cerebros looked around slowly, still trying to obtain an accurate scan of the damage. Cog pinged him repeatedly, all but desperate to serve their programming and initiate repairs. Hesitantly, Cerebros granted them permission to separate into their individual parts and begin non-invasive treatment on Trojan's outermost frame.

Everything was... Desolate. Cerebros's chest felt empty, cold, and Max's attempt to soothe him was half-hearted at best. He was drawn to Turfwar's work station and stood where Turfwar once did, a hand hovering over the long untouched work table. Grief threatened to drown he and Max, the sensation strong enough to catch the attention of the other Headmasters - Highbrow was the first to request a status report from Max, followed closely by Gort and Hardhead reminding them they were always available in an emergency. Overwhelmed but unwilling to distract Cerebros, Max drew on his bond with Emissary, leaving the communications to him. He was thinking too much of Galen to move, blankly staring at a particularly nasty gash in Trojan's plating.

The voice behind Cerebros didn't startle him, not with his battle-ready HUD active and Max watching his back. Dragging his gaze away from Turfwar's old schematics, he turned around, looking up at Trojan's holoform. Funny, he didn't remember them having a holoform - Did anyone, back then? He thumbed the biolock on his faceplate and subspaced it in his forearm, followed closely by his visor. Usually resistant to showing his bare face without his transtector, the minibot was well accustomed to being vulnerable amongst Trojan and their team, and knew the value in shows of trust during trauma care.

Unshielded optics glowing the same dim, grey-blue they always had, Cerebros tilted his head to the side, wondering when Trojan changed their paintjob; he thought it suited them, actually, and the Decepticon emblem didn't come as neither disappointment nor surprise. The Autobots had lost the plot a long time ago.

"Guide me. What's critical? Gasket and Grommet are getting started outside," Cerebros replied, not wasting time asking questions. Trojan was familiar with emergency protocol. They'd understand there was plenty of time to talk when they were well enough to do so. He wished Galen were here.

[1maverick3]

Big project Vice and Virtue

Who’s you’re favorite character mine is Zorn !！

[bawdybooster]

*kicking the door open* RGB HYPNO SPIRAL EYES, WHY ARN'T THEY A RHING GOD DAMNIT-

HONESTLY THEY NEED TO BECOME A THING

But like, consider this:

RGB Hypno Spiral Eyes... on a Robot.

---

Rodimus couldn't remember how long he'd been held there in his arms.

Rodimus couldn't remember how he'd even gotten into a brawl against him in the first place.

All he could remember, or even think about for that matter, was how pretty Cyclonus's optics suddenly seemed.

In their brief sparring, the warrior had commanded Rodimus to "Look Into My Eyes." At first thought, Rodimus had thought it ridiculous. His eyes looked no different than before! But there was something captivating about the way they swirled and drew him in, pulsing that ever-spinning spiral rhythmically into his processor. Ring after ring of Radiant Reds, Brilliant Blues, and Gorgeuous Greens drilled into Rodimus, holding his thoughts ransom as the Purple Warrior embraced him in a tight bind.

Cyclonus squeezed tight around Rodimus's torso, leaving little room for the Autobot to do anything so long as he was held in his grasp. Rodimus could bring himself to do little else but stare as his optics glazed over, pulsing in mirrored reflections of Cyclonus's hypnotic stare.

"You Are In My Command." Cyclonus explained.

"I Am In Your Command." Rodimus repeated emptily.

"I Control You. All Of You."

"You Control Me. All Of Me."

"Surrender."

Rodimus fell limp, before being flung to the floor with a mighty clang. His eyes still spiraled with Cyclonus's Dazzling Display, feeling somewhat dazed from the encounter.

"Are we agreed, then?"

The Lost Light's Captain pouted. "Alright, alright. Fine. I'll ignore the complaints about you and Tailgate's singing."

"That's settled, then." Cyclonus dusted his clawed servos of the affair and stomped off. "I expect

"Say..." Rodimus asked, a coy smirk on his metallic lips, "Any chance of teaching me that whole Optic Trick of yours?"

"The Vorath Stare?" Cyclonus mused. "Not in your life."

[tallus76-photography]

Transformers Rebirth

Vorath - If I only had some energy sensing equipment, We could easily find which one of them has the key!

Mindwipe - What need have I for your scientific toys, when I have my, extrasensory powers? That one!

[doomed-jester]

If there's one thing that makes me unreasonably happy, it's when I find old (or even new) toys that just flagrantly reused the same mold for different characters

Like, I love when you find old Carnage toys and they're literally just Venom with different paint, so Carnage looks WAY too bulky

Featuring bonus inexplicably blue Venom figure and Carnage's green(??) tongue.

Also, Draculus, the official Transformers x Universal Monsters Dracula figure, is literally just Titans Return Mindwipe with a new head sculpt and chest plate, and a cheap fabric cape

My favorite thing about this is that Titans Return was a gimmick line, so the head was detachable and could transform into a smaller Titan Master figure (Vorath), but Draculus doesn't have this feature. So he has a vestigial cockpit where a Titan Master figure COULD sit, and his head has to be awkwardly hidden with his cape when he transforms because the mold doesn't leave any space for it after the transformation

[viskarenvisla]

Thirst - Chapter 1: Her Quiet Revolution There can be no real affection for the Damned, and the ravening Moon Beasts are doomed to tear the world apart around them...this is especially true for such forbidden things as romance between vampire and werewolf - both of them, predators after the same prey, respective boogeymen for the other...but what happens when they look past these things? Can there truly be love, or can monsters only descend into perversion and eventual bloodshed?

This tale is a semi-AU for my character Yusuf Mizrah, who features in Law of Blood. I decided to depart from Forsaken and use my own werewolf universe, but fill in the spaces for Vampire lore from Vampire: the Requiem...

Chapter One

Four nights ago, down at the river

By the standards of the normally rowdy syndicate, It had been a rather orderly gathering. Nobody showed up openly brandishing weapons or anything of that nature - both officially and within their still-beating hearts, Kindred blood shed on the balmy concrete, or bodies turning to ash were the last things anybody desired. She knew better, however, than to trust in the members’ individual senses of propriety, and that was why they’d concentrated their petty hopes and dreams onto Monroe Carter as their representative. Not that she was complaining.

