#the rat messiahs have answered

[ratligion-official]

We each have our gods, but the dark gods are an accepting bunch. I can bring your name on our lips, sing praises to your gods in battle. Accept them as one in our pantheon.

But.

I ask not that you submit to me. But to fight along side me. To come and wage war. There are those who require aid, whose spirits must be lifted. Your flock, they carry the will of the gods themselves. Let their voices fill the air with their hymns as we clash against the tyrant.

Do stand with us oh humble lord. Will you fight along side us for true freedom?

I stand here, a humble servant of the gods themselves, asking for aid. I kneel to thee. For your voice, your authority. It is weight that can decide the fates of many. I shall await your answer with bated breath oh lords. I hope you will make the right decision.

We appreciate your offer of an alliance and we shall agree as long as you will fight for our lands aswell.

We will help thy kind and we shall win this battle together.

We do not count you as part of us,but we are willing to count you as with us.

We pray for you and your people,and may your fighting spirit be as strong as ours.

May the giant rat protect us all.

Best of wishes,

the first rat messiah

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus | A Hidden Hand | Platonic

Rejected by the people of Hebron, the followers of Jesus are surprised that there is one true heart left in the village.

Requested by Ley

Jesus’ words ring true and clear, but they fall on deaf ears. The Disciples can tell that the townspeople of Hebron as well as their religious leaders are growing increasingly upset with the Preacher’s presence, and John the Beloved briefly recalls the time where the Messiah had told of the possibility of persecution due to their ministry. He turns to Philip, voice turned to a whisper as to not disturb the others.

“You’ve seen a horde of angry people like this before, back when you and Andrew went to the Decapolis, right?” Philip doesn’t look away from Jesus, but answers John’s question anyway. 

“This is an unwilling crowd, certainly. But that was different from this. There is tension in the air, but it doesn’t teeter on murderous yet. Still, I think we should remain cautious.” 

John momentarily makes eye-contact with Simon the son of Jonah, waving him over. The man in question pats his brother’s shoulder, who follows suit. “We should look for an escape route should things turn sour. There is a possibility that things could go wrong, like they did in the Decapolis. We should be prepared. Why don’t you guys check the eastern perimeter of the city, whilst Philip and I see if we can find something south—” 

A small noise behind them, like a handful of pebbles tossed against a wall. The men turn to see what is going on, momentarily allowing their attention to leave Jesus. There is a small alleyway leading to seemingly nowhere. “Rats?” Andrew wonders out loud. Simon hums and steps forward, deciding to take a look to see where it brings him. A narrow passageway to another part of the village, some sort of small yard surrounded by houses but with an arch leading to near the outer walls of the town. 

“I think this could be our way out,” he explains upon returning to the others, nodding towards Jesus. “How is He doing?” 

“He is still going strong, as always,” Philip mutters, “But, you know how things are. Look at the Rabbis. Even Shmuel doesn’t have such a scary look on his face.” 

“It’s probably the eyebrows.” Andrew comments. “And he’s missing a tooth, too.” He visibly shudders upon the sight.

A few Roman soldiers push past them, forcing the Disciples apart as they barge to the front of the crowd. “Okay,” one of them barks, “Show is over, this is getting a little too nice and cosy here. Go home, people.” 

“Let’s hear what He has to say!” one of the Rabbi’s replies, “We could bring Him in front of the Sanhedrin if He keeps going like that!” 

“You’ve heard me,” the soldier said, “Go back to your synagogue.” There is malice in his voice. Zee decides this is a good moment to usher Jesus away form the centre of attention and let the other two parties focus on one another instead. Big James shadows Him to cover His back, looking over his shoulder every so often to see if they are being pursued. 

The passageway discovered mere minutes ago proves utterly useful as the Messiah and His students are quick to leave the heat of the moment, the agitated voices of both the Roman and the Rabbi bickering in the background to be heard even past the courtyard. “That was intense,” Matthew finds, causing Mary to nod in agreement as she takes a deep breath. “We don’t seem very welcome here.” 

Jesus lets out a sigh, casting a sad glance over His shoulder, back to where the voices of the crowd are growing more restless by the second, a sound carried through the thick air and bouncing off the stone walls. “Should we head to the next town?” Nathanael suggests, “Like You said, Rabbi, that we need to shake the dust off our feet when people do not want to hear our message—” 

“You have listened well, Nathanael, but that does not apply to the current situation.” Jesus gently explains. “We will try again tomorrow. Come, let us head back to our camp just outside the city to give people some time to calm down. After all, sometimes all you need to change your perspective is a good night of sleep, no?” 

None of the Disciples can argue with that. Under little attention, they retreat to their makeshift campsite where Little James and Thaddeus have remained to keep a watchful eye over their belongings. “How were things?” Thaddeus asks as he sees his friends approach. The sour looks on their faces speak volumes. 

In heavy silence, everyone goes about their evening, eating something light or heading for bed. Some sit at the fire without saying a word, staring at the flames. That their presence is unwanted isn’t something new, but at some moments, it hits harder than usual. Simon can see that it touches Jesus, too, as he observes his Rabbi staring at the fire with an untouched cup of water resting on His knee. 

“What do you think will happen tomorrow?” John asks for Simon’s predictions. The man in question shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest, sighing. 

“Honestly? I’d be surprised if we’re even allowed into the city to begin with.” 

“Don’t you think you’re over-exaggerating?” the younger son of Zebedee wonders, “It’s not like they kicked us out.” 

“I just hope we’ll be going to the next town soon,” Simon mutters, “It just… Seems like wasted time and energy.” 

On that note, he announces to head to bed. The son of Thunder momentarily looks at Jesus before approaching Him slowly. “Rabbi?” he attempts to not startle Him, and He looks up with a thoughtful smile. 

“Yes, John?” 

“Why are we staying for another day?” 

“Because I have unfinished business here. There is someone we have yet to meet.” 

“Who?” 

He smiles. “You will see. Now go to sleep, John. It’s late. I will turn in soon, too.” 

“Alright. Good night, Rabbi.” 

“Shalom shalom, John.” 

With that, the Messiah is left alone to His thoughts, knowing what tomorrow will bring. 

—

The day after, Hebron isn’t all that much more welcoming than the day before, and it turns out that the possible overnight change of perspective had not taken place in spite of the Messiah giving people time to change their minds. A Roman guard glares at the group when they head into the town, hissing under his breath: “Don’t cause any trouble.” 

The Pharisees walk around them with their noses turned up and their faces turned away in disgust. Jesus ignores it as He walks towards the centre of the city where He had been preaching yesterday. The determination in the face of their obvious aversion prompts the rabbis of Hebron to pivot and head after the group regardless. Had it not been for their intentions of catching Jesus in His own words, Simon would have felt proud at their secret interest in the Messiah. 

This day, the crowd gathers faster than last time. It isn’t that much of a surprise, for things had left on a tense note yesterday, and it was highly likely that people showed up to see if things would escalate. Big James and Zee flank Jesus once again, slipping easily into their roles as protectors. Not that Jesus is in need of protection, but it prevents people from getting ideas.

Upon placing their bags and other belongings against a wall, the followers spread out through the masses to keep an eye on things, each in their own way. This morning, Jesus had told them to break up camp and bring everything with them into the city, so they are carrying more luggage than usual. Mary sighs as she places her backpack onto the ground and turns to Tamar.

“What do you think might happen today?” she wonders out loud, causing Tamar to shrug. 

“I don’t know, but I trust that He has good reason to remain here for another day.” Ramah lets out a noise of acknowledgement before joining Thomas on his walk to the other side of the square.

As the morning carries on slowly, the Disciples are starting to question if the inhabitants of Hebron are even genuinely waiting for their Messiah. After all, they seem adamant on trying to debunk everything Jesus directs their way, even though they can barely defend their own points. 

“This is useless,” Nathanael whispers in Philip’s direction, “Why are we wasting our time with these people? There isn’t even one of our own people remotely receptive of what is being said. Not one!” 

Philip crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes as he observes the day unfold in quiet trust. “Maybe there is one,” he then responds in understanding, causing Nathanael to rub his chin in thought. 

If there is indeed a person who is listening intently to whatever Jesus is saying and believing the words He preaches, they are managing to stay hidden quite well. 

The sun creeps lower and inches towards the horizon as Jesus tiredly concludes His preaching. Gladly accepting a sip of water from Big James, Jesus uncorks it and gulps it down, throat dry from speaking all day. “Rabbi,” John begins, “Could you maybe tell us why we spent all day here? The people only tried to talk down on your message. It was the only reason they were even interested to be here in the first place.”

Jesus hums, staring a bit absentmindedly at the ground. The crowd is dispersing as the followers of Jesus gather around Him. Zee ushers away potential debaters who are trying to get in another useless word. “The Teacher needs rest. Come back another time.” 

 “With some crowds, what you see is what you get,” Jesus admits, “But sometimes, there is more to it than meets the eye. Why don’t you go and get all of our things? I am in need of some privacy, if you don’t mind.” Standing on His feet all day with not even the shortest of breaks has left Jesus in dire need of a brief moment alone. The followers let Him go without protest as Jesus heads to a more quiet area of town, likely to see if there are any public lavatories located there. A few of the followers sigh as they notice how tired He looks.

Turning to their things, Big James frowns. “Did someone get a new bag?” he asks, a strange question according to some, until they have all headed for their bags and other belongings. 

Squarely placed on the pile of items, a deep red bag stands out like a sore thumb against the others — made from rich material, embellished with embroideries and intricate details. It must cost more than a month’s average income, they realise, and Tamar momentarily fiddles with one of the tassels to weigh its worth. 

“These are incredibly difficult to make. They cost a fortune too. This weaving technique is only mastered in the far East and thus most likely imported from there.” 

Judas steps closer. “Do you reckon we could sell it?” 

“Let’s see what’s inside first,” Andrew suggests, opening up the strap. 

His brother peeks over his shoulder. “A journal,” he comments, grabbing it before Andrew can get hold of it. “Maybe we could find a name.” 

“(Y/n) Urvinia.” Andrew immediately finds on the inside of the cover.

“Sounds Roman.” Matthew comments, “Could a random noble have left it here?” 

“It seems a bit too obvious, no?” Simon mutters, “Besides, there is no reason for someone to put their bag on top of ours, let alone such an expensive one.” 

“What else is in there?” Judas asks, “Maybe there is jewellery. Romans these days spare no expenses to flaunt the wealth they’ve gained over our backs—” 

A sharp gasp reaches the ears of the group and as one being, they turn to the source of the noise. A young woman stands with a basket full of figs in her arms, frozen to the ground with widened eyes, as if she is a child caught in the act doing something she was not supposed to do. Her (e/c) eyes are immediately on the bag in Andrew’s hands, swallowing hard.

“Is this yours?” the younger son of Jonah asks, nearly causing you to drop your basket. You take a few steps in their direction and quickly put down the basket on top of their belongings before holding out your hands towards the curly-haired man. 

“Could I— Could I please have that back?” 

Simon flips through the pages of the journal he’s holding. “First tell me which name is written in here so I can verify that it is yours.” 

You grit your teeth and lower your gaze. “(Y/n) Urvinia. Please, sir, can I—” 

“—Wait a second,” Simon mutters as he reads what has been noted down on the pages, “This is about Jesus’ teachings, is it not? Look, I believe this is the way they write His Name.” Matthew brushes over to his side to take a look at the text. Simon points at the words he is referring to.

“I know the way Romans write the name of Jesus due to my affiliation with them,” the former tax collector mutters, “So I know that you’ve taken notes on His sermons. But… I have never seen you around.” 

Letting out a sound of slight embarrassment. “Look, just… Just take the figs, and I’ll be on my way. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.” 

“Why have we never seen you?” Mary asks. “You seem to be very familiar with Jesus’ teachings, judging by the amount of notes you’ve taken…”

Flushed, you barely dare to look at the dozen-and-some people watching you curiously. “Do you think I can just stand in the front of the crowd?” you ask, “Trust me, I wish I could. I’d love to see Him from up close for once, instead of having to hide in the shadows to listen to His—” 

“I see we have a visitor.” 

You sharply turn at the sudden voice you have learnt to recognise by now, causing your heart to skip several beats. Coming eye-to-eye with Jesus at last, you bow your head slightly. “Teacher.” you whisper. “I… I didn’t mean to impose on Your privacy. I am just here to fetch my bag, please forgive me for the intrusion—” 

“—There is no need for apologies. I am glad we ran into you. Matter of fact, I was hoping to meet with you today. I wanted to thank you personally for guiding My students to find the escape route when things turned a bit sour the other day.” 

The Disciples look at one another in slight puzzlement, but Andrew suddenly seems to remember something. “The sound in the alleyway,” he whispers, causing Simon to look up in recognition. “You led us there, even though we couldn’t see you.” 

You nod meekly and cast a glance over your shoulder before looking back at Jesus. “I… I noticed how restless the crowd was getting. You needed a way out of there in case things would go wrong… I just… Wanted to help.” 

“And you did,” Andrew whispers. “Why? You’re a Roman. You’ve got your own gods, no?” 

