#spark splicing

[transingthoseformers]

Aaaaand that would be our catch

There's the murder

[naffeclipse]

Brain Damage

Reader x Sebastian Solace

Commission Info

Thank you so much to @o-cinnamonstickz for requesting the hot fish we've both been obsessing over for a hot minute! After a blow to the head, the reader wakes up in none other than the merchant's arms, and he has a few things to check before he'll allow you to continue on. You know, just friendly fish shopkeeper things!

Content Warnings: Injuries. Violence. Mentions of gore.

———

Pain draws you out of the darkness you were so sweetly nestled in. A blunt ache furiously pulses in your right temple, demanding attention. A groan slips from you. You weakly writhe and arms tighten around you. 

A thrum works in your ears, blending into a monotonous buzz before your consciousness begins to splice the noises. A thick stream of water falling in a dull roar. The constant echo of something just beyond the walls and doors, someone screaming or turrets firing. You never did like to focus on those.

A voice springs into your awareness. Lowered into a hiss, it slithers against the edges of your consciousness in a familiar timbre.

“Wake up.” Two firm hands shake your shoulders and you whine. “That’s it, come on. Wake up.”

“Leave me alone,” you mewl. You try to twist away and kick out your feet but a heaviness surrounds you. The sharp pressure points of claws dig into your flesh. You stop at once.

“Not a chance,” the voice chuckles.

The pain persists, and you’re forced to crack open your eyes. A light blue face blurs against the gray facility walls—the north side is ripped out completely. A burst pipe sends a waterfall down into the darkness. The ground is cool but you’re propped up on something solid but slick. One arm slips away from you. Three glowing eyes pierce through the haze of your vision. 

Sebastian?

A few seconds trickle by as your vision focuses on the sharp-tooth grin looming over you. The fluorescent lights are pale, sterile, and cold. Sebastian’s angular fish lure is warm and yellow and soft, dangling above you as his eyes hungrily sweep over your person. 

You didn’t think he ever left his safe room. Of course, he does, but you didn’t know he’d leave it for you.

You grunt as another wave of pain taps into your skull. The blunt ache chisels away at your concentration as if someone with a vendetta and a hammer decided to open up your head. 

“Welcome back.” Sebastian pulls away slightly. He sweeps back his dark hair from his face, and his eyes squint slightly in concentration. In a harsher tone, he commands, “Hold still. Stop squirming.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, but your defiance echoes childishly. You wince and aggravate the pain in your skull.

Sebastian smirks. A smugness decorates his inhuman face as he leans closer. A spark of indignation burns through you but it dies as quickly as it flares. 

Okay, fine. You stop trying to escape from your position, caught against his tail and where he hovers over you. His hands pin down your shoulders. Bulky sensations of packs are tucked behind your shoulders, propping you up in a manner of really, really awful pillows. Slowly, you huff, blowing a piece of hair out of your face.

“There, now is that so hard?” he purrs condescendingly, eyes impish and superior. “You should be a lot more grateful for help, friend.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, your eyes narrow into slits sharp enough to form daggers at the merchant who so decidedly has you in his grasp. 

Through gritted teeth, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

His mouth quirks at one corner. You stare as he lifts a hand from your shoulder to brush your hair up your forehead, exposing the side of your face currently engulfed in pain. His large palm settles delicately above your head wound. Your flesh prickles at the slightest graze of his claws over your scalp, triggering a sensitive input of nerves down your neck that nearly causes you to squirm again.

“I was going to scavenge a few things off of your corpse. Lucky for you, you’re not dead.” His glowing eyes hold your gaze. “What happened? I found you unconscious on the floor.”

“Uh, yeah, that,” you draw out slowly.

Sebastian drums his other hand’s claws along your shoulder, his expression shifting into displeasure or suspicion. You’re not certain.

Your attention shifts. Memory ripples with waves of pain, but you drag a hand through your murky recollection. 

You were walking through a dark room. There were two doors, each with glowing number signs. One held a slight static, but it was closer. You didn’t think anything of it—the facility is compromised in every way, so why not the screens as well? But that was your mistake.

“It was a fake door,” you sigh deeply. “I didn’t know Good People was behind it.”

Sebastian’s stare could pin you to the floor like a bug and write your classification as “stupid.” To your dismay, you can’t rebuttal him.

“You didn’t check to hear if there was growling or breathing?” His voice is so sharp and abysmal with judgment, you flinch. The thick, corded muscles of his tail tense around you. 

“I… I…” you murmur, a heat filling your cheekbones, but you're stalling. Did you check?

It was a blur. You shoved the door open only to freeze at the sight of a red mass of viscera. It moved. A smiling white mask snapped in your direction and three large claws on the end of its three-fingered hand struck, knocking you off your feet and backwards. Your temple hit the ground with a solid whack that reverberated within you.

Darkness rushed into your vision. You remember the slam of the door, the inhuman growl, and then the slight smell of fish.

Sebastian’s hands flex along you. He lowers himself closer, face to face. You try to lean away but his thick serpentine body prevents you from regaining any more precious space.

“What do you remember?” His glowing gaze flashes from one eye to the other, peering into them so deeply, you fear what he’ll find. “Do you have trouble recalling anything else? Concentrate on me.” 

“What? No,” you stubbornly shake your head but his palm grips your skull and holds you still. You only achieve a strain on your neck. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What’s my name?” he asks firmly. His anglerfish lure slips into view, dusting your face in its soft yellow glow. You squint against its proximity. 

You growl under your breath. “Sebastian. Are you happy now?”

He nods. “Yes, that’s my name.” But there’s no joy spilling over his expression now that you’ve uttered what he wanted to hear.

Between the hand gripping your head and the one holding your shoulder, he has you secure like a mouse in the mouth of a cat. You curse as his third arm, slightly smaller than the other two, reaches for your face.

“Open your eyes wide.”

On a reflex of spite, you nearly close them, but the nature of his questions finally slots into place in your pain-riddled mind.

“Oh, please, I don’t have a concussion.” You would roll your eyes but you’re a bit preoccupied with how his hand cups the side of your face.

“You were bleeding and unconscious when I found you,” he retorts. Sebastian’s claws frame the socket of your eye, pressing into your skin to hold your eyelids up. “Open your eyes wide. Let me watch the dilation and then I can see if all of your complaining is due to true brain damage.”

A seething retort sits behind your teeth but your muscles draw taut under his cool skin and wicked talons only centimeters from your precious vision. 

Willingly, you allow him to draw his anglerfish lure back and forth in front of you, into your view, and back out. In the time you’re trapped under his diagnostics, you study him in return. His eyes are wide and bright, unnatural for humans but they refract like fish caught in a flash of a camera in the abysmal depths of the sea. His teeth are razor-sharp. Frills stick out between the locks of his hair in place of ears. You feel the slight wiggle of his tail behind you, his flukes flipping in the slightest while in his concentration. 

“At least your mind seems mostly intact,” he hums. His hand falls from your face and you blink at last. “So you just can’t remember because you weren’t thinking, were you?”

“Can it, tuna fish,” you huff. “I just want to sleep this off and be on my merry way.”

His tail coils slightly tight against your back. You glance down to his shiny scales intercut with belts and straps of pouches from where he stuffs the goods he pillages from around the facility.

“I’m afraid you can’t sleep. Not for the time being,” he muses as he draws his claws over your scalp to cradle the back of your head. “Unless you’d like to never wake up again.”

“And you’re going to keep me awake?” you breathe, exasperated. “I’m not bleeding anymore and—wait, how did you find me?” 

Now you skew you with a look, your brow furrowing with a splash of hurt along your temple. Sebastian shifts in the slightest, caught off guard in a way you haven’t seen the saboteur before. His claws curl.

“Just a little tracking device. No big deal.” 

Your eyes widen, furious beyond words. You lift your hands to shove him away from you, but he catches your wrists. You try to get to your feet but his strength easily overwhelms your own, and he firmly keeps you pressed against his tail. 

“You put a tracking device on me! Of course, you did—I’m not even surprised!” you snarl. “Where is it?”

“Let’s not worry about that right now,” he grins. 

You clench your fists. Your hands are so small, balled up above his three-fingered hand shackles. He reminds you how tiny you are underneath him. 

The tracking device has to be on your air canisters. You would have felt it on your clothes. 

“Why did you put a tracker on me?” you demand, almost thrashing while pain pulses in your temple. You feel rabid like you want to bite him. Could you? Probably, but you have a gut feeling he’d throw you over the ledge if you did.

His grin remains unchanging despite the slight twitch at the end of his tail. “Like I said, I was going to scavenge a few things off of your corpse.”

A bonfire ignites within you. You can hardly snap your teeth as heat fills your mouth.

“I’m going to smoke you and dip you in tartar sauce.” You test his grip but he holds firm, and you remain trapped. “Let me go!”

“If you want to take a nap and never wake up, be my guest,” he hisses, the sound curling in your eardrums and sending a shudder through your body. He presses closer, each sharp tooth in his maw on full display. “But if you don’t want to pay the ferryman, I suggest letting me help you, friend.”

You hold his unyielding gaze, licks of furious flames still eating away at your ribs. There’s logic in his argument. Though you’re not so sure why he’s offering to help you without a price tag attached. He’s helped you, yes, allowed you to buy some of his scavenged goods, and told you to be careful, but this seems to be more than a merchant’s role. Can you refuse his offer? You may very well be concussed. And if you die, do you want to spare a coin for the ferryman?

Slowly, you breathe out.

“Fine,” you jerk your chin at his hands still engulfing your arms. “Give me back my hands. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I thought so,” his smugness is not much better than a fire poker stirring up your rage. A chuckle rolls out of his mouth. 

His large hands unfurl, releasing you, and you cross your arms over your chest with a scoff. You smell the slight scent of salt-like sweat and the musk of fish. You wonder how long his essence will stick to your skin. Sebastian settles back onto his tail, still close to hovering over you, but no longer bursting your bubble with his three hands.

You froth with rage. Sitting in the crook of his tail, propped up, almost child-like in your pouting, you search for barbs with which to spur Sebastian, and you do not come up empty-handed.

“I used most of the stuff I bought off of you,” you announce, baring your teeth in something that could be a smile were it not for the internal fire you’re still fueling. “You would have gone to a lot of trouble just for a broken flashlight and one flash beacon—oh, wait. I forgot. You love flash beacons, don’t you?”

His scowl could curdle your blood, but he shifts, jostling you slightly and causing the wound in your temple to pound. You lift a hand to it, cursing under your breath. Growling low under his breath, he leans forward and sweeps a few locks of your hair back to study where you hit your head against the floor. You hold still at his touch.

“At least I’m not the idiot who chose the door that had the Good People behind it.” He hisses quietly under his breath, mumbling something more; most likely more insults while he studies your wound. “Keep talking. We’re going to be here a while and I will keep you awake.”

