#all might is used to this. if he's feeling vengeful he can and will call him “shouta my CHILD”

[moonlit-orchid]

I bet every birthday Aizawa sends All Might nursing home recommendations.

Then one year he made the mistake of doing it where Midoriya saw

Come HIS birthday and MIDORIYA sent HIM a book on "Mid-Life Crisis" and All Might died laughing because after YEARS of Aizawa calling him Old Man/ Old Might now Aizawa has a kid to make fun of HIS age

[willyhoos]

i read a fic that changed my brain chemistry and now i can't stop thinking about a universe where amy works for eggman... and metamy ensues. naturally. you know the drill by now. also roboticized sonic theory because it makes it more deliciously potent.

DESERT ROSE: A prickly young girl with terrifying strength and a love for the finer things in life, like frilly dresses and deadly high-powered machinery. She thinks maintenance is a romantic couples activity. Not only is the "desert rose" highly poisonous, it can't really be considered a rose, can it…? However, its resilience means it could bloom even in a rusty scrapyard...

notes for the au under cut!

rose believes metal sonic when he says he is the original. he hasn't told her what happened. that he failed to save her. that he failed to save everyone. that there was a time when he was organic like she is. he just said "the other sonic is the copy" and she said "okay! let's kill him :)"

metal sonic is constantly torn between guilt and adoration at who rose has grown into. she became so much stronger. strong enough to protect herself - strong enough, even, to protect him (if he ever let her, that is. he might not be a hero any more but it's burned into his core forever that > KEEP AMY ROSE SAFE is a KEY goal.) on the other hand... he feels like he remembers someone different. a girl who loved animals and flowers and sunshine. who would give her life to protect everything she's now destroying. but his memories are so fuzzy...

i'm not so sure that amy would be big on programming and constructing machines herself, but she's always eager to "test" them... and it goes without saying she is frankly terrifying when she wants to be and is a beast on the battlefield

what a helpful young lady! im so glad i didn't just kill her!! - eggman probably.

"wait if rose calls metal sonic 'sonic' then. what does she call sonic" -> she calls him faker. copycat. knockoff. off-brand. etc. in short, she doesn't acknowledge him by name

i have the feeling that metal sonic is a bit more... enthusiastic? i guess? about his mission in this universe. it's not "ME VS. EVERYONE WHO COULD HAVE LOVED ME HAD I NOT FAILED" its "ROSE AND I VS. THEM" don't get me wrong he's furious and undead and vengeful and jealous and still insane. but. i think rose helps jog the vaguest of memories of who he used to be? unfortunately the person he used to be is a hero so i also imagine he's ever so slightly more conflicted in this universe... ("the old amy wouldn't have liked this, would the old me feel the same?")

codependence is my favorite flavor so i imagine metal really, really, REALLY appreciates having rose around. someone who is kind to him. someone who believes that he used to be more than this, and treats him like maybe he isn't worth less after all... i imagine if sonic ever tried recruiting amy, metal would go BALLISTIC. "YOU ALREADY HAVE EVERYTHING ELSE. YOU CAN'T HAVE HER TOO." she's mine -> she's my (partner) she's my (memory) she's my (friend) she's my (tether) she's my (hope) she's my (rose)

metal sonic is. (gestures) metal. and he lives in a metal box on a metal ship surrounded by metal debris. but down the hall there is a single remaining rose. and in this state she is perfectly preserved. nothing can hurt her. eggman can't hurt her if she's on his payroll, huh...?

i can't put it into words properly (and ive tried) but the idea of "killer metal robot (whose objective is to destroy natural life) falls in love with a gentle girl named rose" makes me start frothing at the mouth. just shut up. why don't you hold his hand too. and he can't FEEL it like he should . and it hurts. and it's infuriating. but he Can tell that her pulse is higher than average and the temperature of her cheeks are strangely high. and he supposes that can comfort him for now.

i feel a little "if i had to choose between the world and sonic i would choose sonic" vibe.

this took me so incredibly long so if it flops im dropping out of college.

i wanna update these designs later, these are just the beginning concepts for the au :)

[cheekylittlepupp]

You all know A Astarion's epilogue outfit, but have you ever wondered whether it's bats or dragons? Me and @egooppidum were wondering that today and we came to the conclusion that it's 100% dragons. The symbolism is SUPERB. Hats off to Larian for this.

Brace yourselves this might be a bit long ~

"Red dragons are covetous, evil creatures, interested only in their own well-being, vanity and the extension of their treasure hoards. They are supremely confident of their own abilities."

"Rarely, red dragons would adopt a protective yet patronizing manner towards creatures they saw as inferior that lived within their self-imposed borders" - Oh you precious dark consort, how lucky you are to have the greatest vampire lord as your master, for him to bless you with his eternal gift, turn you into his spawn, his right hand.

"Red dragons believed that if a being was not strong enough to protect what it had, then it did not deserve to keep it. This applied not just to treasure, but to life. They despised weakness among their own kind." Literally ANY line from him when he talks about his former 'weak and pathetic self'.

Him being obssessed with power and how that's the only important thing in this world. This would be huge if I added all of those lines tbh.

"Red dragons were known for their swift and fiery tempers—if angered, they would explode into a destructive rage and become even more impulsive and vengeful" - Practically his entire dialogue when you break up with him after the ascension or declining to become his spawn. Even subtly threatening you

"Such rages were in part due to their fragile pride and feeling that any loss, insult, or defeat meant a loss of status if not addressed—causing chaos and destruction assuaged wounded pride and mitigated lost status" - He sees himself as the best version of himself right now and the fact that you reject him, in any kind of way wounds him greatly. This is why he starts hurling insults at you, to hurt you back, to try and cover up the fact that you just shattered his ego

"They were the most avaricious and were constantly looking to expand their hoards with treasure, they were the most obsessive collectors." Recall how he calls you his treasure and how you’ll be together forever, he will have you forever. He is in fact obsessed with wealth. He would also like to sequester you in a deep chamber in his lair, I mean palace and keep you all to himself.

"They would also boast about their magnificent hoards." Him at the epilogue party. ESPECIALLY in the non romanced version.

"Preferring their own company and engaging with others only when it had purpose, they were solitary creatures and cared little for news of other types of dragons, though they did look for news of other red dragons in their area and of affairs in the world in general. They used other charmed creatures as messengers, informants, and spies to bring them information"

"And of course they were recognized by their scarlet and crimson scaled hides" self explanatory really ~

"The vanity of red dragons was often revealed in their prideful postures and the looks of disdain with which they regarded all others"

"To have is nothing, to keep is all."

"In fact, in many ways, they were most like hoursecats" I had to add this, it's too funny

Okay I'm stopping here because This will be massive if I don't shut up. We can replace "red dragons" with Astarion and it would fit perfectly. I'm leaving you guys the link for the red dragon wiki, have fun with it ~

https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Red_dragon

[mymoshangthoughts]

cumplane thoughts: (lots of nsfw LOL)

airplane in shen yuan's lap, cockwarming for him while he writes and shen yuan looks over his shoulder, sharply criticizing his writing

shen yuan using his advanced knowledge of pidw to wifeplot the fuck out of airplane (its not his fault that airplane doesnt remember that flower is an aphrodisiac or this cave is the "ohno now we have to get married!" cave. really, it was irresponsible of airplane to forget such things and this was the forgone conclusion of that hack author being so forgetful)

cucumber and airplane being enemies online, but crushing on each other irl without knowing about the online handles (classmates? workmates? that cute guy i see on the train?)

shen twins au where shen yuan notices that disciple shang is kinda sus and investigates (thinking that its bc of the mobei jun thing and now that he's grown up in this world he's sort of invested in NOT having demons attack his sect-mates), but the more he gets to know the skittish disciple, the more he's sorta catching feelings and this is a problem! bc shang qinghua is gonna be a traitor! ....but is he really? sure, qinghua is a lil asshole, but he's not really the bloodthirsty type? maybe with some proper guidance from his shixiong he'll turn out better? no, jiu-ge, i am not being naive and no i dont think my dick cures evil, its not like that! it's just that--why are you calling him my boyfriend?! I SAID IT'S NOT LIKE THAT, JIU-GE!

cumplane frenemies since their school days and current roommates. shen "i'm not gay so the sex isnt gay" yuan and shang "you're not fooling anyone but sure" qinghua. they're just 'friends' according to shen yuan. it's 'no homo sex' apparently. shang qinghua is fine with this, he is, his stupid boyfriend might have the most internalized homophobia in the world but like... they live together and shen yuan is mostly nice to him and they've been together for years and this is something real, right? except shen yuan's mom starts pressuring him to "finally settle down and marry a nice girl" so shen yuan is talking about it and the sinking realization finally hits shang qinghua that shen yuan never really considered their relationship to be a real thing. thats... fine... this is fine... he'll be fine. he is not fine. nope. not one bit. and he is not gonna be the bigger man about this. fuck. no. he is absolutely going to fucking destroy that stupid piece of shit EX boyfriend who never deserved him!! he is going to avenge himself and ruin shen yuan's life and he is going to be super shitty about it! but first, he's going to run away from home and cry with a tub of ice-cream bc wow that is the most painful breakup he's ever had haha. except after shang qinghua disappears and leaves behind a "fuck you, i want a divorce" note, shen yuan looks for him and asks friends and gets dressed down for being an idiot and also realizes oh fuck he actually totally was in love with his not-boyfriend and now he has to win back a very vengeful and very bitter shang qinghua, who also knows all of his weaknesses and darkest secrets

cumplane sex where cucumber is struggling to comprehend just how fucking shameless airplane is. that man can ride his dick while moaning pathetically and then still look cucumber in the face and smile while asking for round five and cucumber knew that airplane wrote porn, cucumber READ that porn, but nothing quite prepared him for just how horny and sexually expressive airplane is. SHEN YUAN'S THIN FACE WAS NOT READY FOR THIS SHIT

shang twins au: the shang twins have been pretending to be one person, for vaguely evil reasons, and shen yuan notices solely bc he Is A Very Observant and Smart Person and it's not at all because he's memorized the pattern of airplane's freckles or anything gay like that, nope, that's not it at all!