“The Roman gods mean nothing to me,” you determinedly and fiercely counter, your earlier flush of embarrassment now faded from your features. “It has nothing for me but fear and oppression. Jesus— Your teachings…” As you turn to the Rabbi in question, He is standing way closer all of a sudden, and you take a shaky breath before finding the right words to say, “Your teachings have touched my heart and changed me entirely.” 

Jesus smiles kindly, taking a moment to digest your words. 

“A city full of our own people, eager to reject Me. Jews and Pharisees who claim they are holy enough to know it all. And there is one young Roman woman, risking her life and status by helping out Me and My followers, showing us a way to safety, buying figs for us… Simply because she believes.” 

Sudden tears sting behind your eyes as you close them, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“My daughter,” Jesus murmurs, gently cradling your face, “I know you are giving up a lot for Me. But I know you trust Me enough to be aware that I have more for you than any false deity or Earthly culture.” 

Letting your eyes flutter back open, you look up at the Jewish Preacher. “I know.” 

“You will be giving up your life of comfort and luxury. But you can bring none of that with you when you come to pass.” 

“I know— I do not care about the wealth, Master. I know it is built on suffering and agony. I want nothing to do with it, I want— I want to follow You.” 

Jesus smiles. “Are you certain about that, My daughter?” He knows your heart and sees that it is pure, as are your intentions, but He needs the others to hear it out loud from your own mouth. 

“Yes,” you breathe, “I will do anything… To go to the ends of the Earth.” 

“Then follow Me.” 

“I will.” 

A breath of relief goes through the group of followers, as well as an excited muttering that there is a new addition to their group and a Roman one at that. Mary gently places a hand on your shoulder. 

“We will take care of you, (Y/n),” she says, “We will show you the ropes. Us women need to stick together, yes?” 

You smile a bit sheepishly, surprised at the strong, respectable position of women in your newfound family. “I never really had a true friend in my life who didn’t care about my father’s status,” you admit, “So please, I would appreciate that.” 

The group eagerly gathers around you, introducing themselves and welcoming you as one of their own. 

Gathering their supplies, they soon head for the next village, with you happily joining them, forgetting about saying goodbye to your old life. Not that it truly mattered in the first place, for now, you are finding yourself having everything you ever wanted and needed.

[pinchinschlimbah]

Hi, something is bugging me today and I need your input on it. You wrote something about Kyo and drag, and I have the same feeling. I've been back to Dir the last 6 months after almost 15 years gap. During this gap, I came to terms with my queerness, took a deeper interest in queer culture and (tried to) educate myself. I have a sweet spot for drag artistry that tends more to the fraeaky side. Because of my taste in general, let's say I'm more a Dragula entouthiast than a Dragrace one. I'm sorry if this is long and twisted, but I like to provide context... I also have to "hide" this interest at home, because my partner is a transwoman, but she's also stopped hormones and tend more and more on the NB side of transition (long hair, not shaving beard, non gendered clothes, going with "any pronouns is fine" but still using the female name she picked). And she's not really a drag fan, in fact, it's a little transphobic for her. And I get that, some dragqueens (gay cis male ones) do have a little problem portraying female figures... I guess you get what I mean.

Back to Kyo. Maybe it's because every Kyo fan I met was a problematic person (lol)? Very, very obsessed with him, almost religious to anything he does, like he's the fucking messiah! So I started to pick on him, making jokes, just to piss off these women I used to hang with. Turns out, 15 years later and even if these women are not in my life anymore, he's still the butt of the jokes, my lolcow, the target of my bullying. In a strict circle of choosen people who get my sense of humour and never online or to his face (like I could harrass him IRL lol). I just don't like the guy and he's doing a perfect job at fuelling my despise. He comes off as arrogant, acting like his shit doesn't smell, gathering a circle of followers who will fistfight you if you dare to criticize or question anyhing coming from him.

With that in mind, when I saw this pic https://www.instagram.com/p/C-XoBeES7Wo/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== my brow raised... I see wig, fake eyelashes, overdrew lips, everyhting is drag coded! And the MFing lolita headpiece??? After the infamous clip of him and Die poking fun at gothic lolitas! It was too much for me. I don't give a rat's ass it was like 20 years ago and they might have change minds about gothic lolitas, cross dressing or whatever! I felt angry, like, I don't know why but I was pissed. And here is why I'm bothering you on Christmas' eve while I should be working.

Is this bloody cultural appropriation or not? I'll die on the hill that drag is for everyone, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, skin color or whatever. But, where do you draw the line between hommage and plunder? Inspiration and deadpan lootering of the art of a discrimlnated community? Artists who takes risks when performing, in clubs targeted by gunmen and bigots? I KNOW Japan has a different aproach to male impersonating females on stage, kabukl and everything. I KNOW "it's not that serious, Mary!" I KNOW it's Japan and Dir will never acknowledge any personal infos. But it's twisting my guts he's only showing and not talking. At least, can he say somewhere he's paying hommage to a culture that inspires him. Somewehere everybody can read it, not in a magazine interview that will only reach japanese speaking people. Just share something on IG. It's getting personal, I need Kyo to tell me he's not the arrogant asshole I think he is since 2000. Because everything he does is sending me redflags, from the day I listened to Mazohist of Decadance I question his opinion on abortion, from the way he acted toward fans I dread he hates women, which is rich considering he built his career on the back and the purse of women. And now he's queerbaiting? Because he's not an idiot and saw where the potential was? Yes, I'm getting too emotional. Sorry for the rant, the mispelling and the bad english. I hope you understand what I'm trying to say, here and if you feel like it answer to my void shooting. But I'd understand this is an overwhelming message and you don't have time or interest in it.

Have a great day, celebrating or not, I'm going to lie in bed with a book and try not to hyperfocus on the crap in my head.

Hello! First of all, thank you for taking the time to write out all of this. I'm going to try my best to answer all the aspects here but if you think there's anything important I've missed, feel free to follow up. Also necessary disclaimer that all of this is just my opinions garnered from my best understanding of following Kyo's work, at the end of the day Kyo is a stranger on the other side of the world speaking a language that I have to rely on third party translations to understand, and I can't ever truly know exactly what's going on in his head.

So first of all, it seems the main question you're asking is, do I think Kyo's usage of drag imagery and culture is appropriation or queerbaiting? Personally, I do not. Based on everything I've seen and heard from him, it's clear to me that he's got a deep appreciation and understanding for the culture of drag, and has done his homework as someone who is looking to be part of the drag community. I myself am someone who is deeply involved in my local drag and queer community, and every drag person I've shown Kyo's recent work to has recognized his appearance and mannerisms as drag, as one of us rather than an inauthentic imitation for some sort of clout. The couple of friends who I've pulled down the diru/vkei hole with me, have felt the same way I have of resonating with Kyo's work in part because the kinds of drag he does reminds us of ourselves and our friends and the drag artists we look up to, and it's exciting to see someone who looks like that and performs like that also making such good music (drag queen music, as a genre, is unfortunately usually uhhhhh not great hahaha) and being so highly recognized for it.

[As a side note, I'm sorry to hear that your partner has had such a difficult time with drag! I think RuPaul in particular has unfortunately had a heavy hand in trying to separate drag from transness in a very ahistorical way, especially in the earlier seasons of Drag Race which then filtered into the popular opinion about what drag was or should be. But luckily I think most people in the community have since come around to the idea that drag is more about an exploration and celebration of all types of gender expression and identity rather than just "men pretending to be women" and while I think you're much more likely to find people with more in-between expressions in more local communities who aren't concerned with being palatable for television, Dragula has been good about showcasing people all over the spectrum and even Drag Race has come around more recently to featuring openly trans, female, and nonbinary people on the show!]

While I do think it would be really cool to see Kyo give acknowledgement to the specific drag artists who he appears to be directly inspired by, I don't think it's accurate to say he hasn't given any acknowledgement to the drag or queer community as a whole. Of course there are the magazine interviews, which yes they are created for a Japanese audience but translations are available online and digital autotranslate features make it infinitely easier for these interviews to be accessible to wider audiences than in previous decades. In these interviews [here and here], he has expressed support for queer rights (something still very controversial in Japan!), repeatedly brings up queerness and his support for it even when it's not super related to the questions asked, stated that he aims to title and write his songs from a place outside of gender, refers to himself as effeminate, said that he names his songs after drag queens and other queer people, that he modeled Candis (song and video) after Showa era gay icon popstars and that his intended primary audience for the song is gay men, that a show he watched when he was younger about a trans woman had a lasting impact on him, and that he has incorporated queer imagery into his shows with the goal of showing support for the queer community and to display queer love as something beautiful and important.

Even outside of magazine interviews...I think Valentina and the media surrounding it is a perfect example of him being as outright as he can without saying the quiet part out loud. (as I've been yelling about recently, the fact that there are so few officially Out queer Japanese musicians is a whole complicated issue but long story short I don't blame him given the oppressive culture there for not outright identifying himself as queer. I think it would be cool if he did, but I'm not holding my breath even if I do believe him to be someone of queer experience) The song is named after a drag queen. The song is from a feminine perspective. Kyo is in undeniably feminine drag in the video and using feminine/draggy mannerisms. He's holding a "Melty-chan" doll which, thanks to Kyo sharing a post about this on his instagram story when the promo photos first dropped, we know this doll is from an art exhibit specifically about navigating life as a queer person. While not exactly textually related, he also posted on his insta story about Catwoman being his girlfriend AND the Joker being his boyfriend, at the same time he was posting teasers for the shoot.

And also, importantly, the interview where he's wearing lipstick and lingerie begins with the interviewer's shock at Kyo presenting this way, and Kyo responding with "Really? The truth is I wanted to do it earlier, but the timing now ended up being perfect. It's a worldview not possible for DIR EN GREY, but I thought it's fine with sukekiyo." I think a lot of what you're interpreting to be insincere or malicious intent is actually just growth and letting himself be who he always wanted to be but felt he wasn't allowed to explore after a certain point and turned to lashing out at those things instead during that time. It's very very clear looking at Dir en Grey's chronological history that they got caught up in a particularly ugly bout of toxic masculinity/internalized misogyny/queerphobia in the early-mid 2000s, and I don't blame you for being put off by things they said and did during that time- I also bailed around then because I was at best uninterested and at worst actively upset by those versions of themselves. And that's part of why I've found their turnaround so exciting- looking at everything, to me it seems pretty clear it wasn't a sudden pivot as a cash/attention grab now that queerness and drag are trendy to a certain marketable audience. It was a gradual process over the past decade of the whole band learning to love those parts of themselves again that they started with in the early days and then abandoned and admonished, to get to the point of again being as flamboyant and theatrical and feminine as they are now.

I'm curious where you got the impression that present day Kyo is arrogant and full of himself and seeking out mindlessly devoted followers when I've honestly been frustrated with the exact opposite impression reading his interviews. He consistently gives the impression of having incredibly low self-worth, going on repeatedly about how he doesn't think his talents or skills are particularly impressive and he doesn't believe others when they tell him he's amazing or that they're a devoted fan of his and so on. It's made me want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and tell him to be kinder to himself because his work is, in fact, incredible and he is deserving of love as much as anyone else. I do think he has the tendency to often be intentionally obtuse or annoying in interviews and appearances (such as wearing a bag over his head at the M&Gs on this year's European tour or the infamous film screening appearance from a few months ago where he sat on the floor eating snacks and putting tape on Shinya's shoes instead of answering the questions) which is not going to be everyone's cup of tea and might not be yours! But I personally don't find these actions to be coming from a place of arrogance, I genuinely just think he thinks it's funny and is trying to amuse himself and others when for someone who does those types of appearances often, they can end up feeling redundant and uninspiring after a while just by nature of doing it so many times.

I admittedly have not read many interviews from the toxic masculinity era which may be where your primary impression is coming from, but this one (from a western metal magazine, in I think 2008) stuck out to me as particularly interesting, where the pull quote significantly twists what he actually said and paired with the chosen photo makes him look like a huge dick, but the actual sentiment in the textual quote is that the band is trying to act more tough and "bad" than they actually are because they think they're supposed to, which I feel like really encapsulates what was going on with them at that time and their desperation to be taken seriously as heavy metal musicians outside of the vkei costumes and theatrics.

I do think it says a lot that no one in the industry has had anything bad to say about any of the members (other than poking fun at them for being too shy offstage) and that they've had no personal scandals that I've seen, that they've been able to remain an active and successful band for nearly 30 years with no lineup changes, and that Kyo has two other active bands who he seems to get along very well with. I don't think any of this would be the case if he was actually as miserable and annoying to deal with as he likes to pretend he is, since artistic talent only gets you so far if you're insufferable as a person. I think there's a good chance that under all his bristling, he is actually just a nice guy haha. I hope some of this has been insightful or helpful for you, and as I said at the start, please feel free to circle back if you have more to say!

[imnotkosmic]

The Way, chapter one: 'A Voice in the Wilderness.'

