#our long reign leader

[sansaorgana]

— STILL PURE

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — Feyd yells at his daughter for interrupting him at work. His wife confronts him about his behaviour as she tries to explain to the little Countess that her father was never taught how to express love.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Feyd is already the Baron in this fic but I assumed women cannot inherit on Giedi Prime so the daughter is "only" a Countess while her younger brother is a Na-Baron. I used my headcanon that if half-Harkonnen children have hair, then they're white because they lack pigment. I also wanted her to have big black Harkonnen eyes so badly... Basically, I wanted Feyd's daughter to look like this:

WORD COUNT — 2,990

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

STILL PURE

Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was circling around the big table in the conference room where the huge orb of Giedi Prime had been replaced with Arrakis’ one as one of his advisors was explaining the difficult situation regarding the spice production. The new wave of Fremen rebels who worshipped the long gone and deceased Muad’Dib decided to continue their idol’s legacy as they sabotaged the spice production controlled by The Harkonnen forces. The Governor of Arrakis was slowly losing control over the situation and Feyd would rather avoid going there himself. He was needed on Giedi Prime – especially now when The Emperor was on his deathbed. He had to be around in case something important would happen and everyone knew The Baron had his eyes set on the Imperial Throne. Feyd had to choose a new Governor of Arrakis or provide the current one with good advice, hoping for the Fremen problem to disappear soon. It was worrying him because it was giving him a bad reputation at the moment for having problems on Arrakis – it could make some leaders of the great houses to think he was not worthy enough to become the next Emperor.

Feyd’s hands were clasped behind his back as he circled like a shark and all his advisors looked down, taking a step back whenever he approached them. They knew his temper would only rise when he was angered whenever he would experience problems of such nature when it came to reigning over The Harkonnen properties.

“What does the Fremen leader say? Stilgar? That was his name?” Feyd barked at one of the scared advisors.

“Stilgar says he has no control over the cultists. He does not support their actions. He wants nothing but peace, my Lord,” the man bowed his head.

“How bad is it? The most important thing so far is to keep the problem on Arrakis a secret,” Feyd hummed to himself.

“Five percent of the decrease in the spice production income,” the other advisor answered. “Not bad, but can be noticeable in the amount we export.”

“We shall export some of our own private reserves to cover the loss. In the meantime, we have to deal with the cultists,” Feyd decided, already annoyed at the fact he had to sacrifice his own supplies just to cover up the careless governing of Arrakis which was not his fault. “Send more troops there, the operation should be classified confidential. Threaten Lord Volonov to take care of it. He’s got a month before I replace him with someone more capable…”

Quiet pat pat pat sound coming from the corridor was becoming louder and louder until the black doors finally opened slightly and the guard standing by them spotted a pair of two big black eyes staring up at him. 

“My Lord,” he tried to catch The Baron’s attention but Feyd had his back turned on him as he angrily explained the details of the operation to his advisors.

Little Countess Sevina Harkonnen gave the guard puppy eyes as she struggled with the heavy doors. She wanted to come inside and he didn’t know what to do. He was aware that his Lord Baron did not want to be interrupted but he didn’t want to close the door in the girl’s face either. He peeked outside but there was no servant around and The Baroness was not there either. He decided it would be better for the girl to come inside instead of letting her roam around the fortress alone.

She smiled widely at him and jumped inside the room happily as her white hair bounced. She was lucky enough to inherit most of her mother’s looks although her skin was paler, her hair lacked pigment and her pupils were nothing but two completely big black orbs – those were the eyes even her father did not have but they were a result of the pollution her mother’s body had been exposed to on Giedi Prime at the time of her pregnancy.

Not realising how tense the atmosphere in the room was, she approached her father as all the advisors and servants were making wide eyes at her. She stood behind The Baron and pulled on his shirt to make him turn around.

At first, he flinched at the odd feeling of someone pulling him. Who would dare to do that? He turned around quickly with an angry expression on his face but then he looked down and spotted his little daughter. She startled a bit at the sight of his annoyance but she kept staring at him with her big black eyes filled with love and excitement.

“What are you doing here?” Feyd barked at her.

“Can you play with me, daddy?” She pleaded with a big grin.

A few lords smirked at that and Feyd’s jaw clenched. Not only had she interrupted him but also humiliated him.

“Can’t you fucking see that I’m busy?!” He lashed out at her and she took a step back as her eyes filled with tears and betrayal. “Get out of here!” He pointed at the doors.

They opened at that very moment as the nanny entered the room and looked around, surprised at the sight of scared faces and the little Countess being in the centre of attention.

“There you are!” She opened her arms at the sight of the girl. “I’ve told you not to interrupt your father, he’s in the middle of a meeting,” she reminded nervously as the girl ran up to her and hid her face in the folds of her skirt. “Forgive me, my Lord,” the nanny bowed her head at Feyd-Rautha.

“You’re useless,” he drawled. “Get out.”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” the woman held Sevina’s hand and walked out as quickly as possible.

You left the nursery where your son na-baron had just fallen asleep. On your way back to your chambers, you passed by the doors leading to your daughter’s room and you froze at the muffled sound of sobbing. Concerned, you decided to enter without knocking.

Little Sevina was crying on her bed as the scared nanny tried to calm her down by rubbing her back and shushing her.

“What is going on?” You asked as the doors closed behind you.

“M-my Lady Baroness,” the nanny stood up and straightened herself to bow down slightly.

“What happened? Why is she crying?” You asked her in an accusing tone.

“I… I lost her out of my sight when we were playing earlier today, I’m sorry… I found the young Countess in her father’s conference room. She had interrupted The Baron during a council… I think he lashed out at her, my Lady…” the woman tried to explain nervously as her hands shook.

“You’re useless,” you sighed and she widened her eyes. “Get out, I’ll deal with that myself,” you pointed at the doors and she bowed down once again before leaving quickly.

You approached the bed and sat on the edge of it as Sevina raised her head to look at you. Your heart squeezed in your chest at the sight of her cheeks covered in tears.

“What happened, sweet darling?” You asked her gently while you caressed her back.

“Why doesn’t daddy love me?” She asked with so much pain and sincerity in her tiny, shaky voice that you nearly cried yourself.

You knew it wasn’t true. Feyd-Rautha loved his daughter. Even though he had been a bit disappointed she was not a son in the beginning – he had only said not to worry about it much; that the boy would come next. He had been treating Sevina as if she was made of glass in the first months of her life, so scared of accidentally hurting her because hurt was all he knew.

“Oh, Sevina, don’t think that…” You sighed and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Daddy loves you so much,” you assured her but of course she wasn’t convinced. “He would kill and die for you, little girl,” you added.

“I don’t want him to kill and die for me, mummy,” Sevina sobbed as those were the concepts she was too young to grasp. “I just want daddy to play with me.”

“He doesn’t know how to play, Sevina,” you fixed her ruffled hair while trying to explain calmly. “He didn’t have a mummy or daddy when he was your age. The way I kiss you or hug you and play with you… He has never had it, darling,” you felt a few tears streaming down your cheeks. You were angry at your husband for yelling at your daughter and making her feel unloved but you were also angry at all the suffering that he had gone through in his past.

There were scars and damages that could never be undone, no matter how much you loved someone.

“And you’re big enough to know that daddy shouldn’t be interrupted when he’s working. You know that he tends to get angry more easily then,” you reminded her. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wanted daddy to play with me,” she snuggled closer to you and you kissed the top of her head, rubbing her tiny arms with your thumbs and cradling her softly to calm her down.

Feyd had been back in your chambers already when you entered. You froze at the sight of him, irritated. However, he seemed to act as usual.

“Five percent,” he snapped at you, although not angrily. “We will have to replace the loss with our own supply so the other lords don’t realise we are expecting problems on Arrakis. That stupid son of a bitch Volonov can’t handle a few cultists and…”

“I don’t care about any of that,” you interrupted him and turned your back on him to approach your vanity table and sit by it, pretending to be more interested in reapplying the powder.

“What?” Feyd was visibly surprised as he watched you in disbelief. You had always been a support for him, especially in difficult times. You both had been plotting on how to take over the Imperial Throne and now you weren’t interested in something as important as the problems with harvesting spice on Arrakis? It didn’t make sense to him.

You ignored him and focused on brushing your hair now, watching him from the corner of your eye in the reflection of the mirror of your vanity table. He approached you, hesitantly.

“What do you mean you’re not interested?” He tilted his head as he leaned in, trying to intimidate you but you didn’t even flinch.

“I’ve just spent an hour calming down Sevina. You yelled at her,” you eventually looked up to look deep into his eyes. He took a deep breath in, irritated.

“She should have learnt by now not to interrupt me,” Feyd straightened his back and walked away. “She’s spoiled,” he added. “Knows nothing about discipline. It’s your fault.”

“She’s a little girl,” you turned around. “You can’t expect military habits from her. She’s your daughter, Feyd.”

“She’s lucky I only yelled. If I interrupted my uncle as a child like that, I’d be punished!” He raised his voice at you, frustrated that you were defending your daughter and making a problem out of something that he considered to be normal.

You hated it when he would raise his voice at you. You stood up angrily and yelled as well.

“Oh, so you think she should be raised the same way you were?!” You asked. “Alright then! Go to her room, grab her by the neck and flog her back with a whip just because she wanted to play with her father!” You pointed at the doors furiously as your eyes were burning with wrath. “Go on! I dare you.”

But Feyd didn’t even move. His jaw was clenched as he was staring at you speechlessly.