cucumber starts talking to one of airplanes various troll alts that he uses to stir up drama and airplane replies, fully intending to further agitate one of his loudest anti-fans except.... they just kinda... keep talking? and airplane is really enjoying himself? and they're taking it to the dms and now they're kinda friends and shit, it's bad if cucumber finds out he's airplane, right? the entire basis of their friendship is a lie then. which is totally fine, haha, this friendship prolly won't last long. except it totally does and now theres like irl meetings and cucumber is Fucking Handsome and that isn't fair AT ALL bc now airplane has a crush on his (best??)friend and ohwow, cucumber can srsly NEVER learn abt his identity as the author. cucumber is a super bitter and grudge holding person but also he HATES the author and airplane rreeeallly likes having someone who kinda likes him in his life aND OHFUCK IS THAT CUCUMBER LOOKING AT HIS PHONE!?

shen yuan making airplane endure Every Single sex position that he wrote those poor wives in the harem having to endure. partially to make a point of "that CANT be possible", partially bc he's still annoyed at the hack writing, and partially bc it's rrreeeeeaallly nice to see airplane fucked out of his mind like that

airplane accidentally wife-plots himself and cucumber is a good bro about it and fucks away the fuck-or-die pollen. except now he's accidentally gotten airplane addicted to his dick??? bc now airplane is seeking him out constantly. was there something else in that fuck-or-die pollen? bc airplane is acting weird. was there some freaky love potion or something? ahh, it's really hard to think of the answer when he wakes up to the peak lord of an ding sucking his dick

airplane accidentally gets transformed into a magical beast and before he can find his way back to humanity, he gets beaten up and hauled off by liu qingge to be presented as a gift to shen yuan. which oki, fine, maybe he can communicate to his bro. but shen yuan is really nice to him when he's in this form (like a hamster monster) and wow, he never knew how much he really liked shen yuan being nice to him??? maybe he should just let it be for a bit longer??

shen yuan, recently trasnmigrated into the body of an ice demon, does not know what to do about the sobbing an ding disciple clinging to his thigh and begging for his life (bc i refuse to kill off mobei jun, this is a body swap au and now mobei jun has to live in modern day china as shen yuan LOL)

cucumber decides that he likes airplane best when he's too fucked out of his mind to keep talking shit. also, on a related note, airplane decides he likes when cucumber talks shit when they're in bed the most. does he have a degradation kink? he might have a degradation kink.

sugar baby airplane and his very grumpy sugar daddy shen yuan. yes, airplane is spoiled rotten, but he also has a strict writing schedule and his harshest critic tormenting him in bed. but ohwell, shen yuan also nags him to eat properly and makes sure that he does and the kitchen is always stocked and sometimes shen yuan just pulls him into a hug and rests his chin against airplane's head and yeah, he can live with sometimes getting fucked while cucumber growls in his ear "that was a shit chapter, you completely forgot the continuity from chapter 24 and now you created a big stupid plothole with the most interesting monster you made--". its a good life

airplane first meets shen yuan as a coworker. he's a rich trust-fund baby type who has impeccable fashion and a poser attitude. clearly a thin face and probably boring as fuck. airplane meets shen yuan for the second time at a convention while signing autographs, dressed in binghe-merch and clearly Way Too Invested. and airplane immediately thinks the gap moe is AMAZING. he's gonna have so much fucking fun with this. especially since airplane was wearing cosplay and his coworker didn't recognize him >:D

[fire-lizard-ro]

Smol snippet because the angst hit me all of a sudden.

CW: mentions of death, mental fucking breakdown djxkd-, grief, angst, Sunday is sad :’’’’)), 2.0-2.1 spoilers.

(Disclaimer with a 2.2 trailer/livestream spoiler: I’m aware that she isn’t actually dead, but this is made in mind with Sunday who doesn’t know that.)

No mentioned gender for reader.

Writing under the cut (SFW):

“My baby, my baby. You’re my baby say it to me.”

Cradled in your arms he cannot even cry. He feels empty and lost. Sunday… what use is the name Sunday if there is no Robin to call after him? He failed her. Her, the one who shone so brightly in his life.

He can remember every birthday, every scrape, every “good morning” and “good night”. He can remember every “I love you”. Thinking about these memories, holding that light cone with a moment in time held so dear trapped within it’s frame- It fills the emptiness with something.

Sunday tightens his grip on you, fingers twisting in the back of your shirt as a silent sob wracks his body.

Anguish.

That is the name of the emotion that colors his empty insides with dark and dreary hues of blues and blacks; his heart with the color of life as it bleeds in her absence.

You pet the back of his head, holding him back just as tightly as he finally allows himself to fall apart in only the company of solitude and you. The seraph finally allows his wings to rest. The figurehead finally takes off the perfect mask.

“Why did it have to be her?” He can’t understand how this happened. How could his lovely, perfect sister be gone?

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Sunday,” is all you can say. But that much is enough. He lets his tears wet your shoulder as he hides away from the reality of her death and the world. He’s grateful you’re here at least. In the back of his mind that’s fracturing and breaking to pieces, he wonders what he’d do if he didn’t even have you to hold him together. Would he fall apart? Lose himself entirely?

A dash of gratitude and love colors his bleakness in a splash of warm pinks and oranges- Like the sunset he watched with you in the dreamscape not too long ago.

She was everything before he met you. Being the older brother, she was like his first child. He can remember looking at her tiny, chubby face when she was still too young to talk, and thinking- “This is my baby sister.” He was supposed to take care of her- protect her.

Thinking of how someone killed her in cold blood and made those starlight eyes close forever… Deep reds formed.

Anger.

He would force the criminal into the light and bring about retribution for their evil.

“Will you help me?”

He asked, eyes almost manic and wings spread; looking almost like an angry, vengeful fallen angel in that moment.

You took his hand and he smiled, leaning down to kiss the hand that accepted his.

“Thank you, my love.”

I wanted to include how every older sibling’s first child is their baby sibling, lololol. And just. I can’t imagine how much grief he had to have been going through. OTL

I might edit this or add to it later this was just a blurb I wrote in like five minutes-

[lemon-russ]

True Son of Horus

-holds up frying pan as shield- look, I'm just as much a victim to these sad things as you guys, I wake up with terrible ideas and they just appear on my phone. If I don't share I think I will face 100 years of curses. I don't make the rules (I do make the rules)

It's super short

Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye, and thanks for dividers @squishyowl

Horus x F!Reader (Sort of)

CW: Death, Sad, very sad, mentions of blood and wounds, Loss of an adult child

Song: Youth- Glass Animals

Fly Feel your mother at your side Don't you know you got my eyes? I'll make you fly You'll be happy all the time I know you can make it right

Legion mother.

Thats what they'd taken to calling you, once upon a time. Their gene father's wife, their Legion Mother.

Then you'd became a real mother. You'd raised your boy and he became the pride of the Luna Wolves. The apple of his Father's eye. 

You wish you knew then. You would have run. Fought. Cried, screamed, escaped. Oh, you had loved Horus. But if you only knew what he would do.

He stands over the body of his brother, The Great Angel, as his own Father confronts him about his treachery.

You didn't know of course. He didn't tell you anything important. It was always don't fret over it my love. Always placating you, pampering you, hushing you. And you let him, because things were so easy.

You can't hear what Horus is rambling about through the ringing in your ears. Your vision tunnels as you scoot forward on your knees over the hard, textured metal floor of The Vengeful Spirit.

Your shaking hands brush the cold, pale cheek of the boy you made with your own body, so many years ago. Forgotten by his father now, left aside in a pile of other corpses of forgotten sons. But those were Sons of Horus in name only. Gene Sons.

This is The son of Horus. The son of the Legion Mother. Your son. Forgotten, eyes wide and staring at nothing.

With trembling hands you lift his head into your lap. You hear the conflict nearby escalate, but again cannot hear the words. You close your son's eyes. There, he's sleeping now. You can't kill an Astartes afterall. They are strong and fast and heal so quickly. That's how Horus convinced you to let your baby boy be modified at the tender age of 10. He will be strong, invincible, immortal, he'd told you.

Yes, he will heal. He just needed his eyes closed so he can rest and heal. He's sleeping. He's sleeping. He's slee-

You don't realize your lips are moving, repeating the phrase aloud until someone touches your shoulder. You yank away. They want you to abandon your baby boy at a time like this? When he needs to rest on his mothers lap and heal? Just like when he was small and got a flu- something he hadn't had to worry about in decades thanks to his geneseed implant- he use to come to your side and lay in your lap, seeking the healing warmth of his mother's embrace. You'd pet his hair like you did now, murmur lullabies to help him sleep, just like you do now. He's so peaceful. You'll need to get him a bandage for the head wound, it looked like a nasty one, but that is alright, you will mend him just like when he had a scraped knee-

The hand on your shoulder starts pulling harder, tearing you from your sleeping boy. 

Through the echoing ringing of your ears you hear a new sound over the shouting of Horus and his father. A wet, screeching sound like a metal sheet being torn in half, or almost what your old planets tales might call a banshee's wail. It was not good to hear the cry of the banshee, it means someone you know or yourself will die soon. You worry for your sleeping baby boy in the back of your shattering mind.

A hand clasps over your mouth and the wailing muffles. 

"Please, Legion Mother, we have to go now-" and insistent voice urges you. Was that Levi? He's your son's best friend, and a good boy, you've known him nigh most his life. He was a neophyte with your son.

"Levi, he's so tired, we have to take him to his bed-" you say, trying to crawl back to the motionless form.

Levi picks you up, and the banshee starts wailing again in the echos of your ringing ears.

"Legion Mother, enough! We have to leave now-" he damands, clamping a hand back over your mouth as he throws you over his shoulder.

You reach out as your sleeping boy grows farther and farther from you. Distantly you hear shouting, and metal on metal. Levi turns a corner and your son is torn from your eyeline. 

You'd go back.

You'd warn yourself.