It had been three weeks. John had been stuck in that dark, dingy, rat infected prison for three weeks. His followers where scattered throughout Gailiee, even making their way to Nazereth. Andrew, son of Jonah, was one of those followers. His older brother, Simon, had told him it was a stupid idea to follow that rouge Baptizer. Now that he was in prison, Simon had told his brother to stay away from him. Andrew thought about how he could see John in prison without his brothers knowledge, when someone yelled his name, "Andrew! Andrew!" the man in question turned around to see one of the other followers of the Baptizer running toward him, waving. "Tobias?" Andrew asked. "What is the matter?" Tobias grinned broadly, "Its John! He's finally out!"

~~~

Simon put the last of the fish into the barrel and called out to James, "I've finished! How much do you have left?" James looked at his net and back to Simon, "A whole nets worth." Simon laughed. Even without their younger brothers, they got all the work done. Well, Simon had gotten all his work done. "Go back to town," James said, "I'll meet you there when I've finished." Simon nodded, said their goodbyes, and started walking into town, hoping James would put both of their barrels of fish into market this time. As he walked into his home, he saw his wife, Edah, standing at the counter, cutting vegetables, probably for tonight's dinner. He put his hand on her shoulder and leaned forward and pressed a kiss into the side of her head. They talked, and then Simon went and changed. "Have you seen Andrew?" he asked as he walked into the big main room. "Not since last Shabbat." his wife answered.

