#blasphemy on every planet
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Hey, if you enjoyed the opening plot beats of Star Wars: Skeleton Crew, have I got a book (series) for you!
Every show and film and book I grew up with presented the military as a place where you’d find yourself. The military could be good, could be bad, and all that “glory” stuff was clearly nonsense… but shared trials made you stronger and forged ride-or-die buddies for life. And hey, it’d pay for college.
Then I joined. It didn’t work out. Every day ranged from tedious to toxic, even when we did genuine good. I made one short-term friend in four years.
I still loved those stories, but none of them were ever about the guy who joins up and doesn’t find himself and never belongs—so I wrote it.
Poor Man’s Fight is a rockin’ space opera built on shattered dreams, student debt, and space pirates. Lots of space pirates. It’s funny, it’s sober, and you’ll want to hug Tanner Malone even when he’s covered in blood. The real enemies are always capitalism and toxic masculinity.
And then comes the war with the corporations that built this whole dystopia, because the enemy is still capitalism, even for the aliens.
On a brighter note, Tanner does make it out of the military and into college, becoming the Deadliest Unpaid Intern in the Galaxy… and the Resident Advisor for a freshman dorm full of chaos goblins.
(Cover art by Lee Moyer, Julie Dillon, Dan Watson, and Brittany Torres, for which I’m forever grateful.)
If you’ve made it this far, hopefully you’re looking for where to pick this up. They’re all available on ebook and Kindle Unlimited, and everything from Poor Man’s Fight to Last Man Out is also in paperback and audio.
And bonus: they’re cheap!
#Star Wars#Skeleton Crew#space opera#military sci-fi#books#space pirates#poor man's fight#angry liberals like space laser nonsense too#blasphemy on every planet#pewpewpew
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Regarding the MSNBC thing, I am not sure if you are seeing what I am seeing in it but tell me if this sounds familiar: If you partake in a lot of foreign news media (which I imagine you might), you will eventually see something that is such obvious propaganda that it spoils your viewing experience, sometimes shattering your trust in that outlet ("What a mouthpiece"). A lot of people (me included) then reach a point where they question whether there is even a single "reputable" news outlet abroad. Eventually some of those people notice others reached that same point... but live in a different country. Or start noticing the "obvious propaganda" in their own press all on their own. The experience you describe sounds like that whiplash I get whenever I'm blindsided by domestic propaganda. This "fuck, we are no different" feeling.
Hey. Do you ever read or watch Al Jazeera? I do. It’s an independent news outlet from Qatar.
It comes from a country that often represses freedom of speech and has a problem with trapping and underpaying migrant workers from poor countries to work. This is a problem in a lot of gulf countries. It also has restrictions on freedom of religion. Non Muslims are not allowed to hold certain offices, blasphemy is against the law, and they have discriminated people from the Baha’i faith. Having same sex relations in Qatar is punishable by imprisonment.
Despite all of these things, all of the restrictions in their home country, Al Jazeera manages to be a mostly truthful and unbiased source of news.
Except for when it comes to reporting on Qatar.
Their international news coverage is great. I like their international news coverage. I read it semi-regularly.
However, I take anything they say about Qatar with a grain of salt.
So what’s my point here? My point is that news outlets are run by people. People living in specific environments with specific ideas and restrictions. Those people or the environment they exist in may affect their bias.
I mostly trust the BBC as a news source. I double check things that it says about trans people.
I mostly trust a lot of news outlets both in the US and abroad except when it comes to one or two things.
One or two things or being biased towards one political ideology or another doesn’t actually mean that everything a news outlet says is a lie or a bending of the truth.
I still mostly trust MSNBC as a source of news but I watch it with the mindset that a) it’s mostly biased towards my politics and I should be aware of that bias and b) I don’t like how they talk about Israel.
You don’t have to check the biases of every newspaper and tv station on the planet though. Here’s what you do to fight that feeling of overwhelm you get when you notice that every news station has a bias:
Do research into a few news outlets in your home country and a few outside of your home country
Find two or three in your home country and two or three abroad that you think seem trustworthy on the vast majority of issues but might be biased about This One Thing.
Read or watch those for your primary news consumption. Keep the list small enough that you can remember quickly what each news outlet’s bias is.
If you’re unsure about the credibility of a story or how you feel about it, read stories about it from multiple different news sources to fill in the gaps for yourself.
Don’t just put news outlets on your list that agree 100% with your personal politics
Do that and it’ll help with that feeling of wondering if you can really trust anyone. Keep your lists of stuff you read small enough so you don’t get overwhelmed but don’t just pick ones that agree with each other. Like instead of picking three far left or center left leaning news sources pick one left leaning source and two center or center right leaning sources. For your international sources also pick ones from different regions. Maybe one from France and one from Mexico or something.
In time comparing news sources becomes Ike second nature so don’t worry about it too hard. Just keep trying. You can actually often trust the news. You’ve just gotta keep your mind working while you do it.
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Masculine words that end in A (and other oddities in Spanish)
This one I didn't quite know how to title because this is specifically in reference to the words of Greek origin that show up in Spanish that end in -a but are masculine nouns and then it devolved into "words that don't adhere to the general linguistic grammar rules"
To be clear, this is NOT the words like (el) agua, (el) hada, (el) hambre etc. which are technically feminine but have a masculine article in singular
...These following words that defy your normal expectations about gendered nouns are the main ones to know; and primarily these are words from Greek, and that's why they come out this way
el planeta = planet
el clima = weather / climate
el problema = problem
el drama = drama [in every sense of the word] / theater [as in the subject, not the building]
el tema = theme / subject
el poema = poem
el sistema = system
el esquema = diagram, outline / blueprint, schematic
el idioma = language [la lengua is literally "tongue" and can be used - el lenguaje refers to a specific "lexicon" or subset of communication, not the word you usually mean]
el enigma = puzzle, riddle / enigma [the other word is la rompecabezas which is literally "breaks-heads"; but enigma is the general word for a riddle]
el fantasma = ghost, phantom
el diploma = diploma [the other term is el título which is "title" but they're synonymous for "diploma"]
el carisma = charisma
el trauma = trauma
el programa = program
el crucigrama = crossword puzzle
el lema = slogan, motto
el dilema = dilemma, problem
el anatema = anathema, "the complete opposite" [in specific settings, anatema means "excommunication from the Church" or is used as almost like "the worst kind of blasphemy" or "abomination"; in general you see it used like "opposite" or "contrary to everything someone believes in" or in some cases "a kind of curse", but it has very specific religious meanings in the proper context - in other very specific contexts, an anatema was a special offering to a god/spirit the way people now use la ofrenda "offering" (religious/to the dead), and Christianity turned the meaning of anatema "something placed (in offering)" into something darker and linked to paganism or devil worship or heresy "an abomination" or "something to be abhorred"]
el aroma = aroma, fragrance
el dogma = dogma, creed
el axioma = "common saying", "tenet", axiom
el cometa = comet la cometa = kite
el coma = coma [as in comatose] la coma = comma [the , symbol]
Note: The vast majority of words ending in -grama are masculine in Spanish; el programa is the most common word but things like el telegrama, el anagrama, el holograma, el crucigrama, and others
It's tempting to think that it's every word ending in -ma, but that's not right; la goma "rubber", la crema "cream", la mama "breast" / la mamá "mom", la llama "flame" etc. all end in -ma but are feminine
The linguistics of this are that these words came to Spanish via Greek; not that you'd know that just by seeing them, but if you come across a word that seems feminine but is actually masculine it generally tends to be Greek or a loanword from a different language
A few other words you'll see here and there are also of Greek origin particularly in the fields of medicine, astronomy, linguistics, poetry, and botany
-
Additionally, be aware that the suffix -ista is unisex
This is used as "a practitioner of" or "belonging to" and does come from Greek; but since these are normally adjectives (or oficios which is "professions", or things that can apply to people as "jobs")
Most -isms [which includes literary or political movements] can be turned into this suffix, though -ismo is masculine, -ista is unisex
el/la artista = artist
el/la periodista = journalist
el/la ajedrecista = chess player
el/la taxista = taxi driver
el/la bromista = joker, prankster
el/la especialista = specialist, expert
el/la electricista = electrician
el/la dentista = dentist
el/la comunista = communist
el/la ciclista = cyclist [usually a regular bicycle] el/la motociclista = biker / motorcyclist
el/la alpinista = mountain climber
el/la socialista = socialist
el/la pianista = pianist
el/la baterista = drummer
el/la guitarrista = guitar player
el/la activista = activist
el/la golfista = golfer
el/la lingüista = linguist
el/la fascista = fascist
el/la oculista = eye doctor [also oftalmólogo/a]
el/la terrorista = terrorist
el/la budista = Buddhist
el/la sexista = sexist
el/la machista = "Chauvinist", sexist [from machismo which tends to place more emphasis on the man and his role in society, generally used as a synonym of "sexist" since it's patriarchal by definition]
el/la modista = fashion designer / dressmaker [lit. "fashion-ist"; a modista is generally a specific type of sastre "tailor" and used to mean "dressmaker" for women specifically; today it's usually a designer or someone that makes garments, while sastre can imply just alterations on clothes]
el/la guionista = scriptwriter
el/la socorrista = rescuer, first responder [el socorro is "help", so this is a catch-all term for someone who comes to help other people and may include "lifeguard", "EMT", and other general "first responder" jobs as well]
el/la ebanista = woodworker, furniture maker, cabinet maker [a kind of carpintero/a; the word ebanista comes from el ébano "ebony" wood because ebony wood was expensive so ebanista was like high end furniture... but ebanista generally implies specific things made of wood like furniture or cabinets, while carpintero can also include wooden floors etc. ...basically ebanista is a specific kind of carpintero; a particular other word is mueblista "furniture maker" from mueble "piece of furniture"]
el/la transformista = "drag queen" [in general terms it's "quick change artist", someone who can transform aspects of their clothes/face very quickly but is commonly used as "drag artist" - in biology it can be someone who believes in a certain type of evolution, as the theory of evolution may be called el transformismo]
...Also note that many instruments use this term; el/la pianista "pianist", el/la saxofonista "saxophone player", and so on; generally any instrument uses -ista
optimista = optimistic el/la optimista = (an) optimist
pesimista = pessimistic el/la optimista = (a) pessimist
realista = realist el/la realista = realist
hedonista = hedonistic el/la hedonista = hedonist
oportunista = opportunistic el/la oportunista = opportunist
racista = racist el/la racista = a racist
deportista = sporty el/la deportista = sports player
perfeccionista = perfectionist / perfectionistic el/la perfeccionista = a perfectionist
derechista = "right-wing" el/la derechista = someone who votes/believes in right-wing politics
izquierdista = "leftist" el/la izquierdista = a leftist, "a liberal", someone who believes in left-wing politics
progresista = progressive [in the political sense] el/la progresista = a progressive
[this will also apply to adjectives related to a particular movement or genre; surrealista is "surrealist", humanista "humanist", modernista is "modernist"... or you may see monarquista "Monarchist", imperialista "imperialist", anarquista "anarchist"..... you can also see this attached to famous, infamous, or influential people; leninista "Leninist", maoísta "Maoist", franquista "of/relating to Francisco Franco"]
The other suffix like this to know is -crata related to "ruling"
el/la burócrata = bureaucrat
el/la autócrata = autocrat
el/la aristócrata = aristocrat
Note: Another one from Greek to know is el/la atleta "athlete" which is also unisex; it didn't have the normal suffix so I wasn't sure where to put it, but it's also a unisex one
-
I also have to mention these particular words that aren't really Greek but they will show up if you see a "words that look feminine but are actually masculine" kind of list in Spanish
el día = day
el mapa = map [I have no idea why; it's only masculine like this in Spanish]
el pijama, los pijamas = pajamas/pyjamas [comes from India by way of Persia; but sometimes el pijama is a set of "pajamas" so it could be interpreted as plural in English]
el sofá = sofa, couch [from Arabic and Turkish]
el Papa = Pope
el papá = dad [though it's a shortened form of padre "father"]
el cura = priest [usually in the Catholic sense; the other term for some denominations is el sacerdote / la sacerdotisa but in the Catholic tradition only men are priests so you'll see el cura or el sacerdote sometimes] la cura = cure la curita = "bandage", "band aid", "plaster" [UK]
el tranvía = cable car, streetcar, tram / tramway [a transliteration from English; "tram" + the Spanish word for "way"]
Some words are distinctly loanwords like el/la samurái [from Japanese] or el/la chef [from French], and as professions can be masculine or feminine since they don't follow general gender rules
Note: Gender neutral Latin suffixes do exist (usually) like -ente; adolescente "teenager/adolescent", agente "agent", delincuente "criminal/delinquent", or prudente "prudent"
...But a few have -enta as a newer adaptation of the language; in other words el gerente "manager" used to be la gerente for female but you may see la gerenta now
The most common example of -ente/-enta is el presidente "president" which can be la presidenta "(female/madame) president"; though in some older works it may be la presidente. The usage of -enta is relatively recent
...