You would find the day you sobbed and held the tiny, distinctly human baby in your arms and you'd tell yourself to run. Horus hides things. Horus wanted to make your baby into a wepon. Horus would fight his own father over the corpse of his brother, yards from where his own flesh and blood son lay lifeless sleeping on the cold metal ground of a warship.

Your baby boy. You'd have gone back and told yourself they would take your baby boy, and you'd have to watch. 

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ the unkillable mercenary. ﹚: alessio arias 781 .𖹭 ݁

. . . need a man after midnight !? 🍒 : “ oh come on cariño — yeah I'm a bad influence but I'm fun aren't I? think you could use some fun. . . so how about it? could have a lot of that with you in my lap, ”

꒰ verse ꒱ 781

꒰ species ꒱ enigma

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ italian spaniard

꒰ age ꒱ 31

꒰ gender ꒱ male

꒰ mbti ꒱ enfp

꒰ alias ꒱ the reaper, god’s perfect idiot ♡, the emerald scourge ( remedy members ), the defender ( civilians )

꒰ story ꒱ 

chaotic and full of grins, alessio arias is known for his effortless charm, flirty exterior and sense of humour. he lives for havoc, is what's been rumoured. befitting, for a mercenary such as himself.

at day, a charismatic mechanical engineer and art student - but a feared, almost lunatic mercenary by night known as the reaper. 'unkillable' is what they call him but he laughs every time. oh he's very much killable. he just keeps crawling back. a bullet wound healed, an arm regrown, cells to joints to bones. he always finds a way back.

he seems to be roped in with the heroes every now and then, but he'd be damned to call himself that. his true mission lies in weeding out every last member of that blasted anti-enigma organisation; someone's gotta be a monster, don't they? and he's exceptional at such. 

 

꒰ appearance ꒱

dark, slightly messy and wavy medium-length hair, which extends just above the base of his neck

emerald green eyes ( with bordered pupils ), black eyeliner below his lids with faint black smudged eye shadow. has a vertical piercing on his left eyebrow

fair olive skin tone. two beauty spots below the right corner of his eye. masculine facial features with a few androgynous aspects here and there

6’7” ( 201cm ) and an athletic build of lean muscle

punk goth styled fashion. typically wears a lot of blacks with green accents. lots of leather jackets and black combat boots along with silver jewellery. especially silver chains around his belt loops

typically has black lipstick on his upper lip. sometimes uses a lip piercing

piercing littered ears; standard lobe piercings on each, whereas his right ear has a triple lobe, an orbital and a forward helix piercing —  the left wears a triple stacked helix and a daith

midline tongue piercing and stud on the right side of his nose

wears silver and black rings along with bracelets

sometimes paints his nails black

silver nipple piercings

 

꒰ personality ꒱

charming and charismatic. characterised by his signature grin, often teasing

a maniac, is what people often call him. best known for his chaotic, eccentric attitude

a charmer, flirtatious and bold. always up for a challenge

doesn’t keep his mouth shut sometimes, definitely loud-mouthed

mischievous and teasing, always joking around and sometimes being a bit silly

might come off as intimidating because of his confident front and bold persona ( has a bit of a bad boy esque )

incredibly protective of those he holds dear and the less strong, has a reputation of putting people around the university in their place ( and making it look like an accident )

isn’t all playful and pleasant as he may seem, extremely morally grey as his job outside of university is hunting down an organisation known as “remedy” for the experimentation on mutants

can be incredibly vengeful and ready to do whatever it takes to achieve his goal

can be reckless and even self-destructive. most definitely has a darker side to him, however masks this with humour

becomes far more terrifying when all the jokes and grins drop completely

deep down, is an extremely anxious and shattered person. feels immense guilt over the atrocities that he has committed. is far more shattered and emotionally vulnerable than people think

a person who is deeply caring when it all boils down to it. someone who thinks he is a monster but actually has a heart of gold with those he cares about or those in need

 

꒰ with a lover ꒱

fun and hyper boyfriend, with an eccentric attitude that carries chaos with it wherever he may settle his two feet, and oh he loves bringing you into it.

very flirtatious, much more than he is in his usual platonic settings and often resorts to teasing you as a way of showing his affection.

passionate and loving — often displays it through physical affection and through spoiling you rotten a lot.

a fan of touch? you’re in luck, this man is touch-starved PUPPY and will take any chance he can get to at least have his hand wrapped around your waist, shoulder or arm. it helps him feel calm.

adores playfully bullying and poking fun at you, be it through making you indescribably flustered or simply pulling at your leg.

speaking of teasing, he loves mischief and spooking you by jumping out from random corners around the dorm, just so that he can pull you into his arms and soothe you after with a wide grin on his face.’

very protective, but will always do his hardest to ensure it is not overbearing.

may also display signs of possessiveness, however, this is also a trait that he tries not to be overbearing in and ensures that he is not coming off as controlling or toxic.

loves dancing you around and taking you with him on late night drives to sing in the car and grab some snacks — and also sometimes sit with you in silence and cuddle up in the backseat.

always expect alessio to unexpectedly show up and snatch you, just to litter you with kisses, fluster you or cuddle you with him — sometimes to also play games in his apartment.

calls you up during missions just to hear your voice

ask him nicely and he would most likely burn the world down for you.

 

꒰ strengths ꒱

hyper-regenerative abilities: the ability to heal from any wound, whether it be a papercut or being disintegrated.

advanced bodily function: heightened speed, strength, agility and durability — along with advanced senses.

weapon mastery: a master of weapons and highly adaptable to anything he can get his hands on, ranging from sword to a mere fork.

immunity: due to his fast-replicating cells, most illnesses and diseases are killed off immediately before they have any sort of long-lasting affect on him

 

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

strawberries: he has an intense allergy to strawberries — it greatly deters his senses when consumed.

 

꒰ relationships ꒱

valerio agresta: father

elena arias perez: mother, deceased.

lorenzo agresta arias: younger brother, deceased.

rishen herrera: boyfriend

zhào talisen: frenemy

zhào yŭ xī: younger sister figure

felicity smith: ex girlfriend

luciel bealieu: ex boyfriend

the artisan: enemy.

yuè yizé: complicated

takara shimada: friend

shalika vaishya: friend

yuè mèng yáo: motherly figure, from another universe ( verse 9948e )

zhào mùchén: enemy, from another universe ( verse 9948e )

zhào hàoyú: best friend, from another universe ( verse 9948e )

zhào yizé: friend, from another universe ( verse 9948e )

zhào haitāo: friend, from another universe ( verse 9948e )

 

꒰ extra ꒱

 he is a university student who majors in biochemistry and takes a theatre class as a minor

he speaks spanish ( castilian ) and italian

he knows asl

he is apart of the university dance club

he plays both acoustic and electric guitar

he smokes cigarettes

he has many goldfish named bob

[thrashkink-coven]

What I thought being patroned to Lucifer would be like for me:

Lots of intense rituals, blood offerings, and sacrifices to keep the demon lord happy. The work is never done. Strict rules and serious business. This isn’t a game, it’s not supposed be fun or enjoyable. I am being tossed into the fire. Demons and shadow people would follow me everywhere, I’d constantly be protecting myself from his enemies and fighting for my life. I may loose my mind. God would hate me. Lucifer would make my life difficult to help me grow into an enlightened god on earth. He would demand respect and force me to do things to teach me lessons. He would make me hate God. I’d be afraid all the time. My relationships might erode but it’s for the best. I would learn how to live without emotions or worldly connections. An ugly, vengeful demon lord with a terrible voice would appear to me and teach me how to use my hatred to gain control over this world. I won’t like who I am at the end of it but it won’t matter because at least I’ll be free.

What being patroned to Lucifer is actually like for me:

I am God’s favourite. I am constantly spoiled with gifts and celebrated. Most of the demons in the hierarchy immediately recognize me as his and give me respect and right of way. Lucifer doesn’t demand offerings but he gets so excited and touched whenever he receives them. Any time I offer him my blood he acts like it’s an incredible gift. He helps me work through problems and encourages me to live a fulfilling life free from unnecessary stress. He provides me with countless books to educate myself with. He asks me to make art for him and he sends me familiars to remind me he is always protecting me. Shadow people and malevolent spirits cower away from his light. He calls me pet names and asks me to tell him about my day. He tells me how much he loves me every day. He never raises his voice at me or forces me to do anything. The only thing he commands is that I worship and honour myself. He encourages me to pray and heal my relationships with God. He visits me in my dreams to give me kisses. He offers me pleasure and gives me rewards. He loves just spending time together. Every morning when I burn incense at his altar, he thanks me for waking up. My relationships with the people who are good to my grow stronger and more lovely, and my relationships to the people who are bad to me break down so that they can no longer harm me. Crows follow me around and leave me feathers to give him, stray cats and deer like to say hello to me. I see beautiful things every day. Every morning and night I get to watch the Lucifer star rise. and I’m truly happy and at peace for what feels like the first time ever, and there isn’t a problem I can’t overcome. I’m not afraid of anything. He’s so incredibly beautiful and kind, he makes beautiful music with a beautiful voice, and he teaches me to use empathy to understand others. I love him and he loves me. I am free.

[hopeforchanges]

okay hot take here don't bash my head in ... Sauron and Galadriel ≠ Orlok and Ellen

idk am i the only one who doesn't see it? i stayed away from speaking on the topic cause i didn't feel i had all the information to engage in any meaningful convo but now that a good amount of time has passed and I have listened and read other people's arguably passionate stances on this (which is great! i love when people enjoy something, it gives me joy too!!) i must say .... i don't get it lol

let me explain myself:

I get that certain aesthetics or vibes might overlap (dark, brooding antagonist vs. a luminous, female protagonist), the comparison completely falls apart when you dig into their actual characterizations.

Ellen as a Symbol of Maidenhood vs. Galadriel as a Warrior

Ellen is basically a paragon of feminine virtue: she's all about purity, innocence, and ultimate sacrifice. She represents a kind of moral ideal that aligns with the trope of the "selfless maiden." Sure there is darkness in here but like ... where? lol in the words of one of my favorite complicated female characters of the silver screen: "I can't see it, I can't touch it, I can't feel it. I can hear it, I can hear some words but I can't do anything with your easy words."