“Go. What are you waiting for?” You kept pushing him. “Go on.”

You kept looking into his eyes with so much intensity he eventually gave up and looked down, awkwardly as the guilt started to creep in. You won.

“You rejected her. She thinks you don’t love her,” your voice calmed down but it was still vicious. “And I was assuring her that you do but it felt as if I was assuring myself, too,” you added, just to hurt him. “I can’t stand to look at you, Feyd-Rautha,” you drawled and approached the doors to leave him alone but not without striking the final blow. “I can’t believe I wanted to give you children so badly,” you turned your head to look at him as he looked up, surprised at your words, “because you don’t deserve them.”

The doors opened in front of you and you walked out to go back to your daughter.

You were sitting on the black fluffy carpet in the middle of Sevina’s room. She was on your lap, with her tiny arms around your neck, cuddling you. There were toys scattered all around the floor but she wanted to take a break for the loving cuddles. She was very unusual for a half-Harkonnen and you were very aware of the fact she was making most people around feel uncomfortable.

Not only her father but everyone in the fortress were stiff around sweet little Sevina who was so full of life and curiosity, always wanting to hug everyone – even servants and guards. Wherever she went, there was a sound of laughter and a sudden feeling of warmth. Countess Sevina Harkonnen was the very first little girl living in that fortress in a long time and she was so different from all its inhabitants. She was too young to know that she was a daughter of Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen – a man feared all over the Empire. That her bloodline was cursed with death and violence. She was still pure and innocent. Perhaps she was a living proof that The Harkonnens were not born this way after all – but they were made in the endless cycle of abusive upbringing. You did not want the same fate for her. You knew she would have to get rougher with time but you hoped she would still remain gentle, too.

The doors to her room opened and you looked up. At the sight of your husband, you protectively put your arm around your little girl. You doubted that he wanted to do what you had angrily suggested before but you wanted to make sure he wouldn’t anyway. Sevina stiffened at the sight of her father and clung to you. It brought you pain to realise that at that very moment she was afraid of him.

“Sevina, we have to talk,” Feyd stood above you two as he started in a serious tone. You gave him a scolding look and your little girl hid her face in the crook of your neck, hiding. “You know perfectly well not to interrupt me while I’m working.”

Long silence occurred. You could see Feyd’s struggle as he had no idea what to do to fix this situation between him and his daughter.

“Sevina, apologise to daddy,” you looked down and she looked up with tears in her big black eyes. “You shouldn’t have interrupted him and you know that, darling,” your voice was soft and calm and she sniffed.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” Sevina turned her body around to face him but she refused to look at him.

“Now, you apologise to Sevina for being mean,” you looked up at your husband and you spotted panic in his eyes. “Now,” you insisted sternly.

“I’m sorry for being mean to you,” Feyd crouched down to be on her level. She hesitantly looked at him. “Can I get a hug, too?” He asked and his voice broke a tiny bit. 

Slitting someone’s throat open was less awkward and unusual to him than to ask for a hug. Your heart ached for him but you were an adult capable of understanding his patterns. Sevina was not. 

Her heart was big, though, and she loved her father, so she would forgive him everything. She nodded her head with a happy smile and ran into his arms to squeeze him tight. Tears pricked your eyes at the sight.

“I love you, darling,” Feyd whispered quietly with his cheek pressed to the top of her head. “I would kill for you. I would die for you,” he confessed.

“But she doesn’t want any of that,” you explained. “She just wants you to spend time with her.”

“Is that right?” He looked down at his little girl and she looked up with her puppy eyes as she nodded. Her tiny hands reached out to cup his face.

“I love you, daddy,” she assured him. “Can you play with me?”

“I don’t know how to play, I’m sorry,” he admitted with guilt in his voice.

“I will teach you,” she hugged him again.

Feyd put his arms around his little girl and pulled her closer. You crawled on the carpet to give him a hug, too. You could feel that he was slightly trembling, so you leaned in to place a kiss on his temple as your hand caressed his head soothingly.

“It’s not weak to show affection,” you reminded him in a whisper. “I’ve never loved you more than when you are like this.”

Feyd laid his eyes on you. They were filled with a mix of pain, guilt and relief. At the end of the day, the only approval he was seeking was yours. You had him wrapped around your little finger.

“So, how do you want to play?” He asked Sevina as he caressed her white hair with admiration. She clapped her hands cheerfully.

“I want to be a Princess,” her eyes sparkled. “And you’ll be my guard.”

Feyd chuckled at that, showing off his black teeth. Sevina giggled as she had never found them scary.

“Soon enough, my darling one, you’ll be a real Princess,” he assured her.

MASTERLIST

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #austin butler x reader #lilysfiction

[fromchaostocosmos]

In the war between Israel and Hamas, there have been far too many casualties­—thousands of innocent civilians have died, primarily in Gaza. But this war has another less visible casualty: the hundreds of thousands of Jewish immigrants to Israel from the Middle East and North Africa known as Mizrahi, whose history is being erased from the popular narrative about Israel. My community is among them.

When angry protesters hurl charges of apartheid and colonialism at Israel, they are, knowingly or not, repudiating the truth about Israel's origin and the vast racial and ethnic diversity of its nation.

I was born and raised in Iran in a family of Jewish educators. I came of age during the tumultuous years of the Iranian revolution, just as Ayatollah Khomeini rose to power in 1979, and soon thereafter, annihilated his opposition­—feminists, leftists, even the Islamic Marxists who had long revered him as their spiritual leader. Until 1979, if anyone had told my observant Jewish family that we would someday leave Iran, we would have laughed. In fact, at our Passover seders, the words "next year in Jerusalem," were always followed by chuckles and quips, "oh, yeah, sure, Watch me pack!" all underlining our collective belief that we were exactly where we intended to remain. We loved Israel, but Israel was a Nirvana­—a place we revered but never expected to reach.

The 30 years preceding the Islamic revolution had led the Jewish community to believe that the dark days of bigotry were behind them. And for good reason! When my father was a schoolboy in the late 1930s, he was not allowed to attend school on rainy days. In the highly conservative town where he grew up, in Khonsar, his Shiite neighbors considered Jews "unclean," or Najes. They barred them, among other things, from leaving their homes on rainy days, lest the rainwater splashed off the bodies of the Jews and onto the Muslim passersby, thus making them "unclean," too. Yet, that same boy grew up, left the insular town, attended college in Tehran, earned a master's degree, and served in the royal army as a second lieutenant. (To his last day, my father's photo in military uniform was among his most prized possessions.) After service, he became the principal of a school, purchased a home in what was then a relatively upscale neighborhood of Tehran. The distance between my father's childhood and adulthood far surpassed two decades. It was the distance between two eras­—between incivility and civility, bigotry and tolerance.

Yet, as if on cue, the demon of antisemitism was unleashed again. The 1979 Islamic revolution summoned all the prejudices my father thought had been irretrievably buried. One day, on the wall across our home, graffiti appeared, "Jews gets lost!" Soon thereafter, the residence and fabric store my aunt and her extended family owned in my father's childhood town were set on fire after a mob of protesters looted it. Within days, she and her family, whose entire life's savings had burned in that fire, left for Israel. As young as I was, I could see that the regime was indiscriminately brutal to all those it deemed a threat to its reign, especially secular Muslims. But the new laws were specifically designed so that non-Muslims, and women, all but became second-class citizens. Members of religious minorities, especially the Baha'i, could no longer eye top jobs in academia, government, the military, etc. Restaurateurs had to display signs in their windows making clear that "the establishment was operated by a non-Muslim." In a court of law, members of religious minorities could offer testimony in criminal trials, but theirs would only count as half that of a Muslim witness. Jews were once again reduced to Dhimmis­—tax-paying citizens who were allowed to live, but not thrive. Then came a handful of executions of prominent Jewish leaders in the early months after the revolution, which sent shockwaves through the community. Jewish schools were allowed to operate, but under the headmastership of Muslims who were officially appointed.

Within a few years after the rise of Ayatollah Khomeini to power, the Jewish population of Iran, which once stood at 100,000, shrank to a fraction of its size. Today, of the ancient community whose presence in Iran predates that of Muslims, only 8,000 remain. For centuries, Iran has been home to the most sacred Jewish sites in the Middle East outside of Israel. But those monuments have either fallen into disrepair or are targets of regular attacks by antisemitic mobs. Only last week, the tomb of Esther and Mordecai­—the memorial to the heroine and hero from the Book of Esther who saved the Jews from being massacred in ancient Persia, was set on fire.

How is it that the 90,000-plus who left Iran, many for Israel, are now deemed as occupiers? How do Iranian refugees fleeing persecution become "colonizers" upon arrival in Israel? These families, my aunt among them, were not emissaries of any standing empire, nor were they returning to a place where they had no history. For them, Israel was not a home away from their real homeland. It was their only homeland. The vitriolic slogan that appeared across my home in 1979 demanded that we "get lost!" In 2024, once again, the same Jews are being called upon to leave, this time Israel. Where, then, are Jews allowed to live?

Iranian Jews were not alone. Jews from Iraq, especially in the aftermath of the 1941 pogrom called Farhood, similarly fled their homeland. So did the Jews of Yemen, Tunisia, Egypt, Turkey, Syria, Morocco, Algeria, Ethiopia, Afghanistan, etc. All, destitute and dejected, they took refuge in Israel. Today, they make up nearly 50 percent of Israel's population. To call such a nation colonial GRAVELY misrepresents the facts about Jews and Israel.