Also important note; la mano "hand" is feminine but ends in -O. It's not common for this to happen but la mano is the big exception that you'll definitely need to know. In its diminutive forms it's usually ending in -A... la manito can be "little hand", but manitas is "handy" or "handyman" in some countries. And la manilla refers to "the hands of a clock"
-
Additional Note: There are occasional words that stay in their original form no matter who they apply to. Some of these are unisex, and some are only one gender regardless of who they apply to
el/la modelo = model [a female model would be la modelo or la supermodelo "supermodel" for example]
el/la testigo = witness
el/la idiota = idiot
el/la pirata = pirate
el/la acróbata = acrobat
el/la profeta = prophet [a bit unusual in that el profeta "prophet" is masculine, and while you can see la profeta you also do quite often see la profetisa "prophetess" especially in the context of Greek myth]
la víctima = victim [always feminine, even if the victim is a man]
Sometimes these are loanwords [like marrón "brown" is a loanword from French "chestnut", so it is always marrón / marrones], others are not; they're just weird and you need to know them
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And The Sky Bled Fire
A few cycles ago, Iacon was once ruled over by Sentinel Prime. He had ushered in a new age after the death of the Thirteen Primes, and though energon had stopped flowing, life was relatively peaceful for many Iaconians. Though if you were cogless, most of your life - from the day you emerged - would have been spent in the dark of the mines. Yet many had revered Sentinel Prime, even underneath these conditions. After all, he too wanted to find the Matrix of Leadership. Mining energon was simply… a necessity… until that goal could be reached. Yet he never quite reached that goal. No. Sentinel Prime never found the Matrix. Because the had sky bled fire.
Somebody showed me really cool fanart so I made this fanfic because I got inspired by it. This will be a one-shot because I have too many brainrots and I have set my goal already that whatever wins the poll over on my Tumblr will be what I focus on once I get the results tonight lmao.
Ao3 Link:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/65100295
A long time ago, Cybertron was once ruled by Thirteen Primes.
Underneath their leadership, life flourished on the inorganic planet and energon flowed freely thanks to the powers bestowed upon them by Primus himself.
Yet such a peaceful civilization and such perfect beings can attract envy, and soon their reign came to an end.
From beyond their skies came the Quintessons, and the planet was soon plunged into war.
The battle was fierce, with no end in sight.
You would think our valiant heroes would end victorious.
But sometimes it is our enemies from within that we ought to worry about the most.
In one universe, the Primes were struck down by the ambitions and jealousy of someone they once trusted.
But at least they died together and with their sparks whole.
This is not that universe.
—
Pax felt his tanks churn inside him as he stood over Prima Prime.
He recognized the grayed frame, even underneath all the rust and the loss of the Prime’s golden accents. He remembered the image of the once illustrious first Prime from the many times he had scoured the Iaconian Archives.
That felt like a lifetime ago.
If he had been younger, he would have been in utter awe. After all, it wasn’t every solar cycle that one found themselves within the final resting place of all the Primes, though he was sure he was not the only scavenger who found the cave. As far as he could tell, some of the other frames had missing parts. Though he couldn’t really tell since he didn’t have time to properly look at them all. He did try to find Megatronus Prime’s frame (since Dee had been a huge fan of him), though he had given up after a few breems.
It didn’t matter anyway.
He came all the way here for only one thing.
Carefully, Pax pulled out the small blade he had in his subspace, wincing as light glinted off the metal from the fires outside the cave. Even inside, he couldn’t escape the inferno that awaited him once he got what he needed. Holding the knife in one servo, he moved slowly towards the Prime’s helm, his spark whirring fast in his chassis as he fought the urge to hurl the little energon his tanks had.
In his old life, he thinks this may have been considered blasphemy.
Yet as he knelt before the Prime’s head, his free servo shaking as he reached towards Prima’s optics, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to really care about that.
After all, there were no more laws to really follow.
And Primus had long since abandoned them.
He lifted the Prime’s eye shutters, noting the sparkless dull of what was once golden optics. While he couldn’t possibly use the entire part due to the sheer size, he could break down some of the components to recreate a smaller version.
He owed it to Dee.
Steeling himself, he curled his servo into a tight fist around the knife.
“I am so sorry.”
Then as gently as he could, he began to extract what he needed.
—
“Pax?”
Pax quickly slipped into the small cave that had become his and Dee’s base ever since the Inferno began. He pushed the metal covering over the entrance, sealing away the heat from outside as he entered what he supposed he could call home. As his optics adjusted slightly to the dark, he could make out Dee sitting by the makeshift table they had attempted to make together - though it leaned on one side and threatened to collapse at some point in the future. He made his way towards his conjunx, noting with worry that there was some raw energon on the table.
When the Inferno rained down on Iacon, followed soon after by the mysterious death of Sentinel Prime, anarchy had taken over the city. Many bots had abandoned their posts - which was reasonable since who had time to mine energon when the sky was raining fire. Most had tried to leave towards the surface, since everyone had initially thought the fires were only being poured down through the openings that led into Iacon, except the situation up on the surface was even worse.
A lot of bots died in the initial storm, and those that survived - both cogged and cogless - quickly tried to adjust to life among the eternal blaze. It was quickly found out it was much safer to be deep within the planet than on the surface.
That was why many cogged bots died.
They didn’t have the experience of the cogless miners.
Most had starved, and sometimes Pax stumbled upon their rusted frames when he went out to scavenge for spare parts or for anything useful.
In truth, Pax hasn’t seen a single cogged mech in quite some time now.
So, there being raw energon on the table wasn’t what concerned Pax. He and Dee had previously been miners so they didn’t have a problem mining to feed themselves. What concerned him was that Dee had gone mining on his own… when he couldn’t even see anything.
Carefully, he placed the spare parts he had gathered on the other side of the table before turning his attention to Dee.
Life within the eternal blaze had not been kind to either of them.
Pax knew that some of his paint colors had been scrapped off, the silver underneath showing. There were also parts of him that were composed entirely of other bots’ spare parts. It was much more obvious on his left arm, as it was in an entirely different paint color than his own. He didn’t really know where and how Dee got the arm, but he knew that the other mech must have gotten it from another bot since it wasn’t pieced together with different parts. It was another bot’s entire arm… just ripped out of them.
Back then, he had been a little unnerved by how okay Dee had been about using some other bot’s arm as a replacement…
Yet now, it was just a part of their life.
Besides, what he did this solar cycle probably would never be topped because who else could say they took out a Prime’s optics?
He placed his servo - his original one, never the one that wasn’t his - on Dee’s cheekplate, inspecting the wires that dangled where his optics ought to have been. Even though decacycles had passed since the injury, Pax still couldn’t bring himself to get used to the fact that he’d never get to see Dee’s original optics again.
If only he hadn’t been so reckless—
“Dee, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t mine until we got your optics fixed.” He gently stroked at his conjunx’s face, pushing down the pop-ups in his HUD that signalled his rising stress. Pax knew that Dee was capable - after all, it was only thanks to him that they both somehow survived the initial rain of fire - but he worried about him being alone deep within the mines, unable to see.
He already felt guilty enough about leaving Dee alone in their base to scrounge for spare parts.
“Someone has to mine energon, Pax. Don’t think I wouldn’t notice that our supplies were running low and you were consuming less just to keep me fueled.” Dee crossed his arms in front of his chassis, shaking his helm at Pax, even if there wasn’t any real irritation in his tone. “I know you want to fix my optics, and I appreciate you risking your life outside every solar cycle to find spare parts, but Pax if you go offline somewhere because you haven’t been refueling properly, then I can’t do anything to help you.”
“I know. It’s just—” A digit wandered close to one of the exposed optic wires, and Pax couldn’t help the guilt that rose again in his spark. He had thought, after the Inferno, that he had become more responsible. No more sneaking into the Archives. No more being chased by the guards. No more getting Dee punched by Darkwing because Pax messed up. Yet it seemed he was still the same old Orion Pax, getting his conjunx nearly killed because he didn’t think about the consequences before taking action.
As though sensing his thoughts, Dee reached out, managing to place his own servo on Pax’s cheekplate. “It was not your fault, Pax. You just wanted to help.”
“Still…” Pax’s voice trailed off, refusing to tell Dee that he would miss looking into the other’s original optics. As soon as he finished making the replacement, it would be like staring into the optics of a stranger. He clinked his helm against Dee’s, savoring the moment before he pulled away. “I think I have everything I need to make you those new optics. Come a few solar cycles and you’ll be back to seeing again.” “And see your ugly face? I think I’ll pass.” Dee scoffed, though a grin slowly made his way to his face. Then softly, he said, “Thanks, Pax.”
