#i have so many shockwave thoughts. in my tiny brain

[scourgeofmyownbrain]

This took way too fucking long- Everyone, gaze upon the Megatron/Galvatron height chart I made. If someone could get me a cold drink, I would love one, I have been working on this for the better part of a month. 26 separate designs, for one character, across 40 years of history. And I had to exclude a couple, the grand total is like 30 different ones. I left those four out because they were just pallet swaps of a design I already had; It felt redundant to include them.

This guy just can not decide if he's named Megatron or Galvatron sometimes, he just switches between the two names at random. I think in Unicron Trilogy, he switches to Galvatron multiple times, and yes, he does switch back to Megatron before every one.

My brain is kinda broken after finishing this. I worked on this one and the Optimus one at the same time (the optimus one is so much bigger holy shit-) and I've lost the ability to feel pain at this point.

Quick Disclaimer, if any of the images look weird, it's because I had to stitch a few separate images together to create a full body shot of the character.

Links to my Bumblebee Chart and my Optimus Chart. !!NEW!! -> Shockwave & Soundwave. For future reference, all these charts will be filed under my "Transformers Height Charts" tag and my "aka the adventures of a..." tag. Hopefully, my bumblebee post is acting up and idk if the same issue will happen here.

Explanations below the cut, I have to justify myself for a few of these.

G1 Beast Wars V1 - ~9 Feet (PMeg. TFWiki, he's so small. Dinosaur Man is so small)

G1 Beast Wars V2 - ~10 Feet (PMeg. TFWiki, This fucker has roller blades. I'm not fucking with you, they gave the T-Rex Roller Blades and he uses them)

G1 Beast Machines V1 - ~12 Feet (PMEG. The Wiki doesn't have any numbers for Beast machines, sadly, but I found an old forum post comparing the heights to the Beast Wars designs, so I win)

G1 Beast Wars V3/Machines V2 - ~13 Feet (PMEG. The TFWiki says this bitch is like 11.5 meters tall, but no, I've done the math, he is not. If he was, Rattrap, a character who is consistently stated to be 1.8 meters tall across multiple sources in multiple languages is actually not that tall. So no, he's about 2 and a bit Rattraps tall, and that translates to about 13 feet. And I'm pretty sure he reverts into this at some point in Beast machines, though correct me if I'm wrong)

G1 Beast Machines V3 - ~16 Feet (PMeg. This design is identical to the Optimal Optimus design so I'm gonna be lazy and use that number. Not like I have many other options.)

Beast Wars 2 - ~16 Feet (Galv. Idk, the wiki had the number and his name is Galvatron, was I supposed to ignore this? Never gonna watch it, but here it is)

Earth Spark - ~16 Feet 2 Inches (Mega. There are no actual numbers for Earth Spark (yet), but I was able to find Bumblebee's height, which I then compared to Optimus's height, and now I can compare Optimus and Megatron.

Yay!- he's so short it's so fucking funny tiny short man universe)

One V1 - ~17 Feet (Mega. I am aware, of the supposed "Canon Heights" listed on the wiki. 32.462 feet, allegedly. But, have you considered A: These numbers are sourced from the Walmart Promotional AR Experience that came out before the movie. B: There are three decimal points, and that number does not convert into a whole number in meters (which is originally what I thought was weird about it). C: The director has said that this movie is both canon to the LA movies and its own separate canon. AND ALSO Meg is taller than Optimus the entire movie but his height is listed as shorter than him on the wiki. They are the same height by the end of the movie, I call BULLSHIT Walmart; these are not actual numbers I will ignore them POST HASTE! Sadly, Megatron has yet to appear in the KCV live-action movies as I make this, but we know Meg and OP are the same height by the end of TFOne, so knock a couple of feet off this one, and we get pre-cog height)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~18 Feet (PMeg. Slightly confusing, but there are two Megatrons in this universe, but they are two completely separate characters. This is Predacon Megatron, design-wise identical to his V1 Beast Wars counterpart, but he is much taller in this universe. So I did some admittedly deranged comparisons to other characters and I got this height. It's a similar ratio to Prime & Primal's height difference so I'm running with it)

Gen 1 V2 - ~ 18 Feet 6 inches (Galv. So the Wiki failed me on this one, but- and maybe this is backwards thinking, the WFCT Galvatron is this height, at least comparing him to WFCT Megatron, who I've decided is the same height as Gen 1 Megatron, who we actually have a number for- I am aware it's convoluted but it's all I got)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~18 Feet 6 inches (Galv. Okay so, Galvatron and Megatron are entirely separate beings in this universe, which is a large departure from Gen 1 where they're effectively the same guy, which means I could compare their heights, and this is about the height Galvatron is. And I have decided that the WFCT Megatron is the same height as Gen 1 Megatron because they're nearly identical otherwise, making the assumption that the Galvatrons are the same easy. The amount of hoops I have to jump through sometimes...)

Gen 1 V1 - ~19 Feet (Mega. TFWiki. Hey look, it's the guy that's the foundation of like 5 other character's calculations)

Prime Wars - ~19 Feet (Mega. As I've said before, I have decided that this design is the same height as the Gen 1 design, because they're identical, yes one is 2d, and the other is 3d but I don't care)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~19 Feet (Mega. You already know what I'm going to say; it's identical to Gen 1. Just try and stop me)

Unicron Trilogy V2&3/ENG&CYB - ~19 Feet (Mega/Galv. He flip-flops so much in this universe, I think Megatron becomes Galvatron 3 separate times. For the uneducated, the Unicron Trilogy has given each of its 3 seasons separate names and 3 separate art styles. These are the designs used in Energon (S2) and Cybertron (S3). The Wiki had Cybertron's numbers but not Energon's, so for my own sanity, I decided the two were the same height. I could have done something in between Cybertron's and Armada's (S1) numbers, but there was a lot of float between the two)

One V2 - 19 Feet 10 Inches (Mega. As I have stated in the previous One entry: I don't trust Walmart, Meg and OP are the same height by the end of the movie, and the KCV LA and One are kinda one universe. Optimus is this height by the end of the movie, therefore so is Megatron. How many times do I have to explain this)

Cyberverse - 21 Feet (Oh sweet, sweet "I don't have to justify or explain my numbers, I have a source". This comes from a screen-shot of this video which has the Cyberverse height chart everyone uses, though the quality of the screen shot is iffy. If anyone has a better one, I would love to see it)

RID 2001 - ~22 Feet (Mega/Galv. TFWiki. Why are there so many Megatrons who become Galvtron at random and look functionally identical to each other why does this keep happening. Also this guy transforms into a hand)

Unicron Trilogy V1 - ~23 Feet (Mega/Galv. TFWiki. I am very tired, we have another functionally identical Megatron Galvatron conversion and I am in pain)

Bayverse V2 - 30 Feet (Mega/Galv. TFWiki, Movies 4 & 5. This time, they're actually identical, and Mr. Bay has once again blessed me with numbers from all of his movies)

Aligned Cont. WF/FOC - ~30 Feet (Mega. TFWiki. Look man, I don't know how he grows nearly five feet between the games and the shows, it's just what the video game info screen said)

Animated - ~31 Feet (Mega. Animated has no actual numbers, but the lovely @phoenix-inanis has provided a frankly astounding resource with their own calculations for the heights of all the TFA characters. Go look at it, it's wonderful -> https://phoenix-inanis.notion.site/TFA-Height-Chart-f6ad2960ca8c4c5b859ee4958723aaa4?pvs=4)

Aligned Cont. TFP V1 - 34 Feet 5 Inches (Mega. Yes, this is from Fandom. But, and I will continue to say this until my lungs give out, this entire universe is just fucking enormous. Look, I believe Bayverse is the most consistent tf universe when it comes to the transformers' models and designs, and if we do some comparisons between characters with similar listed heights (I did it at the end of this post), it's way too close for me not to believe it)

Bayverse V1 - 35 Feet (Mega. TFWiki, Movies 1-3. Look at this bitch, getting his secrets exposed by Mr. Bay. Look at him, he's going to shrink down in the forth movie, gonna get dumped down to 6th place on the podium. Get Shrunk, Idiot)

Aligned Cont. TFP PR V2 - 42 Feet 7 Inches (Mega. Look at this enormous bitch, look at the freak standing there, fuckin enormous n' shit. Wack ass Unicron- Did you know that this is probably the TALLEST base form transformer ever? Excluding any super modes or upgrades or a transforming Cybertronian Base/Spaceship, just default general body size, I'm pretty sure this Megatron is the tallest Regular transformer ever)

Not Pictured: RID 2001 Galvatron Pallet - ~22 Feet (the only thing that was different between the two designs was the colours, if felt redundant to include it), Unicron Trilogy Galvatron Pallet(s) - Armada: ~23 Feet, Energon/Cybertron: ~19 Feet (Again, just the colours changed, otherwise everything else was the same)

I have done it. I have conquered my Everest. I have finished the big two charts. If anyone has any suggestions for which transformer I should aggressively analyze next please tell me I don't know which ones to do next

Here are the different layers separated out into their own pictures, I know it's kinda hard to tell everyone apart when they're all on top of each other.

[elvisabutler]

let's not let a good thing die

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley x female reader and steve binder x female reader word count: 2644 warnings: thigh riding. cuckolding. infidelity which is implied by the cuckolding. coming in pants. p in v sex ( unprotected ). voyeurism. minor minor daddy kink. a bit of a humiliation kink on steve's part. minor minor size kink. dominant elvis. slight period typical homophobia in thoughts. i think i have everyone? i am unsure. oh author’s note: welcome to day 1 of ally's wet hot smut summer, cuckolding with steve binder x reader x elvis. this was fun. title came from suspicious minds coming on at the place i was writing this when i first started. moodboard does not reflect race or size, i just had a vision for this board and went with it. this is alos basically a faint continuation of ride it, my pony even though that is gender neutral. you don't have to read it for this to make sense in the slightest.

"Steve. My boy, my boy—" Elvis practically croons as you grind on his thigh, aching for friction and just that more touch from him. 

"I'm two years older than you, E." Steve bites back in a rush as he watches you- the one woman he loves more than anyone else in the world grind on Elvis Presley’s thigh.He should tear his eyes away and look anywhere else in the room but he can’t. How many times had he fooled around with you like this? How many times had you been so needy while he was working that you found yourself on his thigh, muffling your cries in his shoulder? Too many times to count and yet here you were in this moment not on his thigh but on Elvis’s. Elvis who he had told to stay away from you, because you were his as possessive as it was. You were supposed to be all Steve’s and only his. Yet were you? The way your hips shift and your body grinds down on Elvis betray such a familiarity that Steve bites back bile the longer he looks at the two of you. 

“You wouldn’t know it,” you start to mock before Elvis’s knee bounces in just the right way to send a shockwave through your system. “El—”

“Sorry darlin’, ya know me, got those jittery legs. Practically got ants all in my pants. Seein’ ya bounce like that— can’t help it. Gotta give ya a helpin’ knee.” Elvis chuckles, his pretense of even trying to sound chagrined thrown by the wayside as easily as the scarf that had been around your neck. His hand moves to settle at the bottom of your throat. “Look at that neck o’hers, Stevie. You give her all those marks? Bruise up this sweet skin o’ hers?”

Elvis’s smile is all teeth as he moves to nuzzle and bite at your neck while Steve manages to finally answer even as his voice shakes just that little bit. “Not— I don’t usually— those aren’t all me.” You had been wearing that scarf for two days. “How- how many of those did he give you?”

His question is directed at you, even as his eyes just focus on Elvis’s plush lips against your skin, watching your pulse jump just that tiny bit. Steve realizes that he's never seen that scarf in his life on you. He thinks, and thinks, and looks at Elvis's throat only to force himself to look away and try to think about anything except how it was Elvis's scarf, how it'd looked around his throat. How you had joked with him about how easily it would be for someone to pull him by it into a kiss. You had been speaking from experience hadn't you? Visions of your laughter as you yank Elvis by that scarf swarm Steve's mind, replacing times you had done the same to him. Your eyes are hooded and your mouth is open allowing tiny little pants to escape it when you answer.

"The scarves? Or the bruises on my neck?” 

Scarves. The word settles in his brain as it passes through his ears. It settles like a ton of bricks, weighing down his chest and twisting his heart. Elvis had given you multiple scarves and multiple hickies and you were supposed to be his and yet. Yet maybe you weren’t. Maybe you weren’t if he had allowed himself to be deceived like this. If he had allowed himself to be cuckolded by Elvis Presley. 

“Both, I guess.” Steve wets his lips, his eyes once again settling on Elvis and how he’s touching you. How his lips caress your skin and how his hands are gripping your hips, trying to get you not to move. You always were so impatient, so much so that he sometimes let you slide. Elvis— Elvis’s grip on you didn’t allow for a single bit of movement, earning small little whines of displeasure that sound like music to Steve’s ears. It’s better than any note he’s heard Elvis sing or heard him play as of late. 

“Just two scarves,” you answer, as Elvis finally lets your hips go just enough that you can grind down again. “And I lost count of everything on my neck. I know you did one a few days ago.”

The implication is that Elvis had put the rest of them there in the past few days. No wonder he had seemed as if he had a pep in his step. Steve swallows and tries to step away, tries to turn around and leave the room but he can’t. You and Elvis would be content to do this without him but if he’s going to have this happen, why should the two of you get to do it in private. His jaw tenses as he moves closer, close enough to touch your arm and you jump, your clit brushing up against Elvis’s thigh.

“Steve,” Elvis growls out what almost sounds like a warning before raising his eyebrows. “Stevie boy, what’re ya doin’? Tryin’ to take her off of me? I don’t think she wants that—” he turns to look at you, one hand removing itself from your hip and grabbing your jaw in order to pull you in for a kiss. “Do ya honey?”

If you were being entirely honest you don’t know. On the one hand, Elvis has brought a significant amount of pleasure to you over the past few days while Steve has been otherwise occupied. It wasn’t your intention to go behind Steve’s back, it just worked out that way. It’s not that you don’t love Steve but you were aching and wanting and Elvis’s cock and lips and tongue were there for the taking. A pleased hum leaves your lips as your head lolls back a little until you remember that your boyfriend is in the room with you and Elvis. You should answer him. “Steve,” you pout, your tone every bit of a person being spoiled in your pleasure. “He’s been good to me. You should see him fuck me, I’m so full.”

Steve can feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as his eyes glance down to where he can see Elvis’s sizable bulge pressing against his slacks. His own arousal has his cock pressing against the zipper of his pants with such ferocity that he swears it’s leaving an imprint on it. Elvis had fucked you better than he had, Elvis had filled you with his cock better than he had. He had claimed you as his own as if he didn’t already have every woman he ever wanted at his feet. As if Susan hadn’t been fooling around with him, as if all the dancers didn’t want a piece of him, as if the crowd while they filmed didn’t want to jump him. Elvis had claimed you, of all the people in the world and Steve— he wanted to know why.

“Show me.” The demand is simple and concise and yet has both you and Elvis’s eyes widening just a bit. This was a side to Steve you had never seen and Elvis, well, Elvis was surprised the wonderful Steve Binder had it in him. Still, he manages to speak before you do.

“Is that right, Steve?” His lips are curled into the sort of grin you only see on wolves and other predators. It shouldn’t be arousing to anyone and yet you lick your lips at the sight. “Ya know, you ain’t the first man I’ve done this to, Stevie boy.”

“I’m just the first one who caught you?” Steve spits out, trying to maintain some sort of dominance as if he hasn’t been on the losing end of things this entire conversation. Maybe if he fakes it enough Elvis won’t see the throbbing outline of his cock, begging for him to release it from the confines of his pants. “Or the only one who’ll fight for the person they love?” 

A shiver wracks your body and you mewl as Elvis’s hand that had been still on your hip slips between your legs, pushing aside your panties and slides two fingers in with a obscene squelch of arousal. “El— Ste—” you start both of their names, unsure of which one to say before Elvis tuts. 

“Nah. Ya the first one ‘m gonna show how to treat her right. ‘Cause—” A huff of a laugh. “Ya may not believe it, but Binder, I gotta lotta respect for ya. Ya deserve this. Deserve this woman on ya arm, but my boy ya gotta take care of her.” His fingers move slowly inside of you as you try and speak. “Ya hear that? Haven’t even fucked her today and she’s that goddamn needy. Achin’ for my cock. Ya wanna help me give it to her? Wanna watch my cock slide in between that tight fuckin’ pussy ya get to sleep ‘side ever night?”

No. His instinctive answer is a resounding no but when he glances at you and how your body is trying to grind on Elvis’s hand, chasing a feeling you’ve experienced with both men in the room. Well, it makes up his mind easier than any other thing could have. “You— I’ll help you.” His hand reaches out to touch your chin, to replace Elvis’s hand only to be swatted away by the man in question. 

“Been callin’ the shots wit’ me all week. Right now Daddy’s in charge. Gonna give ya girl what she needs and give ya a lesson in it.”

Steve’s reaction startles him, a groan he has to turn into a cough as his cock pulses in his slacks. He’s not— he’s pretty sure he doesn’t indulge in those sorts of thoughts but Elvis— is another person entirely. He makes it so easy to just think about him in that way. In the sort of way he doesn’t think he should when he’s in a very committed…at least on his end, relationship. The only thing that manages to get Steve out of his head, the only thing that silences his thoughts is your moan and the sound of Elvis’s zipper and pants being undone. His cock springs forth from it confines in all its uncut glory and Elvis moves to grab Steve’s hand, moving it close to between your legs but not quite where it needs to be. 

You look down at Steve’s hand and smile at it along with Elvis’s cock. “Can he help you put it in, E? Can he?” 

“It’s like you read my mind, darlin’,” Elvis croons as he moves Steve’s hand to the front of his crotch right above his cock. “Ya heard that girl of yourn, Steve. Help me put it in. I’ll guide you.”

Steve’s never been one to back down from a challenge and today is no different as he wraps his hand around Elvis’s cock, allowing the man to help him pull back his foreskin before you shift just enough to expose your pussy to them both. Somehow you’ve lost your underwear and yet Steve can’t complain even as his free hand twitches with want to touch your pussy, to feel the slick heat of your arousal against his fingers. He wishes he could taste you right now but he’s supposed to just watch and assist. The three of you hiss as Elvis enters you. The burn erring just on the side of comfortable and Elvis marveling in how you’re still so tight and warm. Steve’s hand caught for a moment before he pulls it away and moves to undo his pants, the press of his cock beginning to be too much finally to the point where he’s certain he’ll die if he doesn’t manage some release. 

“Now, Steve, ya can’t be studyin’ and learnin’ if ya distracted. Ain’t no playin’ with that cock ya got ‘tween ya legs. It ain’t mine but I know she likes it jus’ plenty. Eyes on her pussy, Binder. Shame ya don’t got ya clipboard. Be able to take notes on how a real man takes care of his woman,” Elvis grips your hip and thrusts upward as you grind down on his cock before pulling back, his cock sliding out of you with an obscene squish of your combined arousal and Elvis’s precum. “Ya see, Stevie? Gotta let ‘er ride ya like the cowgirl she is. Gotta let ‘er take what she needs while you press into ‘er jus’—” he thrusts particularly hard and fast and you yowl in pleasure. “Right. Hard ‘nough for her to feel it in her stomach and in her throat. Use her like she’s usin’ ya. Mutual pleasure for the both o’ ya.”

Steve listens, Steve listens and yet the words start to jumble in his head the more he sees Elvis’s cock covered in your juices and the more he hears your mewls and cries and the more he sees Elvis touch your clothed breasts, squeezing them tightly in his hands. He’s not even sure of the passage of time or anything beyond the rush of his heartbeat in his head and the pulse of it between his legs. He’s doing what he was told, just watching as Elvis fucks you with a speed you don’t usually allow Steve to. Maybe— maybe he should do it the next time. He’s not as large as Elvis, but he could manage this pace. He could grab your breasts and pinch your clit and cover your neck with bruises he left there. 

“Steve—” you cry out in his mind and in front of him and when Steve looks at you, staring at him blissed out and fucked on another man’s cock, he can’t help the grunt that leaves his body. His orgasm slams into him not long after as he leans forward, trying to make it less obvious as his underwear fills with his release warm and sticky as he shudders. His mind registers that there’s no noise other than his breathing and your breathing and Elvis’s breathing before he looks up and sees you biting your lip and Elvis’s hand slipping between your legs even as he looks directly at Steve. 

“Didn’t think ya had that dirty secret, Stevie boy. What’d ya say I help her come since ya couldn’t even wait for her to finish. No wonder she came to me. Settle down and keep watchin’. Maybe I can make ya do it again? Make a real mess of ya.” 

Elvis’s hand slides between the two of you, his fingers sliding against your clit and rubbing in just the right way that his cock hadn’t been. Your whines increase in volume even as Steve starts to breath harder once again, his cock somehow rising to the attention like he’s a teenage boy. You bite your lip to try and hold back your noises before Elvis leans against you, whispering softly in your ear. 

“Scream for me, darlin’. Scream so he knows who ya really belong to. Who ya always gonna belong to no matter what happens.”

