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lets-try-some-writing · 7 months ago

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In your professional opinion: what would be some Cybertronian Superstitions? Like do the miners hit the entrance of mines after someone dies inside it to help free their sparks from their tomb? Do people not say Unicron’s name after dark for fear it’ll summon him? Is there a name(s) that you can’t say inside the Iacon Hall Of Records or else you’ll be cursed with bad luck????

Please feel free to go hog wild with this.

Oh boy I LOVE the idea of that sort of thing. Honestly, I can see all sorts of little superstitions existing due to mythos and history.

Miners make it a point to never leave their tools unattended. They take them everywhere. To recharge, to fuel, even to get repairs. As for why they do this? There is a certain belief that the tools carry a bit of the luck and wisdom of those who held them previously. And since most tools are handed down from one fallen miner to the next, miners treat their tools with reverence. Many have carried the same pick, and each has left their mark. It cannot be disregarded.

Additionally, miners refuse to enter a deep tunnel system without whistling down it first. The habit has been long since made null and void by tunneling improvements, but there are stories of miners getting lost in the dark, before they adapted to it. Many died before their optics were augmented to the low light conditions. Great swaths of miners still believe that the wandering sparks of those lost in the dark linger there, scared and alone. Whistling down the tunnel before entering gives the lost spirits of the dead something to cling to, a guide to the afterlife in a sense.

Gladiators have a particular set of beliefs revolving entirely around the concept of honor. They know that their work is bloody and often cruel, and so they have developed a strange set of beliefs. Every gladiator, before combat, will take a stick or something equally useless, and snap it in half. They will give half of their broken instrument to a trusted comrade and march off to fight. If they return alive, the two pieces are to be put back together and promptly crushed into powder to be cast out upon whichever mech or beast died so that the gladiator could live. A sign of respect. However, if the gladiator were to die, their comrade is obliged to gather up the fallen's half of the instrument and have them run through their funeral rites with the joined object. This is done out of a belief that the dead must be honored, lest they linger in the living realm to haunt those who killed them (in the case of the gladiator surviving) or to stay with the other piece of their spark (in the event the gladiator dies).

Gladiators also have a firm belief that going into battle without paint will inevitably lead to bad luck coming upon them. They take meticulous care of their accenting paint, tracing swirls and jagged lines with delicate touches meant for those of higher castes. Some believe the marks distract enemies. Others say that the marks ward off attacks, letting otherwise lethal combat situations turn in their favor. No one really knows what they do. It is just something that must be done. Failure to go into battle without paint has led to more than a few gladiators meeting their end. Seeing such things has left the rest preferring to not take chances. Megatron himself went into battle without paint one time, and he quickly learned never to do that again when he returned with a brand new scar on his shoulder.

Amongst dock workers, there are various superstitions revolving around cargo in particular. It's bad luck to look at someone's cargo if it has a written letter attached. It doesn't matter what is in the box, it is considered a stain on one's spark to witness the usually rather sappy interactions between those who bother with sending hardcomms. Additionally, dock workers have long since grown to fear any box that comes in solid black. There was exactly one incident where a black box appeared amidst the cargo and disappeared without a trace, taking several other cargo pieces with it. Since then, any black boxes are either thrown right off the truck with a collective agreement that the loss will be signed off as an accident, or said boxes are loaded up with one unfortunate spark to transfer alone. Black boxes being delivered by one mech are often found missing, the driver and the box itself having vanished without a trace. Black boxes are terrifying, and not one dock worker is willing to risk it.

It is also notoriously bad luck among dock workers to deny the youngling with golden optics a ride. They will appear anywhere and at any time without rhyme or reason. When they appear, they never say a word, instead coming up to dock workers and pointing toward whatever transport they are loading up. Dock workers have long since learned to quietly nod and promptly ignore the youngling as they load up alongside the cargo. Interacting with the youngling results in the worker in question befalling some unfortunate end. Ignoring the youngling entirely leads to a similar situation. This superstition began long ago, and many younglings have abused it relentlessly since no one knows what the mysterious youngling from the myth actually looks like aside from their optics.

Low caste mecha as a whole have a strange superstition revolving around the concept of truth. They are notorious for keeping information to themselves, but low caste mecha never ever outwardly or blatantly lie. They are very careful to leave even the smallest grain of truth in their words. Why? Because telling lies brings the whispers of Liege Maximo. What are the whispers? No one is exactly sure. It is an evil omen, one that has led the low castes to develop odd honesty. They don't want to risk Liege's touch, not when he was stated to have been torn apart during the first age for his manipulations.

Low level soldiers hold the belief that giving away their names to one another is bad luck. Since they can all die at any given moment, they find it easier to remain nameless around one another. To them, remaining without a name in the optics of those around them ensures that survivors of battle can move on without fear. Giving a name means binding oneself to another. Their sparks might linger if they are attached, and that could lead to pain for both themselves and their comrades. So to get around this, soldiers don't do the name thing. Instead, every soldier refers to each other through characteristics or words of endearment. "Yellow" for a mech with yellow plating. "Comrade" or "Brother" for a mech they have served with frequently. Anything except a name. It would be cruel to bind the dead to living and the living to the dead.

Soldiers also have a belief that leaving a corpse to rot is incredibly bad luck. It doesn't matter whose corpse it is. It can't be left out. If nothing is salvageable, the spark chamber must be removed and taken to be given proper funeral rites. Not a spark wants to risk and angry spirit lingering because the body was not tended to properly. This belief extends to the point where soldiers will actively tear out their own spark chambers if they know they are going to die (or request others to do it for them). They don't want to linger and haunt those around them, so its best that the core of their frame is guaranteed proper rites.

Flyers of all kinds simply refuse to fly when Luna 1 and 2 are fully aligned. There are a thousand stories telling tales of fliers crashing, being killed, hit by rogue shots, and everything else. They won't risk it, and instead of flying, flyers will instead actively hide from the moons on such occasions. Usually unwilling to be locked in tight spaces, such cycles are the exception. To be seen by the moons is to be hunted. They won't risk it. Additionally, flyers have one particular stretch of Cybertronian landscape they all avoid like the plague. Mecha have been known to go in and never come back out, or if they do return, they are changed. They don't want to mess with that place, not for anything.

Flyers also hold the firm belief that one must keep their optics in perfect condition. They run tests all the time to ensure that their optics function without issue. Some even go so far as to get goggles or visors built into their frames just to protect them. Most chalk this up to a simple desire to not go blind. But flyers think differently. They won't get their optics replaced even if its an option. Why? Because they hold the belief that they carry the optics of a mech who didn't get to soar. Every flyer who has ever lived has had the optics of a grounder who will never get to grace the skies. For flyers, they see their optics as something sacred. They fly not just for themselves, but also for whoever their counterpart is, living or dead. They honor another through their sight, and so they must maintain their vision at all costs. Some call the phenomenon something akin to soulmates. The flyers state that it is the price they pay for their gift of flight.

(Note: Starscream and many of his people do not subscribe to the above thought process. Thundercracker is the only notable exception. Most chalk this up to his love of romance novels.)

Enforcers have many little quirks depending on city, but one they all share is the universal habit of naming their weapon of choice. It is a strange not quite religious belief for them. Whatever the thought process actual is, Enforcers rely heavily on their weapons, and as such, they must appease the weapon itself. They have to bond to it, make it an extension of themselves so that they can move it just as easily as a limb. They go about this through naming, and once named, they never get rid of the weapon in question. Even if its outdated, old, or broken. The weapon stays. If it is obliterated or lost, the Enforcer is obliged to get a copy of their prior weapon for the sake of their continued success. For this reason, most Enforcers fight with inbuilt weapons until they settle on something, and then they buy several copies just in case.

Enforcers will also never actively say "goodbye" to one another. Doing so would imply that there is a possibility of not coming back from the next patrol. So Enforcers simply don't use such language. "Good luck" or "Get those slaggers" are common supplements. Surprisingly, Enforcers only dodge around "goodbye" while on duty. They will casually wave off companions when not on the clock without a care in the world. However, if an Enforcer really does not like someone while on the clock, they will say "goodbye" as their polite version of a middle finger.

It is not exactly a rule, but Archivist as a whole simply do not refer to the Primes by name most of the time. There is a belief that uttering their designations aloud will bring their gaze upon whoever spoke. That can either be good or bad depending on the context, but since Primus's chosen can never really be predicted, most Archivists won't risk it. Instead, if they must say a Prime's name, they will tap a nearby surface a few times to supposedly draw attention away from themselves and hopefully keep the Prime in question from seeing them. It makes no sense, but even Orion Pax kept to the habit. Although some, like Orion, usually worked around this by coming up with slightly different pronunciations of the designations of Primes to hopefully avert their gazes.

Archivists also refuse to read anything relating to relics after a certain time. There is a longstanding belief that doing so can drive a mech mad. Hidden knowledge comes at Primus's chosen joor. Sometimes Archivists will reach grand discoveries at this specific time after delving into records of relics. But more often than not, Archivists have been noted having mental breakdowns, crying, losing their minds, or otherwise going haywire. Medical professionals chalk it up to exhaustion and mania. The Archivists believe it is a warning. They refuse to read about relics during Primus's joor. Obviously, there are some thing between the veil they are not meant to know.

Medics won't come within a ten mile radius of the smelting pits where most of the dead are dealt with. They believe it is a bad omen to linger in places of death, and that the wrath of the deceased can stick to their frames, making other patients lose their lives. This has led medics to make it a habit to remove dead mecha from hospitals as fast as physically possible, handing them off to medical students to carry to the pits. Medical students hardly ever do anything of note with the patients, so the professionals don't feel bad dumping all the potential bad luck on them. The only medics who actively hang around smelting pits are morticians and mecha focused on autopsies. They think lingering around the dead will help them understand the dead. That way, they can better diagnose just what killed a mech. Such medics are usually avoided by the rest who work with the living.

Medics have very sensitive servos. There is a longstanding belief that if a medic is to retire or happens to die, he or she must give up their servos to a younger medic in training. This is to pass on skill, at least in theory. It is also a sign that a medic in training is skilled and worthy of note. To take the servos of an old medic is to take on their legacy. Similarly to the miners, medics take honoring those who came before them very seriously. They will go above and beyond to keep their servos in perfect condition so that whoever comes after them can have the vital sensors that come with a medic's servos. Ratchet is one of the few mecha to not have inherited his servos from anyone. He has also never signed up to have anyone get them after he dies. Most take this to mean he never will die. And considering how long Ratchet has lived, a good chunk of the population firmly believe that Ratchet is eternal.

#transformers #maccadam #cybertronian worldbuilding #cybertronian culture #pre war cybertron #transformers headcanon #orion pax #megatron #starscream #ratchet

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imaroyalmess · 18 days ago

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DPax first meeting

but from Jazz's POV

Wc: 853

Jazz knows D-16 on a technical level. The same as how he “knows” every clause to the evacuation code or how he “knows” transformation cogs—theoretically, if not a bit muddled, but never personally. They’ve exchanged short introductions, a nod of recognition as they pass one another, amicable small talk on the occasions they stand next to each other on the train.

More than anything, Jazz trusts D-16’s work ethic. That mech follows protocol with a precision that even Elita-1 hums in approval of and hey, the more energon they mine, the less the piss off the cogged supervisors, the better.

What can Jazz say? The bot’s a damn good miner and he respects that.