~~~

"You brood of vipers!" John the Baptizer exclaimed to the group of Pharisees. "Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Repet! Don't think you can say, 'we have Abraham as our father' I tell you, that God could make children of Abraham out of these stones!" The 3 Pharisees that had had interrupted John's sermon, Josiah, Asher, and Levi, had been asked by the higher ups of the Sanhedrin to question the rouge Baptizer. So far, no luck. After a few minutes of arguing, the quiter Pharisee, Josiah, asked a question: "Are you the Christ?" John looked at the him, "I am not the Christ." "Or perhaps Elijah?" "No." "The Prophet?" "I am not." The Pharisees were getting angryer by the second. "Then, who are you, man?!" they asked. "I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, make straight the path of the Lord." John said, qouting Isaiah. "Then why do you baptise if you are not the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the Phophet?" one Pharisee, named Levi, asked, pointing his finger in John's face."I baptise with water," John said, his voice getting louder, "but among you stands One you do not know. He is the One who comes after me, the straps of whoses sandals I am not worthy to untie." The Pharisees, being quite fed up with the Baptizer at this point, looked at one another, and started to leave. Most of the crowd did the same. John's followers came up to him, "Rabbi," they said, "the people are starting to leave, we should try again tomorrow." John paused, looked at the crowd starting to depart, and said, "Very well."

~~~

The three Pharisees that had questioned John the Baptizer earlier, Levi, Asher, and Josiah, had just got a earful from the High Preist, Caphias. They managed to get nothing from the Baptizer, and on top of that, actually had drawn more people to him. They had orders to go back the next day. "Ugh! How much longer?" Asher asked. He, Josiah, and Levi were on their way to the Jordan, were John proformed most of his sermons and baptisims. "We're nearly there, sir." the man who was driving them there answered. "I can't believe we have to go back to that mad man!" Levi huffed. Josiah just sat there, staring out the flap of the carriage. He, being the newest out of the three, didnt see John as a 'mad man'. Maybe a little weird, but not dangerous. Soon, they heard the Baptizer's loud voice when they got to the Jordan. They made their way out of the carriage, and quietly into the crowd. John and his dicsiples were baptising in the river. Suddenly, John started to look at a tall man coming his way. "Behold!" John cried, "the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world! This is the One I meant when I said, 'a man who has come after me has surpassed me because He was before me'! I myself did not know Him, but the reason I came baptising with water was that He might be revealed to Isreal." The crowd watched as the Man came down to the river, took His sandals off, and went into the river. "Rabbi.." John said. The Man smiled and put His hands on His cousins shoulders. "Shalom." John paused, realising what He was doing there. "Have You come to be baptised by me? Shouldn't You be baptising me?" He smiled, "You don't realise now what I am doing, but later, you will understand. This is the Fathers will." John nodded. Then he lowered his cousin into the water, and baptised Him. Suddenly, something like a dove came and rested just above the Man's head, and a loud voice came from heaven, "This is My Son, in whom I am well pleased."

[envihellbender]

Victor Zsasz is the underground punk messiah of Gotham and Oswald is the rich aristocrat who decides he wants to Keep him

Fandom: Gotham

Characters: Victor Zsasz, Oswald Cobblepot

Oswald sipped at his glass of red wine that was dwarfed by his piggish, bloated hand as he watched the young man who’d been trespassing around his estate be dragged into his dining room. He was terrifyingly thin, with bright green eyes, and a defiant smirk on his lips. He wore a black mesh shirt underneath an obscenely torn Hanatarash t-shirt, a BDSM harness on top of it, a spiked choker around his neck, leather trousers with bondage straps, and a pair of blood stained Doc Martens. Oswald’s plump lips spread into a predatory smile, he licked his teeth, brushing against his lips. Contrastingly, Oswald wore an expensive dark purple velvet blazer, a white shirt, and black waistcoat that strained over his gut.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little brat that’s been causing trouble around my ancestral estate,” Oswald said placing his wine glass on the large, oak dining table in front of him. Victor snorted in response and rolled his eyes.

“Right, right… your ancestral estate, Penguin.” Victor crossed his arms and his eyes looked Oswald up and down, eventually resting on his belly.

“You’ve heard of me?” Oswald grinned, almost preening in response. “I suppose the most powerful man in Gotham has quite the reputation.”

“Uh-huh,” Victor sighed in boredom as he began to get distracted by the large, ostentatious portraits all over the walls.

“And who has been rummaging through the corpses beneath my home exactly?” Oswald was impatient and irritated as he noticed he’d been losing Victor’s attention.

“Me, a raccoon, the occasional stray cat…”

“What’s your name, brat?”

“Oh. Victor Zsasz, duh.”

“You… I know that name.” Oswald thought for a moment, lounging back in his chair with his thick black eyebrows furrowed. “The infamous street rat. What brings you here?”

“You know I’m only here because I let your guys catch me, right?” Victor said with a shit eating grin plastered over his face. “If I really wanted to escape, these two would be dead.”

“Really now, and why would you want to be caught?” Oswald asked, shuffling back in his large armchair at the head of the table and rubbing his belly that strained against his shirt. Victor simply shrugged before responding.

“You’ve got a nice little mausoleum, nice place to hang out… maybe I just wanted to see the Penguin of the manor,” he teased.

“And why do you keep hanging around my family’s mausoleum?” Oswald continued to press, his jealousy oozing through his body even if it wasn’t clear as to why.

“Your family, huh? We’re gonna pretend your actually related to these dead guys?”

“Answer me, brat.” Oswald deliberately avoided answering the question, there were rumours that disputed Oswald’s claim to the estate, but none of them had anything of any substance.

“Nothing much,” Victor shrugged. “Hang around, have a rummage around looking at the bodies, smoke, jack off… the usual.”

“Hm, well,” Oswald replied clapping his hands together which sounded similar to a large slab of meat being slapped. “Today is your lucky day. Now you can go to the mausoleum whenever you like.”

“I already can, what’re you getting at?” Victor narrowed his eyes and his body stiffened as if looking for a way out at any moment.

“Access to it without a lockpick or climbing over my gate, obviously,” Oswald scowled.

“Why?”

“I’ve taken a liking to you. You’re mine now.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” Victor snapped. Oswald raised one bloated arm and beckoned Victor closer. He refused to move, tightening his fists.

“Come now, I think we can have this be a mutually beneficial relationship. You get a nice allowance, as much money as you like, access to whatever corpses downstairs you find, any of your… extracurricular activities, let’s say, swept under the rug, and a nice room in my big estate. All you have to do is submit to me.” Oswald had an infuriatingly smug look on his face, an obvious and arrogant look that annoyed Victor. However, he didn’t reply he just stood and thought for a moment.

“Can I have a basement?” He asked.

“Absolutely.” Oswald’s face lit up, his chubby bloated cheeks causing his hazel eyes to narrow into a squint.

“Deal. So, what, do you want me to suck your chubby little dick? I can do that,” Victor shrugged, he approached Oswald, and the lustful glint in his eyes and smirk on his lips almost seemed genuine.

[pipelinelaserraygun]

John 11:35 recounts ✝️ JOY. It's the shortest Bible 📖 verse, but in Biblical scholarship it's one of the MOST debated of passages: Collectively, what ALL prompted the emotional outburst of Jesus Christ?

An expression often misused as was the case in this biopic.

THIS ⬆️ is MY 🩸 Bloodline.

SA (in Greek): "Family of".

LAZAR (in Greek): "Lazarus.

Had the Savior and Messiah NOT intervened 🦇 I wouldn't be here.

https://rumble.com/v5aiqy9-kamala-harris-entry-level-jobs-should-sustain-a-household-and-a-family.html

What does a resumé include?How much PAD is too much?

Hers is an unsolved mystery.

When you meet the Creator, stolen valor is unacceptable.

At the 3rd clip here, 🦇 I'm featured: Batman was among the BEST personnel of 👨‍🍳 hospitality, in ALL of 🇺🇸.

For 8 years, I wrote a Foodie column (Yummy Diego) featuring reviews that were written up in our newspaper, the San Diego Union-Tribune.

kama-con quoted @ Rumble.

1,000% 👀 MUST SEE, x5❣️

Don't let the joke be ON you.

⬆️👺

Another Jonah 2 translation: This Labor Day, take a hard 👁️👁️ look at demo-🐀 RAT falsification of job experience and remember in November.

Don't sink to THEIR levels, the 🦯🦮 blind leading blind.

"They don't want to put kamala harris out there, and you want to know why? Because she's going to have to answer for EVERY bit of these last three and a half years. YOU can't talk about turning the page, when you're the one who broke the economy, broke the border, broke the world, but that's on kamala, and she's going to have to account for THAT, when she's on the debate stage."

[eihwaz-y-d]

Twin Skeletons

Part IV

Beginning Previous Part

People who wanted to be tagged: @queenieofsouls @my-mom-calls-me-rat @daemonlogical @crystaldrops20

Again: I know nothing and do what I want.

The petty criminals were quickly dealt with, Jason just needed to walk in the alley and as soon as the wannabe muggers noticed the Red Hood they ran like a dog with its tail between its legs. 

Suits him just fine, now he just needs to deal with the teenagers with zero Self-preservation. Turning around he found himself facing the from the museum. The boy is hunched into himself and rubbing his temples as if to prevent or fight a bad headache, he pays no attention towards his surroundings at all. On closer inspection the kid does not look good, maybe he needs medical attention? 

"Hey kid, are you okay? Are you hurt somewhere?" the boy does not react at all. That is not a good sign, reaching out Jason tries again. "Hey kid?" 

But as soon as his hand makes contact with the tens shoulder the teen reacts immediately. 

The kids eyes flyes open -later Jason would swear his eyes flashed a toxic (Lazarus) green for a moment-, with one arm he beats Jason's hand off his shoulder and with the other he throws a punch towards his throat, then something like recognize, understanding and fear flickers other his face. He tries to pull his punch and let it land somewhere other than the throat, literally anywhere else.  Everything happened in a matter of seconds, Jason didn't have the time to react at all. The punch hit him just under his throat where his neck goes into his breast. Jason staggers back, a breathless cry /groan leaves his lips and for a moment it's difficult to breathe again. The pit shrieks and wither in fear and tries to hide deeper before it goes eerie quiet again - It nearly feels like it is gone and never was there in the first -. It takes a moment before air fills Jason's lungs again, he rubs his throat before sitting up again. 

A feral grin spread across his lips and Jason is glad for his helmet overwise he would look like a maniac. But Damn, possibly dangerous person or not, the kid is like a freaking messiah for Jason. One look and the pit trembles in fear and goes quiet, one punch and the pit disappears like it was never there. 

He feels jittery and happy but also at peace. It's like he got dosed with Dopamine, serotonin and Endorphin all at once. He can't remember the last time he feels this good. There was pain he did not notice till it was gone. It feels like heaven. He is high on the best drug and probably already addicted to it. 

" Damn kid, that was a mean punch." Despite the voice modulation his voice still sounds a little hoarse. 

The black haired teen seems almost panicked in his worries. " I'm so sorry, by the Ancients, I didn't mean to punch you. Are you okay? Do you have difficulty with the breathing? Do you need a Doctor? Where do one find a doc-"

A low chuckle - the red hood does not giggle and if anyone would say so, Jason will call them a liar - cuts the rambling short. " Relax, kid, you didn't punch me that hard. I wasn't expecting it and you just caught me off guard. "

Danny narrows his eyes suspiciously, his whole body language screams mistrust. "Are you sure?" 

"Yep." he answers way too cheerful for Red Hood's reputation as a crime lord but Jason simply did not care. He is still grinning like a loon under his helmet. 

After a minute of silence and awkward looking around from Danny and open staring from Jason - who is here to call him out on it? Nobody, he can look all he like-, Jason decides to break the ice, Danny looks rather uncomfortable. 

" Hey, you are the kid from the museum, aren't you? Did you get to see the exhibition you wanted to visit? "

" No."

" A shame, it's really good." 

" just rub it in, will' ya?" 

And Red Hood laughs again while Danny sulks. 

" Whatcha name kid?" 

"Danny" 

" Alright Danny, what are you doing out here in the Narrows at this time?" 

" I got out, then I was attacked by some kind of ninja. I ran and got completely lost but at least I think I lost the ninja dude." 

" lost you say? Why are out and about anyway? Shouldn't little kids like you already been to bed? "

" I have no qualms with punching you again. Can you tell me how to get to the museum from there on I would probably find my way back. "

" I could take you directly to your hotel." 

" Thanks but no thanks. Have you heard of stranger danger? You are not really easy to read with the helm and the voice modification. This doesn't really inspire my confidence in you. I don't fancy being kidnapped again. Just tell me what way to go and I'm not your problem anymore. "

So Damian kidnapped Danny and the boy got away? That is surprising. 

Danny was once again holding his head and was breathing forcefully controlled, like he was trying to breath away pain. 

And the moment of silence was back, then Jason reached for his helm and pressed the mechanism before pulling it off. Luckily he still wore his domino mask underneath the helmet. He did it without thinking and the bat would not approve but who cares about the bat anyway, not Jason, thats for sure. 

"You don't look quite alright, let me help you?" 

" it's just a headache, I'll survive. So? Which way now?" 

Sighting, Jason pointed in the right direction. "That way." 

 Danny slowly moves towards the end of alley. "Nice. Thanks Mr Hero dude."

That brings a little smirke on Jason's lips. "You don't know who I am, or?" 

Looking back other his shoulders Danny replies with a little grin. " No! But with hair like yours I'm pretty sure I would recognize you out of your hero outfit." 

Shaking his head, Jason snorts. "Cheeky brat" 

"At your Service." the Teenager has the nerves to bow mockingly towards him and than he was gone.

As Danny got back at the hotel, it was nearly half past four in the morning and neither his core nor his mind had settled and he didn't believe he could sleep without some nightmares so he would better not try to sleep. Sneaking back in was easy. 

He took his sketch pad from his backpack and did was away does best after a nightmare, he let the memories take hold and just draw till his mind was quite again.

Soooo..... Fun fact. How Danny deals with his overwhelmed mind (and after nightmares) is how I deal with nightmares. I draw them and then they don't haunt me anymore. And one of my head canon of Danny Phantom is that Danny is really good at engineering. (in the Fenton household it is a necessary survival skill for Danny to be good at engineering, he needs to know how his parents technology works, how to manipulate the technology or straight up sabotage it so he dies not completely) but being good at engineering also means to know how to read the blueprints correctly or draw some himself, I think. And I assume one needs at least a little bit of drawing skills for that so for this fic Danny is decent at drawing and sketching.

And also. Someone once told me as I hit puberty if I am in the need of defending myself I should always goes for the soft parts like the throat and than run. So it becomes a habit of writing punching someone in the throat rather than punching in the face.

I hope you all enjoyed reading!

Edit : Next Part

[rhetoricandlogic]

The Genesis of Misery - Neon Yang

So, this going to be a rant - I'll put it under a cut :)

Unpopular Opinion #137

I loved this author's The Tensorate Series: 3 Novellas, so I went in with real good cheer.

Here's what I would say to the author:

If you are to stick to using neopronouns, make it so that it flows with the characters, the story-arc, the worldbuilding; make it like Ann Leckie's Ancillary Justice; you are an author, for crying out loud, not a lecturer. Try to remember this.

If your MC starts out as a gutter-rat, cynical, distrusting politics and and religion in equal measure - do not convert them to a Christian Messiah within the blink of an eye (one event! ONE!) and expect your audience (do you even write for an audience? Or is this pure self-indulgence?) to believe you and follow you along blindly. From swearing and lying but relatable MC to proselytizing and sermon-delivering fanatic follower in one fell, disappointing swoop.

If you have to use current day language, try to avoid internet-slang, you already know this doesn't age well - don't yeet stuff or people; in 10 years, nobody will understand - you are an author, for crying out loud etc. etc.

If you absolutely have to include sex-scenes, try to make them erotic. Hot, even. Irresistible. This takes some practise, but you are an author etc. etc.

