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cdragons · 2 months

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Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Chapter Two

Previous Chapter

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), tiny!Jace is delulu, tiny!Aemond is kind of a jerk in this one, Dark Themes, shit is going down, not betaread we burn like Harrenhal, etc. Also, translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom! Also, I used an online translator for the High Valyrian, so it may not be great 🫠

Author's Note: I'M BACKKKKKK! I am so sorry for leaving this story alone for so long! I have been getting into other fandoms and making new stories because of those fandoms. But the two new trailers for HOTD season 2 brought me back! I swear I will be better at updating this story! But on the bright side, I made this chapter over 5k word length! I own only the plot and OCs of this story, please do not repost without my permission.

Despite living in the Red Keep for nearly your entire life, you still felt hopelessly lost as you walked down the corridors beside the prince. Like you and Aemond, the sight of you walking side by side with the heir of the Iron Throne’s firstborn son made for an unusual sight for the courtiers of the Royal Family. But this was not the case with the serving staff, which comprised smallfolk. Your mother was a favored companion by Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra. Despite coming from such humble beginnings, Doreah of Essos became a highly regarded member of the serving staff belonging to the House of Targaryen. All the maids respected your mother, while most stewards who served under knights idolized your father. And as your mother’s daughter, they were very used to the vision of one of their humble sewists’ children playing with the Royal children.

As a result, no one so much as batted an eye when they saw you walking down the halls directly beside Prince Jacaerys. It would have made a much more unusual sight if your presence was absent by either his or his uncle’s side. The older staff bowed their heads in respect to the prince while also flashing a small but kind smile at you. The younger serving girls were still too new in the ways of the court and beamed with broad smiles at the sight of you before acknowledging Jace. You grinned back as you inwardly beamed at the knowledge that Head Septa Marlow was with you.

She would have scolded those girls fiercely if she had caught them greeting an apprentice seamstress before the prince.

You turned your head to glance at your childhood friend, who happened to be second in line for the Iron Throne, as you both made your way to his mother’s chambers. Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in the troubled expression on his face. Just a few minutes ago, he was practically bouncing on his feet as the two of you left Aemond alone in the Godswood. But now it felt as if he was a thousand miles away from you despite being so close. Having been by his side since his birth, you always felt a sense of protectiveness toward the young prince. No matter his station, you were a month past your third name-day when he was brought into this world. It was natural that you were perspective to his shifting moods.

“Jace?” you softly called out to him. You were relieved to have brought him out of his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

Jacaerys stopped in the middle of the stone corridor. Staring at you with those large brown eyes, he looked much older than his actual age. When someone as happy and bright as Jace became somber, it was always a reason to worry. Was Rhaenyra all right? Had he been listening to those awful rumors of his true birth?

“Ashi’,” he began, “what were you and Aemond discussing in the Godswoods’ Heart Tree?”

Ah, so that’s what this is about.

You inwardly grimaced as you realized how foolish you were to worry. With Aemond and Jace, it was always something one did to the other. And almost every time, it was up to you to stop their squabbling by being forced into the middle. You were not as blind as everyone in the castle liked to believe you were. You knew that both boys had an unhealthy attachment to you for whatever reason they conjured in their minds. Reasons that were only encouraged by their mothers.

You were still cross when they interrupted you and your mother’s reunion with your father. The matter was really very stupid. Jace had made fun of Aemond for not having a dragon during their family supper with the King. However, Jace only did so because Aemond and Aegon were snickering to themselves about how fat Princess Rhaenyra had grown due to her third pregnancy.

It didn’t make any difference to you, in all honesty. All you remembered from that time was that your time with your beloved father was forcibly cut short. To make matters worse, the two boys’ outbursts startled your mother, and the stress was so terrible that it nearly caused her to faint.

As a result, you decided not to speak to either boy for nearly two weeks. It had grown to the point where Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra practically begged you to forgive their sons—but even a royal command would not budge you. It did not matter how many blueberry tarts or honey cakes they gave for your forgiveness. You made it very clear that you would resolve never to speak to either boy unless they sincerely apologized to your mother for the awful fright they gave her. You finally resumed your friendship with them after your mother asked you herself to forgive them after Aemond gifted her a lovely bouquet of blue and purple hyacinths, and Jace gifted her a basket full of her favorite honey lemon cakes.

“Jace,” you groaned, “you cannot be serious.”

“Ashi’, you’ve been spending so much time with him lately. I feel like I don’t ever get to see you anymore.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked away from him as you sped up your pace to reach their destination. You only made it a few meters from where you were earlier before Jacaerys caught up to you and firmly grasped your wrist to keep you in place.

“I’m serious, Ashi’!” he insisted. “Unless it’s for fittings or when the Maester seeks your help teaching us High Valyrian, I rarely ever see you anymore!” His eyes had a wet sheen in the light, and his lip quivered slightly. “I miss you. Luke misses you. And so does Mother and Father!”

If the pitiful sight was enough to fill you with guilt, his next question nearly broke your heart.

“Do you – do you still consider me your friend?”

“Oh, Jace-” you pulled your younger friend into your arms “- of course I do. I’ve been so busy with my duties and my mother’s health. She and Princess Rhaenys have been so concerned over Lady Laena’s pregnancy and are trying to convince Prince Daemon to travel to Driftmark for the baby’s arrival.”

Jacaerys wrapped his arms around you, eager to feel your warmth. If the gods were kind, time would stop, and he and you would stay like this forever. But he became sad at the mention of his Aunt Laena. He had heard his father recount hundreds of stories of their time together at Driftmark in their youth. Jace knew his father missed his sister terribly, and he was sure she missed him the same.

You noticed your friend’s change in behavior. You looked at him with concerned eyes, and his heart began to race at your care for him.

“Oh, Jace,” you whispered, “have I upset you somehow? I did not mean to!”

Jace frantically shook his head. “No, Ashi’! I just wondered…do you think I’ll ever meet my Aunt Laena?” he softly asked. “Do you think she’ll like me? Can you tell me more about my cousins?”

You rolled your eyes at his request. He had yet to do so despite your advice for Jace to send a raven or two to his cousins. You hadn’t seen the twins for many years, but the three of you wrote to each other so often that it felt like you would recognize them by how they spoke alone.

“I’m sure she and your cousins will adore you, Jace. Baela is excited about her new sibling. She says she’s close to riding Moondancer! Once she gets big enough, she hopes to ride her with Rhaena!”

Jace wondered how you’d react if you knew he didn’t write to his cousins because he was scared they wouldn’t like him. To be honest, he didn’t really care about them at all. He only cared about the way you smiled at him, and only him, when he asked.

“Mother!”

Still seated at her dark-stained ebony-wood desk, Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen scribbled away with her black swan’s feather quill, nearly hidden behind stacks of dusty tomes and piles of scrolls from across the Seven Kingdoms and, despite being heavy with child, remained to be one of the most exquisite beauties across the realm. Hearing her eldest son’s voice, she looked up from her papers and smiled at the two children standing in her chambers' doorway.

“Jace! You made it and brought our little Lady Ashirri with you.”

You looked down at your feet as your cheeks slightly pinkened at the attention brought to you. Princess Rhaenyra was one of your mother’s closest friends and one of the few belonging to the noble houses that approved of your father’s rise in status. But his title was only in name, and so many in the keep look down on him with ill-hidden disdain. And as a result, many in the keep looked down on you with the same contempt and disgust.

The image of Lord Otto Hightower’s cold and judging eyes gazing down at you with arrogance came to mind before you could block it out.

You lifted your skirts and bowed in a deep curtsy in respect for Princess Rhaenyra. “Yes, my princess. Prince Jacaerys told me that you required my assistance with something?”

Princess Rhaenyra warmly smiled and laughed. “Yes. My husband seems at a crossroads in deciding which fabrics best suit his sister. Although, as you can see, he is being unnecessarily picky about it all.”

Her husband, Prince Consort Laenor of House Velaryon, stood beside your mother with his arms spread wide apart. On each arm were textiles of luxurious materials and superb stitching patterns. His close friend and confidant, Ser Qarl Correy, stood close behind him. The crown princess spoke truthfully as the entire room was filled with dozens of fabric bolts, from brilliant orange-marigold Dornish satin to iridescent light-azure Yi Tish silk. Your eyes were filled with excitement and wonder at the magnificent sight. You raced to touch the imported textiles.

“Is this silk truly from Yi Ti?” you softly whispered while carefully stroking the surface with one finger. “It looks almost too pretty to be real. This color would beautifully complement Lady Laena’s complexion and silver curls.”

Your mother and Prince Laenor smiled in agreement. It was softer than anything you’ve ever touched. Yi Tish silk was famous for its textile quality. One bolt was worth double your mother’s monthly wage at the Red Keep. The color alone was mastery at its finest. You knew from personal experience that blue was an incredibly tricky dye to handle. Although it was a primary color, it was rare in nature. You had to devote hours, if not days, to find the correct materials to yield the desired tone and shade properly. But that work is useless if the dye ends up damaging the fabric. Dark blue was one matter – it was still stunning, and many nobles would pay a hefty amount of coin for it. But to own such beauty, you wouldn’t dare imagine the price for a few yards, let alone an entire bolt.

“Fine eye as always, little lady,” Laenor jovially laughed. “Yes, I’m sure at least one of these fabrics will make a suitable dress for my sister before she gifts me another niece or nephew. I’m afraid your mother is very cross with me at the moment. Any delay in choosing the fabric will result in her being unable to finish the dress before the baby is born.”

“Lady Laena will need it to be loose and not so tight around her waist,” you spoke matter-of-factly. “Muña says that most pregnant women have rashes and inflammations after giving birth, so the dress must be made of a fabric that won’t cause irritation. Let’s see…excuse me for a moment?”

You took out the small leather-bound journal Kepa gave you as a gift from one of his many voyages with Lord Corlys that you kept in your dress pocket, along with a small stick of charcoal. You drew out the image as quickly as possible whenever inspiration struck, regardless of the time or place. It was a habit that could lead to horrible misunderstandings, but being scolded and berated mattered little to you if it meant you could train yourself to be half as talented a seamstress as your mother.

After flipping past all your previous ideas, you finally spotted a blank page. Racing to your mother’s side for help, you excitedly shoved the journal in her face.

You thought aloud and drew out the concept simultaneously. “I think it should be blue. Even if Lady Laena married Prince Daemon, she is still a Velaryon by birth! Maybe if we chose a material that looks like water, it would make her feel closer to Driftmark and Lady Rhaenys!”

Doreah beamed from ear to ear as she crouched down and took you in a tight embrace. It filled her with such joy to know her daughter had developed such a tender and compassionate heart. You were a deeply empathetic girl who always considered the needs of others before your own. Her little pearl had a heart of gold that shone through the darkest storms. She planted a loud kiss on your cheek before letting you go.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, my little pearl,” her eyes twinkled as she cupped your cheeks. “I have just the fabric in mind for it.”

Lady Doreah Pyke pulled out a large bolt of shimmering azure blue silk velvet. The rippled pattern and texture matched the transcendent and melancholy shores that surrounded High Tide. You gasped in delight at the sight of it. It was exactly the color you imagined! You gently caressed the hand-pleated panels, expecting it to feel crinkly and cheap despite its luster. But the fabric sheen and its soft, velvety texture made you want to wrap yourself with it like a warm blanket.

Your mother thoughtfully inspected the fabric. “Yes, this will be perfect. However, I think instead of a dress, it may be better to be used as a cloak. If the result is as beautiful as my little pearl envisions it to be, it would be a shame to be a dress for one lady. If it is a cloak, it can be passed down from mother to daughter.”

“An heirloom cloak…” you murmured in excitement. Your mother was a genius. “It sounds so romantic…the waves should be hand-painted and glass beads strung and stitched into the fabric. Oh, Lady Laena will look like a sea goddess! Would she like it enough to pass it down to Ladies Baela or Rhaena?”

Doreah chuckled at your delight and booped your nose. “She will love it, my darling – especially because you will be helping me make it.”

“A wonderful idea!” exclaimed Laenor. “Who better than our lovely Doreah and her little pearl to complete the task?”

“Really?” you gasped. To work beside your mother on such a prestigious project…was like a dream too good to be true. “Mother, do you…do you truly think I am ready?”

Jace jumped to his friend’s side to hug her. “Ashirri! This is wonderful! You and Lady Pyke will make the most beautiful cloak in the Seven Kingdoms - I know it!”

Rhaenyra and Laenor glanced knowingly at their son’s support for his dearest childhood companion. Everyone in the Red Keep knew of Jacaerys Velaryon's infatuation with Ashirri Pyke. If only the gods had allowed their stations to be so different. It seemed cruel to let two young souls meet and grow beside one another without the hope or possibility of love being borne.

You beamed at Jace with a brilliant smile that shone with so much radiance that looking at you felt nothing less than sin. You took his hand in yours as you squeezed his hand in silent thanks and appreciation for his words. In the young prince’s eyes, you were more heavenly than the Maiden herself. He hopes to be seen as strong as the Warrior in yours one day.

“Kirimvose, jorrāelagon raqiros,” you said in your mother’s native tongue, softly stroking your thumb on his skin as a rosy hue bloomed on Jace’s cheeks. “Muña, īlon līs jiōragon naejot mirre rȳ istin! Nyke jāhor sagon going ēlī!”

You were about to leave before stopping and tracing back your steps to bow to Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Laenor quickly. Your cheeks were bright red from embarrassment from forgetting such basic etiquette.

“My princess, my prince, forgive me for not remembering to thank you for granting me this opportunity and forgetting to leave before you dismissed me. I was too caught up in my excitement. But, I swear that I will not let you down.”

The adults in the room shared amused expressions at your excitement. Ashirri Pyke’s transparent honesty and sweet nature were so refreshing to not only the Targaryen Princess and her prince consort husband but also the entire Royal Family. She was the perfect combination of her parents’ personalities. From Hotho, you adopted your father’s unwavering honesty and sense of justice. From Doreah, you were your mother’s copy in sweetness and purity. You were a highborn noble in all but birth and title.

Rhaenyra waved off your apology and nodded. “No need for apologies, little pearl. Run along. There is work that needs to be done, and your mother and I still have things to discuss between old friends.”

You pouted to hear that your mother would not be joining you. After all, this was a very important job, and you had hoped this would provide an opportunity to learn more of your mother’s secrets in her trade. But who were you to refuse a princess’ orders? You bowed once more before waving goodbye to Jace and everyone in the room before racing to your chambers. The disappointment you felt moments before was washed away by the jittering and buzz of your creativity rushing through your mind.

The waves would have to be hand-painted – that goes without saying. But should you paint silver instead of ivory for the sea foam? And did you have a steady enough hand to replicate each pattern perfectly? You were going to need a template to trace it.

You were going to need dozens if not hundreds, of beads ranging from violet to turquoise to teal. Were there any artisans in Kings Landing that could make such a large quantity? Were there any skilled enough to ensure the glass and crystals would yield such clarity and durability? You may need to ask Kepa if he made any glassmaker friends from Essos or the Free Cities.

Could you dip into your personal collection of sea crystals and pearls? Mother would be cross with you, but it would look so splendid against the fabric!

While racing down the many halls and past the flurry of chambermaids and squires, you came across Aemond. His trademark frown on his freckled face quickly turned to a kind smile.

“Ashirri! Mother wants to–”

But you did not have time to stop and quickly ran past him. You interrupted him with an apology.

“Usōven, Aemond! Yn issa muña se Dārilaros Laenor teptan mirros hen rōvēgrie import! Nyke emagon naejot jiōragon naejot mirre paktot qrīdrughagon!”

Aemond owlishly blinked before realizing you had spoken to him in High Valyrian. He took a few moments to mentally translate what you said before calling out your name and asking you to explain.

“Umbagon! Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma?”

But when he turned, you were nowhere in sight, and he was left alone in the middle of the stone corridor. His shoulders slumped in deep disappointment at seeing you running away from him. But he supposed that such a slight could be forgiven since you were his loveliest and dearest friend. On the plus side, he was gifted with the sight of how the sunshine rays peering through the windows darted your glossy locks and wrapped you in a warm halo that brought out even more of your natural charm and prettiness.