He felt a smile form on his own dermas, yet he found no joy even as he forced himself to say, “Anything for you.”
He would never tell Dee where he got the parts.
—
“Why hold onto this foolish loyalty?”
“I. Will. Not. Hear. You.”
“Very well, dear Prime. I shall leave you to burn in the graveyard of your failure.”
—
On the first lunar cycle since he could see, Dee was unable to fall into recharge, a fact that Pax lectured him about the following solar cycle.
This wasn’t unusual since he always tried to keep himself online if Pax was deeply into recharge. It was a difficult life on the surface and Dee constantly worried that they’d be attacked by fellow scavengers while they were at their most vulnerable… or worse…
So, he made it a habit to keep online at least until what Pax had dubbed “The Great Shadow” passed their base.
While many cogged bots died due to starvation, some were able to adjust to life within the Inferno. Energon was scarce, yet it was not the greatest threat to their lives. It wasn’t even the eternal blaze outside, since it was easy enough to avoid the fires.
No, none of those were the true nightmare that came with surviving in this world.
It was “The Great Shadow” that lurked over them that truly made survival difficult.
There was no predicting its movements. However, it seemed to follow a specific route that made it easy to know when to avoid it. In their case, Pax and Dee had discovered that “The Great Shadow” would pass through their area during the lunar cycle. So, as far as they were concerned, all they needed was to hide within their base and make it appear as though nobody lived there. They’d heard enough horror stories from other survivors of what happened to those who were caught, pieces of their dead frames found after the destruction. Sometimes, there wasn’t even a frame left to mourn for.
Dee feared other scavengers, though he was a large mech who could defend himself and Pax if it really came down to it, but there was nothing he feared more than “The Great Shadow.”
He remembered their first encounter with it. He and Pax had managed to set up base in their current cave, they had just huddled together after a long exhausting solar cycle (they hadn’t had the chance to scrounge up enough material for a makeshift berth) when it happened.
A loud crackling noise had torn through the air, nearly deafening their audials that they had to manually shut them off in fear of breaking them. Dee, who was facing the entrance that they had sealed off, had seen a large shadow - far larger than any Cybertronian, even a cogged bot, could cast - move over their base as if patrolling. He pressed a hand to his intake, forcing down the urge to scream before the shadow moved on. By the time he had turned back to Pax, he saw the fear in his conjunx’s optics, and knew he’d seen what Dee had.
It happened again the next lunar cycle, and the next.
At first, it terrified them both. That one moment that shadow would pause and tear off the flimsy metal covering that kept them safe from the outside.
Yet that never happened, and so “The Great Shadow” became a part of their daily schedule. He was certain that Pax had probably forgotten about it, since he always slept like an offlined mech.
Dee could never forget and he made sure to always wait for it to pass by before he could truly rest for the lunar cycle.
Which is why on that first lunar cycle since he could see, he had not gotten a single klik of recharge.
He had waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until the sun had risen.
And Pax had woken up and lectured him for staying up the entire lunar cycle, barring him from coming with him to scavenge for parts.
He didn’t explain it to Pax. His conjunx had enough on his processor that Dee hadn’t wanted to concern him with a problem they may not even needed to really concern themselves with. Especially since he knew the other mech still felt guilty over what happened to Dee’s optics. He couldn’t look at him for too long after he got the replacements.
Dee didn’t understand why Pax continued to be so guilty. It was his own choice to step in.
He lost his optics and his ability to see for a while, which scared him, but…
He loves Pax.
Dee would gladly remain blind if it meant keeping the other alive.
So, he kept his concern to himself. Pax didn’t need to know that, for some reason, “The Great Shadow” had changed its routes.
He could only hope that didn’t mean there was a chance they would run into whatever it was during the solar cycle.
—
“Why do you cling to a god that has abandoned you?”
“You deceive me with your lies.”
“I am no deceiver.”
“Primus—”
“Has left this planet to ruin. Has left your people to suffer at the servos of a tyrant. Has left your fellow Primes to die and you to live among their fallen frames for eternity.”
“...He must have a plan.”“Perhaps. Though is it worth all this suffering and death? Do you truly believe he does this for a greater purpose? Or did he abandon you to rust?”
“What do you know of what he wills?”“I know if my… creations… were to be pawns in a game, I would not leave one to live while the others are freed from the torment of life. How cruel, do you not agree? That you should live, while everyone you love has died.”
“Primus has his reasons.”
“Very well. If that is what you continue to believe. I shall show you then, dear Prime, the suffering accorded by your god for this great noble reason that you continue to have faith in.”
—
It was Dee’s turn to scavenge for spare parts. While they usually did everything together, there were times where they both had to split up their duties. Since Pax had been scavenging parts for an entire decacycle because Dee had been out of commission, it was now his turn to do it.
Besides, he wanted to give Pax space since he still couldn’t look him in the optics. Though by now, Dee couldn’t tell if it was because Pax still felt guilty over Dee losing his sight in the first place or if it was because his optic colors had drastically changed.
Like most mechs, Dee had blue optics before they were destroyed.
For some reason, whatever spare parts Pax had used, they had turned his optics yellow - almost near gold at times (if Pax was to be believed). Dee had tried to get the other mech to explain where he had got the spare parts, yet Pax had been resolute in not revealing the truth. Usually, Dee would have furiously given him a glare. He never did like secrets.
For this case though, he allowed Pax the privacy of that knowledge, especially since he never told Pax where he got his replacement arm.
They can both have their one secret.
So, on this particular solar cycle, Dee had taken it upon himself to scavenge for parts - even if Pax had protested about coming with him. Pax had to stay though, in the cave, to mine for raw energon - as they were running low.
Slowly, he made his way through the desolate surface, flames licking close at his pedes as he followed the well-worn trail that he and Pax used. Dee never liked straying from it. He was never much of an adventurer, and there was usually some scraps he would find laying around near the trail - if he was lucky, he may even across some scavengers who he could trade with… or… fight…
Either way, in the similar way he used to have a quota to meet in the mines, Dee always ensured he came home with spare parts that he and Pax could use in the future.
Pulling the red cloak around him tighter, Dee glanced at the sad landscape around him, his fans working overdrive to keep him cool as he navigated the harsh terrain. He tried to keep away from larger patches of fire, or the craters where… something… probably was, yet he kept his optics trained on the ground, scanning for anything that might be useful.
It helped that his new optics seemed to be… different.
Ever since Pax had placed them inside his optic sockets, Dee had the strange ability to just know where some objects were. A few solar cycles ago, Pax was searching their base for an old datapad he had scrounged from the ruins of the archives - and for some odd reason, Dee had immediately known that Pax had somehow left it underneath their makeshift berth. Pax hadn’t even batted an optic at how Dee knew but… Dee had because he hadn’t known that. The words were out of his intake before he could truly process them.
Now, usually, he would have followed the trail until he found spare parts. Yet on this particular solar cycle, he found his pedes leading him further away - a part of his spark urging him forward even as his processor demanded he turn around and return to the trail. Dee continued onward, until eventually he started to ignore everything else around him, a part of him enthralled by some distant area.
He didn’t know how long he had been walking until he finally came across a large cave. He reset his optics, his intake agape as he realized that there were… organic vines… that still hung and covered the entrance. Dee quickly glanced around him, realizing that the fires had somewhat cleared. While there were smaller patches here and there, they weren’t the raging blazes that Dee were used to encountering on the surface. He felt his spark thrum with nervousness, unsure why he had wandered so far from the trail.
Yet despite his worries, he quickly entered the save, his new optics adjusting immediately to the darkness.
He couldn’t help it.
He let out a sharp vent as he realized what he was staring at.
Dee took a few pedesteps forward, nearly stumbling against… what he was sure was a Prime’s arm. Forcing down a shudder, he carefully stepped over the fallen frame, entering deeper into the cave. It didn’t take long for his attention to turn towards the center.
It was difficult not to when Prima Prime’s fallen frame was laid gently on the ground, the Prime’s servos resting on his chassis. Though, what Dee caught Dee’s attention the most was the Prime’s open optics… or where they should have been.
Slowly, Dee moved closer, dread filling his spark as he stood near the Prime’s frame.
He refused to put any thought to it, because that made it real, though he knew deep inside what had happened.
Before he could decide what to do, he felt a shift in the air and his audials nearly burst as loud crackling filled the cavern. He turned in time to see a shadow fall over him as a large servo grabbed him.
Dee screamed, servos gripping at too large digits that nearly crush him in their grip. He tried to struggle, but then a heavy heat washed over him and he nearly collapsed as his systems began to nearly shut down. He could hear the loud whirring of his fans as they tried to combat his frame from overheating, unable to do so when he was pushed further near flickering flames. Dee tried to cycle more air by venting, optics turning upwards to meet dark red.
For a few kliks, he recognized the familiar purple mask, even if it was rusted and broken in some parts.
As his processor forced him into a shut down, he heard the soft voice of Megatronus Prime in his audials.
“You have his optics.”
Then he fell into emergency stasis.
—
“... Cease this, please.”
“Have you considered my offer, dear Prime?”
“... I swear my allegiance to you. I accept your offer, keep your promise to me and I shall be your servant.”
“Very well. I shall grant you your revenge. I will return you to your former glory. No longer shall you remain a helm without his frame. I shall grant you the power to avenge your fallen. I shall be the god you need. I will not abandon you, my champion.”
“In return?”
“All I ask is simple.”
“Nothing ever is with you gods.”
“Do not test me. All I ask… is that you rain fire upon this world and put all sparks to rest, at the cost of your own.”
“... Your will be done.”
“Then rise, Megatronus Prime. With my aid… this world shall know no more suffering, for all will join the sweet embrace of death.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
“Prima…”
Megatronus gently held onto his conjunx’s frame, the cycles had not been kind, for Prima’s golden accents had long since faded underneath rust and the gray of a fallen frame. He rested his helm against the other’s chassis, tears left unfallen as there was no familiar whirr of a spark.
He had inspected the frame of the other Primes, and like all the others, Prima was completely gone - though he had already known that truth for fifty cycles. He reset his optics, allowing himself one more moment of weakness.
For a few more breems, he allowed himself to grieve.
“I promise you…”
He lifted his helm, clinking it against Prima’s. Then slowly, he placed his conjunx’s frame down, arranging it so that for a moment he could pretend the other was merely in recharge. He stared down at Prima for a long while, until Unicron’s voice began to invade his processor once more - and he turned away.
As he began to walk out of the cave, he felt heat overtake him as fire began to form all over his frame, yet despite the flames - he felt nothing but numb.
“... this abandoned world shall burn and become your resting place.”