This particular solar cycle they’re rearranging their berths to accommodate the new crew and D-16 is, predictably, off to the side, eyeing potential placements for his Megatronus Prime decal. Jazz’s dermas quirks into a half smile and jogs over.

“Hey, need any help there?” Jazz slaps D-16’s shoulder plate and D-16 pivots so the tips of Jazz’s digits only scrape the area lightly.

“I’m fine,” D-16 insists, optics flickering to Jazz in a brief acknowledgement before returning to the decal in his servos. “Are you—?”

Jazz grins. “Checking on you? You could say that. Or I’m making sure you don’t eat the newbies spark first, does that sound better to you?”

D-16 shakes his helm, Jazz’s signal that he’s reached his socialization quota of the day. He points at the decal. “Tilt it a little that way. It’s a bit—yeah, that’s it! Now it’s perfect.”

Jazz automatically reaches out to tap D-16’s shoulder plate again—habit from all his other comrades.

“Don’t,” D-16 warns. “You just fixed it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.” Jazz throws his servos up in surrender, smirking grin still in full effect. “I’m over here if ya need anything. And you’re welcome.”

D-16 grumbles low enough that it can’t reach Jazz’s audials—probably either a curse or a thank you, there’s no telling with that one. Jazz strides off to his own berth, plain save for a data pad full of comics stowed away in a side pocket. Perhaps his name would fit across the sides…he’ll have to swipe some cosmetic paints to make it happen but wouldn’t it be cool?

“—the coolest.”

Taken aback, Jazz whirls around only to find that the mech wasn’t addressing him at all. The blue and red newbie is grinning, the corners of his intake almost splitting his face plate wide open. Which, woah, that’s a lot, but what’s even more woah is how he’s speaking with D-16…and D-16 is smiling back?

“No fraggin’ way,” Jazz’s vocal chip comes close to short circuiting.

“You know,” D-16 begins, verging on chipper, “Sentinel says that Megatronus was—”

“—the strongest Prime to ever live,” the two of them complete together. The newcomer chuckles, followed in suit by D-16, dear Primus, Jazz has to sit down. This cannot be real.

“Orion Pax,” the other bot says, extending a servo.

“D-16.” He accepts the shake.

One of Jazz’s friends attempts to interrupt. “Hey, Jazz—”

Jazz cannot miss one klik of what’s unfolding so he waves an arm out. “Not now, not now.”

“So, you ever mine energon before?” D-16 inquires and that’s— D-16? Asking a question with the intent of getting to know a mech? It’s about work, which Jazz notes to discuss with him later, but it’s progress. Jazz is in equal parts proud as he is insulted.

“No, you?” Orion Pax asks back. His optics, very blue optics Jazz can see even at this distance, turn to D-16, that all-too-easy smile softened and blinding.

D-16 is as struck as Jazz is. “...no.”

Scratch that. He’s much more struck than Jazz is. Jazz forces a shut down to his voice box before the cackle can ruin their moment. What in all of Primus’ glory is D-16 thinking?

“I hear it’s dangerous,” he tacks on.

D-16 must be glitched. There’s no way he isn’t when his rank is splayed clear across his chest plate. Jazz takes all his pride back, shoves it deep within his spark and bites down on his glossa instead of slamming his helm into his berth several times.

Orion Pax truly must be new because his optics don’t process the ranking badge at all. “Well, how about this? You watch my back and I’ll watch yours?”

A servo stretches out in a loose fist, waiting for an answering bump. Good and honest, and Jazz crosses his spark that this happened, D-16 beams. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Sounds good…Pax.”

The two of them tap their fists together—which delights Orion to no end by the looks of it. It’s touching, if it weren’t for the fact that D-16 is the worst flirt in all of Iacon. Oh, he’ll deny it once Jazz approaches him but Jazz has two working optics, a fully functional processor, and a propensity for intruding.

Jazz sets a reminder in his HUD to teach D-16 how to flirt with his little Orion. Properly. In a way that doesn’t involve lying. Maybe he’ll get a proper thanks from D-16 then.

(Probably not.)

based on this tweet i saw a few days ago and couldn't stop thinking about D-16 straight up LYING

#megop #dpax #transformers #transformers one #tf one #d 16 #orion pax #tf jazz #i wrote this in about an hour at 1 AM go easy on me #royal writes

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gardens-light · 14 days ago

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Hello, I'm sorry if it's a bit of trouble for you but can you do some Transformers One characters (Orion Pax, D-16, Sentinel Prime, Starscream, B-127) with a Tamaran S/O? Tamaran being the alien species Starfire is!

Hello. Apologies for taking so long, I absolutely love this idea and really wanted to try and come up with something for all characters.

I chose to do headcanons, as each idea for individual fics for all characters sounded quite similar to one another. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2

Transformers One x GN/Tamaran Reader

Orion Pax

Orion meets you during one of his visits (more like sneaking in) to a newly established Cybertronian-Tamaranian diplomatic summit. He's immediately drawn to your expressions of joy and warmth, and initially approaches you out of sheer curiosity, simply fascinated by your glowing skin and the way you light up a room- both figuratively and literally.

He would frequently visit you, dying to continue your conversations of him asking you about your solar-powered abilities. Which would eventually evolve into deep philosophical discussions about becoming more than what's 'expected'. Often bringing Cybertronian texts, (that he certainly didn't 'borrow without permission' from The Archives) to share with you. Only to be charmed by you insisting on teaching him Tamaranian customs in return.

Orion would be the kind of partner who always pays attention to the little things- like how your light dims slightly whenever you're sad, or the way your glow intensifies whenever you're happy. He'd always make time to talk to you, ensuring that your feelings are acknowledged and understood.

He would secretly craft gifts, such as engraved datapads with poetry or even small pieces of energon jewellery, (that he forged during his break in the mines.) Orion would love to surprise you with moments of quiet intimacy, like sneaking to the roofs of Iacon's tallest spires to stargaze.

Orion's calm and slightly logical nature sometimes contrasts with your passionate and fiery personality. When disagreements' arise, he'd patiently listen and try to resolve things with empathy, although your emotional outbursts might initially catch him off guard. But, over time, Orion learns to adapt, appreciating your honesty, and heartfelt approach to communications.

While Orion is protective, he would never want to stifle your freedom. He admires your strength and often encourages you to take the lead, finding your confidence inspiring.

D16

You meet during the chaotic skirmish against the Quintessons on Cybertron. Witnessing a group of his fellow miners under attack by a rogue squadron by the enemy, D's struck by your boldness, watching you effortlessly unleash your powers to fend off the enemy. Impressed by your strength, he steps in to help, and the two of you fight side-by-side, forming an immediate connection through the battle.

Initially, your interactions with D are marked by mutual respect, but also friction- his brooding intensity and logical perspective often clashes with your carefree and fiery nature. Yet, despite your differences, you both can't help but be drawn to each other. Your heated debates about strategy and morality, turns into long conversations about your dreams and goals.

D16 is intense in everything he does, and his relationship would be no different. While he would fiercely protect and cherish you, his inner walls would take time to break down. Your ability to openly express love would simultaneously terrify and exhilarate him.

He would respect and treat you as an equal, admiring your ability to stand up to him when needed. Your fiery arguments would often end in laughter or mutual understanding, and he’d secretly love the fact that you refuse to back down.

In quiet moments, D would open up about his struggles and ambitions, finding solace in your warmth and unwavering loyalty. Your ability to channel solar energy would fascinate him, and he’d find comfort in your glowing embrace after a long day.

D would see you as a valuable ally in his fight for equality on Cybertron. He’d involve you in his plans, trusting your insight and respecting your warrior instincts.

Sentinel Prime

Sentinel meets you during a ceremonial event, where the Tamaranian dignitaries arrive on Cybertron to discuss an alliance. While he initially viewed them as just another species to secretly rule over, he couldn't deny that your commanding presence and confidence immediately caught his attention. You standing your ground against his prideful and commanding tone, earned his respect and curiosity.

He begins pursuing you with grand gestures, believing he can win your affection with displays of his power and prestige. But, you see through his arrogance, challenging him to show his genuine self. Of course this frustrates yet also... intrigues him.

Sentinel’s ego and love of grandeur mean that he’d shower you with extravagant gestures of love. From energy-infused jewelry to elaborate ceremonies in your honor, he’d go above and beyond to show his devotion. (And to show you off to the rest of Iacon.)

Sentinel can be a challenging partner due to his pride and commanding nature. He’d occasionally struggle to compromise, but your patience and ability to match his fiery spirit would keep your relationship balanced.

He would be deeply curious about Tamaranian culture and traditions, seeing their royal heritage as a mirror of his own. (That he completely didn't make up).

While Sentinel respects your strength, his protective instincts can border on overbearing at times. He’d feel a deep sense of 'responsibility' for your safety, even when you insist you can handle yourself.

Starscream

Starscream encounters you during an ambush just outside of Iacon, which was orchestrated by Sentinel Prime. The false leader of Cybertron explained (more likely lied) that the High Guard was a resistance group, asking of you and your people to fend off an attack on the city. Of course, Starscream is initially hostile, but when you outwit him in combat, he's left both furious and impressed. Your dynamic begins one of rivalry, with him begrudgingly acknowledging your skill.

Your relationship with him starts off rocky, filled with sarcastic remarks and constant attempts to one-up each other. However, over time he begins to admire your honesty and strength, realizing that you see through his bravado and insecurities. You become an unexpected source of stability for him, challenging his selfish tendencies and teaching him the value of loyalty and trust. Though he'd never admit it, Starscream grows to crave your approval and respect. He’d genuinely value your opinion and feel deeply hurt if he ever disappointed you.

Starscream’s insecurities would occasionally surface, leading to bouts of jealousy—especially if others admired your radiant glow. However, your unwavering loyalty would help soothe his fears, even if he’s reluctant to admit it.

The relationship would be filled with teasing and witty exchanges. Your ability to keep up with his sharp tongue and call him out on his theatrics would make him both exasperated and enamored.

Starscream would have a surprisingly romantic side, arranging private flights through Cybertron’s skies or orchestrating elaborate displays of your names written in the stars. He’d never admit how much effort he put into these gestures, preferring to act like it was effortless.

Despite his flaws, Starscream is deeply devoted to you, often going of his way to protect you and ensure your happiness. The playful banter and constant teasing keeps your relationship exciting and dynamic.

B-127

Bee bumps into you during a scouting mission on Cybertron, after helping Orion Pax (Now Optimus Prime) bring Iacon back to its former glory. He stumbles upon you, while you're using your solar energy to help a small Cybertronian settlement on the surface, as they try to recover from a natural disaster. Intrigued by your glowing features and kindness, Bee approaches you, pretending to need assistance to spark a conversation.

You both hit it off immediately, bonding over your shared love of helping others. Your playful personalities and shared curiosity fast tracks your friendship, with Bee constantly trying to impress you (and talking your ears off) with his stories and quirky sense of humor.

Your relationship would be filled with fun and adventure. From spending time exploring Cybertron, pulling harmless pranks on other Cybertronians, and dancing to Tamaranian music under the stars.

Bee’s devotion to you would be absolute. He’d always put your needs first, often risking himself to keep you safe and happy. Your solar-powered abilities would always leave him in awe, and he’d frequently talk about how amazing you are to the other Cybertronians.

You quickly learn that he loves hugs, playful nudges, and holding hands—especially when walking around Iacon, or the rocky surface of Cybertron. Your glow would make him laugh and blush, often referring to you as his 'Shining Star.'