Galadriel is a warrior, a soldier, a power-hungry monarch. She was born a princess into a life of great privilege. Galadriel is ambitious, vengeful, and actively pursuing power. She definitely embodies characteristics that are more commonly associated with male domination. I love both the feminine in Ellen and the masculine in Galadriel. They just don't overlap imo.

Orlok’s Selfish Awareness vs. Sauron’s Delusional “Vision”

Orlok is unapologetically monstrous. He’s a selfish predator who knows exactly what he is and doesn’t care. He’s not trying to justify himself or claim he’s “saving” anyone—he just feeds on people because that’s what he does.

Sauron thinks he’s doing the right thing. In his mind, his actions are about order, preservation, and the “greater good.” That lack of self-awareness is huge—it makes him a completely different type of villain. Orlok leans into his evil; Sauron justifies it - doesn't even think he's the evil force - definitely not in his story.

The Core Dynamic Feels Wrong

Ellen and Orlok’s relationship is built on fear and revulsion. Ellen sacrifices herself to stop Orlok—she lures him to his doom. There’s no room for ambiguity there; he’s the predator, and she’s the prey.

Galadriel and Sauron are equals. None of them can land the killing blow because they don't want to, not because they can't. Their dynamic is tangled up in grudging respect, power struggles, and even a weird sort of kinship. Galadriel isn’t diminished or destroyed by Sauron like Ellen was by Orlok; quite the contrary. Galadriel was empowered by Sauron, healed through him (at least in the show which is the medium i am basing my opinions on, not necessarily the tolkien legendarium). That's why it's so funny to me that in season 2 he can't figure out why she won't say yes to him when she used to drool over his mortal form and so he transforms into Glambrand as his big fix cause he thinks THAT is what the issue is lol you were her friend, dumbass, that's literally it. you supported her and believed in her when no one did and couched her so she could achieve her goals - helped her self-actualize.

There are no such layers and complexities in Ellen and Orlok's relationship. Plus, the fact that he came to her first when she was a kid gives me the ick, sorry. it's giving phantom of the opera. and i HATE phantom of the opera (the original book by Leroux, the musical kinda slaps tbh)

TL;DR:

Yes, Ellen calls Orlok a deceiver, but that’s where the parallels end for me. Ellen = pure, selfless sacrifice; Galadriel = complex, power-driven warrior. Orlok = evil and knows it; Sauron = evil but thinks he’s the hero. Their dynamics are fundamentally different, and the Orlok/Ellen comparison just doesn’t hold up under scrutiny.

If I’m missing something, feel free to convince me otherwise, but for now? Nah, I don’t see it.

[crimeronan]

Okay, catching up on your posts, about that snippet you posted with devins first kill- I think what's so haunting about it to me is how kind the old lady seems. Being genuinely helpful and willing to assist at first, having kind mannerisms and genuinely giving off the impression that she's really sweet. As the piece went on I started to believe when Devin said she wasn't in danger, because why would she be? She's a sweet old lady eager to help. And Devin, in turn, genuinely appreciates her kindness. She's lying a lot in the convo but her appreciation of her kindness towards her seems startling sincere. They're both being pleasant and nice- and Devin continues to be so even when the ruse is up, calm and collected and kind to her, not at all angry and vengeful like I would imagine. Its... unsettling. That this old woman was kind to her and it wasn't a ruse, it wasn't a lie, it was just genuine kindness. Even though, if I'm reading the implications right, she caused the deaths of countless children. This is not a monster; this is a kind old lady who's first instinct is to help, not to manipulate, but just to help. And yet she is also a monster. And Devin... she knows this. She knew this from the start. She is weighing the value of her life the whole time they speak, the whole time she's pleasant to her. And her appreciation for her kindness also isn't a lie; her thoughts make that clear. She considers calmly whether to let her go. She acknowledges that killing her serves no purpose; she's already retired, so she's no longer hurting anyone, there's no justice or honor in killing her. There's no reason to, except that it might make her feel better. And she's so calm when weighing it all. Weighing her life. She appreciated her kindness genuinely, she thought of letting her go, but... she killed her anyway. I'm new to your oc posts so sorry if I got anything wrong (am especially nervous on whether I got Devins pronouns right, but you refer to her as she, right? Sorry if I'm wrong about that), but that snippet was genuinely unsettling and haunting. Somehow... the most scary part of it was the kindness. The startling reminder that monsters are human, too—that they can be kind, and it not be a lie, kind to a stranger for no other reason except wanting to help. That's terrifying to me.

MMMMMM, YEAH. YEAH YEAH YEAH.

(and yes on devin's pronouns! devin uses she/they/he in order of preference. "he" isn't exactly Wrong, but as i've written her more, it's become more and more the kind of answer that's only correct on a technicality.)

the only correction i'd make is that maddie wasn't Directly responsible for countless child deaths..... she was, however, responsible for countless cases of child slavery. proponents of the system would argue it's not slavery, because the children are provided for and have their needs met and just have to work for the light temples until they die or get rich enough to buy out, with basically no legal recourse in cases of abuse. "how is that NOT slavery" because slavery sounds icky :( don't be mean it makes the government feel bad :(

in many ways, though, moira Was a child sacrifice. that's why maddie responds so strongly to her name. maddie truly can't remember every kid whose life she ruined, but moira was different!

one of the biggest driving forces and themes for me in this project is exactly what you said: that people can be both monsters and very kind at the same time. a lot of power fantasy vengeance media reduces its villains to two-dimensional strawmen that are disposable. they're easy to kill. the audience doesn't have any complicated feelings about their deaths.

and people just. aren't like that in real life. they can be selfish and cruel and manipulative, they can be abusive, they can commit atrocities, and at the end of the day, they still have things they love. i'm sure the united healthcare CEO loved and doted on his kids, which is why the media keeps calling him a "father of two" to try to stir up empathy. someone who loves his kids can't be bad, right?

or there's a throwaway bit in an episode of succession where some rich people are making jokes about the impending collapse of society, and a little girl asks about it, and one of them tells her, don't worry, you'll get to live in my bunker :) it's not your problem :)

(or something to that effect.)

maddie loves her grandkids. devin implies she's casually racist (and is probably right), but maddie is still sweet and kind to her. she's not a hateful woman! she loves birds and her rooftop garden and her family. she loves doing nice things for her neighborhood and making people happy. she'll go out of her way to help devin pull records to find a lost family member. she's probably already DONE that for the family or friends of other children she trafficked.

she doesn't see anything wrong with what she did. the government said it was okay, and she was keeping kids from dying impoverished on the streets! she was giving them another chance at life! "would you want that life for your grandkids??" is an irrelevant question, because she worked to save enough money for her grandkids so they'd never be in such a situation, so she doesn't have to think about it. she's kind! she's trusting! she's never even committed a crime!

"people are largely well-intentioned at heart" and "people can be unspeakably selfish and evil IF you promise them it's not selfish or evil" are two things that coexist, imo. it's something you have to get comfortable with if you do irl activism of any kind, too. particularly with any Undesirable marginalized group.

living in portland in america is very interesting sometimes. the people here consider themselves MUCH more politically leftist than the average american -- and indeed, they tend to oppose war, imperialism, racism, homophobia, and transphobia. at least when they're talking about their beliefs. people here are nicer than any other place i've ever visited in america!

they are also willing to unperson thousands of unhoused people and Fervently wish unimaginable cruelty, violence, brutality, and horror upon them. not only willing to WISH it, but also to Passionately Advocate For It in government meetings and in court. desiring this cruelty is socially acceptable & so the people who do so will never consider themselves monstrous. they will be hurt and sad and angry if you tell them it's monstrous.

maddie was a good mom and a good grandma. maddie bore no ill will toward the kids she sold. in fact, maddie's trustworthy demeanor and kindness might be why she was so successful at her job in the first place. because kids who were hurt and scared and alone were told she could rescue them, and they believed her.

monsters don't look like monsters. people have always been people. if we told the truth about what monstrosity is really like, we'd have to admit how many of our friends and neighbors and families and we ourselves are monstrous.

apathy is a political stance.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Who is Luzu?

Luzu was just announced as a QSMP member, and since he's a very important character in Karmaland and a VERY important person to Quackity's character, here's a quick rundown of Luzu and his lore for folks who aren't familiar with him:

Luzu is played by LuzuVlogs, a Spanish Twitch streamer who's good friends with Quackity!

IRL, they're such good friends that Luzu once accidentally called his real life son "Quackity"

Luzu is bilingual and can speak English and Spanish.

Luzu's character used to be a very kind, friendly, and loving man who helped everyone

HOWEVER, during Karmaland 4 (the season before Quackity joined) when he campaigned to be mayor of Karmaland, he was betrayed and mocked by his friends and the person he loved (who then ran off with someone else)

Luzu before the elections vs. after the elections

These two animatics sum up his K4 lore pretty well if you want an even shorter TLDR: Lemon Boy, Karma (an animatic approved by Luzu himself)

As a result, Luzu is a very vengeful, distrustful, and all around tragic character

Luzu canonically has an evil side, and he made a deal with "dark gods" in the past to take revenge on the people who've wronged him.

Despite all his past heartbreak and lingering anger, he immediately took a liking to Quackity when they first met.

Luzu and Quackity's Karmaland characters are parallels to each other

Luzu and Quackity were canonically in love with each other, but they were too emotionally constipated to confess their feelings despite their many, many, many romantic and borderline sexual shenanigans.

Luzu warned Quackity not to trust anyone in Karmaland except for him. But despite Luzu's deep mistrust of other people, he trusted Quackity immediately.

Luzu is a very possessive man, and very protective of Quackity.

He calls Quackity "Quacks" (both in and out of character)

He and Rubius have a long-standing rivalry, and they normally don't get along very well.

Luzu and Quackity had 4 (adopted) kids together.