Those are the magic words that have your hands moving to his biceps and clawing at them as you come with a shout of Elvis’s name, the intensity causing aftershocks and shivers to flow through your body even as you sag against him, allowing him to use you until he pulls out, coming on your stomach. 

Elvis moves your head to face Steve and smirks as he pets your hair. “Think he learned, darlin’? Think he’s gonna take care of ya?”

Your eyes take in Steve’s face and his flushed cheeks. They glide down his body where you see his clenched fists and his cock against his slacks and you let out a small giggle. “I think, Daddy, he needs another lesson. Let him touch this time, though. Make it a little more hands on.”

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @amydarcimarie, @justrae9903, @thegettingbyp2 i will probably use this same tag list for all of this wet hot summer minus any subtractions of people i know don't want austin fics. or if i'm not sure a kink is your jam.

[ant1quarian]

YEAAAAH I CAN FINALLY GET THIS OUT!! THANK YOU,,..,

BEWARE THIS IS SUPER LONG 💀

—

So .  Frisk does a pacifist run, monsters r free, yknow the drill. One thing: the barrier, AKA a bunch of concentrated, human magic, doesn’t rip. It explodes, sending out a huge shockwave of magic that humans unintentionally absorb (the barrier was made of human magic, after all), and they all turn into various different, new species.

A lot of humans turn into bitties. Frisk does, for one. Monsters take pity on the bitties and start to make the adoption centers and such that most bitty AUs have. However, monsters aren’t exactly the best towards bitties- most treat them as pets or pests, or just lesser in general. Particularly racist monsters form bitty rings as a kind of… “punishment” for the former humans ‘cause of how their ancestors sealed monsters away so long ago.

Now, here’s where it gets a bit more interesting: some humans turn into nagas and sirens. Both are very powerful, like boss monsters almost. I’ll talk abt sirens in a moment, but I’m gonna focus on the nagas first.

All three formerly human species are still, you know, human, and don’t want to hurt people. but since literally all of them are incredibly confused and scared (imagine waking up with a snake’s tail instead of your legs. it’s cool in theory but god, the body horror) a lot of nagas end up killing monsters. This results in nagas being hunted down and drove into forests, in which they finally find other former humans and pack instincts kick in, forming colonies of nagas. The nagas are a tiny bit more peaceful than sirens, generally. That doesn’t mean defenseless though- nagas are just a tad more defensive than offensive. Speaking of offensive…

Sirens are a bit different. Back when the barrier exploded, humans that turned into sirens were put in a trance and just endlessly sought out water until they found a large enough source. Then they walked in and woke up as sirens. The same thing that happened with nagas happens with sirens- most sirens that didn’t end up in the ocean die, and eventually the remaining sirens find each other.

Here’s where sirens and nagas start to deviate in terms of ideology (specifically towards monsters). Nagas, generally speaking, don’t actively hunt monsters. They do kill any that venture into their forests, but that’s nothing compared to sirens. Sirens are more often than not very spiteful and vengeful towards monsters. They blame monsters for turning them into sirens (body horror my beloved) and also for killing other sirens. They sing to lure in monsters and drown them. Any monster they spot is already dead. No beach is safe- sirens lurk everywhere in the water, even in the arctic.

I first thought of this… AU? As a Sans x reader, but I don’t know what species the reader would be. Maybe something like the Trappist System where there’s multiple readers romancing different Sans AUs? Originally, reader was a spiteful, cecalia siren that met Sans on a dock- maybe as spy of some kind, to gather information for the sirens? But I love nagas as much as (maybe even more than) sirens, so now I just can’t pick. 

The main thing that started this was the idea of siren body horror, and the sheer terror of becoming something like that. The power you now wield, but having no idea how to use it. The unshakeable feeling that your body is horrifyingly wrong, twisted into something inhuman without your consent. I don’t see many fics touch on that kind of thing with sirens and nagas, and it’s such an intriguing idea to me that my brain cobbled together… whatever this is lol.

Apologies for the SUPER long ask, I wrote this in my notes before sending the ask so tumblr couldn’t eat my writing halfway through. Thank ye kindly for letting me ramble about my little au idea in the first place :]

YOU!!

POINTS AT YOU

HAVE AMAZING THOUGHTS, THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR BLESSING ME WITH THEM!!

That concept is something I love and adore and if I had motivation to write (instead of, y'know, being completely kidnapped by Minecraft-), I would love to write this.

Don't apologise 'cause I really like it! :D

Long rants/asks are always welcome here!

,,, Ngl I thought I replied to this but I must have gotten sidetracked lmao.

The thought of doing this like how I'm doing the Trappist system intrigues me! I feel like it would be very goofy indeed

THANK YOU FOR BESTOWING YOUR WONDEROUS THOUGHTS UPON ME! 'TIS MUCH APPRECIATED!

[dorkicon]

Shockwave!

Send Me a Character

And I will tell you my:

First impression

this dude is adorable. i feel like hes one of the only decepticons who actually wants to be here.

Impression now

^i was right!

my favorite shockwaves are the ones who are really loyal decepticons (g1 is a star, but tfa is a fun runner up) though hes also really fucking funny when he just wants to beat the tar out of megatron (marvel shockwave is suuuch a mess)

g1 is also the cutest. i like his design sooo much. look at him and tell me he isnt perfect

Favorite moment

well, whatever this was.

also this scene in last stand of the wreckers where the dude pulls this fucking pose? he thinks hes sooo cool.

Idea for a story

oh. i dunno. id like to give him a backstory, i think. (see the headcanon section i guess)

its a shame that hes written as this remorseless machine so often...def a holdover from marvel i guess? i wanna see him as someone who strives to be cold and clinical bc he just wants to command respect, as someone whos looked over a lot. he puts a high premium on intelligence, but its kind of just a crutch bc he cant, um, connect with people. im psychoanalysing the robot

Unpopular opinion

umm well yeah i guess i dont like cold calculating sw as much...now that i think about it, i wonder if its so popular bc he doesnt have a face? that sucks

also why does everyone think tfa shockwave is sexy. remember that time lugnut like threw him across the room bc they were fangirling over megatron. remember.

Favorite relationship

i think he really looks up to megs. hes a really loyal guy. i hc him as having sorta a shaky friendship with starscream...he hates that he keeps trying to kill their boss, but stars still a good scientist. real recognizes real.

he and soundwave are the most normal members of command. i think they bond over this.

u can read these as shippy, i guess it can go either way

oh. shockwave/wheeljack...my pet crackship...theyre mad scientists, but in entirely different directions.

Favorite headcanon

shockwave was an archival bot before the decepticons. hes basically a large data slug, its one reason megs wanted him to stay on cybertron. in his downtime, he likes to sift through and organize information. hes really interested in earths culture! he likes to listen to soundwave ramble about underground music.

[alvfr]

Trust

Pairing: Loki x F!Reader

Prompt: Y for Yolo (Public Sex), requested by Anon

Rating: Explicit. 18+, minors DNI

Words: 7.2K

Includes: Semi-public sex. Shieldmaiden!Reader. PiV (unprotected). Fingering. Some exhibitionism, some overstim.

A/N: Takes place before Thor 1, when Loki was a bit more innocent. A hint of feelings, but mostly smut. Cross-posted to AO3, link in my masterlist. Enjoy ❤

Trust

Some people said Loki Odinson had a tongue of silver. An innate charm and ability to get his way. Volstagg teased him about it, but the moniker didn’t come entirely unearned. There had been many times where Loki had talked his way out of trouble — or as had happened lately — into your breeches.

It was Freya’s blessing he wanted to keep this thing as secret as you. No one in your little troop of warriors would ever let you live it down if they found out he had talked you into this.

No one ever came up here, he said. Private and secluded, he said. More private than either of your chambers, he said. And the wind carried the noise away so you wouldn’t need to be quiet. All things he’d said to convince you to join him on one of the higher balconies.

“Loki,” you almost hissed, withdrawing slightly from the heavy make-out session where he had you pinned up against a column. He took advantage of your new position and latched his mouth onto the soft parts of your throat instead. There were plenty of reasons to call him Silvertongue, you thought hazily, but forced your eyes open to glare at him. “Loki, I can see all of fucking Asgard from here!”

“And they,” he didn’t even stop layering kisses on your neck, but now his hands joined in on the fun where he groped the few available inches of your waist below the thick leather bodice you wore, “can’t see us.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He finally straightened up to look at you, forcing you to tilt your head back to keep him in focus and making your heart beat uncomfortably fast by the intensity of his stare. Bright eyes giving you their full attention and his lips pulled up in a small smirk — like he was thinking of a joke and not about to share. His normally thin lips now plump and wet from the heavy kisses, and his lithely muscled chest moving in tune with his slightly hard breaths. Even if there weren’t any feelings involved in this — because there weren’t — there was no escaping the fact that the youngest prince was as handsome as he was clever.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve, Shieldmaiden,” he said and squeezed the available flesh on your hips almost in affection. The movement pulled you into him where something hot and hard rubbed against the upper edge of your breeches. His eyebrow lifted on the same side where his lip remained pulled up in semi-amusement. “I thought we were in agreement.”

He wasn’t taunting you. In fact, his voice was smooth as the marble of the balcony, but it felt like a challenge. That was probably how all of this had started in the first place when you thought about it. A trap disguised as a challenge, one he knew you’d never back down from. It should have angered you, but right now it only made you slicker within the confines of your underclothes and your nipples tightened against the molded cups of hardened leather, separated by the rough cloth of your tunic. He knew you and he’d wanted you, so he figured out how to get you. And now he had you.

“There is no one here,” Loki murmured, probably interpreting your thoughtful silence for what it was — a desire to be persuaded. He bent his head down to nip gently at your throat again. Never hard enough to leave marks somehow, but hard enough that you felt them. “I thought it’d be more comfortable than rutting like animals behind the mead hall.”

The vibration from his lips on your sensitive skin had your body humming in tune. You dropped your head back against the column, closing your eyes briefly. “You thought a marble balcony would be more comfortable?”

“At least it doesn’t smell like horse shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that and felt him smile against the curve of your neck. “I don’t know, I think it gave a specific ambiance.”

“Mm,” he murmured in mock agreement and moved his mouth lower, deftly pulling loose the strings keeping the neckline of your tunic decent and exposing more skin. “And there’s light here.”

Rolling your eyes, trying to conceal how good his tongue felt slipping over your collar bone, you muttered: “Yes, it usually is outside in the middle of the day.”

“Well, forgive me,” Loki moved up again, caging you in and making you feel tiny in a way no one else ever had, “for wanting to see you for once.”

He accompanied his words by pulling the open ends of your tunic apart, exposing the swell of your breasts to the midday sun. Maybe the light was another part that made you nervous. This arrangement you had — hurried and desperate groping on top of hay bales after returning from a quest, usually after having too much mead or if Volstagg got sufficiently under Loki’s skin so he again needed to get under yours — didn’t seem fit for daylight.

As handsome as he was, it bordered on too much to see the glint in his eye — never letting you doubt that he was watching you watching him in turn. Your breath hitched when Loki, not dropping his eyes down even a fraction, ran a finger along the edge where your leather bodice cupped your breasts. Goosebumps trailed in his wake that had nothing to do with temperature and your nippled stiffened further. You wondered if he would be able to see them from his angle, and the thought sent zings of excitement into your core.

“Tell me if you changed your mind,” Loki drawled, dipping the finger a bit lower and running it back so it whispered over the upper edge of your nipples. A teasing and fleeting touch that had your spine curving to get more. His voice never wavered, eyes still glittering in the sunlight, but this was the Loki you knew best. The dangerous Loki, who watched and listened and schemed while the rest of you just fought blindly and readily. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, unable to speak when he leaned against the side of your head. Breath hot in the shell of your ear as he whispered: “Shieldmaiden.”

A challenge, but by now your slick underclothes and your stubborn mind were in agreement. With a huff, you grabbed one of the latches by his hip and pulled him closer. “Make it fast.”

The smile stretching over his lips infuriated you so much you kissed him only to make it disappear. It didn’t, but he kissed back as best he could while you both worked to get sufficiently out of your clothes to scratch that itch. An itch you hadn’t known before Loki first propositioned you, and now made it hard to focus with him nearby. Neither were wearing full armor and as intricate as the Asgardian fashion design went, certain practicalities were still maintained and it made things infinitely easier.

This was more how you knew it, you thought, while Loki forced his hand into your open breeches, dipping straight into your wet core. Desperate and hurried, without the need for all this talking. A hard finger rubbed in between your folds, working its way up to where you needed him the most. His taller frame had you pinned against the column; his heavy breaths echoed over your skin while you struggled to undo the bindings of his trousers.

“Oh fuck me,” you moaned and bit down a louder sound. Loki took pride in your pleasure and now two of his fingers circled your clit that steadily swelled with arousal. You already had your hand over his hard erection, and palmed it through the supple leather, knowing his size and how good he’d feel inside of you in a bit.

“That is the plan.” Loki didn’t even sound smug, just that same even tone, and only his nostrils flared slightly to give any indication at how your hand clumsily rubbed his length. His brows furrowed and he flicked your clit harder, while you pressed into the cool marble behind you. “The wind carries sound away, Shieldmaiden. Let me hear you, no one else will.”

“There’s-” You inhaled sharply when he made a particularly harsh swipe, sending shockwaves of pleasure to your outer limbs. “There’s guards not even twenty feet below us.”

This upper balcony overlooked the vast rows of the golden patios adorning the entire side of the palace. Maybe Loki was right and this one was left alone — possibly reserved for the royal family now that you considered it — but the heavily armored guards trawled every other possible vantage point. Never mind that Asgard hadn’t faced attackers in centuries — Odin might have grown fat, but never careless.

Another hard gasp when Loki shifted his hand to slip two long, elegant fingers inside of you. A tight fit, no matter how many times he’d done it, and you gasped at the intrusion mixed with the overwhelming sensation. Your cunt burned now, throbbing and needy, while your rationality detached from your brain.

“Don’t,” he warned, penetrating you equally hard with his stare, “let your mind wander now. I see you biting your tongue when you want to mewl, Shieldmaiden, don’t hold back. Not here, not with me.”

The heel of his hand ground against your clit and you writhed against the column, fully at his mercy and mind blanking with ecstasy. “The guards-”

“Won’t hear a thing over the wind.” Loki licked his lips, staring at your heaving chest, then back to focus at your widened eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Your first instinct was to laugh with a whole-hearted ‘No!’, but an edge to his voice drowned yours in your throat. The things he was doing with his hand, thrusting two fingers sloppily into your wet cunt, made it hard to breathe, let alone think clearly. Did you trust him? You shouldn’t. And yet...

“I trust you.”

The handsome smile stretching over his face — handsome and dangerous — quickened your heart again, but then he pressed his lips against yours for a deep kiss while his fingers positively danced over your clit. The warm taste of his tongue and the hard edge of his teeth nipping your bottom lip made your head swim. Your knees trembled, all thoughts of how this would look should someone come wandering to this part of the balcony gone from your mind. Nothing in focus except the burning ache in your clit where he continued to rub and rub and rub-

His wet lips shimmered across yours when he spoke. “Let me hear you.”

You stared at him with pleading eyes. The occasions to fornicate without an unsuspecting audience nearby had been few and far between in your life. Either quick and messy thrusts near the campsite or muffled grinding at your chambers where the walls seemed paper-thin despite being made of stone. At this point, biting down your moans had become second nature, but Loki’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh fuck,” you breath out, more a grunt than anything more enticing when he shoved the two fingers back into your dripping wet sex. He had long arms, but you were still on your toes to give him better access. The reward came in his fingers curling, rubbing against that blasted spot inside your channel that made your eyes cross. “Loki, what-”

“Let,” his thumb swiped across your clit, “me,” the two fingers inside pumped steadily, “hear you.”

He massaged that particular spot again and your legs would have squeezed together if his knee hadn’t shoved in to keep them apart.

At this point, you didn’t even care about the guards. The sounds stuck in your throat, so many years of training hindering anything louder than your hard breaths. You quivered in his grip, no longer paying any attention to the hardness in his trousers, and realized you would have collapsed if he hadn’t held you upright.

“Loki, I-”

Words failed you again and you momentarily hated how whiny you sounded. The wind might have drowned out most sounds, but you swore you heard the wet squelches from his fingering louder than your own heartbeat. He had learned since this started where to touch you. How to make your clit scream after his touch and how to rub it until your wet cunt clamped around nothing, desperate for something to fill it.

“Oh Freya’s tits,” you swore softly, leaning into his slim body, caring less about anything else by each passing stroke of his fingers. “Gods, yes, plea-”

Loki’s silver tongue ran along the curve of your ear, his fingers never stilling on your tight bundle of nerves, and you trembled all over. His voice raised every hair on your body, although you weren’t sure if it was in a good way or not. He only said one word, but it rushed a new flood of wetness around his fingers.

“God.”

Too far gone to argue or think clearly, you just nodded and tried to keep breathing. The wave — the roaring gale of sheer bliss — rose inside of you, stoked higher every passing second and every passing swipe of his fingers. A moan rose from your chest, but was instinctively bit down before it reached past your lips.

With a growling sound of frustration, Loki tore his hand from your cunt and the sudden loss left you dizzy.

“What-”

His hand glistened and left smears on the front of his own trousers where he completed the work you had started to get himself free. You caught the briefest glimpse of a thatch of smooth black hair and his veined heavy cock before he spun you around.

“Since you insist on remaining quiet,” he said with his mouth near your ear while manhandling you like you were some dainty elfling instead of a battle-forged warrior, “we might as well take full advantage.”

It was easy to forget how strong Loki was, especially when you usually saw him next to his beefcake of a brother. Even without the gleaming biceps on display, Loki still had this functional strength that took you by surprise even now. Long, lean muscles that you knew on a rational level could lift you easily — as he had done behind the mead hall at times — but quickened your breath every time he did so. Like now, where he steered you to face the spectacular view of Asgard with him directly behind you. Despite his strength, his hand skated over your back with only the faintest hint of pressure to have you lean forward. You did, still reeling from the loss of his hand in the first place, and braced yourself on the tall marble parapet.

Next thing you knew, he pushed your tunic up to your waist and yanked your open breeches down so the aforementioned wind caressed the naked flesh of your buttocks. Not just the wind — Loki’s hand also massaged you appreciatively, kneading the supple flesh and spreading your cheeks. It spread your swollen nether lips too, where the wind cooled your glistening parts that his fingers had teased open and ready.

Staring wide-eyed into nothing, you thought you heard the sounds of him stroking himself. He had large hands and a large cock — one that reached far beyond your comfort level when shoved down your throat — and you suddenly realized that you hadn’t seen him either in daylight. Rubbed it, sucked it, and fucked it, but never seen it.

It made you arch your back and peer over your shoulder, too curious for your own good. God. That was exactly what he looked like. A god. All his clothes intact save from the open fly where his pale, strong cock protruded a few inches before disappearing into his moving fist. The hint of a deep pink head, smeared with pearly white pre-cum. His eyes were glued to you where you were on full display, legs spread as far as they went with your breeches gathered somewhere around knee height.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbled, where his hand went faster over his cock. Your cunt throbbed while your heart jumped as he looked up, that tell-tale smirk back on his lips when he had caught you looking at him. Still a hint of something softer in his eyes when he dipped his fingers between your folds again, as if gauging your wetness. “Are you ready?”

Your eyelashes fluttered down when the soft pad of his finger circled your clit. It somehow made him look godlier where he stood, proud and tall outlined against the marble backdrop. Mouth dry, you nodded, too far gone to be embarrassed by how you pushed against his finger. The teasing had reached an excruciating level where it burned from your clit and up to a tight ball in your lower stomach.

With a close-lipped smile, Loki’s gaze dropped to between your legs again and his eyelids drooped down a bit. Your neck strained from watching him at the awkward angle, but you couldn’t help it. Everything you saw made you wetter and more eager for him. The sunlight bouncing off his sleek black hair, the carved contours of his throat muscles flexing when he swallowed, and the thick head of his cock that now disappeared from view before you felt it separate your folds instead.

“Fuck,” you moaned, still under your breath, and caught the satisfied curl to Loki’s lips before you fell forward to support yourself on the tall balustrade. There was no way to spread your legs further, but you tried to bend so your hips pushed backward and gave him more room. The sound of Loki’s hardened breaths sent tingles up your spine, but when his cock pushed deeper inside you didn’t hear anything anymore. The round curve of his head poked into your heat, before he pulled back, spreading your essence around and driving in again. Always careful, always mindful of your reactions, using his demanding grip on your hips to move you back and forth.

“You are,” Loki murmured and his hands shifted to spread your cheeks again, probably giving him the view of your swollen cunt speared by his cock, “absolutely stunning. Who would have known what an exquisite quim you were hiding underneath that armor?”

The compliment had you burning hotter than being fully exposed like this. At least you could glare at the long stretches of Asgardian architecture instead of facing his infuriating smirk. Infuriating and handsome smirk. Gorgeous. Stunning. Exquisite. Not words you normally heard about yourself. They were soft words, painting a picture that didn’t fit with your image. Silvertongue, you reminded yourself, knowing Loki treated talking like a game to be won.