In his timeless essay, Looking Back on the Spanish Civil War, George Orwell said that in the Spain of 1937, he "saw history being written not in terms of what happened but of what ought to have happened according to various 'party lines.'" With the alarming rise of antisemitism around the world, and in light of the bloody attacks on Israel by Hamas on Oct. 7, the greatest massacre of Jews since World War II, 2024 bears an uncanny resemblance to Orwell's 1937. But perhaps in no way more ominously than the way truth has been upended to serve an ideological narrative­—one in which Jews, who have lived uninterruptedly in that land for more than two millennia, are cast as white non-indigenous interlopers, with no roots in what has always been their ancient homeland.

A public scholar at the Moynihan Center (CCNY), Roya Hakakian is the author of several books including, Journey from the Land of No: A Girlhood Caught in Revolutionary Iran (Crown, 2005).

#jumblr #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #mizrahi history #erasure of jewish history #erasure of mizrahi history

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi If you still do recuest's for twst

Can I recuest's the dorm leaders x GN!reader that is like the mad hatter?

Madhatter Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

You’re wild and wacky with a love for tea and making hats. You’re never in one place long mentally and physically. Your suitors are often left to question everything when you seem to tip and top off the thin line of sanity:

Malleus Draconia

“Hi Hi Horns have you burped towards the roses today?”

“Roses? Do you mean the ones in Heartslaybul? And would that be polite? To burp on them?”

He’s the perfect accessory to your insanity

He’s plenty gullible to listen to you

even when your requests border that morale of good and evil 

He’s usually picking you

His eccentric little lover

There’s never a dull moment with you by his side

He starts having a problem though when there are others sitting in on your tea parties

His rainstorms don’t necessarily mean the absolute end when it comes to you

But they usually do for your unsuspecting participants

You’re so wonderful for him

He can’t let anyone enjoy his human as much as he does

“My child of man, may we do my head fitting? I’d love to feel you soft pads against my scalp.”

Kalim Al Asim

“What are you doing (Y/n)-chan?”

“I am stretching for the annual beetle festival.”

“Beetle festival? Can I join?”

“You may but you have to eat a lady-bug first.”

“Okay!”

You guys are like kids in a candy shop 

For Kalim, he never thinks to question your sanity

You're just an exciting person

He soon finds himself supplying whatever you need to fulfill your shenanigans

And something nasty creeps up when someone (Jamil) tells you to stop

“I can make it so we can finish our tea party….by ourselves this time.”

Idia Shroud

“Come on Fireplace! Drink this tea!”

“B-but you b-brewed that in your hat…!”

“Yes that’s how you’ll know it’s sanitary!”

“Y-you’re weird.”

“Why thank you!”

He just thinks you’re the weirdest person he’s ever met

At first, he thinks its really just fascination 

With the way, you randomly dance in the direction of the cameras that were supposed to be secret

That you were different just like him

And he thought just being allies was good enough

But now he’s plotting the demise of the normie that decides to dance along with you

“There aren’t many who can handle people like us! That’s why I can’t let anyone else have you.”

Riddle Rosehearts

“Let the unbirthday party begin!”

“(Y/n), hands should be out. Elbows off the table.”

“Whoopie did you see this dessert!”

“I did now sit in your seat.”

He has a weird ability to govern you 

No one understands it 

He barely understands it 

But you two mostly get along 

He often knows how to speak your language 

Something that many seem to struggle with

But he’s the go-to person to reign you in

That’s just the way he likes it+

“Come (Y/n) you’re a good hatter. I need one for our teaparty this evening. Make it.” 

Vil Schoenheit

“You’re sense of style is certainly unique.”

“Thanks the cobwebs were my latest addition!”

“What!? Cobwebs that can’t be healthy!”

“Oooh a hat made of cake!”

He thinks you're cute but he worries your lack of sanity leads you to make bad decisions

Like having hats with holes for nonexistent limbs

As well as your affinity for drinking tea for a meal 

And probably worst of all being friends with potatoes who can’t handle you 

Which is why Vil’s here

“Didn’t you read the schedule? We’re having tea, tonight so leave those potatoes behind.”

Leona Kingscholar

“Its time for the puppy hat party!”

“...Will you stop, I’m trying to sleep!”

“But it’s time for the party!!!!”

“I’m going to kill you.”

He thinks you're so cute 

But he loves it most when you card your hands through his hair while fitting his head for a hat

But part of your insanity has you being quite energetic

Which clashes with his love for sleep 

So he might meddle a little with the tea you seem addicted to it

So he might slip something in 

To make sure he gets his snuggly hatter in his bed

“Come on Herbivore you seem exhausted. If you’re not that tired you can fit me for a hat.”

#yandere leona kingscholar #yandere leona x reader #yandere leona kingscholar x reader #yandere leona #yandere vil x reader #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil twst #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle x reader #yandere riddle roseheart x reader #yandere riddle #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus #yandere kalim al asim #yandere kalim x reader #yandere kalim #yandere twst dormleaders #yandere idia shroud #yandere idia shroud x reader #yandere idia x reader #yandere idia

[monster-slxt]

Vampires you say? I happen to be a vampire connoisseur, some little things that have been on the brain lately - A vampire that can't stop themselves from sinking their fangs into your neck while they rail you into next week - Alternatively, a vampire who can stop themselves from biting you, they just don't. They whisper "hold still" in your ear and then bite you as hard as they can - Being a free use fuck toy/bloodbag for a covenant of vampires. They of course have to be careful not to drain you too much before your body has time to replace its blood volume, but they drink form you till your weak and unable to struggle, and then they spend all night using you like a fleshlight. They are creatures of the night afterall, they sleep all day and then have plenty of energy to use up at night. - Being a servant sent as a sacrifice to a vampire ruler, you presume you are meant to be a meal but instead they stuff your holes full of cum and you're made to join the group of other 'sacrifices' all of which are also filled to the brim

God these are all so good. Let's see if I can't combine them into something fun<3

"Really, they'll make a wonderful... servant! Very healthy, this one." It was all I could do not to shudder at my soon to be ex-employers words, offering me up as a lamb to the slaughter. The man, mysterious with sharp eyes, carefully took me in but said nothing. Instinctively I knew he wanted to watch my boss squirm.

Everyone knew the truth. Our town was practically run by a group of vampires. No one ever said it outright, but we all knew. You kept your head down, didn't get close to new comers who wouldn't last long, and everything was fine.

But everything was not fine. My boss had gotten himself into a spot of trouble. He never told me the details but it must be pretty fucking bad if he's desperate enough to offer me up on a silver platter. To call attention to himself.

"I think you might just have a deal." The monster, the head vampire if the whispers were correct, finally spoke up, "get out of my sight. You, come with me."

And just like that, i belonged to the vampire coven.

The first night had been utterly terrifying. Instead of being ripped into like I expected, the leader showed me around their manor and introduced me to the coven. Of course they fed from me that first night, but nothing more. Four mouthes latching onto me, sharp fangs piercing deep into my neck. Something about their bites left me uncomfortably warm and light headed, and I'm quickly shown to a room to recover.

Over the next few weeks my postion as blood bag is made painfully clear. All four of them are nipping at me every chance they get, and getting progressively handsier as time goes on. I get to learn their personality and preferences through these feedings.

The youngest is wild and impulsive- biting deep and harsh and almost having to be pried off of me by the others, lost in their hunger. They're the most handsy too, ice cold fingers slipping under my clothes feel far too good in my loopy post-feeding state. Another realm they need to be reigned in, no matter how hot and bothered feeding the vampires, the leader never allows anything further than heavy petting. It's honestly starting to drive me a bit insane.

The sweetest vampire has platinum blonde hair and likes to coddle me, cooing about how sweet I am and petting me while drinking my blood. They always make sure I end up somewhere soft and comfortable in the end. I think they must be getting off on taking care of me when blood loss makes me dizzy and frail.

It's still preferable to the second in command. They're outright cruel. Biting the deepest, holding me down and mocking my inability to fight back against supernatural strength. They like the hunt, following me in the shadows only to pounce when i least expect it- leaving me jumpy and paranoid.

I still don't know if I prefer them to the leader though. The leader treats me like food, nothing more. Just a pretty thing to sit on his lap and quench his thirst. He hasn't said a word to me since that first horrible night.

And so here I am, sitting on his lap as the others watch him feed from me. It's clear whatever aphrodisiac properties vampire venom have are getting to me- im hot and barely suppressing the urge to moan and grind against his thigh.

"Look, it's broken in enough isn't it? Poor things desperate." The leader detaches from my neck at that, cold eyes taking in my desperate form.

"You know, I think you're right." He says, leaning in close and nipping my ear. "I think it's finally time we showed our new pet some proper hospitality."

In an instant the others closed in, their freezing hands roaming every inch of my body. The chill felt heavenly against the heat of my own body. I was too lost in blood loss and vampire venom to have any idea what was happening, not that it would have mattered against the four of them.

#asks #monsterfucking #monster smut #dubcon #vampire #god i hope this is good its Very Late #and im Very Tired

[naartjie-hijabi]

The US is a mess and yet they call themselves the leaders of the world.

A man literally set himself on fire because he was tired of being complicit in war crimes and I know for a fact that Genocidal Joe will not address it.

The western world is falling apart and honestly I'm so glad that I'm here for it. Countries like France, Britain, Italy, the US, Israel have been allowed to do whatever the the Hell they want at whoever's expense for far too long.