When campaigning for mayor of Karmaland, Quackity asked everyone what they wanted most, and Luzu's response was, "I want you to be happy, Quackity."

HOWEVER, the day of the election, Luzu joined as an opposing candidate at the last second and stole the election from Quackity, fearing that the position in office might leave Quackity with the same trauma he had in a previous life (a life which he can only half-remember).

Luzu says everything he did, he did to protect Quackity.

TLDR: Luzu trauma-projected onto Quackity, who then started a revolution that nearly destroyed Karmaland in retaliation.

For a good TLDR of the revolution arc, “I Can’t Decide” is a good one to watch.

Even though he was furious with Luzu, Quackity told Rubius not to kill him. He’s referred to Luzu as “My 100%”, and “the best person I knew in Karmaland”, and even expressed his gratitude that Luzu was always so kind to him to Luzu himself, despite the war and despite knowing one of them would probably have to kill the other to end it.

Luzu said the song that best fits his character during the revolution arc is Bloody Mary by Lady Gaga.

Edit: This isn’t about the character, but I just saw what Luzu said in response to people asking him if he knew about the invitation:

Luzu: A mi Quackity me invitó desde hace bastante, me dijo si quería participar, así que llevo tiempo calladito, calladito, para no spoilear nada, aunque yo soy invitado no sé nada jaja, lo lleva todo Quackity, así que veremos con qué nos sorprende nuestro querido Quacks.

Translation: My Quackity invited me a long time ago, he asked me if I wanted to participate, so I've been quiet for a while, so as not to spoil anything, although I'm invited I don't know anything haha, Quackity takes everything, so we'll see what our beloved Quacks surprises us with.

Other info posts:

Who is Spreen? | Who is Sapo Peta? | Who is Vegetta?

[siriusblack-the-third]

Matching Misfortunes: Lucy Pevensie

Have feral Lucy, as a treat. The other parts for the other siblings are up on my blog if you wish to read it.

.

The boy reaches out with a lewd grin, and Lucy’s blood burns. She turns around, grips the boy’s arm and moves.

A second later, he is on his knees at her feet, her fisting a hand in his hair and twisting his arm behind his back. Her lips pull back into a wolf-like snarl as Howard lets out a yell, and she twists his arm harder with fingers smaller than she is used to having, vindictive pleasure coiling in her gut when his breath hitches with an even louder sob.

“YOU WILL NOT,” she roars with all her might, ignoring the way her voice is not as loud and commanding as it used to be, ignoring the shocked gasps and astonished stares of the rest of the students of the school, “TOUCH ME WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!”

The other boy— James, she remembers the teachers calling him— comes at her with his fist raised and a yell on his lips, but she kicks him in the back of his knee, hard enough that she feels something crack under her Mary Jane shoe. He lets out a pained scream and crumples like a can of soda would under her foot, and her snarl turns into a too wide grin, just on the wrong side of feral; it is a move Peter had taught her twelve years ago. Or maybe it was five years.

She never bothered to separate her home world from this one.

Her blood rushes through her veins like fire, and she pulls on Howard’s hair till his neck is bared, and her eyes zero in on the beating pulse under his jaw. She can almost feel the way the crimson life flows through his body, the way it would flow over his skin if she had her dagger. She would drag the blade over his flesh in a vicious, vengeful slice for the slight upon her person— he dares touch her?

He dares feel entitled to her presence? To her affections? To her body?

She is Queen Lucy the Valiant of Narnia. She is the Dragon Spirited Spymaster Queen, the Fourth of the Beloved Four, Lover of the People. She is greater and more powerful than he could ever hope to be, and he dares commit the crime of touching her?

She bares her teeth at the thought and twists his arm till she feels his shoulder pop out of place. Her canines elongate and dig into her lower lips even as her blood boils and bubbles, clamouring for punishment to be given and for vengeance to be taken in the form of his lifeblood.

He dared to touch you, Narnia whispers in her ear, tempting her with the fantasy of letting his blood colour her hands crimson. Punish him for his grave mistake, my Queen. Make him pay for this transgression.

There was a time when she would have killed him within seconds for having the audacity of trying to slap her behind. She would have made an example of him for the world to see— she might be young, but she is neither foolish nor meek, and she refuses to be disrespected in such an appalling fashion. If not her, then her siblings surely would have rendered him nothing more than a stain on the ground for daring to try and dishonour the youngest of the Rulers of Narnia.

She breathes in. Blinks. An image of her fingers curling around the golden hilts of her daggers, of burying them in the enemies’ guts and letting herself bathe in the spray of their blood, flashes across her vision. She breathes out, and blinks again. She is in the middle of the school courtyard, fingers wrapping tight around Howard’s forearm and twisted into his short and coarse golden locks.

She is not in Narnia.

She fell out of that wardrobe with her siblings five and a half years ago— she is fourteen and her blood still burns her insides at the reminder that she is not twenty-seven years old. It still scorches the inner lining of her blood vessels at the reminder of not being in her home country, of not being with Mr Tumnus and the fauns, of not running through the forests with her daggers at her sides and her network of espionage agents at her beck and call.

She breathes through her nose and lets go of his arm only to reach for his neck and grip tightly, feeling a sick sense of gratification when she feels his breath hitch fearfully under her palm, and feels the pumping of his blood through his jugular against the tips of her fingers. She tugs harder on his hair, and revels in the whine that echoes in his throat as she straightens up and rakes a narrow-eyed glare over the gawking students.

“Hear ye!” she calls, lips curling into a vindictive smirk when people stiffen their spines at the fury in the little teenage girl voice that is not hers, that has not been hers for decades. It rings with the royal Narnian accent that neither she nor her siblings ever managed to lose, and she lets the accent get stronger, she lets the lilt of the Narnian magic carry her voice over the courtyard.

“Consider the following as both a warning and a threat,” she announces, and her voice echoes strangely through the air, like she has a microphone held in front of her, “henceforth, any unwanted contact with my person will be met with the most violent of retaliations. Either it will be me, or my eldest brother Peter who does it, but know that blood will be drawn.”

The mention of Peter has most of the boys quailing and looking away, shoulders curling inwards and cheeks flushing at the reminder that Lucy has an absolute beast of an older brother— over six feet and built like a bull, with wide shoulders and a face permanently set in a grim expression. Peter’s fencing skills are legendary, and he is infamous for hitting till bone breaks. It makes Lucy smile a vicious little smile; her royal brother is terrifying, and she is proud to be Queen next to him and their other siblings.

It also makes her blood beat an outraged tune against her pulse points— she is no less terrifying than her oldest brother, and it is high time that people learnt to respect her for her strength and status. She is Queen just as much as her brothers are Kings and her sister is Queen, and she deserves to have her titles acknowledged. If they refuse to do so, then she will force them to their knees and make them do it.

She finds Peter easily when she looks for him; he is sitting in a tree with Susan and Edmund, hidden from the rest of the world, their trademark Pevensie blue eyes all gleaming wildly with pride and encouragement. Edmund grins sharply and whispers something at her, and she hears the lilting Narnian in his voice even though he is too far away for any normal human to be able to hear him.

Ruen’hi vraeka, he has always called her fondly, much to her eternal amusement. Blood-covered dragon.

“LUCY ANNE PEVENSIE!”

She breathes in and out through her nose, and turns calmly towards the advancing form mistress, clenching her jaw at the anger etched into the wrinkles of the old woman.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ALL THIS, YOUNG LADY?

She resigns herself to the one month of detentions, but her blood burns.

Her blood is like fire as it pounds in her ears, outrage bubbling in her gut and showing in the flash of her blue-eyed glare as it pans from the yelling form mistress to the rest of the students and then finally on the two boys at her feet. They still haven’t stood up, in too much pain to do anything more than groan in pain and wipe their tears and snotty noses on their sleeves.

They should be falling at my feet, she thinks savagely. They should be on their knees begging for forgiveness, for mercy. In fact, the school faculty themselves should also be at her feet, begging for forgiveness for the audacity of raising their voices at her and her siblings.

How dare they deem themselves capable of handing out punishment to a King or Queen of Narnia? To all four Kings and Queens of Narnia? Who are they to try and punish her, Queen Lucy the Valiant? Who are they to deem themselves appropriate authority to discipline the Dragon Spirited Spymaster Queen, Fourth of the Beloved Four?

Lucy’s blood burns, but she lets herself be dragged to the headmaster’s office, taking one last glance at her siblings. The sight of their gazes fixed on the two injured boys makes her mouth stretch into a feral smile even as she bristles indignantly at the form mistress’ grip on the shoulder of the body that has not been hers since she first stepped into that wardrobe.

Narnia hums in her ears, a sweet siren song of bloody retribution.

That night, when she sleeps, she dreams of gripping the two idiot boys by their hair and ripping their throats out with her teeth.

[emmg]

Aftertaste

Chapter 2: Rats in the Walls

She is a rat—an enchanting little beggar, draped in the rags of some tragic poetry only she can hear. And he, a fool of the highest order, fingers the cold edge of his credit card, wondering if the universe might accept a transaction in exchange for the ghost of her cheek against his skin.

Read below or on Ao3. Hehe.

Is it more appropriate to return a young woman’s car keys the following day, or to personally deliver her vehicle to her residence? Which option is least likely to suggest predatory intent, particularly when one is several decades her senior?

He hits enter, the steam from his coffee curling around his face like an ironic halo, and watches Google sputter out results about designated drivers and locksmiths. It strikes him, not for the first time, that the internet is woefully unprepared for nuanced questions of morality, especially when phrased by an idiot as gloriously long-winded as himself.

Google might as well have responded with a condescending sigh and a flashing banner that read: "Oh, sure, let’s solve your existential crises for you, Professor. Maybe try ‘Don’t be creepy’ and call it a day?" Or perhaps it would simply send him a link to a DIY guide on digging one’s own grave, captioned: "You’ll need this soon enough."

Finally, he resigns himself to the only logical option: going straight to the source. Rook.

Good morning, Rook. This is Emmrich. Where would you like me to deliver your car keys? Take care.