Your arms slowly loosen from around you. Sebastian reclines, resting his face in his hand as he remains draped around you, a coil of safety against the dangers and unknowns of the facility.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you mutter, but give a nod of agreement.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia(Here!), Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: There may be some comma splicing here and there. Sometimes doing bullet works is more difficult than full fics smh.

Kalim is a dreamer. His mind is full of visions of the past, present, and the future. Why else do we make memories, if not to reflect on them and imagine what is to come?

This is his outlook on life. He doesn't give energy to worries or threats. He physically can't, or else he'd likely fall into an endless abyss of self-doubt. Kalim has no space in his heart for such things.

His happy-go-lucky attitude combined with this free spirit results in a loose lip. He is constantly ranting and raving about his future by your side. Which is lovely, but his over-zealous behavior can cause others not to take him seriously.

Exhibit A: Kalim proposing. Now, is this Kalim *actually* planning to propose, or is it just him beginning his weekly rant about how cute he thinks your kids will look?

Kalim's heart is an open book. He doesn't care about other people's opinions. He loves you, so he's going to say it. Every. Single. Day.

Can you blame his siblings for not believing him? For his parents not taking him seriously? He comes home one random day and spouting a tangent to begin preparing for an engagement party which just sounds like common Kailm behavior.

Not even Jamil believes him. Not after countless years of hearing Kalim's lovesick Jargen. He just groans in exhaustion and signals for everyone to ignore it.

Sweet sunshine doesn't realize that he is being overlooked until he whips out a ring to ask his mother's opinion on it, and suddenly the room is drop dead silent.

Then uproar. All his siblings are crowding around to share his excitement and it's like the room's aura made a complete change. Kalim thrives in the attention and all the well wishes.

He hopes they'll be just as happy once you say yes! If not more!

.....cue Jamil's groan. Again. This time in frustration.

They should have know. Of course he would do all this before asking.

Bless you for your patience. With his parents' blessing, Kalim once again gets wrapped up in his excitement and runs off to visit you.

Moving on. This...overzealous...behavior Kalim exhibits does not only apply to his family and friends.

My dear, he has proposed many times to you in casual conversation. Dreaming of a big wedding with a feast to serve hundreds. He displays tooth-rotting infatuation to you on a daily basis.

Kalim sends flowers and fruit baskets to your home weekly. He cherishes you like you've been dating for months, not years. The man is stuck in the puppy love stage but for him it isn't a 'stage'. It's simply how he will always be. The spark has not dimmed. He still hums as he knocks on your door, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and shoves his shoes off with super speed to tackle you in a hug.

Get it?

This is why you are not taken aback by the rapid knocking on your door. Kalim stopping by on impulse just to see you is not rare. Although, he normally would send a plethora of texts while on his way.

Even so. You don't hesitate to dry your hands from cleaning dishes, and speed walk to the door. You can hear his shoes tap against the outdoor floor in anticipation, and swing the door open with a smile.

On the other side, is Kalim down on one knee with a hand aimed to knock again. When he sees you, the largest grin spreads on his face. You don't even get to question why he is on the ground-

"Marry Me!"

Used to his excitable greetings, you laugh heartily and throw the dishrag in your hand over your shoulder. "Mhm. Mhm. I missed you too," comes out between chuckles, as you turn around so he can let himself in. You miss the way his face falls and his lips purse, before he grabs your wrist and yanks. You twirl and stumble forward, catching yourself on the door frame, hunched over with your wrist still in his grasp.

Kalim is resolute, and you can't help but gawk as he pulls out a ring wrapped in a gold, silk handkerchief from his pocket

"Marry Me," he says again, this time more firm. His ruby hues lock with yours, and he looks both at and through you at the same time, "I love you. I want you. Only you,"

He says no more. There is a lifetime for flourishes, but right now Kalim only wants you to know what is in his heart.

When you don't back away, he slips the ring over your finger. His heart hammers in his chest in a mix of jubilation and happiness. Not a moment later you are in his arms, tackled to the ground in the doorway of your home. Kisses being peppered up your arms from your ring finger to your lips.

{A bright pink diamond sits amidst a sunburst cut, and is surrounded by other pure diamonds on a silver band. The biggest expression of wealth and devotion. This ring costs enough to make you feint, but is chosen with purpose. Many say Kalim is like the sun. Yet in his eyes, you are his sun. There is no comparison. Only fact. Pink diamonds symbolize love, creativity, and romance. You are his sun, with all his love residing at the core. Also, it’s just really shiny}

If mystery was embodied in a man, it would be Jamil. You never know what is going on in Jamil's mind. Sometimes he slips. Rarely. If you can fluster him enough or find him when he hasn't slept in days. Otherwise Jamil is a brick wall when it comes to his true emotions.

Especially when it comes to you. He has always been exceedingly careful. He is still careful. He takes no chances, but he loves your game. The way you can pick him apart, and how he always has to be one step ahead. It’s challenging. It’s exciting. It’s love.

You see how he holds back. That he reigns himself in. In the few years you have spent at his side, you've learned to read him in ways that other people cannot. There are times when you get to see him become overcome with passion. When he is dancing, or when he is broom racing with his dormmates. When he is cooking a new dish or haggling prices on shopping trips.

When he confessed his feelings. It was the greatest surprise since being transported to a new universe. You had no idea how he felt. Not an inkling. Had he not said anything….well, you may have gone your entire time at NRC believing your affections were unrequited. He had no tells. Permitted none for himself.

On one hand, his ability to dilute his emotions has created many opportunities for surprises. Getting to see those little moments of passion; being one. Each action of his has a meaning that only you understand. Every glance as you pass in the halls, the brush of his fingers against yours as you sit together to study, being allowed to braid his hair even if it’s just to “keep you quiet”, all his little quips and murmurs being whispered into your ear instead of under his breath.

On the other hand, there are still barriers. Some closed tightly and no matter how hard you search for a key - there isn’t one. It was broken a long time ago and only Jamil himself can remanufacture it. Sometimes his resilience makes it hard to tell what he is planning…which can be lonely.

In your final year at NRC, many things are uncertain. This place is all you have ever known in Twisted Wonderland. With it being taken away…you do not have a floor to stand on. On the other hand, Jamil looks fine, if not *eager*, to graduate. Neither of you addressed what would become of your relationship after graduating. Jamil had thought of it, no doubt. He thinks of everything. You had as well, but were afraid to ask. When it came to the future, Jamil was always so resolute. He knew his path in life and planned to continue carving it.

The question hanging in the air being if you’d be chiseling alongside him, or in a different direction. Unknown to you, Jamil had this problem solved long before you began to wonder - and he was one step ahead. As always.

A ring. Unassuming and in plain sight, sat on the rim of the windowsill above the kitchen sink. How did it get there? You do not know, but it caught your attention as you cleaned up from breakfast. The morning sun glistened against the band, and you carefully picked it up to twirl between your fingers.

An engagement ring, but whose?

“Well, are you going to put it on or just stare at it?”

You jump and nearly drop the ring in the kitchen sink. In the reflection of the window you see Jamil, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed and his classic unamused deadpan. At your silence, he pushes off and comes to take the ring

“Last time I take advice from - ,” he grumbles and you miss the rest of it, too distracted with how he plucks the ring from your grasp, and holds your hand more gently than you ever thought he could. He stares down at it, content, and surprised you yet again with his tender touch“hmm…it fits. Good”

It slips on your finger smoothly, and he lifts your hand to wave in your face. This time, an unspoken communication passes between you. A promise that you are going to have a lifetime to pick apart those little mannerisms of his - and that he wants you to. He loves this game of secrets just as much as you do.

“Be my spouse. Go where I go, and we’ll be fine. Together….I can’t handle if you’re not near. I’ll lose my hair, do you want that? Want me to go bald?…come with me. You are the one happiness that I refuse to sacrifice,”

{ Rose gold with a floral cut and black gemstone accents. Jamil’s ring is small, unassuming, yet the closer you look the lore detail you will see carved into the gold band. You will note the little gems, upholding the core. Some pure as the ring’s heart and others a sharp contrast - drawing attention to the center. Jamil’s ring is somehow both modest and bold at the same time. A reflection of the giver}

[clip-the-simp]

Not Much Else [Pt.1]

Ao3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2,956

Warnings: canon typical violence, swearing, mention of drugs and surgery, (I’m bad at warning tags so just let me know if I need/should to add some)

Tags: Mild Proofreading, reader had bat wings, Bounty Hunting, deviation from TV show, pre!show events(?), (Again I'm bad at tags so let me know)

Summary: You're a vault experiment that makes it to the surface. Quickly you learn the lay of the land and a few years later end up working the same bounty as The Ghoul. You convince him to let you take a long after having a feeling that you just had to follow him. Where will this story lead? Only time (and my motivation) will tell.

A/N: this is cringy as shit so please forgive me. I’m trying to get back into writing and my current hyperfixation is Fallout. I've been a fan for years but a new found love was sparked with the show's release.

Be forewarned that this is going to be incredibly inaccurate to cannon events and really unrealistic honestly. But listen. If Lucy can have her finger zapped back on and working properly anything can happen.

The scientists of your vault had placed nearly 200 hundred people into cryo pods before the bombs had fallen. A few had been scientists, but most were test subjects. Those chosen to be experimented on were chosen from a vast array of different medical histories, genetic makeups, ages, and ethnicities which always resulted in different mutations. Only about one third of the subjects had volunteered, while the majority had been simply manipulated, kidnapped, and or drugged before being shoved into a cryopod.

You had been one of the majority that had been kidnapped. Before the bombs, you had been a star in HollyWood and went on to be in several films which included a western or two. You were still fairly young however, so when the threat of bombs falling had started to rise you had been cornered. A white cloth with chloroform was shoved into your face once you had gotten back to your film trailer after wrapping up the final scene for a movie you were co-starring in. You had only woken up for a brief moment after being kidnapped, which was right before they had shoved you into a pod and began the process to preserve your body for the next century or so.

When the scientist decided it was time to start experimenting, some wouldn’t survive the first round of injections but that never did stop the test. Even after death the bodies would continue to be used to determine different severities of treatments on human tissue.

However, those that didn’t have the fortune of passing within the first few rounds of chems being forced into their veins, they had far worse ahead of them. Which just so happened to be the group of unfortunate folks you wound up being.

It had been about 175 years after the bombs dropped before they dethawed you from your cryosleep and started on their process of testing and modifying your body. They had hoped, just like with all of their other experiments they had running, that you would be one of their best.

After the first initial round of chems they had started to cut into you and spliced your DNA with multiple different creatures. First it started with the removal and rewiring of your eyes. They had been replaced with those of a feline which had taken you months to recover from, but that didn’t stop the minor test they continued to perform.

The rewiring in your brain caused excruciating headaches for the first few months but soon you were able to view things from a new lens. Being able to see more than most at night was a great perk to have when the vaults tended to stay poorly lit. However this also caused you to have some sensitivities to bright lights, so in response to that the scientist designed specialized goggles to combat it but made them so they wouldn’t impair your ability to see at night with them still being on.