The thirty or so Kindred who'd come together on this night were as motley and differentiated a band as could be expected from those whose only real ties were death and servitude. Despite the segregation and censorship imposed by their ‘betters’, their hunting grounds ‘leased’ to them at the edges of their masters’ domains and the loathsome blood tax they were forced to pay, they’d become a cohesive thing. The Cause had grown from little more than a whisper of rebellion, shared in near silence among those who lined up weekly to give Communion unto their dread rulers. Slowly it’d turned into secretive meetings where resistance to their individual vincula was slowly built among the gathered. Debates and lectures about "the Natural Rights of the Unnatural" stretching into the night forming the mental cornerstone that would become the fortress of their resistance.

Finally, it had come to this.

The bonds of servitude and death were surprisingly strong, enough to overcome divisions that had, more often than not, been purposefully placed there by their own Overseers. Vorath the Thricefold’s old rivalry with Manny Vaull was once fierce enough to set their teeth gnashing in the other’s presence; now they stood side by side. It was the same with Corra Wilson and Nettletongue; an unlikely jealousy between the two over a shared blood doll, given the scarcity of appropriate prey, had been replaced by something nearing as close to comity as could be found among the Dead.

Monroe stood at the head of the silent gathering of eclectic individuals, pulled from The City’s rusted shadows here to meet the Overseer Committee as they returned from conclave with their own elders. The Red River, flowing like a fat, wriggling worm through downtown, out to Ashland Port and into the wine-dark, thrashing waters of the Gulf, was usually reserved for shipping liners carrying refined gas, steel, and other byproducts of the state’s industrial blight. Such was the pull of the Overseers, however, that the waterways were cleared for their entry.

She was like a cold-forged, steel torch in the night, beat bright and unyielding against an icy anvil. A black bandana was tied around her forehead - something the syndicate's members all shared, whether worn on their arms or looped through a belt - holding her many-colored, gold clasped braids back in a complex knot. The dark green, midriff-length jacket worn over her torso was weighed down by the fire-hatchet within, her tool of choice in the regrettable event that negotiations failed and this became a violent confrontation; more than likely, given the difference in age between the Overseer Committee’s members and their own, it would be a savage rout. Still, seven against thirty was good odds, and they’d surely pull at least half the elders’ number down with them.

Monroe was confident in herself, in the strength of the Cause. It was a crossbow bolt with a red-hot iron head, pointed threateningly at the hearts of their oppressors; their message would be heard, and their demands met. 

For now, they were silent, waiting patiently. It wasn’t your typical protest or picket like she was used to, with marching and signs, slogans shouted for cameras…that sort of thing wouldn’t get through to the Elder Dead, who were beings of an earlier time. They intimately understood the balance of power, however, and the message would be entirely clear when the Overseers laid their eyes upon their servant-livestock, staring them down and wearing black, with Monroe leading them.

“Look,” breathed Harlowe, pointing down toward the bay when the first glimmers of the luxury yacht’s fog lights cut through the springtime haze of pollution and condensation. Although the gathered Dead barely moved, everyone felt it…that anxious pressure that preceded a confrontation with authority. That terror was understandable, though quieted by their unity and a certain understanding shared among The City’s common vampires: if anyone was going to take the blame and end up an example, it was Monroe Carter. Rhymes with martyr . An old lover, long lost to the years, had once said that, and that’s what she remembered instead of his (or her?) face.

To Monroe’s Spartan sensibilities, the garish festoons of the superyacht showed how the Overseers, in their vast view of time, laid the trappings of the new over the old and familiar; while the massive boat was smooth and white, sleek and covered with blaring, soulless lights, their servants had gone through the trouble of carefully interweaving Tatarian Honeysuckle across the decks in bright, purple petaled magnificence. Bright red silk ribbon was intertwined among the railing. By its streamlined form, it was the most modern boat that old, musty money could buy; its spirit was that of the old pleasure barges of nobility whose largesse had, since the time of the Egyptian Old Dynasties and the Kings of Xia, been supported on the backs of the masses.

Now…for the grand act. “William,” she called in her alto voice, muffled by the warm, foggy air. “You’re up.” She congratulated herself at resisting her inward giddiness; never had she sent a message of defiance such as this.

The hairless, fishy-fleshed man that hunched beneath his long, concealing coat obliged silently, stepping from the gathering and leaping into the river, barely disturbing it. When he emerged, he’d coiled one big, dripping end of the cold-forged iron chain fitted in Harlowe's Machine Shop around his torso. Its bright-green links were the size of a small box television, and in William’s skinny, yet stunningly powerful arms, they dripped with the chemical-rich flow of the Red Rock River. Little John, towering over everyone present with his gentle voice and boyish face; Melinda Arsanova, always dressed proper and presentable no matter the event; and Sherman, his arms thick like tree-trunks from feeding on this very dock’s workers. They stepped forward and pulled hard on the chain, secured on other side of the river with a great iron stake Harlowe had shaped himself, and soon there was a neon-green painted barrier of links presented before the superyacht. One might look here and see an impossibility, four bedraggled oddities attempting to cut off the passage of a yacht, but Monroe knew them as some of the strongest Kindred in the city.

She waited with baited breath. Here, based on the whim of a dead thing hundreds of years her elder, the Brujah’s whole plan could come tumbling apart…but there came the booming sound of a foghorn, and the yacht’s forward wake churned a crimson foam in the Red Rock River as it slowed its ponderous, floating bulk to a halt. Another shaking, drawn out howl from the foghorn, like an indignant cry whale’s cry.

The chain remained stretched taut across the river.

Minutes rolled by…nearly an hour, testing their resolve before the first of the Overseers deigned to make an appearance upon the deck. Monroe knew who it would be, before his over-long, pale fingers curled around the steel bar struck into the deckposts, fingernails clicking odiously against the side of the yacht. Vasco Isidoro was, in her view, the weakest of the Seven, and he reminded her of the guy from the insane asylum in Beauty and the Beast…you know the one. The man with the tonsure and stooped posture, the furry eyebrows. Vasco was also well dressed in his black, pinstripe suit, but he still looked like a bag of bones and spiders supported by its own conniving will.

His eyes were green like pea soup, and his voice had a similar wet quality. “A fine evening indeed to you, Siervos ,” Vasco called in a disarmingly cheerful tone, accented by his native Curitiba. His smile was entirely like that of some predatory lake fish’s, concealing hundreds of needle-sharp teeth. “You all seem to have misplaced your charming, green chain, directly in our path…perhaps you require assistance recovering said chain, that your betters might be on their way?”