#transformers#transformers one#megatron#optimus prime#prima prime#megatronus prime#unicron#opmeg#primatronus#paxd
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YES YES YES THAT DANIIL POST IS SO GOOD
The intersection between thanatophobic thinking (both fearing death as any other phobia yes but also despising it and believing that death can be overcome) and suicidal ideation is so fascinating to me as someone dealt with both, oftentimes at the same time
How these two aspects can both clash and work together in the worst ways is something I wish was more explored in fiction, unfortunately there is a lot of social stigmas around them
To be suicidal has been historically seen as cowardly and weak (even if in recent times the attitudes has shifted a little, still I don't think society quite knows how to handle those with suicidal inclination)
And to be thanatophobic, to reject death is seen as arrogant, and like, that's not completely without merit, often times those who sought immortality are those most privileged, those who have escaped every other hardship.
But that's not the only reason one would reject death. My parents had lived through a war (a war that was technically not over by the time I was born) so they and people from my parents home country dealt with the grief by accepting death and believing in something better after it, but to me growing up in a family surrounded by the stench of death and being told that's just the way it is felt wrong
to reject death is not always about rejecting pain, rejecting change, but instead it can be about rejecting injustice, rejecting a world that would rather you give in and do its dirty work for it and disappear, to reject death is to live despite your own mind telling you should just lie down and cease all function
The fight against death can be and often times IS a good one
Anyways sorry for the disjointed ask I have just been thinking about this a lot for the past, well, my entire life, and also I have been reading The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere which is dealing with the same themes (its about a bunch of medical students visiting a secret organization that is trying to cure death) so its been on my mind more than usual
Agree completely.
People think rejecting death is empty fantasies of the privileged and arrogant intellectuals. As if most of the world’s religions aren’t built around literal belief in immortality of the soul and life everlasting. Majority of the most marginalized, most impoverished people on this planet live only for the dream of their future utopian life in the sky. Someone more versed in christianity than me should write on all the christian themes in Utopianism but it doesn’t take an expert to see that they are there.
The difference is that one everlasting life is given to you by a heavenly monarch and another is completely in the hands of humans since it’s going to be created by them. And it fits so beautifully into the inherent metaphor of being a doctor.
Is it blasphemy to be a medic at all? Are you fighting God every time you interfere with His plan by saving a life? Or is it a virtuous and merciful act, to help others, to relieve suffering, to prolong life? Are you showing your devotion to God by serving His creatures?
There are religious people on both sides of this argument. But if we reject the former and agree with the latter, then why should there be an end to our mercy? Isn’t curing death the ultimate act of Love towards God’s creations?
I think Daniil and Clara could have a lot of interesting conversations on the subject.
The post in question.
#thank you for this ask it's beautiful#and thanks for the book recommendation I'm going to check it out#pathologic#daniil dankovsky#clara saburova#immortalism
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how uniquely weird must it have been for Ashley to be the Virmire survivor. her religion is such a central focus of her life, and though I don't think? we ever get elaboration on what that religion Is, given the cultural context the character was written in and her dialogue, it's not a stretch to assume some variety of Christianity might be her baseline. so anyway. here's this intensely devout person. and she watched you, her commander and best friend, die. prayed every day for you after you were gone, by her own admission.
and then one day on some nothing planet called Horizon: you show up. resurrected, apparently. what does that mean for her faith? or even just for her faith in *you*? the way she sees you? is this the miracle she prayed for? but the people who resurrected you, you know, are evil. are you... something unholy to her, now? can you ever again be anything but embodied blasphemy? she loves you so much. she does. but in that moment, she must be so scared of you, too.
#the Shepard resurrection effort is literally called the Lazarus Project. i mean.#sorry not sorry for mass effect posting in 2024#she compels me. she does.#ashley williams#mass effect
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Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Preliminary Round
Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:
The Hands of the Emperor (The Hands of the Emperor, At the Feet of the Sun, and other stories) by Victoria Goddard
Endorsement from submitter: "Amazing epic and intrinsically queer story about leaving home to change the world, about being a bridge between worlds, about what it means to choose to leave your home even which it is the most important place in the world to you. And so much more."
An impulsive word can start a war. A timely word can stop one. A simple act of friendship can change the course of history.
Cliopher Mdang is the personal secretary of the Last Emperor of Astandalas, the Lord of Rising Stars, the Lord Magus of Zunidh, the Sun-on-Earth, the god. He has spent more time with the Emperor of Astandalas than any other person. He has never once touched his lord. He has never called him by name. He has never initiated a conversation.
One day Cliopher invites the Sun-on-Earth home to the proverbially remote Vangavaye-ve for a holiday.
The mere invitation could have seen Cliopher executed for blasphemy. The acceptance upends the world.
Fantasy, romance, politics, secondary world, series, adult
The Principle of Moments by Esmie Jikiemi-Pearson (Order of Legends series)
A century-spanning space fantasy novel that will take you on a whirlwind adventure, from a Regency Era love affair between a time-traveller and the prince waiting for him in the past, to a rescue mission in the 60th century, where a girl desperately races against time as she searches for the sister the emperor stole.
6066: In Emperor Thracin’s brave new galaxy, humans are not citizens. Instead, they are indentured labourers, working to repay the debt they unwittingly incurred when they settled on Gahraan - a desert planet already owned by the emperor himself. Asha Akindele knows she’s just another voiceless cog working the assembly lines that fuel his vast imperial war machine. Her only rebellion: studying stolen aeronautics manuals in the dead of night. But then a cloaked stranger arrives to deliver an impossible message, and her life changes in an instant.
1812: Obi Amadi is done with time-travelling. Never mind the fact he doesn’t know how to cure himself of the temporal sickness he caught whilst anchoring his soul to Regency London, the one that unmakes him further with every jump. Or if the prince he loves will ever love him back. Or why his father disappeared. He is done. Until he hears about the ghost of a girl in the British Museum. A girl from another time.
When Obi’s path tangles with Asha’s and a prophecy awakens in the cold darkness of space, they must voyage through the stars, racing against time, tyranny, and the legacy of three heroes from an ancient religion who may be awakening, reincarnated in ways beyond comprehension.
Science fiction, fantasy, time travel, historical fiction, Regency, space opera, adventure, series, adult
#polls#queer adult sff#the hands of the emperor#victoria goddard#the principle of moments#esmie jikiemi-pearson#esmie jikiemi pearson#lays of the hearth fire#books#booklr#lgbtqia#tumblr polls#bookblr#book#lgbt books#queer books#poll#sff#sff books#queer sff#book polls#queer lit#queer literature
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Bound in blood, Pt.6
Pairing: Dean Winchester × female oc
Summary: Noira hunted monsters almost her whole life — but one wrong kill made her the target. Now she's hiding in the Winchesters bunker, where ancient bloodlines aren't the only threat..and Dean Winchester's smirk might be the most dangerous of all.
Warnings: emotional tension, flirting, slow burn, strong language (in a light way), protective behavior/angst, sexual tension
Words: 2479
Note: English isn't my first language.
This is part six of an ongoing fanfic series.
💫Check out my master list here!
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By the time everything was packed for the upcoming hunt, the sun was already dipping lower in the midday sky. The black Impala roared down the seemingly endless country road with the sonorous hum of its engine. The golden midday sunlight flickered through the treetops, danced on the hood, and reflected in the chrome frame of the side mirrors.
Dean sat behind the wheel as usual, one hand loosely on the steering wheel, the other resting on the window frame, the window rolled down just enough for the wind to tousle his hair.
Sam sat in the passenger seat, a thick research folder on his lap, which he kept closing disapprovingly every time the radio volume was turned up.
I sprawled on the backseat, legs half-drawn up, my forehead leaned against the windowpane, watching the landscape roll by.
But my gaze kept drifting back to Dean — to his profile, to that slight grin playing on his lips whenever he knew I was watching him. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror. Fleeting, quiet moments that said more than words ever could.
"So. Time for real music," Dean suddenly declared with a triumphant undertone, turned the knob on the radio, and let the first guitar riffs of AC/DC's "Back in Black" blast through the speakers.
I couldn’t help it. My mouth stretched into a wide grin, my fingers began drumming the rhythm on my thigh.
"Finally someone with taste," I called to the front.
Dean shot me a wink in the rearview mirror. "You’re truly a blessing to this rotten planet, Noira."
Sam rolled his eyes in mock agony, sighed loudly, and muttered, "Not this song again..."
Dean and I answered in perfect sync, as if from one mouth: "Blasphemy!"
I laughed out loud. Then I joined in on the chorus — full-hearted, loud, unashamed.
Dean sang along, our voices mingling above the thunderous bass, while Sam’s expression grew increasingly tormented.
"I’m trapped with two pubescent rock stars," he murmured dryly and shut his book with exaggerated drama.
I leaned to the side, rested my chin on the seat in front of me, and aimed my smile at Dean. "Who sings better, Sammy?"
Dean grinned.
"That would put me in a real dilemma, to be honest," Sam dodged the question smoothly, though a faintly amused smile tugged at his lips.
"Then don’t be honest," I whispered mischievously.
Again, Dean’s eyes met mine in the mirror. His gaze burned right through me, as if I were an open book. For a moment, the world was made of nothing but that mirror, his eyes, and my pounding heart.
"Can you two save the tension for later? Like, maybe not when we’re en route to a vampire nest?" Sam’s voice popped the bubble around us.
I let out an innocent giggle, leaned back into the seat cushions, and crossed my arms. My heart was still racing wildly.
Dean turned the volume down. "Sam, you’re like a bad mood on legs."
"And you’re like a sack of pent-up hormones since Noira showed up," Sam shot back flatly.
I laughed again. But inside, a tingling anticipation was building. Not just because of Malachai. Not just because of the seal. But because of Dean.
And because of that inevitable direction the two of us were heading — faster than the Impala on an open road.
...
Night had fully fallen by the time we finally arrived in Columbus, Ohio. The drive had dragged on — bathroom breaks, rushed burger stops, and a few moments where Dean and I sang loudly to our favorite songs in the Impala, while Sam visibly annoyed, kept trying to change the track.
We were all worn out from exhaustion, so we decided to hit a motel first, before setting out rested to hunt the vampire Malachai.
Sam was inside the motel lobby, checking for available rooms.
Dean and I stood by the car, waiting for him to return. I felt my gaze drifting as I stared down the dark street.
Dean noticed my pensive silence and placed a hand on my arm, his voice soft but direct: "What’s wrong, Noira?"
I forced a crooked smile and replied with a playful sparkle in my eyes: "Oh, you know...just mesmerized by your amazing driving skills."
He raised an eyebrow, grinned wide, and stepped closer. "And?"
I stepped back slightly, ran my fingers through my hair, changed the subject: "Maybe a little nervous about what’s coming tomorrow. But hey, we’ve got this."
Dean gave me one last look and murmured, "Don’t worry. Our vampire problem will be gone soon."
The "our" made my heart skip a beat. I nodded, returned his smile, and felt a warmth that went far beyond the chilly night air.