The next body modification came when a scorchbeast, a large mutated bat creature, had been killed and dragged into the vault. After careful consideration and candidate evaluation you had been chosen to be subjugated to the experiment. No one knew if your body would reject the new muscle and bones that had to be implanted, but your genes had the most likely success rate when looking at the data provided.

After a full year of recovery you had full mobility of the limbs, and with it having been a young scorchbeast, the wings hadn’t been to terribly large in comparison to your body. You had been due for more body installments but before the scientist had the opportunity to stick another knife in you all hell had broken loose.

One of the more aggressive test subjects had escaped from their enclosure and started wreaking havoc upon the vault. They had managed to set other people free while in a blind rage when they had broken into the control room. In doing so not only where you set free but so where all the others, including those in cryosleep.

However you hadn’t stuck around for long once everyone, mutated or not, had started attacking one another in a panic. Having seen map layouts of the vault in the halls on the way to your surgeries, you had been one of the first to make it to the surface and begin your trick through the waste land.

After a week you had managed to find your way to a town which was both a blessing and a curse. Outside the walls of the town there had been a dead man who still had his clothes on. Having realized you were still in your medical gown, you had stripped him of the garments, minus the underwear, and cut a large hole in the back of the shirt to accommodate for your wings. With pants and a shirt on you were now a little more confident when entering the settlement.

Even after getting more than a hospital gown on, people still had given you strange looks as you walked the streets. They snarled and ogled at the wings sprouting from your back, and even after tucking them under your arms while pulling them close to your sides, it didn’t stop the stairs. Your goggles had remained pulled over your eyes during the majority of your time on the surface, but you could tell people could still see the slits that were your pupils.

You had quickly learned the ways of the waste land. Caps controlled everything, violence was always the answer, and it was kill or be killed. So when a man suddenly cornered you in the alley way of that first town you were in, you quickly became a killer. Whether it was the animal genetics fused with your own or your will to survive, you had proceeded to rip that man's neck out with your teeth when he had gotten close enough.

In doing so you had gained a handful of caps, a slightly rusted knife, and a pistol that had enough ammo to mow down a small horde of ghouls. The only item of clothing you peeled from his body was a weathered trench coat made of leather. That had managed to cover your wings if you kept them tucked close enough, although a bet awkwardly.

With the handful of caps you had gathered you had managed to get some accentals and learned about bounty hunting. If you were going to survive in the world you had to adapt, and so you did.

Two years had passed since you first began living on the surface when you had encountered The Ghoul, face to face, for the first time. Both of you had been working the same job when the target in question got smart and hired a few armed guards. The two of you were knocked unconscious and tied up in a rotting building while the target and his goons ran off. You had come to when the splitting pain from being knocked out finally became too much for your body to suppress.

As you peeled your eyes open, you started to realize someone was tied to your back as you and the other person sat on the sand covered floor of the decaying house. Shuffling a bet you tried to grab the knife at your side but soon heard a groan from the person you were tied to. You hadn’t bothered before to try and see who it was, hoping to have gotten untied from one another before they had the chance to wake up and possibly kill you.

“Fucking hell.” You heard the man mumble as he tried to get his bearings as you had. Your heart made its way to your throat as you realized who it was. Although you had never met the man you recognized his voice from the rare occasion you had been in the same town together at the same time.

Fuck fuck fuck! You thought as you continued, more hastily this time, to try and get the knife at your side. You had never paid The Ghoul much attention, however you know of his reputation and that he was a gifted gun slinger. However, while you hadn't paid him much attention, he had been studying you. He had started to recognize you any time you just happened to be in the same town. It wasn't anything more than the fact you were exceedingly odd and always looked out of place from those shuffling around you. Although he was a ghoul and the farthest thing from normal looking, your wings would always take any and all attention from those around you. No matter how well hidden you tried to keep them.

“Stop fidgeting damn it.” Your body immediately froze as he spoke directly to you. A few shuffles of his own and he quickly had his hands on his own knife which sliced through the rope with relative ease. You fell forward slightly as the tension from the rope was released and you quickly stood to dust yourself off.

Turning around you saw The Ghoul doing the same thing as he stood. His duster was ripped to shreds but still served its purpose of covering him from the sun. The cowboy hat he held in his hands was quickly placed back on his head before he turned to glare at you. His spurs jingled a little as he faced you.

Everything in your body screamed at you to run before he could pull out his weapon, but his gaze had you pinned to your spot in the room. You swallowed hard before trying to move and look more relaxed then you really were. Crossing your arms you moved your eyes to meet his which started an immediate feeling of regret.

There was something about his eyes that held a feeling of familiarity but it was buried under the many years of being forced to live amongst the harsh conditions of the wasteland. The Ghoul’s eyes remained on your face for the longest time before traveling to the tips of your wings that peeked out from under your coat. You quickly tried to tuck them closer to hide them but that just led to him looking back to your face.

“Now how the hell you get those on your back?” The Ghoul pointed to where the wings had been showing just moments before. His question had brought you out of your frozen state as you tried justifying to yourself answering him truthfully. You didn’t figure it would hurt to be truthful, especially since it was only the two of you at that moment. Not to mention the odd feeling that you could rely on him to keep any information you needed to get off your chest.

“Vault experiments.” You answered plainly as you moved the extra appendages from under your coat and spread them a little farther out from your body as you stretched them. As you did this something shifted in his expression, almost a kin to pity. He looked back into your eyes as if trying to recognize you as you had done the same to him moments before. You had forgotten the fact your eyes were no longer human so whatever search he was on would be nearly impossible if he intended to find answers within them. Not to mention the fact that your goggles were currently tented from the light coming in from the setting sun.

“That’s unfortunate. Seems like those wings would be in the way of everything.” He stated while picking up some of his belongings that hadn’t been taken. You crossed your arms and leaned on one leg. Sure, the wings were annoying at first, but they had become useful as time went on. You always managed to travel farther than anyone else in the wasteland could in two days on foot.

“They’re actually quite helpful.” You stated as you began to check yourself for any belongings that might be missing. “People don’t expect an aerial assault nowadays. So ambushing people is quite the luxury when being a bounty hunter.” The Ghoul gave a low hum as he slung his bag back over his shoulder. Surprisingly enough they hadn’t stolen anything, but you assumed it was because they were more focused on getting out of there before the two of you woke up.

“Well sweetheart I must be on my way. That bounty is still out there and I don't need someone else getting my caps.” As he said this The Ghoul slung his leg over the wall of the decrepit house and began his trek to the target. Something in the back of your mind pricked at your thoughts as he walked away. The feeling that you needed to follow him into the wasteland grew stronger the farther he walked.

What was it about this guy that had you wanted to do nothing more than follow him like a lost puppy? You hadn’t meant to be working the same bounty but somehow it felt like it was meant to be. Kicking yourself mentally, you sprinted after him. He had only managed to get a few yards away before you abruptly sprinted up behind him.

Out of instinct The Ghoul pulled his gun on you and had it aimed directly at your head. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath from the short unexpected run you just had. The adrenaline pumping through your veins prevented you from freezing or seeing the gun held to your face as much of a threat at that moment. All your mind was trained on was convincing The Ghoul to take you with him on this job.

“Take me with you.” Was all you could blurt out. Your voice had been shaky which you hoped wouldn’t be too noticeable but The Ghoul definitely caught it. He lowered his gun to keep it aimed at your chest instead.

“Now why should I do that?” He asked as he raised a nonexistent eyebrow. The sun was getting low which caused a shadow to shroud most of The Ghoul’s face. A knot began to form in your stomach. You hadn’t thought this through at all but had to come up with an excuse fast.

“I can be of help. Like I stated before, aerial assault isn’t something most folks are prepared to fight against.” That was practically the only key advantage you had on most other people. You had other talents, sure, but that was back up information in case the main appeal didn’t go through.

The Ghoul lifted his gun to tip his hat out of his face to get direct eye contact with you. His gaze fell and rose as he examined your form. It made you partly embarrassed as you pulled your wings in closer. He stood there and contemplated for a while until you broke the silence.

You grabbed the goggles from your face and sat them on top of your head. Your vision quickly adjusted to the new light exposed to your eyes. As The Ghoul looked back to your face you saw a bet of shock appear on his face before it was quickly masked again.

“Listen,” You started as your hands quickly began to fidget with one another. “I don't know why but I feel as if I’m supposed to go with you. If I had an explanation of why I would tell you but I don’t except for saying it’s a gut feeling.” The Ghoul’s expression stayed the same which quickly diminished your hope of joining him. Your eyes fell to the ground as you continued to speak.

“I don’t require caps or any sort of compensation for joining since I’m doing this out of complete and utter selflessness.” You were about to continue rambling before The Ghoul let out an exasperated sigh. Your attention brought back to his form. The Ghoul was pinching between his eyebrows as he holstered his gun. A few mumbles left his lips before his gaze finally settled back upon you.

“If you slow me down-” He started to say. You quickly cut him off as the realization that he was actually taking you along settled in.

“I won’t! I promise.” You said cheerfully as your wings slightly lifted from your sides. Your demeanor was probably a bit too cheerful though with how his expression changed.

“We’ll see if you keep that promise.” The Ghoul grumbled as he looked at the setting sun. It had nearly disappeared over the horizon which had put the world in a deep shade of purplish pink. It wouldn't be long before the sun was completely gone to leave the two of you in complete darkness.

However, that didn’t stop the two of you from traveling a bet that night. Your night vision was impeccable and The Ghoul had a lamp to guide his way. You stayed silent as did The Ghoul which hadn’t surprised you much. It had been about four hours of traveling before he finally spoke to inform you that it was time to siddle for the night.

[infernalodie]

𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞 || 𝐀𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧

“𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦“

Inspo: Deftones - Sextape

Pairing: Amber Freeman x Black!Fem!reader

Summary: You had your own way of mourning...

Warnings: Smut, Sub!reader, Dom!Amber Freeman, oral (r receiving), fingering, degradation kink, Odaxelagnia, and use of “mommy” once.

Words: 870

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

“Fuuuuck, Amber.” Your head lulled forward, eyes flickering shut. “Jesus! Fuck.”

The girl between your legs continued to eat feverishly at your wet folds. The wavering of water surrounding her unconditionally muffled the words you spoke above the surface. Tongue hooking into your fluttering entrance and flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Stealing any proper thought from your brain that attempted to stay consistent with the setting the two of you found yourselves in.

Because while you should be mourning the murder of Wes, you had the host underwater and captured between your legs. But she didn’t seem to mind if it ended with her tasting your sweet nectar on her tongue. And if it led to the corruption of your mind, she was more than willing to take time from being a host and making you into hers.

But how couldn’t she have restrained herself? Finding you deviated from the rest of the party, wearing that cute little two-piece of yours. Soaked and caramel skin shining under the moonlight beams that blasted on the beauties of your figure.