It's by time these nations are held accountable for their countless crimes against humanity and it's by time that the Global South unite to put an end to their reign.

No one, absolutely NO ONE should be denied basic human rights and experience the psychological and physical anguish that many people of our world are facing today, and these nations that have directly benefited from the pain and suffering of millions upon millions deserve nothing short of Hell.

Let 2024 be the year that average citizens stand up for the oppressed and protest until we physically cannot for the freedom of not just Palestine, but for Sudan, Congo, Kashmir, Armenia, the Uyghurs, the Rohingyas, Yemen, Syria. Ukraine and every other oppressed nation.

NO ONE IS FREE UNTIL WE ARE ALL FREE

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #west bank #free the west bank #israel #sudan #free sudan #congo #free congo #yemen #syria #armenia #uyghurs #rohingya #ukraine #kashmir #oppression #human rights #social justice #no one is free until we are all free #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #south africa #america #britain #france

[munsonluhvr]

THE FIRST DATE

contents: this is a steddie x reader one-shot. sfw! you and steve are dating, happily in love, when you meet eddie munson and are intrigued by his charismatic personality. everyone is caught by surprise when you all end up going on your first date as a throuple. word count - 1.6k

Your heart thumps against your chest as you sit in the back of Eddie Munson’s van, the two back doors open as you sit in the middle of Steve and Eddie. In your mind, though you aren’t particularly religious, you say a prayer that this date goes well and that Eddie’s van doesn’t explode from the tension that’s between the three of you.

It all started when Steve Harrington, your boyfriend of several years, was introduced to Eddie Munson by Dustin Henderson, a mutual friend of both Steve and Eddie. You had been there too, beside Steve, when Dustin introduced Eddie as his friend and leader of the club Dustin was so loyal to - the Hellfire Club. It was obvious from the very beginning that Eddie found you stunning, his cheeks flushing with nerves as you gave him a hug, glad to meet another friend of Dustin’s. It had surprised Steve when he was turned on, only a little, when he noticed Eddie’s obvious attraction to you. Although you’d never admit it out loud, especially to Steve, you found Eddie Munson handsome, sweet and charming. There was something so cute, so endearing and genuine about Eddie. He was shamelessly funny, joking around with you, Dustin, and Steve with ease.

It had taken several days for Steve to bring the interaction with Eddie up to you. “So that Eddie guy,” Steve had said, glancing at you. You were sitting in his room, nestled on his bed watching while he picked up his clothes that were thrown about the room. “He obviously thought you were cute.”

You had laughed, amused. “Oh really? What made you notice, the fact that he blushed when I hugged him or the way his eyes took in my entire body,” you said, glancing at Steve to see if he was mad or amused too. “Are you jealous?”

Steve snorted, shaking his head. “I’m not jealous, I was actually turned on by it.”

You frowned, now staring at Steve. “What?”

Steve paused picking up his clothes, tossing them into the hamper. “Listen, and don’t think I’m weird, but I don’t know, I found it kind of hot that another guy liked you.” Steve’s eyes moved off of you to the floor and then back to you. “You think I’m weird don’t you?”

You shook your head, realizing that your mouth was slightly agape. “No, I-, I’m just confused, Steve. What are you saying?”

Steve shrugged, “I don’t know, I saw this program on tv about people that have a third partner in their relationship, you know polygamy, throuples. I thought it might be interesting to add a third person, maybe somebody as unique as Eddie to our relationship.”

Your jaw dropped then, totally blown away by your long-term boyfriend’s admission. Steve had never suggested such an idea before, something so out there as being in a trouple relationship. As caught off guard as you were, you acknowledged that Steve had never done you wrong in your relationship, not once in the several years you had been dating. He’s always been loyal, kind and caring; he wouldn’t suggest something that would ruin that perfect track record. You decided to go with it, loosening the tight reigns that you had held throughout your entire relationship with Steve.

It was frightening, to say the very least, when you and Steve approached Eddie with such an offer. Eddie was equally caught off guard, yet intrigued. Eddie knew nothing about him was normal; he’d been labeled a freak for as long as he could remember, he was a nerd, a drug dealer, and comes from an interesting family background. Why couldn’t he add polygamist to that long list? You and Steve seemed to being decent people, obviously in a stable relationship, must be a little freaky to come up with an idea to add Eddie to your relationship. In the end, Eddie agreed to try the arrangement out, joining you and Steve on a date night.

You’re at the Hawkin’s drive in theater viewing ‘Aliens,’ what is allegedly supposed to be the hit movie of the year. Eddie had offered to bring his van for the three of you to sit in, the back of it leaving a lot of space to hang out and stretch your legs while you watched the movie. The drive in theater is packed, much of Hawkin’s High utilizing the opportunity to screen the movie on the extended weekend.

Beside you, Eddie and Steve converse fluidly around you, bending in front of you and behind you to pass comments and continue conversation. You sit between the boys, zoning out at the reality of the entire situation, of what you’re doing sandwiched between the two handsome boys. Although this idea of being a throuple with Eddie and Steve is new, a part of you wants it to work. Having one sweet guy in your life was amazing, but having two? Could you really be that lucky? Occasionally, Steve nudges your arm with his hand, attempting to include you in the conversation.

“Did you hear that, babe?” Steve says, bringing you out of your thoughts. “Eddie plays at The Hideout in a band; he invited us to go watch him sometime.”

You hum, offering a smile. “That would be awesome, we’d love to.”

You were pleased that the two boys were getting along so well with each other, conversation flowing between them with ease, which just made the possibility of Eddie officially joining your relationship more real. It was all settling in to your mind though, each passing minute allowing you to adjust to the reality that it will no longer be just you and Steve but you, Steve and Eddie. That could be good though; the more the merrier is how the saying goes, right?

The movie begins a few minutes later, although you couldn’t tell by the way Steve and Eddie continue to converse. Thankfully, when you three had arrived at the drive in, the theater attendants told Eddie to park the van in the back row since his car was tall and would block other’s view of the screen if it was anywhere but the back row. This fact also ensured that Steve and Eddie’s antics wouldn’t interrupt other’s movie experience.

You tried to keep your attention on the movie at first, however, it became hard to do that when Steve made a game of tossing popcorn into Eddie’s mouth. You couldn’t help it anymore; you joined in on the fun, tossing the small, round candies that you had bought from the concession stand into Eddie’s mouth too. The game flips eventually, Steve now on the receiving end various foods being thrown at him. Through the course of the two hour movie, you, Steve and Eddie had done a cart wheel contest on the open space next to the van, which is where you learned Steve can’t do a single cartwheel and Eddie is talented at entry level gymnastics moves.

Steve had always made you laugh, his sense of humor always hitting your funny bone, yet Steve and Eddie together was overwhelming and you couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed so hard. To be honest, Steve and Eddie are near perfect for each other, able to find things to talk about with ease. They were two completely different kinds of guys: Steve came from an upper class background, a more clean-cut, typical guy while Eddie was eccentric and unique, a weedhead, an artist and nerd of the game ‘Dungeons and Dragons.’ Nonetheless, the way they acted on this date was as if they’ve known each other forever.

After all the games, you sit, tired, on the edge of the backside of the van. Steve moves from the open space next to the van to sit beside you, wrapping his arm around the front of you and leaning back against the side of the van. Your back leans against Steve’s chest, his arm securing your position. You notice Eddie lingering to the side, eyeing you and Steve’s position. You feel bad for a moment, knowing that he feels out of place.

You pat your lap. “Come sit with us, Eddie. There’s lots of space for you too,” you say with a soft smile. Behind you, Steve smiles, then glances back at the movie screen. He attempts to understand the movie, the scenes that play out not making any sense as he missed the first half of the movie due to horse playing with you and Eddie. Steve gives up after only a few seconds.

Eddie moves to where you and Steve sit, climbing into the back of his car to join you both. You help Eddie arrange himself among you and Steve, suggesting that Eddie lays between your legs, his head resting on his your lap. Eddie does so, taking the second to ask Steve for approval.

“Is this okay, Steve? To lay on your girl, I mean.” Eddie asks cautiously

Steve smiles, gesturing towards you who still lays against his chest. “Go for it, man. She’s your girl now too.” A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, not very surprised at the calm, euphoric feeling from the way being both Steve and Eddie girlfriend and from the way Steve easily accepts Eddie without jealousy or hesitation.

Eddie softens, laying his head onto your lap gently. His arms wrap around your legs, your body now his personal pillow. Your hands go into Eddie’s hair automatically, mostly out of habit as it’s what Steve likes when he lays like Eddie does.

Down below, Eddie purrs with content. “I can get used to this easily.”

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x you #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrigton x reader #steddie x you #steddie x reader #steddie x y/n #steddie stranger things

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Krill's Story - Prologue

So, because that first chapter became so damn long, I cut down the bit that was most separated from the rest! Please enjoy Krill's thoughts before we change over to a new perspective again (;

Fandom: Original Content   Warnings: Violence (Mentioning of ripping a throat out/backstabbing, Depiction of mental (childhood) abuse), Monsters (Mermaids), Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Mention of death

"I can't believe this! It's outrageous—TWO sons gone! How could this happen, Krill?! You were supposed to guide them—to lead them! I told you to take care of them, and you couldn't even look after your brother and cousin! How will you ever care for your own pack?!"