If you want to keep your audience (do you even write for an audience etc. etc.?) try to explore at least some of the mysteries in your world-building; let your characters interact with the nullvoid, the Heretics even without resorting to holy violence and expletives; give us something that makes us want to pick up the next book; some answers should hook the reader. Maybe.

Irritating, too, that you should take your audience for dumb. Your "reveals" at the ending were nothing that wasn't clear from before the 40% mark ((view spoiler)) and yet, we are repeatedly, ad nauseam confronted with the MC's belief in "delusions" (hint: talk to a psychatrist before using such terms). What exactly for? I mean, Brutus was an honorable man - literally everybody has heard that at least once, so why repeat the insistent belief in "delusions" for > 20 times? Better write it out again, heh? You are an author, for crying out loud, not a lecturer. Try to remember this.

I learned after I finished, that this book was marketed as retelling of Joan of Arc, only in space and with neopronouns and awkward sex. Personally, I can't see the similarities, but you do you.

All that said - this might be the start of a trilogy or a series, but I will now escape Misery.

[moonbeam-dragon]

Positive Charge Part 6

Moonrise! Here’s another little flashback~ We’re back to early days. Tw: Cringy teenager drama angst, Darkwing being a d!ck, cussing.

Darkwing pounded his fists against the door, starting to panic. “No, no, no!” he screamed, trying to pull open the door. “What were you thinking?!”

Megavolt threw his hands up, sparking in annoyance. “You think I meant to do this??” he asked. “If you hadn’t splashed the control panel-”

“If you hadn’t been tampering with it-”

“Oh, yeah! Blame the villain.”

“Of course I am blaming the villain! You got us stuck!”

“We wouldn’t be stuck if you hadn’t stumbled in here!”

This mission did not go as planned. Why? Because when Darkwing had chased Megavolt into the elevator, it had been tampered with. The rat had intended on trapping the other in here, but due to his bad memory, had only half-finished the hacking. Darkwing had attempted to use water against him, but had splashed the half-baked wiring and caused the elevator to break. It locked shut and moved around a bit, startling the enemies. So now they were locked in, who knows where, stuck together.

“Agh! You are impossible!” Darkwing shouted, stomping his foot. “What kind of villain traps himself with the hero? It’s like you were asking to get your tail kicked!”

Megavolt groaned. “Why do you turn everything into degrading me?”

Darkwing decided against answering and drew his fist back, taking a few steps into it. Megavolt jumped out of the way, sending a zap at the hero but missing. Darkwing snarled, going to hit him again.

With the small space of the elevator, it wasn’t easy to squabble. They kept running into the sides or throwing each other around. At some point, they’d hit their heads enough to get dizzy.

“Hiatus, hiatus!” Megavolt cried, putting his hands up and charging them to keep the duck at bay. Darkwing stopped mid-attack, panting. “Five minutes?”

Darkwing looked ready to object, but when the elevator suddenly jolted and dropped, he was perfectly still. “Is- Is the elevator falling?” he asked, looking around.

Megavolt gulped, nodding. “Feels like it. We need to figure a way out of here,” he said. “So quit trying to knock us out of the sky!”

Darkwing nodded, relaxing his body and slowly sitting down. “This is your fault.”

Megavolt sighed, sitting against the corner and hugging his legs. “Yeah, sure.”

“Really? You couldn’t even make proper trap before I got here??” Darkwing continued, rolling his eyes. “What, did you fry your brain trying to turn the light on?”

“This kind, I guess,” Megavolt said, looking away. That kind of hurt. But Darkwwing was probably right. Almost a whole two years and he was still trying to keep up with his adversary.

“I just might have bigger things to worry about than this. I mean, taking the lightbulbs from the advertising firm?” Darkwing said, motioning around them. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I’m trying to liberate them,” Megavolt admitted, glaring. “Do you know how many little bulbs are being enslaved and trapped on billboards? And you think I’m criminal!”

“L- Liberate them?”

Megavolt confirmed.

Darkwing snorted, then he cackled, then he was howling with laughter. “Are you serious?! That is the most dememnted thing I’ve ever heard you say!” he shouted, hitting his fist on the ground. “And that’s saying something!”

Megavolt growled. “Hey! Of course that’s what you’d think,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’re just like all of them. I’m the only one who can understand the lightbulbs! That’s why I have to save them.”

“Megavolt the Messiah,” Darkwing mused. “The Liberator of Lightbulbs. The Screwey Screensaver.”

“Cut you cut it out? All your bullshit is making it hard for me to think!” Megavolt snapped, slamming a hand on the ground and sending small sparks through the whole elevator. “If you want out, you’re going to need me.”

“I don’t need you for anything,” Darkwing said. “There are petty pick-pocketers more worth my attention!”

“Would you shut the hell up!?” Megavolt shouted, standing up. “I’m trying my best here! Trying my worst, I mean… You know what I mean!” The rat pulled at his hair, or what was left of it. He was suffering hair loss at the age of nineteen, thanks to his powers. It might also have to do with the stress. And the contant pulling… He should invest in a hat. “Do you know how hard it was to fix the security system to get in here in the first place??”

Darkwing was silent for a brief moment, not sure how to respond. Megavolt seemed upset. But not the usual angry or vengeful. He seemed almost hurt.

“You’ve probably got some sort of mansion from your dead parents, a butler who obeys your every whim, and a dork-cave!” Megavolt fumed. “You know what I’ve got? Nothing! No shit to my name or even a fucking place to live right now! It doesn’t help that I can’t remember to feed myself half the time. I don’t need to start feeling like I’m failing at my career, okay?!” Sparks flickered down his cheeks, and Darkwing realized he was just about crying.

No place to live? Not remembering to feed himself? Darkwing’s eyes softened, and he reached a hand out to the other, but stopped. “Are you kidding?” he said softly. “You’re the most vile guy I’ve ever met!”

“Huh?”

“You’re the worst!” Darkwing said. “I disliked you the moment I first laid eyes on you!”

Megavolt huffed, looking at the panel instead. “Yeah, right. What was that about petty crooks being more worth your time?”

Darkwing was silent. Dammit, he needed to learn how to keep his beak shut. He sighed, looking up at his enemy. “I don’t have this perfect life you seem to think I do,” he said. “I lost my family. The whole hero thing has incinerated my social life. And I can hardly afford my apartment.” He held his head in his hands. “Guess we’re in the same boat, huh?”

“Yeah…” Megavolt said. He still wasn’t looking at Darkwing.

Okay. Sure, Darkwing loved to fight the guy. He had no issue beating him up. He had no regrets foiling him. But realizing he’d hurt him emotionally felt wrong somehow. Maybe he’d gone too far. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things,” Darkwing said, taking his hat off and holding it in front of him. “I guess I’m a little stressed too. I’ve been thinking I might not be cut out to be a hero,” he admitted, his gut turning. “I did let myself get trapped. And I’ve missed you the last couple heists. Maybe I’m better off getting a desk job. I dunno…”

The villain sat up stiffly. “Are you kidding?? But you’re the biggest thorn in my side ever!” Megavolt said affectionately. “If it weren’t for you, I’d’ve taken over St. Canard long ago. You don’t even need a superpower!”

Darkwing smiled, holding the hat to his heart. “Aw, Megs! You’re the most obnoxious pain in my ass,” he said with a soft smile. “You’ve got this villain thing in the bag.” Unfortunately.

The teens smiled at each other for a minute, then the light flickered, and went out. Megavolt suddenly screamed and sparked, providing enough light for Darkwing to see his distressed face. “What? Are we falling again?”

“No, I have a fear of small, dark spaces!”

Darkwing slowly moved over to where Megavolt had been sitting and felt around. He thought he touched Megavolt’s leg and estimated where his arm was, managing to then grab his hand. “Hey, chill out. You can literally make electricity.” Megavolt was breathing heavily, and he tried charging his other hand, holding it up. White-blue light lit up the elevator. Darkwing smiled, squeezing his other hand. “See?”

“Oh, uuh,” Megavolt looked down at where their hands joined. Blush and sparks spread across his cheeks for a moment.

Darkwing chuckled, blushing. “We’re pretty bad at hating each other, huh?”

“Yep,” Megavolt agreed, leaning in a little closer. What was he even doing? Why was he doing it?

Darkwing leaned in closer as well, and his lips met Megavolt’s gently.

The kiss was awkward, to say the least. It was at a bad angle. Darkwing tried a little too hard, leaning in and trying to add more flare than was needed. Megavolt just kind of stiffened up, a hand going to the other’s cheek. He kissed back, half-parting his lips. Everything about the kiss was wrong. Why did it feel wet? It was too rushed but too slow. This needed to stop.

Yet neither did. They get just kept kissing like the virgins they were for a minute before Darkwing pulled away.

And they just stared.

After a few minutes of silence, Megavolt pulled his hand away like he’d been burned. “Oh shi-”

“Have you never kissed anyone before??” Darkwing asked, looking a little repulsed.

“Of course not! Have you??”

“What does it seem like?” Darwking asked, smirking.

“It seems like you practice on your hand!” Megavolt said.

Darkwing stood up and grabbed his hat to put it back on. “Yep, yep, yep. That’s aside the point. Let’s get out of here.”

Megavolt nodded, pulling himself up. “Right. Let’s get out.”

I want to do art for the kiss in the lightning light but I can’t draw humans for shit. Forget a duck-rat smooch. If someone could maybe do that that would be amazing! I hope you enjoyed! Remember to like and comment so I know what you think! Farewell, best of luck, avoid roasted cabbage, don’t eat earwax, and look on the bright side of life!Moonset!

[theblackbookofarkera]

Volmimru

The volmimru is a type of lesser chimru created by the Order of the Skinned Messiah - it is a human rat hybrid. It is pointless to ask why the ethically degenerate nobility of the Tru-isil Empire would request to have such an abomination created, the answer simply being because they can. If it was known the volmimru would somehow gain the ability to reproduce the obviously poor decision may have been reconsidered.

Of the various breeds of lesser chimru oddly the volmimru are amongst the most intelligent. They can converse and rationalize akin to an averagely educated child, have greater impulse control and tend to be quite clever. The volmimru are the only lesser chimru that willfully wear clothing though it is commonly nothing more than dirty rags. Volmimru have also been known to utilize crude weaponry and tools made from human refuse.

Volmimru have become a problem in the cities of the Tru-isil Empire, a problem I suspect will spread beyond their borders. The unforeseen ability for them to reproduce has led to packs of these abominations haunting the sewers and slums of crowded urban areas. Always hungry they went from a nuisance to a direct threat to the health and safety of the city dwellers. Despite all citizens having full authority to kill volmimru wherever they are found their numbers continue to rise at a disturbing rate.

Like all lesser chimru volmimru appear more human than animal though animalistic enough not to pass as human. Volmimru are short and thin, have spindly limbs, thin fur and the signature tail of a rat.

“What I witnessed will haunt me forever and only further question my faith in humankind. It was a group of adolescent boys torturing and beating one of the rat things without pity. While I find the creatures revolting the site of young boys torturing the being was grotesque. The rat thing pleaded, begged and cried as he was methodically beaten and tortured to death. The creature did not ask to be created, it is a crime against nature but so was the heartless cruelty displayed by those boys…”

-Arthur Downs, Agal sailor

[ratligion-official]

You fool. You have betrayed your god. The scriptures of the giant rat, that which makes all the rules, they refer to me.

I will remember Your dissension

you call us the fools yet you are the one acting as if you are our lord and savior.for you are nothing but a false king.you shant coax us into joining your legions with fear.

we await your downfall.

[megashadowdragon]

coldhands identity is brave danny flint

Could Coldhands be Brave Danny Flint? It sounds crackpot, and very likely is, but the more I thought about it the more it appealed to me. I've done a quick search, one or two people seem to have floated this before but it's never had much in-depth analysis. This is my first meta, so please be gentle and C&C welcome.

The Gender Agenda To start with, I'll start with the elephant in the room - Danny Flint was a girl, Coldhands is male. Or is he? Gilly, Meera, and Bran all refer to him as male, but they have no idea who he is, so would see Night's Watch clothes and assume. He wears a scarf over his face, and while they can see his eyes and that his face is pale, it took Bran's gang a decent amount of time to work out he was a walking corpse, so I'm not sure I trust them to figure out niceties like gender. Leaf's "They killed him long ago" is more of a problem - she's a colleague, she would probably know. My best defence is that maybe Children of the Forest don't do gender in the same way as humans? This feels like a reach, but we have had another magical species with sexual fluidity leading to trouble with pronouns in the series. Otherwise, Leaf tends to hang out in the cave, Coldhands can't get in, maybe they're just not that close. Finally, the main person to ask - Coldhands his or her self. The only other post I could see on reddit about this theory had someone respond with the quote "Once the heart has ceased to beat, a man's blood runs down into his extremities, where it thickens and congeals. His hands and feet swell up and turn as black as pudding. The rest of him becomes as white as milk", but I'd point out this is in third person and a generalization - "a man", not "me, Coldhands, the man".

Okay, now I've convinced everyone my theory is terrible, let's get into the meat of it.

Hands cold as stone This was what got me into this rabbit hole in the first place - House Flint's sigil is "A grey stone hand upon a white inverted pall on paly black and grey". A stone hand would be pretty cold, right? In point of fact, when we first met Coldhands, the final line of the chapter describes "fingers hard as stone." On top of that, the white and black background seems to fit the Night's Watch blacks, pale face, black hands, white snow, etc.

Who the hell else could it be? This has always been the weird thing about Coldhands for me. Honestly, there's a very good chance this is a non mystery mystery, he's a zombie Night's watch ranger riding an elk, do we really need a secret identity? However, "who is Coldhands?" is one of the most commonly asked questions in the fandom, so let's assume it's getting an answer. We know: a) night's watch member b) killed a long time ago, as reckoned by a 200 year old, c) not Benjen. There are essentially 3 historical periods where we know any specifics about the Night's Watch: 1) the long night/age of heroes, 2) Targaryen era, 3) recent history. If we work through these backwards, we can pretty much rule out the recent era for not meeting the criteria of "killed a long time ago". The Targaryen era didn't have much Night's Watch drama, a few kings sent to the wall at Aegon's conquest, Raymun Redbeard's invasion is wall related but the whole point of that story is that the Night's Watch failed to really get involved... the only strong contender from this period is a mysterious magical Targaryen bastard who went to the wall and went missing... but he's the other mysterious good zombie wandering around up north. The long night has a lot of Night's Watch focus, but it was 10,000 years ago. Allowing for this being in-universe exaggeration, it's still ~2,000 years ago, and if Coldhands were that old, I'm not sure he'd be in elk-riding mutineer-killing form, or at least not look passably human to Bran and co. This rules out specific timeline characters, which leaves more folkloric characters like Danny Flint, who isn't associated to any one point in time. There's a song, and she's treated as a well-known tale, which implies a fairly long time, but overall could be whenever. This works for any of the folkloric Night's Watch characters, but the Rat King is already otherwise occupied with a different cannibalistic pseudo immortality, leaving Mad Axe, who does have the massacring fellow brothers down pat, but doesn't feel thematically right to me. This section really grew in the writing, but TL;DR - assuming Coldhands is someone we've heard of before, no specific historical figures seem to match up chronologically, leaving figures from folk tales and songs, which there are only so many of.