“I thought I said to make it fast,” you bit out over your shoulder, headstrong as always even with half of Loki’s cock buried in your wet channel. “Ah — fuck!”

It was now all of Loki’s cock buried in you.

He’d pushed forward with a sharp thrust so his balls slapped against your clit with an embarrassingly wet sound. Fingers biting into your hips like yours tried to carve their way into the marble parapet, he held himself there. All the way inside. Just on the slight verge of being too big. Too thick, too long, too something to possibly fit inside. Yet he did and you ground your teeth together, now not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing your so-called mewls because he felt fucking good.

“Very well,” Loki said somewhere behind you, his voice breaking even if he tried to sound nonchalant. He had to feel how you clamped down on him, still tight no matter how wet he’d made you. You fucking hoped he felt it because your vision almost blurred while your sex rejoiced at being so thoroughly stuffed. “Have it your way then, Shieldmaiden.”

You tried to breathe, but the next hard thrust he made had you seeing stars. The glittering rooftops of Asgard blurred and stretched, like a personal replica of the Bifrost, while Loki fucked you into oblivion. Breasts jerking forward inside your bodice, threatening to spill over the edge where your tunic hung more open than closed, while your cunt tried to swallow his cock whole.

At least his unforgiving pace left little space for conversation, and you heard the sharp breaths that you knew meant he hissed through his teeth at every hard push forward with his hips. Large hands pulled you back to meet him, meaning every single stroke hit that soft spot inside of you that made your legs shake.

Eyes closed, mouth hanging open, you felt the wave build again. That deep and hard pleasure from his cock sliding into you over and over again, continuing the work his fingers had started. Eyes rolling back, it was sheer luck you happened to open them just when you did.

“Loki, stop, stop,” you hissed under your breath, holding a hand back blindly to make him pause. “Guards.”

A handful of them, moving on the patio below you, the sun glinting off their heavy helmets. You swallowed a groan when Loki pushed back in — your cunt well open and inviting for him by now — and felt his breath shimmer across your neck as he leaned forward to look. His tall frame bent over yours, covering you completely while his hands landed on the parapet.

“What are you worried about?” he murmured directly into your ear, the smoothness of his voice gliding straight down into your core. Fully lodged inside of you, he ground against your backside so you felt the clasps on his trousers push into your skin. The heat from his breath felt like dragonfire, and you didn’t have the forethought to push back when he maneuvered you closer to the parapet. “You’re not making any sounds.”

Gods, he felt good. His cock carving out your cunt, like no lover ever had before. You still tried to think, to keep your wits somewhat. “If they look up—”

“They’ll see your pretty face,” Loki whispered and his teeth grazed your earlobe. “And nothing more.”

Of course your treacherous mind wandered. If the guards happened to glance up, would they be able to tell what was happening? From your face alone, maybe? From the sheen of sweat on your cheeks or the heat burning in your eyes? Surely they’d see the movement, how every firm push from Loki jolted you forward and had your mouth dropping open even if you tried to bite your jaw shut?

“They won’t be able to tell,” Loki snaked his hand forward and around your waist, “that this honorable Shieldmaiden is getting her cunt stuffed full of royal cock.”

The words dropped like iron weights into your soul. Loki rarely swore — never had a need for it — and you tightened involuntarily by how elegant he still made it sound. And the bastard caught on.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His thrusts gained strength again, but he didn’t pull back too far, still whispering straight into your soul. “For them to see you like this? See you gasping for air and biting your tongue?”

His fingers found your clit and he drew tight circles around it. You writhed, not sure where to push or pull, wanting more and less at the same time.

“See beyond the armor,” you squeezed your eyes shut when he bucked forward and hit that blasted spot again, “and the jokes,” another wet sound when his balls slapped against your spread cunt, “and the stubborn pride?”

“Loki,” you whispered, staring at the guards that made no indication of hearing what was happening above them. You told yourself you were watching for signs of movement. Of anyone on the cusp of glancing up at the pair of you. That you weren’t looking because Loki’s words only stoked a fire ignited by your own thoughts. That you weren’t looking because you wanted them to look.

The slap of skin against skin, the thundering heartbeat in your chest, the wet squelches from Loki’s fingers on your clit — it sounded louder than Fossegrim’s violin in the echoes of his cave. How could they not hear you? How could they not realize that you were getting fucked within an inch of your life by the youngest Odinson less than twenty feet away?

Loki’s raw voice continued, each syllable slotted into place with meticulous precision. “What would they think if they saw their beloved Shieldmaiden bent over and fucked like some common whore?”

His words shouldn’t have made you wetter. On a rational level, you knew that, and yet they seemed to tease your burning clit with the same intensity as his fingers. The thrill of doing something so outrageous and indecent so close to guards who would salute you on the battlefield had your inner walls tighten around Loki’s irresistibly hard cock.

Their helmets were designed to withstand heavy blows. Clunky and inelegant for the wearers — they wouldn’t glance up without reason. You knew that, but the risk was still there. That one of them might want to stretch his neck. Or break regulations to scratch his scalp, sweaty and hot from wearing the golden bucket for so long. The risk that now had you pushing back to meet Loki’s strokes, rocking your hips to get more of his fingers on your clit. Harder, faster — you wanted him, more of him.

Almost flush against Loki’s chest where he rutted into you, you weren’t sure which heartbeat belonged to who. Whose breath burned its way into your lungs. Or whose head turned first to claim the other one’s lips in a wet, sloppy kiss.

But you definitely knew it was Loki’s hands trailing up the hard edge of your bodice and shoving it down below your breasts. Your nipples tightened in the sudden onrush of fresh air and you stifled a gasp at the full exposure. Indecent. Improper. Half-naked with your tits jerking forward with each of Loki’s hard thrusts. A far cry from the decorated warrior you were.

Not sure where to look — eyes for some reason glued at the guards’ helmets below — you knew you should ask him to stop. Ask him to move back so you weren’t halfway hanging over the parapet like this. Ask him to-

Ask him-

Something.

“Fuck, Loki,” you gasped. His long arms circled around you, one hand back in your sopping wet cunt and the other groping your breasts, tugging and tweaking each nipple in turn. “If they-”

“If they what?” His voice had turned less hard; a murmur into your neck. “See these?” He pinched one of your nipples, working you so quickly up against that edge that would have you pulse around his cock. “They should thank Freya for her blessings then, for throwing them a glimpse of paradise. Or they should curse her name, for how they will never get the image out of their head for as long as they live. Can you imagine? All those guards stroking their cocks to the memory of your naked tits? Spilling into their own hands while wishing — praying — that it would be onto your breasts?”

“F-fuck,” you moaned, arching your back to push your breasts into Loki’s hard hands and your ass into his groin. The lewd sounds of your fucking drowned out all else, while his other hand continued with the ruthless stimulation of your clit. “Fuck me, Loki, fuck-”

“In front of the guards?” Loki hissed, a frantic edge to his voice, his mouth open in a slit while he panted over the curve of your throat. “You’d like that? How about I take you down in the throne room? On your hands and knees, like an animal with the whole court watching your cunt take my cock? I’ll fuck you in front of the whole Asgardian army if you’d like. Have you ride my cock, jumping up and down until your knees give in and I have to take over? Using you like I’d use my hand before?”

Gods, you were close. Mind lost in a haze of lust and debauchery, you didn’t know where to focus. The tug of your nipples, the intense burn in your clit, the wet rub of his hard length against your inner walls. Or his voice. His beautiful, smooth voice whispering nothing but filth in your ear, filling your mind with images forbidden and forsakenly arousing. At this point, you’d agree to anything. You’d let him fuck you on Odin’s throne if he asked right now. On top of Odin, so your tits would jiggle into the old man’s face while Loki fucked you recklessly.

Anything, as long as he kept pushing you further and further against that sweet, sweet climax that would wreck your entire body.

“Let me hear you,” Loki whispered then and you allowed a slight whimper past your lips. “Let me hear your sweet voice, Shieldmaiden. I’ll ask for nothing else and give you all you want if you stop holding back.”

“Loki,” you moaned in a voice so unlike your own. Needy and wanton, strained from your awkward angled neck where you tried to turn your head to kiss him again. “Gods, Loki, I-”

He crushed his lips onto yours, so inelegant and hurried it didn’t feel like him for a second. Then his lips pushed yours open, slipping his tongue inside to dance next to yours, and it was him. All him. His taste and his heat and his beautiful mouth kissing yours. The thrusts lost the steady rhythm, the hand on your breast now moved down to your waist while his fingers on your clit never paused. Not once, not even when the kiss ended and you stared at him over your shoulder, trying to see all of him you could. Beautiful, beautiful Loki.

His skin shone with sweat, bright eyes wide open and focused on you. Spit smeared around his mouth, for once open and hard instead of smirking at some private joke.

“Loki.”

“There you go,” he murmured and trailed his fingers harder over your clit to the point where your knees buckled. “Say my name. Like that. Let me hear you.”

“Loki.”

“Beautiful, beautiful maiden.” He sounded less coherent than you, some part in the back of your mind noting the vast difference between ‘maiden’ and ‘common whore’. “My gorgeous Shieldmaiden, please let me hear you. Let me hear what this does to you. For once, let me-”

The heavy door to the upper balcony flew open with a bang.

There wasn’t enough time to hide — for fuck’s sake, your breeches were still hooked around your knees — but just as one of the many housemaids of the palace poked her head through the door, a slight ripple enveloped you and Loki.

Not able to breathe, you froze solid with Loki halfway inside of you. An illusion. He’d cast an illusion to cover you. He’d done it enough times on the battlefield for you to recognize the way the air seemed to buckle a bit around you, like watching the world through uneven glass. It came in handy for an ambush or when you were simply outnumbered, needing time to regroup. You had never appreciated his skills as much as now. A simple beheading sounded more welcome than getting caught like this.

Neither moved while the maid stepped onto the balcony, a broom in her hands as she started to sweep.She started to sweep.

Fucking sweep.

No one ever came up here, he’d said. Private and secluded, he’d said. More private than either of your chambers, he’d said.

“Loki,” you whispered so low you barely heard it yourself, praying to anyone who would listen that the blasted wind really did cover most of the sounds up here. “Lok-”

“Sh, sh. Don’t move.”

Easy for him to say, you wanted to scream. He wasn’t the one half-naked and stuffed full of cock. Tits out, cunt bared, and your face flushed with wanton lust. You had been so fucking close too and your body bemoaned the sudden drop, urging you to move your hips to get back up. You clenched without intending to and heard his slight hiss that sent chills down your spine.

“Tell me the illusion will hold.”

“It’ll hold.”

You stared at the older maid who scuttled around, humming under her breath and apparently oblivious to your presence. “Are you lying?”

“It’ll hold.” His voice had moved closer to your ear and your stomach dropped when you felt him buck slowly into you. “Trust me.”

“Don’t you fucking da-”

“Shh.”

“I swear if we get caught, I’ll disemb-”

“Quiet, or we will get caught.”

With excruciating slow and controlled movements — so slow you could feel every vein rub against your spongy insides — he continued fucking you.

Fucked you in full display of a clueless maid who swept the large balcony without a care in the world. Without seeing how Loki Odinson had you squirming in his grip. Back arched, held up by a strong arm around your midriff, you bit your lip to remain quiet. He felt so fucking good, so good you felt dumb. Cockdumb? Was that a term? It felt appropriate, and you were so wet you could feel your own juices run down your leg, dripping onto your undergarments.

“She’s coming closer.”

The ripples in the air in front of you didn’t budge and for once, Loki’s tone sounded reassuring. “She can’t see us.”

“Can she hear us?”

He nipped the side of your throat while the head of his cock brushed against the deepest parts of you. “If I say yes?”

“Lok, I swea-”

He shushed you again and you felt the bastard smile against your skin. “If you’re worried, just be quiet.”

You had never been the one for magic and had no idea how much of Loki’s focus it took to keep the illusion intact. You could hardly stand from the intense pleasure spinning through your limbs, yet he somehow could keep fucking you while concealing you from the approaching maid with her broom. A broom that swept steadily over the marble floor, and you suddenly realized that you were invisible and not incorporeal.

Loki must have realized the same based on how he slowed down to a halt. His whisper edged its way to your conscious mind: “Do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Move with me.”

“Gods, Loki, I’ll get you for this.”

“Move.”

The maid was still ten feet away when Loki pulled you backward. The ripple followed you, this small bubble of just you and him and raw heat, and the maid did not even glance up. Loki fell back over one of the benches lining the inner part of the parapet and you fell on top of him. Spearing you thoroughly so you felt a small sharp pain on your inner parts. The swear died in your throat because Loki grabbed the underside of your thighs and tilted you back to lay against his chest and continued to fuck you.

“Have you lost your mind? Are you compl-”

“Will you have me stop?” he hissed in your ear, voice more ragged than ever before. “When you are dripping around me, hot and tight like the underside of a blacksmith’s forge? When I can feel your heartbeat through my cock? Shieldmaiden, you’re gripping me so hard, I don’t think I have a choice.”

“Just pull out or something.” Your protest sounded weak in your own ears. “Wait until she’s gone.”

“Do you really want that?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

He made a dark sound, but not displeased. “Your stubbornness will be the death of me, I’m sure. Lay back, maiden.”

His words rained on your skin like molten lava while you tried to fight the rising tidal wave of your approaching climax. You felt so good, so right, so beyond caring about the maid or the guards or anything beyond the delicious stretch of your sex. “But the illusion...”

“I think-”

A small gasp choked away in your chest when Loki spread your legs on top of him, giving the unwitting maid a show she couldn’t see. It was less about the public display of your swollen sex, and more to give him better access again.

“-that I have proved my abilities to do several things at once before.”

He held you up with that surprising strength, one hand on each thigh where you were nearly folded in half, knees pushed up to your shoulders. You almost went cross-eyed when he started making good of his promise to bounce you up and down on his cock. No one had ever made you feel small like he did. Tiny and weightless, even if you heard his hard breaths at what it cost him. Every snap of his hips upward should have roused the maid’s suspicion, but the illusion somehow held. Even with Loki working your insides to a frenzy, it held.

At a certain point, you stopped caring again. The maid seemed as inconsequential as the guards below where nothing mattered except Loki inside of you.

Your toes curled at the sensation of him dragging across your inner walls. His hot breath on your neck, his strong hands on your thighs, and that point he hit with each thrust upward that dislodged that block in your throat. You could feel it building alongside your rapidly approaching climax. The sounds he had asked for. It was not a sound the wind could ever hope to overpower.

“Loki, please, wait-” You babbled and moaned in a mixture of incoherent breaths. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“The illusion will hold, Shieldmaiden. She’ll be gone soon before I spill my seed, I am not that far gone yet.”

“It’s not- it’s not that.” Your voice low and tight, just like your cunt where you tried to squeeze more of him inside. “Loki, it’s me, I’m close, I can’t- I can’t hold- I-”

Loki shifted under you, staring at the maid moving towards the door at a leisurely pace. “A little longer, she’s almost gone.”

“I can’t-”

He stilled his thrusts and dropped you down so you sat in his lap. “Ten seconds, my b-”

“I can’t,” you moaned and found footing on the marble to move on your own. Sliding his cock in and out of you with abandon. “I can’t stop.” You wanted him so much. You needed to come now. You needed him, now. “Loki-”

“Shhh.” A newfound panic in Loki’s voice, and if you had paid attention, you would have seen the ripple in the air thinning out momentarily. The maid had her back turned on you where she headed for the balcony doors. “Oh hells. Wait, please-”

But you were so close and he felt so good. It rose and rose inside of you, this wave — this avalanche — of pure hot-white bliss, getting closer each time your ass slammed against his groin. You leaned back against his chest, pushing your breasts out, and rode him hard as you would a warhorse. Like a valkyrie on their proud steeds.

The scream that had built inside your chest along with your climax bubbled up to your throat now, threatening to spill. You were beyond caring about anything else, just impaling yourself over and over again, letting him hit every sweet spot inside of you.

And you would have screamed when the wave loosened — when the climax whipped into your body like a thunderstorm — if Loki hadn’t clamped his hand over your mouth at the same second. You still screamed, but the sound drowned in his strong hand, muted into nothing by the wind.

The balcony door swung shut — a sound barely registering through your foggy mind — and Loki’s illusion rippled before it snapped. While you still rocked your hips to prolong the wave of pleasure filling every particle of your being, you felt Loki’s deep groan in his chest as he joined you. Felt his seed spill deep into your pulsing sex while you rode out your own peak, whimpering against Loki’s hand, grinding against his chest.

Everything tingled and he twitched and spasmed inside you where string after string of thick white semen filled you up. It seemed to never stop, but eventually, it did. You slumped back against Loki’s chest, going up and down with each hard breath, and he gently removed his hand from your mouth to allow you to gulp down air. It helped somewhat, but you were so lightheaded the world spun circles around you, and you realized there were tears perched in your eyes from the intensity of it all.

His softening cock dislodged — leaving you thoroughly empty — while he moved you around so you could rest your cheek on his shoulder. He held you tight, rubbing your arm and thighs to help you down from whatever ethereal plane you had reached.

Finally you returned to this world and took in all the minor details. Breeches around your knees, bodice below your breasts, and covered in sweat and fluids. A mess, through and through, and your heart raced all over again at the multiple close calls.

“One day,” Loki murmured and tipped your head his way so he could place a gentle kiss on your raw lips, “I will learn all the sounds you can make.” He gave you a wide smile, tainted by exhaustion. “Shieldmaiden.”

It took some focus to find your voice, and you still sounded more breathless than fierce despite your best efforts. “Maybe not in a way we risk traumatizing the palace staff?”

He let out a low laugh, a comfortable sound despite the predicament of your clothing and appearance. “I swear, my beautiful warrior, I have never seen anyone up here before.”

“You still knew the guards were down below.”

“The wind-”

“You fuck off with that wind, Loki Liesmith.” You cupped his cheek with your palm and stared at his bright eyes. “Don’t think your Silver Tongue can talk you out of this one. We nearly got caught and when I catch my breath, I’ll break your jaw for it.”

And there was that infuriating and handsome smirk again. He swallowed, covering your hand with his own so he could bring it to his mouth where he placed a kiss in your palm. “You are in luck, Shieldmaiden.”

A warning sign, but you ignored it for now. “How so?”

“I just noticed there is a lock on that balcony door.”

Another warning sign.

“So when I find the key that fits,” he whispered in your ear, voice smooth as silk again, “I can use this tongue to both win your forgiveness,” you shivered when he ran the hot tip of his tongue down the curve your throat, “and learn all the sounds you can make.”

Some people said Loki Odinson had a tongue of silver. An innate charm and ability to get his way.

You were starting to think they had a point.

—

A/N: First time writing for Loki, so feedback appreciated - feel free to send me a message on anon if you’re shy. Remember to reblog if you like it ❤

[umbrahighpriestofgiratina]

Divided I Fall

IT'S FINALLY DONE! I am so sorry this took so fucking long, it took me like a year to write because my art brain forcibly took over my body for a stupid amount of time but now it is DONE and you can SEE it with your EYEBALLS. Anyway... This, This is a project I have been planning for YEARS but took some stuff lining up just right for it to sift to the top of my oneshot backlog. It is, to keep it simple and not spoil too much, an origin story for a character that's shown up in my stuff before.

As one important note before I begin... This fic stars a character of a fakemon species known as Vahirom, created by @kynimdraws on Tumblr/kyleenim on Twitter, used with permission. If you steal it I will be offended on her behalf and personally boil your toes. Got it?

ANYWAY:

Divided I Fall

Zygarde had a dilemma.

Unova had too many humans and they had it too good. But there was nothing they could do to thwart them without letting the other Legends in on his game. What to do?

As they stewed on this, lurking on the edge of civilization, they looked up, and there they saw it.

A meteor, careening down toward the nearby hills. It crashed, sending out sparks of light and a shockwave, which Zygarde weathered easily. They were a god, after all.

"Lots of those since AZ broke the sky," they muttered.

They slithered through the earth until they got to the impact crater, emerging in its center to find, surprise surprise, a meteor. However, it was one they could tell was a Metionite, a kind made of an extremely rare, alien ore.

It was then they got an idea.

An awful idea.

Zygarde got a wonderful, awful idea.

They started burrowing their own cells into the Metionite, pumping it full of energy. Godly energy. Draconic energy. The Meteonite contracted and curved until it turned into a small gray orb.

Zygarde tapped it.

And it burst to life.

--------

What am I?

What is this place?

Those were my first thoughts as I gazed around, wide-eyed, until my eyes fell on a strange green and black titan.

"Who are you? Who am I?"

"I am Zygarde, the guardian of order, and you are my creation!" the titan said in a booming voice.

"You created me?"

"Yes! For one purpose!"

The titan pointred a claw to the southwest. "There's an infestation of these pests called humans around thataway. Deal with them for me."

I looked in that direction. Seemed simple enough.... But something didn't feel right.