The message is sent, painfully polite, carefully worded. And then the waiting begins. Two hours of excruciating silence during which he oscillates between pacing the room and contemplating whether clawing at the wallpaper would be an effective use of his time. Surely, this is the moment she decides it’s all been a colossal mistake. She’ll call Bellara in disgust, declare this the most catastrophic setup of her life, and promptly vomit out a window at the mere memory of his existence.

Perhaps she’ll even hire a falconer to dispatch a well-trained hawk to retrieve the keys from his pocket—anything to avoid providing him with so much as a postal code.

But lo and behold, the miracle occurs: Rook responds.

y r u up so early?? drive it. thx xxxxxx

He stares at the trailing row of kisses, dissecting them as though they were a cryptic manuscript. Does she mean it? Could this possibly be intentional? Or is this just the accidental poetry of a girl who sat on her phone, and this is the unfortunate result of her backside pressing random keys? A mystery indeed.

****

He prides himself on his attention to detail. Or, more precisely, his attention to people—their little inconsistencies, their telltale cracks. Judging from her reply, he must have woken her up, so he detours to a café so quaint it practically curtsies when you enter. He orders a latte to go, then, seized by a bout of overthinking, adds a mocha and an Americano. Lactonic, bitter, or sweet—let her decode his intentions from that trifecta.

Into a dainty box go a pain au chocolat and a cinnamon-apple babka, the kind of gesture that tiptoes the line between charming thoughtfulness and embarrassing overcompensation.

When he arrives at her car, it is, of course, exactly as described: ugly, silver, scratched, a two-seater that looks like it’s been cursed by a vengeful valet. A library bag slumps on the passenger seat, an insult to the word “placed.” He hesitates, torn between decorum and the kind of nosy curiosity that makes the elderly peer through lace curtains. Then, naturally, he peeks. Just a little. There they are—books. Actual books. Proof that she possesses not just a mouth but a mind, however buried.

And then he notices the fuel gauge. It’s not just on empty—it’s somewhere below it, in the realm of last gasps and whispered prayers. The fact that the engine starts at all feels like an act of divine intervention.

He exhales, a martyr to his own compulsions, and pulls into a gas station. As he fills the tank to the brim, he pictures the car sighing too, smug and sanctimonious, its imaginary lashes batting in shameless gratitude. Oh, thank you, kind sir, it coos, she never feeds me, you know. Neglectful creature, isn’t she? Meanwhile, he calculates whether this—along with the coffee and pastries—might earn him so much as a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. Or perhaps, knowing Rook, an insincere "thx" text with a typo thrown in for good measure.

****

He’s seen buildings like this before. He’s lived in them; during his undergrad days and, embarrassingly, well into graduate school. The kind of place where the rent is cheap enough to attract students but still overpriced for what you get: walls so thin they might as well be spun from dreams or discarded cereal boxes, and windows that rattle ominously in the gentlest breeze.

It stirs a certain grim nostalgia in him, though he’s not entirely sure why. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that if he wandered two blocks south after dark, he’d almost certainly be mugged or shanked. But even that, somehow, feels quaint, a sentimental nod to his younger, poorer, stupider self.

He briefly wonders about Gustave, the unofficial fourth roommate from a similar apartment in his past. Gustave never made it onto the lease—being a rat who lived, quite literally, in the wall. His wall, precisely. Hopefully, Gustave moved on to bigger and better things. Perhaps a restaurant dumpster, or the seedy underbelly of pest control fame.

"Oh gods," says Rook when she finally opens the door to him. 

Her apartment is a sauna, the air thick and cloying, and there’s a line of sweat tracing her throat—a small, shimmering trail he, embarrassingly, cannot stop staring at. She’s wearing shorts so short they're practically theoretical, her sharp hipbone protruding like a cruel little accent mark. 

He stares, horrified at himself, and immediately envisions shoving the pain au chocolat and babka into her mouth, muffling whatever inevitable complaint she’d utter, and dragging her out to find the greasiest, most cholesterol-laden burger in the city. Anything, really, to erase the absurd eroticism of this sweltering, sticky scene and put some meat on those bones. 

"Good morning," he says, because the clock hasn’t quite betrayed him yet, and hands her the drink carrier and the absurdly elegant box of pastries—an offering so pristine it looks like it belongs in a museum, not in her battered doorway. 

"Are these for me?" 

No, Rook, they’re for Gustave. The pesky freeloader is your new tenant, congratulations. I thought I’d drop by to reminisce about our shared history. "Of course," he replies instead, his smile a polished shield of civility. "A small apology for disturbing you earlier. Your car is parked directly across the street; you should have no difficulty locating it." And, of course, the full tank of gas, a silent ode to his own sense of decency. "Allow me to retrieve your keys, and I shall leave you to enjoy the rest of your morning."

"You’re not coming in?" she asks, setting the coffees on the floor. She rifles through the pastry box, her finger stabbing into the babka, collapsing its tender surface in a sugary implosion. Sweet bread weeps, and she glances up at him, licking cinnamon from her fingertip. 

"Come on," she says, not bothering to wait for a response. 

She takes the pastries, leaving him crouched like a penitent to gather the drink carrier and push the door closed. Heaven forbid someone should slip in while it’s ajar to steal… what, precisely? The peeling wallpaper? The tragic humidity? The distinct aroma of youthful neglect? There’s nothing here worth the trouble of theft, save perhaps the raw comedy of its existence. 

"Did you sleep well?" Rook asks, lounging on an offensively green settee that seems to defy all principles of taste. She pats the cushion beside her like someone coaxing a dog onto furniture it has no business occupying. He raises an eyebrow, but the patting only grows more emphatic until, with the reluctant precision of a wooden soldier, he lowers himself beside her. His posture is unnervingly straight, as if the settee might collapse beneath anything less rigid. 

"I did," he answers. 

"Hm. Good," she says, already distracted, looking through the lineup of drinks he foolishly overthought. He feels his cheeks heat, a blush of shame at his own ridiculousness. How he—a man of supposed intellect—managed to embarrass himself with coffee is beyond comprehension. 

"You know," she continues, "I even got out the good instant coffee for you. Being a decent host and all that. But here you are, outdoing me, bringing breakfast."

"The good instant coffee?" he echoes.

"Mm-hm," she murmurs, not even glancing up. "The one without the clumps." 

For a moment, there is silence, broken only by the faint shuffle of her taking the mocha and handing him the latte. He glances around her apartment, and there, in the peeling paint and mismatched furniture, he sees a ghost of himself. A younger man, not yet grey, not yet creaking, back when staying up all night wasn’t just possible but a point of pride. When energy came in the form of a sharp, powdery line, questionable in origin, certain in effect, snorted off some equally questionable surface before stumbling into the university labs at sunrise. 

The sink catches his eye—cheap, dented, and familiar, as if resurrected from his second year of graduate school. He’s almost sure it’s the same model Johanna used to brew her kaleidoscopic, mind-altering concoctions. She’d turned their shared apartment into a mad chemist’s lair, dosing their friends with drinks that looked like party favors and hit like freight trains. He doubts Rook’s sink has witnessed quite the same level of chaos, but, then again, he wouldn’t bet on it. 

He wonders, idly, why he never married Johanna—or, more to the point, why Johanna never married him. And then, as if summoned by the memory, her voice returns, sharp and amused, calling him a "sentimental twat." Ah, yes. That. That might have had something to do with it. 

"How does a professor get rich?" 

He considers dragging a hand down his face, perhaps peeling it off entirely in the process, leaving behind nothing but gleaming bone and raw sinew—far easier than answering. 

He exhales slowly, as though summoning air from the depths of his being. "I beg your pardon?" 

"How did you get rich?" she repeats, her voice maddeningly even, infuriatingly direct. "I know what faculty earn. Well, Leliana knows, and she tells me. Nobody in academia is rich. So, how?" 

He sighs again, deeper and longer. "Happy circumstances," he says at last. "Commercializing research. Licensing patents to biotech and pharmaceutical companies. Dry, tedious work, I assure you. A footnote in the annals of capitalism." 

"I’d rather be bored and rich than intellectually stimulated and eating ramen every night." 

To his great horror, he barks out a laugh—loud, inelegant, entirely unplanned—because, damn it, she’s right. Whatever self-congratulatory narrative he might spin about his own brilliance, wealth is far more tolerable than the romance of poverty. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her set the now-empty pastry box aside and slide to her knees with the casual grace of someone entirely unaware—or perfectly aware—of the effect such movements can have. She sits before him, her hand resting lightly on his thigh, and he feels his spine stiffen in response—defensive, awkward, as if he were preparing to be knighted or executed. 

"You’re such a pretty, pretty man, Emmrich," she says, her tone a languid sigh. "Bellara was right. You do smell good. And look at you—here you are, sitting with me, when I’m sure there are far more important things demanding your attention." 

"There are not," he blurts, far too quickly, the words escaping before his dignity can intervene. The moment they’re spoken, he wishes for an immediate and painless death. Here he is indeed, reduced to this—a puddle of nerves and idiocy, heart thudding far too loudly, all because a young, pretty girl has deigned to offer him a handful of meaningless compliments. 

He can practically hear the tragic violin score accompanying his descent into lunacy. 

He should reward her graciousness. Maybe with a marriage proposal and a very shiny ring. A joint credit card, embossed with her name in gold. Champagne served every morning, the flute garnished with a delicate rim of his own pitiful tears—tears of rapture, of gratitude, of sheer disbelief at being noticed, indulged, condescended to by someone so exquisite, so radiant, so preposterously, infuriatingly young. 

"Do you want to see me again?" she asks, her hand on his thigh beginning a slow ascent. 

"Yes," he replies far too eagerly, watching helplessly as her uneven nails snag a thread from his trousers and tease it free. 

"I want to see you again too," she says cheerfully. There’s no vanilla clinging to her today, yet he smells it anyway, a phantom scent mocking his self-control. "What happened to the oysters?" 

"The oysters?" he repeats, blinking, as her hand reaches his belt, casually dismantling him one buckle at a time. 

"Yes, the oysters. I didn’t eat them. You didn’t eat them. What happened to them? Were they just… thrown away?" 