As soon as you reached your room, you shut the door and grabbed every colored charcoal stick you’ve been gifted since you began learning your letters. Grabbing your big sketchbook, you immediately began jotting down your vision. By the time your mother joined you, your entire floor was covered with pages filled with a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, violets, and silver. Doreah was ecstatic of the display of your budding talent and took you in her arms for a tight hug.

The next few weeks were the most thrilling of your young life. You would spend hours on end with your mother, going over and debating which colors would match the tone of the cloak. Your mother found out about your idea to incorporate your pearls in the stitching, and she gave you a lecture that put all her past scoldings to shame. Eventually, you relented. In truth, you were a tad reluctant to part with your pearls. Each pearl was a gift from your beloved kepa for each country he visited. He said it was his way of giving you a tiny part of the world to his little pearl.

Because you were so busy trimming and stitching, you barely had time to read with Aemond under the Heart Tree in the Godswood or watch Jace practice his sword fighting with Ser Harwin Strong. You and your mother could only be removed from the cloak when either Queen Alicent or Princess Rhaenyra ordered your presence. They often expressed their woes at your decreased presence in court. As a result, your mother would take small breaks to share tea with Queen Alicent to discuss your progress as a seamstress, or she would get called by Princess Rhaenyra to her chambers so that they may speak their most private thoughts and troubles in High Valyrian.

You would often escape their orders by spending time with Princess Helaena. She would sneak into your workspace to bring her own embroidery and ask for your guidance with the more intricate patterns. While most of the court found the second princess a bit…odd – you took to her presence like green to pink. The two of you greatly differed in personality, but that made your friendship with her all the more special. You always made sure to treat her with kind words and common courtesy.

The most rude you had been to her was when she showed you a massive spider in her hands, and you loudly shrieked before crawling under your bed as a reflex. It took a few minutes before you could rejoin her. When she asked if you liked to hold Gerald the Spider, you took your father’s thickest riding gloves before you went near the beast.

You only held Gerald in your palms a few moments before you cried and begged Helaena to remove him from your person. But despite the terrors you got from Gerald the Spider that night, it was worth it if Helaena could smile as happily as she had when you agreed. She was so pleased that she didn’t correct you when you called her by the nickname you made for her, ‘Hel.’ In fact, you were almost certain that the nickname made her happier than you holding the spider.

But despite the peace these past few weeks have brought you and your family, such joy was not granted to the rest of your friends. Trouble was brewing in the Red Keep for House Targaryen – a fact you were unaware of until much later. You were returning from the rookery after being notified of receiving a letter from Baela. She was so excited about the arrival of her new sibling. You were reading the letter until you heard soft cries in the library. Searching for the source, you were shocked to find Aemond crying in a secluded section of the Royal Library. Distressed at your friend’s tears, you immediately knelt and hugged him close to you.

Clinging to your arms like you were his anchor, you could only make out the words: ‘pig’ and ‘dread.’ When you voiced your confusion, Aemond explained once more.

“They gave me a pig!” he barked, wiping away the angry tears from his violet eyes. “They said they found a dragon for me, and it was a pig! The ‘Pink Dread’ they called it!”

You lowered his head to the crook of your shoulder. “Aemond, who’s ‘they’?” you softly asked.

“Aegon! Who else?” he exclaimed. Your simple linen frock muffled his yells. “My sister’s bastards were there, too!”

Your blood chilled. He couldn’t mean…Jace wasn’t…

“Aemond, you can’t say such things,” you warned. “It’s considered treason by your father’s laws.”

But Aemond wasn’t listening. “I hate those bastards. They shouldn’t carry the Targaryen name. Their last name should be ‘Waters.’ It’s the name that bastards born in the Crownlands carry. Northern bastards are called ‘Snow,’ ‘Sand’ for Dorne, ‘Flowers’ for the Reach–”

“‘Pyke’ for the Iron Islands,” you snapped and let him go. “Am I a bastard, Aemond? Am I what you hate? Do you hate my father?”

Aemond was shocked at your venomous tone. When he realized what he had done, he quickly tried to make amends.

He shook his head. “My pearl…no, no, no,” he said. “You aren’t a bastard. I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about–”

You clenched your fists and stood on your feet. “I know who you were talking about! That does not make it right!”

Aemond was getting angry. Why weren’t you taking his side? Had his whore of a sister already poisoned you against him? Had Jace already dirtied you with his filthy, bastard blood? He stood up and stared you down with fury in those beautiful violet eyes that you once so adored. But all you saw was his grandfather.

“Your father is a bastard,” he stated matter-of-factly. “He was a bastard from the Iron Islands that Lord Greyjoy didn’t want! He wasn’t worthy of his noble father’s house name, so he is named ‘Pyke’!”

You shook your head. “There is more to family than names and blood. I am neither a Targaryen nor a Velaryon. I do not carry a speck of your noble house’s blood, but I consider you and Jace my dearest friends! To me, you are my brothers! You and him are my family because I love you, not because of blood! Does that count for anything?”

“I never thought of you as a sister,” he spat out. “Not once did I consider you family.”

Devastation overwhelms your broken heart as tears flood your and Aemond’s eyes. He reaches out to hold your hand, but you step back. Once more, he tries to keep you closer to him, but you turn around and run to the door. When you reach it, he calls out your name and begs you to let him explain. Once more, you turn to face him to see he has not moved an inch. You feel so small and insignificant underneath the massive stone framework, but you summoned the sea of hurt and rage crashing inside your heart.

“I used to wonder how a horrible and mean-spirited man like Otto Hightower could be the grandsire of such a sweet boy,” your voice trembled, but you continued to steel yourself. “I thought…you were smart enough not to listen to such horrible things. I thought you were my friend. But I was wrong. I was so horribly wrong. What your brother, Jace, and Luke had done to you was cruel and unfair. But Aemond…what you had become…I-I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

With that being the final word, you raced to your mother’s chambers. You cried into her skirts and told her what happened – of the Pink Dread, Aemond’s cruel transformation, and the ruin of your friendship with him. You sobbed out your wish to leave the Red Keep and never return.

Doreah Pyke immediately thought of what Princess Rhaenyra had informed her in the afternoon. ‘Nyra told her that she would be moving her family to Dragonstone. Each day since her failed attempt to match Jace with Helaena, the Red Keep feels less safe and more hostile to her and her children. Since Harwin assaulted Ser Cole, tensions between the princess and the queen have reached an all-time high.

“Come with me,” her princess begged Doreah. “Come with my family to Dragonstone.”

“Oh, ‘Nyra,” whispered Doreah, “I don’t know. Dragonstone is so far from King’s Landing. And Ali would never–”

“Alicent is becoming more like her father each day,” Rhaenyra interjected. “She wants to put her son on my father’s throne – both she and her father are conspiring against me.”

Rhaenyra clasped Doreah’s hands in her own. “I know you want to believe she is the same girl from our youth. But Otto Hightower has sunk his poisoned claws in her and will stop at nothing to crown Aegon when my father passes. I need people I can trust by my side. People like you, my sweet Dory, and your husband.”

“…But Ashirri, my pearl,” sighed Doreah. “She will be so devastated. She grew up running in these halls, playing in the Godswoods, exploring this castle’s corners and shadows. This is her home.”

“Your daughter will flourish wherever she goes,” insists Rhaenyra. “She will never be alone – not with Jace, Luke, and Joffery by her side. And forgive me for what I am about to say, my friend, but…King’s Landing no longer agrees with you as it used to.”

Doreah sighed and gazed out the window with slumped shoulders. What her princess said was true but hard to hear. As she grew older, she found the air and noise outside the Red Keep more sour and rancid. It made her miss the clean and fresh sea breeze in Essos. Rhaenyra was not the only one who had noticed Doreah’s melancholy. Hotho, her beloved Iron Knight, has remained in King’s Landing after learning of her despondence. Her husband implores her to care more for her health – if not for herself, but their daughter.

Doreah waved off their concerns, but perhaps…they had a point. Stroking your hair to calm you down, your mother asked if you would be open to the possibility of moving to Dragonstone. She reassured you that she and your father would be there with you and that you would still be around Jace, Luke, and Joffery if you ever felt lonely.

You agreed before she finished and immediately started packing. By the end of the month, you had not spoken another word to Aemond and left with Princess Rhaenyra and her family to Dragonstone. You did not look back. You wanted to leave King’s Landing and Aemond as soon as possible. You wanted to leave this wretched castle and have peace once more.

While others stared at the obsidian castle with trepidation, you felt hope. Unpacking your things from your trunk and knapsack, you were determined to leave behind all the political headaches and focus solely on stitching with your mother and sailing with your father.

If only life could be that simple.

Translations:

Muña - mother

Kepa - father

Kirimvose, jorrāelagon raqiros…Muña, īlon līs jiōragon naejot mirre rȳ istin! Nyke jāhor sagon going ēlī – “Thank you, dear friend…Mother, we must get to work at once! I will bet going first!”

Usōven, Aemond! Yn issa muña se Dārilaros Laenor teptan mirros hen rōvēgrie importance! Nyke emagon naejot jiōragon naejot mirre paktot qrīdrughagon! – “I am sorry, Aemond. But my mother and Prince Laenor gave me something of great importance! I have to get to work right away!”

Umbagon! Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma?” – “Wait! What do you mean?”

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renthony · 2 years

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I'm not saying that no YA author has ever been shitty, but I am saying that the way tumblr talks about "YA authors" is suspicious as hell.

I've been active in writing and publishing spaces for over a decade, and there has always been a rampant problem of marginalized writers having their work miscategorized as "YA." Their adult books about very adult topics get shelved as "young adult" in bookstores and libraries, even after they complain about it. It has happened to friends of mine, who have had to put out warnings on social media that basically say, "hey, teenage readers! I'm okay with you reading my adult work if you're comfy with it, but it's not YA, so please be aware that there's sex, violence, adult-focused storylines, and stuff that's very much not written with a younger reader in mind!"

In a lot of shitty online spaces, "YA author" has become synonymous with "marginalized author," regardless of whether it's accurate. People will make the most egregious, bad-faith statements about "YA authors," and if you read between the lines, what they're saying is equivalent to when other shitty people talk about "blue hair and pronouns."

There's also an unrelenting trend of "YA authors are inherently creeps, because anyone writing for teenagers must secretly be a predator." I have known YA authors who have to go out of their way to make sure they always have a sanitized, child-friendly online presence, because people really fucking love to sling baseless pedophilia accusations at authors who write for younger audiences.

So I really, really don't trust tumblr posts pulling that "YA authors are all cringey and childish and say stupid things on Twitter" shit.

#original post

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keikotwins · 4 months

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Mokumokuren

Birds of different feathers flock together

Noticed online by head-hunting publishers, Mokumokuren hasn’t waited very long before polarising the attention of Japanese readers. With strange The Summer Hikaru Died, horrific bromance dealing with body dispossession, the mangaka signs a series of sophisticated oddity, that sets itself apart from the predictability of current fantasy productions.

Interview by Fausto Fasulo. Original translation: Aurélien Estager. English translation: “Keikotwins”. Bibliography: Marius Chapuis. Thanks: Camille Hospital & Clarisse Langlet (Pika), Yuta Nabatame, Mayuko Yamamoto & Mana Kukimoto (Kadokawa), Chiho Muramatsu (Tohan)

(T/N: Interview given to ATOM in winter 2023; 2 volumes were out in French.)

In an interview given to the CREA website in November 2022, you confided inventing stories since very young. Did your first fictions resemble the ones you draw nowadays?

It’s true that there are quite a lot of common points between the stories I imagined when I was a child and the ones I tell nowadays in my mangas. Especially a specific motif, that has been haunting me since the time when I wasn’t really aware of the world surrounding me: the presence amongst us of “non-human” beings, that nonetheless have a perfectly normal, ordinary appearance…

And how was this “obsession” born?

Precisely identifying the origins is complicated, my memories are too blurry, I think… What I can tell you is that I’ve always been fascinated by “creatures”. For example, I remember being very impressed by Peter Jackson’s bestiary in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. By the way, still in a fantasy register, I am also a big fan of Harry Potter adaptations… (She thinks.) And I’ve always liked yōkai stories, you know. I think that what I like in all these mythologies is the idea of species classification: each has its own characteristics – physical, biological – its own way to apprehend its environment.

In Japan, yōkai are integral part of regional folklore. Did the place you grew up in have some specific beliefs?

I was born and grew up in Tokyo, and, as you must know, yōkai are mostly associated with rural areas. I was thus never really bathed in this type of regional fantasy folklore. There are all kinds of yōkai and we can perhaps see in some more contemporary urban legends the echo of certain past beliefs? (She thinks.) I am a bit frustrated, because I believe that I could remember a legend that would have impacted me, but nothing comes to mind immediately, sorry!

You have already said so in an interview and it’s quite obvious when reading your work: you are a big amateur of horrific fiction. What has been your first contact with the genre, all medium included?

It was television that introduced me to horror: special shows, television films, series, I was watching these programs with a mix of fear and enthusiasm, a confused sensation that particularly delighted me! (She thinks.) And amongst all the aired shows, I will remember two titles: Hontō ni atta kowai hanashi and Kaidan shin mimibukuro*.

* Inspired by the homonymous manga magazine published by Asahi Shimbun, Hontō ni atta kowai hanashi (lit. “Scary stories that really happened”) is a series produced by Fuji Television that has been airing more or less weekly since 2004. Derived from literary material (a series of compilations of hundreds of short stories by Hirokatsu Kihara and Ichirō Nakayama, published from 1990 to 2005) Kaidan shin mimibukuro is a series made of several short movies depicting ghost stories based on real testimony.

Did you read horror mangas when you were young?

Let’s say that I was more interested in live-action productions. Nowadays, I obviously appreciate some horror manga authors, without pretending to be any expert in the subject. For example, I like Junji Itō’s work, but I am far from knowing it for a long time… (She thinks.) I could also talk about Shigeru Mizuki, who I also appreciate a lot.

The mechanics of fear aren’t the same in occidental and oriental fictions. You like American horrific productions – like Ari Aster movies – as much as ones from Japanese origin – you notably quote Ichi Sawamura novels and Kōji Shiraishi feature films. Can we say that you are tying these two perspectives with The Summer Hikaru Died?

My relationship with horror is more imbued with oriental sensitivity. But what I find remarkable in occidental horrific productions is work on image. In The Shining like in Ari Aster movies, for example, there is real research made on frame composition and choice of colours. I also try to follow this aesthetic reflection in my work as a mangaka.

In Ari Aster’s work, beyond the very precise staging, there is this permanent desire of ambiguity. Do you try to dig this same equivocal trench?

Absolutely. I try to tell complex feelings as well in The Summer Hikaru Died, like fear dyed with nostalgia or attachment, repulsion mixed with fascination, with attraction…

How do you “sort out” the shots that inspire you in cinema?

I don’t draw while freeze-framing during specific scenes. I would always rather watch a movie as a “focussed” spectator. However, I pay a lot of attention to the way the director composes their frame. I sometimes take some notes, but I most often simply keep it in a corner of my mind.

Could you tell us when and how the story and characters of The Summer Hikaru Died appeared to you? Have they matured a long time within you?

I’ve started thinking about this story when I was preparing university entrance exams. I was aspiring to join an art uni, and I was drawing every day. I can’t really say I made my characters “mature”: back then, I wasn’t thinking that the drawings I was making would one day end up being published, way less being serialised! I innocently created characters close to me, without guessing that one day they’d become manga protagonists.

One of your foundational reads was Sui Ishida’s Tokyo Ghoul manga. Can you tell us how you discovered it and what effect it had on you?

I don’t really remember how I discovered this series, but what I know is that I became crazy about it at first read. What I liked – and what I still like – is this idea of telling a story that confronts humans to these “different” beings while following the point of view of a character that represents alterity. Beyond this strictly dramatic aspect, Sui Ishida’s storyboarding and character design have had a strong impact on my work. However, I want to add that Tokyo Ghoul isn’t the only title I took inspiration from, I obviously have other references…

Do you do a lot of researches to define the design of your characters? You seem to draw them easily, in a very natural gesture…

I haven’t spent a long time defining my protagonists. First, there are few in the manga, then, they evolve in a rather realistic universe. My goal was rather simple: they had to look believable in the reader’s eyes. I wanted people to be able to imagine crossing them in the street, you see?