“You’re amazing, Amber.” Your one arm fell beneath the water, fingers tangling and grasping Amber’s locks, pulling her closer. “Please, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

Although her features wavered and bent from the water, you could already see the possessive look blossoming in the girl’s eyes. Lips clamping around your clit and sucking hard enough that it made your body tense for a moment–moan erupting from your throat. Head falling against your arm keeping you above the water. Eyes never lingering away from the girl below you, wanting to see every little action.

But as much as you knew wanted, she couldn’t stay down there the whole time. When her lips parted from your cunt, you whined in disapproval. Amber was already grinning ear to ear, brushing a few wet strands from her face as she looked at your features. “Oh, you’re not satisfied?”

“Amber…” You tucked your face in her neck, hating the twisted smile on her lips. “C’mon. Don’t play around.”

Amber, being the control freak she was, cupped your sex. Eliciting a cry from your lips, teeth sharp and splicing into Amber’s neck. But the pain was thrilling and activated some sort of animalistic desire deep in her heart. The spark of a flame set alight in her blood that brought a warm flush to her cheeks.

And without so little as a whisper, Amber pushed three fingers into your entrance. Your body shaking against her, bitting down harder with your muffled whimpers and cries echoing in her ears. She knew she should take it easy on you. This was only your third time doing anything in the spectrum of sex, but you had this effect on her. An unrelenting grasp on her throat from the moment she walked in on you in the changing rooms. How your innocent gaze was filled with fear and embarrassment from being seen without at least a layer of fabric. Like your skin had radiated sweet vapour, Amber hadn’t been able to stop herself from pinning you to the lockers and having her way with you. That same thing was happening right now.

Curling her three fingers, her other hand fell to your messy afro, yanking your head from her neck, hearing you whimper. Your lips were stained with her blood, canines having the faintest red tinge to them. A rather arousing sight for Amber who only worked harder to bring you to that abrupt and blissful orgasm.

“Such a beautiful slut for me.” She smiled at your quickened breaths. Biting her bottom lip at the feeling of your walls quivering around her abusive fingers. “Oh, are you gonna cum? You gonna cum for me, slut?”

Your face scrunched up, lips parting as you choked on moans and cries. Any stability minutes ago had fallen ill with your brain warming to its precipice–turning to mush. Only capable of focusing on the rough pounding of Amber’s fingers inside your twitching canal. “Mommy-”

“Just let go, baby.” Her fingers scissored, causing a sharp inhale to be heard. “Be my good little slut and do what mommy tells you.”

With her fingers doing one final curl and pressing against the sensitive spot inside you, your orgasm crashed heavily into you. A tingling sensation ran up and down your body like you were high. Walls camping around Amber’s fingers in a vice that made her moan. Legs trembling with your jaw slacked, eyes rolled back as you clung onto Amber for dear life. Heart misstepping in its beat, you inhaled short and sharp breaths, face twisting as you whined, feeling her fingers gently press to the same spot. Doing everything she could to watch you become so lost in the pleasure created by her doing.

But when sensitivity became very real and your exhausted form demanded the support of the others, Amber relented. Holding you in her arms as the two of you stayed in the growing cold pool. But Amber couldn’t help herself displaying her affection. Kissing up your neck, smiling ear to ear with her tongue tracing the vein that was protruding until she reached your ear. “We should make a film, sweetheart.”

[spidrzfall]

Masks, messages, and secrets ⤑ Peter Parker.

finally, i have time to write again. Oh my goodness. enjoy this one, you guys! Sorry if it's not like totally action packed honestly this is a slow burn, and with a ton of small ideas, im working on, so bare with me, please. Im trying, i promise, but this is bound to have some just generic normal people living life scenes, so yeah! Sorry if this is disappointing, though. love you all xoxo - A.

☆° Peter Parker x Male Reader

☆° part two of Tough Night.

☆°• FLUFF - just some banter splice of life stuff babes.

°•▪︎ Fem readers DNI ♡♡

♧ warnings: Language, all characters are 21+ ♧

♡ READ PART ONE : Click me!

♡ Part Three : Coming Soon !

(M/N) didn’t have the gulls to tell Eugene he was secretly texting Peter on the side, after their small dispute the week after, it was almost impossible to even bring up the subject of Peter. It wasn’t hard to see that Eugene was little to not a fan of Peter at all, talking (M/N)’s ear off about how much of a push over he was and he wasn’t someone he wanted his brother to be associated with. Eugene since a young age cared deeply about his brother, from the second his parents brought him from the adoption center a part of him felt the spark of keeping him close, that brotherly instinct to care more about the other and teach him to fend off for himself. Even at a young age Eugene made sure (M/N) knew how to protect himself, not be a pushover to anybody and especially not take shit from anyone. 

Home life wasn’t easy on the two, Their father was a drunk who actively threatened their lives and well beings whilst their mother aside from being absent anytime she was in their lives she only instigated the yelling and mental drainess that came along with even living with their father and an absent mother. Eugene always made sure to protect his brother from then, basically taking him into his own care with making them food, getting supplies for their classes in school, driving (M/N) half across Queens to school because the two were enrolled in different schools, making sure his brother didn’t endure everything that happened at home by taking every yelling from their dad. Even with taking bullets for the other he basically trained (M/N) to defend himself, times where he influenced him to not be a pushover…

Everything he claimed Peter was, he never wanted his brother to be. 

Was it a surprise to anyone when (M/N) was secretly texting Peter behind Eugene’s back? No. A part of (M/N) was rebellious, whilst he did appreciate Eugene’s protectiveness he couldn’t help but admit sometimes it was overbearing, he knew Eugene had good intentions but there were times he felt he couldn’t even become friends with anyone because of his brother. That of course struck rebelion, the rebellion of (M/N) Thompson. Secretly being a lot more sympathetic, being friends with (what his brother called) losers, not mixing in with the crowd, letting his heart weave the way into life and not his judgment. He allowed himself to be free, something Eugene couldn’t be. Though (M/N) knew why, it was how the guy was born it wasn’t like he had a choice but be a close minded and rough guy. He let his own anger and judgment cloud his decisions and way of expression that was toxic and cruel, which (M/N) would be lying if he said his brother wasn’t changing those old ways now that he was an adult. But that was just still in the works.

Another ding came from (M/N)’s phone, as he slurred in his sleep before another one came through…and another..and another. As he groaned, putting a pillow atop his head trying to tune out the noise, knowing it was probably Eugene texting him something stupid or a string of memes, though it came to the slight realization that (M/N) had Eugene muted on his phone. As he slowly peaked his eye from underneath the pillow as he tiredly grabbed his phone, groaning at the light immiting as his eyes adjusted before checking his notifications Peter’s contact showing through as he looked at the time, what the fuck was this guy doing up at 5 A.M.

(M/N) chuckled as he rolled his eyes before grabbing his phone and rolling over to get comfortable as he opened up his phone and went over to messages, taking note of the 10+ notifications from Eugene’s silenced contact as he ignored them before going to Peters contact, a stiff laugh leaving his lips as he replied.

(M/N) set his phone back down before settling back into bed and drifted into his deep state of sleep. The room, dark some hints of the sunshine occasionally shining through but not enough to separate him from his sleep, his snores echoing in the four walls of his bedroom as the slow quiet hum of the apartment's A.C can be heard. The cold breeze substituting the once warm bedroom.

It wasn’t that late by the time (M/N) woke up, shuffling out of bed and grabbing his towel before tiredly making his way to the bathroom and beginning his day with a fresh cold shower, the cold water that hit his skin slowly dissolving the fatigue from his body and into a state of mind where he was finally ready to start the day. Stepping out the shower and into his towel as he dried himself and put on clothes that were much more comfortable yet presentable as he dried his damp hair, adding some coconut oil just to enhance his hair's health and get rid of any damage. Putting on his shoes before tackling his messenger bag that looked like it was massively decorated by a 5 year old who was handed unlimited access to pins and buttons, stepping out the door and to the more lively part of where he lived. Eventually stumbling across his favorite breakfast joint, SoBal Forest Hills, stepping inside as he ordered his usual which was an Acai Bowl, eating it peacefully before stepping out only for somebody to bump into him, making his breakfast splatter on his shirt, staining it a magenta color with sprinkles of the granola that laid atop of it. 

“Watch it! God dammit this was my favorite shirt..” (M/N) mumbled as he tried to take off the remains of the now ruined food. Turning to the guy he had bumped into only for a flash of red and blue to pass by him, Spider-Man. Of course, only the one person who bumped into him the whole day was a criminal being chased down by the well known vigilante, looks like he wasn’t getting an apology anytime soon. Deciding to live with the stain as the salvaged the little of acai left in the bowl as he ate it up before throwing it away and making his way towards the small supermarket nearby as he picked up some food he thought he needed to survive the next couple of weeks before finally going back home, stepping inside, placing the groceries onto the wooden dining table and quickly taking off the stained shirt, dragging himself into his bedroom before placing on a brand new shirt, shuffling out his jeans and into some basketball shorts before going to unpack his groceries. 

Nightfall not taking to long to arrive before he heard his phone buzz in the midst of him ordering some food ,feeling too lazy to cook,  as he looked at the notification, falling in from Peter who was asking him to call which (M/N) gladly accepted as he looked at his phone that had an incoming call as he accepted, a loud windy sound coming from the speaker as he chuckled. “Dude, where are you? A giant fan?” (M/N) was the first to speak as Peter let out a dry laugh “No, I’m just running. Mother hubbard, I’m exhausted.” Peter panted, his voice partially muffled which (M/N) assumed was the sound quality as the windy sound finally came to an end, most likely from him stopping to take a breath. “So Acai bowl huh?” Peter continued after finally catching his breath, a small pant still leaving his lips.

“How’d you know?” (M/N) leaned against this counter, as he crossed his arm. His phone on the counter and on speaker, Peter's voice echoing from the phone's speakers. “I was doing some outdoor photography for work and I saw you, I was gonna call out but you seemed frustrated so I let you be.” – “Could’ve bought me another Acai bowl, just saying could’ve put me in a much better mood.” (M/N) joked as it managed to get a laugh out of Peter which made the other smile. “SoBal Forest Hills, right? It’s near where we live so I might at some point, when I’m feeling nice.” Peter replied. “Oh when he feels nice, what an honor.” 

“yeah yeah, don’t get flustered on me now- shit I gotta go, sorry man. I’ll text you! Bye- Hey!” Peter had a small outburst before the call hung up as (M/N) stood in his kitchen, a confused look on his face before shaking his head and continuing to order his food. Awaiting for it, cuddling up into a blanket on his couch, Forest Gump playing on his television, his attention drawn away as a small knock came from his balcony. As he raised a brow, not sure if he heard it before it happened again as he stood up and cautiously peeked through the curtains. A glimpse of red and blue shining from outside as his eyes made contact with the familiar almost diamond oval shaped lenses as he took a double take. Opening the curtains as it revealed Spider-Man on the other side which caused (M/N) to rub his eyes before opening his balcony.