My mother's rage echoed through the communal space; her questions screeched in the voice of a siren, causing them to hurt in my ears. Her words were spoken in the same way as a shark's teeth would rip through my skin—meant to harm and dominate. They left everyone in the cave silent except for my aunt, who kept weeping beside the matriarch. Had it been mating season, Nerrocan's and Lyr's disappearance could have been easily brushed off, but with how little interest both of them ever had in reproducing and it having been weeks without a sign from them, their disappearance really began to weigh on everyone. 

The other orcas witnessing my scolding were growing restless at my silence; the inability to respond quickly to the accusations thrown at me only confirmed their constant suspicions—I was incapable of the role they expected from me. The prospect of the next leader of the pack being incapable of doing the one thing I was forced to do my whole life made them lose faith not only in me but also the current matriarch who birthed me. They were whispering and discussing with each other on the quiet as if I had committed a grave sin that would make me unfit to lead. Even though they were fully aware that my reign would come to a quick end once I took a female as my partner to step up to the role of matriarch. All this talking, all the anger and frustration taken out on me, was just a show of power in the end. It didn't matter in the long run, neither to the pack's future nor to me. 

I should have been angry at Lyr and Nerrocan for putting me in this situation. For leaving me alone with all the burdens, they escaped so easily, never coming back to take me with them. I thought we were closer than that. That we'd stick together forever. But the chance of getting away must have been too freeing to resist, no matter what they had to leave behind to achieve it. If the same chance had arisen before me… I might have done the same. Leave behind this life of never being enough in the strict eyes of our mothers and the whole pack and start over far away. Do something worthwhile that wouldn't end with me cowering before the matriarch yet again, like the coward I was. A pack wasn't a place where you could achieve anything extraordinary unless you bowed your head and submitted to the nagging and pushing of expectations. And I, compared to the other two, had always been too afraid to take the leap, holding the two of them back with me so I wouldn't be alone. Until they slipped my grasp—a stupid, stupid mistake.

Just like my mother, those feelings nagged at me constantly. Permanently. Most likely until the end of my life. And there was no one to share them with anymore, as those exhaustingly painful emotions threatened to drown me.

"You'll find them and bring them back here immediately!" the matriarch finally ordered, too impatient to wait for my delayed response. With how I was taught my whole life, I understood her actions. She had to settle the pack, give them hope, and show them she had everything under control. She had to make this look like a stupid mistake of a child—even her own son—so she'd not lose the pack's trust in her capabilities. Especially with her worst opponent, her own sister, ready to take over the position at any moment. Even when family was everything to the pack, no one was safe from having their throat ripped out the moment they lowered their guard. There was no loyalty in a pack of fools.

"Oh, yes!" my aunt wept, her act so good despite having enough daughters to not need Nerrocan here to be called a worthy successor to my mother's reign. "Please, Krill! You have to bring my baby back home! Please!"

It must have been so much easier to leave, knowing you never left anything behind, really. Nerrocan didn't have to worry much about what others thought about him. He could hide behind his sisters and be a good boy just for fun. Perhaps things would have been different if I had sisters who were older or my age, too. I could have escaped the responsibilities and lived a free and happy life without repercussions for every little mistake I made in the matriarch's eyes.

"I will, Mother."

Raising my head and showing the pack a steadfast expression, I placed my hand over my heart, the gesture as shallow as it was a lie. I had no idea where the two rascals had gone, much less how I'd manage to track them down. There was no telling that I could find them, but maybe by the time I'd be too exhausted from the search, I'd have developed the courage to stay far, far away from the pack. 

Judging by the glare in the matriarch's eyes, there would be no home to return to unless I brought back the missing sons anyway. 

In her angry gaze, I noticed some doubt. For a moment, I imagined her worried that something could happen to me on this quest she sent me on. But when our eyes met, she must have known that my promise and gestures were all just for show. It hardened her feelings for me, which was for the better. We both knew I would never reach her expectations, no matter how long and hard I tried. Losing two young, efficient hunters for the pack was just the tip of the iceberg. It was better for her not to get disappointed when I'd inevitably fail the task she had given me, again. 

So when I slipped back into the water, my mother sent me off with a scoff, the whispers around me so loud, I couldn't hear my own thoughts. The cold wet was a welcome change of sounds, clearing my head for the first time since I entered that communal space. I'd become numb to the feeling of being unloved and unappreciated, so much so that it didn't face me what everyone thought of me. That's what I told myself. All I had to do was function, which was easier with a clear head. I thought back to the days before Nerrocan's disappearance, the funny human we rescued, and the way Nerrocan used to look at them. 

I wasn't stupid, even if I preferred to keep pushing away the nagging feelings that might have made me soft and even more worthless in the eyes of my mother. The two were too young to know the true horror of "love". But I was the oldest. I remembered looking at this special someone the same way that Nerrocan did with the human. I collected the shiniest stones in that small pool they held us in at that facility that Nerrocan's human wanted to go to so desperately, just so I could present these trophies to my mate. Just like Lyr now, who ransacked our treasure cave in just one night. 

Judging by how much Lyr could steal in that one night, he probably wasn't as far away as we thought. But the ocean was vast, he was a quick swimmer, and I couldn't think of a place he frequented that I should look for him. Nerrocan, on the other hand, I'd either never find him because he had been eaten by the fish all the time he'd been away or because he was back at that forsaken facility with the human. Both options made it impossible for me to ever retrieve one of them if not for sheer luck. I could have turned every stone upside down to find Lyr, who was objectively the better choice, but he was as good a hunter as I was, and unfortunately, he knew it. If he wanted to stay hidden, I'd not find him. And if he refused to come back, he might actually kill me to keep it that way.

As I turned towards the open ocean, I still lamented the fact that I'd not get to come home anymore. It was foolish to even try, but doing as I was told was all I'd ever known. I've been told how to hunt, behave, talk, act, and play all my life. My mother told me to take what I wanted, fight for what I wanted, and obey. So if she wanted to send me on a death mission, I had no choice. Compared to the other two, I didn't have a reason to betray the pack that had raised us, and no mate that I could call home, and so, I made my choice. 

And if I possibly could save even just one of those fools, then I'd wager my chances with the one that wouldn't kill me on sight. 

#Mermay #Mermay 2024 #Mermay 2023 #mermaids #mermen #yandere mermaid #yandere merman #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

[lets-try-some-writing]

Immortals

Cybertronians are ancient beings, but even they age. Their frames deteriorate, and if that isn't what puts them in the grave, then eventually their sparks grow weary and fade. It is the way of things, and with time, every Cybertronian reaches the end of their road. All accepted this reality, but with the passage of time, a few mecha have found that they simply do not suffer as the rest.

Megatron more so than others.

[Please note this is a solid 10k nightmare that was also posted on Ao3 so be ready to READ if you click on the read more.]

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Death was by no means a new concept for Megatron. He was raised amidst it, lived relishing in it, and now wandered through the remnants of places that once flourished. In a way, it was part of him just as much as he was part of it. He brought death wherever he went, as such it was only fitting in a rather poetic sense that death spared him its embrace. He offered so many sparks to satisfy the appetite of the void, why would it not reward him by refusing him the chance to perish in peace?

For several long vorns, all he did was wander the stars after being freed from Unicron’s control. He had no purpose without his cause, and he had no desire to see any suffer as he did under the great devourer. Whatever urge to conquer once plagued his spark was long gone. In its place… he felt the desire to instead try and find himself again. So much madness and devastation. He forgot who he was, and he desperately wished to recover that lost sense of self. 

He wasn’t entirely sure when the decision was made, but at some point during his wanderings, not even a millennia after he fled to the stars, Megatron meandered his way back to Cybertron. There was no hiding who he was, nor did he really bother trying. What was the point of that? Everyone was bound to know him based on his face alone regardless of whether or not he went through the trouble of filing down spikes and rusted armor plates. He fully expected to be met with raised blasters and blades, however, he was instead greeted by familiar faces and smiles.

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“Look who crawled in from the asteroid belt. While you were off doing who knows what, I Starscream was given a senatorial seat!” Starscream stood as proudly as ever, a slag-eating smile on his face as he gestured toward the badge on his shoulder. Megatron could only be thankful it wasn’t a crown or gaudy cape the seeker had chosen as his designator of profession and rank. 

“I can see that, Starscream” Megatron hissed as the seeker continued to preen with pride. Beside him, Soundwave and Optimus stood. The former refused to even look at Megatron, an unsurprising reaction when all things were considered. The latter merely smiled as kindly as ever, his frame still bulky and unsightly, no longer the smaller more mobile form that he possessed before their Primus forsaken war. 

“It is good that you have returned Megatron. I believe there is much to discuss.” The Prime stated simply as if Megatron hadn’t fragged off for almost a millennia and then sauntered back to Cybertron still carrying the burden of the many lives he ended. Then again, if the Prime allowed Starscream of all mecha to have a seat of power, perhaps Megatron being greeted kindly was not totally out of the question. Optimus was always a soft sparked fool.

“You aren’t going to try and blast me to bits, Prime? One would think after a war as bitter as ours that the people would demand justice.” Starscream scoffed, Soundwave twitched from where he was looking over a datapad, and the situation as a whole grew somewhat tense until Optimus replied. 

“The war is over Megatron. You are no longer leader of the Decepticons, nor am I the sole leader of the Autobots. Things have changed, amends have been made. I will not say there is no lingering bitterness, but there is a second chance for you if you wish to take it.” A long silence reigned as Megatron considered. The world around him was not the one he knew or wanted, but it was Cybertron, it was his home. He had no intention of lingering for long, but what was the harm in remaining for a time?