Beneath his carefree exterior, Bee is deeply emotional, and your empathy would allow him to open up about his fears and insecurities. Your bond would be rooted in trust and mutual support, making you two an unstoppable duo.

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polygonal-trees · 4 months ago

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Welcome new Transformers fans!

You might have seen this Don't Make Me Tap The Sign meme floating around. Transformers One has been out for a little while now so I want to expand on it as well as some other TF fandom things.

What does "Transformers doesn't have a set canon" actually mean?

Essentially, every new Transformers story is a reboot. They might draw from or expand on concepts from previous iterations but canonically each continuity family is separate. This means all lore is extremely flexible - origin stories, relationships, even personalities can change wildly between iterations and while some may be better or worse than others, they are all equally canon.

For example: Orion Pax was a dock worker in G1, an archivist in Prime, and a miner in TF One. None of these contradict each other.

Continuities also tend to share ideas without being directly connected. For example Transformers One draws from Transformers Prime in multiple ways (e.g. it features Airachnid) but it is not a prequel to Prime and in fact directly contradicts it. Yes I know there's a guy on xitter claiming tfone is a prequel to the Bay movies but he's wrong.

What is a continuity family?

Most storylines include tie-in novels, comics, video games, and other shows that all share the same canon.

The Aligned Continuity is the most well known. It consists of Transformers Prime, Rescue Bots, Rescue Bots Academy, Robots in Disguise 2015, multiple video games, and some tie-in novels and comics. They are all ostensibly set in the same canon... except the Aligned Continuity is inconsistent so even its lore is loose :')

My point is that while every continuity is separate, some shows are connected.

(Sorry if this is confusing. It is confusing. You get used to it)

What about fanon?

The Transformers franchise is old enough that a lot of fanon has become so pervasive it exists in a sort of nebulous space where it feels like it could be canon or at least become canon once enough fans are working for Hasbro but essentially: oh boy is there a lot of fanon

For example: seeker trines, doorwing speak, the Unicron Singularity and all forms of robot sex (sorry) are fanon, but they appear so often in fanworks that it's easy to get confused (I know I do!)

It's safest to assume something isn't canon unless you've seen it in a show (and even then, it may only be canon to that particular show)

Can I mix-and-match in my own fanworks?

Absolutely! It's very common for creators to set a story in one continuity but transplant a character from another, or use a different backstory, or borrow whole plot points from different canons. Chop up that lore and make a delicious continuity soup.

So why is this important?

It is very, very, very, very, very frustrating to be "corrected" about something that isn't relevant, or to see someone critisize a show based on lore that doesn't apply, or to have a character be called OOC when they're not, etc. I think a lot of fandom slapfights could be avoided if more people understood how loose Transformers canon actually is. Do what you want with your own creations but please be mindful when it comes to interacting with other people's.

This is A Lot

You don't have to know everything about Transformers to be in the fandom and have a good time - if you're only interested in TF One that is perfectly alright, you don't need to watch every show and read every comic and play every game to be considered a fan of something.

But if you want to find out more I recommend checking out the TFWiki - it isn't perfect but it gives a good rundown of most general lore as well as details about specific shows.

That's it from me. I hope this is helpful! It's the sort of thing I would have liked to read when I first joined the fandom haha

#transformers one #tf one #maccadam #long post

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xxbrightshadowxx · 4 months ago

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TF One Shatter Glass Au

Kay so I’ve heard about Shatter Glass before in transformers which is basically of the autobots were evil and decepticons were good(I think? I’m not sure. in the words of my cousin I’m still new to transformers) so I decided to come up with an au for Tfone for it.

Everything would start out the same, everything from the movie would play out, until the attack at the High Guard’s base. Instead of Bee and D-16 being captured it’s Elita and Orion.

D-16 is crushed and is ready to give everything up, he snaps at Bee and laminates that they are doomed and ask how can he do optimistic and naive when he was in a crappier position than he was beforehand. They argue for a while till D-16 kinda admits he’s jealous of orion for being so optimistic and kind even during horrible times. Bee helps him out and shows him to always look for good and tells him this is a chance to improve their lives.(kinda effy on this part)

With the power of persuasion aka, D-16 cannons, they convince the high guard to help them go rescue the others

Meanwhile back at Sentinel’s tower Orion thinks D-16 is dead and is depressed, the evidence is destroyed and he feels like crap. Sentinel mocks them like on the film, and Elita bites back at him which results in Sentinel berating Elita and nearly hurting her till Orion intervenes. Sentinel, tired of Orion being mouthy, takes the( I think it was a drill or a torch?? Can’t remember the name.) and uses it to scratch up his mouth. Orion’s optics turn to yellow

Basically similar thing happens, D-16 gets the miners to help(though is more threatening and uses the high guard to convince them) he freaks out when he sees injured Orion and the same thing happens in the movie except when D tries to shoot Sentinel Orion convinced him not to and D’s optics turn blue. While they walk away, Sentinel tries to stab Orion but D pushes him out of the way and gets stabbed. D and Orion tries to catch him but fails and falls into the well.

Orion turns around and his optics are a bright red and he kills Sentinel, less graphic than D-16 does in the film, a simple execution shot to the head. Meanwhile D-16 is, you guess it, is given the matrix for choosing good even in his darkest moments and sacrificing his life for him.

Orion steal Sentinel’s t cog and changes his designation to Optimus Prime, claiming himself the new ruler. His speech is able to convince several others including Elita, Bee, and several other miners that the only way to become equal they must steal their t cogs back from the ones that ‘wronged them.’ So attack the ones already with t cogs and steal them for their selves.

Megatron comes back and is horrified at what Orion has become but Op knows that’s he’s crossed a line he can’t go back and they fight. Megs wins but can’t kill his friend leaving him to leave. The miners feel in a way betrayed since Megatron told them he could change their future but he wants to keep the bots with t cogs alive. Basically saying he ‘deceptive’ them.(get it?)

The miners, Elita, Bee, and Op leave leaving some miners behind, the high guard, and Megatron behind.

In this au, while good, Megatron is still a bit violent and the decepticons methods are still a bit violent but they do want peace and equality. Most of his journey would be becoming a better leader for his team and for Cybertron. Starscream would still try to surprise him because, yes.

Meanwhile Op is kinda manipulative in this au. He uses his kindness to trick and gain bots trust to make them do whatever he wants. Op wants equality but his ideas to achieve it is fucked up and twisted. Elita, after realizing her entire life and all her effort was for nothing also sorta crashes out and is fully on board with OP’s plan. After Meg’s ‘death’ and seeing his two friends actively prompt their idea of rebuilding Cybertron, Bee kinda goes along with them. He is not as bad or evil as Elita and Op in this au so his optics are either yellow or orange. He’s like the thundercracker of this au.

I might write a fic about this one day. If I do, I’ll post a link here if anyone thinks this is an ok idea?

#transformers #transformers one #tf one #tf one 2024 #tf one au #tf one megatron #tf one spoilers #tf one orion pax #tf one elita #alternate universe #fic idea #shattered glass #shattered glass au

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quibbs126 · 3 months ago

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Okay, so I think I have some more ideas for that Transformers au, since that was all my brain let me think about during the second half of my shift

It’s mostly just about Megatron and also the Decepticon cause

Okay so first off, I think if I want to make things the way I do, I’m gonna say that the Decepticons are genuinely fighting for equality for Cybertronians, while the Autobots are fighting to maintain the status quo. It’s not necessarily to say all Autobots want inequality, and some are fighting in hopes to build a better future through more peaceful means, but a lot of them don’t really recognize that the system is or was that bad. And there are still bad Decepticons, either those just wanting to cause mayhem or are just looking for a way to better their own status, but a large portion are fighting for change in Cybertronian government

Part of what makes the Autobots the generally dominant force in this conflict is that they’ve got a lot of propaganda going for them and against the Decepticons, including that being why they’re called “Decepticons”. Not everything said about the Decepticons is untrue, they are willing to do less than savory things to achieve their goals if necessary, but the idea that the Decepticons are evil deceivers is largely propaganda

I think in my head, I want the war to be portrayed as an actual civil war and revolution. When we hear about them in history, yeah there seems to be a relatively obvious good and bad looking back, like with the American Revolution and the Patriots and Loyalists, but in the moment, when they happened, neither side was entirely good or bad, and there’s reasons as to why people stuck to one side or the other, because they were people, not entities with a singular shared ideal

The French Revolution might be a more accurate comparison to the Cybertronian civil war, but also I grew up in America so the AR is my big frame of reference and I don’t know much about the FR other than it being semi inspired by the American one and having a lot of execution. But you get what I’m saying regardless

But also if we want the idea of the Decepticons being “evil”, well you gotta probably add some propaganda to explain why that’s how they’re depicted

Optimus is someone who just wants peace and is genuinely a good person, but he was also raised on Autobot propaganda and was never in a position in life where he would have particularly suffered the system (though he probably did still have hardships, I just don’t know what). Throughout this story he learns to see the truth of the matter more

Meanwhile, back to Megatron, the person I meant to be talking about

Okay so I’m thinking that he’s from a colony or city that was at the bottom rung of Cybertronian society, though I haven’t decided particularly what his job was. It might have been a miner and/or gladiator (I’m debating gladiator to have that be a reason he’s high up in rank), but maybe I should do something else

But anyways, I haven’t worked out the kinks in his backstory, but his birthplace was under control of the Autobots, and he became emboldened by the ideals of the Decepticons and their leader (who at this point I might just make Galvatron), and ended up leading an uprising alongside his fellow bots to overthrow the corrupt leadership in their home, and being successful in this attempt. The Autobots were planning to launch a counterattack to reclaim the area, but the Decepticons caught wind of the uprising and managed to get there first, leading to the place becoming Decepticon territory and being under their protection

While not everyone involved decided to join the Decepticon rebellion afterwards, plenty being content to just have their freedom, Megatron decided to join with them afterwards, wanting to bring their cause to even more places amongst the galaxy

Megatron was a powerful bot, and one with a lot of guts and courage, and he has some skill in leading other bots, which led to him becoming a Decepticon commander. He’s also extremely loyal to those who’ve earned his respect

However his main flaw is that he is deeply emotional, and as such has a tendency to let his emotions overtake his logic and common sense, and that’s when he tends to fail and make the wrong decisions. This tends to particularly be a problem because his main emotion is anger

This is exactly why Starscream ends up getting assigned to Megatron as his second in command; Starscream may not be the most upstanding bot, but he’s very shrewd and very flexible with his circumstances, always looking for a way to come out on top, not letting grudges and emotions get in the way of things. Couple that with his extensive military experience and he was considered a good fit for Megatron, with the idea the two could even each other out

Speaking of Starscream, I’m flirting with the idea he may have at one point been an Autobot, but eventually switched sides alongside his squadron, but that’s neither here nor there

Anyways back to Megatron, he tends to judge people based on their character and direct actions rather than their skills and accomplishments. It’s not to say he can’t work with someone who’s highly skilled but an asshole, he just won’t like them

You’d think this means he’d be able to make peace with the Autobot squadron relatively quickly, but he has a deep hatred for Autobots (probably backstory related but again I don’t know the specifics) that tends to override that idea of judging by their character. Over time he also learns to let this hatred of the Autobots go, particularly because of Optimus as he sees the bot is genuinely good and wants to do what’s right

Also with that, I’m thinking he and Optimus have no prior connection, only meeting now at the time of the story. They probably knew of each other, but had no prior personal relationship

So basically they get enemies to lovers instead of the divorce arc. Well I mean, I’m not sure if they end up together, maybe one or both of them have other people they date. But you get what I mean

And yeah, I think that’s about it. I should probably go do homework now in all honesty

#I feel like this was a lot shorter in my head #though to be fair spoken words take a lot less time to convey info than written ones so #it’s spoken in my head at least #still don’t know how to draw these guys #but maybe one day #have no clue what to do for Optimus yet #or any of the Autobots tbh #all I can think is taking out Bumblebee because why not #he’s in basically everything anyways #transformers #transformers au #megatron #starscream #optimus prime #story idea

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itsmeemeg-fandomsandfics · 2 months ago

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Like Nothing Matters -

Chapter 1

• ───────────────── •

Rain never meant anything good to those who resided in the Undercity. Eclipsed by the bright and bustling city of progress, those unfortunate enough to be born in the slums were already familiar with the thick and suffocating air that reeked of sulfur and desperation, but that was to be expected. Rain on the other hand always meant more problems to deal with. On Top of the near nonexistent ventilation of the Undercity the sewage system was equally neglected. It didn't take an academy graduate to understand how that might cause a few problems every time the pipes got overworked.