"...Very well."

Tubes extended from my shoulders and attached to my tail as my wings flared. I took off.

-------

I arrived to find strange structures,domes, blocks and pyramids, and walking among them strange creatures. Were these the humans Zygarde mentioned? "Deal with them." What did that even mean?

I got closer and as I did they started acting strangely. They seemed... Afraid?

"You creatures! What are you?"

They were making loud screams now. They didn't seem less afraid. Maybe they couldn't understand me? How DO I talk to them then? Come on, think think think-

~-Think!~

Thehumans stopped, gazed up. I had communicated by... Thinking really hard?

~Uh... Humans! I mean you no harm! I just wish to... Deal with you!~

The humans started murmuring among each other before a more elaborate-looking human came forth.

"You, great dragon! What do you propose as a deal?"

Oh, I can understand THEM fine. But good question...

~Let me think.~

What do I even tell this person? I guess... If they were afraid of me, they had other things to be afraid of. That wasn't good. Maybe...

"If you give me shelter and a home, I will aid you however I can. Is that a satisfactory deal?"

The elaborate human slowly blinked several times slowly before rapidly nodding.

":We will accept your offer... B=but my warriors will keep an eye on you."

I looked to the "warrior" humans he spoke of. They were trembling. Everyone was looking at me with unease,

This would take some adjusting.

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

I was in my own corner of the city, surrounded by more of these warriors. They were taking shifts watching me, but they all seemed scared. Almost as if they felt if I tried anything they couldn't stop me.

I didn't feel like doing anything that needed stopping... but then I wasn't sure WHAT to do. I had made the deal with the humans but I wasn't sure how to enact i-

Just then I heard a roar, in the distance. The warriors looked to me, then to the source of the sound. They seemed confused that it wasn't me. Soon another warrior rushed up to them.

"T-there's a Scolipede trying to take over the farmland!"

"O-one of those? Why?"

"They're immensely territorial! It claimed the farms as its own!"

What was this beast? The humans needed help. But they wouldn't let me help...

...Then again they couldn't stop me.

I activated my tail turbine and lifted off as the warriors panicked, and I jetted off to where the other warrior had came from.

---------

When I arrived there was indeed a large, purple, insectoid Pokémon rampaging about. Several warriors and their Pokémon were trying to pierce its chitinous armor, to no avail. It was much bigger than the humans, that's for sure.

...But it was much smaller than me.

I flew ove4r to and landed right in front of it. It looked up but seemed unphased.

"What do YOU want?"

"I want you to stop bothering these humans."

"Why should I? This is MY turf." "No it's not. As far as I can tell the humans were here first." "Well it's mine now."

I narrowed my eyes. "Leave. Now."

The Scolipede scoffed. "Make me."

"If you insist."

I flicked him with a claw.

He went sailing back into a tree with a very loud thud and collapsed, unconscious.

Humans started gathering around, looking on in awe. Then they started cheering. It was only then I realized the magnitude of what I'd done.

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

Things changed after that rather quickly. Or, they did from my perspective anyway.

The humans, after that, regarded me as a protector. Not only that, they gave me authority. It wasn't much at first, I started as captain of the warrior, but as time went on and I helped the humans more and more I ascended to the right-hand mon of their rulers.

They called me Vahirom, or more commonly, the Iron Arbiter.

They adored me. And I grew to adore them. They cared for me and I cared for them back. And after time things changed. I learned how to alter my form to be like them.

It started simply, firsty with mimicking their speech, but then I started to learn how to alter my physical form, this way and that way, until I had come to resemble them in my own way. It was at that point the Iron Arbiter was both a dragon Pokémon and a human.

And someone didn't like that at all.

One day they returned, while I was alone, sitting on the throne the humans built for me. I looked up into their glowing green eyes as they glared down into mine.

"What is THIS? This isn't what you were supposed to be doing! And why do you LOOK like them?" They stomped a foot on the ground.

I sighed. "It is less intimidating to them than my natural draconic form. And why do YOU look like them? Don't you have forms that are oh so superior?" They winced, and in an instant cells swirled around them to return them to a more traditional serpentine form. "Only to subvert them, manipulate them. You do it for sick kicks! You were supposed to DESTROY them, not help them!"

"There is no need to destroy them. They are flawed yes, but have kindness and charity in their hearts if you know where to find it. I seek to bring that out in them. "You're wrong! All humans are a sin against the natural order! MY order! They need to be purged!"

"Your view is dangerous. And I will not have you threaten my people."

I grew and stretched and bent into my true, draconic form.

"You may have given me life, but I am not yours. They are not yours. Leave, or I will force you to."

Zygarde hesitated, then let out a long, pronounced hisss before disintegrating into cells and vanishing.

I sighed again, then resumed my post.

-----------

Decades passed, that turned into centuries. I saw many humans and their Pokémon come and go, and cherished them all dearly while they lasted.

But then one day two were born that would change my life forever, for better and for worse.

They were twins, born to the current queen and king. They were shown to me soon after they were born. They were lumpy and chubby as human babies were but they had fire and lightning in their eyes from the start.

And thus their parents named them Tentay and Pethakhon, Ancient Unova's words for fire and lightning. As usual, I was assigned to be their guardian. I did not realize then how special they would be to me - and how that would be my downfall.

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

The children grew quickly. Their tiny grasping hands grew inquisitive, groping for anything they could reach. At first, I let them pull and tug at my human form, but as they grew older and nimbler I allowed them to play on my dragon form as well.

Eventually they started to talk.

"Say mama!" "Say dada!" their parents clamored. But every time they both pointed at me and said "va va!"

They didn't care. They just laughed.

When they got old enough to learn, I was their teacher. I taught them.... Well, not everything I knew, I was too ancient and powerful for that, but I tried to teach them a good amount. And I definitely tried to answer their many questions.

"How old are you?" asked Tentay. "Older than you can comprehend."

"What's your favorite food?" asked Pethakhon.

"I do love corn cakes."

"Do your parents let you stay up past bedtime?" asked Tentay.

I had to pause and think about that one. My only "parents" were Zygarde and the stars, so...

"I don't listen to my parents. I do what I want."

The twins gasped and looked at each other eagerly. "You can DO that?" they said. I chuckled. "I can. You probably shouldn't until you get older."

The two visibly deflated.

"Not fair..." said Pethakhon.

"I guess we have to listen..." said Tentay.

"No way! We can't!" said Pethakhon. "But we gotta! Or we'll get in trouble!"

"Nuh-uh! We can do it!

I chuckled. By all means this was amusing.

And yet. Something deep inside felt off.

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

It came suddenly, swiftly.

The king and queen fell ill, from a terrible disease. They were isolated, only taken care of by a select few.

It was too little, too late.

A grand funeral was held, several ceremonies, a feast, a fitting sendoff. But none of it filled the hole in all our hearts.

Especially not the twins'.

I visited their room afterwards., They were huddled in a corner together, curled up, sitting only a few inches apart. In human form to fit in the room, I pulled them into an embrace.

"I know better than to say it's all right, but... I am here for you."

"But... Mom and dad... They're gone forever," said Tentay.

"They're never coming back... What's gonna happen to us?" said Pethakhon.

I sighed. "I have seen many leave forever just as they did. I can escape it, it is both a gift and a curse, but for your kind it is inevitable. But it is not truly the end. You two will grow to be great, and your children, and your children's children, and so on. I assure you of this. You can pick up the pieces and carry on in their stead. They would want you to."

"...Okay, Va." said Pethakon.

"...I guess so, Va," said Tentay.

They nestled into my arms further. I patted their heads.

We stayed that way a while.

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

The two started to near adulthood for their kind, and thus I started teaching them how to rule. . ~Now, you two, I have a question.~

They both shifted in their seats in the courtyard we were in. Teenagers were antsy about being taught. Especially when their teacher was an ancient and powerful dragon.

~Say that there is a famine. What are your main options for dealing with such a thing?~

"Simple," said Tentay. "You spend the royal budget on improving the crops."

~Ah, but such a solution would be expensive... And could be unsustainable."~

"Then we improve the harvest infrastructure over time!" said Pethakhon enthusiastically.

~Yet that could take a long time. Too long. People could starve.~

"Well my method is clearly better!" said Tentay. "It gets more immediate results!"

"You're wrong!" said Pethakhon. "MY plan won't doom us all later!" "It MIGHT not. It will definitely make people starve."

"We have to consider the future!" "The future is NOW, Pethakhon."

"Moron!"

"Imbecile!"

The two continued arguing like this until they finally noticed me waggling a claw mockingly.

~Now now now. Have you considered these solutions aren't mutually exclusive?"

The two of them stared at me. Then started sheepishly rubbing their heads.

"You have a point..." said Tentay. "That could work.." said Pethakhon.

~See?" I said. "If you work against each other nothing gets done. But if you work together...~

"Yes, we understand the moral, well done," said Pethakhon. "Why must we learn things we know already?" said Tentay.

~Because with you two it bears repeating.~

The two blinked and staredbefore rubbing their heads sheepishly again.

"...You have a point," said Tentay.

"We'll. We'll work on it.." said Pethakhon.

I simply smirked.

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

They quickly became adults, true kings of Unova, and soon their first test was upon them. The ruler of a desert kingdom smack dab in the middle of Unova was a Volcarona by the name of Heliana. Shee was called before them for a diplomatic meeting, and we all assembled on the border between the desert and greener land.

"Why hello there!" said Heliana, floating before us.

Tentay and Pethakhon stared then turned to me, each whispering.

"She, uh, is a little hard to--" Pethakhon started to say.

"She's a Pokémon, but she can't speak telepathically, so we can't understand her," said Tentay.

"...That." said Pethakhon.

I chuckled. ~Don't worry, I can translate. She just says hi.~

The two nodded and turned back to Heliana.

"Right, hello," said Pethakhon.

"Shall we get down to business?" said Tentay.

"Oh, yes, yes!" said Heliana. "There was a matter of grave importance I wished to speak of with you! It was... Oh, hm, what was it..."

"She isn't very professional," Tentay whispered.

"Shhh!" said Pethakhon, nudging him.

"Oh! I remember now! It was wood!" said Heliana.

"Wood?" said Pethakhon. "My kingdom doesn't exactly have many trees," said Heliana. "I want cedar in particular! I'll offer you our finest textiles and minerals in return!":

"Hmmm. But we need the cedar for-"

"Shhh!" said Pethakhon. "She's making us a great offer!"

"More like a ridiculous one. We can't give her all that cedar!" "But we need the minerals and textiles!"

"She hasn't even specified WHAT minerals and textiles! Think before you leap!" "Well ask her!"

"Fine!"

Tentay took a deep breath and looked Heliana straight in the compound eyes. "You're being awfully vague about what those "minerals" and "textiles" are... Could you be more specific?"

"Oh! Lots of iron, copper... and Silk! Me and my babies spun the silk ourselves!"

"Wait, the silk comes from-" Tentay started to say.

"Sounds great!" said Pethakhon. We'll-"

"No. We need that cedar."

~Now now you two.~ I said. ~Put your heads together. Your wants and needs aren't mutually exclusive.~

They stared. And blinked. And... Well they didn't literally put their heads together but they did start mutually putting their hands to their chins thinking.

"There's some places we could grow... Cedar groves?" said Tentay.

"Yes! And we could loan those groves out to you!" said Pethakhon.

"They would take a while to grow normally but our Grass-types can make them grow faster!" said Tentay.

"Excellent!" said Heliana. "It's a deal! And Hekla and Katla will get started on the silk straight away!"

"Hekla and Katla?" said Pethakhon.

"Who?" said Tentay.

It was then two Larvesta emerged from Heliana's fuzz and divetackled Tentay and Pethakhon each with cries of "Friend! Friend! Friend!"

"My children!" said Heliana. "They spin the finest silk in all the land!"

"Well they sure are cute," said Pethakhon, holding up Hekla to get a good look at her.

"Easy little one," said Tentay, cradling Katla.

I just smiled.

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

I was in my throne room, and human again. I was alone, and it was quiet... until I heard a telltale slithering again.

"...Hello Zygarde."

The serpent congeals in a flash from their cells before me.

"You're still doing this. Why are you still doing this."

"They appreciate my help. And they are clearly better in my hands than yours."

The snake withed, their form rippling.

"Look, if you can't stop yourself from messing MY order up, I WILL."

I scoffed. "How?"

"You're awfully fond of those two humans, aren't you?"

My eyes widened. I clenched my fingers on my seat. "...Petty threats will get you nowhere."

"Oooh, I struck a nerve, didn't I? Don't worry, I won't do anything to them... Physically anyway. Unless you try to warn them that is, in which case I can always arrange an accident...."

I shifted to dragon form, knocking several things over in the process. "What are you planning, Zygarde?"

"How does the saying go, something something for me to know and you to find out?"

I roared and slashed at them with a claw, but before I made contact they scattered into cells and disappeared from whence they came. Guards rushed into the room shortly after. "Arbiter! Is everything all right?"

I panted heavily, looking at where Zygarde had gone, before turning to the guard.

~It's... It's fine. Just spooked by a shadow.~

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

From there it became apparent something was very quickly going wrong.

It started small at first. The brothers being more snippy with each other than they were before. But it soon blew up into full-on arguments, and everything I had raised them to do was falling apart before my eyes.

I knew exactly why.

I stalked the halls of the castle until I found a hound, ducking and weaving through the corridors.

"You!"

The hound stopped, looking smug. "What is it?"

"What are you doing to them?"

"Oh nothing much. A lie about one here, a rumor about the other there, did you realize exactly how easy it is to turn them against each other?"

"How... How dare you!"

I fired a metallic burst, a small-scale version of my Origin Flare, but they were already gone, and the brilliant beams of light only sank into the corridor, reducing chunks of it to rubble.

It was then I panicked. As long as Zygarde could keep spreading their lies...

...There was nothing I could do.

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

Soon enough came a day that would come down in history as a fateful one.

The two of them were having a particularly heated, particularly philosophical argument about the future of the kingdom. Said argument was happening in the throne room, right in front of me, a dragon silently watching as their two human charges escalated to potential civil war right before their eyes.

"Do you really think your deluded visions would ever lead this kingdom to greatness?" said Tentay, "Your ideals will only bring ruin!"

"Your plan is built on a flawed foundation," said Pethakhon, "and faulty delusions of truth!"

It was becoming all too clear for me.

They would not reconcile this time.

I would have to choose one.

...But I couldn't.

I couldn't possibly-

One side of me wanted one. Another wanted the other.

But I couldn't choose.

I couldn't I couldn't I couldn't I couldn-

CRACK

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

When I awoke, I could not move. I had reverted to the God Stone I use to sleep and could not get out.

But I could see everything. I could see Tentay and Pethakhon beholding two dragons that I quickly realized had split off from me, by sheer will to leave neither one behind. I could also see I had rolled off to the side, where no one could see me.

But if those two pieces of me were out there... What was the rest of me doing in here?

As I wondered this I witnessed the argument between the two brothers escalate further, and eventually they stormed out of the room.

Time passed. Day turned into night. Then the serpent came.

"Well well well, that was an entertaining show. I knew your powers were unstable but I never expected them to do THAT. Oh well, it works out for me plenty - those two idiots you were so protective of will decimate humanity by their actions, and those bits of you that spawned for them will only help.

I wriggled in my prison, trying desperately to escape and put Zygarde in their place. They noticed and chuckled.

"Oh how foolish. Don't try too hard to escape dear. You don't know what schisming off so much of your power has done to you."

Their form rippled.

"And besides. It's too late for you. I've already won."

He gave a hearty, echoing laugh as he dissipated into cells and disappeared.

----------

Throughout the night, I continued to wriggle and squirm. I HAD to fix this, I HAD to prove Zygarde wrong, I HAD to-

And then I broke free.

And then I felt it.

I could tell I was not the being I used to be. I felt weak. I felt empty. There was a gnawing hunger and emptiness at the bottom of my soul that I could not overcome.

I staggered through the hallways of the castle, in confusion and pain, when I came upon two guards, who recoiled at my approach.

"H-Halt! What monstrous kind of P-Pokémon are you?" said one.

I looked at that guard. And I hungered. The emptiness gnawed at me as I yearned for something to fill it.

I lunged.

The other guard screamed as my fangs sunk into his compatriot. I started devouring him, purely by instinct, rending flesh from bones.

"M-Monster! Monster!"

It is then I snapped back to my senses and realized exactly what I was doing.

I tried to say, "Wait, no, you don't understand!" but all it came out as was staticky buzzing. Then the guard fled.

Overwhelmed with grief, shock, and horror, it was then I did the same, leaving the tall pyramid castle I had called my home for centuries and never turning back.

-----------

I holed up in the crater I had first crash-landed in from thereon out, never emerging. Still, I saw many things.

I saw Unova burnt by a deluge of fire and electricity.

I saw Unova rebuild, become more technologically advanced, more close totheir Pokémon, then further away, then closer again.

I saw people settle the area where I lived, and grow to fear me as others had.

I saw one bit of kindness from a boy from those people.

I saw the white dragon that split from me return, join with me once more, filling my emptiness but causing her unbearable pain that racked me with guilt.

I saw all this, but one thing remained the same, for the most part.

I was alone. And I was unsure if that would ever truly change.

So all I could do was mourn all I had lost.

***

Bit of a downer, huh. But I hope you enjoyed it! WILL Kyurem's situation get better? We'll have to find out later - I've got other shit I've really got to get to writing.

[flowers-of-io]

Shockwave

Read it on AO3 here.

It is thirty-six hours later when the shockwave hits.

The Stranger—Elisabeth—let them stay in her camp out in the frigid nowhere, just a tiny round cabin with a bed and a table. She has driven off into the blizzard for supplies, and Eris quietly notes the subtle sign of trust that was leaving her and the Drifter alone in her personal space. It is cosily warm inside, well-insulated Braytech door keeping the cold out. She can see the snowstorm raging on the other side of the glass, white and blue and violent like the power crackling in her fingertips.

They sit on the opposite sides of the table, an old radio between them fighting through the snow to catch any signal that might slip through. Between the cracks of static and scraps of broadcast, there is silence.

This is the first time Eris has really sat down, stretching her back and legs aching from the hike. Between her mad escape from Io and what happened in the City, and persuading Zavala and the flight to the Jovians, she did not have time for as much as think. Head spinning as she danced from one purpose to the next, time slipping past her, reality squirming and bending. She has not slept in a long time.

The radio hums and Zavala’s voice pierces through, cracking and out of context. “…confirmed that Io, Mars, Titan, and Mercury have disappeared. We don't know why. We have lost contact with Deputy Commander Sloane and Gensym Scribe Asher Mir. We are deploying…”

She cannot hear him anymore.

Realisation hits her like a train at full speed. The assailed planets are gone. Her beloved, sacred Cradle, the Tree of Silver Wings – they are gone.

Sloane is dead. Asher is…

She has known. Since he squeezed her hand goodbye, and his red shadow began to darken her door every night, she has known what choice he would make and struggled to respect it. But it was too calm of a sorrow, she realises now, like leaves falling upon a grave, and she did not wail or claw her fingernails against the sandstone. There was still a thread of stupid hope, one that she hung upon by the little finger and refused to admit it, refused to acknowledge she believed there was still a chance, an unfinality of loss possible to revert. That threat is strangling her now, sharp and merciless, and Eris struggles to suck in a breath.

Drifter moves, his heavy coat rustling as he slouches forward towards the radio. He stares at it intently, silent, until Zavala’s voice is drowned in static again.

“Guess our pals kicked the bucket,” he says with such tremor in his voice Eris is not even angry.

She turns the realisation around like a bitter pill in her mouth, sticking fingers into the wound to get used to the pain. It is best constant, she has learned long ago, rather than the sudden spikes when she would touch the hurting place inadvertently. She digs deep to find some visceral core of horror; she imagines Asher dead in a hundred atrocious ways, his body broken and dismembered, crushed into red pulp, blew apart from the inside in an eruption of sizzling radiolaria. The deeper she reaches now, the safer it will be to sleep – the images familiar and predictable, horrent with spikes she already knows the placement of.

Skittish thoughts propel her to run off into the storm, let the blizzard lash her skin with an icy whip and scream until her larynx bleeds, until she cannot hear the din in her mind anymore. But she will not lose her composure. The days of punching walls and hollering into the night are long past her, shed along with the skin of chitin and blood she had been wearing for too long. She has only just started to bloom again—she will not allow it to trample the gentle scaffolding she has so arduously put up to hold her. She will not break.

Somewhat absently, she can see Drifter staring at her from across the table but her brain is screaming too loud to process it. He must have noticed some change on her face, or maybe how her hands started to shake and fiddle with the beads hanging by her belt, because he keeps his eyes on her—cautious, searching. As if looking for a handhold to grab and drag her out of the pit of horror she is thrusting herself into over and over.

“You saw it coming?” His voice seems to echo from far away.

“I should have,” Eris murmurs, nausea swelling up in her throat. “I should have persuaded them… I should have been there.”