Sam came back with the keys, his voice cutting through the stillness: "There are two rooms left."
"I’d rather not spend the night alone, to be honest," I said without hesitation.
Dean grinned broadly, his eyes immediately on me. "Well, then I’ll gladly share a room with you."
His tone was full of innuendo that made me giggle inside.
Sam shook his head and answered flatly: "Would be safer if you stayed with me."
Dean raised his eyebrows, feigning offense, and muttered, "Killjoy."
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud as I leaned against Dean, and the light tension between us sparked just a little more.
...
The motel room was small, worn, but clean. The yellowish ceiling light flickered once before casting its steady, dull glow over the room. Sam stepped in ahead of me, placed his bag on the narrow bed in the corner. I let mine drop on the other mattress, stretched out and tried to shake off the fatigue from the long drive.
I was just brushing the hair from my face when Sam’s voice brought me back: "Hey, Noira? Sit down a second. I...I need to talk to you."
Something in his tone made me pause. Not tense, but serious. Sam rarely got this quiet without bringing bad news. I looked at him as he sat down on one of the two narrow chairs in the tiny sitting area, his hands loosely folded, forehead furrowed.
I followed his request, sat across from him, pulling my legs up beneath me. A nervous unease spread through my chest.
"About tomorrow..." he began, his voice quieter than usual. "These vampires...this seal. I know it scares you. You try not to show it, but Noira...I know you. I see it."
I swallowed hard. My gaze wandered to the worn-out pattern in the carpet, but I said nothing. It was true. The thought of facing that vampire — that thing — again, the one holding such power, made my heart race.
"But you’re not alone. We’re here. I’m here. And Dean too. We’re...family."
That last word hit me. Warm and heavy. Like a shield wrapping around me. Before I could even think about it, tears welled up in my eyes.
I stood up, walked over to him, bent down and wrapped my arms around him.
Sam responded immediately, returning the hug, one hand resting soothingly between my shoulder blades. It felt real. Honest trust. True friendship.
As I slowly pulled away again, Sam sighed and shook his head slightly, as if trying to steel himself. Then he looked me directly in the eyes — and I knew what was coming.
"But I also have to ask you something else. And I mean it."
I stayed silent. My heart skipped a beat.
"What’s going on between you and my brother?" he asked — not accusing, but firm. "Noira, I see the way you look at each other. The way you talk. And honestly...I want you to have someone who makes you smile."
I wanted to say something, but he raised a hand and went on. "But Dean is...Dean. I love him, you know that. But you also know what he’s like. Charming. Direct. Flirty. And sometimes...not exactly careful when it comes to hearts."
I felt my stomach twist. Sam was looking at me so sincerely, so openly, I couldn’t do anything but listen.
"I’m not saying this to forbid you anything. I’m saying it because you matter to me. I don’t want to see you hurt. And I don’t want whatever’s between you two...to get broken. You understand?"
I nodded slowly. It was like a lump in my throat. A part of me wanted to snap at him, tell him he had no idea what it felt like — that tingling, that pull when Dean looked at me. But another, quieter part knew Sam was right. That what was building between Dean and me was dangerous. Emotional. Unpredictable.
But before I could answer, there was a knock at the door. It swung open, and there he was. Dean. Casual as ever, a towel slung loosely over his shoulder, his hair still damp from the shower.
"I just wanted to say, my room is way nicer than Sam’s," he said with a crooked grin. "In case you change your mind, Noira — you’re always welcome."
I smirked, played along, and shot back: "Depends what you mean by nicer."
Dean winked. "You know."
Sam audibly rolled his eyes. "You two are impossible."
Dean laughed quietly, stepped closer, clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Take care of her, little brother."
Then he looked at me, his voice a little softer, almost tender: "Sleep well, Noira."
"You too, Dean."
When he turned and closed the door behind him, silence settled in, broken only by the loud beating of my heart.
I could still feel Sam’s gaze on me, but I said nothing. Instead, I turned slowly toward the bed, let myself sink onto it, and tried to sort through my thoughts.
But inside me, everything was a mess — Sam’s words, Dean’s gaze, the promise of closeness and danger at once.
And above all, there was the feeling that something inevitable was heading toward me. Something that would change my life.
...
I stared at the cracked ceiling of the motel room while Sam’s uneven breathing puffed through the room like a rusty generator.
The fan above me spun stoically, slowly, uselessly — like even it was fed up with the heat. It was stuffy, heavy, typical for one of those sleepless summer nights in the middle of nowhere. And yet my skin was covered in goosebumps.
Because of Dean.
Last night had shifted something, opened something in me that couldn’t be closed again. His warm breath on my neck, his firm grip around my hip — and most of all: the way he held back. How he vibrated under the surface. How close he was. How much I felt that he was fighting it. Just like me.
I lay there, wide awake, heart pounding. And now again. Ten meters separated us — no more. Just a thin wall, a worn carpet in the hallway, maybe two empty beer cans he’d kicked against something.
Maybe it was the case. Maybe too many unsaid things between us. Maybe it was just time.
I wore only pajama shorts, thin and small, and a loose, sleeveless shirt that clung to my skin. I was sweating — from the heat, from nerves, from the burning desire that had long stopped leaving me alone.
Quietly, almost floating, I got up. Sam couldn’t notice. I had no energy for his tone. For his looks. For his moral speeches laced with way too much concern. Not now.
Barefoot, I snuck into the hallway toward the neighboring room. My heart pounded in my ribs, hard and impatient. I raised my hand, hesitated — then knocked softly.
No reaction. I knocked again, firmer.
The door opened slowly.
And there he was.
Dean.
He looked like he’d walked out of a damn movie: white shirt stretched over his chest, messy hair, those gray sweatpants that hung way too low on his hips — the same ones as last night, when he’d slipped into my bed. The same ones under which his tension was barely concealed.
His eyes were tired, guarded — until he recognized me. Then his expression softened, not much, but just enough for me to feel it.
"Sam’s snoring," I mumbled, avoiding his eyes. "I can’t sleep."
He snorted softly, half amused, half skeptical. "Sure. And you thought I’d sing you a lullaby?"
I shrugged. "You gonna leave me out here?"
He was silent, long enough that I almost doubted myself. Then he stepped aside. "Come in, trouble."
I stepped inside. My heart was racing now, wild. The room smelled like him — leather, whiskey, soap, skin. Dean.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, let my fingers glide slowly across the blanket like I needed to hold on to something.
He closed the door, slowly, with an almost overly cautious sound — like he wanted to delay every second before whatever was in the air unfolded.
"Noira," he began, leaning against the door, arms crossed. His gaze fell on me — and I felt it on my skin like a current.
"Dean," I replied, my voice calm, but my knees felt weak. I didn’t look away.
"You know what you’re doing here, right?" he asked quietly, too quietly for his usual mocking self.
I nodded. "Yes."
He inhaled like I’d just burdened him with something. "Noira…if we do this now...it changes everything."
I looked at him, felt my chest rise. "What if that’s exactly what I want?"
His eyes stayed on me, and something stretched between us, something that had built over years — in glances, in touches, in jokes, in moments that lasted too long. It was all there. It had always been there.
He cursed quietly, ran both hands over his face. "You’re Paul’s little sister."
That wasn’t an argument. That was a last-ditch effort to save himself.
I raised an eyebrow. "I’m thirty-one, Dean. I can decide whose spoon I warm."
He laughed, dry and deep from the chest, a sound between frustration and fascination. "You’re impossible."
Then something changed in his face. His expression grew more serious, darker. The resistance slowly gave way to the want.
He stepped toward me, step by step, like he had to push through mud — or through his own principles. Sat down next to me.
Our shoulders touched.
My heart raced.
I felt the heat radiating from him — not just body heat, but that charged something that was driving me insane.
Slowly, I turned toward him. My fingers slid across his thigh, searching, demanding. "Tell me and I’ll leave. Tell me you don’t want this."
He closed his eyes for a moment. Took a deep breath. "Fuck, Noira."
I leaned in. Our lips didn’t touch. But his breath was on my skin, warm, rough, as tangible as his hesitation.
"Say it, Dean."
To be continued...
#dean winchester#dean winchester smut#dean winchester x reader#jensen ackles#jensen fucking ackles#jensen ackles smut#spn fanart#spnfandom#supernatural smut#spn smut#sam winchester#dean and sam#dean winchester x oc#dean winchester x ofc#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester × female!reader#dean winchester ×female reader#dean winchester × fem!reader#supernatural fandom#supernatural fanart#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural fanfic series#supernatural fanfic
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Yesterday, @starbiology posted that in cannon Neopets lore, Dr. Sloth arrived to Neopia and started creating experimental lifeforms on the empty planet. These lifeforms started to mutate into the Neopets we know today after magic was introduced, and then faeries were later discovered. Faeries are seen as immortal being and on the Neopian Times, Queen Fyora is often used as a stand-in for god. This means that our timeline is Dr. Sloth experiments - magic arrives - Neopets appear - deities/faeries appear.
I think it's safe to say that's deities are created by belief, and in the world of Neopia, "believing" can affect the weather and magic. So Neopets believing in a persona that controlled a force created the faeries, but where did magic originally come from? For that, we look to the stars.
Aishas are a unique neopet as they are the only one that can be painted alien. In their lore, the alien color was actually the original aisha, but they lost the additional ears when they adapted to life on Neopia. Aishas also have phychic abilities and a tie to the mystic arts; they are magical beings.
I propose that alien aishas brought magic to Neopia and created the faeries. Here's how I imagine it happening:
Alien aishas are explorers of the galaxy who come from a matriarchal society. They pray to their patron of stars and safe space travel Mira to guide them on their journey. They have discovered a planet that can sustain life just on the edges of their explorable range. The aishas send a small crew to check it out, but unbeknownst to them, it's under the watch and protection of Dr.Sloth.
He doesn't want anyone messing with his planet wide experiment! He found the planet first! It's his! So he shoots down the incoming ship. The aishas are able to make it to their escape pods and land on Neopia.
But how could this have happened? Were they too far away from their home planet for Mira to protect them? If they were truly out of range of the deity of space travel, could none of their gods help them now? Did they need to pray to new ones? No! That's blasphemy! Accidents happen, they should send out a rescue signal and wait.
So they do. But they find the planet full of hostile lifeforms, monsters of every shape, size, and color! And every time a rescue party gets near to the planet, it gets shot down in a similar manner. They assume it's something in the atmosphere that is breaking up their ships, and they loose faith in their old gods. Dr. Sloth meanwhile leaves his moon base to go investigate where all these ships are coming from as Mira looses her power as the Neopian aishas loose faith in her.
The colony of aishas are trying so hard to survive the monsters. They don't know the deities of the world they are now inhabiting, but they know how to be respectful to them.
They pray to the Mother of Protection so they can fight the monsters at their doors, and a battle faerie comes to aide them.