It’s after seeing illustrations posted on social media that depicted the future characters of The Summer Hikaru Died that the publishing department of the Young Ace Up magazine noticed you. How have you reacted when approached?

I was very surprised, because I absolutely wasn’t trying to become a mangaka. I would have never projected in such a future, you see. And, very honestly, if they hadn’t suggested working on this series, I don’t think I would ever had pushed the doors of a publishing house… I am then very thankful towards the persons who have allowed me to enter.

And what would you have done if you hadn’t been solicited?

Back when I’ve been contacted, I was considering – still vaguely – working in the video games field. But I wasn’t really proactive, I wasn’t contacting anyone, wasn’t sending resumes…

Did you want to do chara-design?

Why not, yes. What I like in video games is the range of possibilities they offer. You can then create an entire universe and this is rather exhilarating.

So you’re a gamer…

I have dropped my controller since I’ve started drawing manga. But yes, when I had more time, I played rather regularly, especially Nintendo productions…

Even if you play rather little nowadays, do video games influence your work?

I can’t say whether it really is an influence, but the Undertale game has left a big mark on me. I felt its creator’s strong will to surprise players, to make them feel unprecedented sensations…

Horror manga only relies on art and storyboard to provoke fear, whereas cinema and video games can also rely on sound. Is it from this observation that you have decided to particularly work on your sound effects?

Absolutely. I have thought a lot about the way to introduce and stage sound in The Summer Hikaru Died. The sound effects that you can find in the manga are indeed the result of this approach.

In an interview given to the Realsound website, you mention the use of the シャワシャワ (“shawa shawa”) sound effect. Knowing that occidental readers are way less sensitive to these graphicoustic details, can you explain its meaning?

“Shawa shawa” expresses the song cicadas make in western Japan. It’s a very special noise because in the different regions live different species that make specific sounds. So when I choose this specific sound effect, I convey a geographic and temporal piece of information to the reader, who can then guess the location and season the action takes place in. (She thinks.) When using this sound – that we especially find in the beginning of the manga – my goal was to play with silence, particularly when the song stops. I thus had the idea of representing this sound effect with an easily readable font, so the reader would make no effort to decipher it, as if the sound was asserting itself naturally, you see? I hoped to suggest a saturation they couldn’t avoid and that, when it’d stop, would immerse them in absolute silence.

The Summer Hikaru Died transcribes very well this particular atmosphere of Japanese summers…

Yes, I really wanted to signify this languor in my manga. And the cicadas’ song we discussed earlier contributes to creating this atmosphere: it’s an overwhelming sound, sometimes irritating, you cannot escape from in summer – Japanese readers obviously know what I’m talking about. (She thinks.) I also gave special attention to shadows: summer light being very bright, shadows are very sharp, very deep.

Do digital tools allow you to get this result more efficiently than traditional?

I work on Clip Studio Paint, and it’s true that it sometimes allow me to save time. Consider the work on shadows: I never apply solid black because I like saturating space with hatches and, with digital tools, I can obtain the desired result faster because I can duplicate each of my lines.

Your use of hatches is sometimes reminiscent of Shūzō Oshimi’s…

I don’t know his mangas very well, but it’s funny that you mention him because I recently read his latest series, Okaeri Alice. In any case, I really like his style and I perfectly understand how you can bring his universe and mine together.

The Summer Hikaru Died relies on the concept of body dispossession, that obviously takes back to the Body Snatcher novel by Jack Finney and its movie adaptations. Did you think about it?

I don’t know this book very well, but I know its theme has been approached often, especially in movies. As I was saying at the beginning of this interview, my idea was to adopt the point of view of a non-human and tell his indecision, his moral questions…

We also find this idea in Hitoshi Iwaaki’s Parasite…

I haven’t read the manga fully, but I’ve watched the anime adaptation that was released a few years ago (R/N: in 2014). I remember rather liking it, even if I think I offer something different with The Summer Hikaru Died. What interests me is sounding the inwardness of my non-human character out and expose all his dilemmas. What is his place amongst men? Is he legitimate in our world? Here is the type of questions that pushed me.

One of the impacting scenes of volume 1 of The Summer Hikaru Died is the one when Yoshiki penetrated Hikaru’s body by shoving his arm into his torso. It’s a sequence that is both very sensuaI – to not say sexuaI – and also very horrific. How did you get this idea?

I wanted to put the readers in an uncomfortable position. A stressful situation that could take several forms because, according to your sensitivity, you can feel very different emotions in front of this scene: sexuaI arousaI, fear or disgust. For me, it was supposed to put the reader in some kind of catatonia, you see?

Do you chat a lot with your tantō, especially around these slightly “complicated” scenes?

I have free rein, you know, I can draw everything I want. My editorial supervisor has never asked me to temper some sexuaIIy connotated parts. My discussions with him don’t revolve around this kind of things, but rather around the structure of the scenario itself: where to place this scene in the narration? Is it better to put this sequence before this other one? Nowadays, I am more at ease with all the scripting layout but, at the beginning, I needed support.

What allows you to get, from a dramatic point of view, the mix between bromance and horror?

I wanted to show the differences in sensitivities and values between a human being and an “other than human”, and tell the misunderstandings this can cause when both meet. When Yoshiki “scratches” under the appearance of the one who is supposed to be his best friend, it creates a first point of conflict in the story. I then hoped to make his relationship with Hikaru – or rather with the “entity” that pretends to embody him – a kind of undefinable bond, that wouldn’t be friendship, nor love.

Do you know today where this strange relationship between your two heroes will lead you?

I know more or less how all of this will evolve, yes. I have decided on my story’s general plot since the beginning. I can only tell you that The Summer Hikaru Died won’t be a long series.

How do you explain the almost instant public plebiscite of your series in Japan? You perhaps cannot have perspective on it but, in a saturated publishing landscape, you have managed to stand out…

Hm… Indeed, I don’t really have precise explanations to give you about this success. Maybe the covers’ design has been in favour of the manga? I asked the person in charge of graphics to make sure that the visuals would be noticeable in bookstores. That’s why the books have this monochrome aspect, with the title discreetly placed. I didn’t want obvious advertisement banners, but something simple, like this blue background for the first volume, on which the character stands out. I also wished to create contrast between the jacket’s and the inner cover’s drawings. I thus had requirements that didn’t quite go alongside what we can nowadays see on the shelves of Japanese bookstores.

#the summer hikaru died #hikaru ga shinda natsu #/long post #I'm not a native eng speaker so excuse mistakes!#the fr version has fancy words that I simplified for the eng translation #Feel free to ask any question!#The og article had manga illustrations with funny comments as legends + a short analysis of the manga's narration that I didn't include #The og title was 'Qui se dissemble s'assemble'#which is a play of words saying the opposite of idiom 'Qui se ressemble s'assemble' lit 'who look alike go together'#so I went for a silly equivalent lmao

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apteryxparvus · 11 months

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L ♡ V E R ⇌ L ⦻ S E R — pov: you’re my therapist

Group chat — pov: you’re my therapist

masterlist • next

Y/N L/N Occupation: first-year bachelor of Civil Engineering at Sumeru Akademiya. Bartender at Lambad's Tavern and library assistant at House of Daena.

Living situation: currently crashing at Alhaitam’s place, enjoying alcohol and horror movie marathons with her second roommate Kaveh.

Due to her mother's job, she grew up used to frequent relocations.

After her parents divorced, she moved with her father to Sumeru.

Youngest member of her friend group at Sumeru Akademiya.

Closest to Alhaitam, often pretending to simp over him to make Kaveh annoyed (= jealous).

Kaveh Occupation: third-year bachelor student of Architectural Science, with a minor in Fine Arts at Sumeru Akademiya. Works as a freelance architect and a TA for small tutorial groups for the course Linear algebra; occasionally opens commission slots online.

Living situation: Alhaitam’s roommate since the start of the academic year. Both of his roommates have to endure his late-night tinkering sessions.

Both parents are renowned Sumeru Akademiya alumni.

After his father's passing, his mother moved to Fontaine and remarried.

In his late teens, he was forced to sell the family home.

Proud owner of an orange tabby cat called Mehrak.

Living with Alhaitam is tough, but despite their frequent arguments and debates, Kaveh recognizes that his friend holds a significant presence in his life.

Alhaitam Occupation: second-year bachelor student double majoring in Linguistics and Semiotics; works part-time as a junior library administrator and assistant at the House of Daena.

Living situation: owns an apartment close to the main campus of Sumeru Akademiya, sharing it with his roommates Kaveh and Y/N.

Lost both is parents at a young age; raised by his grandmother.

His passion for literature and science led him to graduating a year before his peers.

While he takes pleasures in engaging in debates his Kaveh, he feels genuine concern for his friend's well-being.

Cyno Occupation: third-year bachelor student of Laws, interning as an Academic Misconduct Officer at Sumeru Akademiya. He’s an internationally known Genius Invocation TCG champion.

Living situation: resides in a small, cozy house with his long-term boyfriend Tighnari and their adopted sister Collei.

Born in the Great Red Sand desert, he defied the odds and got accepted at Sumeru Akademiya to study law.

Stoic and emotionless, often intimidating others, but his friends know his true character.

Regular customer at the board game café in near the Akademiya, always challenging the other patrons to a duel.

Tighnari Occupation: second-year bachelor student of Environmental Science at Sumeru Akademiya; weekend help at a nursery garden and renowned plant vlogger with a devoted following.

Living situation: lives in a small rented house with his boyfriend and their adopted sibling, hoping to buy their own place after graduation.

Grew up in Gandharva Ville and witnessed the devastating effects of pollution and deforestation.

Has a YouTube channel where he shares insights about the flora and fauna of Teyvat.

Frequently complains to his online followers about having to take care of hikers who consume psychedelic mushrooms from the Avidya Forest National Park.

Author's note: hoping to post the rest of the profiles sometime over the weekend, if work doesn't mentally destroy me that is 🤷‍♀️

#smau #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche smau #genshin impact smau #genshin smau #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #scaramouche #wanderer #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #wanderer x reader #lover = loser smau

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goodluckclove · 2 months

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Hi, I hope you're doing well! ☺️ I was wondering if you have any tips on growing a writing account here on Tumblr? I want to post more things on my second account that I'm using for my fiction writing, but I'm not sure how to go about navigating tumblr's writing community and the right tags I should be using. 😭 So any tips/advice would help. Thank you. 🙂‍↕️🫶🏽

I feel really weird doing this, but I actually have professional insight into this sort of thing - I mean, professional is a strong way to put it. I was a social media manager for maybe four years for a few nonprofits. I wasn't really good at my job, but I did a lot of research and I was usually the youngest person on the team so people assumed I knew what I was doing. Good tip for young people here looking for remote work - if you look like you know how to use Instagram, there is a local nonprofit that will probably pay you to run their Instagram.

Uh anyway, I'd say it comes down to consistency, interaction, and finding your audience. I started this blog to sort of build up a presence online as an indie author before my first book comes out (A terrible thing all authors apparently have to do now), and while I planned to branch out to other platforms I've since changed course. I was looking for the platform that I believed had the most people that would at least be interested in what I write about, and I know that's this side of Tumblr. Legitimately all the aspec people all here. I refuse to try and break into BookTok.

But I also just love the community here. I found my niche, which is mainly badgering my fellow writers into sitting down to work and then singing their praises from the rooftops when they do. People like it, and since it's literally something I've fantasized about doing for years I enjoy doing it and it therefor comes across as genuine (I hope).

Maybe your niche is different. It could be drawing fanart of people's OCs, sending funny asks, or just providing fun comments to their posts. All of this draws attention. If you can draw attention in a way that other people aren't, the attention will be drawn to you.

Other than that, it takes time and requires consistency. You should post fairly regularly so you keep popping up in feeds. My platform has grown in a way that won't break records, but I consider buck wild for how long I've been here. I do acknowledge though that building a presence is a part of my job right now, so I can dedicate a lot more time to it.

In short, be normal. Be cool. Be there, taking part of the community somehow. For most posts I tag #writeblr, #writing community, and #actually writing, with other tags more focused on the specific content. I will be honest and say I'm not sure how well that works in my favor.

Good luck!

#writing asks #writing tips #writing resources #this felt weird to talk about #oh man check your analytics and shit too #barf

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thisisjamaica · 6 months

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The acclaimed writer and poet died aged 65. Here, leading contemporaries pay tribute.

Michael Rosen (British author and poet): ‘He nudged people into seeing the world through the eyes of the oppressed.’

Benjamin was a hero to millions of people all over the world. His mix of poetry, novels, wisdom, humour and sheer presence grabbed us and delighted us. I first saw him when he was starting out in the poetry clubs, dancing a poem about his mother, voicing his poetry in a voice I hadn’t heard before: Brummie-Caribbean. It was an honour and treat to work with him many times over the years, on videos, radio programmes, and when he MC’d an award ceremony run by the British Council for the best examples of English teaching. Then and often elsewhere, he loved reflecting on his journey from being a semi-literate teenager, getting into trouble, to someone feted at the highest levels for his literary achievements and force of personality.

His poetry is full of power, humanity and belief. He was a Rastafarian in belief and practice and loved talking about what that meant to him. I hope he won’t mind me saying that his love of all things living reminded me of William Blake. People will remember him, I’m sure, appearing on Question Time gently and wittily batting experienced politicians to one side with his comments. I once asked him how he did it, how did he encapsulate “big” stuff in such pithy, seemingly simple ways. He said that he imagined himself talking with his mother: how would they talk about it, he said?

He wrote novels for teenagers. Refugee Boy – as it sounds – takes the point of view of a refugee and the struggle that people in his area have of winning him asylum. One of the great moments in the book is when the boy reflects on what “problems” the local British boys seem to have compared with the problems he is going through.

That’s what Benjamin did over and over again, nudge people into seeing the world through the eyes of the oppressed.

Some of his wonderful performances are up online. Please look at them as your way of paying tribute to him. My own personal favourite is Rong Radio. I once asked him where he wrote his poems. He said, “I don’t write them. I make them up in my head when I go running.”

I am devastated by this news. I admired, respected and loved Benjamin and I learned so much from him.

Colin Grant (British author and historian): ‘He was the people’s poet.’

It was raining heavily at the Hay festival 20 years ago when I first saw and was mesmerised by Benjamin Zephaniah. The marquee was filled to the rafters with hundreds of people who it seemed were attending not a literary or racial sacrament but a spiritual one. Rain outside; eternal sunshine within.

Benjamin was the trailblazing epitome not of the reductive “ethnic writer” but of the global majority writer who refused to be categorised. In any event, though kind of ordinary, his uniqueness – a karate, yoga and dominoes-loving Rastafarian poet and storyteller – made it impossible to box him in.

For young black writers, he was the answer to literary gatekeepers who claimed there were no commercial prospects for writing that spoke to social deprivation, marginalisation and racism with a plain-speaking honesty and humour.

There was also the realisation that here was a brotherman who’d been a rascal in his youth but had reinvented himself and been saved by literature; that writing could transform the self as well as readers and listeners.

Benjamin was a one-love Rasta, not guided by any kind of separatism. Today, as some default to silos of separation, his porous writing showed how you could speak to an unimagined cohort with poetry and prose. He was, in essence, what Jamaicans call a “simple sense man”; he spoke to youngsters and elders with the same intensity.

The seeming guilelessness of his writing made some wince and claim he was not a real, learned poet. But when you stopped to listen, or clean your glasses, or dry your eyes, you’d find yourself in the presence of a fierce and fearless emotional intelligence. Benjamin’s spoken and written voice was the expression of a writer who was extraordinary in his ordinariness. He was the people’s poet; a groundbreaker who broke bread with everyone.

#caribbean #people #jamaica #history #remembering

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qbopublishing · 5 months

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How Kids can be Safe Online

Ensuring the online safety of kids is crucial in today's digital age. Here are some tips for parents and caregivers to help children stay safe online: 👀

Open Communication: Establish open communication with your child about their online activities. Encourage them to talk to you if they come across anything that makes them uncomfortable.

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Set Age-Appropriate Boundaries: Determine age-appropriate limits on the types of websites, apps, and games your child can access. Use parental controls to restrict access to inappropriate content.

Supervise Online Activities: Monitor your child's online activities regularly. Be aware of the websites they visit, the people they interact with, and the content they consume.