Water slowly dripped from the waterlogged planks that made up the small home's roof into a nearly full pot on the ground. Whatever spare scraps of fabric were laying around had been hung over the cracked window panes in an attempt to keep some of the heat from seeping out into the cold wet streets.

Humming quietly as her mother fluttered about the room with a match in hand, attempting to light the malformed piles of wax that rested on rusted and chipped scraps of metal, Elvie tried not to focus on the storm. It proved to be more difficult than she thought as the wind outside began picking up speed, garbage angrily skittering down the deserted streets as it got swept up by the rage. Cold seeped its way through her clothes and into her bones, the blanket she was wrapped in was too small with calves and toes exposed to the damp room.

“Mom.” Elvie tried to interrupt her mother as she noticed the older woman attempting to light a candle she had just blown out. Her mother paid her no mind as she tossed the burnt out match over her shoulder and went to strike another. Sighing Mavevis shuffled to her feet, arms outstretched to take the items from her moms hands. “Mom, it's- I’ve got it. Go sit down.”

Mom offered no protest as her daughter slowly slid the match box out of her hands. Elvie’s hands didn’t shake like her moms did as she dragged the match down the side of the box. One by one the room grew brighter and warmer.

Elvie watched the match catch fire, the thin, trembling flame casting a dim glow that barely reached the edges of the small room. Her mother's gaze was distant, unfocused, her hands lying limply in her lap as she stared at nothing in particular. Elvie’s heart tightened as she watched the flame flicker, struggling to stay alive, just like the brief moments of clarity her mother sometimes had. She held the match just a little too long, the heat beginning to sting her fingers, but she didn’t pull away.

“Do you know when your father will be home?” Moms voice cuts through the heavy silence with such a simple question, unaware of the weight her words hold.

Words caught in Elvie’s throat as she struggles to compose herself. “He’ll be home soon.” Just like that the same silence settles back down and Elvie can pretend that her world is not crashing down around her.

It had been nearly a month now since the accident in the mines. It was all anyone in the lanes could talk about. The cave in had taken twenty lives, nineteen miners and one enforcer. Dad had died quickly “Painless” one of the enforcers who had broken the news to mom had said, unaware of the eight year old's ears listening in. They had received his last paycheck and a bag of personal items as compensation.

Two days after the accident mom got sick.

Although Elvie wasn't really sure if she could accurately say that mom was sick. She didnt cough, or sneeze like sick people did. Every day she had checked her mothers forehead for signs of a fever the same way her parents would to her for a fever but found her mother to be no warmer or colder to herself in comparison. Instead mom acted strangely, the lighting and extinguishing of candles, one of many concerning behaviours. She would blink slowly and stare blankly when Elvie would try to talk to her. The memory loss was getting worse too. It was like her mothers mind had been stuck on loop of the day before dad had died.

Her mother didn’t blink, didn’t even move. She simply stared ahead, lost in whatever place she’d wandered to. Elvie’s heart beat painfully in her chest, her mother’s absence so palpable it filled the entire room. The woman who had once been so full of life, who’d taught her how to tie her shoes and how to hold her head high, was now just a shadow of herself. A shadow that didn’t remember.

Elvie swallowed hard, the tears threatening to spill. She had been holding them back for days, trying to stay strong for her mother, trying to make sense of the strange behavior, of the way she would forget things from one moment to the next, as if time itself was slipping through her fingers. She thought it might be the grief of losing Dad—everyone grieves in different ways, but this wasn’t grief. This was something else, something deeper, something that she didn’t know how to stop.

“I’m gonna go lay down, can you make sure you blow the candles out,” Her mother asked her. Elvie stood still, watching as her mother stumbled toward the bedroom door, her movements slow and awkward, like she was trapped in a body that didn’t quite belong to her anymore.

“Sure mom.” Elvie muttered as she bent down to grab the blanket she had shrugged off earlier. Wrapping the blanket around her small and frail figure Elvie, tired and defeated, shuffled towards the worn out sofa in the centre of the room.

Plopping unceremoniously down onto the cushions she wished the couch would just swallow her whole. Pulling the blanket tighter Elvie shoved her exposed feet as far between the cushions as possible, searching for any extra warmth it could provide. Her eyes stung as tears threatened to spill down hollowed cheeks and past trembling lips.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

Emotions far too complex and heavy for an eight year old to decipher pulled at her heart like spoiled milk. Still she refused to let her tears fall, silently watching the dull and flickering flames until she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Mom was gone by the time she woke up. She had taken the makeshift window covers down and scraped the melted wax off the floor before she had left at least. It was normal for the house to be quiet in the mornings, to go through the motions of readying herself for the day all on her lonesome. Despite its emptiness the house was suffocating.

Trying not to focus on how all of her clothes smelled of mildew, Elvie quickly changed out of yesterday's clothes and into something less slept in. The shirt she slipped on had seen better days, mismatched sleeves that had been sewn to the shirt were now frayed and torn enough that Elvie could slip her thumbs through the cuff. Pants were a similar story, the fabric had been stretched thin over the years of wear and a pair of shorts had quickly been layered over top.

Once she was dressed and her hair had been combed through with bony fingers Elvie called out over her shoulder to the empty house. “I’m going out.” despite knowing there was no response waiting for her.

Walking down the wet and claustrophobic streets of Zaun it was easy to pretend that things were better than they really were. After all Elvie and her mother still had a roof over their head, a wet and rotten one was still better than begging between alleyways. Where people dug through trash cans behind closed shops and would scowl menacingly if your gaze lingered.

Elvie tightened her grip on the strap of her bag as she walked, the weight of it a dull comfort against her side. She had learned to ignore the cold, the dampness seeping through her shoes, the way the rain clung to the grime-coated cobblestones. In Zaun, it was just another part of life. No use in complaining. No one listened anyway.

She passed the narrow, crooked buildings, their facades leaning against each other like old, tired giants. The streets narrowed as she made her way toward the square. It was a bustling part of the city where the narrow streets opened up to a sizable plaza for vendors to sell their wares or you could catch an enforcer or two taking an extended break.

Elvie was a particular fan of the square for the fact that every morning a small group would sing to the passersby for spare change with their makeshift instruments. They weren’t much, but the sound they made was always just enough to draw in a crowd.

Their songs weren’t anything special—nothing that could rival the polished performances in topside grander halls—but to Elvie, it felt like a little slice of warmth in the middle of a cold, harsh world. Their music was raw, unrefined, and full of life in a way that nothing else in the city seemed to be. And sometimes, when she was lucky, they’d play her favorite tune—a simple melody that seemed to wrap around her heart, like the music was speaking directly to her.

As Elvie approached the long dried up fountain in the square the band always played by she was surprised to see that she was early. The girls were still setting up, unsure where to rest their bags where they could remain unsullied by the damp ground. Elvie lingered near the edge of the square, her fingers itching to offer help, but she stayed back. She wasn’t exactly part of the group, not really, even though they all seemed to recognize her. The musicians weren’t picky about who watched them or who gave them a coin or two. But still, there was a distance between them that Elvie couldn’t quite bridge.

She finally stepped forward when the girl with the guitar, noticing her, gave her a small wave, her face lighting up with recognition.

“Hey, kid!” she called, her voice bright but still carrying that quiet energy of someone who was used to performing. "You’re early today. We’re just getting set up. Don’t mind us."

Elvie gave a small smile and shook her head. "No problem," she said softly, glancing around the square, her eyes landing on the fountain. The normally shallow basin filled with dirt and scraps held a concerning amount of sludge that had been brought on by the storm. Sewage scum clung to the ledge. Sometimes, she imagined it as something different, a place where water once flowed freely, where people gathered around in the heat to cool off and throw wishes into the water. But now, it was just another forgotten thing in a city full of them.

Soft notes of a familiar tune pulled Elvie from her groveling as the band began.

“I have my sentence now At last, I know just how you felt I dig my fingers in, expecting more than just the skin”

Without thinking, Elvie stepped onto the ledge of the fountain, as she had done countless times before. Her movements were instinctive now, as familiar as breathing. The music pulsed in her veins, an echo of the rhythm that had driven her body to move.

The crowd around the square was just a backdrop—blurred faces and disinterested murmurs. She’d never been the center of attention, and she didn’t need to be. She was used to this; the fountain ledge was her stage, and the square, a canvas for whatever she needed to express. Every morning, as the band played, she’d climb up there and dance. It was something she had learned to do when the world felt heavy or hollow, a way to shake off the weight and just feel.

Elvie balanced easily on the narrow stone, her feet instinctively finding their footing even as she shifted her weight. She glanced up at the sun, barely peeking over the rooftops, and with a deep breath, she spun. Her arms stretched out wide, the fabric of her clothes fluttering with each movement as she moved faster, faster, her body free and unencumbered. The dance flowed through her like a second language—no thought, no hesitation, just movement and rhythm.

She didn’t need to think about the next step. It was all ingrained, as if the dance lived inside her, guiding her the way a familiar melody does. She’d practiced it enough that it was woven into the very way she moved, like the lyrics of a song she could sing without thinking.

'Cause we're a lot alike In favor, like a motorbike A sailor and a nightingale Dancing in convertibles”

The lyrics were crude, creative and the meaning flew over the young girl's head, still it did not stop her enjoyment.

“And you can hold me, like he held her And I will fuck you like nothing matters And you can hold me, like he held her And I will fuck you like nothing matters”

Someone moved in her peripherals, different from everyone else crowding around the band. A young boy, slightly older in appearance, hobbled along the outskirts of the crowd watching her intently. He used a cane to help him walk and its slow rhythmic tapping on the cobblestone was even more hypnotic than the melodic music filling the air.

Time seemed to slow as Elvie realized the gravity of her distraction. She flailed, arms windmilling in the air as she tried to regain her balance, but there was nothing to grab, nothing to stop her descent. Cold, slimy water splashed around her as she landed in the fountain. The smell of sewage filled her nostrils, choking away any of the light hearted feelings she had lost herself in moments ago. A bitter cough ripped through her throat as the smell grew to be suffocating.