Isidoro’s words were like a slow-falling, poisonous net; it was only after you looked behind his lips and saw the anxious malice squirming beneath that one felt uneasy. Monroe could feel the syndicate’s members stirring uneasily in the line…authority had been so beaten into them by blood-bond and fear that each defiance was an act of desperate will on their parts. Stretching a harbor chain across the path of the barge along the river was more than a mere defiance.

 “You ain’t wrong,” she answered, acting as their courage. Monroe Carter was loud enough to be heard above the din of The City’s night hum, as well as the idling of the barge’s engines. “We require your assistance but I’m afraid the chain stays until we’re done here.” She didn’t flinch or even squint as one of the ship’s lights swiveled down to shine upon her; if it was meant to intimidate and separate her, the spotlight had the opposite effect. Always had.

Vasco’s thin, shiny lips drew wider across his long face, splitting to reveal where his fangs had grown in place of his incisors. She knew he was enraged, a creature set a whole class above and apart from them, but the lowest of his kind - and now, facing disobedience called siervos ? Monroe could empathize, she also liked things to be orderly, and for that to happen all the moving parts had to work and obey . “My dear wards, certainly you understand the value of our time. Each moment’s value eclipses your combined years as we work to keep you safe…protect your posthumous rights. To waste such a valuable vintage as ours, surely you can see both the folly and danger inherent in such a thing. Now…Would you care to release your chain?”

To drive the point home, Monroe took note of the ten or so men that stepped up to join him at the edge of the deck, pointing loaded M4s their way; clad in faceless, visored black helms, moving in perfect unison, these humans - maybe even ghouls - were the preferred servant for the Overseer Committee. Unquestioningly obedient, tied by their own addictions and contracts, they still didn’t have what old vampires like Vasco and his ilk required: Kindred blood. That, of course, was their bargaining chip…if not her own trump card. “‘Fraid not Mister Isidoro.”

She smiled internally as he bristled; these older, dead things, they demanded the honor of titles even in this day and age from their Childer. “We tried your ‘official channels’; we were stonewalled. We wrote to y'all, we signed petitions, and we even sent y'all messengers that you returned to us in them little wooden boxes. ‘Member that?”

Behind her, Tucker growled under his breath. His best and only friend, the oldest member of his coterie, had been among those messengers returned to them as little more than finely ground ashes and bright, gleaming fangs. The icy lake of their fear cracked, thawed by memories of their own old resentments. Suddenly they weren’t quite as afraid of those white-phosphorous bullets.

“A regrettable misunderstanding and little more of course. We would all hate for similar misunderstandings to happen over the matter of a mere green chain, especially since, as you know, the Oversee Committee dutifully handles petitions - ” 

“Yes yes, on individual basis, we have heard before,” Old Vlacha gruffly complained.

“Yeah…you can think of this as somethin’ more like us filing a class-action suit,” Monroe put it out there in words that would disturb the corporatist in Isidoro. “That’s why I’m speaking for everyone here with one voice, make sure there ain’t no more ‘misunderstandings’ like there was, Mister Isidoro.” The young Brujah got a kick out of the way his face shivered under that smile every time she called him that.

She didn’t really need to say more for him to infer precisely what she meant; that they were prepared to enforce a blood picket, if their demands weren’t met. That’s what the consequence of ‘misunderstanding’ meant on their end, since they couldn’t really challenge the Overseers with force and hope to succeed. The Overseers were old enough that the blood sustaining them had become a concentrated, unnatural thing of arcane fusions reliant on the unliving force of other Kindred; human blood, though a heady draught for any vampire, no longer sated them. That’s why they kept the common Lick chained. Los Siervos . 

To Monroe, who’d always chafed at being born at the bottom and struggling against the weight of those saw fit to keep her there, the irony of their unlives was how the clock was turned back at the leisure of older, more powerful Kindred…as if the liberties people had fought and died for were illusions, like the ones they’d woven to keep the Kine ignorant of the monsters drinking deep from their veins and souls. She was as unable to keep her mouth shut in death as she was in life, and the unfairness had become simply intolerable.

Isidoro’s smile changed, leaving his eyes; the corners of his lips slackened. It gave him this leering, wild aspect, like a villain from a children’s tale in her eyes. Monroe expected fear from those gathered, or for the wiley old Nosferatu to turn the power of the Blood against them, but nobody broke from the picket and the chain remained taut. 

All according to plan . 

“Miss Carter, I would like to suggest once more…that Mister William, Mister Jonathon, Miss Arsanova and Master Sherman release their grip on their misplaced chain and make way.”

Isidoro raised a hand and the safeties were simultaneously clicked off on the pale-flame rounds pointed their way; international language of terror. A few gasps of reticence and sounds of hesitation rose unbidden from the gathered Dead, and they wavered. The seconds seemed to drag on during the standoff, just as Monroe planned, and at just the right time, before everyone’s eyes, she broke the tension.

“We’re tired of being your serfs,” she said, blunter than creatures like Isidoro were used to.

The phosphorus-loaded M4s remained pointed their way; she could feel one of the Overseers’ soldiers, looking down his reticle and pointing right at her heart, and although the Beast’s instinctive aversion to Final Death clawed echoing and squealing in the back of her throat, she continued. “We’re tired of you drainin’ us to the bone while we can barely get by on the dry, over-policed barrens you expect us to trough in.”

“I almost fell into torpor last week after Lady Shira took her tithe,” called little Samara Green, bedraggled and rain soaked slip of a thing. “You think it’s easy for someone like me to hunt out there ?” She pointed upriver, far back toward the smokestacks still working into the night. “They barely have enough people working third shift for me to feed on, and there’s something crawling in the gutters .”

“Yeah!” shouted Tucker, a fellow Brujah who had a loose grip on his Beast than she. “When you’re not ashing us for trying to talk to you, you aren’t even protecting us from the stuff in our hunting grounds!”

Monroe didn’t let herself smile, but victory stirred in her heart as their complaints filled the air, overcoming their collective dread for the Nosferatu. 

“Your friends shipped my job to Mexico and I got evicted!”

“I still haven’t gotten compensated for the storm damage to my haven, the roof is caving in - there’s a fucking beam of sunlight shining in the middle of my living room!”

“A pack of Lupines moved into my turf!”