Teach Privacy Protection: Instruct your child not to share personal information online, such as their full name, address, school name, phone number, or any other sensitive details.

Encourage Strong Passwords: Teach your child the importance of using strong, unique passwords for each online account. Ensure they understand not to share passwords with anyone, even friends.

Be Wary of Strangers: Emphasize the importance of not communicating with strangers online. Teach your child not to accept friend requests or engage in conversations with people they don't know in real life.

Check Privacy Settings: Adjust the privacy settings on social media accounts and other online platforms to limit the sharing of personal information. Regularly review and update these settings.

Use Parental Control Software: Consider using parental control software to help manage and monitor your child's online activities. These tools can assist in blocking inappropriate content and managing screen time.

Teach Critical Thinking: Help your child develop critical thinking skills to evaluate the credibility of online information. Teach them to question and verify information before accepting it as true.

Promote Healthy Screen Time: Set reasonable limits on screen time and encourage a balance between online and offline activities. Encourage physical activities, hobbies, and face-to-face interactions.

Model Good Behavior: Be a positive role model for your child by demonstrating responsible online behavior. Show them how to use technology responsibly and respectfully.

By combining these strategies, you can create a safer online environment for your child and empower them to make informed decisions when navigating the digital world. Keep the lines of communication open, stay involved, and adapt your approach as your child grows and gains more independence, for more information visit https://book.chainzd360.com/ or buy Click, Post, Succeed Social Media and Digital Marketing for Kids on Amazon. 👀

#Kids Social Media Education #Young Author and YouTuber #Digital Marketing for Kids #Child Youtube Influencer Strategies #Youth Content Creation Tips #Soccer Kid Vlogger #Social Media Success for Kids #Digital Marketing Youth Guide #Social Media Tips for Young Creators #Children's Book Author Online Presence #Youth Social Media Trends #Kidpreneur Strategies #Soccer Star on Social Media #Kid Author Blogging Tips #Child Influencer Marketing #YouTube Success for Kids #Digital Marketing School for Kids #Online Presence for Young Authors #kid soccer player #Kid-friendly Digital Marketing #Children's Author Marketing #Online Safety for Children #Social Media Skills for Kids #Young YouTuber #Soccer Training for Children #Fifth Grader YouTuber #Soccer Skills for Kids #Soccer Training for kids #11-Year-Old Influencer #Digital footprint for Children

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goblin-g0rl · 10 months

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Barbie Legacy Challenge

This challenge has not been fully play-tested yet. So please let me know if you run into any issues!

General Rules

For each generation complete the designated career, aspiration, and skills

Each generation heir must have the 2 traits listed and 1 trait of your choice

Barbie is an unmarried and childless icon, so only generations that specify say to get married should do so

Each gen is inspired by a different Barbie, so for extra fun style your sim like the Barbie

No cheats that increase skills or needs allowed (money cheats are ok)

Anything in *asterisks* is optional

Play on whichever lifespan you prefer (short not recommended)

If you play this challenge @ me (goblin_g0rl on Twitch, Twitter, & Instagram) or use the tag #barbielegacy

Required Packs

Expansions: Get to Work, Parenthood, City Living, Cats & Dogs, Get Famous, Island Living, Discover University, Snowy Escape, Cottage Living, and High School Years *Growing Together & Horse Ranch*

Game Packs: Spa Day, Parenthood

Stuff Packs: Nifty Knitting

Getting Started

Start by creating your Barbie as a Young Adult and her 3 little sisters; Skipper as a Teen, Stacie as a Child, and Chelsea as a Toddler. (you can give them any names you like).

Gen 1 - Doctor Barbie

Caring for others is your passion. In the absence of your parents, you have taken on the task of raising your sisters. You love your job as a doctor, and giving back to your community thru donating to charity and volunteering with your family. Your greatest goal in life is to be the best parent to your sisters you can be, making sure they feel loved and supported.

Aspiration: Super Parent Traits: Good & Family Oriented Career: Doctor Skills: Baking & Handiness

Donate to charity or volunteer weekly

Raise all sisters to have 2 positive Character Values

*Have a Close or Supportive family dynamic with all sisters*

Gen 2 - Back to School Barbie

You've loved books and knowledge your entire life. Growing up you loved school; you'd do every project and always do your extra credit. As a teen, you took your love for books to the next level by starting to write. Your love of knowledge and the support of your sister drives you to attend university. While living in the University dorms you meet the love of your life. You continue your love of knowledge and share it with others by pursuing a career in teaching and writing in your free time.

Aspiration: Bestselling Author Traits: Perfectionist & Bookworm Career: Teacher Skills: Research and Debate & Writing

Graduate from high school as valedictorian

Graduate from University

Marry university roommate

Gen 3 - Rockstar Barbie

Growing up your parents always encouraged your creativity. It's always felt like music is a part of you. You're always singing, playing music, or dancing. Music is your greatest love, you've dabbled in romantic relationships with none sticking, but as an adult you find yourself wanting a family of your own. Your best friend is the longest relationship you've had, and after confiding in them about your desire for a child they agree to have a science baby with you.

Aspiration: Musical Genius Traits: Creative & Dance Machine Career: Entertainer Skills: Singing & DJ Mixing

Reach at least level 4 in every instrument

Have at least 3 good friends

Have a science baby with your best friend

Gen 4 - Fashion Magic Barbie

You grew up in a home full of music and creativity. Your parent always told you to follow your dreams. Fashion is your passion. As a teen, you start your online presence as a fashion simfluencer. You love creating your own fashion looks, knitting your own clothes, and photographing them. As an adult, you follow your dreams to the Fashion District in San Myshuno.

Aspiration: City Native Traits: Outgoing & High Maintenance Career: Style Influencer Skills: Knitting & Photography

As a teen complete the Admired Icon Aspiration and be a Simfluencer

Live in Fashion District entire adult life

Knit and wear 2 clothing items

Gen 5 - Animal Lovin Barbie

You've always had a deep love for animals and the outdoors. As a child, you convince your parent to adopt a cat. After growing up in the big city your desire for a simpler life drives you to move to Henford on Bagley (or Chestnut Ridge). You build your dream life full of animals, gardening, and sunshine.

Aspiration: Country Caretaker Traits: Animal Enthusiast & Loves Outdoors Career: None (your farm/ranch is your life) Skills: Gardening & Pet Training *Nectar Making*

Move to Henford on Bagley or Chestnut Ridge

Live on a lot with the Simple Living Lot Challenge

Have at least 1 of each kind of animal (excluding frogs, fish, hamsters, rats, and void critters)

Marry either your neighbor or ranch hand

Gen 6 - Malibu Barbie

You thrived growing up surrounded by animals and nature, but you always felt drawn to water. As a teen, you spend your weekends hanging out at the pool with your friends. You follow the call of the ocean to Sulani, where you immerse yourself in the culture, learning all of the secrets of the island.

Aspiration: Beach Life Traits: Child of the Ocean & Self-assured Career: Diver Skills: Charisma & Fishing

Build your Barbie Beach House

Complete shell collection

Become a mermaid

Adopt an infant or toddler

Gen 7 - You Can Be Anything Barbie

You were adopted into a loving home. Your parent always told you you could be and do anything. You love trying new things and brightening people's days. On your journey to find yourself, you fall in love with cooking and the big city. You pursue a career in politics in hopes to make more people's lives better.

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim Traits: Ambitious & Cheerful Career: Politician Skills: Comedy & Cooking

Work in the food industry (fast food, barista, or culinary) and entertainment industry (entertainer or acting) before starting Politician career

Living Spice District

Learn at least 10 of the food stall recipe

Gen 8 - Day to Night Barbie

You live by the motto "Work hard, play hard". In school, you effortlessly get A's. You have many friends and attend every event you're invited to. You work hard and excel in your career, and play hard at bars and nightclubs on the weekends. You thrive in chaos and are always up for a good time.

Aspiration: Party Animal Traits: Genuis & Party Animal Career: Business Skills: Dancing & Programming

As a teen, complete the Live Fast aspiration

Go to Bar or Nightclub at least twice a week

Go to every event you're invited to

*If playing with MC Command Center use risky WooHoo to have an accidental pregnancy after a crazy night out*

Gen 9 - Made to Move Barbie

You were unexpected but never unwanted. Your parent did their best raising you; always encouraging you and supporting your choices. You can't sit still. You're always on the move. As a teen, you start taking daily jogs and practicing yoga. As a young adult, you are always looking for your next adventure and trying new things. You adopt a dog that becomes your best friend and adventure buddy.

Aspiration: Extreme Sports Enthusiast Traits: Adventurous & Active Career: Athlete Skills: Wellness & Fitness

Max Movement skill as a toddler

Max Motor skill as a child

Join either the cheerleading or football team

Do yoga daily

Have a dog and take it for a jog daily

Gen 10 - Superstar Barbie

You grew up going on adventures, but you were always more of a homebody, preferring movies and video games. You have a big personality. You're always goofing around and have a flare for the dramatic. As a child, you join the drama club as a fun creative outlet with your friends. You fall in love with acting, and it quickly becomes your dream to be world famous.

Aspiration: World Famous Traits: Goofball & Geek Career: Actor Skills: Video Gaming & Mischief

Join Drama Club

Enter video game tournaments weekly

#barbielegacy #sims challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 gameplay #ts4 #sims community #barbie #sims 4

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starblightbindery · 3 months

Text

Editor's Note from my bind, Designs of Fate, an anthology of Star Wars stories by Patricia A. Jackson.

Patricia A. Jackson is a criminally underrated Star Wars author.

I’ll explain.

Growing up in the late 1990s and early 2000s, it was challenging to be an adolescent Star Wars fangirl, particularly an Asian American one. Back then, fandom meant negotiating male-dominated online message boards where identifying as a teenage girl meant inviting a ‘fake geek girl’ grilling at best and sexual harassment at worst. Most of the published Star Wars books were about Han, Leia, and Luke. Han and Leia were in their thirties and the parents of three children...not super relatable for preteen me. As far as character development was concerned, our “Big Three” had established characterizations coalesced firmly on the side of good. For our heroes, there was no moral ambiguity as, novel by novel, they tackled the galactic Threat of the Week.

Bildungsromans, those books were not. When Jackson started writing Star Wars in the 1990s, there were no women Jedi or protagonists of color. If you wanted stories with original characters coming of age, your primary recourse was the West End Games’ Star Wars Adventure Journals and their published anthologies, Tales from the Empire (1997) and Tales from the New Republic (1999). I remember avidly poring over my dogeared paperback copies and stalking the internet for scans or transcriptions. Although I never played the D6 role-playing game, the short stories from the Star Wars Adventure Journals helped me envision that a character like me—a young Asian girl coming into her own—did have a place in Star Wars after all.

As evinced by the vitriolic reactions towards John Boyega and Kelly Marie Tran during the production of the sequel trilogy, Star Wars fandom can be a hateful environment for proponents of diversity and inclusion. A small but irritatingly loud faction of fascist-leaning, cishet, white male fans are actively hostile towards fans who advocate for change; they are more troubled by the presence of queers, women and BIPOC than our absence. Because of the ubiquity and popularity of Star Wars in America’s cultural milieu, the sentiments from these self-appointed gatekeepers have been—and continue to be—amplified by right wing extremists, and, to some extent, even by the Internet Research Agency as tools of Russia’s psychological and cyber warfare against the United States. During his Ph.D. candidacy with the Department of Information Studies at UCLA, Morten Bay, PhD., studied negative tweets about The Last Jedi and found that 50.9% of negative tweets were “bots, trolls/sock puppets or political activists using the debate to propagate political messages supporting extreme right-wing causes and the discrimination of gender, race or sexuality.”

“Russian trolls weaponize Star Wars criticism as an instrument of information warfare with the purpose of pushing for political change,” he wrote, “while it is weaponized by right-wing fans to forward a conservative agenda and for some it is a pushback against what they perceive as a feminist/social justice onslaught.”

The creation and inclusion of characters with minoritized identities in Star Wars is, therefore, an act of resistance. As far as I’m aware, Patricia A. Jackson was the first woman of color and Black author to write for the Star Wars expanded universe. Jackson has described the fan environment in the 1990s thusly; like many minoritized fans of color, she would be given pithy justifications such as "Well, there’s no Africa in Star Wars, so there are no Black people." Jackson noted, aptly, "That was just translation for “’You don’t matter. You don’t need to be here.’” Jackson's work for West End Games, particularly her sourcebook The Black Sands of Socorro, is a subversion of those expectations.

Before anyone else did, Jackson showed fandom that dominant mayo masculinity did not have to be the only way to tell Star Wars stories. Her stories existed before the prequel trilogy and three decades of Star Wars publishing, before FanFiction.net, Archive of Our Own, or Wattpad. She is the forerunner for BIPOC writers in Star Wars, followed by other luminaries like Steven Barnes, Daniel José Older, Nnedi Okorafor, Rebecca Roanhorse, Ken Liu, Greg Pak, Alyssa Wong, Sarah Kuhn, Saladin Ahmed, C.B. Lee, Justina Ireland, Alex Segura, Zoraida Cordova, Greg VanEekhout, Mike Chen, Charles Yu, R.F. Kuang, Sarwat Chadda, Sabaa Tahir, and Renée Ahdieh.

Jackson had and continues to have an incredibly prescient understanding of what makes a good Star Wars story. Any of the stories in this anthology could find a home as an anime short from Star Wars: Visions (2021). Ideas from Jackson’s Star Wars short stories have appeared in later media, sometimes decades later. Whether convergently evolved or directly influenced, the parallels are astonishing: Kierra, the snarky feminine droid consciousness who inhabits Thaddeus Ross’s ship, is a spiritual predecessor to L3-37, Lando Calrissian’s snarky feminine droid companion from Solo (2018) who ends the film uploaded to the Millennium Falcon. Jackson addressed concepts like slavery and Force healing predating the prequel and sequel trilogies. In “Idol Intentions,” she created an adventuring academic on the hunt for artifacts long before Kieron Gillen brought Doctor Aphra to life. Squint and the upturned red salt on the planet Crait in The Last Jedi becomes flying red soil on the planet Redcap. Dark haired, dark side tragic emo boy starcrossed with a fiery girl Jedi?—I think Jackson understood intuitively the appeal of this trope to a woman-dominated contingent of fandom well before “Reylo” topped Tumblr’s fan favorite relationship charts in 2020.

Jackson’s work is also significant for deepening world building. Much like how Timothy Zahn introduced analysis of fine art to Star Wars with his villainous art connoisseur Grand Admiral Thrawn, Jackson’s stories introduced concepts such as the evolution of Old Corellian, the acting profession, and Legitimate Theatre. These elements added verisimilitude to the expanded universe; it makes sense that different cultures in Star Wars would have archaic languages, folk songs, and old stories of their own from even longer ago in galaxies far, far, away. More recently, the franchise has started to flesh out in-universe lore in Star Wars: Myths and Fables (2019) by George Mann. Still, Uhl Eharl Khoehng in “Uhl Eharl Khoehng” (1995) remains the finest example of mise en abyme in any Star Wars related work.

Themes from Jackson’s Star Wars works, particularly around Drake Paulsen and Socorro, also connect contemporaneously with our real world. When the Seldom Different is essentially ‘pulled over’ by Imperial authorities in “Out of the Cradle” (1994), stormtroopers lie about Drake Paulsen having a weapon as a pretense to terrorize the teenager. It’s a collision of space opera with Black youths’ past and current experiences of police brutality and state-sanctioned violence. Accordingly, this capricious encounter is the rite of passage that jars Drake out of his childhood. I cheered when I read The Black Sands of Socorro (1997) and saw that the Black Bha'lir smuggler’s guild is named for a bha'lir, depicted in the book as a large...panther. Few Star Wars expanded universe authors—particularly in the 1990s—leveraged their influence to center characters of color or to allude to racial justice movements. Jackson did both.