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Arrangements were made and Megatron took up a job as a simple poet. His spark demanded he climb the ladder and try to wrestle some form of control away from the senate that formed in his absence. However he did not trust himself to not abuse that power should he gain it, not when the power of Unicron still tainted him. He remained quiet, contemplative, and docile as he worked on his various philosophical writings, largely uncaring of the world outside. Too many new faces, too many strange places with new names that were once locations he considered ‘home’.

Most only recognized him from their history lessons and thus treated him fairly normally. A few of the older bots wandering around sneered or hurried away in fear, but as a general rule, Megatron was left alone when he did go to the cities for whatever reason. He had no need for fuel, Unicron’s taint made the inherent necessity of energon null and void. It was disturbing at times, but he preferred it that way. It meant he was not required to head to cities often to restock. The newness of Cybertron was unsettling, and he was perfectly content to remain far away from the cities out in the renewed spire forests near what was now titled New Kaon. He didn’t want to or rather didn’t trust himself to get involved in the changing state of his homeworld. Thus, he kept quiet, held his helm low, and focused on himself. 

The only ones he interacted with were old companions and enemies, mecha he knew well from war. He never left his hideaway out in the woods save for when Optimus dragged him away to do something or other or give his opinion on a legislation. The Prime seemed to have made it his life mission to redeem everyone and everything if his growing collection of reformed Decepticon and Autobot advisors said anything. Still, it was a comfort in a way. It made Megatron feel… normal, especially once he finally began dealing with old wounds. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“Megatron: Abandoned the cause.” Soundwave sat beside him on his porch, looking up at the stars above. He had not spoken to his former second-in-command since his arrival on Cybertron. Neither was willing to speak to the other despite how much it ate away at them both. It hurt too much.

“I know,” Megatron replied simply. There was little else to say. What could he say? Soundwave gave everything to their cause, believing in Megatron and what they fought for. Then without warning, Megatron abandoned that cause, leaving all their efforts to waste away and Cybertron to fall under Autobot rule, at least technically. The senate was composed of mecha from all factions. Optimus was a fool, but he and his inner circle were good about trying to have a wide variety of opinions. 

“Megatron: Left Soundwave to rust. Left Shockwave in Autobot servos. Left loyal followers to be captured and imprisoned.” Again, his oldest friend spoke and Megatron repeated his prior phrase.

“I know.”

 Soundwave sat still beside him, his visor keeping Megatron from knowing what expression he was making. They said nothing for what had to be at least a long thirty or so kliks, both lost in their thoughts. The stars shone above them, a testament to the glory of their world when the skies were not blackened with smog and the fumes of burning cities. He could still smell the plasma in his olfactory sensors, he could still hear the screams in the dead of his recharge cycles. Despite that, there was peace to be found just… sitting and observing with his dear friend as if they were both still young and hopeful. 

“Will you stay? Will you abandon us again?” A soft and grim voice called out to him in the gloom of the cycle. Megatron hummed, feeling his thrusters warm a degree as he considered again retreating to the stars. This world was not home anymore, but those he cared for remained. It would not do for him to leave them for good, not after the torment he dragged them through in the name of freedom.

“I will Soundwave. Until there are none who care for me, I shall remain.” Spindly digits reached out and gently touched him. Megatron did not need to look to appreciate the weight on his arm where Soundwave offered a degree of comfort. They needed each other, more than anything else, they needed familiarity.

 ━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Time was something Megatron did not often pay close attention to in his quiet dwelling. His servos were occupied with his written works, his mind consoled by the occasional queries sent to him by Soundwave and Optimus, and his spark was eased as he watched the forest around him thrive. The anniversaries of Cybertron’s restoration were his only true method of keeping time. First, there was the 691st, which Optimus dragged him off to in order to show the people how much old wounds were healing. Then there was the 843rd where Starscream threw a tart at his helm and spurred on one of the most impressive fuel fights Megatron had ever seen.

The 927th where Soundwave scared Optimus’s favored medic so badly that the spymaster was nearly met with a blade. The 1034th where the Earth team Megatron fought against during the last days of the war threw all their collected blackmail at one another. Then there was the 1130th where a whole batch of younglings managed to convince Megatron to tell them a few stories…

Vorns passed and yet not once did it seem that anyone he cared for changed at all. Starscream was still a glitch, Soundwave was as dutiful as ever assisting the Prime and his senate in handling internal affairs, and Shockwave remained a genius in science once he was allowed to roam on parole. Knockout was doing something or other and evidently making a great profit off it, and the Autobots Megatron recognized seemed to be doing just fine. The world changed, but the mecha he knew stayed the same for the most part, that is save for the odd paint change such as Starscream’s botched attempt to sport gold for a short time. 

They were constants, stable reminders of who Megatron was and what influence he had aside from the pure devastation he wrought. But of course, that mindset did not last. Not once he made the decision to visit the rebuilt city of Iacon on a whim. When he arrived, Optimus sat with the elected senators discussing policies and other things that Megatron had little care for. However, as he looked around, concern and a degree of shock were quick to worm their way into his spark.

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“Did you really invite him to assist in these matters, Optimus? I can’t exactly patch you up like I used to if he goes off the rails!” Ratchet, the Prime’s loyal lap dog, raised his cane into the air with a scowl as he gestured toward where Megatron stood in growing horror near the door. He hated the fragger with a vengeance, yet he couldn’t help but wonder… When did the medic get a cane? When did his plating dull so much? At what point did his joints begin cracking every fourth step?

“I did not invite him, old friend. However his presence is welcome, he has much he can contribute.” Optimus smiled gently and gestured for Megatron to take a seat in an empty chair a few seats down from him. Megatron obliged, albeit with a degree of hesitation as he examined the rest of the senate members. 

Most were new faces he did not know well aside from what he gathered from the data Soundwave occasionally sent him for review. However, those he did know were… different. Perhaps the celebrations clouded his judgment, but now that he saw them without the atmosphere of cheer and remembrance, their differences were stark and clear. 

“Finally done with your self-imposed exile Lord Megatron? I am sure there is some position I could have you fill serving under one of my officers.” The urge to chuck something at the arrogant seeker was strong, but any retort died on his glossa as he observed his former officer. Starscream had gotten a frame change long before Megatron returned from the stars, and it never really struck him how drastic the differences were until that moment when he really looked. 

Starscream’s plating was darker, no longer lustrous, and a sure sign of nanite failure. His wings, which he religiously held high throughout all of his youth, now dipped to a degree due to tiredness in what were once strong cables and hydraulics. His face was sharper, still polished and shining, but covered in small nicks and creases in the metal from long vorns of continual activity. What was most startling to Megatron was the way in which the seeker sat. No longer did he hold himself as if he were attempting to impress everyone, instead he sat perfectly composed, still proud, but with an air of earned respect. Shockwave and Soundwave were not much better off. Both sat slightly hunched in their seats, their armor dulled and any exposed components appearing far frailer than they once were. 

Where had his proud warriors gone? Megatron had not experienced any signs of wear and tear, so why should his officers be dealing with it so seriously? If they were being overworked, he would have words for the Prime…

And yet, seeing how Ratchet all but hobbled along with his cane as he grumbled his way to his chair, Megatron began to doubt it was Optimus’s doing. The others at the table were perfectly fine, almost exuding youthful energy with how vibrantly their plating shone and with how energetic their voices were as they put forward ideas and debated. 

“Let us continue, shall we?” Optimus guided the conversation along with expert precision that left Megatron slightly bewildered. The Prime was always an excellent speaker, but now he seemed older, wiser perhaps. His optics were tired even as he maintained his smile and welcomed the late arrivals. 

Megatron sat in silence throughout the meeting for the most part. All he could do was watch and finally see how much those he knew had degraded. He struggled to believe it, especially when his armor still glinted and his spark hummed with power. This wasn’t right, it couldn't be right. How could those he knew be falling to pieces while he endured? Perhaps he was overreacting. Optimus seemed fine after all. 

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After the revelation of his compatriots' degradation, Megatron made far more frequent trips to the cities to visit them. Death was nothing new, and yet he could hardly comprehend it in those he once saw as functionally immortal. Cybertronians did not wither as other species, it was not in their nature. However, given time, their frames would break down, and should that fail to bring them to their end, their spark would weaken and putter out at some point, regardless of the newness of a frame. 

Most simply never bothered trying to hold themselves together once their frames started to fall apart if they lived long enough to reach that point. Self-repair systems could keep a mech up and running in prime condition for millions of years. As such when they finally started to show signs of aging, it was often taken as a sign and allowed to be. No matter how many components were replaced or how many times mind and spark were transferred, once the original frame started to crumble, it was only a matter of time. Some like Ratchet could last far longer than others for any plethora of reasons, but sooner or later, death would come for them, one haunting step at a time. 

After that meeting, Megatron knew it would happen eventually. He knew sooner or later those he cared for would start to fall one by one. Even still, when he came to visit Shockwave and found the mech dead in his laboratory, his spark long had gone out and his frame undisturbed due to his lack of friends… Megatron found it hurt more than he thought it would. 

Shockwave’s funeral was a short and sweet affair. Those who knew him from before the war bid their final goodbyes, a few loyal Decepticons offered condolences, and surprisingly, the Predacons who had taken to ruling over the still undeveloped west came as well. They knelt before Shockwave’s gray and lifeless frame and offered quiet words of thanks to the scientist for giving them life. As Shockwave left no will behind, there were no objections when Predaking took the body of his creator to be laid to rest in the lands he had dominion over. A great scientist, a master geneticist, and once upon a time, a true friend. 