Soon their voices were raised in a cacophony of rising anger, indignance at their lot channeled through Monroe and upward above the smog. The traditions of the syndicate were born during the French Revolution, when many pale lords and ladies the Overseers had once known personally were put to the stake just as readily as the guillotine; their fear was born from personal experience. Isidoro himself had come close to having his head stuck through a little window, and based on his better judgment lowered his hand.

Without a word he disappeared from the deck. The rifles were still pointed their way as the syndicate’s voice rose, a cacophony that signaled clear as the murderous light of day: there were only two choices here as Monroe had presented them.

The first, the most tried and true and obvious, was to simply fire upon the syndicate’s members and scatter the survivors back to their corners and miserable little havens. The truly, finally dead would be annihilated by burning rounds, atrophied organs turning to ash and scattering before sunrise. Bloody monsters’ tears would be shed both for their loss and out of despair for their unchanged state. 

The second was, of course, a far harder pill to swallow: to step down from the pedestal of exclusivity, of elite entitlement, and negotiate with lessers, for in the end Monroe held one truth over the elders’ heads:

The greater parasites required the lesser ones for sustenance, while the lesser ones required the protection of the hoarier, longer-toothed Kindred. Some of them were even their Sires, having sung the first notes of their Requiems in the wind. A great, dysfunctional family devouring itself from head to toe like a grotesque, rotten snake, dressed up in faded silks and tarnished ornaments. 

As before, the Overseers made them wait, this time under the threatening rifle barrels of their gendarmes. All eyes were on Monroe, waiting for her to flinch, but she simply stood her ground. Waited.

The minutes passed, tension dilating them into hours before, with a sound of grinding metal, a ramp was slowly lowered from the superyacht toward the concrete levies upon which Monroe stood. Isidoro reappeared, and with a wordless gesture, split his palm open. The red of his blood spilled into the river - a universally recognized guarantee of safety.

Although she never showed it, striding up the ramp, her converses clanking with each step, a relief greater than any she’d known drained the tension from her unliving muscles. I win…this first battle, anyway .

When she walked free, it would be carrying the prize she’d set her attentions upon, unwaveringly. Greater rights and freedoms…fuller bellies and warmer beds during the daytime. A revolution that would be won without spilling a drop of blood.

None that would be seen, anyway.

[kudosmyhero]

Transformers: Headmasters #1: Brothers in Armor!

Read Date: July 31, 2023 Cover Date: January 1988 ● Writer: Bob Budiansky ● Penciler: Frank Springer ● Inker: Ian Akin ◦ Brian Garvey ● Colorist: Nel Yomtov ● Letterer: Diana Albers ● Editor: Don Daley ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

● 👏👏

Synopsis: The Decepticons are hunting down the remaining Autobots on Nebulos, clashing with the Monsterbots at the Mercury Guardens, forcing the Autobots to flee. Before they can go after them, the Decepticon Headmasters have to stop when the Nebulan media arrives, forcing Zarak to address them and continue to spin the story that Galen is a traitor to his people and says that their battle today is a victory for the people of Nebulos.

Meanwhile, the Monsterbots return to the Autobot camp in the wilderness and report back what they encountered. They are also visited by a number of Nebulans, Pointblank, Peacemaker, Sparks, Recoil, Haywire, and Spoilsport who have come seeking the Autobots help in protecting the Nursey, a key agricultural center that Lord Zarak intends to seize. Agreeing to help the Nebulans out, they binary bond them to their weapons making themselves Targetmasters.

Meanwhile, in the capital city of Koraja, Vorath reports a distress signal from the Autobots on another planet. Zarak telsl him to continue to monitor it while he checks on his prisoners. He sees that his daughter Llyra is there to see Galen and his followers as well. He allows Galen to recover consciousness so that he may talk to Llyra, and Galen attempt to tell her the truth, but to no avail. When Zarak learns that Autobots have been sighted at the Nursery he bonds with Scorponok and takes the Terrorcons with him to attack.

There they clash with the Autobot Targetmasters, who fail to stop the Decepticons from destroying the Nursery and are forced to retreat. Seeing for the first time the damage he is causing to Nebulos, Lord Zarak begins to reconsider the deal he's made with Scorponok. Returning to Koraja, he takes what he learns about the Targetmasters to Vorath, who a few days later makes Targetmaster counterparts for the Decepticons. Realizing that every time he merges with Scorponok the Decepticon reprograms his mind and he finds each encounter more addicting. With the last of his free will, he frees Galen and the other rebels allowing them to merge with their Autobot Headmaster counterparts. As Fortress Maximus and his troops break free they are counterattacked by the new Decepticon Targetmasters. Zarak gives in to his urges and remerges with Scorpononok.

The Autobots flee the scene, leaving Llyra to consider that her father was lying all along, Zarak meanwhile determines to leave Nebulos. When Llyra goes to visit Galen, it's just after the Autobots receive a distress call from Earth and decide to leave Nebulos for that planet in the hopes of convincing the Decepticons to leave as well. When Llyra attempts to learn the truth from Galen, he pushes her away not telling her the truth so that she can go on with her life when he's gone. Shortly thereafter, Galen and his men leave Nebulos seeking out the other Autobots on planet Earth, with Zarek and his Decepticons not far behind.

(https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Transformers:_Headmasters_Vol_1_4)

Fan Art: Transformers Animated - Scorponok by RexBlazer1

Accompanying Podcasts: ● Transformers Chronicles - episode 34

[fo0z2]

Just found out this rlly cool collab

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Caught in the Clutches of Lust

No im not sorry for any of this. cope and seethe

Btw I used a line from @painsandconfusion and @wormwriting's degradation starter list that I saved THREE YEARS AGO for this very moment. I am always playing the long game (⊙ˍ⊙)

←Previous - Masterlist

Ingredients: VERY creepy/intimate whumper, implied threat of noncon, a lot of noncon touching (unsexy but right on the edge), implied noncon kiss, unsexy nudity

Shiori?

No, it couldn’t be, she was a world away, she was human, he’d left her waiting by the fountain after the party and she’d moved on and forgotten about him, no reason to follow him here, into the depths of hell, looking exactly like she had the night of the party, jarringly out of place in her pretty dress, smiling at him like he wasn’t a blood-covered, unrecognizable version of himself.