For this anthology, I have copy edited and also taken the liberty of, when applicable, substituting some gendered or sanist language with more contemporaneous wording.17 The stories are otherwise intact. It would be remiss of me if I did not note; however, that one of the stories, “Bitter Winter” (1995), has sanist and ableist tropes that could not be contemporized without making dramatic changes to the story. In this story, the fictional disease brekken vinthern drives those impacted to violence; while it’s real world correlate of major neurocognitive disorder can include symptoms of aggression and agitation, extreme violence is rare and people with this condition are also at great risk of being harmed by violence. The tropes “Mercy Kill” and “Shoot the Dog” are depictions of non-voluntary active euthanasia, typically from the perspective of the horrified “killer” placed in an impossible situation. These tropes frame murder and death as “putting someone out of their misery” while downplaying any alternatives (ie: sedation to alleviate suffering, medical attention, or, say, ion cannons to render a ship inoperable without killing.)

Like in our society, the societies in Star Wars have consistently framed mental illness pejoratively. There are certainly valid critiques of the utter inadequacy of health care in Star Wars. Ableism is ubiquitous in entertainment media, and even with it’s problematic tropes, “Bitter Winter” remains one of the more humanizing depictions of a mental health condition in Star Wars fiction. I have included it in this anthology as a rare example of moral ambiguity in the franchise.

With the exception of “Fragile Threads” and “Emanations of Darkness,” the stories here are presented not in published order, but in chronological order as they would have occurred in the Star Wars universe. Ordering the stories chronologically helped clarify timelines; it also allows the anthology to begin with “The Final Exit,” which was a fan favorite back when it was first published. I’ve interwoven the Brandl family stories with Drake Paulsen’s coming of age adventures, as the Paulsens are such a strong foil to the Brandl family.

Since “I am your father” dropped in 1980, Star Wars has been big on Daddy Issues—intergenerational trauma, parental relationships, broken attachments, identity development, and initiation into adulthood (or, as Obi-Wan Kenobi would put it, “taking your first steps into a larger world.”) With Drake, we see that Kaine Paulsen is a father who is gone but ever-present. With Jaalib, we see that Adalric Brandl is a father who is ever-present but clearly far gone. Drake knows his Socorran roots; he has community and found family. Fable’s identity is adrift; she was torn from her roots after her fugitive Jedi mother’s death. Jaalib’s roots are scaffolded by disingenuous artifice. There is a diametric interplay of identity formation and parental legacy in these short stories that captures classic themes from Star Wars. And, the stories challenge readers to consider how we interact with shame, guilt, and obligation. Through the morally ambiguous dilemmas that are her oeuvre, Jackson’s characters discover who they are and where they stand.

While the thrill of having an Imperial Star Destroyer drop out of hyperspace is pure Star Wars energy, Jackson’s stories also disrupted what fans had come to expect. Published online as fan fiction, “Emanations of Darkness” (2001) polarized fans of the previous Brandl stories, particularly with Fable’s decision to throw her lot in with Jaalib and his father. At the time, Star Wars fan commentator Charles Phipps noted how the story dealt with the insidiousness of the dark side by taking potential heroes and crushing them. “Star Wars, I've never known to leave a bitter taste in my mouth,” he wrote, stunned. “I don't like what it's brought out in my feelings or myself...Bravo Brandl, you have your applause.” Although the Brandl stories were written and published before Revenge of the Sith (2005), Fable and Jaalib’s relationship mirrors the relationship between Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker, down to both Jaalib and Anakin selling their souls to the same Emperor in hopes that will spare the women they love.

The prequel trilogy introduces the Jedi Council’s detached approach to attachments—don’t feel it, emotions like fear or anger are to be shunned, else suffering will follow. Anakin Skywalker’s broken attachments to his mother and Padmé lead him to turn against his values; his inability to integrate or tolerate his attachments is his downfall. It’s the same in the Brandl stories where, trauma bonded, Fable and Jaalib cannot let each other go. While Jaalib credits this as how he was able to preserve a bit of himself while under the Emperor’s thrall, his inability to extricate himself from his father’s influence or to let go of Fable ends up dooming her.

This is why I was thrilled to discover “Fragile Threads” (2021) on Wattpad twenty years later. In this story, Drake Paulsen helps his lover Tiaja Moorn save her sister, at the cost of losing their relationship when she decides to remain on her homeworld. Drake doesn’t fight her decision, he accepts it. He can hold onto that connection to Tiaja, just as he knows he will always be connected to Socorro, his father, and the Black Bha'lir. Drake can love freely because he knows what Luke Skywalker told Leia in The Last Jedi: “No one is ever truly gone.” He is able to straddle the fulcrum of attachment and love without letting it consume him, and that is balancing the Force.

Contemporary fandom discourse is also a struggle with attachment; the parasocial relationships we form with characters and stories are similar in process to how we attach to the important people in our lives. We imbue with meaning and carry these stories with us. As Star Wars storytelling enters its fifth decade, the divide between affirmational fandom (allegiance to manufactured nostalgia) and transformational fandom (allegiance to iterative and transgressive fan engagement) has factionized fandom. When Star Wars is seen as a totemic object, right wing fans have agitated for a return to a mythic past where white men were centered and morality was Manichean. From where I stand, at the heart of this debate is whether or not the reader or Star Wars is permitted to “grow up”—to leave the cradle, to evolve new identities and explore shades of grey.

To me, Jackson’s stories are a reminder that characters of color and complex moral dilemmas have always been a part of Star Wars. We have always been here. No other Star Wars author has been as exquisitely aware of the significance of storytelling; how it can help people challenge existing beliefs and discover themselves. Since the beginnings of the expanded universe, Patricia A. Jackson has spun yarn, and those fragile threads have tethered readers like myself to a galaxy far, far away.

Ol'val, min dul'skal, ahn guld domina, mahn uhl Fharth bey ihn valle. (Until we next meet, may the Force be with you.)

#star wars legends #patricia a jackson #star wars adventure journal #swrepmatters #binders note #patricia a. jackson #fanbinding

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coochiequeens · 6 months

Text

Another day another perverted man trying to hide from being identified as an abuser by hiding behind a pronoun

By Genevieve Gluck. December 9, 2023

A trans-identified male and his partner have been sentenced to a combined total of 16 years and 9 months in prison for their roles in the horrific sexual abuse of a 4 year-old boy. Naomi O’Brien, born Nathan, reportedly encouraged his lover, Jonathan Walker, to sexually abuse the toddler.

content warning - sexual abuse of young children

Walker and O’Brien were arrested earlier this year after a complex, joint investigation undertaken by the Greater Manchester Police and the South Wales Police. The UK authorities had first become aware of the situation after being tipped off by the FBI, who had discovered that Walker was sharing disturbing images of child rape through messaging application Kik.

With O’Brien’s explicit direction, Walker sexually assaulted the young boy and filmed himself performing sex acts in front of the boy. He recorded the sickening abuse and shared the videos with pedophiles online. In addition to raping the toddler, Walker had also been downloading horrific videos of children and babies being abused and raped.

Investigators analyzed chat logs containing messages exchanged between Walker and O’Brien that indicated their sexual interest in children. O’Brien was discovered to have encouraged and aided Walker in sexually abusing the young victim on several occasions in March 2023.

Walker, 33, was found guilty of sexually abusing the 4-year-old boy, along with engaging in sexual activity in the presence of a child and possession of indecent images. He was sentenced to 12-and-a-half years in prison, while O’Brien, 31, pleaded guilty to multiple counts including intentionally encouraging and assisting another to commit a sexual assault against a child, intentionally encouraging and assisting another to engage in sexual activity in the presence of a child, and engaging in sexual activity in the presence of a child.

For his crimes, O’Brien was sentenced at Manchester’s Minshull Street Crown Court to 4 years and 3 months in prison, with a 4 years and 4 months Sexual Harm Prevention Order and Sex Offender Notification Requirements for life.

Disturbingly, O’Brien was referred to as a “woman” and “female” by police.

“Following a tenacious and lengthy investigation of 1,865 messages, our dedicated team was able to prove that the female suspects’ chats were not simply a case of role play or fantasy – she had knowledge that the male had an interest in sexually abusing a young boy on the direction of her,” said Detective Inspector Zoe Marsden, of the Greater Manchester Police’s Online Child Abuse Investigation Team, while referring to O’Brien as a “female” and using feminine pronouns for him.

“This is a significant result for what is a very vulnerable and innocent 4-year-old child who was subjected to multiple counts of abuse, but also for all other children in the community who could have been subject to similar offending by a predatory female who was inciting others to commit acts of sexual harm against the most vulnerable in society,” Marsden added.

O’Brien frequently posted highly sexualized images of himself on his public social media profiles, where he uses the name Morgan Naomi Clarke, and appeared to work in the sex trade.

Following the announcement of his sentencing, multiple news outlets reporting on the case took lead from the police and referred to O’Brien as a “woman” or as “female.” The BBC labeled O’Brien a “predatory woman,” as has The Oldham Times. The UK Sex Offenders Database has also listed O’Brien as a woman, having used the information that was provided by the Greater Manchester Police to the public.

On Facebook and Instagram, O’Brien had regularly shared photos of himself in women’s lingerie. In some instances, O’Brien can be seen pretending to be a young girl as part of a pornographic schoolgirl aesthetic. One such photo from March 2020 depicts O’Brien in a girl’s school uniform, tagged with the term “ddlgprincess,” a reference to the incestuous fetish subculture known as “Daddy Dom-Little Girl.”

The convicted sex offender also ran an OnlyFans account and sold sex through the website AdultWork under the moniker TS Taboo Goddess. O’Brien shared pornographic content of himself on OnlyFans while using hashtags related to the “age play community,” used to connote adults who have a sexual interest in pretending to be children.

“I am a pro-domme, have been since young and ‘innocent,'” reads O’Brien’s Adult Work bio. “No limits, Daddy. The more debauched, the better.”

On his X account, O’Brien shared a brief video of himself watching pornography that appears to depict minors with another man. The pornography is digitally rendered, and the ages of the characters depicted are unclear. Yet O’Brien tagged the clip with terms such as “teen,” “barely legal” and “no limits.”

In 2015 O’Brien was positively profiled by The Sun for his attempts to win a national beauty pageant, Miss Transgender UK. During the interview, O’Brien stated that he began identifying as transgender at the age of 21.

“It wasn’t until my late teens that I had the opportunity to dress as a girl as often as possible. When I did this I felt more confident and happy, I felt like the person I always wanted to be. It wasn’t until I was 21 that I realized I could live fulfilled this way and gained the bravery to change my body and my life,” O’Brien told the outlet.

O’Brien was similarly spotlighted by Caters TV for his bid to win the beauty pageant in a video produced by the program. In the clip, O’Brien cautioned viewers against discrimination.

Special thank you to Dalton Report for his contribution in bringing this case to light.

#UK #Naomi O’Brien is a Nathan #Greater Manchester Police #South Wales Police #Kik #Not a woman #NotOurCrimes

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pochapal · 7 months

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I decided to start with problem sleuth, thinking how long could it be? I was wrong. I will finish this beast, but I googled the length, and it's 20% the length of homestuck.

I nearly went on a large ramble here, but that seems rude, so will more vaguely gesture at the thoughts I wanted to convey with a question: Why do you think people start with the later work first, for both Umineko and Homestuck? Homestuck obviously blew up more, but Higurashi is more popular in both the east and west, and I've notices a surprising amount of people going with Umineko first.

In both Higurashi(which I have finished and am rereading) and Problem Sleuth(which I have only barely started), I've enjoyed seeing the early version of ideas I know/assume will be in the later works. It's nice to see how an author grows. This isn't really part of the question, I just thought it was worth sharing and you might have some thoughts.

yeahhhh i first read problem sleuth during one of the earlier homestuck pauses (maybe the mid-late 2011 hiatus) thinking i could get through it in a weekend. it in fact took me much longer than that.

i can't speak that confidently on the higurashi/umineko part of this question since i don't know enough about umineko and i don't know anything about higurashi, but i imagine it'll be a similar correlation just with different material factors. homestuck was the one people got into thanks mostly to the fact it was this mammoth everywhere presence that you couldn't escape for the entire first half of the 2010s (i got into homestuck back in 2010 both because a friend at school recommended it to me and also because suddenly the entire front page of deviantart became homestuck overnight) and from the vague stuff i've seen umineko kind of has a similar hyped up reputation? the odd "read umineko it changed my life and it'll change yours" post has appeared every now and then but i can't say i've ever seen a higurashi equivalent (i have also had both terms muted for over a year so who is to say how reliable this observation is).

i also think that homestuck drew people in due to the fact it was a more "alive" and sprawling project compared to problem sleuth which was written start to finish over the course of 2008 and was barely an eighth of the length of homestuck so the nature of an active piece of work inherently generates more of a fandom around it - the interaction people had with homestuck pretty much until 2018 or so was entirely coded in standard fandom spaces/activity which was bad for meaningful discussion on the story but very good for constantly attracting great numbers of readily-obsessed teens and young adults into the fold. homestuck as well was easier to connect/relate to for a fandom audience than problem sleuth as well - a story about young teens getting into situations with their online friends is far easier to connect to and understand on a relatability level than a pastiche of point and click mystery adventures. also the way that characters and systems were built in homestuck are rife to be projected upon since it's all delineated archetypes in a similar vein to zodiac signs where you can impose whatever interpretation you need to connect to your desired symbol and it'll be right. in other words, homestuck is a highly kinnable piece of fiction.

if i were to hazard a guess, i'd say something similar might be happening with higurashi and umineko? umineko is a mystery story where understanding and empathy are your tools for figuring stuff out which naturally leads to the state of "rotate blorbo in your mind at high speeds" which in turn leads to a deeper emotional connection. i'd imagine that all this stuff would be present in higurashi too, but since it's a horror story the reader is probably not implicitly and explicitly encouraged to think about the story's elements in the same way. something else i've vaguely seen that i'm not sure how reliable an observation it is is that there is a very dedicated very queer umineko fanbase and that kind of word of mouth recommendation goes a long way (for my personal reference all the people i knew who were into umineko before i got into it myself were all trans women).

so in the end i think it's a combination of a certain kind of dedicated fandom and a story that you have an easier way into emotionally connecting with it that draws people more into the latter than the former. there's also the novelty factor of homestuck being one of the longest pieces of fiction in the english language (i know umineko is long as hell too but i don't know how this stacks up compared to higurashi) so there's a kind of bucket list-esque prestige in tackling one of these behemoth texts you Need To Read Before You Die.

to respond to the second part of your ask, one really neat thing especially with problem sleuth is that by reading that with dedication and attention you're rewarded with a kind of decoder for some of homestuck's more obtuse and esoteric elements that a lot of initial readers unfamiliar with how things work struggle with, so when things get weird you're able to go "ah this is basically a reiteration of [X] from problem sleuth" and not stress trying to decipher something that would feel impenetrable. homestuck doesn't try to make itself hard to understand or anything but it does become difficult to follow if you're the kind to breeze through a story and not really take in what it's telling you in the text, so problem sleuth is especially good for building up a visual language so you understand callbacks with little more than a glance. in this way problem sleuth is the theory and homestuck is the theory in practice.

#coolstuffiseverywhere

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leechs · 5 months

Note

a seasoned author (one of the big publishing houses) was giving advice to young authors in my city and when someone asked her more publishing centric stuff she said never let your publisher trick you into doing your own marketing. they have an entire branch for that. she said publishing companies tend to see things like YOUR online presence as a given but most won't put in contract that you have to do it, they'll just make you FEEL like you do. so it was 1. never sign a contract that requires you to do the marketing and 2. don't let them convince you to do it just to look like you "play ball". she also said aside from a few rare cases, there's no evidence that books made by authors who do numbers on socials to promote their work don't do better. most people like a video about your book then forget it and many of what we think of as success stories were manufactured. often times the author bought their own book in bulk to land it on the new york times best seller and even give those boxes to barnes and noble free of charge. they can do this because they were already independently wealthy, and even after stacking the scale so heavily in their favor they still flop more often than not.

thanks for this ask bc i was thinking about this lately but wasnt sure how much was true practice within the industry

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elendiliel · 1 year

Text

The Last Prime

Hold on to your hubcaps; this is a long one, as it covers the whole of "Predacons Rising". (I'm willing to repost it as shorter chunks, if that's more to everyone's liking. It's also on AO3 here.)

As usual, inspiration credits to @justawannabearchaeologist's "TFP Wheeljack in TFA" series. For the ending, I am also indebted to @novafire-is-thinking's ongoing analysis series "Who is TFP Optimus?" Both are highly recommended.

Here goes...