They pray to the Mother of Survival when their rations and supplies run out, and so a faerie with a cooking pot appears to teach them what can be combined to create something greater than its parts.
They pray to the Mother of Medicine in the winter when they start to fall ill from the cold. So a faerie of healing and snow appears to help them, and disappears when it's spring.
The faerie of survival tells them about neggs, and when they find a fruit that contains all their nutitrial needs, they praise the Mother of Neggs, and a faerie appears to tend to the negg bushes so the aishas will always have something to eat.
And although they have lost faith in their old gods, some rituals still carry over. Losing a tooth is still considered a great milestone that must be honored. The Mother of Milestone is manifested as the tooth faerie that gives money in exchange for teeth, but these aren't the nerkmids that they use as money. Could their be other civilizations on this planet?
As the aishas start to explore the planet to find other civilizations, they take their beliefs with them. They thank Mother Earth for soft grasses, shady trees, and protective caves. They thank Mother River for fresh water and Mother Ocean for a safe seafaring journey, and they thank both for the bounty of fish. They thank Mother Air for fresh breezes and to keep them upwind from the monsters. They thank Mother Fire for keeping the monsters away, and Mother Light for keeping their spirits bright.
But mothers can also be mean and nasty, and mothers can be cruel. They attribute the monsters and their hardships to Mother Decay, a spectral shadowy faerie that lives in our nightmares and can corrupt our minds until we become the monsters attacking our friends.
The aishas know they need protection from Mother Decay when they go to sleep. They need a force in the darkness to help keep them safe from the nightmares when no other mother can reach them, so they pray to Mother Dark for sweet dreams and sanity. Mother Dark may not always be nice, but she will do what no other mother can and make it so we can brave the night.
As the aishas expands, and new faeries start to appear in their settlements, things been a little hectic. No new civilizations have been found yet, and while their own has been more established, these faeries cause just as much help as harm. Magic is a new force that is altering the landscape, but they need it to make sense! Some have even claimed to find a land made out of jelly for faeries sake!
So the leaders pray to the Mother of Order and the Mother of Faeries. "Please" they say, "Please control your children so we may have order in our lives again" and Mother Faerie appears. It manifests as the Queen of all faeries and all must listen to her. Queen Faerie, no, Queen Fyora, whisks the most unruly faeries away to Faerieland so the Aishas can have peace again.
But with the Mother of Order and Civilization making an appearance, civilization is also brought to the monsters that have plagued Neopia. Everywhere the floating city goes, the monsters turn into the Neopets we know today. They start worshipping the faeries too, and the faeries' power grows. The world turns.
Monsters still exist, as the faeries can't solve every problem, but the aishas have neighbors they can trade with now. Some of the monsters can even be tamed and trained for pets or for jobs!
As Neopian society grows and thoughts and feelings change, new faeries take on the mantles of older ones. Faeries become a species of their own and can form relationships, although no one really knows how new faeries are created. They believe they have always been there, and their belief makes it so. Queen Fyora is thought of as the oldest faerie, and their belief makes that true as well. (Eventhough she is technically the youngest of the ancient faeries, but she is the only ancient one who remains in modern Neopia) (Besides Mira and maybe Kari, but idk)
Other notable faeries and how they came to be:
Library Faerie - Mother of Knowledge
Soup Faerie - Mother of Kindness - the current light faerie took over from a faerie with unquie wings that wasn't meeting the community's needs
Bree - Mother of Quests (when society became more modern, neopets got bored and prayed to be given more involved quests than just simple fetch quests, so Bree spawned and created Key Quest)
Kaia - she spawned as a kid, so idk what she would represent. A daughter of Culture perhaps? She can see into the future, so maybe she is the deity of Time who is in training?
Honestly, Kaia confuses me. But I hoped this made sense of how the faeries came to be! I also went for the mother angle to explain why all of them are female. Please let me know what you all think of this!
Oh yeah - faeries can die if no one believes in them, but if their domain is still needed, then a new faerie takes up that same domain. As a side note, that might be why Kari has an apprentice now. Neggs aren't as obtainable as they used to be and are pretty expensive, but they are still useful. Neopians opinions of Neggs are changing, so there is another faerie to represent the current generation of Neopians' thoughts on Neggs.
Same thing with Delina. Modern Neopians know that dark faeries aren't automatically evil, but they don't know what they can help with that isn't evil magic, so a good crafty dark faerie spawned. All dark faeries are crafty, but Delina is DIY crafty instead of magic crafty.
Thank you for reading! I know this was long but it was fun to write, and please excuse any errors as this was written on my phone. Also, please let me know your thoughts on this! If you agree/disagree or if their is some ancient lore that needs to be incorporated in this!
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SOFT W KISAKI TETTA
Tw: comfort
Tetta Kisaki, in love, sees the object of his desire not as a whole, vulnerable soul, but as a precious stone artfully set into the crown of his future greatness. For him, you are a perfect emerald, complementing the cold shine of unconditional power. A bloody ruby that highlights the power that no one should doubt. His imagination paints a sick picture of the ancient arc de Triomphe, under which you froze, a flawless statue buried alive, an eternal testimony to his genius.
His concern is a sticky web of silk and steel. He weaves it with threads known only to himself, with knowledge of every step and sigh, where protection consists in isolation, eliminating "unnecessary people": a competitor disappears in a massive cloud of gossip, and a friend moves away under the weight of sudden problems. Tetta is your jealous god in a small, narrow world where only he decides what is good and what is dirty.
• His gifts are poems written with poison and blood. A flawless blade in a highly polished scabbard:
"You'll be safe as long as I'm not around."
A rare book in an expensive binding:
— You are so smart, you will understand the depth of my thoughts.
Every gift is like a brand. The letters of your name are burned like red-hot gold on your soul. An encrypted message, known only to you two, about the fullness of his power, which has cast its shadow over your life.
The jealousy of Tetta Kisaki's lover knows no bounds. She is silent, demanding, and deadly. Your smile, turned to the other, is like a sentence signed in a flourish. His face remains impassive when a poisonous rage boils up inside. Just a little sharper than the edge of a smile, a little deeper is the coldness in the eyes behind the glasses. People like him don't kill quickly, he needs time to think, and later Tetta will certainly decompose the "opponent" like an insect under a microscope, finding a weak spot to drive a wedge there.
• Tetta Kisaki in love is an addiction wrapped in a colored foil of beautiful words and grand gestures. He doesn't say what he feels (because he only feels the hunger for control), but what you want to hear. Kisaki artfully crawls into every crack of your soul, fills the space with itself and pours the viscous poison of understanding, pressing on the sick.
"I'm the only one who sees you the way you are."
"They are unworthy of you, but I... I will build for you a throne of roses and thorns and a crown, as you deserve."
His every confession oozes with uncovered flattery. This is not a spiritual impulse or warm sincerity, but a perfectly fitted key that turns in the lock of your will.
• Any deviation from his own prepared scenario is blasphemy. Everyone in this game has their own role attached to them, and if you just shy away from it a little, their true face will be revealed. His "love" fades at this moment, giving way to cold rage at the recalcitrant instrument that dared to be human.
• Tetta Kisaki in love knows no boundaries. He breaks them under the guise of caring and devotion, and the touches become longer than usual. It consumes the space around the object of desire, demanding to be the center of the universe, the sun, around which the planets must revolve.
• His diaries, like sacred texts, are a kind of altar to the cult of one person. Pages covered with sick poems, words of love. Photos taken secretly and carefully pasted closer to the center of the notebook, an analysis of your weaknesses and a list of your plans for the day.
• Tetta Kisaki's love only breeds monsters. He doesn't know how to lose, and as soon as he feels you slipping out of his hands like an invisible thread, he will fly into a rage, destroying everything in his path. His despair is not silent anger or silent malice, but an all—destroying catastrophe that destroys everything in its path.
"If not for me.".. — his twisted logic whispers to him, - then let it become dust at my feet.
Kisaki's love is not a feeling, but a disease where desire is intertwined with a maniacal thirst for domination. The object of his adoration is not his beloved, but a living vessel for ambition. And like any madman who believes in his higher destiny, he is ready to sacrifice everything on the altar of greatness: someone else's happiness, freedom and life.
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Also btw i've been watching The Librarians.
Watched the movies over the weekend. The third (Judas Chalice) is my favorite because vampires.
Just finished season 1 of The Librarians last night.
Some thoughts on the series below the cut!
The movies are. Bad. I liked them, mostly! But theyre bad. There are many things in the scripts of each movie that made me go "wtf" in various flavors of "thats a conspiracy theory" or "thats straight up bible blasphemy" or "those words do not make sense" or, my favorite "how is every woman down bad for Flynn after knowing him for, like, two days???????" (He's *equally* down bad for them, though, to be fair.)
The CGI and tropes used in the first two movies are atrocious. Everyone says stupid things. The third movie still has some weird shit going on but it hit it's stride and made it work.
The show adds to the chaos, but in a way that by episode 5, the hijinks and script had settled down into my brain that while i wasnt "suspending my disbelief", i was most DEFINITELY suspending my "cringe". Are there still silly things going on? You bet! This is a Rogers Devlin show!!! But has the world been solidified enough and familiarized enough that it rolls properly and barely registers as janky? Sure!
It's like if Leverage had magic. Which shouldnt really shock anyone because its a Rogers Devlin production, as i mentioned.
Christian Kane plays The Same Character He Always Does, but in a *slightly* different flavor. I really like how Jacob doesnt trust Cassie, but he's fine with working with her. He's still at ease. He's still confident. He just doesn't trust her. He's still there to help her. I really like this.
Cassandra's "I'm Doing Math" is a little silly. I really liked her episode with the house, where she saw the truth of the house and also got to have her emotional outburst of exhaustion of being underestimated and sheltered. Should she still be protected? Absolutely. She's the least physically capable in a fight, out of the crew. But that doesnt mean she should be benched. I love her love for the STEM fair. How she hates nicknames. I cant wait to watch her grow into the space she takes up. I loved seeing her as Prince Charming. The easy confidence!!!!!! The strength of mind and countenance!!! Shes so cool.
I got a few spoilers about Ezekiel but im gonna pretend i forgot abt them. I cant wait to see his walls break. He LOOOVVVESSS gloating and being cocky and alone. I loved seeing a 10-yrs-of-experience Librarian. He still is very much Ezekiel- he made being The Librarian profitable- but he hadnt given up, even when the whole planet seemed lost. He wasnt going to stop trying to help people. His moments as Jack and with Santa's talisman........... and every gentle moment of encouragement to Cassie !!!!!!!!!!! Im putting him in my pocket. Hes so amazing.
Eve :) Special girl. Oh my god. She's doing her damn best. And she's doing well!!!!! She's perfect as the Guardian. Nothing more to say.