And then he blinked, and all of a sudden it wasn’t Shiori at all, but Lythia, wearing the same yellow bandana that she always did while she was working in the palace gardens, the little black braids of her hair just as beautiful as he remembered. There was no pity in her dark eyes, like there had been the last time he saw her, looking up at him from the crowd while he was chained to that pillar, promising he’d be rescued after it was already too late. Actually seeing her hurt, and Erebus looked away for a moment, just a moment…

When he saw the woman in front of him now, his jaw dropped, eyes widening, his tense, burning hands finally relaxing.

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Her voice was just as he remembered, and she was smiling at him so kindly, her eyes soft, her gloved hand outstretched, she was here to save him, she’d found a way to bring him back, he was too tired and scared and stressed to do anything else besides surrender control to her once again, to take her small hand and follow her blindly towards the fate she’d chosen for him. She was squeezing his still-healing hand tightly in hers, but she could do whatever she wanted with him just as long as she got him out of this place.

“Well, that was easy.”

The voice wasn’t Shiori’s, or Lythia’s, and it certainly wasn’t Neteri’s.

Erebus jumped back, finally seeing the person next to him clearly for the first time. She-they?-smirked at him, bright purple eyes sparkling. Their white hair was long and wavy, partially braided back with impeccable precision. Gold jewelry and a low-cut black dress accentuated their natural beauty, seeming very out of place in this hellish world. Most striking of all, though, was their bright red skin, a shade that was very familiar to Erebus.

This was a lust demon, and she’d lead him right into her lair.

“You-how did-I-”

They laughed, deep and bright, obviously amused by his shock and confusion. “You only saw what your heart wanted you to see, darling. It’s not my fault you turned into a meek little lamb and followed me here.”

Erebus’s face grew hot. “Well I-I…” his wings sank behind him. He’d thought he was about to be saved. Like an idiot. She’d led him away from the bubbling pools and acrid air into a sort of cave, a furnished one at that. But now he was cornered in here, at a disadvantage in the cramped space. He swallowed and changed the topic, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “Who are you and what do you want with me?”

“Apologies.” She bowed slightly, the sort of bow people gave when they were pretending to show respect during negotiations, but then declared war a few weeks later. “My name is Asmodeum, and really,” they gave him a disapproving look, “I’d rather not fight with you. I heard you’ve defeated Somiaken and Vorath already, but I believe you and I could work something out without coming to blows.” They held their hands up briefly, but the way they watched him made it clear that their guard was still up. “So, tell me your name, now. Unless you’d prefer I just call you darling?”

Erebus very much did not want that, so he complied. “Erebus. But you didn’t really answer my question. What do you want, if not to fight me?”

Asmodeum sighed wistfully. “Well, I can tell that you’re the sort of person who’ll never agree to what I really want, but I believe something can be arranged. You see, I’ve been stuck here for Akumo knows how long with no toys to play with. So, I was thinking-”

“I-I’m not gonna be your toy,” Erebus choked, his throat feeling like it was closing up. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” Asmodeum wagged a finger. “Let me finish, dear. I could have my way with you quite easily, you know. It would be oh so effortless to drag you back into my domain proper and throw you into a pool of boiling water or lava and watch the show. However, I think your forced cooperation would make this a little more fun, and it would be nice if you behaved for me. So, if you let me do what I want with you, barring the most intimate acts, I’ll let you kill me once I’ve had my fill.”

“What happens if I don’t say yes?”

Asmodeum casually examined their nails. “I will take you by force and I will defile you.”

“D-defile?! You don’t mean…” Erebus quickly glanced down, and Asmodeum smiled wickedly.

“Oh, I do mean. If you let me play with you, I swear I won’t do anything of the sort. Call it an incentive. So come on, Erebus, get rid of your sword.” Erebus just tightened his grip on it, weighing his options. As much as he didn’t want to let this demon…play with him...did he really have any other options? He was exhausted, and there wasn’t much room in here for him to try and put up a proper fight. And more than anything, he really, really didn’t want to risk being...Despite the anxiety building in his chest, Erebus unbuckled the sword belt around his waist, setting it carefully on the ground.

“Fine. But if you so much as touch me there I’ll-I’ll make you regret it.” How would he do that? He wasn’t sure. But he just-he had to make it clear that he wasn’t surrendering. He was just…agreeing to play along. Just to get a break from fighting. He was okay with this. He’d be fine. He'd been through so much worse.

He'd be fine.

“I promise I won’t cross that boundary, don’t you fret.” Asmodeum walked over to him, kicking his sword out of reach as they took his hand. “First things first, you’re absolutely filthy. Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

Erebus pulled his hand out of her grasp. “I mean, I-I can do that myself,” he muttered. Asmodeum raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure you can, but I want to wash you, dear. And right now,” she grabbed his hand once more, “I get what I want.” They pulled him along into a bathroom, and he followed reluctantly, feeling an odd sense of familiarity in just going along with this sort of thing. Their threat was certainly a motivator, but that didn’t mean he was going to roll over completely on every little thing, right? He had to make it clear that he wasn’t happy with this, despite agreeing to it. She started filling up the bathtub with water, turning to him with a smile. “Let me strip you now.” 

“I-I’d rather-”

“Shhhh.” She placed a finger on his lips, her other hand starting to undo the ties on his shirt. “None of that, dear. I can’t get you all clean if you’re wearing these dirty clothes, now can I?” He looked away as they tugged his shirt off, hoping that they’d-nope, now they were going to try and take off his pants, too.

“You said you weren’t going to-to do that to me.”

“I won’t. But that doesn’t mean you get to keep your clothes on the whole time, you shy little thing. I just won’t touch.” Erebus stifled a whine as she pulled down his pants, and his underwear along with them. “There we go. You can get in now.” He did so, almost jumping into the warm water and crouching down, hugging his knees close and spreading his wings around himself protectively. They gently pushed his wings back, stroking his face as he glared at them with wide eyes. “There’s no use hiding when I’ve already seen everything, silly. I think I’m going to need to get these arms out of the way, hmmm?” They pulled out a pair of manacles, and Erebus’s stomach sank.

“Wait, I won’t resist just-just don’t-”

“Too late for that, Erebus.” She clamped them around his wrists, twisting the chain securely around the faucet. “Besides, you look absolutely darling like that, all helpless. Now, keep those wings out of the way or I’ll pierce them together.” Erebus’s wings sank in defeat, slowly moving back until they were behind him. There wasn’t any winning here, was there? “Good boy.” She grabbed a cup from the countertop and started using it to pour water on him, rinsing away some of the pieces of flesh stuck to his bloodied skin. After she lathered a washcloth with soap, she began to gently clean the dried blood off his face. He screwed his eyes shut, fists clenched as he tried to think about anything else. 