---

“We have endured many hardships and countless battles,” Optimus Prime declaimed, “but at last our home planet has been restored. We would not be standing on Cybertronian soil were it not for the valiant efforts of both those assembled here – including one from far away,” his optics rested on Glitch, who blushed and dropped her gaze to the ground; she hadn’t really done all that much, and certainly no more than her duty demanded, “and our absent comrades. Ratchet, who remains on Earth to safeguard our human friends,” Arcee laid a sisterly servo on Glitch’s shoulder, aware that the young medibot missed her friend and colleague, and was more than a little daunted by the prospect of filling his role, “and Cliffjumper, who made the ultimate sacrifice.” It was Glitch’s turn to put a discreet arm around ‘Cee, Cliffjumper’s partner. She knew his death had inflicted a wound on her comrade that would never fully heal.

“But on this day,” Prime continued, “at the dawn of a new era, we gather to bestow a special honour, one earned by Bumblebee through his bravery and devotion to the cause of peace, long before he rid the universe of the scourge of the Decepticon warmonger.” We hope, Glitch caught herself thinking. Megatrons, in her experience, were pretty hard to kill. “In the company of your fellow Autobots, in the presence of our creator Primus, the living core of our planet, and by the authority vested in me by the Matrix of Leadership,” Prime raised the Star Sabre, a relic of the ancient Primes Glitch had nicknamed Andúril, “Bumblebee,” Andúril touched Bumblebee’s left shoulder, then his right, as he knelt before his leader, “arise, a Warrior.”

As Bumblebee stood up, the rest of the team clustered around to congratulate him, even Glitch, though she was still a bit hazy on why the ceremony was such a big deal – or necessary at all. But then, her Cybertron had been officially at peace since before she came online – helium, before her CO came online – and its class system wasn’t as rigidly defined as that one had been before the Autobot-Decepticon war. While Elite Guard positions were very much sought-after by a lot of young ‘bots, they were, theoretically, open to anybot. And she’d never wanted one. She was more than happy to be a field-tech, a healer and protector, not a destroyer.

Unlike, say, Wheeljack. “Let’s get this party started!” The Wrecker lived up to his unit’s name, triggering explosives he must have planted beforehand in a statue of Megatron. Glitch had to admit to a certain satisfaction as the stone warlord was deconstructed joint by joint, but did Wheeljack have to make such a mess of everything?

Prime allowed them a few cycles of jubilation before speaking again. “I am sorry to interrupt your celebration.”

“Here it comes,” ‘Cee remarked.

“Primes never party,” Bulkhead added.

“You might be surprised,” Glitch murmured, thinking of another red and blue mech, who had a hidden talent for the guitar.

“But I must take my leave of you,” Prime carried on. So soon? Prime had fought at least as long and hard as anybot there, and more so than most. He deserved to enjoy some peace, at least for a while.

“Sir, may I ask why?” Ultra Magnus enquired.

“Though Cybertron is once again able to support life,” Prime began, “our planet is currently incapable of generating new lives.”

“Let me guess,” Glitch interrupted him. “We need the Allspark. I wondered when that box of tricks would enter the picture. And it’s probably safely out in deep space, where almost nobody can find it.”

“That is correct.” Prime wasn’t as surprised that she’d second-guessed him as might be expected. He knew how similar their realities were, in some ways. “I assume yours was hidden for the same reason.”

She hummed in assent. “Cooled the war down a treat, especially when Megatron buzzed off to look for it. And before anyone asks, we post-war ‘bots received our sparks from Vector Sigma.” She was aware that the ancient computer had a counterpart in that reality, but clearly it didn’t have that particular functionality. More’s the pity.

Bumblebee was all for retrieving the Allspark as a whole team, but Prime pointed out that they couldn’t leave Cybertron vulnerable to Decepticon remnants. He assigned Ultra Magnus to organise patrols and hunt down Starscream and Shockwave, and Bulkhead to start the rebuilding of the wrecked planet, prioritising a landing field for other Cybertronians who might come home. Only Wheeljack would go with Prime; he was one of their best pilots, and had wandered the galaxy for aeons before finding his way to Earth and the team. Glitch pulled him aside for a quick word as the party broke up, knowing better than to argue with Prime over non-medical matters. (Wheeljack was also much closer to her in height; sometimes she practically had to shout to get Prime’s attention.)

“Promise me you’ll look out for each other,” she said. “The Allspark may be the source of your life, but if my version’s anything to go by, for individual ‘bots it’s trouble with a capital T, R, O, U, B, L and E.”

“It can’t be that bad – can it?” At least Wheeljack was taking her semi-seriously.

“Let me put it this way. My Allspark nearly flattened the ‘bots it chose as its protectors, then almost got them killed again when Megatron found them. They were missing, presumed dead, for half a century.” A very long half-century for Glitch, who had had two close friends on that crew. Including her now-partner and boyfriend. “Megatron was in stasis and pieces all that time. Starscream tried to use it to level Detroit; it offlined Optimus trying to get rid of Screamer, then revived him. Its power also revived Megatron’s head and allowed him to create the Dinobots and Soundwave before putting him back together again. When he got his servos on it, Optimus had to disperse it to avoid disastrophe, and the fragments are still causing all kinds of chaos. Everything from haywire assembly lines to an immortal Starscream. And its reassembly killed Prowl. Shall I go on?” She could, for quite some time.

“No, that’s enough. I’ll have Optimus’ back out there, I promise, and we both know he’ll have mine.” Prime would always put his soldiers’ and friends’ lives first. Then something Glitch had said struck Wheeljack afresh. “Your Starscream’s immortal? I thought ours was a nuisance, but…”

“He certainly used to be. Most inconvenient in some ways, though I for one don’t actually want him dead. Jazz thinks he saw the fragment keeping him alive being pulled out when he and Prowl were reassembling the Allspark, but his shell was never found. And when it comes to that ‘bot – don’t count him as offline until you see the body, and even then you can still be wrong. Come to think of it, that applies to Megatron, too.”

“Not ours, I hope. Anyway, I’d better get going. Look after Magnus and Bulkhead for me.”

“Wilco.” The Wrecker and the field-tech went their separate ways, the latter hurrying to the ex-Decepticon warship the team was using as a base, suddenly dying to get to work.

***

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! How’re you gonna attach the cladding when the framing structure’s incomplete, huh?” Bulkhead’s voice, followed by a series of metallic clangs and clatters that sounded like something out of a slapstick comedy, must have carried for hics as Arcee and Glitch drove to the building site that was meant to be an air traffic control tower.

“Labour issues?” ‘Cee asked as she transformed beside her old friend. With the Autobots rotating between patrols and their individual duties, Bulkhead was having to work with a crew of Vehicon volunteers whose enthusiasm clearly outstripped their skills.

The answer was self-evident, so Bulkhead changed the subject. “Any news of our fugitives?”

“Just signs of recent scavenging in former Decepticon installations.”

“And the warship can’t detect their life signals?” Bulkhead looked to Glitch, now the team’s only tech “expert” on-planet, who had been making friends with the Nemesis ever since Megatron’s defeat.

“Shielded,” she answered briefly. “Working on it. Needed to spin my wheels, though, and get a vent of fresh – whoa!” Amply demonstrating why some of her teammates affectionately called her “the little monkey” when they thought she wasn’t listening, she scrambled up the side of the half-built tower to where part of the frame was likely to give way. A few nanokliks’ work with her built-in blowtorch, and the problem was solved. She all but jumped back down, eager to be on solid ground again, and rejoined her friends.

“Nice one,” Bulkhead said, appraising her patch job with a professional optic. “How’d you spot that?”

“I’ve done my share of construction work, back in Detroit.” She no longer said “back home”; she had three homes in two universes. (The others’ Cybertron wasn’t one of them, though – yet.) “Urban combat tends to get messy, and it’s only right that we should help fix the damage afterwards. Good PR, too. One learns to see problems before they become serious.” Especially if, like her, one had a talent for pattern-recognition – even at the expense of other abilities, such as face-recognition. “By the way – maybe cut the Vehicons a bit more slack. Not everybot has your expertise.” Bulkhead had been a labourer before the war, so-called “low caste”, protoformed for construction. She hoped she’d found a positive spin to put on that.

Either she had, or he’d hidden his reaction well. “I’m trying, but it’s not easy. If a mistake can be made, they’ve probably made it, even with the basic stuff. I know they can learn, but – honestly, I’d rather have a crew of Constructicons than these guys.”

“Scrapper would definitely help,” Glitch agreed, thinking of the Constructicons back in her universe. “’Specially if Snarl lent a servo as well. Maybe Mixmaster, if we could get hold of enough decent motor oil. Not Dirtboss, though. We’d have an Energon racket on our servos before we knew where we were.” She was partway through describing the diminutive Decepticon’s attempt to control Detroit’s oil supply when Bumblebee called her comm. “Glitch, we need you back here now. Magnus is hurt, badly. I’m sending a groundbridge.” Stars, that sounded serious. Oh well. That was what she’d signed up for.

It was serious, as even a preliminary scan made abundantly clear once she’d reached the Nemesis med-bay, where Magnus was already on her repair table. “Blimey, there’s a lot of internal damage here. Most of it pretty bad. Predacon? New one, I’d say.”

“Yeah, two of ‘em. How’d you know?” Smokescreen had been on patrol with Ultra Magnus, and was still hovering by his commander’s side, not quite blocking her light. Had Magnus been hurt trying to protect him?

“I do have optics. Scorching, impact trauma and denta and claw marks add up to Predacon, but the claw spacing and synth shape and size don’t match Predaking. I don’t suppose you got a good look at their alt-modes?” she asked out of vague curiosity, most of her processor focused on her patient.

“Another dragon and one kinda like a big winged cyber-cat. A griffin, I think it’s called on Earth.”

“We’ll have to find them, and quickly,” Bumblebee put in, having just returned from updating Arcee and Bulkhead on the situation. “How’s Magnus?”

“Not good. I can stabilise him, for now, but we need another medic if he’s ever going to recover fully. Call Ratchet in, or let Knock Out out. In or out, I don’t care, just find someone better than me.” She had already begun to fix Magnus’ most severe injuries, but only her centuries of training kept her servos steady. She’d been qualified for less than two stellar-cycles, and had spent rather less time than that in that universe. And Magnus’ wounds were worse than she felt she could handle alone. “In the meantime, clear out and let me deal with this mess.”

Bumblebee and Smokescreen obeyed without a word, and must have chosen Option A. A short while later, Ratchet barged in, medical kit in servo. The two medibots worked side by side, speaking only when necessary, until Magnus was out of danger and heading towards recovery.

“He’ll be all right,” Glitch confirmed, more for her own benefit than for Ratchet’s. “Thanks for coming at such short notice, and – sorry, for calling you in. I suppose I panicked.” Her first case as the team’s primary medic, and she’d dragged Ratchet out of his semi-retirement to help her. Not a good start.

Ratchet’s servo entirely covered hers. “You did the right thing.” She’d seldom heard such gentleness from either Ratchet, that one or her mentor back in Detroit. “You have talent, but a case like this calls for experience you simply haven’t had time to acquire yet. Trying to handle it yourself would have been the height of foolishness.” He smiled down at his junior colleague. “By the way, you did a good job on Smokescreen during the battle. And Optimus, while I was – elsewhere.” Specifically, aboard that very ship and in Decepticon servos. “Thank you for that.”

Glitch blushed in acknowledgement and gratitude. “Just doing my duty. Practically had to blackmail Prime onto the repair table, though. Is he always like that, or was he just worried about you?”

“Oh, he’s been that way as long as I’ve known him, and still has the temerity to lecture me about my Energon intake.” Rightly so. On at least one occasion, Glitch had had to resort to sleight of servo to make sure Ratchet was properly fuelled. He changed the subject with almost unbecoming haste. “Out of interest, how are you getting on with the ship’s systems?”

“Making progress, but Soundwave locked all the data storage up tight. And I’m still tripping a lot of alarm codes. Managed to detach them from the actual alarms, though.”

“Not a moment too soon.” Bumblebee had put his head around the door again. “If either of you can spare some time, we’re having a strategy meeting on the bridge.”

“Go,” Ratchet said. “I’ll stay with Magnus.”

“How’s the commander?” Smokescreen demanded the moment he saw her. He was clearly still beating himself up for letting Magnus be injured.

“With time, and rest, he’ll make a full recovery.” Everybot else visibly relaxed at that. They’d probably have preferred to hold the meeting in med-bay, keeping an optic on the patient and making sure both medics were included, but had respected her preference for peace, quiet and privacy.

As it turned out, the meeting was almost over. Their obvious priority was tracking down the new Predacons, no doubt cloned by the still-elusive Shockwave. Glitch would love to know how he’d managed that in the absence of the Allspark; in her universe, Starscream’s various clones and the Lugnuts Supreme had had to be brought online with tiny Allspark fragments. But the other Starscream had cloned himself as well, without any of that. Interesting…

A question for later, though. Bumblebee had a couple of ideas for places to start looking, and Glitch had something important to say.

“I’m coming with you. Ratchet can hold the fort here; stars know he’s had practice. And given what happened earlier, you may well need a medic soon.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d come along,” Bumblebee said. “I’ve a feeling the first person I want to ask could already do with your expertise.” Such as it was.

His “feeling” was borne out by the fresh Energon trail the scout soon found and followed to its source – Predaking. The wounded dragon-Predacon did not look happy to see them, and the sentiment was mutual; Arcee, Bulkhead and Smokescreen primed their weapons and Glitch readied her shields as Predaking prepared to flame them all, but Bumblebee chose a very different way to deal with the situation. Negotiation. He handled Predaking magnificently, first bluffing him into standing down with a fake Immobiliser, then politely enquiring about the new Predacons. Unfortunately, Predaking claimed to have no knowledge of them, and Glitch for one believed him. As the others started to leave the mighty warrior to brood over the remains of his forebears in peace, though, she looked up from her medical scanner, indicated the site of his still-leaking wound and asked, “May I?”

Predaking just looked bemused, so she explained herself a little further. “I’m a medic, and you’re hurt. With your permission, I’d like to change that latter state of affairs.”

Predaking studied her for a long moment. “You wear the mark of the accursed Autobots, but you do not smell like them, or like any other Cybertronian. You are different.”

“Too right I am. I’m from another universe, but I have some experience treating Cybertronians of this one. You all bleed the same – Predacon, Autobot, Decepticon or neutral.” She forced herself to meet Predaking’s burning yellow optics. “And believe me, if there’d been a way to save the other clones both from the Wreckers and from slavery to Megatron, I’d have done so. What happened was a tragedy, and I give you my word of honour, it will not be repeated on my watch.”

“You speak truth,” Predaking conceded. “As did the other medic, Ratchet, who may have been the first person to show me and my kind true respect. Very well.” He transformed back into his dragon-form, twisting around to display a long cut along one side, awkward to reach, but relatively simple to repair. She fixed it in a matter of nanokliks – it was sparkling’s play after treating Ultra Magnus – and, once she’d found a fuel line, injected a vial of Energon to replace that which he’d lost, before stepping back into his field of vision and bowing. “Until we meet again, Your Highness.”

“Should that prove necessary, little medic.” She chose not to be offended by that as she turned, transformed and raced away after the others.

She soon caught up with them on the way to Darkmount, Megatron’s former citadel, where Knock Out had apparently claimed they could find a list of Shockwave’s old labs. A modicum of hacking – Glitch was getting used to breaking ‘Con cyphers – proved the Decepticon CMO right.

“Well, whaddaya know,” Bumblebee said as Smokescreen messed around on Megatron’s throne and Bulkhead rebuked him. “Knock Out actually shot straight for once.”

“What’d you have to do, scuff his finish?” Arcee asked. Knock Out was notoriously, ridiculously vain, in contrast to Glitch, who was proud of her scratched servos.

“Close. Now, let’s download the data and get outta here.” Glitch was way ahead of him; she’d set the console up to copy the decrypted files straight to a transfer drive the moment she broke the cypher. Which was just as well; a flier, too small and fast to be Predaking, the wrong shape to be Prime, was headed straight for Darkmount. Nanokliks later, one of the last ‘bots any of the party had expected to see landed right in front of them. He was taller and bulkier than he had been just days before, and his optics and biolights shone purple rather than red, but he was recognisably Megatron.