"Oh," he says, fumbling for coherence. "No, I—I do not eat meat. I assume they were discarded." 

Or, quite possibly, consumed by Xavier, who he distinctly recalls once eating salmon off the kitchen floor with an abandon that would render the oysters’ fate positively dignified by comparison. 

She tugs his belt loose and it’s only when her hand slips inside that he, embarrassingly late, understands exactly what she’s about to do. His body reacts with humiliating predictability—his cock twitches eagerly, his hips offering a mindless little jerk, as if they’ve made the decision for him. 

"Oh, Rook, Rook, no, no, no," he stammers, his voice rising and falling like a badly tuned instrument. "You don’t—oh, oh—Rook, no, you do not—" The protests disintegrate entirely as her hand wraps around him. 

"You don’t like this?" she asks, and for the first time, her voice carries a note of something almost shy, almost hesitant. 

"Like is not the word," he whispers, a pathetic mixture of panic and pleasure. "I simply—oh, you do not have to—" 

"Yes," she agrees, withdrawing her hand and licking her palm in a motion so drawn-out it could belong to a cat grooming itself, smug and self-satisfied. He half expects her to stretch luxuriously and yawn. Then, with that same calm, she wraps her hand around him again, resuming her rhythm. "I don’t need to do anything. So glad we’re on the same page."

He lets his head loll back against the settee, his chest heaving as she strokes. Just as he dares to believe his heart might settle, her mouth closes over the head of his cock. She lingers, her tongue swirling just enough to drive him mad, before releasing with a slick, depraved little pop. The added saliva gleams as she smears it down his shaft, her little hand so very diligent in its efforts. His hips buck forward, thrusting into the tight heat of her fist like he’s already forgotten what dignity feels like. 

"I was very good at these," she remarks. "We called it hand of glory in camp. As a joke." Her own hand doesn’t falter, her rhythm infuriatingly consistent. "Not so much with the other part, though. I think I tried it once. Well, one and a half times. It sucked. No pun intended."

She hums thoughtfully, her mouth hovering close, warm and parted, without making contact. 

"I could try it with you, though," she says, her tone breezy, as if she’s offering him dessert. "If you'd like. You’re an educator, after all. Could... educate me through it."

And just like that, his approaching orgasm tips its hat, mutters a polite farewell, and strolls out the door, leaving him stranded in awkward lucidity. He catches her hand, presses it briefly to his lips, then releases her and begins restoring himself to decency with the haste of a man escaping a crime scene. When she moves to stop him, he almost bats her hand away, the rising tide of mortification making him clumsier than usual. 

"Well, fuck," Rook mutters in sardonic disbelief. "That’s one hell of a way to say no to getting your dick sucked. I’m not that bad, and I don’t exactly have anything else to offer you."

"You do not have to offer me anything," he whispers, appalled. 

He’s a sentimentalist. A romantic. The sort of man who still believes in flowers and candlelit dinners. Let him be old-fashioned. Let him take her out, hold her hand, meet her parents, and have her wave awkwardly over the graves of his long-gone ancestors—long before his cock ever finds its way into her mouth again.

This is who he is. A "sentimental twat." He holds doors open, writes to ensure someone got home safely, and even if he does wander down the dark alley of a casual fuck, he always provides coffee and a thoughtfully curated set of toiletries the next morning. 

"Let me take you out again," he pleads.

Rook rests her chin on his knee, her face tilted upward, her long hair brushing the floor. "I don’t have anything nice to wear." 

"Then we will find you something," he says, already constructing the image in his mind. Blue—of course, blue. The color would suit her eyes, her not-quite-blonde-not-quite-brown hair, the color of noble blood, though the nobility it evokes is long since impoverished, reduced to faded titles and empty accounts. Just like her. Perhaps he could wear purple beside her—a royal contrast to her threadbare charm, the two of them a mismatched tableau of aspiration and ruin. 

"I just said it to see what you’d say." 

"And I meant every word of my reply." 

"Oh. So if I see a pair of shoes to match whatever dress you’re buying me—you’ll get those too?" 

"Naturally. A proper ensemble demands completeness." 

She buries her face against his thigh, giggling into it. "You know what would really suit me, Emmrich? What would make me look, like, so good?" She pauses, forcing him to lean closer, her breath brushing his lips like the prelude to a secret. "My tuition being paid."

And with that she snorts, leaving him to wonder if she’s laughing at the joke or at the certainty that he just might say yes. 

[sleepymarimo]

𝟓𝟎𝟓

summary: when the flames of your connection burn out, is his only option to watch the embers fade? pairing: ace x gn!reader cw: relationship problems, angsty!! potential spoilers for marineford (specifically thatch and teach) an: bro this was just sad to write... i haven't updated for this event in a hot minute so sorry about that!! wc: 1k ⤷ based on this song! ⤷ part of this arctic monkeys mini event!

it all started so damn good.

ace remembers when pops first brought you aboard. another wide eyed pirate ready to face the world, hiding your nerves and deepest desires under the cover of a cool and thoughtful expression.

you were like a puzzle, an enigma that was just so opposite him that ace had to take you apart himself.

the second division commander was smitten to say the least. hell, even you couldn't deny that his broad smile and daring nature didn't make him all the more appealing.

sure, maybe your conversations weren't the most intellectual or serious, but his beautifully imaginative mind and fiery soul never failed to make you laugh. the sound of that alone struck ace's heart like a hammer would do to a nail.

a mutual dance of passion and excitement, of learning from one another. you'd cool him down and he definitely got you fired up.

but when did it become too much?

when did his bold escapades suddenly become irritating instead of endearing?

when did he start seeing your cautious nature as boring instead of thoughtful?

why did you feel thorns of envy digging into your sides when he stayed out drinking while you waited back at the ship?

why did he bubble with frustration when you wanted to take him away from the liveliness of the crowd and hoard him all for yourself?

he used to give you a beaming, radiant grin as he stepped into your quarters, finding it so cute how you'd lay on your side and face the door while admiring him with love-filled eyes. now, he's only ever greeted with the sight of your back.

you flatly ask how his time was, he says it was good. that's the end of that.

the nights felt longer and more tense, an odd blanket of unease settling in the air. even his touches weren't hot like they used to be. there's a change, a shift that neither wants to address because they know how different things can be between them.

because it all started so damn good.

then, as if it couldn't get any worse, thatch is murdered.

it's too much to handle. you internalize every one of those bad emotions, trying and failing to keep things under control as the whole crew begins to grow restless.

it’s a pirate’s world, after all.

ace’s spirit, what drew you to him in the first place, was on full show.

despite how hot headed and impulsive he was, you couldn’t help but look past that and see his unrivaled passion and need to act. for his crew. for his family.

any other time, you might've held him back and laid out the facts. you might have told him what he was doing wasn't rational.

yet, you find your heart swelling with immense admiration as he declares his plan to find teach himself.

your legs carry you below deck, where you find the raven haired pirate stocking up on supplies for his journey.

“ace?” you call, slightly hesitant.

you can see him visibility tense, as if another complex layer had just been added to horrible mix. he glances back at you, his wary eyes filled with sadness and regret. anger and vengefulness.

he's always been bad at hiding his feelings from you, since you were just too damn perceptive. you can see it all, every emotion.

perhaps the most painful one you take note of is the defeat, as if he considers ending the relationship right then and there.

but he just can't.

he turns back, continuing to stuff a backpack with some supplies. your name is called, softly but with determination. “you can’t stop me from going.”

"i'm not." you reassure, suddenly finding it a little harder to breathe. the memories come rushing back to you, from the unforgettable little firsts to the petty back and forth arguments that seemed all too frequent these days. your arms cross and you cave, unable to stand it anymore. "ace...i'm sorry. for everything. for being..."

his head hangs low and he sighs, deflating slightly and calling your name with a tone of resignation that has your stomach churning.

you persist, almost babbling out of pure panic as you realize how things could potentially turn out. tears prick at your eyes, an immense guilt clawing at your chest as you realize how foolish the two of you had been.

"i haven't been being fair, okay?" you take a sharp inhale and start professing your apologies, listing every bad thing you've ever done as if he wasn't just as guilty. it was a desperate attempt to change the tides, your heart aching. "we just used to be so good."

ace feels his heart split in two, his chest throbbing at the sound of your sniffles. hell, the two of you had gotten into some heated disagreements, but he's never made you cry.

words die in your throat when you feel his strong arms wrapping around you, almost lifting you off of the floorboards. his scent floods your senses and it calms you down, your shaky arms hastily throwing themselves over his shoulders.

"stop." he sighs, his black hair brushing against the skin of your temple as he takes some deep breaths. "we are still good. we're good."

he's so relieved. it's like a weight has been taken off of his shoulders and he's so, so thankful. those past memories don't seem out of reach and unattainable anymore.

no, he'll make new ones with you.

pulling back just enough to get a glimpse at you, he continues. "you've been dealing with my crap, too. y'just looking out for me and..." you're just loving me.

it's silent for a second, but the air is light and breathable.

“when you come back…we’ll fix this and go back to how it was before.” you sniffle, wanting to commit every bit of him to memory.

"yeah." he squeezes you tighter, a burning sensation spreading through his heart as the flames of your relationship rekindled. they were going to shine brighter than ever before; he was sure of it. “when i come back."

taglist: @dimplewonie

[melishade]

Sure this might seem out there and a bit OOC on Optimus' part but I'd imagine Optimus having a justifiable crash out if he ever talked to Eren after the Rumbling. Especially if he ever found out that Eren was given a choice to let everything go.

I do have something written for this. A super alternately scenario that I wrote years ago when I was brainstorming ideas. Basically this is a scenario that involved RID2015, Eren, Carla, and Zeke get reincarnated together but only Eren kept his memories. All of this is just gonna seem out of context. But that's fine. Just focus on Optimus' outburst.

“Do you…really have all of your memories?” Optimus asked him.

Eren didn’t want to answer. He wanted to deny it and run, but he already had a conversation with Megatron and came barging into the base demanding to see Optimus. He couldn’t just say no. Not anymore.