Crawling on her hands and knees to the edge of the fountain Elvie was surprised to see a hand outstretched and waiting for her. At first she figured it must just be one of the band members taking pity on her. It was embarrassing enough that she had fallen, but in front of all these people too. She wanted to bury her head under the water and drown

“Are you okay?” Elvie's shot up surprised by the unfamiliar voice. It was the boy who had distracted her. Up close she could see the moles that adorned his face and the gold of his eyes that seemed to glow even in this dreary place. His clothes were simple, but there was something about the way he carried himself—like he was somehow above this place, above the grime of Zaun, that even as she watched him shift his weight onto his crutch she was inclined to agree.

“I'm fine.” She reached out, grasping his hand and allowing herself to be pulled back onto her feet. “Thank you.”

“It was no problem.” A thick accent curled around the boy's words that she had not been expecting. “I liked your dancing.”

She had to swallow the surprise in her throat before she could answer. “Thanks,” she muttered, her gaze flicking down at the ground to avoid his watchful eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was just being polite or if he actually meant it. The sincerity in his voice made her doubt that he was just giving empty compliments.

“I’m Viktor by the way.”

“Elvie.”

✦•······················•✦•·······��··············•✦

The makeshift bell above the old rusted door chimed at the arrival of a new customer in the shop. From her position in the backroom Elvie could not see who had entered, simply throwing a “I’ll be right with you,” over her shoulder as she put the last of the inventory back where it belonged. Glass vials clicked against each other in protest at her hurried pace.

Patting her hands clean against the material of her apron Elvie made her entrance into the storefront, with a lopsided smile that had charmed so many before. If she was lucky this person would actually purchase something worthwhile and rent wouldn't be overdue, by much at least. “How can I help you?”

The appearance of the man before her had shocked her enough that the surprise in her voice was evident. It wasn't common for men to frequent the shop even less so a topsider. He looked jarringly out of place in his crisp tailored academy uniform, pants perfectly pressed and waistcoat so white it practically glowed in the darkness that was Zaun. If they were anywhere else he might have commanded her respect from his appearance alone.

With much less grace than anticipated the man ripped off the mask he had been wearing to filter the air he breathed. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for a woman. Her name is Elvie. A friend of mine said I could find her here.”

Elvie hesitates, eyeing this topsider with a sharper eye. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and a fair amount of stubble for someone so meticulously groomed, paired with the calloused fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the strap of his mask it was obvious that he was from a lesser house. There was also a certain sense of vulnerability from this stranger, a subtle desperation he had tried to mask with a charming smile.

Still one could never be too careful.

“Who's asking?” Subtly her fingers reached for the broom resting against the register, just in case.

“My names Jayce. Back in Piltover I have this partner- Viktor and we’re working on-”

“You know Viktor?" The broom fell from her grasp, clattering on the ground as she cut this Jayce person before her off. It had been years since she had last seen Viktor and now this topsider is asking for her. Either the bastard had gotten himself in deep waters or- “Is he okay?”

Jayce chuckles and the briefest twinge of irritation pulses through the vein in her forehead. “He's the one who sent me! Guess I should have led with that huh?”

“Definitely.”

“Anyway, Viktor and I are working on something incredible- Hextech. Harnessing magic through science and using it to improve everyday life. And while I’ve been studying the arcane for a while now I don't fully understand it.”

“And you think I do?

“Viktor seems to think so.

Jayce reaches for something in his pocket and hairs on the back of her neck stand up. He hurriedly drops a bracelet with a raw gem resting in the leather and well as a piece of paper folded an excessive amount of times on the counter. Hurriedly she snatches the bracelet, inspecting the stone while Jayce begins to unfold the note.

Elvie has to stifle the surprise that washed over her as she inspected the bracelet. This was no ordinary gemstone but a rune. Of all things to be brought to her, here in the undercity.

Jayce sighed as he spread the full piece of paper before her Blueprints of some kind. “We have a month to get our machine working and prove to the sponsors that it was worth investing in.”

“This would…” She trailed off as the words on the paper swam through her head as she looked at the blueprints for a water purifier prototype. She could see Viktors influence on the design, from the notes hastily scribbled over the actual design to the deep knowledge of the undercity.

“Change lives?” Jayce finished for her. His fingers traced over the design before his gaze shot up to stare straight into hers. "Viktor and I... we've been pushing the boundaries of what we can do with Hextech," Jayce began, his voice carrying the weight of the challenge. "But there’s something we’re missing—something we can’t quite grasp. This... this purifier could be more than just a machine. If we can tap into the magic behind it, we could change everything." He glanced at her, his expression earnest. "But we’re not getting the results we need. We need someone who understands the arcane side of things. We need someone who can guide us in blending magic with science."

Her laugh was sharp, almost incredulous. She folded her arms, leaning back slightly as she fixed Jayce with a skeptical look. “You’re asking me to teach you magic? Sorry to disappoint but I’m no mage Jayce.”

Jayce leaned forward, his voice quiet but insistent. "Not magic exactly. More like... guide us on how to harness it." He gestured toward the blueprints between them, his finger tracing the intricate designs etched into the page. "Viktor and I have managed to stabilize the crystals. They’re not exploding anymore. But understanding how to use that power? That’s the part we can’t figure out. Yet."

She arched a brow, her expression softening just enough to show a flicker of curiosity. "And you think I can?"

Jayce straightened, meeting her gaze with unwavering confidence. "I trust Viktor. And Viktor trusts you. That’s good enough for me."

“How do you know Viktor?” She asks before she can stop herself.

Jayce pauses, his brow creasing as he inhales a deep breath and carefully chooses his next words. “He saved my life.”

Elvie stands still, her eyes locked on Jayce as his words hang in the air. There’s an unspoken heaviness to the moment, and though Jayce’s sincerity is clear, there’s something unsaid that lingers between them. She can sense it, a subtle hesitation in the way he’s avoiding the full picture.

"So, Viktor saved your life," Elvie repeats, her voice quiet, but edged with concern. "And now you trust him with this?" She looks at the blueprints, the designs that could revolutionize the world

“Enough that I’m trusting you with this too.”

Wide eyed she looked back down at the blueprints before looking back to Jayce, repeating the motion several times as she digested the truth behind this stranger's words. Viktor had sent Jayce down to the undercity for her. Despite the brilliant brain in his skull he still needed her help. Just like when they were younger.

She blinked hard, as if to clear the fog of disbelief clouding her thoughts. Then her expression shifted—hesitation melting into something closer to resolve. The blueprint in her hands trembled, either from her nerves or the sheer weight of what it represented.

"You're serious," she whispered, the question more rhetorical than anything. Her gaze bore into Jayce's, searching for cracks in his conviction but finding none.

"I am," Jayce said, his tone steady. "Viktor wouldn’t have sent me if he didn’t believe you were the only one who could help us pull this off. We don’t have anyone else who understands the arcane and is willing to help us.”

“So I’d be what?” She clicked her tongue almost teasingly. “An informant? You come down here to the slums every couple of weeks with a new problem for me to fix?” Leaning forward Elvie was close enough that she could see the beads of sweat on Jayces neck from the uncomfortably close proximity.

“N-no,” Jayce stuttered and Elvie smiled smugly. “You’d be an official partner. Name on the patents and everything. There's just one little caveat.”

“Oh?” Well she hadn't been expecting that.

“You’d be required to relocate to Piltover.”

“So you mean to tell me you came all the way down here to convince little ol me to move topside and help you boys out with your science experiments. Not only that but I’m assuming you don't have much backing from the council, so I’d be upheaving my life for the slim chance we actually pull this off.”

The silence that hung over the apothecary was heavy, broken only by the faint creak of floorboards and the muted clink of glass jars as a draft shifted the shelves. Jayce stood rooted in place, staring at Elvie, his jaw slightly open. The dim, amber light of the shop cast long shadows across the rows of dried herbs, tinctures, and elixirs that surrounded them, giving the space a quiet intimacy—and a suffocating weight.

Elvie didn’t flinch under his gaze. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her stance unyielding as she leaned against the worn counter. The faint scent of bitterroot and lavender lingered in the air, but even that seemed to bow under the tension between them.

“You're right.” Said Jayce, having finally found his voice. “I’m asking you to take a huge risk. To leave everything that you've built for yourself down here all for a possibility. But I’ve been working on these plans almost my whole life and I know it can work.”

Quirking an eyebrow at the tall man she could feel the familiar curve of her lips as a smile broke out across her face. “What I do here is just a bandaid on a bullet hole. It only goes so far.” Confused Jayce leaned back. “I’d be a fool to throw away an opportunity like this.”

“Does that mean?” Unable to contain his excitement Jayce was practically glowing.

“But let’s get one thing straight, Topside. If this blows up in our faces, I’m not going down alone. You’d better hope we can give your council friends a damn good reason to keep us around.”

Jayce grinned, extending a hand. “Deal.”

Elvie eyed his hand warily before shaking it briefly. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t,” he said, the quiet confidence in his voice filling the apothecary like a spark in the dark.

• ───────────────── •

#arcane #viktor arcane #vi arcane #arcane fanfic #viktor fanfic #viktor x oc #Viktor arcane fanfic #arcane jayce #jayce talis

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gumnut-logic · 3 months ago

Text

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Virgil ducked a fist aimed at his head, grabbed the guy around the belly and flipped him face-first into a wall.

“I dunno! Maybe I wasn’t?” Gordon darted out of the way of his own opponent’s fist.

Virgil grabbed a woman’s dropped scarf from a nearby table, his fingers brushing against broken glass. He shook the material and more glass tinkled to the equally strewn floor. The man in his other hand writhed and attempted to kick him in the shins with the heel of his boot. Virgil just shoved him harder into the wall.

Twisted scarf made excellent restraints, particularly when looped into a chair which was conveniently bolted to the floor.

It was a bar. It was supposed to be a quiet night with Gordon. A couple of brothers shooting the breeze after a hard day at work. It wasn’t often they got to sit down for a moment, have a meal and just talk.

There had been a false alarm. A reported mine collapse that hadn’t been as serious as suspected and after three earlier rescues in that day, Virgil had called a halt and invited Gordon out for dinner.

His fish brother had looked at him somewhat strangely for all of two seconds and then enthusiastically accepted.

Stashing Two at the nearest GDF base, donning casual clothes, they’d borrowed a car, driven into town, and after a couple of personal errands, found a decent looking bar and ordered steak and a couple of beers.

It had been really good. It wasn’t often that they got time to just relax and enjoy each other’s company.

The alcohol had been minimal as technically they were still on call. Gordon had a quite long and persuasive discussion with John as to whether he should drop down and join them.

John politely declined.

Gordon threatened his tribble collection.

John threatened a fish tank or two.

Gordon threatened a telescope.

John threatened to tell Penelope about Gordon’s fangirly underwear collection.

Virgil stepped in before Gordon exploded.

As it was, the couple one table over were staring over their shoulders at the two guys apparently arguing with their collars.

John was wrestled into a promise of some downtime day after next and asked to tally it up with the rest of the brothers as a family get together.

All was good and well and enjoyable.

Until they walked into the bar.

It wasn’t a rough bar. In fact, it showed signs of families visiting during the day and had a few older folks out the back playing the slot machines.

But every community had this type and every community had to handle their bullshit.

Five of them in total. Two of them decided to harass a woman sitting by herself at the bar. Gordon happened to be ordering some mineral water to follow up on their beers at the time and, of course, he stepped in.

And this was the result.