In a desperate attempt to chase off the fuzz of thoughts hurtling through her mind at lightspeed, she stands up and regrets it immediately; the horizontal axis of her vision rotates by thirty degrees and she leans on the table with her full weight for support. Drifter stirs, then reaches out but she waves him off.

She can manage. She has been worse. It’s just another arrow to the same knee—does it make any difference?

She thinks about how her bloodied fingers traced the letters she had never sent to the people she would never see again. Piles of ink-stained paper, trembling sentences seeking comfort and asking forgiveness of the shadows she projected in her mind instead of the real flesh and bone. Real was too frightening, real could judge and shun her, real required a vulnerability she was terrified to reveal. She dreamed of a day when she would be steadier, braver—her hands no longer flinching away from touch, her words bold and sure of themselves—when she would send the letters out, confident of the fearful affection they disclosed. The correspondence she had truly written to herself.

Scrap-sentences circle in her head, squirming into her ears and eyes and mouth slithering between her teeth bitter like poison. Everything she will never tell him, one more thing the paranoia took from her, all the honest words and quivering confessions she feared to account for and how he will never know how she loved loved loved—

Staggering, she slumps onto the cot. Guilt is burning acidic in her chest and she cannot keep from shuddering any longer, burying her face in hands and smearing the ichor all over her cheeks. These eyes cannot cry and oh how she wishes they could, remembering the warm release of tears streaming down and tasting salt on her lips. There is only the black ooze now, seeping into her mouth and ears as she sleeps, drying on her eyelids and sticking them shut with a black wax seal. She is shaking so wildly her back hurts and tries to stifle the wail that creeps upon her lips, threatening to escape instinctively like a held-back breath.

The letters she never sent; alas, the promise had been made. She should have been there.

She had sworn.

The mattress dips down beside her, a movement she hardly registers. Only when an arm wraps itself around her loosely, a tentative loop for her to lean into or move away from, do the floodgates truly break. She curls up against Drifter’s chest and starts sobbing, dry and ugly sobs like frantic gasps for air above water.

He caresses her back, slow and soothing movements of a warm hand against the fabric of her cloak. Eris can hear her own wailing resonating through his ribcage.

“I should’ve been there,” she mumbles, her jaw trembling so hard it is difficult to push the words out.

“I know you were close,” Drifter hums, “but what use would be for you to die there? It’s not like you could’ve done anything.”

“He would comfort me in my darkness… and dying… I could not.”

He shifts and Eris feels his other hand gently press against her head. It is soft and warm and comforting, enclosing her in this tight dark space like in a blanket fort. It helps her slowly calm down until she is not heaving anymore, shivering only from time to time with leftover sobs.

“There was a kid in Eaton. A place I used to live,” Drifter says when her breathing is almost steady, “Taught her to fly a kite. Once it got stuck in a tree, almost at the top, and she climbed all the way up to get it. I asked her if she wasn’t afraid of falling.” There’s gentleness in his voice, one she has never heard there before. “And she said she wasn’t, ‘cause she knew I’d catch her if she did. Knew I’d save her.”

His thumb rubs gentle circles against her temple, lulling her, and Eris struggles to stay focused. She is too exhausted to think, and a terrible headache has begun to settle in, hammering against her sinuses, and Drifter’s tone is deep and calming, as if he was telling a bedtime story.

“When Eaton burned… when she took a bullet and stumbled and fell… I caught her. But I couldn’t save her.”

“At least you were able to offer comfort… One last time.”

“And did it change anything? She’s dead anyway.” Drifter shakes his head, a rustle of cloth sounding so odd with her ear partially covered. “You did what you could, sister. Don’t beat yourself up for it.”

The guilt will not subside until many, many moons later, and it is still gnawing at Eris’ bones in this moment, but the sharp, blinding fear has somewhat subsided into a dull ache. Maybe it is the catharsis of crying, or the initial shock having tumbled past, but an odd haziness overcomes her and her strained muscles begin to ease. The terrible weight of the loss is still dark and grim – she dreads to acknowledge it, fears the moment she will have to look under the cover and face it in all its irrevocable finality, yet for now it sits tucked away somewhere in the corner of her vision, present but bearably distant. For now she is warm and safe and breathing.

They do not speak more, just sit in hazy silence as the storm rages outside.

[crow-crowson]

Canary Glow. ❜

Summary:  Gods are not constant.  Like most, they have a beginning  -  even if not an end.

Chapter: 1.

Chapter trigger warnings:  N/A

Author’s notes:  This is set in a fictional world that I created myself, featuring just a handful of my own cast!  This is just one story I plan to make with these characters, as I figured the best place to start in any narrative is the beginning.  This novel will delve into the creation of Huron as we know it today.

      “What in the blazes is that?!”

    Wide green eyes followed the burning arc in the sky intensely, watching its fluorescent trail shimmer as it rocketed towards the ground;  neon yellow, crackling like electricity, and showing no signs of slowing down.

    The speed of that thing…  it’s incomprehensible!  It looks like it’s going to crash!

    Aldierno watched as his surroundings lit up, a fierce sheen of gold spreading across the treetops as the comet continued to fall.  In a display of primitive fear, the man flung himself onto the ground, arms shielding his head, his face buried into the dirt as he braced for its impact.  It was far too late to run away...  impossible, really, with how close it was.

    The sound of it hitting the ground was unlike anything he’d ever heard--  a crash of thunder so loud that his hands abandoned his head in favour of his ears.  Even then, the noise shook his brain, rattled thoughts around like loose change, and the searing light that followed like a shockwave had his eyes screwing shut, his face pressed tightly into the mud.

    Please, please just let me die quickly.     Whatever this thing is, let it kill me in a single moment.

    Time crawled by like a snail, his body on fire with the knowledge that he would soon be engulfed by pain.

                                                              But it never came.

    After what felt like a lifetime, Aldierno raised his head and squinted.  The woodland was dark once more, an eerie silence smothering him like a quilt.  What just happened?  What did I see? What was that?

    His questions were rewarded with a sudden beam of light shooting high into the sky, breaking the clouds and vanishing into the abyssal black above him.  It was hard to look at, blinding even, but he persisted in trying--  in trying to make sense of anything that he’d witnessed thus far.

    When his world dimmed once more, Aldierno found it in him to stand up.  Aside from mild disorientation and a fiercely fast heartbeat, he had left the situation unscathed.  Knees knocked as he straightened up, heightened senses latching onto anything they could.  The whistling wind;  the breeze weaving through the trees;  the dull scratch of dirt beneath his bare feet.

    He only realised he’d taken a step forward when he found himself closer to the treeline than before.

    What are you doing?  Turn around.  Go back to the house, where it’s safe.

    … but the uncertainty of what had transpired was tantalising.  Perhaps it was the rush of bravado one experienced after surviving something fearsome, or the curiosity that was allegedly responsible for the death of so many cats, but he felt intrigued-- no, compelled--  to press on.

    “To hell with it,”   he muttered through clenched teeth, stalking into the undergrowth before he had the chance to change his mind.  He couldn’t explain it, that cloying need to go forward, but it raged in his head like a war cry.  It saw him filing through the thicket, braving the sharp bite of brambles and the pervasive scratch of nettles without a single complaint.  Even so, the deeper into the dark he went, the more foolish he began to feel.

    And then light.

    Dim, at first.  A pale yellow in the distance, like the very first rays of morn, before it opened up into a pool of liquid sunshine.  As he emerged into a clearing, Aldeirno found his gaze falling to the ground, gaze snagged by an unfamiliar crackle.  It was teeming with some sort of current, grass combed over, frayed ends burnt and fizzling.  Slowly, he inched a toe towards the lip of the undergrowth--  then quickly recoiled when he received a sharp static shock.

    How is that possible?  Grass burns.  I use it in fires all the time.

    A murky shape in the near distance caught his attention.  It looked weathered and strange, composed of old rock and something all too cosmic.  It was simultaneously shimmery and plain, and through a crack did Aldeirno think he saw something molten.  It oozed like lava, its canary glow both beautiful and foreboding.

    Caught between a rock and a hard place, he hovered at the entrance to the clearing for several minutes.  Every so often, he stuck his foot out, then retracted it once more, not keen on the idea of getting shocked again.

    You’re never going to find out what the hell that thing is if you don’t press on.     Maybe I don’t need to know.     Really?

    It should have been no surprise to him that he found himself darting across the clearing without much regard for his sense.  A dozen sharp static shocks wrangled the soles of his feet, his teeth grit as he skidded to a halt in front of the strange stone, surprised by how quickly he’d grown a tolerance to the current.  It was a force of nature, of that he was certain, but it seemed residual at most.  If it wasn’t, I’d absolutely have been fried.  He dropped to his knees, eyes all but bulbous as he raised a trembling hand to touch the foreign mass in front of him.

    It fell apart before he could.

    Like an egg after a bird had emerged from it, its granite walls crumbled to the ground, forming a small pile of rubble beside what could only be described as a ball of light.  Aldierno tilted his head, persistent in trying to grasp exactly what he was seeing.

    There was something dark swimming in the centre of the golden glow;  a nondescript shape that seemed suspended by invisible string.  Slowly, it began to unfurl, and from the light did Aldierno witness a body come into view.  Then arms, then legs, slowly followed by a vague head shape.  The thing was tiny, an inky black blot on a white sheet, and only when two pinprick lights appeared on what he could only assume was its face did the man think to fall back.

    He landed gracelessly on his rear, the corners of his vision swimming.

    “Wh-What are you?!”   he exclaimed, voice wobbling meekly, as if it was going to break at any moment.  He was numb to the current, heart pounding in his chest as he witnessed the shape flicker like static.

    Then, akin to a phoenix, it rose.

    He watched the indiscernible mass float upwards, limbs fanning weightlessly outwards.  It slowly morphed into a more determined shape, its limbs like fine pencil streaks, two tall ears sprouting atop its round head, before it expelled a final pulse of light.  As the energy faded, Aldeirno’s surroundings began to dim once more--  and then the body fell.  The mysterious creature hit the ground with a resounding thup, its still mass resembling a ragdoll that had been hurriedly discarded by a rambunctious child.

    What is this thing…?   Aldierno asked himself as he inched his way closer.  He could taste his pulse, feel it flickering across his tongue like lightning--  and the effect only worsened as he lowered himself to a squat, his tall, lanky frame dwarfing his unknown visitor in moments.  Despite their clear difference in size, the man felt tiny in its presence.  There was something about it that radiated power, power he’d had yet to witness with his own eyes.

    Gingerly, he nudged the body with the very tips of his toes.   “Hello…?”

    But it was no use.  His persistence, though valiant, elicited no response.

     The longer he stared, the deeper the strange thought sank into him.  He felt it first in his mind, then in his soul--  a streak of nonsense so woefully insane that he came to fear it:  I need to take it with me.  He couldn’t describe the desire unfurling in his brain like a bad omen;  the desire to pick the thing up and take it back home, nurse it back to health somehow.  It wasn’t as if he knew much about playing nurse, nor did he feel he was overly altruistic as a person.  Though he would have liked to exercise his good will from time to time, the simple fact was that his land was Godless.  It didn’t pay well to appear weak.

    But this poor thing…  it looks so small, and so defenceless, and it’ll probably get eaten if I leave it alone.

    Your self-preservation is piss-poor.  How have you lasted this long?

    “... damn it,”   he muttered, scooping the creature up and drawing it close to his chest. Though it was unconscious, he felt a strong surge of life spilling from it.  The longer he held it, the deeper the pit of dread in his stomach felt--  as if he’d touched something forbidden, opened his mind to a knowledge that should remain unknown.

    He clung to it regardless.

[shayprose]

On Sobriety, my Quiet Place, and the Sliver

It’s difficult to wrap my mind around where I am now. Not the physical — my body is in Somerville, MA. That’s easy. I’m talking about the bits in between where my body is and where my mind drifts; the emotional and the spiritual, the elusive two states that are hardest to describe.

I’m sober, you see, and with that comes the immensity of where I was. You can’t think of one without the other, and the shoe that drops on the other side of sobriety is — well, it’s a topic that sells sad artists a lot of albums. The little golden medallion I carry around with me to signify that I’ve made it through a year of “recovery” is so heavy in my pocket because of its significance. It’s a little metallic tomb full of memories made manifest of a very, very dark time.

But if I’m practicing radical honesty, then it — “it” — is actually the pinnacle of so many other things, so many other memories, all interwoven into one point. The threads of a long life of good things and bad things, all culminating in the reason I carry that medallion around with me, despite its heft.

It all started when the quiet place I used to go to, deep inside myself, the safe place with all of its carefully hewn comforts, where pleasant memories and dreams were the wallpaper and the rosewood floors, was destroyed in a 9-alarm fire called addiction. And I miss it there, so, so much.

This thought dump is rambling already, but bear with me. I suppose the nature of what I’m saying is the rambling point I’m trying to make: so much of my days now are made up of trying to grapple onto the thoughts that started spiraling around me like a hurricane when I let myself black out every night. Rambling is par for the course.

Right before I tipped over the edge, after a night (or an afternoon) of drinking, I remember thinking every so often, “Self, you’re really fucking up, my dude,” and having the actual sensation that my mind was melting. It was a vibration that ran through my face, surged through my brain, and then ricocheted down into my outer extremities. A few times, that shockwave made me panic and I filled up my Google search with things like, “Effects of alcoholism on the brain,” and “Can I lose my mind from alcohol?”

Scary stuff, right? I think the scariest thing, though, is that after a while, I stopped Googling those things. It didn’t really matter anymore, after all — neurodegeneration was, according to my 2 a.m. panic-laden internet searching, impossible to reverse, so fuck it, right? Black out, self. Go for it. Let it all fall away, and if you remember anything from the night before, well, try harder to forget next time. The recipe can always be tweaked, after all! Don’t stop at three shots after your four martinis. Add a fourth, and chase it with a Truly. Add a beer if it’s a work night — they fill you up so you don’t have to eat dinner.

The quiet place was still accessible in those early days of my downward spiral, to some degree, fragmented though it was. And then, it wasn’t.

The most painful part of my shredded humanity, I think, was when I tried one day to make the journey to my quiet place, through meditation and soft music, and I stumbled over the corpses of the things that I sacrificed for him. There was Dignity, her face bruised and slapped around, still beautiful in death. Over there was Desire, who held all of my dreams on his back, now reduced to a crumpled-up heap on the floor, barely recognizable anymore. The hardest body to see was Hope, whose glowing effulgence used to be the light that powered my quiet place, her soft illumination the fuel for all the pretty candles that lit up the darkness. Her light was snuffed out completely in death.

And so, my light was dimmed in life.

When I finally waded through the mistakes and the tragedies, I arrived at a place I called home for so many years, the place inside myself I built through all of my childhood traumas, to find the windows shattered, the garden ransacked, the curtains torn. Every square inch of my safe haven was hollowed out. In November, 2019, the last time I tried to go there before I let it go completely, I remember thinking, “You did your best, and it wasn’t good enough. You’re free.”

I had woken up at 3 a.m. to make sure he was safe, and when I saw that he wasn’t, I drowned the terror in half a handle of gin. The next morning, when I got to work, I started packing my desk because I didn’t want anyone else to have to deal with it. A few cigarettes, a few pills, a few coffees later, I unpacked my desk, went to a few meetings, and then purposefully forgot the way back to my quiet place.

In therapy, I learned that something like my “quiet place” is a very real trauma response folks can develop. My therapist explained that I was wise beyond my years to have taken so much pain in my childhood and translated it into a lighthouse, where I could always go if I needed to escape. “It’s healthy,” he said, “to know that you are safe inside yourself. What changed?”

What indeed. Before I started writing this, I took a trip through the pages of this old tumblr and remembered where I used to be then, emotionally and spiritually, and the difference seems to be that back then, when I thought I was giving myself wholly to whatever mission I was on, I still held back just enough to keep the quiet place alive. A sliver of my mind was always tethering me to safety, and I think I knew that. I took comfort in that. It was me remembering to spare some energy to keep my own lights on. Good job, me.

There’s no sense in trying to rationalize addiction, and that’s not what I was doing when I flipped through these pages — people spend their entire careers trying to decipher the origins of that disease, and I’m not going to crack the code by rereading a young adult’s foibles. However, I do think there’s something important in the work of sifting through the examples I’ve left behind for myself. To maybe see where the path I walked so carefully through life became so twisted.

The sliver I mentioned before, the place in my mind that tethered me to safety, took a risk. He reached out a hand to someone who said they needed me, and in a state of perfect trust, I allowed him to free fall. After all, who’s wouldn’t after hearing these things?

“I will always love you. It’s just you and me now. Don’t worry; I got you.”

A running leap over a cliff, and then

“This terrible thing is part of me. I understand if you want to leave, but I can’t stop crying. Do you want to leave me?”

eyes closed,

“It’s not your turn right now — I love him, too — but someday, I’ll give you what you need. I love you.”

I let myself fall.

“I tried to kill myself — it was all set up, and I was ready. But your face is what stopped me. I didn’t because of you. I need you.”

I knew I shouldn’t have jumped, but

“I promise I’m trying to get better. Therapy just doesn’t work for me; meetings just don’t work for me. But I’ll do it for you.”

if I could help someone, someone who needed me,

“I told you I’m working on it. If you don’t believe me, then you are hurting me, and hurting me will just lead me back to the darkness. Don’t hurt me.”

then who cares if I get hurt.

“They don’t love you like I do. Let’s go get breakfast, and I’ll teach you how to take care of yourself.”

I fell. That sliver, that tether, fell farther and farther, until I couldn’t see him anymore. He was weighed down by all of the affirmations, all the promises of love and safety, all the hollow words. And the cruelest:

“This is a risk for me, too, but that’s why it’s so important that we do this together; no one else understands.”

Without that tether, without the quiet place, I was numb. And I liked being numb. I kept adjusting the recipe to be number longer, and that was how I lived.

So much of AA is about putting yourself into the shoes of your peers who are going through the same thing. Everyone has a story like mine. They might not think about it the way I do, with personification and magic, but their stories all have a similar energy to them, which is accompanied by a familiar far-away look in their eyes. Every story also has something that ties us all together —

— when all of us felt a spark. A tiny mote of light that flickers behind our eyes and tells us that there’s another path, less twisty and less dark, where we can take a deep breath, if we’ll just follow it. A moment when the free fall stops, even for a second.

Mine came when I woke up next to him one morning, the day after I sobbed my way home on a bus from NYC. We had gotten too drunk at a bottomless brunch, and we went to another bar (probably at my pressuring). I spilled a martini, I fell off my stool, we left, and then the memory becomes hazier. We fucked in our hotel room? We ran through Manhattan to the bus terminal? We almost missed it? My memory picks back up with me weeping because I was confused. Where are we? What are we doing? Please don’t be mad at me — I hate me, too. Will you marry me? Please? When is your next trip? Will you please be safe? Will you be safer if we’re married? I’ll protect you. Just think about me. Am I enough?

My spark ignited. The day after that trip, I looked down at him and, as if I were waking up from a nightmare, I thought, “You will never change. But I can. And fuck you.”

As I climbed out of bed that day, my brain fried from my hangover, I grabbed my phone and sent a message to a friend who had gotten sober the year before. He told me we could get coffee so I could ask him questions. I went. That’s when he told me about a meeting he was chairing. “Come,” he said. “It’ll be easier to explain if you just see it for yourself.”

So I did. My nightmare came with me, supported my decision, held my hand, and while I was watching my friend chair the meeting, as I listened to the stories of everyone in that church basement, I realized I wouldn’t be whole, I wouldn’t be safe, unless I didn’t need that hand in mine anymore.

A year has gone by since then. Over time, the spark grew into a candle flame, which exploded into a fire, and I haven’t had a drink or a drug since. The medallion is heavy, and it brings me back to NYC, to the thousandfold traumas of emotional abuse, to the guilt of allowing myself to be caught up in a whirlwind of self-doubt, but I’m learning to find comfort in the weight of it.

This is the first time I’ve written anything like this since I lost my footing. It isn’t anything like my other posts — my therapist says I’ll probably never get that same easygoing talent back, not without a lot of effort, and so I suppose that’s what this is. My therapist inspired this post, actually. He’s sober, too, and knows what I mean when I talk about not being able to wrap my mind around where I am; when I talk about the weight of the medallion, and the two sides of that coin. He says to me, over and over:

“You can trust yourself again now. You never lost your quiet place, it’s all still there. It’s just different now.”

I’m pleased to report that my new quiet place is in bloom. Hope is alive again and her light is as gentle and steadfast as ever. Desire and Dignity are rebuilding my gardens, and the Sliver, the little tether I hold closest of all, is the gatekeeper, the star in the sky, and the only thing that matters to me anymore. His name is Shay, and I love him again. I can’t wait for you to meet him.

[all-hailtheking]

Alas, another idea I have is this. Imagine the 'Cons kidnapped/ had you on the Nemesis for a while. One day you bumped into Predaking and was so completely fascinated by him because of your super strong passion of historical events, creatures and dragons and just started to cling to him. How would he react? Will he be annoyed but really like you clinging to him since he has never felt this dare he say 'emotion' before?