Until he spoke. Whoever was using King ‘Con’s voicebox, it probably wasn’t its original owner. Megatron liked overdone rhetoric, but “minions of the Prime” was a bit much even for him. And “his” voice had extra harmonics that sent a shiver down Glitch’s backstrut as she readied her combat-capable tools. Why was she so tired all of a sudden?

Soon enough, the situation was made clearer. Megatron wasn’t in control of his body – Unicron was. The Chaos Bringer. Widely regarded as a myth in Glitch’s universe; very real in that one. Wait ‘til I tell Bee about this, she thought drowsily and almost nonsensically.

Somehow, she managed to keep pace with the rest of the team as they ducked and dodged Unicron’s fire, but they were clearly outmatched, and evac via groundbridge would require them to get away from their opponent. You’ve been around me too long, she thought hazily as Bumblebee led them, in vehicle mode, between Megatron’s peds, off a ledge and through a tunnel excavated by his blaster. That was the kind of stunt she usually pulled.

They raced through the abandoned corridors of Darkmount until ‘Cee called a halt, not a moment too soon. Ahead of them, the floor gave way to what looked like a deep pool of molten slag.

“What in blazes is that?” Glitch asked.

“A smelting pit,” Bulkhead told her, clearly not wanting to go into detail.

“For once, I don’t want to know.” Mostly because she could guess. All too easily.

Bumblebee barely had time to call for a groundbridge before a lilac explosion behind them announced Unicron-Megatron’s proximity – and threw them all into the air. Bumblebee and Glitch landed on solid ground, but the others ended up hanging over the smelting pit, a chain of terrified ‘bots.

As Bulkhead fought to keep Arcee and Smokescreen from fiery oblivion, Unicron landed Megatron behind him, shaping a pair of hook-like weapons for himself out of lavender light. While Bumblebee held his attention, Glitch climbed up his back, grateful for once for her small stature, and transformed her right servo into a laser scalpel, intending to sever the electrical connection between his right arm and his CPU. But either her fatigue-addled processor had miscalculated, or Unicron’s upgrades had changed Megatron’s internal structure. Where she expected a shower of sparks, deep purple liquid welled from the incision. Dark Energon, she just had time to realise before everything went black.

***

“What’re we supposed to call him, huh? Megacron? Unitron?”

“Really? That’s your biggest issue right now?” The familiar sound of Smokescreen and Arcee bickering greeted Glitch as she came back online. Somehow, they’d survived and returned to their mobile base.

“Megacron sounds better,” she put in, “but Unitron emphasises the fact that it’s Unicron driving the bus, so to speak. Either would work.”

“You’re awake.” Ratchet sounded more than a little relieved – to someone who knew him well. “How do you feel?”

“A little more stasis wouldn’t hurt, but all systems are nominal.” She’d run a self-diagnostic the nanoklik she returned to consciousness. “What happened?”

“It appears you are hypersensitive to Dark Energon. Simply being in Unicron’s presence may have been enough to weaken you, and exposure to that which flows through Megatron’s system caused almost immediate stasis. You’re lucky to be in such good shape after a fall like that, by the way.”

“I’m tougher than I look. And I did feel tired pretty much as soon as Unitron showed up – as though I’d just pulled three shifts in a row.” Her record was four. Not an experience she planned to repeat. “How did we get back here?”

“Ratchet opened a groundbridge above the smelting pit,” Smokescreen answered. “Just as the floor gave way under Bulkhead. Bee scooped you up and jumped right into it.”

“Bet that annoyed Megacron.” As the others moved on to debate their next move, and tried to contact Prime and Wheeljack, Glitch called up the results of a scan she’d made during the battle with Unitron – and a couple of other files. Fascinating… “Ratchet, would you mind providing a second opinion on something?”

“Not at all.” As Glitch sat up on a makeshift repair table that had been set up on the warship’s bridge, the Autobots’ current HQ, Ratchet seated himself beside her, leaning down to examine her datapad. “What am I looking at?”

“Megatron’s sparkbeat, recorded during his last physical exam. Before you ask, I needed access to the medical files in case any of the Vehicons were injured, and if Knock Out wanted to anonymise these data properly, he probably shouldn’t have called the folder “Big M”.” Ratchet conceded the point with a shred of a laugh. She switched to another file. “This is Unicron’s sparkbeat, pulled from your records of his last awakening. And this is a scan of the being currently walking around in Megatron’s upgraded shell. What do you make of it?”

“It looks as though – Unicron’s sparkbeat has been superimposed onto Megatron’s, somehow.”

“That’s what I thought. I think Megatron’s still alive in there. Maybe he couldn’t join with the Allspark because of Dark Energon shenanigans. Unicron’s in control for now, but Megatron’s pulled a Master at least once before. If we can reach him – maybe he’ll do it again.”

“Pulled a Master?” Glitch really had to stop making references the others wouldn’t get.

“Doctor Who. The Master’s another renegade Time Lord, Megatron to the Doctor’s Optimus, if you like. He wants to conquer the universe, not see or protect it, but occasionally he refuels more than his system can handle and has to team up with the Doctor to save his own circuits.”

“I see what you’re driving at. It might be worth a shot, but don’t pin all your hopes on that. Megatron has a strong will, but Unicron is a god.”

“And human mythology’s full of gods defeating each other, or being beaten or tricked by mortals. But I’ll keep all my options open.” Seeing that the others had stopped trying to contact the away team, she and Ratchet headed over to join them. “Any luck?”

“No response. Maybe they heard us and can’t transmit for some reason; maybe we’re on our own. Either way, we need to figure out why Unicron’s here.”

“And what he wants.” Bumblebee finished Arcee’s sentence.

“To destroy the spark of his arch-enemy, Primus.” Ratchet stated what should have been obvious.

“But that’s the core of our planet!” Yes, Smokescreen, we know.

As ‘Cee complained that the situation was unfair, and Ratchet responded in typically dramatic fashion, Glitch headed over to another console and resumed one of her projects. She had an inkling it, and the ship itself, would be needed very soon.

“In other words, life’s not fair,” she said from beneath the console when Ratchet had finished. “All the more reason to make our own fairness.” Hm. That gave her another, trivial idea.

***

“Crikey O’Reilly!” (Maybe Glitch had spent a little too long researching Earth culture.) “That looks like some seriously bad mojo.” (And a shade too long around Jazz, if that were possible.) Armed with the knowledge that Megatron was in some way still alive, the Autobots had just started tracking down his exact location – only to see an energy spike at the same position. Under the circumstances, probably a type of energy Glitch had encountered for the first time earlier that day, but knew about from the others’ stories. Dark Energon. At the Predacon burial ground. That and Unicron’s presence couldn’t add up to anything good.

Specifically, the most likely summation was an army of reanimated Predacon shells (why not more modern Cybertronians? Because they were more accessible, or more powerful?), heading for the Well of All Sparks to undo all the Autobots’ hard work.

“So what do we do?” Bulkhead asked.

“We put ourselves between Unicron’s army and the Well.” Bumblebee’s strategy was simple and sound. They couldn’t afford to wait for Prime, Wheeljack and the Allspark; they had to act, and the warship was their greatest asset.

“Glitch, you’ve been working on this ship since we took it over,” the newly minted warrior said to the field-tech. She had, especially in the previous few hours. It was better than worrying about the away team, or getting in Ratchet’s way as he monitored Ultra Magnus. “Think you can pilot it?”

“He’s a bit bigger than Moth, and I might have to stand on something to reach the controls, but a ship’s a ship. I’m not touching the weapons, though.” In her reality, no self-respecting Autobot used such things if they could help it.

“I wouldn’t ask you to. Bulkhead, can you be her co-pilot and main gunner?” And ready to take over in the event of further Dark Energon exposure, he carefully didn’t say.

“’Con engineering. User-friendly, right?” Particularly when an Autobot had spent days refining the controls – and adding in a few of her own.

Once Ratchet and Ultra Magnus had been transported to safety on the surface, the remaining ‘bots were soon on their way to intercept Unicron’s horde. Glitch had forgotten how much she enjoyed piloting. She was usually scared of heights, but flying a ship she trusted was fine. It didn’t make much sense, but that was often the way with her anxiety. She might have been a microgram rusty, though.

“Whoa, easy!” Bulkhead reached for the controls as she banked to port a little too sharply, sending crewmembers and loose objects sliding across the deck. “You’re flying a warship, not a cruiser.”

“Sorry.” She levelled out, never taking her optics from the instruments in front of her.

“Primary fusion cannons, null-rays, ion blasters – everything we need to stand a fighting chance against Unicron’s army.” Bumblebee listed off the ship’s complement of death-bringers. Glitch wondered idly what had become of the stasis ray she had seen mentioned in the team’s files. That was much more to her liking. Non-lethal, non-destructive and reversible.

“Should be able to buy a fair amount of time for the others to get here,” she remarked to Bulkhead as Arcee complimented Bumblebee on his leadership skills. “Before our circuits get fried.”

“Ah, c’mon! Where’s that famous optimism?”

“It opted out when I saw the scale of our problem. If Prime and Wheeljack don’t show up in time, the odds of our survival are slim indeed. I can’t calculate the probability that they will, and even if they do we’ll still be outnumbered – but I do like those odds.”

“I guess we can only try,” Bulkhead just had time to say before the most annoying person on the planet arrived on the bridge.

“Autobots!” Starscream, and a squad of Vehicons, levelled missiles and blasters at the crew. “Surrender this warship!” Everyone but Glitch turned to face down the intruders – then stopped short, for reasons she only understood when Screamer boasted that he had the Immobiliser, a device that caused instant, lasting stasis-lock.

“And in case you’re wondering, Smokescreen is in no position to come to your rescue.” Glitch could see Knock Out reflected in the viewport in front of her, wearing Smokescreen’s phase shifter. The young ‘bot had been fetching the Immobiliser and another relic, the Polarity Gauntlet, from the ship’s vaults; he must have been intercepted on the way back.

“Climb down and step away from the console,” Starscream commanded her, “or I’ll freeze you and simply drag you away.” Or, more likely, get one of the Vehicons to move her.

“Either use that thing or put it down,” she countered, digits still flying over the controls. “Waving that glowstick of destiny around just makes you look even more like an idiot.” Starscream wasn’t an idiot, she knew, but that was far from obvious. “But if you do use it and miss, you’re likely to hit this console and drop us all out of the sky. And if your aim is good enough,” she activated one of her custom settings, “good luck flying this ship with the isomorphic lock active.”

“Isomorphic lock?” the bewildered Decepticon asked.

“User recognition system I just finished installing. The controls will only respond to designated pilots. And I couldn’t add you or anyone else to the list and fly at the same time, even if you forced me.”

“Ah, Screamy won’t use the glowstick on any of us,” Bulkhead said from where the Vehicons had herded the other Autobots into the centre of a circle of ‘Cons. “He needs us if he’s gonna stand any chance of surviving Unicron.”

“You misunderstand,” Starscream told him, Glitch forgotten for the moment. “I do not intend to use this warship for battle, but for quickly getting as far away as possible from this doomed planet.” Someone was jumping to conclusions.

“Earth would be nice,” Knock Out commented, “now that Unicron no longer seems to be calling it home.” That particular Decepticon did seem to have a soft spot for that world, or at least its cars.

“Shut up!” Starscream lived up to the second half of his name. “Now, deactivate that lock and move away from those controls, Twitch,” the name’s Glitch, “or get stiff.”

“There’s just one thing you’ve overlooked.” What was Bumblebee playing at? Oh well; at least he might have spared Glitch another round of trying to outsmart Megatron’s most cunning lieutenant. “That device you’re holding? Not the Immobiliser.”

In the viewport, Glitch saw Starscream take a moment too long to figure out whether or not the warrior was bluffing. In that moment, the Autobots counterattacked, taking down the Vehicons within nanokliks. Starscream lunged for Bumblebee, and somehow got the upper servo almost as quickly. “I will silence you forever!”

No! She turned, magnets and EMP generator sliding into place – just in time to see a flawless claw-tipped servo phase through the Seeker’s chest, take the Immobiliser and belt him into stasis with it.

“Now will you believe I’m joining the winning team?” Knock Out asked, still holding the remains of the broken relic.

“Knock Out! We needed that!” Ratchet’s common complaint was as good as a “yes” from Bumblebee.

“Wait – it – really was the Immobiliser?”

“Good riddance, if you ask me.” Glitch turned back to her console, but not before giving Knock Out a friendly smile. She rather liked the other medic, despite herself (and hated the idea of putting anybot in permanent stasis-lock). “And welcome to the team.”

***

“Are we there yet?” Smokescreen asked as he, Arcee and Knock Out returned from locking Starscream up. (And, owing to the deployment of Glitch’s best scraplet eyes, checking him over.)

“We’re right on schedule,” Bulkhead replied.

“And so is Unicron,” Bumblebee added.

“Let’s get his attention, then,” Glitch said, before sending the ship into a steep dive, and Knock Out skidding across the deck, the moment the gunners were in position.

Just one strafing run was enough to draw Unicron’s Terror-Predacons away from the Well – and towards the ship. Glitch should have been terrified, but as a power surge pulsed through her circuits, analogous to a human’s adrenaline rush, all fear was burned away. She didn’t even feel the buzz at the back of her head that distinguished reasonable fear from the product of her cross-wired processor. Twisting, turning, diving, soaring, almost dancing between the undead Predacons like a young, less skilled Hera Syndulla or Powerglide, anchored to her console by the safety straps on her legs usually used by human riders, she even found herself struggling not to laugh.

Not everybot was amused, though. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Knock Out asked, clinging for dear spark to an unused console.

“Oh, relax. I learned from Omega Supreme’s mentor.” Her Ratchet, to be exact, who was also her mentor. Might that make her Omega’s sister in some way? Now that would be weird.

“I’d never have guessed. You fly like a Wrecker,” Bulkhead remarked.

“Thank you.” Coming from one of the last of the black-ops unit, she knew that was a compliment.

At that moment, the conversation was interrupted by a ship-shaking impact, which must have done some serious damage. “One engine is down,” Bulkhead reported. “It can be jump-started, but not without compromising our shields. We don’t have any other spare power.”

“I do.” Glitch had prepared for that possibility. She tore a couple of wires from beneath their console, flipped open a panel on her own forearm and crosslinked the two systems before even she could think twice. “Good grief.”

“You OK?”

“Fine. It’s just – more intense than I expected.” The connection she had forged wasn’t a full gestalt powerlink, like a combiner’s, but it still flooded her processor and frame with sensation. With an ordinary ship, she’d probably have gone into shutdown or meltdown almost immediately. As it was, though, it was a simple matter to direct power from her own systems into the inactive ones, giving them the spark they needed to start up again.

While she was distracted by that, a reanimated Predacon she and Bulkhead hadn’t managed to avoid slammed into a viewport right by Knock Out, who jumped back, yelling, “Zombie-‘Con! Zombie-‘Con!”

Bumblebee and Smokescreen moved in front of him, weapons at the ready, but they needn’t have bothered. A burst of yellow flame incinerated the mobile corpse, and a few others.

“Predacon,” Glitch said to herself with more than a little satisfaction.

But even their new allies couldn’t be everywhere at once. Despite Glitch’s modifications to their shields, despite her tweaking the engine burn to turn even their drive plume into a weapon, the ship started to take critical damage faster than she could compensate for it. They couldn’t stay in the air much longer, but Glitch had one last SD card under her plating. Almost by sheer willpower as much as by using the failing thrusters, she placed the ship directly above a flock of fliers. “Brace for impact!”

The warship dropped like the proverbial stone, its fall cushioned by several squashed Terror-‘Cons, skidded on their spilled fuel, and finally came to rest bare mechanometres from the Well of All Sparks. “Everybot all right?”

“Nothing a little carnauba wax won’t fix up.” Really? That was Knock Out’s priority?

Glitch bit back the sassy remark she wanted to make, focusing on the bigger picture. “I wish I could say the same for the Justice. It’s going to take weeks to get him back in the air.”

“You renamed the Nemesis?”

“Of course. The old name was too negative. Revenge is never good, but justice can be – especially if it’s restorative, not retributive.”

Mercifully, Knock Out chose not to get into that argument, though he did his best to start another one. “I say we leave it here to rust, if we even survive what’s coming.”