Of course, the entire situation split the bar into three camps – the Tracy side, the annoyance side, and the innocent bystanders who just wanted a quiet meal at the pub.

Virgil had a foot each in the first and last camps.

But he was a Tracy and a guy built even bigger than Virgil loomed over Gordon with all the signs of intending to smush his brother.

While Gordon was quite capable of wiping the floor clean with the guy’s head, Virgil hadn’t been comfortable with the four others paying far too much attention to the matter.

So, he had swallowed the last of his beer and, putting the glass down, wandered over to stand beside his shorter brother.

Now, Virgil wasn’t particularly tall, but where Gordon’s swimmer’s strength was mostly hidden by his shirt, Virgil’s heavy lifting strength most certainly wasn’t.

The loomer eyed Virgil with a little more respect, but unfortunately the man’s height must have outpaced his IQ, because he didn’t back down.

He had far too much confidence in his buddies.

Loomer threw a punch and Gordon educated him in WASP fighting techniques.

It was a very short lesson.

Virgil took on the four who didn’t like that.

God bless his wonderful sister for all that training, sans coffee at five in the morning or not.

Gordon finished off Loomer and took on two of the guys Virgil had been dancing with.

From then on it had been dodge and attempt to restrain. Virgil had no interest in causing injury, he just wanted to contain the idiots.

They didn’t seem to want to comply.

So, there were bruises and broken furniture.

Virgil felt sorry for the bar owner. No doubt Tracy money would be fixing a few things. Scott was not going to be impressed.

Virgil walked up behind a guy who had thought it would be fun to team up with Gordon’s opponent in a semi-coordinated attack. He didn’t bother hitting the man, he just grabbed an arm and yanked. Spinning him around he used another convenient wall to bring his attack to a very abrupt halt.

The man’s language was explicit and quite offensive.

“Okay, now break it up.” Several police officers walked into the bar.

Gordon’s opponent was already on the floor. The aquanaut held both of his hands up and backed up to show he was no threat.

Virgil had to keep a hold of his still profane antagonist, so he was only able to hold up one hand.

A gun clicked. “Let the man go.”

A frown and Virgil did as he was asked, holding up his remaining hand.

Foul Mouth spun around and before the police officer could react, planted his fist in Virgil’s cheek bone.

“Hey!” And there were suddenly police everywhere. Hands grabbed Virgil as he attempted to shake the stars from his eyesight.

Goddamn, that hurt.

“We’re the victims here. He’s my brother, let him go!”

Blinking, he tried to straighten, but his arms were wrenched behind his back and handcuffed.

His head spun.

“Do you have any idea of who we are?!”

Gordon, shut up or we’ll be on the networks within minutes.

Then Scott would be really pissed.

Virgil wilted in the grip of the men holding him.

His brother was going to be apoplectic.

-o-o-o-

Reactions

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #nuttyfic reblog

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yakuzacanons · 1 year ago

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hey! Hope you're doing well, love ur blog sm it gives me life

Wanted to ask, do you think the guys have some hobbie? Would they be more likely to introduce their hobby to their S/O or could it be the other way around (the S/O easily introducing them into a hobby)? Thanks beforehand!

OOhhh this is a fun one, sorry it took so long to get back to ya btw. Giving u a big hug. Bit of a long post so sit tight and enjoy!

Kazuma Kiryu

Is working out a hobby? Seriously though, he likes working out and fishing. Not very likely to introduce his hobby to you unless you already express interest in it but is down to try whatever hobby you have as long as it's not something too crazy like climbing Mt. Everest.

Majima Goro

Honestly, he likes singing. It doesn't even have to be public, like karaoke. A lot of the time, you'll find him coming up with his own jingle by himself, minding his own business. Definitely more easily influenced by his S/O's hobbies than the other way around.

Saejima Taiga

Generally speaking, he's an outdoorsman. Likes hiking, camping, fishing, and hunting. Would love to do a camping trip with you but only if you want. Equally likely to introduce a hobby of his to you as you might introduce one to him.

Akiyama Shun

If taking a nap was a hobby, he would say that's his favorite activity. In reality, he has no particular favorite hobby but he does spend a lot of free time doing volunteer work for the homeless. Honestly, whatever your hobby is, he's down to try since he doesn't have one of his own to really offer you.

Tanimura Masayoshi

He likes learning how to cook and bake. That or trying the newest and weirdest flavor of snack he can find. Generally a really explorative guy and will try just about anyting you suggest.

Ryuji Goda

Has a particular interest in traditional ceremonies, especially tea ceremonies. Just fond of tea brewing in general. Also has an interest in coffee brewing but that's more out of him needing caffeine in the morning than an actual love for coffee, unlike his genuine love of tea. Would never force a hobby on you. Also not likely to be influenced himself; he barely has time for the one hobby he does have.

Nishikiyama Akira

To put it simply, he likes learning about pretty things. Like expanding his knowledge of fashion and jewelry, more so in how its made or where certain fabrics come from. Also kind of interested in gemstones and minerals but can never remember all the names. It's more of a passing fancy for him, sort of like knowing random trivia or facts, so he doesn't take it too seriously.

Daigo Dojima

If he ever DOES get the time to indulge in a hobby, it's typically something artistic. He would never go so far as to say he has any talent but he's tried his hand at piano and painting. For when he doesn't have time, you'll catch him folding tiny origami cranes at his desk. Actually pretty good at doing that but he never knows what to do with them when he's done.

Mine Yoshitaka

Does a lot of kickboxing and boxing when he's by himself. Will neither try to influence you with his hobbies nor is he easily influenced by your hobbies. Mostly just lovingly and curiously watches you while you're invested in your hobbies; he's more interested in observing than participating.

Tatsuo Shinada

Is baseball too obvious for him? Even if it is, it's the truth. Most of the time, you'll catch him doing something baseball related because that's most of what he knows and it's fairly affordable. Passing interest in photography too but only just in passing.

Ichiban Kasuga

Likes riding a bike or going fishing. Going on walks is also a good option for him. More likely to be influenced by his S/O's hobbies than the other way around. Always down to try something new, for better or for worse.

Yu Nanba

He doesn't personally consider this a hobby but he's actually quite skilled at sewing! Maybe it's just a natural extension of knowing how to do stitches as a nurse. Also more likely to try a hobby because of his S/O than influence their hobbies himself.

Adachi Koichi

Likes reading true crime novels and learning about cars. He doesn't own a car himself but he likes to learn about vintage models or go to car shows if he can. Neither hobbies are particularly serious for him though and more of a passing interest. Will try just about any hobby you present to him but be warned, he can be a little clumsy.

Tianyou Zhao

He spends almost all of his down time exploring something food related. Loves to come up with his own recipes and experimenting with old recipes. Also does a fair bit of tai chi on his days off. Just be aware, if you're dating, you ARE going to be his taste tester.

Joon-Gi Han

It sounds funny but he likes to read or watch random shit for the hell of it. Watches lots of video essays and then spits out everything he learned from it like a fountain. Also really good at making little model airplanes and figurines, although he kind of forgets to clean up after himself sometimes.

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indignantlemur · 29 days ago

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Ok, I binged Emigre and I LOVE IT. I’m on my second read through now. Always jazzed for fellow Canadian representation too.

As someone who adores cooking and has had many a debate about salt and acceptable recipe salt substitutions and volumes (kosher salt cannot be replaced by an equal amount of table salt in a recipe, you need way less when doing that), I am for some reason hung up on this idea of salt tasting different and how that would affect cooking for/with Andorians in mind.

You’ve mentioned that Andorians taste salt similar to capsaicin, I’m assuming it’s more nuanced than just heat but also has a bit of it’s own flavour depending on the salt make up itself. For their cooking adventures, did Dagmar make Thelen undertake a “great salt tasting” in which she acquired every kind of salt she could think of (human and Adorian) and make him taste them to write down the relative spice level and other notes? Does she have a spice rack and a salt rack for cooking? What is Andorian salt culture and opinions around cooking, especially when encountering human food which rely on salt to enhance flavour?

For humans there is a big saltiness difference between kosher salt, flaky sea salt, and table salt, and all have different uses. I image for Andorians there would be “baking salts”, “cooking salts”, and “spicy finishing salts”, and there in might even have opinions on like “Pink Himalayan salt is mild and general purpose, but has x undertone and an only be used with these types of recipes”, and “Human Smoked Sea Salt is a luxury good due to flavour and process, but is only ever a finishing salt”? There must be very strong opinions about the use of salt too, even by generation. With availability and slow dissemination of Federation recipes I imagine use of salt would change with exposure to human recipes.

Hi! It's lovely to meet you!

Okay, first of all, I love how much thought you've put into this! I'm absolutely delighted! <3

Second: Yes. Yes, Dagmar absolutely made Thelen taste-test a bunch of different kinds of salt at one point. She, herself, only generally uses table salt, sea salt, and Himalayan pink salt in her cooking, but for the taste-test she went and found every kind of salt she could get her mitts on. Thelen was a very good sport about it.

For Andorians, while straight salt carries the burn of capsaicin alone, the different mineral compositions create unique flavours. Much like a scotch bonnet pepper has a very different flavour profile to a serrano pepper or a Carolina reaper, the different forms (flakey versus coarse versus pyramid-shaped, for example) and chemical compositions (pink salt versus black salt versus grey smoked salt) of salts impart similar nuances.

(Thelen preferred the grey smoked salts, red salts, and black salts best, with the red salt in particular being described as 'almost sweet' to him.)

Andorians do prefer to use certain types of salt for particular kinds of dishes, but Humans actually tend to find that Andorian food - while pleasant and very compatible with their palettes - lacks a great deal of the salt most Humans are used to in their diets, and therefore feels somewhat bland. Part of the reason why is simply that Andorians don't need to consume as much sodium (or electrolytes) as Humans do, given that they do not sweat outside of extreme temperatures. Excessive salt consumption is hard on their kidneys, of course, but even in advanced age the Andorian metabolism is such that too much salt is far from life-threatening.

On Andoria, the primary kind of salt used is sea salt. It's what you'll most commonly find available for widespread consumption, from restaurants to at-home cooking - though plenty of other options exist as well! Andorian sea salt on its own has a strong and pleasantly bitter flavour profile to Humans, while Andorians describe the flavour as more intense than anything else. Accordingly, Andorians use very little salt outside of traditionally 'hot' dishes, and they don't use salt at all in certain types of foods (such as some of their more traditional and ancient dessert recipes, unless it is a very mild form of salt - and even then, it will be used quite sparingly!)

The oldest generations of currently living Andorians in Emigre's era are very anti-salt outside of very specific traditional dishes, and you'll never find it casually offered to guests either. Salt in all its varieties is, to these elder generations, a precious resource doled out like tiny threads of saffron for only the most discerning of palettes. There is something of an air of ritual about the way it is exactingly measured and added to family dishes hailing from before the Unification, as if each granule is more dear than gold or latinum.

Meanwhile, the youngest generations are far more willing to experiment with novel seasonings and salts - and Humans are more than happy to be a terrible influence in this regard. Gone is the traditional reverence and restraint used around salt, and only youthful enthusiasm and curiosity remains to fill the void!

Hilariously, most Andorians regard their own cuisine as robust, with full-bodied flavours and moderate to high heat levels in many of the modern savoury dishes. The news that their food was considered bland by Humans was not particularly well received by the public at first, until the first Terran foods hit the Andorian market.