Mutineer Massacre For a character we've all obsessed over so much, it's easy to forget how little we've seen of Coldhands. His role in the story has effectively been "transport Sam and Gilly to the wall, transport Bran and co to Bloodraven, massacre the Night's Watch mutineers". Hold up, one of those things is not like the others. During his quest to get Bran to Bloodraven, to awake the messiah and save the world, Coldhands takes a break and makes a detour to kill the Night's Watch Mutineers from Crasters. This is explicitly noted to be something they slow down for, when time is critical. Admittedly, it secures the party some delicious Long Pork when supplies are low, but even in aDwD it seems like there are other ways to get meat than to hunt humans, besides which he kills not one but five mutineers. He claims it is because the mutineers are following them, but Meera points out they've been circling for days - it seems Coldhands deliberately sought the mutineers out. The brutality of the kills also suggests more than utilitarian pragmatism - there are entrails slung through branches and severed heads! All of this to say, Coldhands is deliberately shown as both a member of the Night's Watch, and willing/going out of his way to punish Night's Watch brothers who break their vows and harm their fellow brothers, something Danny Flint might take personally. Basically, it's a classic exploitation movie with an elk-riding zombie as the wronged woman hunting down wrongdoers. Someone call Tarantino to direct this.

A True Night's Watch One of the big themes GRRM loves is the idea that outsiders to an institution can be the truest embodiment of that institution - Dunk and Brienne are the truest Knights, Davos is the truest lord, the Manderlys are the most loyal northerners. Coldhands already seems to tie into this - the Night's Watch are tireless defenders from the Others and their Wights, so ironically the staunchest ranger is undead as well. It would only emphasise this theme if this ultimate Night's Watch ranger was someone who was barred from entry, had to sneak in, and was murdered by their brothers for not belonging. There also seems to be a thematic tie in that Danny Flint had to essentially infiltrate the Night's Watch and keep her cover in hostile terrain, much like Coldhands in the Others controlled north.

Bonding over being murdered by your brothers Coldhands has so far been very much one of Bran's cast, but it's worth noting characters can switch storylines, and we have someone else in the North who can soon relate to being a back-from-the-dead Night's Watchman fighting the Others - I'm hardly the first to note the Coldhands/Jon parallels, but Coldhands being another character who was murdered by the Night's Watch due to their conservatism and hatred of outsiders would add another layer.

Miscellany A couple of quotes I found while researching for this: “Did Mance ever sing of Brave Danny Flint?” “Not as I recall. Who was he?” (ADWD Jon XII) - Tormund and Jon talking, Tormund mistaking Danny Flint for a man, this feels like one of those throw-away lines GRRM likes to include to make a little double meaning once the truth is out, or just seeding the idea of mistaking Danny Flint for a man. “The ranger wore the black of the Night’s Watch, but what if he was not a man at all?" (ADWD Bran I) - again, I could see GRRM giggling as he typed that if this theory were true.

Conclusion Honestly, there is every chance this is absolute nonsense, and I've just lost it waiting for TWoW. I tend to lean towards Coldhands not having a big identity reveal, he's an undead ranger co-opted by Bloodraven and that's enough. However, if Coldhands is to have an identity reveal, I think Danny Flint deserves consideration: there aren't that many viable candidates, her story is emotionally intense enough and has been referred to often enough that a casual fan could be expected to go "oh!" instead of "...let me google that", and it would fit with existing themes of the story. The angle of Jon parallels even gives an opening for the reveal to be natural and facilitate character and thematic arcs, which is what I look for in a theory.

comment on reddit

Yeah, the Flint (of Flint's Finger) sigil literally being a Cold Hand is what sold me on this when I started looking into it. There's also some other intriguing textual stuff about it...

The weird thing about Danny Flint is that she is only mentioned three times in all of ASOIAF. Three! Bran recounts her tale in Bran IV, ASOS; Theon hears Wyman Manderly demand her song in The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD; and Jon discusses her tale with Tormund in Jon XII, ADWD.

This was kind of shocking to me. Danny Flint is a pretty recognizable name to, I’d figure, the majority of attentive readers. I thought she must have been mentioned before the third book, at least, but… nope. Her tale is first introduced to us in Bran IV, ASOS, the Nightfort chapter… Oh, what’s that? Wait, isn’t that… the very same Nightfort chapter where we first hear about Coldhands? (Well, no, actually, he appears at the end of Samwell III before that, but this is the first chapter where he is identified as Coldhands.) Chronologically, Sam meets Coldhands, Bran thinks about Danny Flint, and then Sam introduces Bran to Coldhands, in fairly quick succession.

So it seems GRRM came up with Danny Flint and Coldhands around the exact same time. Interesting. Danny Flint is then not mentioned again until ADWD, when the Coldhands mystery is developed further. Double interesting.

Also, the Bran chapter directly preceding the Nightfort chapter– our first introduction to Danny Flint– is the one where Meera tells him the story of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, another tale of a northern warrior woman dressing as a man and hiding her face in service of some greater goal. Stretch? Maybe.

And why would Coldhands' face be covered at all if there WASN'T some big reveal upcoming? What utility would that have? That scarf clearly seems like a setup for SOMETHING. He doesn't need it for warmth. He's likely hiding a face that would make him recognizable to Bran/Meera/Jojen (and the readers), but died long ago... the only way that reveal could work without a ton of laborious exposition is if he took off the scarf and it was obviously a 'female' face, making it obviously Danny. It also seems likely Coldhands will interact with at least Bran and Meera again, both of whom are somewhat connected to Danny Flint’s story– Bran via his love of stories and legends, and Meera via the breaking of gender roles. So there's thematic levels to it as well.

source www . reddit . com/r/asoiaf/comments/llwm8m/coldhands_identity_spoilers_extended/

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXII

January 5, 2278.

Percy tosses aside her wrench and huffs, putting her hands on her waist and admiring her work. “Looks like you’re finally ready,” she says to the motorbike that she has been tinkering with for weeks.

“Now let’s see if you work.”

My partner hums as she leads the cruiser through Megaton’s gate, ignoring gawkers and onlookers. We wear our helmets, which Percy picked up from Moira this afternoon.

She sits on the motorbike seat, exclaims a triumphant “Yes!” when the engine roars to life… and screams when the damn thing went careening around in circles.

I caught her before she could crash, and the bike fell to its side as she got off of it, legs shaking.

“Dammit,” she curses, clinging on to me, breathing hard. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

“If it’s too dangerous to use, we can still travel on foot, but it may delay our plans,” I tell her, steadying her to her feet.

“Delaying is not an option we have the luxury to choose now,” Percy sighs, pulling the bike back into position.

“Then I suggest that you navigate with your PipBoy. I’ll drive.”

My partner looks at me curiously. “You know how to ride a bike?”

“Yes. I am proficient in driving pre-war vehicles.”

Percy clears her throat. “Was that a part of your training?”

I run my ruined hands through the driver’s seat’s worn leather, and get on.

“Yes.”

I start the engine, and Percy gets on the passenger seat behind me.

“Now, hold on tight.”

She did as I said, wrapping her arms around my waist, and letting out a surprised scream when we zipped away from the gate.

As we sprinted past jet-addled raiders and freaked-out mole rats, Percy was whooping and laughing, her body warm against by back despite the winter air blowing.

“Holy shit! This is fun!” Percy yells, and I feel her heart pounding through her chest.

I’m glad she’s behind me, or she would’ve seen the smile I had when she held me tighter and leaned on me.

I could get used to this.

As we rode our way to our destination, my mind wandered back to the conversation we had with Doc Church earlier today.

Percy got inside the clinic first, and I followed suit, looming over Church, who was sitting on his desk, looking over a medical clipboard.

“Unless you’re dying I- Oh. It’s you.”

“Doc Church. Do you have any patients with you today?”

“None. I’m not sure how that is any of your concern, though.”

“Charon, guard the door,” Percy instructed me, and Church was about to get up when Percy pressed on his shoulder, forcing him to sit. I lean against the metal and watch the two intently.

“We know about Paradise Falls.”

All the color from the doctor’s face drains.

“You’re training to be a doctor too, am I right? The oath requires me to offer my services to whoever is in need. Slavers included. Even so, I’ve put that all behind me when I opened this clinic in Megaton. Please, don’t hurt me,” Church blurts out, defensive.

“I understand your intention to follow the oath. Don’t worry, we’re not planning to hurt you. In fact, we need your help.”

“Aside from offering my services as a doctor, I have nothing else to offer. I’m sorry.”

My partner turns to me, and nods.

I come forward, cracking my knuckles in a show of intimidation. The old man shrank in his seat even further.

“I know you remember me,” I tell him, and he gulps. “And I know you remember the people you worked for.”

“We need information about Paradise Falls. Names, a layout of the location, and anything that could help us take down the slaver operations there,” Percy continues.

Church’s eyes widen, and he gives us an incredulous look. “Even if I give you the information you need, you can’t take down Paradise Falls, kid. Those slavers have contacts everywhere. You’ll have a target on your back for the rest of your lives.”

Percy shakes her head. She drags a chair and sits in front of the doctor.

“I’ve gotten used to looking over my shoulder and sleeping with one eye open, doc. That doesn’t concern me anymore. What concerns me is there are innocent kids who were snatched from their home by bastards who think that people are a commodity to be sold. I know you think that’s fucked. Why else would you pack up and leave? This is your chance to make things right.”

“Make things right? Kid...”

I felt the urge to speak up. I look at Percy, asking for silent permission, and she seems to understand, taking a step back and allowing me to take the helm.

“Percy is right. Why else would you leave that life behind and start a clinic here, where people needed your help the most? You feel guilty,” I tell him.

He was as still as a stone.

“You still think about the horrible things you saw in Paradise. You regret being instrumental in keeping those slavers healthy and alive as they hunted down more people to sell as slaves. This is an opportunity to let go of that guilt. You don’t get that chance every day. Don’t waste it.”

“What, do you have psych training now too?” he asks me, mockingly, disbelievingly.

“No,” I tell him. “It’s an observation, from a ghoul who’s in the same boat.”

Tense silence fills the room. Finally, Church relents, taking a pencil from his desk drawer.

“I’ll look for a piece of paper.”

I let out a breath that I was holding. Percy sighs in relief too.

“Thank you,” she says to the doctor.

The old man sketches the layout of Paradise Falls on a yellowed piece of paper, and tells us all he knows about Paradise Falls before his departure.

As he went on, my memories of the place started becoming clearer, but I have no desire to dwell on them.

When we got back to the house, Percy looped her arm around mine. Percy looks at me with those eyes again, filled with trust, devotion, and now… admiration.

“I’m proud of you, big guy.”

I stroked her hair and went on with our preparations.

My mind snapped back to the present as we reached Tenpenny Tower, and I parked the bike as Percy rings the intercom. Taking off my helmet, I look up at the tower, which sticks out like a sore thumb in the Wasteland. The people who lived inside were obsessed with the finer days from before the war. Worse, Tenpenny was a landgrabber, their chief of security, Gustavo, was a gung-ho bigoted bastard, and their doctor made assumptions about ghouls without even looking at one up close.

They reminded me of the people I used to serve, the ones responsible for my indoctrination.

Percy hated them so much.

However, we need all the ammunition we can find, and Gustavo trades them.

“Huh, no one’s answering,” Percy mumbles. She touches the gate lightly, and gasps when it opens on its own.

“Did you think something happened?” she asks me, and I retrieve my shotgun, loading it with bullets.

“I thought you hated those people.”

“Yeah, but, after helping the Warrington station ghouls get in I thought I’d give them a chance to change their mind about ghouls…”

Percy trails off as her eyes scan the courtyard. There were no more human residents present, only the ghouls she helped get in the tower.

“Don’t tell me...”

Gasping, Percy pushes the gate and rushes inside, pushing the heavy double doors open. She runs up to a ghoulette, the one called Bessie Lynn.

“Bessie, where’s the rest of the residents?”

The ghoulette squirms in place, nervous. “Oh, I don’t know where they are. But everything is fine! Roy said not to worry about the other residents.”

I could tell she was lying, and Percy could too, so she moves on, running past the timid woman. Michael Masters, another one of the Warrington ghouls, sits in the lobby.

“Michael!” Percy exclaims. “Where are all the humans?”

The ghoul laughs. “Roy took out the trash. You better steer clear of the basement storage room. I’m glad I lost my sense of smell.”

“He did fucking what?”

Percy brushes past Masters, footsteps heavy as she stomps her way to the basement. As she opened the door, her hands flew to her nose at the stench of rotting bodies.

Most of the corpses were unrecognizable. They were brutalized. The only one I could recognize was the old man’s. Herbert Dashwood. That one was the only human resident who didn’t insult me when we first visited this place.

His face was bloated and decaying. I looked away.

Percy retches, eyes wet and shiny with tears, and I grab her, pulling her out of the room and slamming the door shut behind us.

She was shaking. I pressed her against my chest as she trembled and sobbed.

Then, I heard a mocking laugh. I looked up, and the leader of the Warrington ghouls was strolling towards us. Roy Phillips.

“Hey kid. Thanks again for helping us get in.”

Wiping her tears away, Percy faces him. She wore that expression she had when she talked to Ahzrukhal, when she confronted Wally Mack, and when those Talon mercs ambushed us.

That look on this angel’s face is one of the few things in this world that frightens me.

“Nice pile of bodies in the storage room, Roy,” Percy spits, shoulders tense. “You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Assholes had it coming,” Phillips spat back. “But I don’t answer to you, or any other smoothskin. In fact, you’d best piss off before you join them.”

Muscle memory kicking in, I shield Percy with my body at the bastard’s threat. He looks at me, disgusted.

“What the hell are you even doing, defending this smoothskin? You should be with your fellow ghouls.”

“Charon, this is hopeless. Let’s get out of here,” Percy tells me, touching my arm.

“You get out of here,” Phillips interrupts. “I’m not done talking to him yet.”

The asshole turns to me, looking at me from head to toe.

“Not man enough to ditch this little girl and stick with us? How much is she paying you for you to betray your own kind?”

Phillips gave me a hard shove when I didn’t give him an answer.

“Huh. ‘Not man enough?’ Wow, sounds like someone is projecting his insecurities about his masculinity,” Percy interrupts, hand flying to the spot on my chest where the other ghoul shoved me. Phillips’ eyes flick to my partner’s hand, and he gives us a mocking smirk.

“Oh, I get it now. This kid gives you a taste of smoothskin pussy and now you’d tail her ass around like that stupid dog of hers? You’re her fucking gigolo?”

“God, you’re disgusting. How could someone as nice as Bessie stay with someone as horrible as you?”

“Keep your mouth shut, smoothskin bitch.”

Percy grabs him by the collar, knocks him off-balance with her footwork, and slams him against the wall, like she did with Wally Mack.

“No! You listen, you piece of shit! I helped you get into this fucking tower in hopes of a non-violent solution to everyone’s problems. I guess that was a fucking mistake, huh? I’m not going to shed tears for Gustavo and the other bigots who wanted you dead. But Dashwood? Does it make you feel like a bigger man, killing a senile retiree? You killed the only person in the tower who viewed you as people, too.”

“That asshole was gloating about having a ghoul manservant. I’d fucking do it again. Of course you’d defend him. You have one too, you two-faced bitch.”

Percy falters, but then slams Phillips against the wall again, his head hitting it with a dull thud.

“Charon is not my manservant. He is my friend. You don’t know a single fucking thing about us. Forget it. You can rot in this tower for all I care.” She lets him go. Then, she turns to me.

“Charon, let’s get-”

As Percy turns around, Phillips lunges for her neck, but I move her out of the way and grab the other ghoul’s arm, twisting it and shoving him to the ground.

“Traitor,” Phillips spits at me. “Goddamn smoothskin titsucker! You’ll pay for that!”

“Percy is my contract holder,” I start, towering over him. “And my friend. I don’t care what she is. I am loyal to her.”

“Is that it? That’s all you ever want to be? You’re fucking hopeless, kid. She’ll use you and throw you away once she’s done with you.”

The mere suggestion of Percy abandoning me coming from his mouth made me want to shut him up.

“Big guy, don’t listen to him. C’mon, let’s just go.”

“Once she finds a human who can protect and fuck her better, you best bet she’ll put you down like the dog you are.”

He should shut up.

Shut up. Shut the hell up!

I’ll fucking shut him up!

“Charon, enough! Stop! I order you to stop!”

Small hands were pulling me away, and Percy’s orders went in my ears as sharp barks.