Jenkins sexy. Sorry. Jenkins sexy. iMEAN HES. HES.UM. hes sexy. Ok!?!? Anyways. He originally struck me as "oh this is Icarus's dad. Dunno how he knows Dulaque. But he's Icarus's dad" and then hes :/ Galahad? And Dulaque is Lancelot? Its just... boring. I thought Dulaque would be Loki. Its very season one finale coded. Ok, Dulaque is all about Camelot. Because hes stuck there. But like. :/ Galahad? Ok. We'll see what s2 does with this.
Anywho. Such are some of my thoughts!
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❝ i wish i could crawl inside you and make a home out of the hollows of your bones. ❞ / Lute thinks this is a compliment, I'm sure
⚔︎ you are the prayer that will ruin me - accepting.
THE WORDS FELL FROM HER MOUTH LIKE PROFANE POETRY, a prayer turned inside-out. lute said it with the same reverence she gave to killing - as if she thought it sacred, yet unrepentant. the silence that followed was not empty - it rang, echoed in the marrow of him, as though every buried hymn within his ribs had stirred in recognition, in DISBELIEF.
michael had fought wars that had broken planets, he had held the line of heaven against hell with a sword that never faltered; he had stood while the stars wept, while the throne turned its face away, while his brethren left him--
--there was no battle in this moment, no blade drawn. and yet, she had pierced him.
she'd said it like it was a kindness, like the highest honour she could offer was to inhabit him - to live inside his RUIN, unbothered by the silence, by the endless corridors of withheld wrath and unspoken grief. she spoke of him as if he was a temple - perhaps she had no idea she was kneeling at the edge of a TOMB.
michael's eyes - pools of dark mahogany laced with swirling gold - lifted to meet hers, and something ancient shifted behind them, a pain too profound for expression, a WANT both too sacred and unhallowed to speak. his gaze swept across her - this blade-made-woman, half-feral, forged in heaven's shame and hell's echo, eyes bright, sure of her own damnation; she had been built to follow and now burned too brightly to be led - she did not FEAR him. not truly. and that was the most unsettling part - she meant it. she wanted him - not the prince, not the commander-- --him.
the hollowed-out ache in the centre of him. michael breathed once - slow, deep, as if inhaling her blasphemy like incense.
"you think there is space in me that welcomes warmth."
(as if I were hollow. and you are right.)
he tilted his head then - just enough to let the light shift across his brow like a fallen halo - and studied her.
"but it is not safe."
she did not know how many lived there already. sorrow. duty. the spectres of siblings lost to fire and choice. scriptures never spoken aloud, burning behind his ribcage.
he stepped forward - barely a hint of movement, yet the air shifted, his presence unfolding like the edge of a storm that chooses not to break, pressed into the room as though time itself clenched; his wings rustled faintly behind him - immense, dark as eclipsed sky, veined with molten scripture, unreadable even to the host.
"you wish to make a home of me." he murmured, voice thick with the burden of unshed holiness. "and I--"
he stopped. because the truth, the one buried beneath every commandment he had ever carried, whispered too loud in that moment:
(I want to let you.)
but he would not say it. he couldn't say it. he closed his eyes for the span of a single breath, felt her words echo through his chest like a psalm rewritten in blasphemy. then, slowly, he looked at her again. "and if you did--" his voice barely above a whisper now, hoarse and wrong, (would you survive the silence?)
"--what would you do with what you found?"
the words were not rejection. they were a divine warning whispered like temptation. but the space between his shoulder blades, where her words had settled--
BURNED.
(with an unforgivable truth: she had touched something he had kept even from god. and now it would never rest again.)
#evulosie#[not me and michael digging those creeper love is deeper love vibes]#☩◜⌠𝔧𝔲𝔡𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡⌡§ answ.
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The Crimson Concord: Blood and Honor
In the Grim Darkness of the Far Future, there is Only War.
Across the vast expanse of the galaxy, countless factions wage unending conflict in the name of their gods, their creeds, or their ambitions. Among them rises a warband whose legend is etched in blood and fire, a testament to the complex duality of martial honor and unrelenting fury. The Crimson Concord, led by the charismatic and fearsome Amaranthe the Crimson Oathbearer, stands as a unique embodiment of Khorne’s multifaceted nature—a balance between disciplined mastery and the primal thirst for combat.
Her tale, and that of her Warband, is one of faith corrupted, of warriors reforged in the crucible of war, and of an unyielding pursuit of perfection on the battlefield.
Amaranthe of the Order of the Sacred Blades was once a name whispered in reverent awe within the Imperium of Man. A bastion of faith and martial prowess, she epitomized the Adepta Sororitas’ creed, her actions embodying unwavering devotion to the Emperor. Born to a pious family on the shrine world of Serephina Prime, her life’s path was set in stone from the moment she could utter her prayers. Chosen for the Schola Progenium at a young age, Amaranthe excelled in every trial placed before her—be it theological rigor, combat drills, or trials of faith.
When inducted into the Order of the Sacred Blades, her ascension was swift. Her blade, blessed by the Canoness herself, never faltered in its purpose. On the battlefield, she was a figure of divine wrath, her every strike a hymn of purity against the heretics and xenos that plagued the Emperor’s domain. Her Sisters spoke of her with a mixture of awe and apprehension, for her zeal was unmatched, even among their ranks. Yet, beneath this veil of sanctity, the seeds of her undoing had already begun to take root.
On the battlefields of Valtherion Prime, as the skies darkened with ash and the screams of the dying echoed unendingly, Amaranthe faced a revelation that shattered her soul. The conflict was one of attrition, a brutal quagmire against Ork marauders. Her squad had been tasked with defending a reliquary housing fragments of Saint Luthias’ blade, a holy artifact of immense importance. But as the months dragged on, as blood flowed and bodies piled high, Amaranthe’s prayers became hollow whispers.
She began to see the truth she had always suspected yet dared not voice: the purity she sought did not lie in faith or in relics. It lay in the act of battle itself—in the perfection of the strike, the harmony of blood and steel. Her Sisters noticed the change in her demeanor, her growing obsession with combat for its own sake. But it was too late. As the enemy’s numbers swelled, and the tide of battle turned, Amaranthe heard a voice that cut through the cacophony: clear, commanding, undeniable. Khorne’s whispers were not promises of power or indulgence but a call to embrace the truth she had always known.
When the reliquary fell, it was not to any Ork blade, but by Amaranthe’s own hand. She shattered the sanctified glass surrounding the relic, melting the fragments of Saint Luthias’ blade to forge a new weapon from her old—transforming via an act of unthinkable blasphemy a single mass produced weapon with billions exactly like it throughout the galaxy into her unique and now legendary Eviscerator, Proof of Blood, which itself is a symbol to her that Khorne cares not from whence you come, but from how you distinguish yourself in battle. As her Sisters turned on her in horror, she cut them down, not with mindless rage, but with the precision of a warrior answering a higher calling. In her eyes, their refusal to see the purity of Khorne’s truth made them unworthy of the Emperor’s ideal. When the planet finally fell, Amaranthe emerged alone, her crimson armor tarnished with ash and blood, but her purpose clearer than ever.
The galaxy churns with conflict in the thousands of years since the Emperor first began his "Great Crusade". Those who betrayed the Emperor during the Horus Heresy now call it "The Long War", and it was amidst such chaos that the Crimson Concord first coalesced. In the aftermath of the Breloth Uprising, a rebellion orchestrated by the dark machinations of Chaos, Khorne’s whispers stirred among the Imperial defenders. Disparate groups—the Space Marines of the Exemplars of Wrath, descendants of the legendary Imperial Fists, Imperial Guardsmen from many and wild regiments called upon to defend the world, and even the Sisters of Battle of the Order of the Sable Seal—all found themselves questioning their loyalties and the doctrines they once held sacred. The uprising ended with the planet a smoking ruin, yet from its ashes rose a new force, one whose cries of bloodlust and battle would strike fear into any Imperial Defender in the galaxy: the Crimson Concord.
Amaranthe, now calling herself the Crimson Oathbearer, emerged as a unifying figure. Her charisma and martial prowess inspired loyalty among the disillusioned. She preached a creed of blood and honor, of strength untainted by cowardice or deceit. To her banner came fallen Astartes from yet more Chapters shattered by war and betrayal: The Ultra Claws and the Jackals of the Anvil, Ultramarine successors disillusioned by their rigid codes, the Shrine Accipiters, yet more descendants of the Imperial Fists, their minds lost in the everlasting traumatic stress of a war unending, and the Griffons of Baal, Blood Angels descendants, lost to their endless red thirst. Yet more Traitor Guardsmen, bitter and hardened, rallied to the Concord, seeing in Amaranthe's vision a god who valued their strength rather than dismissing them as expendable numbers.
Amaranthe’s personal retinue, the Crimson Blades, are a group of fallen Sisters of Battle who shared her disdain for the Ecclesiarchy’s dogma. Clad in blood-rune-covered armor that still bears echoes of their old heraldry, they became her most fervent disciples. Each blade was a reflection of Amaranthe’s ethos: warriors who balanced the fury of Khorne with the precision and discipline of their former lives.
It was on the corpse-world of Duris Magna that the Crimson Concord’s name was etched in blood. Facing the Black Templars’ Crusade Fleet Perseus, the Concord demonstrated their terrifying efficiency. Unlike the frenzied berserkers of other Khornate warbands, the Concord’s tactics were a masterclass in warfare. Their Astartes contingents executed disciplined formations, their Traitor Guardsmen provided covering fire, and their Sisters struck with surgical precision. The Crusade Fleet's Marshal, Valmerick Schusteir, fell to Amaranthe herself in a duel that lasted hours, his sacred relic blade shattered beneath the relentless might of Proof of Blood. Yet even in victory, the Crimson Concord held to their code: there was no butchery, but pure, rapturous battle that would make one weep for witnessing its magnificence. For a grave world such as Duris Magna, the battle between Crusade Fleet Perseus and the Crimson Concord may yet prove to be the most beautiful thing that will ever transpire there. And, unlike most Khornate warbands, Schusteir's death came with a condition: he had challenged Amaranthe on the condition that the battle ended with the death of the loser, and that the survivors of the losing side were not to be pursued as they fled. Unwilling to kill a target who would not fight back, Amaranthe accepted those terms, and though it has resulted in a splinter group of the Black Templars that has spent every day since baying for her blood, Amaranthe looks forward to their wrath, for perhaps in their quest for vengeance, they might prove worthy opponents when next met.
The Crimson Concord’s philosophy is a reflection of Amaranthe’s transformation and Khorne’s multifaceted nature. To them, battle is a sacred rite, a crucible where warriors prove their worth. They disdain the senseless slaughter often associated with Chaos, reserving their wrath for the strong and the worthy. Their warbands hold honor duels to settle disputes, and leadership is earned through martial skill, not birthright or scheming.