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“Thank you for all you did Shockwave. I do not know if this is what you would have wanted, but I doubt you would have minded this outcome all that much.” Predaking had taken care to ensure that Shockwave’s memory was properly upheld with a memorial engraved with abstract images of the scientist weaving life from mere bones. Megatron appreciated the effort, especially once blue crystal flowers began to grow around the headstone of his old companion. 

He hoped Shockwave would have at least found a degree of satisfaction in knowing that his creations endured. The reforged Predacons held little love for their creator, but Shockwave was the one who gave them life, and their appreciation was quite clear in their efforts. The memorial was spotless and the newly emerged Predacons that climbed from the Well were all brought before Shockwave’s grave at least once.

Megatron liked to think Shockwave would have been pleased to know that his life served as an example to his creations. Last Megatron checked, there were a few Predacons who had opted to follow in the pedesteps of their creator, aiming to be scientists and researchers like Shockwave. There seemed to be an underlying urge to surpass him amongst all of the newly forged Predacons. Megatron personally found it rather amusing. None would ever be as brilliant as his head scientist.

“Rest well Shockwave. I will return to visit you soon.” Megatron smiled as he watched younger Predacons meander around, observing him in silence. He sighed and patted the memorial once before turning to leave. A growing heaviness weighed down his spark, but he paid it little mind. His old comrade would want him to be strong. Shockwave always despised it when emotions overcame rationality. 

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It really shouldn’t have surprised him when the old bag of bolts finally offlined. But it did despite the fact that it was a long time coming. Ratchet’s death was devastating for many of the Autobots, but Optimus more so than any other. It had been a rather sudden thing apparently. According to Soundwave, Ratchet had bid Optimus a good recharge cycle and then passed quickly sometime during the early groons of the cycle without warning. No one suspected much until he failed to arrive for his shift in the clinic. At that point, it was Ratchet’s apprentice and caretaker First Aid who came to check on him only to find his frame lifeless but still warm to the touch. 

Ratchet was a cranky glitch who, while often right in matters of science and medicine, was not the most pleasant to be around. Despite that, hundreds of former Autobots came to his funeral. Ratchet was buried in the forests of Southern Iacon, as per his will. Optimus was too large to be part of the procession carrying the medic’s coffin, but that did not stop him from bidding his companion farewell with the most saddened and sorrowful song Megatron had ever heard from the vocalizer of his former foe. 

The medic was given military honors and his will was seen to. Megatron only came to the funeral partially to spite the fragger with his own continued functioning but largely so that he could be there for the Prime. Bumblebee and other mecha Megatron knew were close to Ratchet stayed for several groons, but they eventually left after their coolant stores ran dry. Despite that, when the other Autobots cleared out and the last came to bid their farewells, Optimus Prime did not move from where he stood at the side of the freshly made grave, his sword dug into the ground and his expression firm as he gazed resolutely ahead. 

Even when acid rain rolled in from the Rust Sea, Optimus did not so much as twitch. He remained quiet, standing guard over the grave of his comrade in what Megatron could only imagine was one final act of loyalty. The rain did not hurt Optimus much, not with how sturdy he was built, but as his paint melted and was washed away by brutal winds, Megatron decided to linger.

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“These rains will continue for cycles, Optimus. How long do you intend to remain here?” Megatron stood beside the Prime as the wind howled as the rain assaulted his frame. It didn’t hurt, his armor was touched by the Unmaker. Next to nothing save for the strongest of weapons could damage him. However, Optimus was not the same. The Prime was hardy, that much was true. But he was still mortal in the end, at least in frame. The rains chipped away at his paint and had to be aggravating with their sting as acid puttered against increasingly sore plating. 

“I will remain until I have fulfilled my promise.” Megatron raised a brow at the Prime’s words, watching on curiously as Optimus started to hum quietly, his blade still driven into the ground and his stance firm. 

“And what is that promise?” He questioned cautiously as the wind picked up in severity, battering his and Optimus’s frames with a greater vengeance. The Prime remained quiet for a long few kliks, seemingly lost in thought before at last, he replied.

“It was one of our rites we performed during the war. We made many promises that cycle, not all of which we were able to fulfill. But one of them was that should one of us fall… the other was to stand guard one last time.” Megatron said nothing as the Prime continued to stand, his expression stoic and strong. Optimus and Ratchet’s relationship was something Megatron never fully bothered to look into. It was not relevant to the war, and after his return to Cybertron, it simply was not important. Whatever their connection, they never made a show out of it.

Still, it was quite clear that their bond, regardless of its type, ran deep enough for Optimus Prime to wish to endure the long watch, unmoving until their final rite was complete. It was sweet in a sense, but Megatron found himself more uncertain than anything else as he observed the slight crease around Optimus’s optics. Reaching up to touch his own face revealed nothing of the sort, and for that reason, Megatron worried.

Optimus’s frame was biologically far younger than his due to his reforging at the behest of the other Primes. Combined with the Matrix ensuring the Prime could not die due to his spark puttering out… there were worrying implications. How was it that Optimus and so many others were aging when Megatron did not? Was he like the old medic in that death was taking its sweet time getting to him? Or was there something else, something far grimmer to be concerned with?

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After Ratchet, things seemed to fall apart far faster. Almost as if a switch had been flipped, suddenly Megatron could see the differences in everyone. 

Soundwave became frailer, even reaching the point where he physically required the aid of symbiotes to function. His sight grew weaker and his senses poorer so that he could either find himself confined to using a cane or getting symbiotes. Soundwave was quick to choose the latter. Megatron’s former spymaster was not pleased in the slightest when he was offered a few young symbiotes without carrier units, but he accepted them begrudgingly. Often he would shoo them away during Megatron’s visits, usually complaining off and on about how energetic they were. Deep down though, it was quite clear Soundwave cared a great deal about them. They were too high energy for his tastes, but the former spymaster tended to them dutifully and they in turn showered him with assistance when it was required. 

Even still, Megatron was always somewhat distraught when he visited. It was not hard to realize that he simply… did not age. It had been millennia and Megatron felt no weaker in spark, body, or mind. He had no need to visit a medic to confirm it. He could sense it in his very core whenever he took Soundwave’s arm to help him walk. They were almost the same age and yet Soundwave had a cloud of death lingering above him at all times. It was harder to accept than he thought it would be when he watched Soundwave trip and break his leg for the first time from a simple fall.

Speaking with his dear friend in the hospital was optic opening for him to say the least.

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“I apologize for not catching you, Soundwave. I was not paying close enough attention. I thought the fall would not have affected you so greatly.” Megatron stood by the berthside of his former spymaster. Soundwave for his part lay still in the berth with his arms placed at his sides and his venting was so shallow that it was downright disturbing. He looked so very thin from where Megatron towered over him. His wrists especially seemed two kliks and one stiff breeze away from breaking like a rust stick. 

“Soundwave: Understands. Megatron: Has not fully comprehended situation.” Megatron gave his companion the most befuddled look he could manage, and in response, Soundwave laughed. 

It was a broken and raspy sound that led his vents to hitch in what had to be a painful manner. Soundwave’s symbiotes were quick to flock around him, wiping down his vent filters and adjusting his berth settings so that he was sitting up a bit more. The little things were worried sick, but Soundwave merely hummed and waved them off with one stick-thin arm. They obliged and stepped back after a moment. It hurt Megatron somewhere in his spark to watch the scene. Less than a millennia ago he wouldn’t have put it past Soundwave to be able to eliminate him in the arena. Yet now he laid in a medical berth, his leg welded back into place but his frame so small and fragile looking as to make the repairs seem far from satisfactory. 

“Megatron: Has not aged a cycle since Cybertron’s restoration. Forever youthful. Frame still strong. Mind still sharp. Spark still powerful. Megatron: Untouched my time.” Soundwave gestured toward Megatron’s shining armor, particularly his shoulder plating and his optics with one painfully thin digit. The symbiotes made noises of agreement from where they huddled nearby but otherwise said nothing as Soundwave continued. 

“Soundwave: Not like Megatron. The others: Not like Megatron. We age. We decay. We will die.” Megatron paused as the words registered. His spark flared in his chassis in denial. Logically he knew Soundwave was right. He was different on a fundamental level now. Whatever Unicron did to him changed him, made it so that unless he was cut down, nothing would touch him. Shockwave had already fallen, it was only to be expected that others would soon follow… 

“That won’t happen yet, not for some time. You still have strength in you, my friend. I know you can endure.” Reaching out, Megatron was as gentle as he could be in taking Soundwave’s servo and holding it. The former spymaster shook his helm slowly as he grasped Megatron’s far larger digits with such pitiful strength that Megatron felt true fear worm its way into his spark. Soundwave had always been by his side, ever since the beginning. To lose him-

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Soundwave: Will one day offline. Megatron: Will be left alone.” Soundwave lifted his other arm and with both servos held Megatron’s far larger one. There was a hint of desperation in Soundwave’s field as he pulled himself up as much as he could and began to speak again. 

“Soundwave and others: Will not be here forever. Megatron: Will endure?” Silence reigned for a long moment as Megatron’s spark flared in pain and grief. He did not even wish to consider losing Soundwave… but now he knew it would one cycle be reality. It was going to tear him apart, but he refused to leave Soundwave without comfort.