Human cuisine, by comparison, is a study in endurance and hubris from the Andorian perspective. We put salt in everything, and we don't warn anyone.

In the years after the founding of the Federation of United Planets, Andorian-born Starfleet cadets and civilian immigrants alike will develop a stereotype on Human-colonized worlds as salt-fiends.

Usually ascribed to young and boisterous Andorians, salt-fiending describes a behaviour of actively seeking out the most heavily salted meals and drinks available in rapid succession and competing with one's peers to consume the most salt in a single sitting. This often resulting in a contest of what is best described (in the word of one bartender whose establishment is a popular haunt for Starfleet's finest) as 'oddly gender-neutral alien machismo.' Since Andorians are not overly rowdy customers otherwise, most bars will tolerate salt-fiending as a novel and somewhat entertaining new campus tradition.

It should be noted, however, that Starfleet's medical residents and physicians get quite tired of fixing the slew of oral salt-burns that inevitably follow a long weekend.

Hope this more or less answers everything! <3

#emigre by indignantlemur #blessed are the barkeeps who keep the salt-shakers stocked #andorian #andorians #headcanon #star trek #Andorians and salt #Andorian food and cooking #Andorian culture #Andorian salt usage #Andorian salt-fiending #Andorian salt-fiends

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tanuki-kimono · 1 year ago

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Hello! I love your blog bc it helps me a lot with writing and crafting. Thank you so much for making it!

Are there any patterns that deal with poison? Either in the pattern or in the dyeing process?

Even if there's not I'm glad you and this blog exist 💗

(anon continues) Poison in the dyeing process, like when green dresses were dyed with copper arsenite and it was extremely deadly.

Or a pattern of someone being poisoned, like a historical/folktale.

_______________________________________

Thank you for your kind words <3 I tried to keep things organized but the subject is huge so my of the top of my head answer is going in many directions. I hope you'll still find what you need :3

I'll briefly cover here dyes and (pigments), poison motifs, real life and supernatural poisonings. Buckle up we've got a long post ahead!

____ ABOUT DYE

Tbh I had to think for a moment because I don't recall major "poison" stories linked to dyes in Japan, be it fictionous or real (yet that doesn't mean none ever happened, especially considering Japan's history of industrial poisonings...).

Most gruesome details in the fabric industries I know of are about the horrific life & work conditions of female laborers in spinning mill manufactures (as in many countries, Japan industrialization process was ghastly...).

If potters and dyers had excellent practical knowledge, chemistry as a science officially started kind of late in Japan as it was not a local interest, and as rangaku (study of Western knowledge) often favored other subjects like medicine or warfare.

So, until the introduction of aniline dyes (not textile related, but this article about the use of synthetic dyes in ukiyoe printing is super interesting), Japanese worked with "natural" dyes, like ai (indigo) which was the most used during Edo period.

As with any ingredient, being natural doesn't equal safety. Some mixtures could be quite potent/foul, and process could be dangerous. Plants and minerals base ingredients could be toxic (cinnabar and orpiments were then used as paint pigments, and lead could be found in make up), as were mordants used to set colors.

If you want to easily overview which ingredients were used to create colors, I recommand browsing [Irocore] which presents colors with explanation in English in their database (pick a color then scroll down).

Not related to poison, but ai (indigo) is traditionally prepared in aigame/enormous floor set jars I find utterly terrifying:

I don't know if this tidbit can help you, but some dyes and mordants actually damage the fabric overtime, leaving them brittle (silk desintegrates after a while which is a huge issue in textile conservation).

____ POISON MOTIFS

Concerning "poison" themed patterns, none would be actually used traditionally on a kimono or an obi beside novelty items ^^;

For example, many plants can be toxic, but I don't see them set as pattern for this property - they'd rather refer to a poem, be a symbol of the passing of seasons etc. Fuji (wisteria) can be quite harmful, yet it's a beloved traditional motif in Japan.

You have much more chances to find pattern with kujaku (peacock) which are thought to be impervious to poison in Buddhism, than say venomous mukade (centipede) or the horrific ômukade (a youkai I covered in a folktale).

Snakes like the habu and mamushi are dangerous, but if used as pattern snakes are most often auspicious and linked to rain dragons or goddess Benzaiten.

If you squint hard, toxic fugu could count as poison pattern, but such a seasonal delicacy as a motif would mostly underline wealth (as those fishes are pretty expensive as they are prepared by specialized chefs), a kind of carpe diem spirit, or just a fun pattern because fugu balloon shape is cute ;)

____ POISON MURDERS

Poisoning was certainly a thing is Japan since ancient times (see kodoku sorcery). Poisons were for example used in some fishing techniques.

I am pretty sure some kuge and buke were disposed of this way - even thought poison was seen as a coward weapon (hence why its supposed to be only used by shinobi/ninja - even if this "fact" is opened to a lot of discussions!).

During Edo period, such murders made up the news and penny dreadful-like illustrated books favored by city dwellers in need of a fright. But those stories didn't pass to posterity beside cheap ukiyoe plates, and were never as popular as some shinjû (double suicides) or ghost revenges like poor poisoned and murdered Oiwa's:

____ SUPERNATURAL POISONINGS

If your poison is both physical and metaphorical illbeing, mushi could be your guys ^^ This term actually covers everything small and crawling, from real worms and insects, to anything inside one's body causing distress - be it a parasite, an unknown illness, an overboard emotion, a curse etc. If you've read/seen Mushishi you've got what I mean:

In fact any illness-causing being could count as poison-bringer. Hôsôkami (smallpox demon) was truly feared by all before vaccination was introduced in Japan.

Finally, continuing the supernatural poisoning trail, best girl is probably legendary fox witch Tamamo no Mae who among other terrible deeds made emperor Konoe fall sick with poisonous miasma (some version of the story attributes the disease to another monster, the nue). I covered a similar murderous kitsune folktale here.

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jollyjotter · 2 days ago

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Une Partie de Vous

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖢𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖲𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖵𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌

𝗧𝗪: none

𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀: hand-holding, Vanitas and Reader being on a stroll, Dante and Amelia being mentioned very briefly (separately), DomiNoé ship implications if you squint, and more unimportant stuff

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲: established relationship

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Vanitas x F!Reader

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 927

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: i recently saw a tiktok of someone showing a chat between a couple, saying how since they got together, the guy kind of adopted his girlfriend's mannerisms? i thought this was cute, idc ❤︎

ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎

The day had bled into evening, the golden hues of sunset casting long shadows over the cobbled streets of Paris. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread from a nearby boulangerie, mingling with the crisp autumn breeze that whispered through the alleys.

A few stray leaves danced along the pavement, swirling past the hem of your dress as you walked ahead.

Vanitas followed behind, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, his expression unreadable yet undeniably amused.

For once, he let you lead the way, trailing a few steps behind as he observed something most fascinating.

You, seemingly unaware of his silent scrutiny, continued speaking. You had been unusually talkative today—not that Vanitas minded.

Your voice, soft and lilting, filled the space between the two of you like a melody, flitting between topics as easily as the wind toyed with your curls.

“Seriously,” you mused, tucking a stray lock behind your ear, “The nerve of him, trying to sell me superstition.”

Vanitas tilted his head, smirking. “And yet, you still bought the hairpin.”

You huffed, clutching the strap of the white satchel on your shoulder. “It was so pretty.”

Inside the bag were the day’s small indulgences—a bracelet, a hairpin, a few glittering minerals from a German merchant. Things you had simply liked, nothing more, nothing less.

Vanitas let out a breath of amusement, his gaze never leaving you. He had noticed it weeks ago—how you had begun to mirror him. Not deliberately, but more as though some part of you had unconsciously absorbed him.

The realization had crept up on him slowly, but once seen, it was impossible to ignore.

In the way you gestured, fingers slicing through the air just so—the same way he did. The way you sometimes spoke, your voice dipping into his cadence when calling someone an idiot—that specific, exasperated drawl.

Even the small, fleeting expressions that flitted across your face when you were unimpressed or scheming—it was him.

And the fact that you didn’t even seem to realize it made it all the more amusing.

Dante had been the one to point it out, offhandedly mentioning it a week ago with an obnoxious grin. "Y’know, it’s kinda funny," he had mused, grinning over the rim of his glass. "She’s starting to act like you."

Vanitas had scoffed at the time, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. But then he’d started paying attention, and damn it all—Dante had been right.

You had somehow let him seep into you, bit by bit, without even noticing.

And the thought of that—of being so deeply adored that he had become a part of you, however small—left something tight and unrecognizable in his chest.

How the hell did I bag her?

He had asked himself that question more times than he cared to admit. You weren’t just a fleeting flirtation or a distraction—you were real.

A beautiful creature who had been his thorn and his salvation in equal measure. The two of you had circled each other for years, always teetering on the edge of something dangerous—until one day, you simply fell.

You weren’t his, and he wasn’t yours, not in any official sense. You were not a couple—not the way others might define it. But each of you knew what you were to each other. And that was enough.

You suddenly halted in your steps, turning toward him. “Oh! We still need to get the Madeleines for Amelia. I almost forgot.”

Vanitas blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts. Then, before you could move again, he hooked his pinky around yours.

You stilled.

His touch was light—barely there—but deliberate. His expression, however, remained unreadable, as though the gesture was an afterthought.

“You heading home later?” he asked casually.

Slowly, you tilted your head, a flicker of confusion in your gaze. “Yes?” Where else would you go?

Vanitas hummed, his thumb brushing absently against your pinky. “Noé’s out visiting Dominique. Won’t be back until tomorrow evening.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly. “And?”

Vanitas lifted a brow, the smirk playing at the corner of his lips just barely teasing. “You could stay the night.”

You froze. Then—oh.

Immediately, your eyes widened, the grip on your satchel tightening as something unreadable flickered across your face. Your gaze darted away, pink dusting your cheeks, as if your mind had leaped somewhere else entirely.

Vanitas sighed, exasperated. “Ma crevette.”

“I—” You coughed into your hand, clearly flustered. “I mean—”

Vanitas rolled his eyes. “Not like that..”

You shot him a sharp glance, as if daring him to make fun of your reaction, but he only grinned, smug as ever.

“What?” he mused. “You think I had ulterior motives?”

You turned on your heel. “Forget the Madeleines, I’m leaving, actually.”

Vanitas laughed—an actual, full-bodied laugh that startled even himself. He caught up with you easily, falling into step beside you, and this time, he didn’t unlink your fingers.

It would rain later, he could feel it in the air. And in the back of his mind, he was already picturing it—you curled up beside him, the warmth of your body against his. No games, no pretense. Just the quiet comfort of knowing you were there.

Perhaps tomorrow, he would go back to pretending he hadn’t noticed the way you mirrored him.

But tonight?

Tonight, he would just let himself adore you.

•

#les memoires de vanitas #the case study of vanitas #vanitas no carte #vnc #vnc vanitas #vanitas x reader

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odinsblog · 1 year ago

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US Bitcoin Miners Use as Much Electricity as Everyone in Utah

Bitcoin miners in the US are consuming the same amount of electricity as the entire state of Utah, among others, according to a new analysis by the US Energy Information Administration. And that’s considered the low end of the range of use.

Electricity usage from mining operations represents 0.6% to 2.3% of all the country’s demand in 2023, according to the report released Thursday. It is the first time EIA has shared an estimate. The mining activity has generated mounting concerns from policymakers and electric grid planners about straining the grid during periods of peak demand, energy costs and energy-related carbon dioxide emissions.