  “Spider-Man?” (M/N)’s voice was laced with uncertainty as he looked at the masked vigilante who waved at him, the other hand behind the hero's back. “You’re the guy the car thief bumped into this morning, right? Acai bowl guy.” Spider-Man finally spoke as he faced (M/N) settling on the edge of the balcony, the question earning him a nod from the man. Spider-Man’s hand came out from hiding to reveal an acai bowl, “Here. As an apology for this morning.” The hero handed him the small bowl as (M/N) hesitated but took it. “Thanks…How’d you know I live here?” There’s a question the hero didn’t expect as he let out a nervous laugh, it’s not like he could tell the other he was Peter so he came up with an obvious lie, “It’s a part of the powers.”

“The powers?” (M/N) crossed his arm over the other as he raised a brow, skeptical. “Yeah. the powers.” Spider-Man repeated, affirming him. “So where does my friend Shane live?” (M/N) asked as he eyed the hero who scrambled for a reply. “Okay it’s not the powers but I have my ways to know these things.” – “So a stalker.” – “No, gross. I’m not some weirdo.” Spider-Man scoffed as he waved his hand as a dismissal. “You’re a guy in red and blue spandex who can thwip out webs from the wrist and climb walls, I don’t think you get a pass from not being called a weirdo.” (M/N) replied. “I take it back, i want the bowl back.” Spider-Man joked as he extended out a hand to take the bowl back. “Hey! No. this was an apology gift” (M/N) replied, laughing. “Well i take back my apology.” Spider-Man protested, enjoying the familiar banter.

“You are so much more rude than what people let on.” (M/N) spoke before temporarily going inside to put away the acai bowl. Going back outside where he had left the vigilante. “Only when I need to.” The other replied. “Your voice sounds familiar…has anyone ever told you that?” (M/N) asked as he leaned against the railing of the balcony “Only a few dozen people, I have a handsome recognizable voice, probably a celebrity.” 

“Yeah? You’re probably some celebrity named Andrew Garfield or something weird like that…”

“Andrew?Jees no. ”

“Is your name Andrew”

“You’re off by a landslide.” 

The two laughed, before staring at each other. Quickly interrupted by a knock coming from inside as (M/N) stepped in for a while hearing it again, “that’s my dinner…say do you wanna split..it…” (M/N) paused as he turned around only to see nobody looking back at him, the hero long gone as he frowned before closing the balconies glass door and curtains and getting his food, thanking the delivery person, in the midst of it all finding himself wishing the hero stayed longer. A text interrupting his thoughts, It was Peter, telling him he was home from his run as (M/N) texted back a ‘glad your home safe’ only for a request of a call to come in which he accepted. Eugene on the other line, “You’ll never guess who came by tonight” (M/N) began interrupting Eugene’s hello. “Who?” Alex adjusted himself on the floor, chewing his food quickly and swallowed it before replying back to Eugene.

“Spider-Man!”

“Bullshit.” Eugene laughed. “He brought me an acai bowl.” (M/N) replied before adding another piece of food into his mouth a satisfied hum leaving his mouth as he savored it. “Why?” Eugene asked as he can be heard shuffling, blankets rustling given he was most likely on his bed. “Some guy ran into me this morning throwing my breakfast onto my shirt and he felt sorry so he brought me some.” Eugene only hummed in reply “How’d he know where you live?” 

“His powers.”

“His powers?”

“Yep. His powers.”

credit :: enchanthings - dividers !!

@darknessbringer the ideas !!

[lightparty-fullparty]

Can't possibly be me Zenosposting again - what is this a day ending in Y?

Anyway, I've been thinking about the murder boy again. This has mostly spawned from my replaying of the Stormblood patches and seeing Amnesiac Yotsuyu, which sparked a bit of a Nature vs Nuture debate between me and my friends.

Basically, my question for this post is "How much of Zenos' whole deal is Nature (aka He was just born like that) and how much of it is Nuture (aka the enviornment he grew up). Some of you might content to say Nature and leave it at that, which is a completely valid outlook to have. But for me there's just one... teeny... tiny... little detail that has sent me on a wild consipriacy theory of a ride that's resulted in this post. Emet-FUCKING-Selch.

Listen to me, listen okay? I cannot, CANNOT ignore the fact that this absoulete motherfucker (affectionate) is Zenos's cannonical Great Grandfather. Who was very much alive and kicking during his childhood. Emet-Selch or Solus zos Galvus whatever moniker you wanna give the man, is an Ascian. One of THE Ascians. Not only that, he's 'The Architect" the guy who's job it is to design and engineer the calamities meant to rejoin the Shards of the World back together again. What does he do to achieve this? He builds empires, he starts wars, manipulates people and situations to result in untold elemental chaos. Iirc correctly he's responsible for causing all eight calamities that have occured so far in FFXIV. (Eight got undone but I'm still counting it).

Now for this post I'm going to be focusing mainly on the Seventh, Eighth, and Fourth Umbral Calamities. (Which are the ones coincidentally we're told the most about in game). This Calamities all involved Empires. The Allagan and the Garlean, both of which Emet-Selch was responsible for creating. From the Allagans we have the creation of Dalamud, Cyrus Tower, and the Ultima Weapon. As well as an extensive history of biological research. Cloning, Gene Splicing, Mutation and so on. (A sundered mortal's attempts at creation magjicks perhaps?) The Garleans too, have a notible history of biological research, they draw a lot of their modern technology from Allagan design. No coincidence there given Emet-Selch's involvement. But we've seen them use genetic mutation, cyber augmentation, and cloning (Emet-Selch's shadow the hedgehog ass clone bodies because he refuses to look like anyone other than his unsundered self). The also so a lot of research into the Echo. Hydalyn's mark for her champions, and soul maipulation. (Ala Mihgo Dungeon and In From the Cold Duty both points of note for examples of the Soul being manipulated here - physically torn out of the body).

"Now Gengar " - I hear you ask - "What does this have to do with Nature vs Nuture or Zenos?" Well, I tell you, everything really. Hear me out. Emet-Selch designed the Garlean Empire to be the perfect chaos causing conquest force. They have no ability to use either, making them initially vulnerable as a people to the rest of the races. Building up a tasty, tasty resentment and need to feel superior. He sent them marching to 'reclaim their home' and then to 'unify the three contents under their superior peaceful, organised leadership'. The 'Savage Races' summon evil primals and weild evil distructive magjiks. He gave them a perfect cause and reason to hate everyone else. He gave them magitech to level the field and make them supieror at combat. Garlemald as a nation is the perfect war machine. Allagan 2.0 if you would. And Zenos is the perfect 'Champion' to lead that nation into battle. To spark that next Calamity. Look at the guy. Garleans might be on the taller side (depending on the character. Cid is a shorty), but Varis and Zenos are HUGE. Emet-Selch isn't nearly as tall as either of them despite being a blood relation. Which makes me think there was some of that Allagan/Garlean/Ancient playing with genetics and form at work. Make them bigger, more durable, stronger, more intelligent.

It's like Captian America. You want the perfect solider. And a perfect solider for Emet-Selch would also need to be cold, ruthless, manipulative.

There was a post I saw a while again about Mecha Pilots. And OP pondered on the idea of physcially having your brain and body contiditoned to love battle. To love destruction and killing and fighting.

Do you see where I am going with this?

You want someone bloodthirsty enough to cause a Calamity for you, you need them to feel nothing for their fellow man. (Insects all of them. Disappointing. Found Wanting.) You need them to find such overwhelming joy in battle that no other earthely pleasure can compare to it. (Brilliant. Blinding. Trandsenant Moment.)

No attatchments. No emotions, Just violence. I offer to you dear readers, that Emet-Selch carefully modified Zenos' litterally brain chemistry. Making him predisposed to a lack of empathy and his brain releasing those pesky joyous chemicals during battle. Inflicitng and feeling pain. I offer the theory that Zenos has literally been built for combat. If you cut him open, his bones and muscles and organs would be so alienly perfect. Denser, perfectly optimised. Exceedingly perfect. His brain remapped for pattern recognistion and quick skill building, Easy to train in the art of slaughter and tactics. Unable to forge the emotional connections that would only serve to hinder him. (To isolate him from family).

What evidence to I have? Outside of Emet-Selch's known history of building Empires? Easy. I already know he's done this kind of thing before.

Vauthry. The baby Emet-Selch mutated into half a Lightwarden. Able to command the Sin Eaters and ensured would be raised into a tyranically, childish, king. To keep the First from Uniting. To ensure the Eighth Umbral Calamity would continue along it's march to completion.

Why wouldn't Emet-Selch have done as much to Zenos too?

[grabyoursaintsandpray]

I didn't exactly have high hopes going into the film, my expectations were on the floor actually but somehow it still managed to be worse than I thought it would be.

In case anyone wants to watch the awful mess that is Borderlands, I'll put the rest under the cut and instead here's much needed eye bleach in the form of Krieg.

The exposition! There's so much of it, which I knew there would be because you have to explain 5 games worth of lore in a 1:40hr movie.

Tannis basically exists as a character to insert that lore for the audience, usually in an awkward painful to watch manner. I wish I could say well, Tannis is an awkward character so Jamie Lee Curtis nailed it but we didn't get that funny, slightly deranged way of speaking and making people uncomfortable. We just got some really blah lines, delivered very deadpan. Having her in the movie brought nothing to it, you could have cut her out and still had the same product.

Kevin Hart played Kevin Hart in a beret.

I actually stopped thinking of him as Roland and instead as a random 'Crimson Lance' soldier and you know what? It was more enjoyable that way.

Lillith, well yeah. The biggest sin here was her not being a siren? Not until the very end of course, which is so obvious as being the film's end game that I found myself checking the time wondering when would we be getting that 'big' reveal. Of course they don't actually use the word siren, they say Daughter of Eridia instead. Tannis does use the word siren exactly once near the end but it's pretty quickly muttered and never referenced again.

Speaking of sirens, Tina's whole back story is a chaotic mess. For some reason she has siren-like powers because why not I guess? Instead of her actual tragic back story, they kind of spliced her with Angel's instead. A controlling father who uses her powers for his own gain, except Atlas isn't her father because she was made in a lab with eridian blood.

Yeah the whole thing is a lot to follow and I know the lore, so I have no idea what casual movie goers thought of this.

The worst thing about this movie is Tina actually and that sucks to say because she's a great character but not in this. Her lines are delivered without any of that crazy, fun spark. Her jokes aren't funny and don't land and she's just... irritating. We're supposed to care for her, we're supposed to believe that lillith comes to care for her but it's a little hard to swallow.

Claptrap is well Claptrap, which is actually not that bad. His lines are very on point and visually he looks good. However he's a very annoying character and that's the whole point of course but in the games you just bump into him now and again and can generally get away from him, in this movie you are stuck with him and he very quickly grates on your nerves.

My beloved Krieg, at least you looked good. Another character who was really kind of pointless and didn't make any sense being there. Why was Atlas keeping psychos in space jail? Why did Tina know his name and why were they so comfortable with each other. We'll never know and the film didn't think it relevant to tell us.