Conditioning kicking in, I freeze. I look down, and my hands are bloody.

I smeared Roy Phillips to the ground.

Fuck.

Around us the other ghouls, his followers, were too shocked to even fire their weapons. Lynn runs over, looks at me, then her boyfriend’s brains on the ground, and lets out a frightened wail.

Percy grabs my arm and pulls me towards the entrance. “Charon, we need to get out of here!”

Behind us, they were firing their guns like crazy. One of the bullets grazed my thigh, but I kept going, the pain numbed by holding Percy’s hand.

We rode our way out of there.

It’s getting dark and unsafe to drive.

Making camp on the side of the road, Percy treats the bullet graze on my thigh in silence. Then, she stares into the fire, eyes glazed over.

“Charon, what have I done?”

I scoot closer to her, and she begins to cry.

“You couldn’t have predicted that Phillips would turn against his word.”

“No. I trusted him and now people died because of me.”

Doing my best to soothe her, I stroke her hair. “Can I make a suggestion?”

She nods.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things you have no control over, angel.”

Percy sniffles, and looks up to me.

“You know, I hate it when people call me that. I’m just a kid who’s also imperfect and makes mistakes… not some Wasteland Avenger, and definitely not an Angel.”

“I can stop, if that’s what you wish of me, Percy.”

“If it’s you? It’s fine. Consider it my thanks for allowing me to call you ‘big guy’.”

Pulling her closer, I chuckled.

Percy kisses my cheek, yawns, and settles in my arms.

I smile.

[inorganicone2230]

Purity (Part 1) Yandere!Overhaul x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Summery: Overhaul meets a quirkless foreigner who holds some very interesting views on his way of thinking. The more time he spends with her, the more he wants to keep her and her purity for himself. And he has no problem with falling to the depths of obsession if it means getting what he wants.

Warnings: None for this chapter.

Kai Chisaki certainly considered himself to be, above all else, a visionary, a Messiah meant to save the world from itself. He saw the world for what it truly was. A vile, rotten cesspool, filled to the brim with filth and ugliness, and plagued by a disease called quirks. Despite possessing a powerful one himself, he never considered it to be the blessing that other people did, not that he felt above using it to achieve his goals of course. He was going to be the one to set the world right again, and rule the underworld with an iron fist, so he begrudgingly realized that he would need the power of his quirk to accomplish said goal. No matter how much it sickened him.

Some might call him insane for his beliefs. That quirks were a sickness, infecting the populace with Hero and Villain Syndrome. But he knew the truth that they were all just blind to, that’s why they needed him to be their guide and show them the way to purity.

Perhaps that’s why he found you, you were meant to be his reward for all the good he was doing. It’s only been a few weeks, but he’s sure that it’s a day he won’t ever forget. Not ever, he thinks, gazing down at your form spread out over the sheets in sheer, manic glee as he recalls the all too vivid day…

—————

In hindsight, pulling you out of the way of that moving vehicle could be seen as the starting point to the chain reaction that sent him down this long and winding road of obsession. Not that he would change it for anything in the world.

He had merely acted without much thought when he reached out his white gloved hand to pull you out of the way, touching you as little as possible. He simply wasn’t in the mood to get himself soiled with your blood that would go flying everywhere should you get hit. Touching your shirt seemed like a small price to pay if it meant avoiding being covered in bodily fluids.

You turned around, your (e/c) blown wide in shock and blinking up at him stupidly. Your features were obviously that of foreign descent, not that cared enough to guess what country you came from. It was far too beneath him.

“Umm… thank you. That definitely would have been horribly messy.” You said, your Japanese was relatively decent, if a bit too formal.

He glared, noting with quiet contempt that you didn’t seem affected by it, probably because you were too stupid to know when to be afraid. “The only reason I did it was because I’d rather not get covered in blood and gore. If I could have avoided it, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

You seemed more amused than perturbed by his attitude, and he was beginning to wonder if you were very brave or just hopelessly stupid. “Well thank you for the assistance nonetheless, even more so considering what a hassle it was for you.”

If there were just a few less people out and about he might have decided to use his blasted quirk on you, consequences and mess be damned. Instead he turned on his heel. “Perhaps next time, whatever filthy quirk you have will be able to save you.” He fully intended to walk away and never think about this incident again, however, what you said next was more than intriguing enough to make him stop and give you a second glance.

“That would make sense, if I actually had a quirk. I’ll be sure to ask for one in my next life.”

He turned around to look at you, you were already walking away, but it looked like you were lost, you kept looking at your phone and then back to the street signs and buildings as if you were trying to translate the writing.

“You were born quirkless?” He’d never actually met someone who was genuinely born quirkless, only those that had lost their quirks due to his drug. He could only imagine what it must be like to feel so clean and pure.

You only gave him a brief glance as you continued to scrutinize your surroundings, more than likely surprised that he was still standing there, let alone talking to you. “Yup. No special power for me, unless you count my extraordinary ability to walk a straight line in platform heels while drunk a quirk that is.” You chuckled, the sound not nearly as annoying as he thought it might be.

“Then you’re one of the lucky ones.”

It seems that was the comment that got him your full attention, your head lifting up to stare wide eyed at him. “Lucky? That’s certainly not the word most people would use when describing a quirkless individual. Do you have something against them by chance? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but now you’ve got my curiosity peaked.”

Kai thought about it, why he was still here, why he was still talking to you, and the only answer he could come up with was that he was interested to see what your reaction would be to learning his views. Would you agree? Look at him like he was insane? He wanted to know, so he figured there couldn’t be any harm in enlightening you.

“Have you ever heard the theory that quirks were caused by a strain of virus carried by rats?” You gave a quick shake of your head, (h/c) strands bouncing around your face as he continued. “Quirks are a sickness, they ravage humanity with Hero and Villain syndromes and people seem content to go along with it. It sickens me that the world has fallen so low as to rely on abilities and deformities that we were never meant to have in the first place. It’s unnatural and disgusting.”

He was expecting some kind of reaction from you, he didn’t think you’d jump right into agreeing with him, that would have been too perfect. His best guess was that you were going to think he was crazy, most outside of the Shie Hassaikai thought he was, why should one quirkless girl be any different. The reply you gave him definitely didn’t fit into either of those categories.

“That’s certainly an interesting way of looking at it, from an evolutionary standpoint at least. I’ll admit that when looking back on human history and development, quirks are definitely not what I would have expected human evolution to progress towards. So perhaps your rat theory does have some merit. Almost like a second coming of The Black Death or something.” You said, having moved closer to the wall of a building while the two of you spoke.

“You don’t think I’m crazy for thinking this? Most people would have stopped listening after I used disease and quirk in the same sentence.”

“No.” You chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with having an opinion that differs from the norm, sometimes it’s what we need to progress and move forward. Culture and society are constantly changing and adapting to new things as time goes on, but we wouldn’t be able to do that if it wasn’t for someone else stepping forward and saying that something needs to be done or fixed if we are to ever move on from the ways of the past. Your views may be a bit extreme, but definitely not crazy. After all, no one ever said passion was a bad thing.”

You couldn’t have possibly known how pleased he was by your words as you looked up into his eyes, eyes that even his underlings flinched at when attempting to hold his gaze for too long, but you just stared right at him, unflinching with a small smile tugging at your lips. It set his pulse racing pleasantly, and if he didn’t already know that he was in top physical health, he might have thought something was wrong with him.

“You looked as if you were lost, perhaps I can help you find your way.” He honestly felt like taking apart his own brain when the words left his mask covered mouth, but it was too late now, you were already agreeing.

“If it’s not too much trouble, that would be amazing! I can speak Japanese fairly well, but reading it is another story entirely.” You said pulling out your phone to show him an address for a local hotel, he took note of how soft and clean your hands looked, not a speck of filth to be seen. “I’m here on a study trip with a group of classmates and I went wandering off to look around, ended up getting lost along the way and was too embarrassed to ask for directions.”

“It’s three blocks away, follow me.” He ordered, turning on his heel. He didn’t bother to see if you were tagging along behind him or not, he knew you would obey.

The walk was kept silent and he was pleased that you didn’t seem to want to fill the time with pointless chatter as most people would have, but a small part of him was a bit disappointed as well, he wouldn’t have minded hearing you speak more of those intellectual views of yours. He wondered what else you might have to say about his views on the world. He might have even asked if the two of you had not just reached your destination.

There was someone rushing over, a blonde girl with blue scales around her yellow eyes was marching over to you. “Where in the Nine Circles of Hell did you run off too?! We’ve been worried sick! Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” She said, pulling you into a tight hug.

He wanted to obliterate the annoyance as soon as she touched you. It was blasphemous that this piece of garbage would even think to touch someone as clean as you with their dirty hands. He was even more annoyed that you didn’t seem bothered by this, just reached up to pat her filthy head.

“Sorry Nell, I went for a walk and got a little turned around. But this guy helped me out!” You turned around, to say thank you one last time and maybe get his name, but he was already gone.

Nell just gave you a look, like you had lost your marbles. “What guy (Y/N)? Don’t tell me your seeing ghosts again like you did in elementary school. Was this one at least hot?” She jeered with a barking laugh, bumping her shoulder against yours and motioning for you to follow her towards the hotel entrance.

“That was one time! And you know it was only because Mike was hiding in the attic of that old house to purposely try and scare us. What ten year old wouldn’t have been terrified.”

“Right… sure that’s all it was.” She teased.

“I swear to God, he was right there not even two seconds ago!” You were amazed he managed to slip away in so short a time span. “But he did seem pretty antisocial so he probably didn’t want to hang around longer than necessary. Still though,” You look back over your shoulder one more time to see if you can spot that green jacket. “kind of cliche to just up and leave like that without a word.”

“You didn’t answer my question though, was your mystery man easy on the eyes?”

You did have to smile a bit at that. “He did seem pretty handsome from what I could see of him. He was wearing a black dust mask over his mouth and nose, so all I could see of him were his gold eyes. It’s a shame I didn’t get to find out his name, he was interesting to talk too.” You sighed. “But oh well, it would be a miracle if I ever ran into him again in a city this big.”

From up on the roof of another building, Kai watched and listened, a plan already forming in his head. He had to agree with you, it was a shame you couldn’t have spoken more. He found himself pleased with the sound of your voice and wondered what his name would sound like rolling off your tongue, the thought had him shuddering in pleasure. He was not one to question himself on anything, if he wanted something or had a goal, he would find a way to accomplish it. And he most definitely wanted to interact with you again.

“I’ll come find you again soon (Y/N), then we will both get what we want.”

This was my first time writing for Overhaul, so please let me know if you thought I did his character justice! Thanks and please enjoy!

And a special thanks to @talpup for helping me brainstorm this and all my other stories!

[libermachinae]

Schematics [Or, Another Chance] – Ch. 1, Crash

Also available on AO3! Summary: Written for @prowlweek! They’ve been construction workers, engineers, soldiers, lab rats, a giant berserker fueled by rage. Time travel bounty hunters is a first for them, sure, but they’ve handled worse, and with the opportunity to get back into Prowl’s graces, they’re down to try pretty much anything.

Notes: Prowlastator time travel AU was an item on the brainstorming list that I was simultaneously excited about and assumed would never get written. Then, Prowl Week was announced, which was a perfect excuse to force myself to do the thing.

⏳ 🚧 🚓 ⌛ 🏗 🚧 ⏳

Prowl wanted them.

He’d called them, and when none had answered because they’d all been deep in recovery stasis, he’d left a message. Short, to the point, crisp with a tone they all recognized immediately:

Send confirmation upon receipt. Meet at the following coordinates.

Mixmaster swore that somewhere down in stasis dreams, he’d been aware of the moment Prowl had reached out, had felt his spark spin and dance in celebration of its prodigal companion. Long Haul tried to argue that he’d never heard the word dream before they’d been stuck under cover with the humans for all those months, and Bonecrusher had stepped in to defend him. As his teammates squabbled together in the cramped hospital room and Scavenger pretended to still be offline, Hook sent their reply. A single ping, message acknowledged. He wanted badly to ask how Prowl was, tell him the team was excited and ready for whatever he needed from them, but the right words weren’t coming. Besides, Prowl would appreciate the simplicity.

They left that night. Had they any stock in what the doctors or human (ew) repair crews had to say, they would have been there several more days, but Prowl’s assessment was the one that mattered. They could get out of their beds, sneak out of the hospital, and transform into a conga line of construction vehicles driving down the road: they were well enough for whatever he asked of them.

Hook led the way, maneuvering them through the hospital parking garage, into alleys, and around the many construction sites flooding the area around where Cybertronians had made landfall. The team had been knocked offline during their battle with Victorion (that was a rematch to look forward to), so all they knew was that a final, final battle had taken place and someone had dragged them to Earth, where they’d been labeled as ‘victims to Starscream’s self-important delusions’ and tossed in with the rest of the bots who’d ended up mangled, crushed, and torn by the death throes of their planet. Keeping their distance, they saw Cybertronians and humans working alongside one another, building plans for a future in which the two species were able to live side by side. Scavenger even thought it was ‘sweet.’

They never spared it more than a glance, though; Prowl was waiting.

The coordinates took them far from the development, across fields that forced Hook, Bonecrusher, and Long Haul to switch to root mode so their tires didn’t get sucked into the mud, and through forests that snagged their kibble and occasionally required they disentangle each other. Night passed, their path lit by a moon that was little more than a hunk of dead rock, and by day they still wore on, anticipation fueling each step like rough high grade. They reached the mouth of the cave just as the sun reached its crescendo, pushing deep into the darkness below.

They jumped. Mid-air, they strained their optics, searching for their sixth.

There. There he was! Standing just out of the spotlight of the roof, Prowl was almost invisible in the darkness: he’d painted over his white paint with a dark shade of gray, and his biolights had all be covered to make him more believable as an Earth vehicle. His single blue optic was unmistakable, though, both for its color and the way it stared at them, harsh but unreadable, as each member of the team landed in front of him. Dust rose from around their feet and the cave shivered with the impact, and he did not blink, though his gaze shifted to each in turn.

Hook felt his spark trip and wondered if this might be the feeling Mixmaster had been trying to describe.

It was really their Prowl. They were together again.

Hook ran forward, feeling more than hearing the team as they converged around him. Maybe Prowl tried to say something, and maybe they should have responded, but no words came to Hook that would have meant as much as actions. Besides, it would have been too hard to hear as five, then six, t-cogs activated.

There wasn’t even time to savor it. One moment Hook was rolling forward, sliding through his vehicle mode and into Devastator’s component, and then he attempted to connect to Long Haul and everything fell apart.