(Yes, a Predaking request! I’m so happy to get a request about him. This is going to take place before he learns he can speak and transform.)

“Why do you need me again?” You question the ginormous, robot warlord standing before you. His helm seemed to tilt in curiosity at your tone. He wasn’t quite used to the curious type. “You, human, will be my bait for the Autobot leader so that I may bring about his death.” “Aaah, so I’m the Shaggy to your Freddie. Got it.” This only further confuses Megatron, but you begin to walk away before he can question you.

“So now that I’m an itty bitty little pawn in a giant robot chess war; what am I going to do now? I have no clue where I’m at, so escaping is a no go. Plus, there was this dude with a screen for a face who, I’m pretty sure, has the camera system on complete lock down constantly.” You say to yourself as you pace the giant purple scientist’s floor back and forth. “Firstly, you can learn our designations for future reference so that you may avoid disrespecting our ranks.” His monotonous voice speaks as his optic remains on the project at hand. “Secondly, you can keep my latest creation company while I work so that you don’t distract me more than you already are.” Rolling your eyes, you nod. “Well what is your ‘latest creation’?”

“You didn’t tell me you made a giant metal dragon?!” You yell at Shockwave with a giant smile on your face. The large black and orange dragon stared menacingly as you grew closer and closer to him. You were far too loud for his liking. It reminded him of Starscream and he wasn’t not putting up with a tiny version of that annoying metal bird. “I did not tell you because there was no reason to bring him into our conversations. Now, stay here with him while I work. Don’t dismember her while I am working.” Shockwave demands monotonously. The only response he was given was a chuff of annoyance.

“Well it’s nice to meet you too.” You say with more sass than you think was necessary. This only causes the creature to roll his golden optics. “Shoot, Mr. Sci-clops never gave me your designation. I don’t want to be rude and just call you ‘dragon’ or whatever.” You say with a pout, calmly walking towards his giant orange and black form. His helm seems to rise and tilt in curiosity, silently watching you come closer and closer to him. “Are you able to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?” The predacon rolls his optics once more, starting to stand on all fours; making you smile even wider.

“Gosh, you are so much cooler than the way Shockwave described you. Not only are you massive compared to me, but you look astonishing! I could have never imagined something/someone like you existed!” You gush with a bright smile and a spark of curiosity in your eyes.

From that introduction, on, you followed and clung to the predacon as often as you possibly could. He didn’t seem bothered by it, though having to constantly worry about where you are on him, did tend to annoy him, but he got used to it after a while. Due to his lack of speech, you didn’t ask as many questions as you’d have liked to, but that didn’t stop you from yes or no questions. You also seemed to have adopted a habit of calling him King, mainly due to his crown like horns all around his helm. He enjoyed this quite a lot, which made having you around a little less of a bother.

When he first noticed you following him, he was extremely annoyed. He didn’t like having a small fleshing following him like a lost chickling. After nudging you away with his helm, tail, claws, and even Shockwave, you still continued to follow. Though, he seemed to gain a much larger respect for you after you told Starscream off for trying to beat him for ‘not following orders’. A tiny human, no bigger than his talon, stood up to the SIC for him. You may get on under his plating here and there, but you were far better to be around than Starscream.

After all of this, he quickly grew fond of having you with him. He liked to think of you as his tiny partner, or even a pet. He enjoyed to toy with you, mainly because of your size difference. Even with your tendency to question him about everything, he found your presence enjoyable. “King, you’re far more amazing than anyone could ever imagine. I also have a sneaking suspicion you’re a lot smarter than you’re letting everyone think you are. Who knows, you might even be capable of doing more then we could dream of.” With that he lets out a low purr and half lids his optics. Maybe you aren’t as annoying as he thought you were.

(Thank you for requesting! I hope you liked it! Have a wonderful day! Sorry it’s really crappy. My brain was going twelve different directions while writing this.)

[gofancyninjaworld]

Review OPM Manga Chapter 128: Deep-seated Malice

I have no need for tentacle porn in my life.  Murata said ‘too bad!’ 

One-Punch Man.  Nominally a story about an overpowered super-hero, but if you don’t like the genre, wait five pages.  So it goes!

The story opens where we left off, with Tatsumaki under relentless attack from the many-headed beast that is Orochi.  While she can deal with individual ones easily enough, there seem to be no end to them.   She’s irritated that her fellow heroes seem to be slacking of when they should be rescuing the kid.

Psykos meets up with Orochi, and while the result is about as pleasant as watching someone throwing up, they eventually come to a deal: Kill Tatsumaki/Kill the baldie at the same time.  Who says size doesn’t matter?

On the Psykos end,  Tatsumaki finds her protective orb turned inside out, such that her own power starts crushing her. If she doesn’t pop it, she’ll die. But outside, there’s Psykos waiting to flatten her to a pancake with super-gravity.  It’s not looking good for her at all.

Meanwhile, on the Orochi end,  Flashy Flash, Saitama and their pet monster are all fleeing from the surging waves of tentacle looking to grab them.  It’s not looking good, until one of them grabs Saitama by the head... then slips off his shiny, shiny pate.

And Saitama punches it because he really hates having his head touched.

A lot happens as a result of this punch.  Shockwaves ripple through the base, shaking it anew. As brickwork gets jolted loose, one slab happens to fall into the counterweight bucket for the ‘up’ elevator, meaning that King and Tareo just escape being Orochi’s next snack.   The shock of having so many cells die jolts Orochi-Psykos and frees Tatsumaki,  who starts falling just to hear King message with the news she’d been hoping for.  Tareo is safe.

She may have been living on borrowed time, but now Tatsumaki intends to return the favour. With interest.

Hoo hoo, the next installment is sure to be exciting!

Meta

When I first saw the cover, I thought ‘oh, that’s interesting. Murata has superimposed a sketch of a longitudinal section of brain over a cutaway of the Monster Association base.’  Then I got it.   It’s a cutaway of the section that Saitama split when he punched Overgrown Rover. The ‘brain’ is Orochi rooting himself deep within the base and then spreading out in concentric spheres (don’t forget, this extends in three dimensions).  The rays?  The dragon heads firing at Tatsumaki.  The tiny dot just above the stem?  Psykos heading for Orochi’s very avid grasp.  The enormity of this evil, so splendidly summarised -- I got goosebumps.

Literally a snapshot of the situation at the start of the chapter.  But also so much more. There’s clever and then there’s genius. I also need this as a poster.

I’m never going to get tired of pointing out how the manga puts roots under the webcomic’s ideas, and sometimes changes them for something better.

Tatsumaki had previously raised the base out of a fit of pique -- and simply because she could.  In her hubris, she’d raised up all the monsters and left her fellow heroes underground.  She was undone by this same hubris when she failed to watch her back.

Right now, Tatsumaki is under real pressure: but for Saitama’s inadvertent intervention, she would be dead.  While she’s not out of tricks, right now she needs to do something overwhelmingly crazy or she will die.  

Her praising King now has nice roots.  Instead of randomly detecting King, she expected him to be at the base.  He has a way of making himself known and it’s to his credit that he has had the presence of mind to call.  

Her backstory has been used so well here!  Not to stop the story and dwell on it, no, but to give us the insight that the terror she felt at being left behind by the fleeing scientists. That’s what she is determined to avoid Tareo feeling. 

what a horrible situation to be in

I can’t think of a lead in sentence for the next picture, so I’ll just post it.  Psykos has prided herself on being the puppet master,

there’s a pungent (and literal) message in this: You can’t expect to fuck with exploit monsters and not get fucked back have them return the favour.

It’s equal parts revolting and fascinating to watch the contigation of monstrousness ebb and flow as Psykos and Orochi fight for mastery  before settling on an uneasy, if effective, truce.  With the manga changing so much, I’m not going to be surprised if there’s not much Psykos left for Fubuki to take charge of in the end.  Couldn’t be happening to a nicer person.

Incidentally, I’m enjoying the irony of Flashy Flash being forced to flee from the monster he was sure he’d kill in the fight of the century. Of course, he doesn’t know that.  And in his case, discretion is definitely the better part of valour (there’s nothing he can do except die), but still, I’m more than mildly amused.

Saitama accidentally and incidentally changing the fortunes of King, Tareo and Tatsumaki alike, his continuing to have an outsized impact on the affairs of man continues unabated.  That’s why nobody knows who he is! :)

[post-itpenny]

My Nature

Ok, last part of the story! A warning tag for gore but not too bad. Tagging @grotesquegabby for Alex.

Imagine-

Sitting in a chair in a room with no light. The walls and floors are bare. Imagine you can’t leave the chair.

Now imagine there is a small window in front of you. Sometimes it’s very far away and you can barely see out of it, sometimes it’s right in your face, exposing every detail of what’s on the other side.

Through this window you see… yourself. Your hands and arms, the tip of your nose. You see yourself acting and doing and saying things you did not choose to do. Feeling all the pain your body goes through. You watch yourself and yet you are not yourself. The real you is trapped in a dark room unable to leave a chair. The you outside the window is your body but not you.

And no matter how much you scream or try to move there is nothing. No control.

This is what Peregrine was going through.

He was in pain from the burns to his face and arms. He was crying in horror as he watched himself strangle Magpie. Aware of Circe taunting his sister using all the repressed feelings and memories he had tried to bury down and move on from. They didn’t matter anymore to him, or at least he was trying not to let them be.

Magpie passed out, her body going limp.

Peregrine felt his heart drop. “Please no, no, no, no.”

He watched his hand reach out and check her pulse, felt it’s faint beating.

Peregrine sighed in relief.

He watched his hand reach out and touch his sister’s face.

…………………………….

There was something banging against Alex’s window.

The party clown had been mindlessly channel surfing when he heard it, looking up from the tv to see Cobweb of all creatures desperately trying to get in.

Alex arched an eyebrow in curiosity as he opened the window, letting the grumpy fairy inside.

“Hey there bud. What’s the-“

Alex stopped at the sight of the little fairy with his usual frown but shaking in fear. As if trying to keep a brave face.

Alex scooped Cobweb up, “what happened?”

……………………………..

The door to the manor was busted down with a swift kick of Alex’s foot.

“Knock, knock.”

He walked in, hands in his pockets and Cobweb on his shoulder. A smile on his face.

But it wasn’t his usual smile, this one was… off.

Alex whistled a tune as he walked down the hall, stopping as he turned a corner to Magpie’s parlor.

There was Magpie and Peregrine standing next to each other.

Magpie tilted her head with an empty smile. “You weren’t expected.”

Alex grunted at the force of air that knocked into him. Cobweb being thrown off but Alex holding his footing. He blinked, Peregrine slamming his fist down on Alex’s shoulder.

Alex slipped out of the way with a grin, grabbing Peregrine’s arm and tossing him into a wall. Before he could recover Alex was on him. Punching him squarely in the face.

As Peregrine collapsed Magpie stumbled as well. Alex chuckled. Must have knocked whoever was in ol’ Peri clean out of him. Too easy.

The walls ripped as pipes and wires burst forth, trying to wrap around Alex as he slipped through them easily. From his back dark tentacles burst forth, reaching out to restrain Magpie. She teleported out of the way and sent a stronger gust of wind.

This time Alex nearly did fall, surprised when someone caught him.

Peregrine looked like he had been dragged through hell, his face and arms burnt and clothes singed and torn.

“It’s Circe,” Peregrine grunted, “Bitch is standing outside.”

“Well let’s say hello!” Alex laughed as he turned to run.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

They turned at the sound of Circe’s voice coming from Magpie. She had summoned a knife, holding it against her throat as a thin trickle of blood formed.

Both froze, Alex’s grin tightened as Peregrine growled.

Magpie smiled, her eyes showing fear. “Let’s all be nice and calm as we say hello. Ash still needs a host anyways.”

They walked back to the entry hall, Magpie behind with the knife still to her throat. Ash and Circe were already waiting for them. In Circe’s hand was a struggling Cobweb.

“Look Pie it’s your little plaything!” Circe cheered as she tossed the little fairy aside, Cobweb crashing on the floor where Trouble was trying to stand guard over the still limp forms of the other three.

“He thought it was a good idea to pull my hair, how cute” she sneered.

Ash looked over Peregrine with disgust, “Circe you trashed this one. What am I supposed-“

“Oh shut up,” Circe snapped. “Use the other then I don’t care.” She smiled at Magpie, “wouldn’t that be cute you little freak? You like him don’t you?”

Alex looked over his shoulder. Magpie watching him with the same empty smile and tears in her eyes.

Alex turned back around to find Ash’s hand on his face and an unfamiliar pressure boring into his brain-.

Well fuck that.

Alex grinned as Ash stepped back with a hiss.

What the hell is your problem?” Circe asked with a roll of her eyes.

Ash grimaced “what the hell spawned something like you?!”

“Hey now, my mom’s a nice lady. My old man however...” Alex chuckled darkly. Beside him Peregrine turned pale.

Circe scoffed. Behind them Magpie stomped her foot as the ground split. Pulling Alex and Peregrine aside.

Ash sighed in annoyance. “Really? That’s the best you can come up with? I’m so scared-“

“Shut up it's not easy controlling-“

“You just don’t have any good ideas,” Ash sneered. “Let me take a turn I coul-“

“Shut your mouth,” Circe snapped. “Do you realize how stupid- ugh!”

Alex climbed to his feet and dusted off his jacket. “Hey Lady Luck I know you’re in there. You really gonna just let-“

“Shut up!” Circe yelled. Magpie flinging her hand in Alex’s direction as he was tossed across the room and pinned to the wall by an invisible force.

Circe smirked. “You want to be impressed?” She asked her brother. “Fine, I just needed some inspiration.”

Magpie raised her hand, power crackling at her fingertips, and turned to where the fairies and Trouble were huddled on the floor.

“How childish do you have to be to make something like this?” Circe snickered. “Pathetic... get rid of them.”

BOOM!

The explosion came in a flash of light and heat. Drowning out the split second where four tiny voices screamed.

The explosion sent shockwaves out, ripping up the metal walls of the warehouses around it and tearing at the streets. Workers running for their lives.

The dust settled to show the entire front wall of Magpie’s home gone, hardly a splinter of wood or speck of stone remained.

Yet the fairies and Trouble were just fine.

Ash gaped in surprise, “what the-“

In unison Magpie and Circe fell to their knees. Hands on their heads as if in pain.

Ash tried to run to his sister’s side only for a black tentacle to wrap around his ankle and flip him up in the air. Alex chuckled as Ash thrashed about like a fish, “not today buddy.”

Peregrine knelt beside Magpie and placed a hand on her shoulder. Not saying anything but just assuring her he was there.

For a fight it was surprisingly quiet, the two women with their eyes locked on eachother. Whatever was happening known only between them.

Then, strangely, Magpie began humming. Peregrine knew it, had heard his sister sing it so many times as children and familiar with the feeling it brought. Alex watched in confusion, a shiver passing through him as he felt a pull at his-

Circe collapsed.

Magpie gasped for air as she fell forward into Peregrine’s arms. Alex falling to the floor as he was freed. He laughed as he flung Ash away and pulled both siblings into a hug. “You don’t ever do that to me again ok? You know I would have-“

L̵̻͌̉e̸̛̙͖͇t̵͕̬̑̓͜ ̷̙̘̲͝m̵̢̗̥̄͛̐͝ȩ̸̰͙̎ ̷̨̟̩̌͜g̶̽͂͠ͅo̴̺̎.̷̣̙̙͐͝”̵̲̇̈́͘

Both Alex and Peregrine jumped back as Magpie climbed to her feet. Eyes wild and the veins under her skin glowing.

Circe looked up in alarm as hands materialize from nowhere, clawed fingers ripping at her skin and tearing at her clothes. She screamed and thrashed about. Ash backing away in alarm as Magpie snapped her fingers and the air was sucked out of his lungs and turned to frost that formed small icicles, piercing his face.

He fell to the floor bleeding as he struggled for air. With a flick of her wrist he was flung out the manor and into the destroyed street beyond. Circe has somehow fought off the hands and charged at Magpie, hand extended.

Magpie reached out and Circe was hauled into the air. Arms and legs spread like a grotesque starfish.

Circe gasped in pain as her limbs were stretched. Joints popping, skin creaking. Stretching farther and farther.

For a moment Peregrine wondered if Magpie planned to draw and quarter Circe in her own fashion until a new change took hold.

Magpie’s skin was lit up like a star, heat radiating off her. Circe’s mouth open wide in a silent scream as the skin at the edges of her fingers and toes began to unravel like thread. Then the nails, the veins, the bones.

Soon both hands and feet were gone, nothing but piles of ribboned flesh on the floor. Alex and Peregrine doing nothing to stop Magpie’s torment while the fairies watched on in horror. Peasblossom shuddering and turning away at the scene.

As Circe’s arms and legs finished unraveling she began to silently sob.

Then, it stopped.

Magpie was breathing heavily, body shaking in anger. Tears streaming down her face.

Y̶̨̩̽̓̿̒o̸̦̱̽̓͊u̵̼̫͌̆̚͝ ̵̘̜͇̉c̶̨̀̑͘o̶̧͊̀͂͋u̶̡̼̠̽͒̇l̶̛̲̫̲͛̆̓ḑ̷̼͕͕̏̅͂n̸̼̩̲͗̚’̵̖̗̥̍̓͠t̷͉̏ ̸̟̬̻̬̃͑͆̉c̵̭̼̳͊͝o̶̙̰͍̹̔͛ñ̷̗̻̒́́t̵̡̜̉̀͛r̶̥͍̀ͅo̸̗̜̥͛̑̕͝l̵̪̥̃̈ ̸͕̗̻̐̓m̴̦̹̃̅e̶̡̤̹͆̎̓͜ ̸̤̦̞̾b̴̺̘̼̯́̎̀ë̶̜̩̀̋̚c̶̗̀́͋͝a̷̦͇̜̜̚u̸̪͖̗̇ş̴͔̝̟͂e̷͍͓̔̌̊ ̴̠̳̩̍͌ͅỳ̵͈̠͊o̷̹͒̓ŭ̴̲̦ ̵̦͉̲͙̅̿̇̋l̷̹̘͉̉͆͝ä̷̺̰̘̦́̆̀̑c̴͙̼̹͋͝k̶̛̰̤͗ ̷̡̅͂t̷̡͖͔̘̋͘h̷͔̦̮̀͒̏̿ë̵̠̥̙̉̔̀ ̴̡̤͔͖̇̕͝ḯ̸̬m̷͇̙̜̘͗̈́͛̚â̸͕̥͉͂͗g̶̱͛i̵̢̛̭̐n̸͚͇͙̚a̷̙̾͋͗t̶̼͍̊i̴̡͉͓̽̾͝o̵̡̽̽̈́̇n̷̼̻̅̒̇͊.̵̙̳̋͛̏̐ ̵̦̣͠L̶̝̮͆e̶̡̥̮̩̓ț̸̝̌͘’̶̤̺̭̼͋̿̃s̸̳͚̏͝ ̶̣͙̀̅͛g̴̢̻͈̺̍̌e̶͔̯̩͋̈́t̸̰̞̼̓̾ ̴̭̙̞̒̃c̷̠͆͑̊̚r̶̤̉̐͜ë̵̢̺͖́̓̚à̸̲̙́t̴̞̿̊̈́ĭ̴͖v̵̹̣̦̉̒̄̒ȅ̸̤̞͑͜ ̵̩͈̭̆C̴̻̋͝i̵̗͊r̶̪̪̮̲͗c̶̹͓͊ͅe̴̛̮̘̖̲͋̅.̴͖̝̪͝”̷̤̯̣͑̈̚

If Circe thought her body unraveling was painful, the reverse was so much worse.

The deadlight finally found her voice as she shrieked hysterically while her body reformed. Threads of flesh stitching back together.

Alex was about to ask what Magpie was doing when there was an explosion of light. Magpie’s hair erupting in a thousand shades of color that reached out as if to touch everything as Magpie began to walk. Each step a wave of power rushed out as the manor began to restore itself.

Magpie dragged a still screaming Circe with her as she went into the street. Colorful pavement forming and twisting around strange new buildings where the warehouses once stood. Strange and new plant life growing from nowhere. Colors of every shade known and unknown painted everything as all forms of insects, flowers, stretches of yarn, statues, crystals, trinkets, and all manner of things appeared everywhere. It was beautiful and full of life and color. A chaotic creation surrounding the restored manor.

And all the while Circe still screamed.

Peregrine felt his skin tingle, looking down at burned hands now healing.

Magpie now stood before Ash and Circe. There was a humming sound again. It was not Magpie but the same song from earlier. Alex shivered again as he felt the pull once more at his lights.

Alex blinked, looking down at his body and realizing his deadlights were indeed glowing faintly under his skin. Peregrine’s as well from where they were stored in his stomach and hands.

Ash and Circe glowed brightly, the sound intensifying as Magpie reached out.

“Well that’s new,” Alex whistled.

Peregrine however shook his head, “I think she could do this the whole time.”

Magpie closed her eyes as the deadlights of everyone around her hummed with life. A song she knew so well. With her outstretched hand she snapped her fingers.