Surely if Tina needed a bodyguard, the obvious answer would have been Brick? Did nobody working on this film play the games at all?

There's probably a lot that I've already forgotten and I don't intend to watch this film again to remember any of it but the main thing that stuck out to me was

Nobody laughed

At any of it, not a single chuckle was heard throughout the entire film and there must have been at least 15 people in my screening.

It was a painfully unfunny film and I'm now going to play Borderlands 2 and try to wipe it from my memory.

[mychlapci]

<- has been in da server room all day

Hey hey I think Tarantulas should plug Prowl into a whole bunch of servers. Cables snake to and from his frame, lodged into ports never meant for such purposes and wires pulled from him and spliced to those of external computers. The webbing he's tied in coils round his frame and the bundles of rubber-sheathed copper. It's almost indistinguishable where the webs start and wires end.

It's never encouraged for mechs to supplement external processors with their own. It's possible, but the chance of injury is high. Whilst manual limits can be set on the machine to prevent an overdraw of power from the mech, if the mech loses themselves in there, their own will is likely to overpower these manual limits and will burn out their processors.

But since when has Tarantulas ever cared for "encouraged" practices.

Prowl's processor is so beautiful, so boundless in potential. His battle computer was known to be unmatched, and yet was never fully put to the test. He had suggested, several times, for Prowl to allow him just a little test- to see how far he could truly push that wonderful mind of his- but Prowl always refused. A stubborn one, he could be. Sometimes, he needed to be coerced into having a little fun.

And that's how Prowl ends up here. Of course he had struggled, as he always does. But not anymore. Now his frame shudders as a city's worth of data is pumped into him, or through him, really.

Each simulation, each request for a calculation, is pushed into his system via ports that are almost never used. Each push of data is but a shock of static, but together are a frame-rattling charge. So much extra data, and power, flows through his cabling. His actuators twitch and his vocaliser glitches with static.

Prowl always loved a challenge, didn't he? Simple tactics and problem solving weren never enough for his brilliant processor. And yet, Tarantulas had only succeeded in getting Prowl to assist him in a simulation once. Just once.

Just once, he had hooked Prowl up to his newest invention. Just once, he had clicked that data cable into Prowl's waiting port and watched him cry out.

It had been mesmerising. Prowl's frame had tensed, optics wide, darting between unseen strings of data being pushed through his circuits. At first Tarantulas had wondered if his partner was in pain, but soon realised his doorwings twitched in the same way they would when Tarantulas stroked his digits down sensitive panelling.

Oh. Prowl had liked it.

Prowl, goaded into it by the promise of yet another glorious weapon, had later reluctantly confessed that it felt like an itch in his processor had finally been scratched. It almost hurt, and yet it was warm and inviting. It felt like someone reached a servo into his battle computer and yanked- and yanked and yanked until it hurt- but in a way that he craved and sent charge surging through his circuits.

And yet he had never agreed to it again.

Which is why he didn't have a choice this time.

Tarantulas coos as he runs his servo down Prowl's sparking armour, relishing in the way it makes the bot's vocaliser crackle and frame jerk and twitch.

His pedipalps busy with another port in Prowl's side, one sliding the overheated port open, and the other gently pressing yet another cord towards it. Electricity arcs between the connector and the exposed contacts of the port, forcing another aborted cry out of Prowl.

He pushes the head of the cable against the port, but doesn't quite push it in. It's just close enough just for Prowl to be able to feel it's charge.

Tarantulas coos and leans his helm into Prowl's as he continues to tease the connector around the open port, systems purring as Prowl keens and whines at the contact.

"Please...!"

Tarantulas' systems purr louder at the broken plea. His servo comes up to cup Prowl's cheek as he leans in to rest his forehead against his partner's.

"Please what, my dear?" He wiggles the cable against the port again, drawing another cry from Prowl. His voice shakes and he strains so hard that his optics are wet.

How beautiful.

"Please- Please do it. Push it in. I want- I need it- Please-!"

Tarantulas chuckles then, nuzzling against Prowl's solvent-stained cheek.

"Of course, my dear. All you needed to do was ask," he whispers before plunging the cable in. It connects with a barely audible click before Prowl wails, current coursing through his circuits and doorwings going rigid

oughhh this is really something. Tarantulas plugs Prowl back in after all that time and they remember how wonderful it is... his battle computer, his entire processor, blinking and buzzing and rattling as the servers struggle to contain all that charge.

Prowl loves it. Loves how overwhelmed it makes him feel, how terribly full his ports feel as the large connecting cables slide in and fill his frame with stimuli. Everything feels so hot and Tarantulas knows that...

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (AOS Edition) Chapter Twenty-Four

AOS! Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Twenty-Four: Making a Plan

Summary: Bones and Spock reunite with Kirk, Scotty, and Chekov to make a plan. (Y/N) isn't standing by, either.

            Bones looked around himself wildly as he appeared in a strange, old-fashioned Transport Room. His eyes widened as he spotted familiar faces looking at him.

            “Good to see you in one piece, Doctor,” said Scotty, grinning.

            “Oh, am I?” said Bones, touching his chest, unsure. “I feel like my innards have been to a barn dance!”

            “Aye, well, these old transporters were only ever used for cargo, but a few modifications seem to do the trick,” said Scotty. “I thought it best to beam you up one at a time, though. You know, in case you got spliced.”

            Bones looked at Spock. Kirk was supporting him, and, seeing as they were both alive and out of immediate danger, Bones could go back to his usual gruffness.

            “I couldn’t imagine a worse scenario,” said Bones.

            “Good to have you back,” said Kirk, smiling. “You alright?”

            “Yeah, I’m fine.” Bones waved a hand. “He’s hurt.”

            “I am functioning adequately, Captain,” said Spock.

            “In a pig’s eye, you are!” said Bones.

            Spock ignored him. “Captain, we discovered that the stolen artifact appears to have come from this planet.” He stumbled, and Bones and Kirk caught him.

            “Damn it, Spock,” huffed Bones. “Are there any medical supplies on this thing?”

            “This way,” said a woman with white skin and black markings.

l

            “Alright, lie down,” said Kirk, putting a blanket down on a seat for Spock to rest his head. “There you go.”

            Blood had begun to seep from his wound, and his shirt was wet with green blood once more. Behind Kirk and Spock, Bones rifled through the supplies Jaylah—that Altamid woman—had brought them, and Scotty and Chekov looked on nervously.

            Kirk gazed at Spock. “How are we going to get out of this one, Spock? We’ve got no ship, no crew. Not the best odds…”

            “We will do what we have always done, Jim,” said Spock, the name slipping from him in delirious blood loss. “We will find hope in the impossible.”

            “You sound like (Y/N),” said Kirk, smiling faintly.

            “I hope so,” said Spock. “They are the strength I need.”

            Kirk nodded. “Then we better get you patched up so you can help them,” he said.

            “No, Captain,” said Spock sternly. “You must focus your efforts on helping the crew.” Helping my t’hy’la.

            “Well, that’s why I need you around, Spock,” said Kirk.

            A spark lit up the room, and everyone stared warily at one of the devices in Bones’s hand. He shrugged.

            “These things are from the dark ages,” he said.

            Kirk waved him forward and grimaced. Bones crouched beside Spock and looked at him, holding the strange device.

            “I’m pretty sure this is a protoplaser,” he said. “Should stop the hemorrhaging. At least I hope…”

            “ ‘The miserable have no other medicine but only hope,’ ” quoted Spock as Bones lifted his shirt to examine the wound.

            Kirk looked at Bones in confusion, and Bones sighed.

            “Death’s door, and he’s quoting Shakespeare,” he said, shaking his head incredulously.

l

            (Y/N) pushed their friends back as best they could as they felt Krall’s angry, burning aura approaching. They had been moved to a cage outside so they could always be watched, and, now, they were trapped with Krall’s wrath.

            “You will tell me where it is!” he roared. “Now!”

            Viciously, he grabbed (Y/N) by the neck and pulled them forward. They fell to their knees as they felt his strange power and devices pulling their energy from them. Uhura and Sulu cried out, and screams and gasps went up through the crowd.

            “Stop it!” said Uhura desperately.

            “Let them go!” said Sulu.

            “Tell me where it is,” snarled Krall.

            Honestly, (Y/N) had no idea where the artifact was, and, even if they did, they wouldn’t tell him. They glared at him with no fear. They had already faced death. It would take a lot more than a threat to their life to scare them.

            “No,” said (Y/N).

            Krall’s grip on them tightened, and more energy seeped from them. In an instinctual reach for strength, (Y/N)’s empathy surged forward. They didn’t like another’s aura reaching into their own, and the sudden pressure in Krall’s mind forced him to let out a roar of pain. He let go of them, and (Y/N) fell to their knees. Quickly, Uhura and Sulu pulled them back as Krall took an angry breath and refocused. Clearly, he hadn’t expected a psychic or a psychic attack. It appeared he was slightly weaker against those.

            (Y/N) was exhausted, but they stored that observation away carefully.

            Krall rounded on them and reached out for another officer. (Y/N) tried to pull their friends back, but Krall got a hold on Sulu and dragged him forward.

            “No!” cried several officers, and fear surged forward at full strength once more.

            (Y/N) winced as their own exhausted energy felt terror press in around them.

            “Tell me where it is,” snapped Krall.

            “Please!” cried an officer. “Let him go, and I’ll give you what you want!”

            “No, Syl, don’t!” said Sulu, staying strong and gritting his teeth.

            But Syl couldn’t let her friends be hurt. The opposable mandible-like formations on her head opened up, and, resting on her head, sat the artifact. Sulu dropped to the ground as Krall let him go, and Uhura crouched by his side to take care of him. Krall reached out and pulled the artifact away. (Y/N) was sickened at the joy that rushed through him. He had another thing he wanted.

            “Lieutenant, unity is not your strength,” sneered Krall. “It is your weakness.”

            He turned and stalked out of the cage. (Y/N) narrowed their eyes as they watched him go.

l

            “We should wait until we’re absolutely sure,” said Scotty.

            Dressed in an old uniform and properly healed, Spock paced beside Bones. Chekov and Kirk sat on consoles, and Jaylah leaned against a wall. They were all debating what the best course of action was now that they were together and knew the crew was alive—if captured.

            “No, we have to get the crew back now,” said Kirk. “Chekov has the coordinates that can lead us to Krall’s base, so we go!”

            “With respect, sir, how do we know that Krall was at the base when they called him?” said Scotty. “Even if he was, we don’t know that the crew is even with him.”

            “Or even if they’re still alive,” murmured Bones, but, upon seeing Spock stiffen, he quieted on that front.

            “Mr. Chekov,” said Spock. “Can you reconfigure the search parameters in order to compensate for this formula?” He programmed a formula into the computer, and Chekov looked at it.

            “Aye, Commander, but what is this formula?” asked Chekov.

            “It is Vokaya, Mr. Chekov,” said Spock. “A mineral unique to Vulcan which emits low-level radiation.”