“Over my cold, offline shell! This is a Cybertronian we’re talking about here!” Knock Out looked surprised and confused. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?” Bulkhead asked, still recovering from the crash.

“This isn’t just a ship. He’s a Metrotitan. Trypticon, to be exact. Stasis-locked, but alive. I recognised the general layout and file architecture from my Omega Supreme,” all the Omega Sentinels, really; they had been her sparklinghood obsession, “and did some digging.” That was how she had coped with the powerlink. Even in deep stasis, Trypticon’s mind had shielded hers. She vowed to repay him by bringing him back online.

If she lived, that was. The fight wasn’t anywhere near over, and the greatest danger was yet to come. She disconnected herself from Trypticon, then had to brace herself against her console as her systems registered that she was running on fumes. She’d prepared for that, too, and withdrew a canister of green liquid from a hidden drawer below the controls, consuming the contents in one go and making a face. It tasted worse than boot-camp rations.

“Is that Synth-En?” Knock Out was right to be wary. He’d once been soundly beaten by Ratchet under the influence of an early version of synthetic Energon.

“The stable one, yes. Shockwave didn’t have time to destroy his manufacturing facility, though he locked the controls up tight. I had to ask very nicely just for one dose. But if this doesn’t counter the effects of Dark Energon exposure, nothing will.”

Luckily for her, it did. Even outside the protection of the Justice, with a trail of Dark Energon staining the ground, she was still ready for battle as the Autobots (including one recent defector) lined up in front of the Well, the Predacons – Predaking, another dragon and an ursagryph, easily mistaken for a griffin; Smokescreen had been nearly right – landing behind them, all braced for the fight of their lives.

“Stick close to me,” she said to Knock Out, indicating her shield with one magnet. “Finish protector.”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” Knock Out seemed resigned to the fact. “Speaking of finishes, yours could do with quite a bit of work.”

True, but… “Don’t have time. And I’m still surprised you do.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And if we both get out of this alive, at least let me do something about your hands. They’re painful to look at.”

Glitch spared a brief glance for the offending components. Yes, they were scuffed, but she liked them that way. They showed that she worked for a living; that she wasn’t some spoiled upper-class sparkling or privileged academic. If fixing them up would make Knock Out happy, though… “All right. When we survive this.”

Her optimism wasn’t universal; after all, as Bumblebee pointed out, they were the last line of defence for the Well and the planet. Not the safest role in the universe.

“I would recommend leaving that,” Predaking “suggested”, “to those more suited for the task. Skylynx! Darksteel! Allow nothing to enter the Well!”

Without another word from anybot, the three living Predacons transformed back into their alt-modes, leaped over the Autobots’ heads and charged their undead ancestors. Their flames held back the horde of Terror-‘Cons for a little while, but there were just too many of them; Predaking and his new subjects were swept into the Well, still fighting denta and claw to slow the advance of Unicron’s army.

“Really? This is how it ends?” Bulkhead asked in disbelief.

“We’re not losing our planet,” Bumblebee declared. “Not without taking Unicron with it.” One recently reawakened deity sharing a body with a very angry and independent ex-gladiator against seven extremely determined warriors, six of them fighting for a home they had only just regained, the seventh fighting for her friends. One almost had to feel sorry for the Chaos Bringer. Almost.

The power surge that had carried Glitch through the dogfight was fading at last, followed by the Synth-En’s most obvious effects, allowing fear to take up residence in her processor once more. She ignored it with the ease of long practice. She didn’t stop climbing because she was scared of heights, or making friends because she was scared of losing them. And she certainly wouldn’t back down from a battle because she was scared of dying and leaving her loved ones. All the same – that would be a really good time for the away team to show up.

As if on cue, Magnus’ ship (borrowed by Wheeljack), the Iron Will, swept overhead. The relief in Bulkhead’s voice was shared by the whole of the party as he said simply, “Optimus.”

“I never thought I’d be so happy to see that big rig,” Knock Out added.

“Expeditionary fighting vehicle,” Glitch corrected with her volume turned down low. Knock Out clearly didn’t know Prime had scanned a new alt. (Two new alts, technically, but his dinoform was supposed to be a secret.)

Prime himself disembarked from the Iron Will in midair, flying straight for Unicron, but the dark god fired on the bigger target first. A spear of purple light hit the retreating spacecraft right next to one of the engines, knocking it out of the sky.

“’Jackie!” Before anyone could stop him, Bulkhead transformed and drove off to check on his downed joint-best friend. Arcee tried to follow, but Glitch held her back as she and Knock Out exchanged glances. One medic had to go with Bulkhead and one had to stay behind, but which should be which?

“You go,” Knock Out said. “Wheeljack’s not exactly up to speed with recent developments.” He was right; even injured, the reckless Wrecker would probably attack the ex-‘Con on sight.

“Copy that.” Glitch transformed and raced away towards the crash site, sparing as many prayers as she could for all her friends.

By the time she reached the wrecked ship, Bulkhead had already found Wheeljack and was about to try to move him. She hadn’t arrived a moment too soon. As she knelt beside her patient, she kept thinking of Ultra Magnus lying dented and leaking on her repair table, and her inability to save him by herself. This isn’t like that. Ratchet said you have talent, and Wheeljack’s tough. You can do this.

“You’re lucky,” she told the white sports car once her preliminary scan had finished. “Not many ‘bots survive a crash like that with mostly superficial injuries. There’s still some internal damage, though, and you seem to have hit your head pretty hard, so stay off your peds for a while.” To Bulkhead, she added, “We’d better take him and the Allspark outside before this mess gets any worse. But next time, wait for a medic before trying to move a casualty if possible.”

“I’ve been worse,” Wheeljack informed them a little vaguely as they ‘bothandled him out of the ship, the Allspark in its glowing, floating container trailing behind.

“I’d hate to see that,” Glitch shot back before realising that she had – after Wheeljack’s and Magnus’ fight with Predaking that had cost the commander a servo and his signature weapon. Wheeljack hadn’t quite had time to repair the Forge of Solus Prime before setting off to retrieve the Allspark. He’ll have time soon.

Especially with Prime back in the game. The Autobot leader chose that moment to arrive, unharmed and not visibly grieving; the others were probably fine, then, and holding Unicron’s attention.

Wheeljack cut straight to the chase, as befitted a sports car. “So, how’re we gonna get that thing to safety?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the Allspark.

“By the only means available to us,” Prime replied, “under these most dire of circumstances. The very survival of our species on this or any other world depends upon it.” He outlined his plan; Glitch calculated that it would almost certainly work, and the bait-and-switch element appealed to her, but her spark dimmed to a flicker as she realised what the consequences would probably be, and when he met her optics and gave her a barely perceptible nod, it was practically a single photon.

Nobot else had any better ideas, though, and Prime’s plan didn’t need her, so as he and the Allspark flew back to the Well, she concentrated on things she could do. Fixing Wheeljack and returning to the others.

They got there just in time to see Unicron pry the Allspark’s container from Prime’s servos, having shot him out of the air. “I shall devour your Allspark whole!”

Quite the reverse, as he realised when he opened the container. “What? A trick!” They were the last words he spoke in Megatron’s body; the vessel forged for the source of Cybertronian life, emptied of its former contents, pulled his “anti-spark” out of his stolen shell and sealed it away, hopefully for good. Nanokliks later, a fusillade of explosions echoed up from deep in the Well, indicating that Unicron’s Terror-‘Cons couldn’t “survive” without him. The planet was safe at last.

Megatron’s frame had crashed to the ground as Unicron left it, but as Prime began to explain what had happened to the other Autobots, and Starscream (must have escaped in our crash) turned up like the proverbial bad shanix, he started to get up again, his optics a familiar red once more (though his biolights remained purple). Starscream heaped praise on his master, sounding rather like his alternate’s sycophantic clone, but Megatron’s reaction was somewhat unexpected. When his SIC referred to ruling Cybertron, Megatron refused. Quite forcefully.

“Because I now know the true meaning of oppression,” he said when asked why, after exchanging a long glance with his former friend Prime, “and have thus lost my taste for inflicting it.”

Starscream tried to bluster his way back to familiar ground (or air), but Megatron was having none of that. “The Decepticons are no more, and that – is – final.”

“A sensible Megatron,” Glitch remarked. “Wonders really will never cease.”

Megatron’s optics eventually sought her out, standing in the shade of the Wreckers. “Ah, the visitor from another universe. Tell me, what became of my counterpart in your reality?”

“Last I heard, he was still in prison, having been defeated and captured – by a maintenance crew.” And a few friends of theirs, but she chose to keep things simple.

“A maintenance-?” Megatron stared at her in disbelief for an uncomfortable moment. Then he threw back his head, and a sound rang out that had not been heard from the warlord in many, many stellar-cycles. Great peals of pure, genuine, joyful, sparkfelt laughter.

***

Once again, the Autobots (including Knock Out) gathered under Cybertron’s sun, this time at the edge of the Well of All Sparks. Once again, Prime was making a speech. And once again, it was a bittersweet occasion, though only two people knew why. Unicron was imprisoned, his army had disintegrated, Megatron, Starscream and the Predacons were literally in the wind and Shockwave wouldn’t try anything until the odds were in his favour. Only Prime and Glitch were aware of or suspected the full cost of that victory, though the former was about to change that.

“In order to both protect the Allspark,” he began, “and secure Unicron’s defeat, it was necessary for me to empty the vessel’s contents.”

“Into where?” Bumblebee asked.

“The Matrix of Leadership.” The repository of the wisdom of all past Primes, housed in the current Prime’s spark chamber. Not wholly unlike another Matrix in Glitch’s favourite television programme, she thought, trying desperately to distract herself from what she knew was coming. “As such, my own spark can no longer be separated from the multitude of others within me.” There it was.

“Are you telling us,” Ratchet now also knew what Prime had to do, “that you are now – one with the Allspark?”

“Heh, that’s what you say when someone kicks… the…” Smokescreen’s voice trailed away as he came to the same conclusion.

“Exactly,” Glitch said, her voice already heavy with sorrow.

Smokescreen rounded on her, suddenly furious. “You knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

“It’s not something one drops into casual conversation. And – I hoped, for once, I was wrong. But after what happened to Prowl – I’m just surprised it’s taken this long.” Her predecessor back in Detroit had donated his own spark to complete a partially reassembled Allspark, which had killed him instantly.

“To not return the Allspark to the Well,” Prime managed to get them back on track, “would be to prevent future generations of new life from existing on Cybertron.” Which, after everything they’d gone through, was unthinkable. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. “My quest must be completed.”

“Optimus,” Ratchet objected, “I didn’t return to Cybertron to save a life only to lose the one I care most about.” Glitch hadn’t even considered the effect on her colleague of losing his Amica. She resolved to be there for him, as much as he and her processor allowed, for as long as he needed her.

“Ratchet’s restored planets!” Bulkhead pointed out. “He’ll find a way to save you!”

“We can turn to Vector Sigma, just like we did before,” Arcee chimed in.

Prime was immovable. “Because the Matrix must now be relinquished with the Allspark, it cannot be restored, or passed down to another. But while this may very well mark the end of the Age of Primes, leadership can be earned with or without the Matrix.” Too right. There was no such thing in Glitch’s universe, to her knowledge, but Cybertron still functioned – mostly. Her own Optimus Prime had no ancient relic on which to call, but was growing into a great leader nonetheless. “And in my view, you have each acted as a Prime.” Steady on!

As his gaze fell on Knock Out, the medibot managed a self-deprecating, “Well, I never really had the best role models.”

“You have them now,” Glitch told him, her optics sweeping across the assembly. Three fierce warriors, three loyal and brave Wreckers, one dedicated doctor – and, of course, the leader who had stood by his people through thick and thin, fighting side by side with them, caring for each and every one.

“As even Megatron has demonstrated on this day,” Prime continued, “every sentient being possesses the capacity for change.” He turned away, towards the Well, activating the stabilisers on his jetpack – then turned back to say one last thing. “I ask only this of you, fellow Autobots.” Yes, that includes you, a brief glance at Knock Out seemed to say. “Keep fighting the noblest of fights.”

“You can count on us to keep the peace.” Bumblebee spoke for all of them, as he so often had since regaining his voice.

Reassured, Prime turned away again and flew high into the air, before letting himself fall directly into the Well. Every optic remained fixed on the shortcut to Primus even after he had vanished and every ‘bot there heard his voice once more – over comms, or in their heads? It was impossible to tell. “Above all, do not lament my absence, for in my spark I know that this is not the end, but merely a new beginning. Simply put, another transformation.”

Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine, Glitch thought as she and her friends watched a multicoloured multitude of sparks rise from the Well. But the words of an even older, even wiser character than the Doctor felt more appropriate. I will not say: do not weep, for not all tears are an evil. She couldn’t cry, but at such times she often wished she could.

For the others’ sake, though, she kept it together until she was in the privacy of her tiny room on the Justice, had put some music on (a human piece, Elgar’s magnificent setting of Newman’s poem The Dream of Gerontius, describing a soul’s journey to the Christian afterlife) and had fired up her terminal (a faithful-as-possible copy of the ones she had left behind in Nevada and Detroit and on her Cybertron) to pour her feelings out into her own music. Before she could make a start, however, a file caught her optic. It hadn’t been there before, and was entitled, “For Glitch.”

She ran a virus scan (one can never be too careful), then opened it. It was a text file, written in an old Cybertronian dialect, laid out like poetry or song lyrics. From the little she understood, she knew they would fit her nearly-finished “Song for Cybertron” perfectly. They captured not just the joy of finally seeing the planet restored and Cybertron’s intrinsic beauty, but also the long aeons of conflict and darkness that preceded that restoration, and the countless Cybertronians who would never see it, those whose shells still lay beneath their world’s new surface and those who had fallen far away. All of them, regardless of faction. Skyquake, Dreadwing and Breakdown would be remembered, just like Tailgate, Cliffjumper and Seaspray. All Cybertronians bled the same – within one universe, at least.

The lyrics were simply signed “OP”. Optimus Prime or Orion Pax? she wondered. The firebrand archivist or the gentle general? And did it matter? They were aspects of the same person, the same spark under different armour. She had fought alongside Optimus Prime, and talked late into the night with Orion Pax. She knew she would miss all of him, whatever he – or she – might want.

When had he written them? According to the file’s embedded metadata, it had been created after Bumblebee’s warrior ceremony, most likely after Prime and Wheeljack left Cybertron, and added to her terminal while she was helping transport Ultra Magnus to the Well. With so much else to worry about, he had taken the time to set words to her music – having first got hold of her draft, somehow. Ratchet had access to all her files, and would do a great deal for his Amica; he’d probably copied it at some point after she casually mentioned that she was writing a song that was crying out for words she couldn’t give it. Prime had obliged – as a farewell gift, it had turned out. “Stars, Orion…”

As the great baritone Bryn Terfel thundered out, “Proficiscere, anima Christiana” – an ancient prayer over the dying – she finally opened her composition software and began a new piece. One that would tell the story of a young ‘bot who dared to look beyond the limits set for him, to dream of a better world, and to work with – not merely for – the oppressed in his unjust society, using his higher status to help them where he could. Who humbly accepted rank and responsibility for the sake of his people. Who, when war came despite his best efforts, knew the names and stories of all his Autobots, and regretted every death, even those of enemy soldiers. Who stayed kind and hopeful even in exile, ceaselessly protecting the organics on his new homeworld – and exacting retribution when one of those in his special care was hurt. Who would tear off a Decepticon’s door to save a human he didn’t know, and give up most of his memory for a planet not his own. Who had remained an Autobot at spark, even when tricked into believing he was a Decepticon. Who had, at last, sacrificed that spark for his renewed world, and whose legacy lived on in the people whose sparks and hearts he had touched.

Though he had told them not to mourn, her spark didn’t even listen to her processor at times, let alone to anyone else. She did grieve for him and the hole he’d left in so many lives, and the piece reflected that. A lament for the last Prime.

#transformers prime #transformers animated #fanfic #tfp optimus prime #autobot oc #tfp wheeljack #tfp arcee #tfp bumblebee #tfp bulkhead #tfp smokescreen #tfp ratchet #tfp knockout #tfp starscream #predaking #tfp unicron #tfp megatron #misplaced medic au

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