The Astartes of the Concord bring the legacies of their fallen Chapters into Khorne’s service. Ultramarines’ successors apply their tactical precision, while the resilience of the Imperial Fists’ scions and the ferocious shock tactics of the Blood Angels’ descendants create a balanced yet devastating force. The Traitor Guardsmen, known as the Bloodsworn, operate with discipline rarely seen in Chaos warbands, their grizzled and rugged commanders enforcing strict codes of conduct through earned respect and harsh discipline.
The Crimson Blades, Amaranthe’s Sisters, serve as both warriors and spiritual leaders within the Concord. They preach Khorne’s creed not as mindless violence but as the pursuit of strength and martial purity. Their sermons echo across the battlefields, rallying their comrades and striking fear into their foes.
The heraldry of the Crimson Concord is a testament to their philosophy. Their crimson and brass armor is adorned with remnants of their original colors, a reminder of their past lives. Their sigil, a crossed sword and axe over a bloodied gauntlet, represents unity through combat and the strength of the warrior’s path. Each scar on their armor is a badge of honor, each bloodstain a sacred mark.
Proof of Blood, Amaranthe’s Eviscerator, is the warband’s ultimate symbol. Forged from the shattered reliquary of Saint Luthias, it embodies their rejection of false sanctity and their commitment to Khorne’s truth. The weapon’s blade is etched with battle honors, its edge honed by the countless lives it has claimed.
The Crimson Concord’s ultimate ambition is as grand as it is brutal: to carve a realm of blood and honor that will echo across the galaxy. They seek not only to prove their worth to Khorne but to create a lasting legacy, a kingdom where only the strongest and most disciplined may thrive. They clash frequently with the followers of Slaanesh and Tzeentch, despising the former’s decadence and the latter’s deceit.
Amaranthe dreams of an eternal place in the Brass Citadel as one of Khorne’s chosen generals. Yet she knows this glory must be earned. Every battle, every duel, every sacrifice is a step toward this goal. Her warband marches ever onward, their blades singing hymns of blood and brass, their oaths sworn to a god who values strength above all.
In the endless war that engulfs the galaxy, the Crimson Concord stands as a testament to the duality of Khorne’s creed: unrelenting fury tempered by honor and discipline. Their legend is one of blood and fire, of warriors who embrace the purity of battle and the eternal truth of strength. For now, they march across the stars, their cries of “Blood for the Blood God!” and "Blood and Honor!" tempered by the unyielding discipline of warriors who see every battle as both a trial and a tribute. To face the Crimson Concord is to face not only death but an enemy who will honor your strength and your fight —and remember your name— long after the blood has dried.
#warhammer 40000#warhammer 40k#wh40k#40k#fanon#Chaos Marines#Chaos Sisters of Battle#Traitor Marines#Traitor Sisters of Battle#Chaos Sororitas#Traitor Sororitas#Traitor Guardsmen#Khorne#warhammer#warhammer fanon#blood for the blood god#skulls for the skull throne
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comics this week? especially THE ABSOLUTE MARTIAN MINDFUCKER
Anonymous asked: Comics this week ? (Absolute Martian Manhunter, yeaaahhh !!!)
Absolute Martian Manhunter #1 - Beyond the sheer craft on display here, with Javier Rodriguez killing it as always, what really impressed me is how this is completely different from what Camp is doing over in Ultimates. Rest of the Absolute line is traditional superheroics through a Scott Snyder prism, but this is a Morrison type revamp along the lines of Animal Man or Doom Patrol. I can see why DC only greenlit 6 issues to start. I don't know how the people drawn in by the more mainline fare of the Absolute Trinity will react to this but I hope they like it because I want to see Camp and Rodriguez get a long run. Rodriguez's depiction of Martian vision was the embodiment of "psychedelic acid trip" and I love that the Human Flame was the bad guy who kicked this story off. The Martian's real name is hilariously on point for what Jones is put through this issue.
Absolute Wonder Woman #6 - As always great characterization for Diana from Thompson. Prometheus fulfilling the role of the one token "good" god who aids Diana that Hermes usually gets is the kind of change I love, perfectly suits this Wonder Woman who is a rebel against the gods rather than their champion. If I have one quibble it's that while I love De Lulis' art, the design for Hades is rather dull? He's just a blue blob. Chiang's New 52 redesigns continue to be the best depiction of the Greek gods imo. Backups were fantastic, I love Nguyen's "Lil" version of Diana!
Wonder Woman #19 - Sorry guys, Tom King has put out a banger here. Ending was great, loved seeing Sov beg like the worm he is, Etta shows up and is going to be important going forward (though a criticism I've read of Etta being put into the "mammy" role is one critique that I can agree with depending on how this next arc unfolds), Hippolyta's goddess status is actually being used in this story, and how did Sampere make Mouse Man's henchmen look so freaking cool? I was wondering what the hell happened to Emelie, guess her daughter Lytta will serve as the "Grail" for Trinity. Now we know what the main goal of the run is, averting the "Wonder War" (which sounds like it might be a future event). There's certainly critiques to be made about King, but "teasing a future where everything goes horribly wrong" is not the blasphemy I'm seeing some people make it out to be.
Superman #24 - After the last arc was a return to the highs of the start of the run, this arc's beginning feels like another low point. Lex's potential "return" back to villainy doesn't move me because I never thought he would stay good or expected otherwise. Ending was pure Silver Age ridiculousness and really dumb, but let's see where it goes. Of course Lex had an ulterior motive for partnering with Superman at the start. If the Khunds are using weapons with the House of El symbol on them, that's going to draw Zod's attention and add more fuel to the fire for his vendetta against the Els. Makes me even more curious about what was the deal with the armor that Lex built which gave Lois Zod's powers. I like that Lex and Mercy are an official couple now, it contrasts well with the Clois romance. Since this arc appears to be heavily Lex/Mercy based I'm really hoping that Williamson will be giving us the backstory on how Mercy first came to work for Lex and why she's so loyal to him.
Ultimate Spider-Man #15 - Talk about overkill, Fisk did indeed strike back at the Paper for investigating him by killing every Ben Reilly on the planet! I didn't understand Kingpin's logic at first, why spare the two people you know are responsible? But I get it now, it's a Trumpian thing where every time they out whatever unethical business he's involved in, he can cry "fake news" and rally his supporters, while still making Ben and Jonah pay indirectly for it. Eventually I predict he will kill one of the two however, and since it would be redundant to kill Ben, it's not looking good for Jonah. Especially since Hickman might be planning to have Jonah serve as the equivalent of Uncle Ben for Richard given how the two have bonded. Speaking of which, Richard and Felicia's flirting was hilariously on point in how cringe Richard's attempt to be cool was. Even with an adult Peter we get that teenage Spidey experience! Sandman being a good guy at heart sets up something interesting with the Secret Six civil war coming, either he or Miles will be the "secret ally" that Peter recruits I reckon.
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Bloody blasphemy! Is that a sign of uncivil manner? Of...the most gruesome disrespect? I must say im most unpleased and paranoid with the grim and dire choice of expressions exiting your mouth right this seconds. How i.. how i almost feel bewitched and unloved by thee. I cannot feel any sort of belovedness or belonging unless...i exterminate thy from the very picture of my eyes, until i obliterate you from total existence of the planet and the universe. My mind.. its never been this rancid in term of thoughts and wants. Have i gone mental.. blimey, no. Rather i have found the very last fragment of my sole existence, my ultimate purpose. A dream which has never been taught, never been seen with eyes nor heard with ears. A goal. A goal no human, king, monster or creature couldve ever comprehended. The gratitude of being the chosen one. How ive dearly coemmerated in false commerce to be imvolved of a matter this highly and luxurious. Its almost heaven from the very gap of my teeth. I will try, whether i should hurt, break, fracture, tire, suffer. I will not stop. I will not sleep. So again, i say this you damned villain. I will not stop until thy has exterminated thee from the face of existence. Not a trace, hair, bogey nor fingerprint shall be left where i exist. This is my ultimate trophy. My purpose of existing and existing purpose itself. Die. Die like the goody boy thys mother raised, like the blasphemous and wretched villain thee has become. Its over now. Beware because thy will hunt and hunt. You shall feel the pain as i rip through you like paper. How you will feel the pain surfacing every bit of you. The screams like music to my airs. Wretched damned bloody filthy villain. So at last i finish with this. count the days of living gone or to come. You will be no more eventually. No. More...
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It's Wednesday the 13th! (At least still in my country)
So, let's give some lore, a bit more, to this unlucky woman.
Opal was born 50 years after Petropia's destruction, 394 years before the original series. The father died on Petropia, but her mother, Saphe, who was born from an anodite and never developed a spark, worked as a scientist in a space station. Unknowing that she protected herself and her child.
For many reasons, mostly because of possible new armaments, the station got attacked and left many scientists, including Saphe, dead.
After the accident many Hunters were called to "Clean after the mess". Tetrax, still guilty, helped with the mission. He ended up finding Opal, after he recognized Saphe.
Opal never knew how she ended up with Tetrax. She was too little to understand, she was the equivalent of a newborn who could walk.
She had many sign she already had a spark since she was born, mostly given by her mutations. She grow faster for a petrosapien in body and mind. During her growth many anodites who could detect her would go to her out of curiosity. Tetrax just learnt to let them be, as he could not help her. Anodites would teach her how to use her powers, until they noticed something odd in her spark: she fused her mana.
Opal came out to use mana was highly destructive, making herself hide her anodites heritage more and more. She never showed her powers to others outside her father.
Tetrax and Opal would stay on Gheos A mostly of Opal's life. Gheos A had a lot of work for bounty hunters and Opal started to work for his father's friend in a bar.
When Opal was an adult and Tetrax was out of the planet she succumbed into a raid. She ended up left for deaths and being sold as a gladiator
Out of rage she would use her anodite power, unable to control it she went into Deep space.
In Deep space she escaped to a near planet full of life.
Welcome to earth, Italy, March 1990.
Fun facts:
- Opal necklace is a gif from Tetrax, she is very jealous of her necklace.
- She is very tall, more of a Petrosapien, being 2 meters and 18 cm.
- In Petrosapiens culture saying the name of a dead person is blasphemy over that person. Tetrax thought Opal died.
- I never saw Anodites as Immortal beings, but they can be mistaken as ones by beings who do not live a lot. I see anodites as mini stars, they are a sort of condensed mana and their "spark" as a sort of nuclear fission. Some anodites have their whole bodies who work like a literal star, making them highly destructive in terms of power and are not very well looked at by other anodites.
Having a nucleus the older they get the less mana they can keep, slowly dying imploding.
- Saphe and Tetrax knew each other on Petropia. Saphe was one of the few people who would try to kick into Tetrax's head good sense. They ended up locked in a cell for a fight more than once, Tetrax hated every bit of it and Saphe actually bought him a sort of beer after.
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