            “I will have to filter out all other energy emissions,” said Chekov, programming the computer accordingly.

            “Spock, what the hell would a Vulcan mineral be doing way out here?” asked Bones, furrowing his brow.

            “Where are you going with this?” wondered Kirk.

            “(Y/N) wears a Vokaya amulet which I presented to them as a token of my affection and respect,” said Spock matter-of-factly.

            “You gave your partner radioactive jewelry?” said Bones incredulously.

            “The emission is harmless, Doctor. I would not put (Y/N) at risk,” said Spock. “But its unique signature makes it very easy to identify.”

            “…You gave your partner a tracking device,” amended Bones.

            Everyone stared awkwardly at Spock, who paused as he processed Bones’s words.

            “That was not my intention,” said Spock. Which was the truth. Though, now that he thought about it, it was good that he could track (Y/N) since every time they were left alone they decided to sacrifice themself for others, which was not a healthy habit.

            “I’m glad he doesn’t respect me,” said Bones.

            Spock raised an unimpressed brow.

            The computer behind them beeped, and everyone faced it. The new formula had a precise location.

            “Huh. I am detecting a trace amount of Vokaya,” confirmed Chekov.

            “Does the location match the coordinates you acquired from Kalara, Mr. Chekov?” asked Spock.

            “It is a match, sir,” said Chekov.

            “Its presence suggests that (Y/N) and thereby the rest of the crew are being held at Krall’s base of operation,” said Spock.

            “Can you beam them out?” asked Kirk.

            “No, sir, there is some geological interference that is blocking the transporter signal,” said Chekov regretfully.

            “Well, I guess we’re gonna have to go in and break them out the old-fashioned way,” said Kirk.

            “You cannot go to this place,” said Jaylah harshly. “Everyone who goes there, he kills.”

            “You’ve…You’ve been there? You’ve seen it?” said Kirk.

            “Well, why didn’t you say something, lassie?” asked Scotty.

            “Because I know you will ask me to take you there,” said Jaylah. “If your friends are there, then they will die, just like my family. And I will not go back to that death place!”

            “Aye, but if you escaped, then you can show us the way in and the way out,” said Scotty, as gently as he could.

            “No! That is not the deal we made, Montgomery Scotty!” said Jaylah. “If you choose to do this, you do it on your own.” She brushed past them.

            “Wait!” said Scotty.

            “Let her go,” said Kirk.

            Scotty faced him and shook his head. “She’s lost people, too, Captain.” He followed Jaylah out.

            Kirk, Bones, and Spock exchanged looks.

            “Do you think we can do it, Spock?” said Kirk.

            “With enough information, we will have a chance, although it will be very, very small,” said Spock. But he didn’t care how small it was. He was going to get back to (Y/N).

            “We’ll save them, Spock,” said Kirk firmly. He knew what Spock was thinking about—who he was thinking about.

            Spock nodded. Although he knew the chances were slim, his heart refused to give up on (Y/N)—and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

l

            Luckily, Scotty was convincing, and, after Jaylah also got a moment to speak to Kirk, she willingly decided to help them. She clearly remained hesitant, but she also seemed to believe that they out of all people had a chance to stop Krall.

            “The digging machines uncovered a tunnel that goes into the crater,” explained Jaylah, gesturing to a makeshift diagram. “That’s how I got out.”

            “So that’ll be our way in,” said Kirk. “An away team will beam to the other side of the tunnel, follow it to Krall’s base, get inside the building, and break out the crew.”

            “Uh, Captain, we cannot lock onto anyone inside the crater in order to beam them out,” said Chekov.

            “Oh, I could rig up pulse beacons as pattern enhancers,” offered Scotty. “That’d get the signal out of the crater.”

            “Alright,” said Chekov, smiling.

            “How many people can the Franklin transport at a time?” asked Kirk.

            “With a wee bit of modification, twenty max, but I’m not sure how long it would hold out,” said Scotty.

            “Bones, Mr. Chekov, Jaylah, you’re with me on the away team,” said Kirk. “Mr. Scott, modify that transporter and then do everything you can to get this ship operational.”

            “Captain, Mr. Chekov’s technical acumen makes him more valuable aboard the Franklin with Mr. Scott,” said Spock. “It is thereby logical that I would replace him.”

            That was a decent argument, but…

            “How is that logical, Spock? You just got back on your feet,” said Kirk.

            “(Y/N) is in that facility, Jim,” said Spock, voice softer than Kirk had heard it. It was a barely perceptible change, but it spoke volumes for his feelings regarding (Y/N).

            Bones smiled slightly and nodded to Kirk. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

            “Understood,” said Kirk, nodding and giving his acceptance of Spock going with the away party.

            “But his soldiers are everywhere,” said Jaylah. “We won’t pass unseen.”

            “What we require is a diversion,” said Spock.

            Kirk paused as everyone considered. Then, he smirked. “I have an idea.”

Taglist:

@a-ofzest

@grippleback-galaxy

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@neenieweenie

@keylimeconstellation

@wormwig

@technikerin23

@ilyatan

@nthdarkqueen

@kyalov

@starlit-cass

@rookietrek

@gingertimelord

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

How about the tfp decepticons reacting to the sparkling blobs ?

Megatron is... relieved, in a sense. Despite everything he's done, what he's become, he's not completely heartless and he's been worried about the future of the cybertronians. But here, in his hand, are the next generation. Cybertron's legacy will go on. It's a relief to know that his generation won't be the last. At the same time, he's completely at a loss with how to deal with the sparklings. He's not soft or nurturing so he decided to leave the caretaking to others. He will visit and impart his wisdom to the little ones from time to time but generally he'll stay away.

Starscream's first reaction is panic. Sparklings are small, fragile and totally defenseless. As much as he enjoys feeling superior to others, he's suddenly so hyperaware about how... pointy he is. He feels awkward around the sparklings, small and incapable of reason or to be negotiated with. Yet he can't help but care for them. Not that he would ever admit that. Will sneakily look out for them and loudly criticize anyone who doesn't meet his standards. Pretends to hate them but doesn't.

While generally viewed as emotionless, it's clear to everyone that Soundwave enjoys the presence of the little ones. He plays calming music for them along with recorded fairy tales (both human and cybertronian) and uses his visor to entertain them. He's sure in his movements, how he handles them and would never, ever hurt them, even by mistake. Loves to hold the sparklings and it's hard for anyone to get him to hand them over, even Megatron if he asks to.

As the only real medic on the Nemesis, Knockout is forcefully given the position of main caretaker. Soundwave was the first choice but due to his heavy work load (as if Knockout has it any easier) he was ultimately not picked for the task. Now, Knockout don't dislike sparklings, it's just that they are quite messy. And loud. And fussy. And he doesn't deal well with any of that. Still, he will take care of them and he does genuinely care for their wellbeing but feels completely lost when they start to cry. Please, someone help him.

Completely enamored by the sparklings, Breakdown is one of the best caretakers on the ship. He's loves to play with them, from peek-a-boo to reading out loud. Gets so invested in taking care of them that he momentarily forgets that he's a decepticon and that there's still a war going on. Likes to receive updates about them while he's on the field and will bring random things he found for them (he steals toys from human stores and yards).

Now, Shockwave technically knows how to raise a sparkling. Key word here is technically because while he knows what they need, when it comes to practical application of this knowledge he's completely useless. Tries to teach them science, despite their young age, but they all just end falling asleep listening to him droning on about gene splicing. Tries his best though and does want the sparklings to be happy. Just... don't touch his lab equipment.

Dreadwing will kill for these sparklings. This is not an exaggeration. They are the future of Cybertron, young sparks uncorrupted by war and death and he genuinely finds them to be absolutely spectacular. Endlessly patient with them and is very gentle when he handles them. When taking care of them he mostly spends the time telling old tales of Cybertron, most of them about heroic warriors and epic battles.

Who the fuck allowed Airachnid to interact with the sparklings? In fact, who allowed her to even get within a hundred yards of them? She's a bad influence and if she were to act as a caretaker then undoubtedly some of them would die and she wouldn't even feel bad about it. She would just call it "survival of the fittest". She wants to raise them into becoming her loyal little minions. She would show them actual snuff films.

[nova--spark]

Sparkling Forging and Other Methods

Or also known as Nova's HC For Sparkling Pt. 2:

There are a handful of methods and ways by which Sparklings are born, according to no one's research except my own HCs :D

Most common is the Forged Spark, born of the Well and Hotspots, and is the most common method by which Sparklings are born. These sparklings are born from the AllSpark, and will be entirely unique. However, they may exhibit traits of already existing Cybertronians. The AllSpark does not create without reason. A forged sparkling is born, when it is the right time, and they will resemble in some way, their future caregivers. Both parties will feel a pull, a call to one another, and when they find each other, that bond is nigh unbreakable, none may interfere with it.

Molded Sparklings, are born from a union of Sparks. This is generally done, when the couple which to have a Sparkling who is part of them, Spark of their Spark. Done in a special facility, the couple will unite Sparks, and if successful, a 3rd minute spark will be created from portions of theirs. From there, this Spark will be placed within a pool of metal, from which, with time and patience, the little one will be formed, hence the name of 'molded'

Constructed or Cloned Sparks as they are more commonly known, was a method that became more common during the Great War. Sparks were spliced, sometimes with those of others, sometimes just by themselves, to create multiples of particular frames. Since the Great Wars end, legislation has been passed in the attempt to ban this practice, which has been difficult, if only because of the matter of the Predacons, as many unfinished clones were left behind by Shockwave.

[delicateartisantrash]

time to continue embarrassing myself with posting my noob voice acting practice because it's gonna serve as my record for looking back on things \o/

Transcript below the cut; playing around with an excerpt from a scene in Leaking Spark. I will learn to voiceact this scary Sparkeater looking mfer

This one originally started just as fucking around to try and figure out settings for setting up some custom voice presets, then I decided to work some narration in to test that out for the audio splicing practice, and then I realized I had cut some of the narration out to shorten my script up for reading said voice acting and forgot to put it back in. lmaaaao. oops. (which I only just realized while posting this, actually, now I know why it felt weird dangit XD oooooops. Missing all the scenery descriptions)

Good thing this one is just a practice not one I meant for the actual recording XD

kinda messy but for a literal first rough draft I like where this is going? :eyes:

I don't quite have his voice right, but it's so fragging close to where I want it.