The humming of Ash and Circe’s lights changed as they shouted in pain.

Magpie smiled sweetly, “On this planet you belong to me, your lights obey me. If you ever touch one of my family again they will listen only to me.”

As if on cue their lights flicked as they thrashed in pain. Bits of skin flaking off and dissolving into the air as if they threatened to fall apart.

“̸̯̜̆͒Ṅ̴͙̭̪̪̅̄o̴͙̠͇̅̂̎̒w̷̖͚͒ ̴̦̖̣̠̈́͛̎̌ģ̷̛͉̚ę̸̜̼͆͂́̎ͅt̵͕̹͚͊̑̿̀ ̴͖̪̄o̶̫͕̜̎̋͆̽u̶̘̯̪̓͘ţ̴͓̺̫̎͒̕.̴̙̈́̉͌͝”̵̛̬̦̮͔͌́͘

They were gone in a loud “pop!” Magpie taking slow breaths as the color left her hair and the glowing faded.

“So you can just talk to lights now huh?” Alex questioned as he walked up behind her. “Well why the hell not I gue-“

Magpie crashed into him with a tight hug. Burying her face in his jacket, shaking with tears.

Alex hugged her back and smoothed her hair. “It’s all good Lady Luck, it’s ok.”

Magpie reached out an arm and grabbed Peregrine who for once was not opposed to the forced group hug. “I’m so sorry I-“

“It’s ok,” Peregrine insisted as he hugged her back. “I’m sorry too, it's ok. But Pie you should have just kill-“

“No.” Magpie insisted as she pulled away.

Alex chuckled, “it’s cool and anyways if they come back I can always-“

“̸̡̩̓͒I̸̦̬̽̂͒ ̴̼̇s̵̻̗̰̩̉̕ā̶̺͚̈́i̸̗̟̐̊d̴̛̟̭̒̂͑ͅͅ ̸̠̈́̎͋͂n̴͖̠̲̕͝ͅo̵͉̘̹̮̽̐͊͘.̴̗͙͔̊͑”̴̡̮̓̐̄̀

Alex blinked in surprise. Magpie glaring at him and Peregrine both.

“̶̧̡̎̔͠Y̸̧̓̃͂o̴͉̮̥͊̔u̶̠͍͉͆̈́̆ ̸͖̒̋̚d̷̢͐ò̵͕̼̭̿͘n̶͙͙̱̐̾̅’̵̑́̊ͅt̶̰̣̂̾͘͜ ̸̙͚̻͛̅̆t̷͉̝̫͂h̸̞̀̃į̸̤̿n̴̢̥͚̓͑kI̵ ̷c̵o̶u̷l̴d̸ ̷h̸a̷v̵e̴ ̸j̵u̵s̴t killed them myself?” I’m not like either of you. I could erase any of you molecule by molecule. I could shut off your lights in a second or force them to my will and make you beg like dogs-“

“I’m not like either of you, I’m not like them. I̸’̷m̵ ̸w̵o̶r̵s̵e̷.̸”

“... But that’s why I fight to be better. That’s my nature.”

Magpie walked passed them both and back into her home that now sat surrounded by her tiny chaotic new realm that was nestled upon the planet under a cotton candy-colored sky.

[jimclassicstoycollection]

Transformers: Studio Series 56

Leader Class

Shockwave

by Hasbro

I couldn’t find this guy in the stores at all, and this is before the corona virus really hit us, so I had to order it on Amazon, and it arrived sometime around the second week of March 2020.

Robot Mode:

I really like this robot mode! I’m critical....REALLY critical about Bayformers, and their nonsensical robot modes, but this is one of those rare moments where...Bayformers kind did a god job.

What we have here is a gigantic, purple cyclopian robot with a powerful gun for an arm.

The sculpting and details on this guy are through the roof. The toy is a HEAVY retool of the ROTF Megatron, or at least some elements have been recycled for this toy.

Shockwave’s got this cyber-skeleton aesthetic going on for him with some exaggerated proportions. The gun arm is obviously huge; this thing is murder gun extraordinaire; I mean this thing puts Megatron’s fusion cannon to shame.

His jagged metal boots must be like the Decepticon version of Uggs, and the oversized four-fingered hand is a little silly, yet still viscous...The hand itself doesn’t really bother me, however the soft, rubbery plastic of it does. In fact there’s a bit of soft rubber plastic sprinkled throughout this toy, and for not good reasons, in my opinion. 

Shockwave’s hand does not need to be soft rubber, and neither does the tip of the gun barrel.

Another piece of soft rubber on Shockwave is his melee weapon on the left arm. It’s connected to the arm by a 5mm port, and it’s hollow and soft rubber. It’s unnecessary; I think Hasbro took too many safety precautions on this toy when they didn’t need to...

The power cable leading from the reactor to the gun, I can understand that, but nothing else.

Shockwave’s gun isn’t REALLY equipped for Siege blast effects, however thanks to the soft, rubbery plastic you can kind of squeeze one in, and it looks pretty good.

The nuclear reactor backpack is so cool! I would prefer his classic chest reactor mono-boob vs this version having exposed ribs, but this is...well, cool!

The reactor cylinders are articulated, they can rotate up and down a little bit.

I’m really digging Shockwave’s vestigial thumb he has on the gun arm, it’s on a hinge so I guess it’s functional, and implies he has (or had) a hand at some point.

Shockwave’s iconic cyclops eye is represented fairly well here; I would prefer yellow instead of red, and the insectoid mandibles is a bit over kill, but that’s Bayformers for you...At least he still has his evil Vulcan antennae too. #smallvictories

Accessories:

Shockwave comes with some unusual accessories: Autobots Wheelie and Brains, and a paratrooper.

Wheelie and Brains are excessively tiny; these two are going to be lost one day. However for what they are they are sculpted well, they seem to stand okay, and though minimal the paint deco isn’t too bad.

They can’t really interact with the MUCH LARGER Shockwave, but I suppose Hasbro had to shoehorn these two somewhere...The whole point of the Studio Series line is that everything is suppose to be in scale, so here they are.

The paratrooper:

In Dark of the Moon there’s a scene where the human military backs up the Autobots, and they air drop. ::Sigh:: Well during one scene a paratrooper drops directly over Shockwave’s face, and if I recall it was enough of a distraction for Optimus Prime to take advantage of that, and helped him win the battle.

Shockwave’s greatest failure ever...

The paratrooper’s sculpted well, he’s in a falling pose, the parachute is made out of cloth, and he’s only two tone, unpainted black plastic, and a Caucasian flesh paint for part of the face.

Not funny, Hasbro...

Transformation:

Transformation is fairly simple; it intimated me at first, but it becomes much easier once you get used to it.

The real challenge to the transformation is tabbing all of the limbs to the panels; that can be frustrating.

Vehicle Mode:

Vehicle mode is a...::sigh:: Bayformers...go home; you’re drunk.

I don’t know it’s some kind of weird tank thing, I guess.

Much like the 2007 Bayformers Megatron this tank mode is clearly an afterthought; this vehicle mode is an absolute tragedy, it’s so disjointed and unfocused.

At the least, AT THE VERY LEAST it rolls on its tiny caster wheels, but that’s the nicest thing I can say about this mode.

Visible Head Syndrome. I mean why not? I mean considering this is a heavy retool of the ROTF Megatron this is fine.

You really can’t makes heads or tails of this vehicle mode (except for the visible head that is) but this thing is such a fricking mess.

Backdrop:

Like all Studio Series figures Shockwave comes with a cardboard display stand depicting a signature scene that a character was featured in; in this case the back ground is that of Chicago, featuring...the parachute scene...Funny Hasbro, real funny... 

Final Thoughts:

Bayformers Shockwave (his robot mode) is awesome. I really like this figure; he looks big, powerful, and is pack with so much detail!

This figure has a lot of presence, and he totally stands out!

His vehicle mode on the other hand is such a disappointment...

[gumnut-logic]

The Proof is in the Jello

Title: The Proof is in the Jello

Author: Gumnut

30 Jun 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Call it what you want, but I’m not going to let you rot in that room.”

Word count: 3449

Spoilers & warnings: SPOILERS FOR 3.16, episode tag.

Timeline: During and after the episode.

Author’s note: I had a great deal of fun with this. Be warned :D I hope you enjoy it. Many thanks to all of you who support my writing. This is a fantastic fandom ::hugs to you all::

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“Gordon, family movie!”

Alan knocked on his brother’s bedroom door. “Scott managed to get that one you were hanging out for.”

He waited a moment, but as he expected, but hoped wouldn’t be the case, he received no answer.

‘C’mon, bro, we haven’t been all together for days now. Scott made his popcorn just for you.” If his tone was drifting towards pleading he wasn’t ashamed of it. Gordon was worrying him.

Since Penny left the Island, his brother had retreated. In pain, lacking mobility and, most of all, no way to jump in the pool, his usual de-stress mechanisms blocked, Gordon had slowly slipped backwards.

He was healing physically. Virgil monitored him regularly, and Scott was his usual worry wart self, even John was hovering, literally. They all made a point of keeping Gordon company and drawing him into Island life. But Gordon had started resisting, preferring to hide in his room. Alan was worried.

They were all worried.

Hence the family movie.

“Gordon, please.”

Still no answer.

Alan’s lips thinned. Screw this.

Punching his override code into the door’s locking mechanism, he forced it to open.

The room beyond was in darkness, all the blinds drawn. A shadowy lump on the bed was the only indication that his brother was even there. “Gordon?”

No response.

Gordon was like a plant. He needed sunlight. This was just wrong.

“Are you awake?”

“Go away.”

Well, at least that was a response.

“You coming down for the movie?”

A sigh emerged from the darkness. “Don’t feel like it, Allie. ‘M tired.”

“You’ve been in here for hours.”

“I’m sick, haven’t you noticed?”

“You’re getting better! Virgil was very happy with your exercises yesterday.”

“Allie, just...not now.”

Alan swallowed. It hurt to see his brother like this. Gordon was the ray of sunshine. It was like he absorbed the sun he needed and shone the rest on his family.

Biting his lip, Alan strode into the room and shoved up the blinds one after the other.

“Argh, Alan, what the hell?!”

“You need to get up. Lying in here alone will rot your brain.”

“Alan, don’t, I...god, just don’t.” His brother was struggling to sit up in bed, eyes squinting against the light. A gulp of air and he sneezed. “Aaah, shit.” A groan as his one good arm wrapped around his ribs.

Alan’s eyes widened. “Oh, hell, Gordy, I’m sorry!” He hurried over and helped his brother sit up. Gordon stifled another sneeze, likely brought on by the sudden bright sunlight, and once upright, hunched over on the bed.

“Alan...” It came out husky and annoyed. “I know what you’re trying to do, I just need a bit of time to myself.” Another groan and he tipped sideways.

Alan grabbed him and shoved a pillow in the right place to keep him stable. “I’m worried about you. Depression after this kind of injury is a nasty thing.”

“Yeah, well, I just need to work this out for myself.”

“This isn’t like you.”

Gordon’s head came up and he glared. “Really? Funny about that. The whole broken body thing isn’t really my thing either.” His shoulders slumped.

Alan’s brow crinkled and without thought, he dropped down on the bed beside his brother and wrapped his arms around him. “Gordy, we’re all here.”

Gordon tensed a moment, but then, as if all his strings had been cut, he slumped against Alan, his forehead resting awkwardly against his little brother’s.

Whispered. “I know.” An arm crept around Alan’s waist and for a moment they just sat there.

Quiet. “Join us? Please, bro?”

A sigh. “Okay.” Gordon struggled to straighten, his eyes blinking slowly.

A bitten lip and Alan stabilised the injured man enough to let go and grab the hoverchair. Much grunting and a painful gasp or two and Gordon was mobile, his leg sticking out at an awkward angle.

Just in time to be interrupted by John. “The movie has been postponed. Sorry, guys. Scott’s needed.”

“What?!” Alan glared at his brother’s hologram. His timing couldn’t have been worse.

“Sorry, Alan. Maybe later tonight?”

“You gonna come down this time?” Okay, so it was an angry glare he was sending at his brother, but John hadn’t been down for a week.

Turquoise eyes widened at him, darting towards Gordon and back. “Sure, Allie. As soon as Scott’s back.”

“Be there.”

Those eyes widened even more. “FAB.” His hologram blinked out.

“Well, there goes that idea.” Gordon sounded both defeated and pleased at the same time. He shifted the ‘chair closer to the bed, his intentions obvious.

“Hey, no, you don’t. You and I are going for a walk.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Alan grabbed the chair and spun it around. “No, I’m speaking for the both of us. Scott may be busy, but I’m here, Virgil’s still here somewhere and Grandma.”

“Alan-“

“Shut up, Gordon.” He gave the ‘chair a shove towards the door and pushed his brother out into the corridor.

“Alan!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” He slammed the door closed behind him and pushed his pyjama-clad brother into the elevator, through the comms room, kitchen and out onto the pool deck. The sun hit both of them with all its startling warmth.

Gordon closed his eyes, his face tilting just a little in the direction of the light.

Working himself into a regular pace, Alan pushed the chair off the deck and onto one of the well beaten paths around the Island. This one headed in the direction of Thunderbird Two’s runway.

“You do know that once I’m better, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Get better and you can give it a go.”

“I’m okay, Allie.”

“No, you’re not. I know you better than I know myself, Gordon, and this is not okay.”

“I just wanted some time to myself.”

“You’ve had it. Family time due.”

“What? I’m rationed?”

“Call it what you want, but I’m not going to let you rot in that room.”

“Allie, I’m-“

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of being told to shut up.”

“Stop talking stupid then.”

His brother scoffed, but said nothing more. Their walk wound around the caldera. Alan took it slow, knowing his brother needed the sun and the time far more than speed. The waves at the bottom of the cliff kept them company along with the stray gulls from the colony on Mateo.

Conversation was non-existent. Alan didn’t know whether it was because his brother was pissed at him or just didn’t feel like talking. In any case, it was a beautiful day and even Alan found himself enjoying the scenery.

Just as they hit the treeline of the runway, John broke in on comms. “Alan and Gordon, you might want to take a step back. Thunderbird Two is on launch prep.”

“What? Why?” Alan beat his brother to the question.

“Scott needs assistance.” A pause. “You might want to head back and prep a couple of tubs of D-tam gel.”

“D-tam gel? Is Scott okay?”

“He’s fine.” The cliff rumbled as it opened. Both brothers stared up at it. This wasn’t their usual viewpoint. “Just needs a little help getting out of a nuclear facility. Prep the D-tam just in case.”

“FAB.” His voice was a little faint and he doubted John had heard him above the roar of Thunderbird Two coasting out of her mountain.

Alan edged the hoverchair backwards as far as he could towards the cliff. This was going to be loud and blustery.

“What are you guys doing out here?” Virgil’s voice on comms.

“Apparently watching your show.” The familiar spark in Gordon’s voice lifted Alan’s heart.

“Well, don’t get too close. Roasted brother smells bad.”

Gordon snorted. “You’d know, Brother of the Burnt Eyebrows.”

A grunt over the comms. “Last time I ever listen to you regarding fuel levels.”

“That’s right, blame the younger brother.” Thunderbird Two slid onto her ramp and the ground shuddered as the plane was lifted into her launch position.

“I blame those responsible, Gordo.” A pause. “Fingers in your ears, bros.”

Alan didn’t hesitate and neither did Gordon. They looked stupid, but experience was a wonderful thing.

The ground shook as Virgil fired TB2’s rear thrusters and a shockwave of sound blasted over them, the great cargo plane clawing into the sky. The shockwave was followed by her backwash and both brothers had their hair tossed about. Alan grabbed the hoverchair, slamming on its brakes as he leant into the wind.

“That...never fails to impress.” Gordon eyes followed his brother’s ‘bird into the sky.

Alan snorted. “Three kicks more ass.”

“Because she has an ass for a pilot.”

“Hey!”

“C’mon, Allie, we need to get back to the villa. D-tam time.”

Alan swallowed. Radiation was a bitch. He had to tackle enough of it in space, but nuclear facilities were dirty and nasty.

“They’ll be okay.” Gordon was eyeing him.

Alan sighed. “They better be.”

-o-o-o-

It seemed like forever before Thunderbird One returned to her hanger. The moment she slid into her gantry, Brains instigated a full decontamination of the craft. Beneath the pool specially designed machinery sprayed TB1 with a combination of chemicals that both washed any radioactive particles off her hull and neutralised and collected the tiny amount of waste created. It wasn’t a perfect solution. If it was, hulks like that power station would no longer exist, but it prevented the Island from picking up radioactive dust.

Scott knew what he was in for. The sight of that radiation gauge slipping into the red had alarmed him far more than he’d ever let show. TB1 would have to be scrubbed inside and out. Fortunately, much of the process was automated. But there would still be some he would have to do himself.

Once he was clean.

“Scott, the d-decontamination shower is r-ready.”

Yay. “Thanks, Brains.”

“Alan and Gordon will meet you in the infirmary.”

More fun.

“FAB.”

One, finished with the first stage of her decontamination process, shifted and started her journey down to her hangar. “Oh, Brains, we’ll need decontamination protocol for Two, module two and the Mole.”

“V-Virgil has ad-vised.”

Of course.

It was a blur of mechanics and chemicals for the next twenty minutes. A robot removed his orange uniform and likely destroyed it in a way only angry chemicals could. Other stinky chemicals washed everything from his body in a similar way to how One had been washed clean.

From there, in little more than a fresh towel, he made his way up into the villa and the vat of orange goo in his near future.

What was it with orange and radiation?

The roar of Thunderbird Two’s engines heralded his brother’s entry into the anti-radiation rally. No doubt Virgil would be joining him shortly.

Entering the infirmary stopped all thought.

As expected, two D-tam baths had been set up, full of the orange goop that would help counteract and repair any issues caused by his exposure to radiation. The appropriate IVs hung above the two tubs.

What stopped him in his tracks was the sight of his two little brothers covered from head to toe in that same orange gel.

That and the gel on the floor, ceiling and three of the walls.

“What the hell?”

Alan stared at him. He was mid-throw, a handful of orange gel his projectile. Gordon was sitting in his hoverchair, an equally stunned and guilty expression on his face. There was gel in his hair, on his face, his clothes and the various medical paraphernalia supporting his injured body.

“Hi, Scott.” Gordon’s face split into a grin.

“What do you think you are doing?” He didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or explode.

“Alan calls it jello therapy.”

“I did not.”

“Did, too.”

“Not.”

“Too.”

“Not!”

“Too!”

“Stop it!” Explode was fast becoming the winning option.

The room fell silent.

A splat as a glob of orange goop slid out of Alan’s hand and hit the floor.

Scott just stared, eyes moving slowly back and forth between his two brothers. It took a moment, but he slowly began to realise there was something more than a simple prank involved. Alan’s eyes were glistening. Gordon’s grin was just that touch forced.

Gordon.

His injured brother who he had been desperately trying to drag out of his room the last few days. The brother whose name Virgil had put in a sentence with the word ‘depression’. The brother he was ever so worried about.

Was covered in orange goo and grinning.

However fragile that grin was, it was something to grab a hold of and celebrate.

Something in his heart lurched.

And yes, that was a tear glistening in Alan’s eye.

Aw, hell.

A moment.

A pause.

Securing the towel tightly around his waist, Scott bent at the knees and casually picked up a random glob of orange D-tam gel. He stared at it in his hand. It was harmless. It was even edible, though rather revolting in taste. It had its purpose and it did it well.

Two brothers were staring at him.

He eyed them back, a small smile curving his lips.

Gordon realised what was going to happen a microsecond before it did, but that didn’t stop the orange glob from landing on his forehead.

“Aw, you rat!”

Retaliation was immediate.

Scott ducked as his little brother lobbed gel at his head and grabbed another handful of his own. This time Alan went down with it in his hair.

“Oh, you are so dead, big bro.”

It went downhill from there.

-o-o-o-

Virgil hated decontamination with a passion. The whole chemical thing stunk and the sonic clean grated his bones and shook his teeth. Scott thought he was making it up, but he really could sense those subsonics and he didn’t care what the laws of physics said. He could feel them and they set him on edge.

At least that part was over. Stalking through the villa in only a towel, the air cooling the water left on his skin, he smiled at Grandma as he encountered her in the hallway.

She smiled up at him and patted his shoulder but didn’t say anything, walking off without a word.

He frowned, but headed onto the infirmary.

Oddly the door was shut.

He knocked. “Scott? Okay to come in.”

“Sure!” A muffled sound he couldn’t quite identify followed that.

He opened the door.

Something wet and sloppy hit him in the face.

What the-?!

He dropped the towel and wiped the gunk out of his eyes.

“Whoa, ho, a little too much for the eyes there, bro!” Gordon?

He blinked a little clarity and found three of his brothers coated head to toe in orange D-tam gel, along with the room, including the ceiling.

His mouth fell open, but he was denied the ability to speak.

“Twenty bucks says I can get some in his mouth, first shot.” Alan.

Virgil shut his mouth abruptly.