Even back when he was a prince, he’d hated being fussed over, preferring to take care of himself when he could. Asmodeum, however, seemed to have no concept of personal space, or just didn’t care. She had to work hard to get through the blood caked over most of his skin, leaning in close, starting with his face before switching to his hair. Their hands slid in, tenderly working through tangled bloody mats and massaging his scalp. He hated how nice it felt, how much it reminded him of the way Lythia always used to play with his hair, forcing himself to open his eyes and look at Asmodeum, to remind himself who was…

Lythia smiled at him sweetly, and Erebus felt his blood run cold. That wasn’t her, no matter what he saw, no matter how he felt. She wasn’t here. She was back home, probably still tending the palace gardens despite the change in management. Did she still think of him as she looked at all the places they used to laugh? Or could she not get the image of him screaming and sobbing up on that podium out of her mind, unable to remember any other version of him than the one he’d left her with? Maybe that’s what he deserved to be remembered as, since he’d hardly thought of her since that day, the memories too painful. 

Erebus shuddered when Asmodeum moved to his horns, which were always far more sensitive than they had any right to be. She seemed to be able to tell, continuing to stroke them long after they were clean, and as much as he wanted to ask them to stop, he was afraid it would only encourage them. At the very least, the disconnect between Lythia and his horns was enough to push the thoughts of her out of his mind, and Asmodeum changed back to their normal form.

Her hands finally slid lower, caressing his neck, fingers slipping under his collar, making sure the skin underneath was clean, pressing down against his throat every so often as they did so. It wasn't enough to really choke him, but the message was clear.

They moved onto his shoulders, his wings, his arms, his back. He caught their smile as they saw what his right arm really looked like, and her fingers traced his whip scars as they were uncovered. Dread started to pool in his stomach as she moved to his chest, scrubbing away, revealing-

“Oh, well isn’t this pretty.” They marveled at his brand, stroking the lines of the scar, pausing over his rapidly-beathing heart. “Too bad you’re already owned by someone else, huh? But I suppose they’re not here now, are they?” Erebus just bit his lip, refusing to make eye contact. The thought of his…of Neteri not being here hurt, and, try as he might, he couldn’t help but think of her, of the way she’d always protected him. He wondered how angry she’d get if she saw what was happening to him, or if she could feel now that someone besides her was touching him. He could imagine her bursting in, yelling at Asmodeum to get their hands off of him, unchaining him and letting him cover up before pulling him into a hug-wait wait what was he thinking she’d been his captor she’d hurt him and ripped him into pieces and kept him locked up but she'd promised to save him and he missed her.

“What’s wrong, darling? Is even this too much for you?” Asmodeum brushed away a tear he didn’t realize had been falling with her finger, her skin no longer red, but brown. He couldn't look her in the eye. Not while she wore that face. “Such a sensitive little thing.” Hearing those words in that voice was already bad enough. Erebus tugged at his chains, wishing he could rub away those stupid traitorous tears, because he wasn’t crying about Neteri or Asmodeum or any of this. 

Their hands plunged beneath the surface of the blood-clouded water now, and Erebus couldn't stop himself from tensing up as they scrubbed his stomach, glad the parts of him that were previously under clothes weren't as caked in blood as those that weren't. Still, there was enough to clean that she had an excuse for her hands to wander lower still, caressing his hips, his thighs, and now he was trembling, fists clenched, tears dripping even more steadily into the tepid, cloudy water, no one had ever touched him there, at least she was wearing her own face now, but please, please stay away from there, you said you wouldn't touch me there and if you do then why am I here why am I letting you do this why do I keep letting people hurt me if I just stood up for myself more if I wasn't such a coward maybe I'd still be-

"You're rather pathetic, aren't you?" Asmodeum mused as they cradled his face, turning him towards them. Erebus blinked away tears, just now realizing that they'd finished cleaning him, the tub already drained. He couldn't exactly argue, crying and shivering like he was, so he just swallowed and gave the tiniest nod as he pulled himself together, hoping it'd be enough to get them to move on.

With a satisfied smile, she unhooked his wrists from the faucet, but left the manacles on as she pulled him up and out of the tub. He tried to cover himself as best he could as they toweled him off, hoping they’d stop touching him or at least give him clothes soon. Thankfully, they did, handing him a small bundle, and upon unrolling it he found...a pair of shorts that barely reached his knees, and that was all. Once he’d put them on, she dragged him into another room and let go, crossing her arms. “Kneel.” 

“I don’t-” Asmodeum raised an eyebrow, and Erebus stopped himself. They were expecting him to obey their every little whim if he didn’t want to be...he knelt, staring at the floor. She circled him a few times, and he clenched his fists in his lap, hating how much of his body was on display. Not that she hadn’t already seen everything.

“You were just made to kneel, weren't you? Absolutely gorgeous." Erebus's face burned even hotter than before. All he could hope was that they'd be done with him soon, but he'd never specified how long this would go on for when he agreed to it, so this might last…He was such an idiot, why did he just go along with this without any negotiation?

Asmodeum stopped in front of him. "Well, what are you in the mood for, dear? Pain,” her hand slid under his chin, tilting it up, “or pleasure?”

“Please just-anything but-” he choked, and she just laughed.

“Anything, you say? Then, I think...I'm in the mood for this.” They grabbed his collar, yanking him up onto the nearby bed. Before he could even try to sit up they were on him, wrapping themselves around him, worming in between his shackled arms, forcing him to embrace her back. A shudder ran down his spine as her skin came into contact with his, her arms pinning him flush against her body, her legs tangling around his. “Have you ever been this close to someone, darling?” she whispered in his ear, their fingers stroking his hair.

“I-I, um, a few times but-” 

“Aw, and you’re still nervous.” Her hand ran down the back of his head, stopping at his collar. “It’s so cute how you still wear this. I’m sure you could get it off if you tried, so you must like having it on, huh? Do you miss your owner?”

“She’s not-I don’t-I just-it’s…” he screwed his eyes shut, “I can’t take it off, alright?!”

“Such a dutiful little pet-”

“I wasn’t h-her pet!” 