Pain burned a terrible arc through Hook’s body and he wrenched away from the connection, collapsing onto the floor as his addled processor tried to understand what it had just undergone. The rest of the team crashed down around him, a ragged pile of robots, vehicles, and limbs with Prowl in the center, just starting to sit up. He cradled his helm in one hand, but the glare of his optic pierced through his fingers, targeting Hook and welding him to the spot. Even without the direct connection, Hook’s spark felt the disapproval.

“W-what happened?” Scavenger asked, pushing himself up from where he’d been pinned under Bonecrusher’s blade. The more senior team member transformed and placed a hand on his shoulder, though he too looked to Hook and Prowl for answers.

Hook had none. In their time as a combiner, he had picked up a few tricks they could use to diagnose and bypass glitches, little things here and there that could hold the mesh together until someone more qualified could solve the root of the problem. He’d never been prepared for anything like this, the sting of rejection still flowing through his body and making it hard to perform the usual systems checks he would have had going by now.

“You’re broken,” Prowl said, turning to Bonecrusher. Hook was both grateful and regretful to lose his attention. “Long Haul,” he turned to the one stuck halfway between robot and dump truck, “I received almost no feedback from you. Either your combination circuits have been turned in on themselves, or they’re missing entirely. I suspect the rest of you have similar injuries.”

“Well, what’s it going to take to get us fixed?” Long Haul demanded as he righted himeslf, defensive for having had his own poor repair called out.

“Many things we don’t have,” Prowl said, “least of all expertise. The one mech who fully understands how your bodies work is currently in custody.”

Shockwave was still alive? News to Hook, not that he really cared. He was dealing with more present concerns.

“We can’t combine?” He said it like a question, but it didn’t feel like one.

“No,” Prowl said, “which is perfectly acceptable. I have you how I want you.”

The team perked up, even Mixmaster sitting up from where he’d been lounging on the ground.

“What’s that mean?” Bonecrusher asked.

“The mission I’ve called you here for requires finesse, a clear mind, and ability to stay focused,” Prowl said. “Multiple field runs have now proven that, while combined, I am not capable of such to a degree that is acceptable for any logical hope of success. So, it is to our benefit that we cannot combine.”

“You… don’t want to form Devastator anymore?” Scavenger asked. Bonecrusher’s hand on his shoulder stilled.

“That’s not what he said,” Long Haul snapped, though his optics darted back to Prowl.

“You’re right, Long Haul,” Prowl said, “though you would understand why it’s a complicated question. I…”

Hook leaned in with the rest of his team. He’d so looked forward to being in Prowl’s head again, watching the calculations run down, branches and paths unimaginable to them flowing open at Prowl’s touch. If they couldn’t get that, hearing his thoughts would be the next best thing.

He grimaced, though, and the change in his tone when he started again indicated that whatever he’d meant to say next was going to stay locked away.

“I need you for this mission,” he said instead. “You are the only mechs I can trust with it, and I know you will not take that responsibility lightly. It’s because we have combined that I can give you this confidence.”

“Course, Prowl,” Mixmaster said.

“You can trust us with anything,” Scavenger added.

Prowl’s doorwings twitched up. Hook still wished he knew what that meant, and the familiarity of the feeling was what finally reminded him that Prowl was back. Regardless of Devastator, of whatever mission they were about to embark on, that thought stood out in his mind, and he crawled forward so he could touch Prowl’s shoulder, dip his fingers into that fresh gray paint.

“Anything,” he echoed. “We’re here for you.” He would promise nothing he didn’t know he could deliver.

The others followed, enclosing their loose circle around Prowl, who startled at each touch, his gaze whipping around. He stood, dislodging every curious hand, and in the glare of the roof looked like a messiah among his followers. Hook, directly in front of him, squinted up, able to make out only the silhouette of a pointed chevron and doorwings, fanned wide.

“I know,” Prowl said. He stepped over Mixmaster and out of their circle, unfolding from the light and molding himself back into the darkness, where he was once more reduced to a single glowing optic.

“The same way I know that when I tell you this information is top secret,” he went on, “you will know never to reveal it to anyone.”

“We won’t say a thing,” Hook said, standing. The others joined in, echoing Hook’s sentiments as the group rose up, but Prowl’s attention stayed on him. Hook felt the look like it was a blunt object, plunging into his spark, and he accepted the force, embraced it, returning it without any idea of its purposes. He did not look away, not because he was intent on winning whatever game they’d entered into, but because he didn’t know what would happen if he did.

“I know,” Prowl repeated. Hook’s optics, adjusting again to the gloom, were just able to make out the motion he made with one hand.

Follow.

They did.

Prowl led them away from the light, further into the darkness of the cavern. Tucked into one wall was what looked like a terminal amassed with sticky organic matter that threaded together, creating windows that acted as a screen when Prowl powered it on. The team stopped a few steps shy, peering up into uncanny views, except Mixmaster, who strode forward to poke at the vestigial threads hanging off the side.

“This is a time machine.”

Prowl dropped the statement like a bag of bolts. Mixmaster stopped what he was doing to look up at their head. Scavenger jolted.

“You built a time machine?” he asked, awe tilting his helm up and guiding him another step closer, angling to watch Prowl work.

“No. An old… Someone else did,” Prowl said.

“Mesothulas?” Mixmaster guessed.

Hook cringed. Bonecrusher had come across the name accidentally the last time they had combined, but they’d all had to work together to assemble the story, each member offering a scrap of information until something resembling a narrative emerged. Hook had assumed their silent agreement not to mention it to Prowl was enough.

“Not relevant,” Prowl said, proving that it was possible to know a mech’s deepest secrets and still not know how to parse a particular tone of voice. More transparent was the way he reached out and pushed Mixmaster’s curious hands away from the terminal. “I have secured it and assumed full control over the technology. Before I was able to intervene, however, another individual commandeered it with the intention to interrupt our current timeline. Had he been successful, the results would have been catastrophic.”

“So, someone already stopped him?” Hook asked.

“More likely, he just failed,” Prowl said. “Temporal modification is complicated, and without proper training it’s likely he just got himself stuck in a loop somewhere. Still, so long as he remains at large in the timestream, he poses a risk toward spaciotemporal stability. Our mission is to follow him through time and apprehend him, so he can be brought back to Earth to face charges.”

“Against what? Time law?” Scavenger asked.

“Misuse of potentially deadly technology,” Prowl said. “I helped write the bill.”

Hook still wasn’t sure about tone, but that definitely sounded like something approaching pride.

“So, no killing?” Bonecrusher asked.

“No.”

“Damn.”

“No killing, Bonecrusher,” Prowl said. His postured sharpened and he turned to lock optics on the mech, who shrunk back as if to hide behind Long Haul. “If you cannot follow this or any other directive I give you, tell me now, so I can dismiss you and assemble a new task force.”

“It just depends,” Hook said, trying to and finding himself unfortunately successful at drawing Prowl’s attention away. “Is it Spike Witwicky? Or Starscream?” Yeah, yeah, they’d heard the reports, but only someone as gullible as Scoop (who had started inconsolable, turned incoherent when Bonecrusher threatened to punch him back to Cybertron) would believe that fragger would have any interest in staying dead.

“No,” Prowl said, “though that your loyalty is conditional brings down our chance of success by upwards of 20%.”

“No, no, it’s just those two,” Hook insisted, looking to the others.

“You know how it is around that lousy sack of bolts,” Long Haul said, defensive though his tone tried to be accusatory.

“But you say don’t kill, we won’t kill,” Mixmaster added. He took hold of Bonecrusher’s elbow and guided him back in view.

“Yeah,” Bonecrusher said, looking up at Prowl though he so clearly didn’t want to. “Trust us.”

Prowl’s optic stuck to him, then scanned over each member of the team in turn. When Hook felt the gaze fall on him, he did his best to return it without looking like he was trying to challenge Prowl. He wanted to rise to whatever was being asked of him, and no higher.

“I have safeguards in place to hold you to that,” Prowl said, breaking optic contact at last to address the group at large. “I trust that you will not force me to use them.”

Hook nodded with the rest of the team. He knew a threat when he heard it, even a vague one, and he didn’t mind it when it came from Prowl. It was how he got things done, produced results, and with that being one of the many reasons they had come to respect him as their newfound leader, how could they fault him for his methods? A means to an end, that was all Prowl’s precautions were, and Hook was much more invested in the end.

“Once we have captured the target, he will be returned to the present day,” Prowl continued. “He is to be kept in adequate repair, relative to whatever state we find him in. There is a chance he will try to escape, in which case you are permitted to use an appropriate level of non-lethal force.”

“When do we find out who it is, anyway?” Long Haul asked. His voice was almost neutral, but there was a tightness to it that belied his impatience.

“When the information becomes mission-relevant,” Prowl said.

“Hrmph.”

So, it was back to same old, secrets keeping, potentially backstabbing, always plotting Prowl. Still opaque, still keeping his allies in the dark about his unfurling plans and invisible strategies. Hook’s brakes relaxed, letting his wheels rock on their axels. It really was the mech they’d all pulled into their sparks, not the ‘reformed’ glitch everyone in the hospital had been gossiping about.

“Sounds good boss,” he said, shoving at Long Haul with his elbow. He caught a glare for it, but the annoyed growl of the dump truck’s engine quieted to a hum, which was good enough. “When do we start?”

“Now.” Prowl’s fingers flew across the terminal keyboard. “The machine keeps a log of all the points it accesses. Unfortunately, it looks like our suspect had help, as several were logged simultaneously; I assume the intention was to prevent us from finding the correct coordinates. To conduct our search, we’ll have to travel to each one manually.”

“Sounds simple,” Mixmaster said.

“It does,” Prowl agreed, which of course meant, It’s not. “Construction of the machine was halted prematurely. It lacks a mechanism to ancho it to the present, which means there is nothing present within the system to guide an individual back once they’ve passed through.”

“What?” Scavenger yelped, stepping back like Prowl had burst into flame. “You mean we’ll be stuck out there?”

“Of course not,” Prowl said. “Why do you think I called on you?”

“You need Devastator?” Bonecrusher guessed.

“We’re a team?” Mixmaster added.

“We already discussed that, Bonecrusher,” Prowl said. He ignored Mixmaster altogether. “Gestalt coding. For better or worse, our sparks are drawn to each other, and the simulations I’ve run suggest that the pull can be felt through the timestream, as well. One mech will stay here, to act as the anchor. When it’s time to come back, the rest of the team should be able to get back relying on that.”

“Not it!”

Attention turned to Long Haul, who was beaming in pride of his quick reflexes. Prowl stopped typing just long enough to turn a glare on him.

“Not—”

“You’ll be taking turns,” Prowl said, interrupting Scavenger. “We have to come back each time to input the new coordinates. We’ll switch off then.”

Had Scrapper been the one in charge, first, they wouldn’t have been attempting anything like this. Second, Long Haul’s brazen declaration would have made him the first to sit out. Instead, Prowl resumed typing, more focused on the intricacies of the time machine than chastising his team for minor infractions. Hook still leveled a disapproving glance at Long Haul, who shrugged it off.

“Preparations are complete,” Prowl announced, turning his back on the terminal to once more address the team. “Bonecrusher will be the anchor for the first run. The rest of you, follow me.”

He led them deeper into the cave, into a pocket the light had almost no hope of reaching. Here, what looked like an empty doorframe stretched far above their heads, visible only by the energy that had started to crackle around its edges as the time machine came online. Pinkish, orangey light spiraled inward, coming to a point at the center of the frame. It looked so familiar to Hook that had it not been for Prowl’s explanation, he would have assumed it was a spacebridge.

“I will lead the way. You will each follow, two seconds behind the person in front of you,” Prowl instructed. “First Hook, then Scavenger, Long Haul, and Mixmaster. The moment you step through this gate, you are to do nothing without my explicit order. If I don’t tell you to walk, you stay still. If your life is in danger, you wait until my go ahead to save yourself. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Hook said, in unison with the rest of the team.

Prowl looked each one over. He nodded.

“Turn off your comms now,” he said. “We don’t need to risk leaving a signal behind someone might trace. Are there any questions?”

Hook had several, but since none were strictly relevant to the mission, he figured it would be best to hold on for now.

“Very well,” Prowl said. “Hook, follow my steps exactly. Once you reach the end, you are to wait for my signal before you exit the timestream.” A last sweep of the team, and it struck Hook that he didn’t know what Prowl was looking for.

He must have found it, whatever it was, because he turned his back on them and stepped through. They saw his silhouette for just a moment before it was swallowed whole by the light.

Hook stared at the space that had once been Prowl.

“…two-on-thousand,” he heard Bonecrusher murmur.

Well, he could take a hint when it was given. Hook chanced a glance back at the others before he stepped in, not that he really needed to. All he saw were the faces of his team, and they were familiar to him as his own spark. It was up ahead that was unknown, fascinating, slightly dangerous, so Hook strode forward into the light, following wherever it was Prowl led.

[pipelinelaserraygun]

1000% MUST 👀 SEE ⬆️. THING, created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby.

Playing for keeps: 👑👰🏽 Christ's Bridal Party are Folks (Men and Women) 💍 WED to championing the causes God holds nearest & dearest.

Playing for keeps: 👿👺👺👺 satan's demonic operatives are evildoers, hellbent on destroying the Architect of Intelligent Design's 🧬🦺🧰 CRAFTSMANSHIP.

Winner take ALL: weeping 😭 and gnashing of 🦷 teeth has ALREADY begun (Jesus ✝️ secured total 🏁 victory, long ago, thru self-sacrifice) by servants of the devil, but the weeping will INTENSIFY in correspondence to every step that the World's Savior and Messiah 👣 draws closer.

Wealth 💵 TRANSFERENCE (of a SPIRITUAL variety): 🌎 A global 🚨 awakening in droves, people are rejecting lefty mandates being pushed upon us, by puppets under lucifer's control.

Fed up? A growing sentiment that starts with expressed 🤬 vulgarities, that THEN turns to a search for answers.

Virtual Patriot parishioners, PROFANITY ADVISORY aside, 🕎✝️🛐🪖 voice your displeasure to God about satan's oppression 🙏🏽, that seems to run unchallenged, uncontested and unchecked.

Lay your anger at God's 👣 Altar-Footstool. "Dead 🧌 man walking: demo-🐀 RATS are now ALL experiencing UNEASE, a dread that their TENUOUS grasp on power is ⌛ slipping away.

OF note: Terrance Williams is playing DMX in the ⬆️🎙️ background.

Rejection of programming: people are enraged by what JRR Tolkien referred to as the Desecration of Sacred Trees.

Men of LAWLESSNESS aka BlackRock who owns Disney desecrating a once-beautiful thing (innocence) are being called out for attempted ☠️ censorship of good 🆚 evil.

The anger/uprising started at around the time in the last Thor movie, when two male rock creatures were basically sex partners in a Jacuzzi (I'm NOT speaking figuratively).

One of the male 🪨 rocks even sported a village people 🤬🌈 mustache, FORCING acceptance of this behavior to kids: ⬅️ who is Marvel marketed, for⁉️ BlackRock KNOWS the target audience. Stan Lee/Jack Kirby NEVER created same-sex 😑😑 homosexual sex partners, neither did Jim Henson and neither did George Lucas.

BlackRock, 👿 LITERALLY controlled by (LITERALLY) lucifer, just thought that EVERYTHING reprehensible would eventually become "warmly embraced" by ALL, long-range goals called Separation of Canonical truths, such as separating beliefs that Men and Women were created for each other: For example, Prince Philip rescuing Sleeping Beauty, a proverbial Damsel in distress.

BOYCOTTS against the Queen of beers, target, and various types of Pop Culture have been increasing, 🤮 a reactionary show of disgust.

https://rumble.com/v43fg5t-tucker-carlson-visits-julian-assange.html

Even death 💀 won't help unrepentant sinners escape ⚖️ God's Judgment.

Everyone meets their Maker. Some will be REANIMATED, for the express purpose then, (a mandatory requirement) to provide testimony of what they participated in, as an 👺 enemy combatant of Heaven.