“Nah, draw a smilie face on his chest.” Gordon was grinning like a maniac. His hoverchair was still operating despite the deluge of orange goop it appeared to be carrying along with him.

But it was Scott who gobsmacked him the most. His big brother was still only wearing a towel, a no longer white towel, and it was he who shouted. “Okay!” And lobbed a series of well-aimed goop balls directly at Virgil’s chest.

Virgil was still so stunned, an orange smilie face did appear quite quickly amongst his chest hair before he gathered enough sense to move.

“What the hell are you guys doing?!” He dove behind one of the baths. This did not stop another glob of gel landing in his hair.

“It’s a jello war, Virg!” Gordon lobbed another volley at him and it splatted all over the wall behind the tub.

“What? Why?!”

“Because it is fun!” Alan was cackling and manoeuvring into a position that exposed Virgil to further attack.

“Virg, you may want your towel.” Scott had it in his hand and chucked it at him. Of course, the towel landed on Virgil’s head. He fumbled with it and hurriedly wrapped it around his waist. There were certain body parts that just didn’t need to be in the line of fire.

A series of splats hit above his head rapid fire and it only took another one catching in his hair for him to finally decide to retaliate. “You are going to regret this.”

“Is that a threat, grumpy bear?” Gordon knew just how to rile him up just that little bit more.

“No threat needed, fishhead, only promises.” With that he reached into the tub and with his two massive hands, scooped up an enormous lump of orange goop. Standing, he shook off the immediate pummel of jello projectiles and stalked over to his injured little brother.

Gordon’s eyes widened as he approached and he stabbed at the hoverchair’s controls.

He didn’t move fast enough.

Virgil dumped the gel on Gordon’s head.

It clogged in his hair, ran down his cheeks and dripped onto his shoulders.

A stunned moment as he stared up at Virgil, and then he was laughing. Gordon laughed so hard he hurt himself and had to groan through happy tears.

Virgil’s grin tried to split his face in half. When Gordon groaned, still laughing, he knelt down to support him, immediately worried he had hurt his little brother.

His reward was orange goo smeared into his hair.

The glint in Gordon’s eye was a wonder to behold.

More goop flew through the air and hit him in the side of the head, his back and shoulder.

Still grinning, Virgil flicked a glob onto Gordon’s nose.

That glint fired up.

Virgil ducked.

-o-o-o-

It was sometime later, after both Scott and Virgil had soaked in the D-tam and received the necessary IV solution to negate any possible effects from the exposure they had both received, that the four tired but happy brothers gathered in the comms room.

Alan sat with Gordon, his brother’s healing leg draped across his thighs. All of them were sporting wet hair fresh from the showers. Virgil’s was falling in his eyes due to an unusual lack of product and he was lounging at a lazy angle on the sofa across from Alan, bare chest loosely wrapped in his unbuttoned flannel shirt, a pair of striped pyjama pants his only other item of clothing. Scott was similarly casual, though his shirt was buttoned up. Alan, himself, was head to toe pyjamas with bare feet. All three of them had helped Gordon get cleaned up after their little war and Gordon was in his bedwear as well.

Virgil had ventured into the kitchen and had come out with pizza and popcorn. Something passed between their eldest brothers as Virgil handed the popcorn to Scott. Alan had no idea what that glare was about.

But now they were just waiting for one other brother who better get his ass down here.

As if on demand, John walked into the room in his usual casual pants and shirt. His eyes hit the tableau of sloppy dress and an eyebrow rose. “Pajama party?”

Scott smiled up at him. “You bet. Here for the pizza?”

John grinned. “I hear the popcorn is worth a steal.”

Virgil glared at him. “Have a seat.”

Scott hit the lights and the room darkened to starlight. A flick of a button and the holoprojector lit up with the movie.

What followed was a good story, good food and good company. Alan soaked it all in, watching his brothers comment on the film. He grinned and cracked up laughing when Scott of all people shoved a small glob of D-tam gel down the back of John’s shirt. The astronaut was not impressed in the slightest. Scott claimed it was so he didn’t feel left out.

John promised to hack Scott’s phone and fill it full of porn.

Gordon asked John if he could have some, too.

Virgil threw a pillow at his head.

That prompted a short and nasty pillow fight that ended up with popcorn on the floor.

Virgil was assigned to obtain more. The movie had to be rewound.

Alan just grinned and enjoyed the show.

“I love you guys.” It was quiet, soft. It came from Gordon.

The room froze.

Some monster wandered across the holoprojector but no-one noticed.

“Gordon?” Scott’s voice was hesitant.

Alan gripped his brother’s leg just that little bit tighter and the aquanaut’s gaze turned to him.

Something was glistening in Gordon’s eyes. “Thanks.”

Something similar rose in Alan’s throat and choked him a little. “Anytime, bro.”

“Anytime.”

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[sternerstufftoys]

Scorponokkin’ on Heaven’s Door

So until recently there was no CHUG Scorponok. The only thing close to fitting the gap was a Botcon exclusive super-limited redeco of Energon Scorps with the ability to fit a classic headmaster. But I don't have that, and neither do you, so it leaves us all kind of screwed. I do have his head, of course. A special bonus titan master included with Titans Return Grotusque, but with no body. A regular Energon Scorponok would otherwise fill the gap, despite the lack of headmaster compatibility, but something always stayed my hand whenever I thought of picking one up. The possibility, the maybe, the outside chance every time a convention rolled around that this might be the year when the big green bellend gets announced.

And this year, it finally was. Huh.

I'll be honest, a full-on Titan-class toy for Scorponok was not what I was hoping for. Deep down I wanted a leader or commander-sized variant, because as with many of these Decepticon leaders it's his Marvel G1 comic that I associate most strongly for him. It's pretty obvious that the artists and writers there were not given height charts much of the time (or decided to ignore them), as many characters, Scorponok and Fortress Maximus most prominently, were depicted as regular sized bots. While this caused problems for Fort Max, what with him not having any point to his alt mode and having a confusing in-between mode for his double headmastering, it made little difference for Scorponok. He was still a huge, powerful Scorpion-shaped battle station bastard, and this way he could stand and chat with his fellow robo-men without worrying about stomping on them the whole time.

No-one's quite done headmasters as well as Bob Budiansky and Simon Furman in the G1 comic. None of this tedious transtector nonsense, the Marvel comic delved straight in to the ramifications of merging the brains of a human and giant robot together. Both Fort Max and Scorponok served as exemplars of the process, and in Scorponok's case it showed his headmaster partner Zarak take on more and more of Scorponok's cruel and arrogant nature, while Scorponok began to show increasing amounts of humanity, becoming the most reasonable and diplomatic of all the Decepticon leaders. It was Scorponok who agreed to forge a truce with the Autobots, and Scorponok who saw the need to unite the squabbling factions of the Decepticon forces. It was a great arc, and a far stronger one than Megatron or Shockwave ever managed. It also made his death even more harrowing, his melted face giving rise to all sorts of uncomfortable ideas about the fate of poor Zarak underneath in the imaginations of traumatised children. Brrr.

So this tiny toy, despite its official label as 'Scorponok' really better represents Lord Zarak in his exo-suit. The Scorponok face on his back is made out of die-cast metal rather than plastic, and Zaz gets a premium paint job to pick out the silver on his fearsome new faceplate. So good is this titan master that it puts a lot of the others to shame, since the paint applications on the tiny figures slowed to a crawl after the second wave. Almost makes you wish for a proper body for him to go with...

As it happens, the real head for titan Scorponok is itself the size of a tall deluxe, which technically negates any need for this tiny metal guy... but then of course the deluxe is itself a headmaster, now mirroring the double headmaster system of Fort Max. So I don't know about you, but my plans are to swap out the titan master that comes with Big Scorponok with the one I already have. This is the best of every possible world - not only getting the ridiculously massive titan toy, but also a smaller version that can interact with his buddies and still be Scorponok. Zarak still gets to be a regular titan master, Scorponok gets to be two separate sizes of robot. What luxury!

So while this is not the Scorponok I really wanted (and I don't have a clue where I'm going to find the space), I'm still pretty excited by the prospect of Earthrise Scorps. Pretty much all of the Generations output for the last half-decade has shown that Hasbro and Takara have got really good at mimicking the better parts of the designs from the 1980s without losing any functionality. So at this stage a full reveal of ER Scorponok doesn't even seem all that necessary. We already know it's going to look like Scorponok always did, and always should. Just, you know, massive.

Until then, I'll keep this tiny Scorponok in his place. Dreaming, as always, of bigger things.

[language-of-love]

suddenly it seemed so right...

Summary: My take on what happened at Stevie’s apartment during “Pregnancy Test”. In other words, very little talking and lots of heavy petting. ;) (2600 words, Rated M) Part 6 of my “missing kisses series” Read on AO3 

(thanks to @jcr324 for the beta duties)

“Lock it up, David, lock it up…”

It’s hard to keep kissing David while he’s laughing, even if there’s something about it that makes Patrick’s chest feel light and floaty. He’s never known intimacy to be like this, so easy and natural, where the feel of someone’s lips vibrating in laughter against his own could manage to center him somehow. Even the knowledge of his past with Rachel and conversations he is currently actively avoiding can’t seem to weigh him down.

Keeping his hand curled around David’s head, he leans back enough to free David’s lips, allowing the audible laugh David has been holding in to escape in the small space between them.

“Do you think you can get it together, or should we take a minute and finish our drinks?” he teases, secretly hopeful that he can get a bit more of the strong whiskey in his system to counteract some lingering nerves. As easy as this intimacy is, it’s still all really new and he has a feeling tonight will lead to never before ventured territory he might not feel as confident exploring.

“Whiskey sounds good,” David chuckles, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he drops a quick kiss to the corner of Patrick’s mouth. It’s sweet and tender and the swoosh it triggers deep in his belly has him taking a quick, deep breath. Moving his hand from David’s neck to his knee, his fingers trace a tiny hole in the denim as he takes a big gulp of his whiskey. It tingles as it goes down, but he follows with another sip, welcoming the warmth it leaves behind even as his throat protests the burn. It’s as he goes for the last bit of his drink that he notices he’s being watched. David, with his own glass against his lips, is staring rather pointedly at Patrick’s mouth. All trace of humor seemingly well out of sight.

“What?” he asks with a smirk before downing the rest of his drink.

David doesn’t answer, apparently rendered mute as Patrick’s tongue darts out to capture nonexistent remnants of the whiskey along his bottom lip. They’ll have to figure out later where David’s still half full glass ended up, but for now, Patrick’s too focused on the man grabbing his face and doing his best to suck the last of the whiskey from his tongue. His brain is jumping many, many steps ahead, but he can’t help but imagine another part of his body being worshipped in much the same way. David’s onslaught of Patrick’s mouth slows suddenly, lips soft and more exploratory as one of his hands moves from Patrick’s face to down his chest, fingers splaying wide over his sternum.

When those fingers curl into a ball, taking some of the fabric of Patrick’s sweater with them, want surges and gathers behind his ribcage in anticipation.

“Feeling sexy, yet?” David murmurs against his mouth, warm lips leaving Patrick’s to trace a wet path along his jaw, finding a new home in the spot where the hickey from earlier in the day was just barely visible. Patrick’s response comes in a huff of air as David’s tongue traces the abraded skin, his whole body bowing forward in search of something he doesn’t have the words to ask for. He just wants more, more of David’s mouth, his hands, his voice, his everything…

One thing he does know, is they need to get rid of some of these clothes. David still has the front of his sweater fisted in his hand, so he reaches between them, covering David’s hand with his to draw his attention. David looks somewhat dazed as he lifts his head from Patrick’s neck, lips swollen and wet and...fuck...

Patrick’s speech is breathy and uneven, but he manages to get out a request to have David help get his sweater off, which he obliges, stretching the garment a bit more than necessary as he tugs it over Patrick’s head. Patrick moves his hands to David’s sides to have him do the same, but David swats him away, shaking his head in amused disapproval as he goes to carefully remove his own sweater.

“This is cashmere and must be handled with care,” he informs Patrick, standing to place the now folded garment over the back of Stevie’s chair by the bed.

He stops there and Patrick watches him bend down, lean muscles flexing along his back as he works to unlace his shoes. God, he wants his hands on David so bad. Quickly toeing off his own shoes, he stands, making the move to be the first to crawl onto the bed. Being with David, and a man, might be new, but Patrick has always been confident and he figures it’s best to just forge ahead. David will redirect him if he makes a misstep. That trust in David is something he hasn’t ever had the need to question and when David slides onto the mattress beside him, that trust has him not hesitating to pull him in close.

David’s mouth is warm and searching against his as Patrick drags him down, hand sinking in the back of David’s hair as his larger body presses Patrick into the mattress. It’s such a new sensation, feeling somewhat overpowered while being kissed, but he decides quickly that he likes it, especially when David’s thigh slides between his legs and aligns perfectly with his groin.

Rocking his hips up in search of friction, he finds himself practically panting against David’s mouth as David takes a firm grip of his hip and grinds his body down to meet him. It feels amazing and he gets lost in sensation, fingers now gripping at David’s waist as they rock together, kisses getting sloppy as Stevie’s bed groans and creaks beneath them.

“I want to make you feel good,” David mutters against Patrick’s cheek, his fingers curling beneath Patrick’s waistband. “Can I…?” he questions, not putting the request into words, instead letting his thumb ask as it circles the button on Patrick’s jeans. Not sure he’d say no to much of anything in this moment, Patrick quickly nods, beyond desperate to feel David’s hands on him. If there had been any hesitancy before, that’s long gone now.

David takes his mouth in a deep, probing kiss, momentarily redirecting Patrick’s thoughts until he feels David’s fingers slide into his jeans and cup his dick over his boxer briefs. Groaning deep in his throat, Patrick’s hips surge upward and David rewards the movement with a firm squeeze, sending shockwaves straight to Patrick’s balls.

“Fuck, David…” Patrick moans, one hand gripping David’s wrist to urge him to keep touching him as the other reaches up to palm David’s cheek. It’s softness and strength, one hand soaking up the tenderness he can feel in David’s kiss as the other holds on as David’s fingers finally seek him out beneath the cotton and take his cock firmly in hand. Like a dam breaking in the onslaught of a storm, David’s control seems to slip as skin meets skin. His hand is taking long pulls of Patrick’s cock as his mouth moves to his throat, teeth and tongue torturing the sensitive skin there as Patrick feels every cell in his body careen towards a very near, very inevitable climax. The muscles in his thighs are straining as his body clenches, pleasure and over-sensitivity and raw emotion wrenching something free as he comes in David’s hand, his cry from both pleasure and relief as his fingers card through David’s hair. David’s lips are now leaving soft, breathy kisses on his neck, up along his jaw and finally against his mouth. Patrick is sure he can feel a small smile there before David pulls back to look down at him.

“You okay?” he quietly asks, his hand still curled almost possessively around Patrick’s now spent cock.

Smiling up at him, Patrick nods, having trouble at first to find his voice before answering, “More than okay.” As if to punctuate how okay he in fact is, he bumps his hips up off the mattress, groaning as his still sensitive cock presses into David’s palm. Grinning, David gives him another squeeze before sliding his hand free, looking around for somewhere to clean himself up.

“Use my shirt,” Patrick offers, struggling while still half covered by David to tug the white undershirt up and over his head. Patrick can feel his cheeks burn at David’s naked perusal of his now bare chest, knowing he isn’t the most athletic guy in the world, just hoping he’s appealing enough. He’s never had to compare physiques with a guy in this kind of scenario before and he feels suddenly shy. But David wipes some of those fears away as he runs his now clean hand down between Patrick’s pecs, fingers tangling in the few wiry hairs there before moving to toy with one of his nipples. Patrick’s breath hitches as David leans in and takes his other nipple between his lips, tongue and teeth working together in delicious, reverent torture.

“I want…” he begins to say, but David’s tongue swirls the thoughts straight from his head. He wants to cry out in protest when David lifts his head, pupils blown wide as he gives Patrick a questioning look.

“What? What do you want?” he asks, as one of his hands snakes beneath Patrick’s back to slide into the back of his pants and take a firm grip of Patrick’s ass.

It takes Patrick half a minute to formulate words, with David looking at him the way he is and his hands touching him in ways that have before now only existed in Patrick’s shower time fantasies.

“I want to touch you, too,” he says, free from embarrassment, full of a deep, curious need he’s never felt in any sexual situation he’s ever experienced before now.

David is kissing him again now, lips sliding against his with urgency as he rolls them on the mattress, dragging Patrick with him and on top of him without breaking the kiss. There’s a piece of Patrick that realizes a move like that only comes with practice, but he can’t let his own inexperience cloud this moment. Not when David is still kissing him like he needs to do so to survive and both of his hands are inside the back of Patrick’s pants, dragging his hips down onto David’s impressive erection. The press of their bodies succeeds in bringing Patrick’s cock back to life, but he wants to focus on David now. Using his new position, Patrick leans back with his hands on David’s chest, feeling an immediate rush of awareness when his ass perfectly cradles David’s still denim trapped cock as he sits back on David’s thighs.

David stops moving, eyes warm and somewhat sleepy as Patrick takes a long, appreciative look at the man beneath him. There’s dark hair circling David’s nipples and creating an enticing trail down and into his jeans and wiry muscles Patrick wants trace with his tongue. So he does. Leaning down, he readjusts, burying his nose in the hollow of David’s throat as his lips experimentally taste the warm skin of David’s chest. David’s groan of approval vibrates Patrick’s entire body and he smiles against David’s skin, confidence surging as David’s hands tighten on his lower back and one of his legs traps Patrick’s thigh.

“Stevie is my new favorite person,” Patrick mumbles, lips twitching as the coarse hair on David’s nipple tickles his nose.

“Your current position would prove otherwise,” David argues, his ring laden hand curling around the back of Patrick’s head in what Patrick takes as a silent request to not stop doing what Patrick is now doing with his tongue. Loving the way David’s hips have begun to roll up into his stomach each time he sucks David’s nipple between his teeth, he does it again, this time snaking a hand between them to palm at David’s dick on the upward rise.

Patrick lifts his head, waiting for a few long moments before David’s eyes open to meet his. It’s only then that he begins to work open David’s jeans, fumbling somewhat because he doesn’t want to break David’s gaze.

“You’re my favorite person, David,” he says honestly, foregoing their banter for raw truth as he finally gets David’s pants unzipped enough to get his hand inside. It’s the first time he’s touched a dick that wasn’t his own and it’s admittedly a bit odd, but when he feels David swell beneath his touch it’s a total rush. And he wants more. Curiosity and his own unerring confidence has him moving further down the bed, his knees bracketing David’s thighs as he tugs David’s pants and boxers down enough to free David’s cock completely. Glancing up at David, he sees that he’s watching him, eyes dark, tongue darting out to wet his lips. As Patrick takes David’s cock in hand, David’s mouth falls open on a moan and Patrick swears he could come again just watching this. As his hand begins to move, he keeps his eyes on David, adjusting the speed and strength of his grip as David’s breath quickens and his hands reach up to grip the headboard. Fuck, this can’t actually be happening, but it is and Patrick wants everything all at once. Watching David writhe on the bed because of what Patrick is doing is the hottest thing he’s ever seen and he laughs internally at himself for ever questioning if he was gay.

“Patrick, feels so...good…fuck...” David moans, his hands now reaching down for Patrick and dragging him up by his neck. Fumbling with his pants, Patrick quickly pulls out his own cock before sliding back on top of David, groaning into his mouth as David pulls him into a breathy kiss. They are inartfully rutting against one another now, both searching for friction in whatever form they can get. Somehow, David manages to take control, aligning their bodies so as they rock their cocks slide together, the silky heat of David’s cock and crisp hair on David’s belly a delicious contrast he knows he will never get enough of as long as he lives. David comes first, his hips bucking up into Patrick’s as his legs wrap around Patrick’s thighs, holding him close as he swells between them. The power Patrick feels at triggering David’s release is enough to have him coming soon after, his body so spent he melts into David, face dropping onto the pillow beside David’s neck.

He turns his head so he can nuzzle his face into David’s skin, wondering how he’s gone this long in his life never having experienced something as amazing as that. Wrung out, physically and emotionally, he can’t seem to stop himself from holding David just a little tighter, his breath calming just a bit when he feels David hold him back just as tight.

It’s dark in the apartment when he wakes, somehow underneath the covers with David’s arm wrapped protectively around his waist. He doesn’t remember having fallen asleep or what, if anything, was said before he did. All he knows is he feels...right...maybe for the first time in his life. His world that had always felt just a bit off its axis feels somehow aligned.

The man responsible is snoring softly behind him, the rings on his fingers cool against Patrick’s belly and his knee wedged between Patrick’s legs. And oh god, Patrick is happy. And dangerously on the edge of falling in love. Or maybe he’s already fallen, but it’s too soon for all that. So, he just closes his eyes and lets things be as they are. Perfect in this moment that no one can take away.

Smiling into the pillow, he whispers quietly into the dark the one thing he would have said to David if he hadn’t fallen asleep.

“Thank you, David.”