“You’re so adorable when you’re in denial.” They stroked his back, rubbing around the base of his wings. Erebus just opted for staring at the wall, hoping they wouldn't touch his horns. “Do you know how lust demons feed, my dear?”

“By eating…?”

“Well, of course, but not the same way you do. We feed off of humans, more specifically, their bodily fluids.” She smiled widely, showing off her fangs. “And I haven’t had a meal ever since being locked up in here. I normally get my fix a different way, but, to be considerate of you, innocent little boy,” they shifted until their lips were right next to the base of his neck, fingers pushing his collar out of the way, “I’ll settle for feasting on your blood.”

Her fangs sank into his neck, and he couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden pain. He tried to breathe in calmly through gritted teeth as she sucked on the holes in his flesh, drinking his blood. Soon enough, his ears started ringing, and lightheadedness crept in. He gripped the chain between his wrists just too feel something solid, glad that he was lying down, at least. By the time Asmodeum pulled away, licking droplets of blood from their lips, a dizzy haze had settled over Erebus. He closed his eyes, tears leaking out as she snuggled back into him, just hoping that this would all be over soon. In fact, maybe he would just...let the blackness take him...just for a little bit...so he didn’t have to be...awake…

Erebus’s mouth tasted like dried blood when he woke up, and Asmodeum was still wrapped around him tightly. She smiled when their eyes met. “Did you have a good little nap, my darling? I hope you don’t mind, but,” she gripped his chin, her thumb stroking his lips, “I had a little bit of fun with you while you were out of it.” A bit of...wait is that why his mouth tasted like-

“W-you-you can’t d-do that to me I-I don’t-” his voice broke, and he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, no matter how many fast little breaths he sucked in, just get away, get away from me stop touching me don’t do that to me please please I don’t want that you can’t do that to me you can’t you can’t I never wanted that not from you not from anyone and now now now I-I’m-I’ve been-

He felt something solid press into his hands, and he realized that Asmodeum was standing in front of him, and that was his sword in his hands, he was sitting up now and that was his sword and Asmodeum was smiling they were holding out their arms to him they were ready they were ready they were laughing they were coughing up blood they were on the ground there was so much blood how much of it was his he wasn’t sure he didn’t know they reached up and he backed away he had to get away he couldn’t stay here a second longer she was dead she was dead she was already crumbling away and he had to go he wanted to rip off his own skin he could still feel her touching him where where where were his clothes where was the key to these manacles he had to go he-

Erebus dropped his sword. He fell to his knees. He buried his face in his hands. 

And he screamed.

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump

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@vampiresprite

[444names]

Names generated from Laotian male forenames and Laotian surnames

Alongmang Alouk Anasavang Anoung Anovan Arivonekeaw Asanh...

Bangmalito Bangsavila Bangxay Banithilay Banna Banyavone Boromvong Borphrakdy Bouamkeo Bouang Bouanith Bouanthia Bouhamwaen Bouksavone Boulin Boumi Boummy Bouphasith Bouth Bouthavong Bouvanh Bouvone Chack Chaen Chalouany Chamanth Chamchaeng Chamhouvong Chammaloun Chamseuth Chane Chang Changvilay Chanh Chanhti Chanivang Chanthacham Chany Charack Charak Chasa Chaseun Chath Chava Chavat Chavonekeo Chavong Chong Choueng Chouli Chouvanth Daohet Davane Davon Davong Davongdara Douanh Douhang Doumy Dounlath Dounnavong Douphavano Douthisong Hananh Hommany Homphangsy Houammasong Insanyavanh Insone Insounivano Insourivong Intai Intanth Inthachalay Inthak Inthalay Inthane Inthath Inthimanh Inthipphoun Inthiratth Inthisong Kalouen Kaloun Kamakdy Kamhom Kangdalavat Kasavane Kaycocie Keoda Keodark Keodart Keohet Keokhombane Keombath Keommalamok Keomphavany Keomsanh Keopasen Keophet Keophetsanh Keoson Keosong Keosook Keosoueng Keovanh Keovanith Keovong Khacha Khachanh Khack Khakangmanh Khala Khamkeaw Khammara Khana Khane Khang Khanh Khanikong Khannanh Khanoune Khanouth Khansakdy Khanth Khany Khanyale Khara Khaseuana Khavanna Khavon Khavong Kholphakdy Khong Khoth Kitha Kithak Kombano Kommale Laohammala Lathane Lathila Leoprat Leosoun Leovanh LoVane LoVang LoVangrath LoVanh Luanany Luang Luanh Luanivong Luansy Luanthack Luany Luattany Mahannaysa Mahany Maichaphen Maisong Maiyack Manivath Mansone Manth Manthilat Manyaseuanh Namanthamsa Namkona Nampane Namsoummane Namtanth Nanoun Nanth Nanya Norack Nounekeo Opanay Opanith Opasingchay Oungsy Ounkhack Ounsy Panyavong Paysavan Paysaysa Phachang Phaek Phaene Phalavong Phalaya Phaloun Phamkeaw Phamphong Phanh Phaphira Phavansong Phavone Phavong Pheng Pheppham Phesy Phethisit Phetikong Phetsongsam Pheuttane Phiark Philath Phisa Phisong Phisouang Phivon Pholseun Phombatth Phommack Phommang Phommy Phompaseth Phomphouang Phomsay Phomseth Phomvany Phomvong Phone Phong Phongsavang Phongsin Phongsy Phongxayara Photh Phothathom Phouanh Phouk Phouksa Phoulavanh Phoulivanh Phoumphanth Phoumvivone Phoune Phounmy Phouth Phoutham Phouvang Phouvanh Phouvong Phouvongda Phovann Phovany Phovon Phovona Phrasisinh Phrat Phromsa Phuone Phuonek Phuong Rasit Rasixieng Rasook Rathamkeo Ratth Saekeaw Saene Saengsavong Sangsa Sanichakone Sanikong Sanivone Sanou Santh Savilagno Savone Savongvilay Saylayavany Sayloun Saysouvong Sayvannay Senglomseng Sengna Sengsavanh Sengsy Sihanna Sihanth Siharavong Sihathavanh Sihouanith Sihouk Sihoul Silathanh Silayaleuth Simmanh Simmavanane Simokhang Simolay Simolseuth Simounlam Singdara Singsavanh Siparath Sisakulit Sisan Sisarath Sisom Sisomavong Sisomvong Sison Sisone Sisong Sisongdaene Sisongnala Sisongsy Sisook Sisoummalay Sisouthanh Sithath Sittapasa Sivanith Sivilat Sivong Sivongphong Sivonnavanh Somay Sombanth Sommack Sommak Sommanavanh Sommano Sommany Sommay Sommy Sompha Somsai Somvong Somvongsa Soneti Songda Songdouth Songna Songxaya Sopadith Sophet Sothamong Souananya Souane Souanh Souanivong Souham Soulouk Soumaya Soumi Soummang Soumy Soune Sounemalanh Sounh Sounikong Sounmy Sounsith Souny Souria South Southak Southam Southanh Souttane Souvany Souvong Sovong Syhamsa Syhamsanh Syhara Sysanh Sysanoune Thany Tharack Thasithak Theng Thesomsa Theti Thetieng Thetphetie Thila Thilavong Thirath Thomackinh Thomavon Thone Thongsa Thongsy Thongvilay Thouanh Thouk Thovathilay Tompasavong Tomsavong Ubone Ubong Ubounsy Ubouth Vangsadit Vanlat Vanna Vanth Vanthanh Vanthi Vieng Vilang Vilany Vilath Vilavane Vilavon Vilaya Vilayavong Vilaythi Virak Virathon Viravan Vonekeaw Vongalaya Vongda Vongmavanh Vongna Vongravone Vorath Voravanh Voromma Vorphet Xaisavong Xaiyavanth Xaiyavat Xayalam Xayang Xayavath Xaylavan Xaysavong Xayvanh Xayvanth