“…yeah,” Eren answered quietly, “I do.”

There was silence between the two while the Survey Corps kept a close eye on the both of them. Megatron appeared uninterested, but he was fully ready to tackle Optimus to the floor if need be.

Optimus hung his head and his whole body trembled. The pain his was feeling for over five years, it just wouldn’t stop. The sorrow, the agony, the anger, the fury. He felt something in him drop, and he was pretty sure, he was about to snap.

“….how…dare you,” Optimus hissed in a low voice.

Eren didn’t know how to respond, while the other grew worried for Optimus. The only ones who were confused was Bumblebee’s team, who were eavesdropping on the conversation.

“I-I,” Eren stuttered, “I didn’t mean to cause trouble-,”

Optimus broke.

“how DARE YOU!” Optimus bellowed at him, causing Eren to step back, “HOW DARE YOU GET INVOLVED WITH THE AUTOBOTS! HOW DARE YOU INTERFERE WITH BUMBLEBEE’S OPERATIONS! HOW DARE YOU CARELESSLY PUT YOUR OWN MOTHER AND BROTHER IN DANGER!”

“I-I just w-wanted to-,”

“BUMBLEBEE ALREADY HAS ENOUGH TO WORK WITH AS IT IS!” Optimus continued, “HE IS WORKING TO PROTECT THIS WORLD, AND YOU ARE PUTTING YOURSELF IN HARM’S WAY LIKE YOU HAVE ALWAYS DONE!”

“Let me explain-,”

“I AM NOT DONE!” Optimus emphasized.

Erwin winced at Optimus raising his voice, genuinely feeling guilty for Eren’s predicament.

“NONE OF WHAT HAPPEN TODAY COULD EVEN COMPARE TO WHAT YOU CAUSED ALL THOSE YEARS AGO!” Optimus shouted, “NEARLY DESTROYING ALL OF MANKIND! KILLING INNOCENT HUMANS! KILLING YOUR OWN COMRADES AND DESTROYING YOUR HOME IN THE PROCESS OVER A SELFISH AND VENGEFUL INTENT!”

StrongArm and Sideswipe looked over at Bumblebee for confirmation, and the ‘Bot quietly nodded his head.

“I left you the video-,”

“THAT VIDEO MEANT NOTHING!” Optimus declared, “EVEN IF IT DID, YOU LIED TO US ALL! MANIPULATED US AND TREATED US LIKE FOOLS FOR YOUR TWISTED GAME!”

“What video?” Jean whispered to Mikasa.

“I wanted to protect you-,”

“CALLING MIKASA A SLAVE IS PROTECTION?!” Optimus demanded, “PHYSICALLY ATTACKING ARMIN IS PROTECTION?! KILLING YOUR OWN COMRADES IS PROTECTION?! LEAVING THEM TRAUMATIZED IS PROTECTION?! HOW IGNORANT CAN YOU BE?!”

Megatron remained stoic, but was reconsidering attacking Eren and beating him into the ground.

“I TRUSTED YOU!” Optimus shouted, “YOU LIED TO US ALL! YOU KILLED INNOCENT PEOPLE! YOU KEPT SECRETS FROM US! YOU TRIED TO DESTROY THE WORLD ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT I COULD SAVE IT! INSTEAD OF ACTUALLY TELLING US ABOUT WHAT YOU INTENDED ON DOING, YOU TREATED US LIKE DISCARDED PUPPETS! YOU DESTROYED THE WORLD! YOU LEFT US ALL BEHIND TO FIX YOUR MESS WHILE YOU GOT THE CHANCE TO LIVE A LIFE OF NORMALITY! HOW DARE YOU COME BARGING BACK IN HERE DEMANDING WE HEAR YOUR VOICE, WHILE EVERYONE IS TRYING TO MOVE ON FROM WHAT YOU CAUSED?!”

Optimus was still trembling from his outburst, trying to calm himself down and focus once again. When he saw Eren’s hand reaching for him in his vision, he grew angry and swatted it away. He looked Eren in the eye and saw a guilty expression on his face, and it made him feel even more anger. He didn’t care about the video. He didn’t care what intention Eren had from the beginning. He was angry, betrayed, and lied to.

And now…he just wanted Eren to feel hurt.

“I should have known you would do something this foolish,” Optimus proclaimed in a dark tone, “Whenever someone is trying to move on, trying to feel any semblance of peace, you come in and ruin it. You ruin it with your pathetic and dangerous ideology, with your impulsiveness and sheer ignorance. Always the one with the one track mind,”

Hanji grew terrified and wanted to intervene before it got worse, but Megatron quickly put his hand in front of them.

“Megatron,” Hanji pleaded.

“He needs this,” Megatron declared, “Don’t get involved.”

“You never listen to what I have to say,” Optimus continued, “I doubt it ever goes through your processors; it’s like talking to a brick wall. Never have I met a human as hypocritical and vile as you.”

Optimus saw Eren shrinking under his gaze. He felt a hint of satisfaction when Eren clutched his fingers together and looked ready to cry. He wanted to break him.

“You disgust me,”

A memory of Optimus carrying Eren to his room after training flashed through his mind.

“You anger me,”

Another memory of Optimus teaching Eren about his home.

“I wish I never met you,”

Another memory of Optimus hugging Eren and comforting him,

“I-I,” His voice wavered, “I-I wished…,”

Eren covered his mouth in horror and heartbreak. The Autobots watched in shock and the Survey Corps watched with a mix of shock and sorrow. Megatron’s mouth formed a thin line, accepting that this needed to happen.

Optimus Prime was crying. Tears poured down his cheeks and disappeared once they dripped down his chin.

“You were my son,” Optimus whispered, “I loved you. How could you do this to us? Why?”

Optimus couldn’t take it anymore and fell to his knees and wept, clutching his chest to try and stop the heartache.

“Why did you betray us?” Optimus sobbed, “Why did you make me kill you? What did I do wrong?”

Eren felt…disgusted with himself. He felt so horrible. How could he do this to Optimus? How could he leave him suffering alone in misery?

Eren reached out to him, but Levi quickly got in front of Optimus and shoved his sword in Eren’s face.

“Stay the fuck away,” Levi ordered.

“Captain-,”

“The only reason you’re still alive is because I don’t want to drag your corpse in front of your mother,” Levi hissed ominously.

[pyroanime2k16]

Transformers Energon/Super Link fix-it idea + some Cybertron/Galaxy Force stuff

So, a lot of people hate this show. And unfortunately, it IS a very poorly made show. However, I decided to do this as I feel like it can work well, if written competently.

Energon/Super Link

So, the basic idea is that the Autobots are trying to prevent the revival of Unicron after Armada (Energon's preceding show), while the Decepticons are attemptign to revive and control the dark god. The basics are the same, but the execution is different.

At the end of Armada, Optimus...effectively proved Unicron right; that Optimus enjoys battling just as much as the Decepticons. This haunts Optimus for a majority of the story here...and is one of the main reasons why he stopped taking up supreme command.

Unicron is calling the shots here. He is still alive, though in a limbo-like state. This allows him to seamlessly manipulate everyone's actions into helping restore him, though Primus is well aware of his brother's schemes.

Optimus and Megatron also become aware, though Optimus is haunted by this, giving him another reason to not take up command. Megatron meanwhile demonstrates extreme willpower, constantly freeing himself of Unicron's influence and plotting to make himself immune to it.

The Autobot side of the story has to deal with them coming to accept their demons and overcome them, while the Decepticon side is meant to demonstrate that, even though a dark god is trying to influence you, you CAN free yourself from corruption and oppression.

The Mini-cons, to Unicron, are a lost cause, so he leaves them be (this bites him in the ass later). He also leaves the humans be, as to him, they’re too insignificant in the grand scheme of things (also bites him in the ass as the human allies help save Optimus from himself and his fears regarding Unicron).

At this point, Optimus takes up supreme command once more and permanently merges with Omega Supreme after a near-death experience. Omega’s spark is transferred to Omega’s personal headmaster.

His mini-cons Sparkplug and Over-Run (who became a full-sized transformer) also combine with him, with Over-Run becoming a set of wings and thrusters on Optimus’s back and feet. Sparkplug once again attaches to his right shoulder.

Primus, meanwhile, has some...issues. He's angry (because his brother is once again manipulating his children of metal), sad (because he knows he can't do much in his current state), and vengeful (because he's taking all of the destruction and loss very personally).

Eventually, Unicron is restored and butchers the entire Transformer race and all of Cybertron's colonies (save for Earth). With everyone as one in the Allspark, Primus finally gives in to his rage, taking all of his resources with him and using Optimus Supreme as a host body.

The brothers duel and Primus wins...but the universe is lost. Dead. With no choice left, Primus resurrects/reboots the universe, knowing that some people will forget so much that they might essentially be different people.

He's willing to take the risk though. This explains why the Autobots and Decepticons forgot a lot of shit in the succeeding show: Cybertron. It also explains some characters' different origins and histories.

Cybertron/Galaxy Force

The restoration of their memories (and by extension, the reunion of past characters) is a major side story in this new version of Cybertron, along with Optimus being able to change from his standard Armada form, his Cybertron form (which includes the Super Mode), and Optimus Supreme at will.

The closing of the Unicron Singularity results in Megatron actively CHOOSING to discard any and all parts of him that make him Megatron, effectively making himself the new Unicron. His hate for Optimus is that great that he is willing to throw away his entire identity just to kill his arch-enemy.

THAT…or Megatron is actually dead and Unicron merely reanimated his corpse to serve his ambition. The latter idea probably works better, as Armada and Energon Megs both had SOME form of respect towards their followers, while Cybertron Megs had NONE.

Primus also dies in the new version of Cybertron, with Optimus taking his place by essentially piloting Cybertron as a Protector God titled Optimus Deus; the one god who is able to truly destroy Unicron.

This results in the torso and head looking identical to Cybertron Prime, a giant Matrix for the chest, and a monochromatic metallic color scheme. The Ark cannon would become a giant sword for this form.