SCRIPT PRACTICE: “Clarification: yes, as in proceed.” When you don’t immediately speak, he adds, “Re-clarification: deliver queries.” • “Ah, r-right. Um… So-- Sometimes, his, uh… his engine makes these funny noises, and I swear they mean something but he’s dodgy about… Explaining,” you start, the words beginning to come easier the longer you speak. “Is he… Is he okay?” you add, anxious. • “Query: what noises?” • “Sometimes it’s like… mechanical parts are moving in a way they shouldn’t, and jam up. His cooling fans kick on I feel like, a lot? Even when he’s just been parked in place for a while. Other times or at the same time, there’s strange harmonic sounds? Buzzes or tones, or like… Some of them are almost like a-- A soundless sound?” you try helplessly to explain. “I couldn’t possibly describe it to you but I can still hear it, sorta. You make them too, but not nearly so often, and they sound a little different,” you add, almost as an afterthought. • “Request: further describe observed tonal frequencies?” • “I don’t know how better to explain them, sorry. It’s like… Hearing something that’s almost there, but if someone else was talking, I probably wouldn’t hear it? It’s right on the edge of my ability to--” • A soft, tonal harmonic hum suddenly vibrates in the air around and through you, just the softest, faintest pulse. It sounds… nice. It even kind of, weirdly, feels nice, sort of soothing. It’s also fairly familiar. • “Yeah! Like that, except-- different pitches and patterns, but basically that,” you nod. • “...Statement: Anomaly discovered. Detection of Cybertronian bio-frequency signals; not typically displayed by human species.”

[submissivekillers]

kinktober day 1 - handjobs (cooper adams)

Cooper has a knife.

You'd only seen it at a glance, but it's plain. Ordinary. Thick blade, wooden handle, brass accents, like any other kitchen knife. Not one of yours - your knife block sits on the opposite counter, undisturbed. You hope whoever he nicked it from is alive, or at least unharmed.

But you wouldn't bet on it.

You know what he's done. Some part of you had known long before you'd switched on the TV and seen his dark eyes stare out at you, spliced over the live footage of a SWAT team swarming his house. You've seen the crime scene pictures that circulate online, heard the breathless retellings of limbs hacked and discarded, faces robbed of eyes and tongues.

You had the number on speed dial when he arrived. A soundless, motionless shape in your hallway — it never ceases to surprise you how quiet Cooper can be. You'd threatened to make him wear a bell once if he kept sneaking up behind you. He'd only grinned and said a bell wouldn't stop him. Before, it had made you laugh.

And yet - when you looked into his face and knew that those black, glittering eyes had watched twelve lives (at least) die in terror - you just couldn't find it in you to care.

It's hard to care about anything - not your phone discarded on your kitchen table, not the ordinary kitchen knife buried into the cabinet behind you instead of in your gut - except the heavy weight of Cooper's cock in your hand as you pump your fist languidly.

He engulfs you, caging you against the counter with the bulk of his broad shoulders. All your senses on overdrive, filled with him alone; the slick flesh between your fingers, the heady musk of sweat and iron that makes your head spin, the scrape of stubble against your temple. His breath puffs against your ear, humid and unsteady, and when you twist your palm just right he exhales a rough, needy sound into your hair. You feel it rumble through his throat, pressing your lips to the skin there as if seeking a soft place for your teeth to sink. Dimly, you're aware of a hideous scraping as he twists the knife beside your head.

You think this is what you care about - making him whine for you again.

The speed of your fist increases and Cooper lets out a choked groan of your name, his hips bucking when your thumb drags over his weeping cockhead. He's leaking steadily, thick spend coating your palm and smearing over your exposed stomach. Your free hand wanders, greedily groping at the softness of his hips and tangling in his chest hair, but he's not made a move to touch you other than hitching up your shirt, his palm slotted into the dip of your bare waist. The calluses on his fingertips send sparks down your spine.

You drag your tongue up the taut line of his neck until you're nosing at his jaw, nipping insistently until he takes the fucking hint and leans to meet you in a messy kiss. He's insistent, bumping your noses together as he pants into your mouth, teeth worrying at your lower lip 'til you taste blood between your tongues. You tug him away from you with a hand at the nape of his neck and hear his teeth click together around nothing.

You hold him there for a long moment, watching. Cooper's flushed red down his neck, his teeth bared, a vein pulsing in his forehead. His breath hisses through his teeth with every stroke of your hand, garbled words escaping his clenched jaw. He looks more pained than pleasured, but he's still drooling into your palm, rutting his tip into your stomach.

His eyes blink open, hot gaze pinning you in place. The dim light makes them even blacker than usual, but there's an animal shine to them even in the dark that gives away his fixed stare. Eyes locked on his, your fist curls tighter, moves faster, an obscene squelch echoing beneath the breaths you share. He's shuddering all over, fingers digging into the soft fat of your waist. You hope deliriously that you'll find bruises tomorrow.

Another garbled husk of your name, his brow furrowing as he fights to hold your gaze. "Can't... I'm, I can't—"

"It's okay, honey," you hum, soft and sweet as your hand slides from his throat to cup his jaw. "You're okay, Coop, come for me. Doing so good."

Cooper goes still and quiet when he comes, head tipped back and eyes screwed shut as he releases into your fist, errant ropes splattering your stomach. You can feel it dripping down your wrist, thick and hot, making your mouth water. You manage to pull a few more of those guttural whines out of him as you stroke him through it, milking him until he bites out a curse and tugs your hand away. There's still cum between your fingers, pooling in your palm. You idly wonder if he'd let you make him lick it up, but decide against it.

Instead, when he releases you and steps back, you take a deep, steadying breath and wipe your hands with a paper towel, shifting on your feet. There's an ache unsatisfied between your thighs and a twinge in your spine from so long braced against the counter, but you're more concerned with the studied blankness in Cooper's face as he watches you, nostrils flaring as he tries to get his breathing under control. He's not holding the knife anymore, but you can feel the potential for violence in the coiled muscles of his body, in the way he shifts his balance to match your slight movements.

When you reach for him, there's an instant flinch — and then your hands find his face again, thumbs smoothing over his arched cheekbones. His eyes are depthless, wounded; an animal in a trap.

"Let's get cleaned up," you murmur, pushing a sweaty strand of hair out of face. "We can talk in the morning."

He blinks slowly, and leans in to press his hot cheek to your temple, wordless.

As you coil an arm around his waist and tug him towards the bathroom - very deliberately leaving your phone where it lies - you sneak a glance over your shoulder. Sure enough, there's a jagged gash straight through your cabinet door, which hangs open at an awkward angle. The knife itself is buried in your formica countertop, point impaled a good three inches deep into the cheap material.

Ah, man. There goes your security deposit.

[quetzalpapalotl]

On that note, Optimus knows the matrix can make life because Shockwave told him when he was Orion. Orion also told Ratchet this, tho they didn't know how exactly it made life.

All the MTO's made during the war, however, come from the sparks reserves of when Nova's people let the Matrix' spark faucet run. We also see that a bunch of average Autobots had no idea those sparks even came from the Matrix' and still bought into the idea of spark-splicing. Ratchet even repeats that this is how the sparks were made.

But Prowl and Tarantulas did know! Because Tarantulas says Springer's spark was made via synthesized Matrix energy. Mesothulas could have also learned it from Shockwave and told Prowl, Prowl could have learned it due to his position and told Mesothulas, or they could have both learned it independently.

It's hard to imagine that Prowl would know they could have a limitless supply of sparks and not want to put it to use, but the Autobots didn't. Which leads me to believe Optimus refused, maybe even refused to lend the Matrix to figure out how it creates life to avoid word getting out and create more sparks just for war or have the Decepticons want that power. Probably justified MTO's to himself by arguing the sparks were already made and won't survive either way if they don't end the war.

So I think Prowl wasn't happy with this decision and turned to Mesothulas to figure a way to create artificial sparks and that's why Tarantulas considers he was important in Ostaros' creation. And then they both got attached to their son.

[colon-tf-colon]

The MinecrAvenger situation.

Preface: I run a little MCSR News stream once a week/fortnight which gives credit to small streamers who have got a PB. This is usually pretty fun, lighthearted - but we also cover serious topics, including cheaters. I try to stay as neutral and unbiased as possible, but I have no media training, and if I mess something up - I'm sorry.

Recently; MinecrAvengerYT 's first ever 1.16.1 Minecraft Speedrun PB was found to be Spliced. This means he cut two different runs together - he had already played the seed, and recreated it, while removing the loading screen. On inspection of frames, it's clear to see - notice the timer discrepancy, and mouse movement in these subsequent frames.

However, the initial suspicion didn't come around from his Random Seed times, as this 22 minute PB was good for the time, but not impossible. This was because Eric wasn't a master of Random Seed Glitchless, instead specialising in the Set Seed Glitchless category, where runners play the same seed over and over to improve micro-mechanics, such as fast looting chests, crafting and placing blocks.

MinecrAvenger held the World Record multiple times in this category, with one peculiar run standing out, labelled "the fastest perch ever witnessed", where the Ender Dragon perched to the fountain in an abnormally fast time.

To ensure I don't get into too much technical detail that I am probably not qualified enough to talk about, the perch was seemingly impossible due to the height of the node that the dragon circles, and has yet to be recreated without the use of commands in-game. It has however, been replicated through command blocks; but this suspicion never really arose to anything - as this run was 2 years ago.

Recently, however, the Minecraft Speedrun moderation team had felt suspicious of his recent Obsidian rates from chests in the Set Seed Glitchless categories, for 1.15 (an older category).

On this older version, chest loot was different everytime a seed was recreated, and speedrunners had to obtain at least 21 obsidian in Blacksmith chests to be able to have a chance to complete the run, as well as have a good dragon perch time.

This chest loot, when analysed was shown to generate a higher rate of obsidian than normal for Eric; similar to Dream's pearl and blaze rod rates 2 years ago. The mods have calculated a figure in the region of 1 in 27 billion for this, however Minecravenger claims that this may not be fair - due to the "cherrypicking" nature of the runs. There are only 290 chests opened in a 37 minute VOD, making it a small dataset.

On the topic of Dream - MinecrAvenger was the first person to publicly call out Dream's modified luck, sparking many to now label Eric as being a hypocrite, calling Dream out, after having already cheated himself.

The final hard piece of evidence comes from the mod team's confusion regarding Eric's seemingly increased obsidian rates. In 1.15, all of the loot is generated according to a specific "Structure Seed", which is replicable - of which there are 2^48 possible layouts of chests. Matthew Bolan, a head mod from the Minecraft Speedrun community was able to code a program to check each structure seed against previously suspicious chest loot from MinecrAvenger's streams, and there were two anomalies.

This chest is NOT generatable in Vanilla Minecraft on the seed which was being played, which has lead the mod team to revoke MinecrAvenger's access to the Speedrunning Leaderboards. Eric still claims that the only cheated run was the splice from 2 years ago, assumedly putting these other discrepancies down to glitches in software.

Hopefully that explained in some more detail (with pictures - to help with the text wall), I'm happy to explain anything in replies and stuff because I'm always open to trying to help people understand more about the Minecraft Speedrunning community :) mcsr is super friendly and I urge anyone who's interested in this stuff to come and check us out! we dont bite :)

TL;DR - Eric, who called out Dream, cheated 2 years ago, and potentially still is.

> edit: i've been seeing little screenshots of chat messages from my chat today which have all been pretty damn funny - i've definitely given my opinions on dream in the past, and i've apologised for my fair share of bozo takes. we grow - and i hope im growing too :)