[transformers-mosaic]

Transformers: Mosaic #486 - "Looking Into The Abyss: 2. Dark Awakening"

Originally posted on May 25th, 2010

Story, Letters - Franco Villa Art - Ibai Canales Edits - Zac DeBoard

deviantART | Seibertron | TFW2005 | BotTalk

wada sez: The Knights of the Pit resemble the Acolytes of Unicron from near the end of the Marvel US comic. The strip plays on the idea that being Rodimus Prime left some permanent mark on Hot Rod’s body, even after returning the Matrix to Optimus Prime towards the end of the cartoon. Per Villa on TFW2005: “This is where finally some big ideas from the G1 Marvel comics come in: if part 1 was mostly about the cartoon continuity (with Paradron and Nebulos) and ideas from original profiles (by Bob Budiansky), now it's turn to celebrate one of the many clever additions that Simon Furman brought in his epic run.” On Seibertron, he added: “I wrote this version of Mindwipe with BW Tarantulas in mind. He is my favorite mad scientist in Transformers lore.” Italian version below.

[vinceviralfreak]

Title: Soul Driven Skies

Once upon a time, in the vast expanse of the universe, a dreadful menace loomed. Far beyond the reaches of Earth, there existed an otherworldly spacecraft known as the Infernal Abyss. This malevolent creation, birthed from the depths of Hell itself, had but one purpose - to hunt and capture souls from all worlds, converting them into fuel that would grant the demonic vessel unimaginable power.

The Infernal Abyss, an intricate fusion of dark technology and ancient sorcery, fared silently through the celestial sea of stars. Its diabolical engines thrived on the stolen essence of sentient beings, a chilling prospect that fueled nightmares within the hearts of free civilizations across the galaxies.

Commanded by the fearsome demon lord, Vorath, the Infernal Abyss was an emblem of terror and destruction. Known for his insatiable thirst for souls, Vorath was relentless in his quest to overpower the forces that stood against him. With each soul added to the cosmic furnace, the spaceship glowed with an unholy aura, growing more formidable with every passing abduction.

News of the Infernal Abyss spread like wildfire among the galaxies, sowing fear and panic among the hearts of many. Brave warriors from various civilizations united, vowing to find a way to stop the diabolical spacecraft and save the countless worlds it threatened.

Led by the valiant warrior, Selena, these heroes embarked on a perilous journey. Across the stars, they gathered ancient knowledge and sought allies within the most unlikeliest of places. Drawing upon their skills, they hatched a daring plan to infiltrate the Infernal Abyss, hoping to disable it from within and liberate the souls trapped within its dark confines.

Cloaked by the veils of night, their ship, The Lightbringer, traversed the vast emptiness, cloaked in secrecy. Their defiance of Vorath's impending doom was fueled by the unwavering belief that good would triumph over evil.

Days turned into weeks, and finally, the Lightbringer closed in on its otherworldly foe. Engaging in calculated maneuvers, Selena and her band of warriors launched a surprise attack, penetrating the Infernal Abyss's formidable defenses. The clash that ensued was a symphony of blazing weapons and ancient spells, as the warriors fought desperately to navigate through the labyrinthine halls of the demonic spacecraft.

Together, they ventured deeper into the heart of the Infernal Abyss, where the stolen souls were held prisoner. Selena, driven by her relentless determination, confronted Vorath, the very embodiment of malevolence. A fierce battle ensued, as the demon lord sought to eliminate Selena and safeguard the souls, his grotesque power swirling around him like an inky vortex.

Unleashing the last reserves of her strength, Selena deflected Vorath's attacks, leaving herself vulnerable. With a surge of courage, she reached out to embrace Vorath, absorbing his immense darkness. The demonic energy coursed through her, empowering her. In a final act of sacrifice, she released the stolen souls from their torment, setting them free.

As the Infernal Abyss trembled, Selena's body, now bathed in a radiant light, transcended its mortal form. Ascending into the heavens, her essence transformed into an ethereal being, becoming a symbol of hope and liberation across the galaxies.

The Infernal Abyss, stripped of its power source, crumbled into oblivion, dispersing into the cosmic void. The universe breathed a collective sigh of relief as the threat of its evil was vanquished.

And so, peace reigned once more across the galaxies, a testament to the indomitable spirit of a few brave warriors who dared to defy the darkness. The Infernal Abyss became a cautionary tale, a whispered myth in the vastness of space, serving as a reminder of the eternal struggle between good and evil, and the boundless power of the human spirit to overcome the greatest of adversities.

[pawnshopsouls]

//Possible names for a demon/specter of endless, starving, avarice

//Penure/Penurath/Penuras, Voras/Vorath/Voran, Dearth

Alright, what if we take the concept of a deer-like evil spirit of selfishness, and call it a Famine instead?