“This estimate of U.S. electricity demand supporting cryptocurrency mining would equal annual demand ranging from more than three million to more than six million homes,” the report said.

While mining began in the US a decade ago, an influx of crypto mining companies have relocated from China after that country banned the industry in May 2021. Over the last three years, a flurry of large-scale miners have gone public in the US, setting up operations in some of the most energy-rich states such as Texas and New York.

(continue reading)

#politics #crypotcurrency #crypto bros #bitcoin #cryptocurrency mining #environment #power consumption #bitcon

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torchship-rpg · 1 year ago

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Dev Diary 10 - Martians & Spacers

Hello cosmonauts! Today we’re going to go into some more detail on human identities (don’t worry, we’ll get to aliens soon enough). Torchship development is progressing behind the scenes, albeit a bit slowly (the last two weeks especially have been hellish), and in particular we’re working on a revision of some of our core systems in a way that hopefully we can touch on in our next dev diary.

Until then, let’s wrap up the Sol-based human identities today.

Spacers

It’s safe to say that humanity in Torchship are a bunch of space cadets, and an awful lot of them were eager to live in space the moment the opportunity arose. The result is that, in the year 2169, there are entire cities floating free in the Sol system, and thousands of small stations for mining, processing, and refining the near-limitless resources of the asteroid belt and Oort cloud.

Spacers live in much-reduced gravity to the Earth norm; 0.35g is the ‘standard’, originally because of mechanical limitations in the construction of stations and now simply their norm. This means they’re recommended the ‘Freefaller’ trait, just like Lunars. They are also recommended the Radiation Hardened trait, representing modifications and pre-emptive treatment to cope with living outside of a planet’s magnetosphere and atmosphere. This gives you inbuilt reduction against radiation damage in exchange for slower passive healing due to the metabolic cost of those redundancies.

Spacers are divided into two broad categories; Habitat Spacers and Deep Spacers. As the name implies, ‘Habbers’ live in the many purpose-built space habitats which orbit Earth and, to a lesser degree, the other planets in the Sol system. These habitats are enormous technological wonders and a vital step in the space-based economy of the Solar Union, containing the light manufacturing facilities which turn the resources of Luna, the outer system, and beyond into consumer goods. They also help route the people and resources flowing to and from Earth, ensuring the colonies get fed and Earth reaps the benefits of large-scale industry without the environmental cost.

Habbers might live in space, but their day-to-day isn’t much different from their Terran cousins. Their habitats are huge, massive cities with equally large green areas. Standout habitats include L5 Hab, home of Star Patrol HQ and Academy, L4 ‘Guest Star’, the former headquarters of the PLA’s astromilitary and current HQ of Star Force, and Destination Station, the orbital anchor for Earth’s space elevator.

Habbers, especially L4 and L5 citizens, made up a disproportionate amount of Solar Patrol members back in the day, so they get recommended the ‘Veteran’ Trait, scoring you reduced Stress in combat and bonus Security/Tactical certs in exchange for a lowered total Stress threshold. The strong presence of both the play market and shipping bureaucracy come with the Entrepreneur trait; you’re a better negotiator than average because you’re used to these kinds of transactions, but take Stress from both offering the Union’s Credits in negotiation and from the Union being in debt, as you have a much better handle on what it might mean for people when the Union’s economic systems are strained.

By contrast, Deep Spacers don’t live in cushy habs. No, these crusty cosmonauts make their living out in the farthest reaches of the Sol system, mining ice from Saturn’s rings, breaking up distant asteroids, and sending the bounty back on slow orbits. Not long ago, before the FTL drive was invented, this was the farthest you could get from the authority of the Union; most Deep Spacers are anarchists of various sorts who very much prefer their little self-contained communities to the stifling oversight and endless democratic procedure of Earth, who eschew the ration credit and play market for gift economies and black markets of their own devising. Their relationship with Earth never has to get deeper than minerals for biologicals, and most of them prefer it that way.

Still, Deep Spacers are the rock-solid core of the Patrol, because a lifetime on stations and rockets give them unparalleled instincts for the job. They are recommended the same Claustrophile trait as Mazedwelling Lunars and the same Communal Spirit trait as Urban Terrans, meaning they’re great working in a team or on EVA. They also pick up languages quickly with Polyglot, because many of their stations are extremely multicultural, and it's not uncommon for deep spacers to speak five or more languages, plus whatever pidgins are used at their trade posts.

Finally, both types of Spacers are recommended two traits which make them beloved by Star Patrol. Voidborn gives a bonus to patching hulls in exchange for added Stress when the vehicle is low on Supply, representing both their lifetime of decompression drills and their deep awareness of how thin the margins are in space. They are also recommended the Well-Connected trait to always have friends in the Patrol wherever they go, because for many Spacers, this is the family business!

As a final note, Spacers get a unique third sub-identity, the Daedalus Children, which is mostly a way of showing players that they’re free to go wild with the Trait choices even if they’re playing with humans. The Daedalus Children are a small group of artificial, silicon-based human duplicates created by the sapient supercomputer running Sagan Station, orbiting the distant planet Minerva 500 AU away from the sun. They have a psychic connection to the Daedalus computer (who they affectionately call their ‘Daed’) through the Patron Being trait.

This gonzo addition makes it clear that this is a big, strange, somewhat silly world, and you should feel free to make your blorbo whatever you want, and damn the canon!

Martians

Let’s go down the gravity well again and meet the Martians. Mars is well on its way to being humanity’s second homeworld by 2169, the result of a near-obsessive colonisation and terraforming effort through the 21st century. More or less the moment fusion engines made it viable, humans were throwing comets into the poles and setting up artificial magnetospheres, excited by the possibility of using their new high-energy toys to create a livable planet in less than a century.

Unfortunately, though perhaps not surprisingly, their maths were somewhat off. Mars is lingering in a low oxygen state, and has too many people and too much infrastructure now to try any of the big flashy high-energy terraforming anymore. Instead, it’ll be slow centuries of cultivating an artificial biosphere before Terrans can breathe unaided on the surface; despite the rapidly spreading greenery and brand new oceans, Mars’s current average surface oxygen level rivals the peak of Mount Everest.

Undeterred, the Martians turned to genetic engineering so their children could play outside. The result is that Martians get recommended the Hypoxic Conditioning trait, which gives them total immunity to low oxygen conditions and a shocking ten minutes of normal activity in total oxygen deprivation. In exchange, they take a penalty to their physical capabilities, reflecting the metabolic changes and the fact they’ve all ended up a good eight centimetres shorter than they would be without the modifications.

Martians also get recommended the Driven and Lone Wolf traits, neurological consequences of this engineering; these traits combine to mean that Martians work best when they’re alone and hyperfocusing on a single task. This may or may not be familiar to some of you, which is very much intentional; Martians are a not so subtle fantastical allegory for neurodivergence.

The two major Martian sub-identities are The Red Frontier and The Dome Cities. The Red Frontier represents what is often thought of as the archetypical Martian lifestyle, even if it’s slowly being displaced; small groups of people living in bunker-like bases deep in the vast Martian wilderness, tending to the massive fleet of agriculture, survey, construction, and maintenance drones which are both building infrastructure and tending the genetically-engineered biosphere of Mars. This job gets them recommended the Machine Minded trait, which eliminates the penalty normally taken when working remotely with machines in exchange for one to social interaction in person.

Mars’ fragile ecology manifests as a strange sort of tundra, with spindly evergreen trees, hardy lichen, and a variety of engineered animals. A lot of work has to be done to keep it all going, especially because insects can’t survive the oxygen-poor environment, which makes pollination difficult. Martians get recommended the appropriate Environmental Adaptation trait for this tundra; they know all about survival in cold, dry environments.

Finally, if you wanted to play one of those terraforming drones instead, that’s always a viable option; we dropped Machine Life in there as a reminder!

The dwellers of the Dome Cities are part of Mars’ high tech industry. Because of the gravity well in the way, Mars doesn’t export much in the way of material goods. Instead, it uses the concentration of expertise needed for terraforming and drone management to make cutting-edge software and media for the rest of the Union, and the cities are where this takes place. Martian cities are much more high-tech than their Earth counterparts, with lots of automated systems designed either to make up for the smaller population, or simply because Martians are already used to making robots do as much work as possible; Machine-Minded is unsurprisingly also recommended here.

Because Mars is a world of specialists, where being the best at your One Thing is a strong cultural value, the Prodigy trait is recommended for citizens of the Dome Cities, allowing them to pick three certs as Focuses and advance them faster, at the cost of advancing the others slower. Finally, the greater reliance on automation sees the Prosthetics trait recommended, representing both the greater reliance on mechanical parts over regrown tissue in medicine and the fact Martians aren’t adverse to a bit of computerised self-improvement.

Digital Elysium

Just like Spacers, Martians have a third, highly-specific sub-identity. Where Daedalus Children are a gonzo departure from the setting’s norm, the citizens of Elysium City instead are instead deeply rooted in the history of the setting. Remember how we said the Star Union isn’t a utopia? Well, this is one of the major ways it has failed, and a resolution is one of the things that can emerge over the course of the campaign.

Forty years prior to the modern day, a group of Cybernetic Democrats calling themselves the Lab Rats hatched the brilliant scheme to all move to one of the brand-new Martian cities together and use their newfound political majority to set up one of their predictive networks, peacefully starting the cybernetic revolution on a new world. They built themselves an automated city, possessed by a ghost of convenience which always knew exactly what you needed, always had a train ready when you reached the station, and always had a task you wanted to do ready to go every time you looked at your smart watch. It was efficient, seamless, responsive, and incredibly alienating, replacing any real sense of community with quest markers in your smart glasses.

When vital colonists tried to leave the city, the algorithm predicted the majority wouldn’t like that, and it locked the doors to stop them. Then the Solar Guard showed up to the ‘hostage situation’. Nobody listened to one another, both sides refused to understand what was going on. The Solar Guard rolled in tanks, and the algorithm helped the Lab Rats ambush them. After a month of brutal street to street fighting, the first war on another world, the Solar Guard retreated, and bombed the city with jumpjets until the terrified defenders lost hope. Once the majority no longer wanted to fight, the algorithm dutifully switched off.

Forty years later, Elysium City is still under military occupation. It was supposed to be brief, but the neighbouring cities who now have the controlling vote keep extending it whenever violence flares up, and each extension radicalises a new generation of Elysium citizens. Both sides are incredibly unpopular with a majority who just want peace and a greater Union who find it all monstrous, but the systems of the Solar Union are paralyzed by their own democratic checks and balances, leaving the city in a horrible limbo.

If you want to be from Elysium, you get recommended a whole pile of traits reflecting the extreme circumstance. Vengeful and Fretful are two recommended Traits representing the understandable anger and anxiety which come from living in a city where drone bombing still happens with regularity. Prodigy reflects how Elysium City is the single largest concentration of computer science geniuses in the entire Union, due to the fact that none of them are allowed to leave. Dark History can represent in equal parts being a member of the Lab Rats or the Sol Guard, both staggeringly unpopular organisations to everyone else in the Union.

Finally, Patron Being represents how, despite the best efforts of generations of computer engineers, the self-replicating Network still lingers deep in the electronic bones of Elysium, waiting for the day that a majority want it back. Hackers and technomancers both claim they have made contact with the Network, and this trait can represent your dedication to bringing it back.

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