“I will try.” 

 ━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

It hurt to think on Soundwave’s words, even if Megatron knew he was right. His fellows were aging, younger mecha were taking their place. Soundwave was quickly forced to retire after the incident with his leg, and a younger model bearing the same designation was swiftly pushed into the vacant position. The original Soundwave taught his younger namesake as much as he could, but he was weakening and many of his cycles were spent in his hab in the center of Iacon where he could still be of use if need be. 

Starscream was not much better. 

Over the vorns, he and Starscream had largely reached a strange agreement that bordered on true friendship. Megatron would visit Vos off and on, and in return he would be welcomed and treated as a guest, sometimes even helping Starscream run the city he had dominion over. But it became painfully clear that Starscream was weakening. He still looked his finest at all times, but more tasks were delegated to his younger assistants, and his flights were shorter and less in sync with those he traveled alongside. Starscream’s steps were slower, his wings held lower, and his voice deeper and with an undertone of wisdom, Megatron never expected to hear in his former officer. 

At some point, Starscream had Conjunxed a Speaker from a colony world, one whom Megatron only knew as Windblade. Megatron missed their ceremony since no one informed him of it, but from what he knew, she was far younger and tended to handle rulership when Starscream could not. Supposedly the Conjunxing was merely political, but Windblade seemed to genuinely care for the ailing Lord of Vos, if only in a manner not too dissimilar to an Amica. They even took on a whole gaggle of sparklings of their own to raise, a surprise to Megatron who all but expected Starscream to try his best to be an immortal ruler for as long as physically possible. 

The named Aerialbots were highly skilled due to Starscream’s training, but their existence and excellence only served to further show Starscream’s age. Every vorn his sparklings grew stronger and his Conjunx took more control. It was a slow and sad decline, one that Starscream surprisingly handled with grace. By the time he actually sat down to speak with Starscream one-on-one around Cybertron's 5491st anniversary of restoration, Megatron found himself even more distraught.

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“Thank you for coming to visit, Megatron… I worried I would not be able to see you again.” Starscream’s voice was deep and rumbling from long vorns of use. His usual snark was nowhere to be seen as he gazed up at the skies, taking occasional sips of his energon as he observed the Aerialbots performing feats of flight above. His optics were dim and his plating dull, and yet he still smiled softly as he watched his five sparklings soar through the skies in perfect sync. Megatron wanted to be awed by the display and pleased with Starscream’s success in teaching, but he couldn’t let go of Starscream’s words. The seeker he knew would rather find him dead in a gutter than talk to him for any reason that did not have an underlying benefit.

“They remind me of Skywarp and Thundercracker.” Starscream mused as the Aerialbots performed a perfect roll, leaving twisting trails of smoke behind them. Following his gaze, Megatron had to admit it was impressive. And yet… it wasn’t Starscream and his trine. They were new, not mecha that Megatron cared to know or was particularly attached to. 

“You have taught them well.” Megatron settled on commenting as the Aerialbots performed a few twists that Skywarp and Thundercracker performed with far more eloquence alongside their trine leader. If Starscream shared that opinion, he said nothing as he merely hummed and continued to watch for a long few kliks. 

“They are good mecha, Megatron. They are young and just as arrogant as any other seeker, but with time, I know they will do well.” Confusion radiated off Megatron in waves until he saw the wistful smile Starscream had plastered on his face. It seemed so… wrong for the ambitious fragger that Megatron both loved and hated to be bearing anything close to a smile of contentment and peace. He seemed older, wiser, and more ancient than Megatron despite the fact that their ages leaned more in Megatron’s favor in regard to experience. 

“Why did you call me here, Starscream? You have always been ambitious and a pain in the aft. Seeing you like this is unsettling.” It took a moment, but as Starscream registered what was said, he chuckled in what was almost a fond manner before he put down his energon cube and turned to face Megatron properly. Starscream had always been a spindly thing, but seeing him so small was a bit of a shock, especially so soon after really seeing Soundwave’s state. The cape the Lord of Vos wore did give him a bit of extra bulk, but beneath it all, he was thin, weak, and aging. 

He was no longer the Air Commander Megatron relied on for so many millennia during the war. 

“I doubt you’ve noticed much until now considering your circumstances, but I’m old Megatron. All of us are. Even Prime is getting on in vorns. We are all tired, and all those little things that meant so much even a millennia ago simply no longer matter.” The Winglord coughed somewhat harshly, causing him to grip the table and shake for a moment. Megatron reached out to assist but was waved off as Starscream collected himself and continued. 

“I’m out of time. Windblade will be the next Winglord and my sparklings will assist her in leading. I tell you this because I want you to keep an optic on them, just to make sure they stay on track. The Aerialbots are arrogant little glitches just like I was. They will need someone to remind them of their place every now and then.” As if to prove his point, the five Aerialbots hooted and hollered as they flipped overhelm, diving toward the ground and shooting up at the last possible moment. Pretentious and arrogant indeed.

“I understand. I won’t be soft with them though.” Starscream laughed again, this time with more of the gusto Megatron recalled. Only it lacked the malicious undertone he was used to, a fact that threw Megatron for a loop despite being well aware that Starscream lost most of his aggression vorns upon vorns ago. Megatron just hadn’t been able to see it amidst the cloud of his thoughts. 

“Give them a few beatings. The little glitches will need it once I am gone.” No more words were exchanged between them as Megatron abruptly stood and marched off. Starscream frowned but did not stop him. A hint of regret prodded at his spark, but he paid it no mind. He had no interest in hearing his former Air Commander discuss his death, not when Megatron was not acutely aware that he would likely never be faced with such a prospect.

Not anymore. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Starscream’s prediction was right. Within the next half vorn, the Lord of Vos passed away quietly in his gardens, held aloft by a thin hammock so that he could feel the wind gushing past his wings as his spark, at last, went out. Megatron attended the funeral alongside Soundwave and Optimus. Both his companions offered words of condolence for the loss and offered Windblade their sympathy. Megatron followed in their pedesteps and even went so far as to give Starscream’s grieving widow a few old trinkets he’d kept around from his former Air Commander.

He was unsure if it did anything, but Windblade offered her thanks all the same. Megatron merely felt… nothing. Even deca-cycles afterward, he was void, cold, and unfeeling. He didn’t want to feel. It hurt too much to think about the newest absence in his life. Shockwave was one thing, but Starscream was another. 

He tried not to contemplate the loss of another familiar face or the increasing number of new ones that took Starscream’s place at the odd meeting he attended. Instead, Megatron spent more of his time with those who remained, clinging to Soundwave and oddly enough even Optimus as much as he could. Occasionally he would fly to Vos, and as per Starscream���s final request, beat around the Aerialbots to remind them that they were not in fact as amazing as they thought they were. It was humorous to a degree, but largely sorrowful above all else. The defiant look in the optics of the Aerialbots was far too similar to Starscream for Megatron’s liking. 

He tried to only come to Vos when required, but when he was there, he always made sure to walk past the statue dedicated to Starscream, usually leaving some random piece of jewelry behind as well. He liked to think that a younger Starscream would have been both pleased and offended, and that alone made the effort worth it. 

Then as if to pour acid into the wound, a mere twenty vorns after Starscream’s passing, Soundwave passed away in the comfort of his home, surrounded by his symbiotes. Megatron hated himself for not being there, he despised that he was not made aware of Soundwave’s passing until he returned to his residence and only became concerned due to a lack of messages, resulting in him reaching out to Optimus. His spark screamed in denial, grief, and rage. However, there was nothing he could do aside from bite back tears when Soundwave’s funeral was held and his last will and testament read out. 

Soundwave wanted his frame to be cremated and his ashes turned into gemstones to be given to each of his symbiotes and to Megatron. It was such a small thing, but when the eldest of Soundwave’s symbiotes came to him and offered him a small black jem already within a pendant and ready to be worn… he wept softly and held it close. He didn’t want to believe that Soundwave was gone, not while he remained pristine and not so soon after Starscream. Optimus was his only comfort in the following few vorns. The Prime took up the position Soundwave left in Megatron’s life, and soon enough, Megatron retreated to his hab in the forests and received reports once a deca-cycle.

For a long time, Megatron could not bear to leave his place hidden away in the forests. He warded off wandering mecha who came too close and convinced Optimus to give him the land so that none could intrude and break him from his reverie. He hated the new faces, he hated the new sights. It was so different and always changing on the surface of the world he once called home… and yet he did not change with it. Forever a remnant, a relic of a war that ended millennia earlier. 

He did not weep when he was informed of Knockout’s passing, then of Arcee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and countless other names that he recognized as both Autobot and Decepticon in origin. He did not attend their funerals, nor did he visit what remained of his former comrades. No, instead he stayed hidden away, unwilling to deal with it all and instead trying to comfort himself by wearing the pendant made of Soundwave’s ashes. 

He managed to get away with his behavior for roughly a dozen vorns before Optimus seemed to have had enough as the next thing Megatron knew, the Prime was on his doorstep and promptly invited him to visit Iacon. The prospect caused his spark to ache, but the familiarity of the one he once knew to be a foe and long before that a friend…

He couldn’t find it within himself to object, not after seeing the weariness around Optimus’s optics. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“You are the Master Archivist now? How are you managing such a position alongside being the head of the Council?” The archives were deep and dark, just as they were back when Megatron was still but a gladiator and Optimus not yet a Prime. In the back of his processors, he was nearly certain the archives would have been renovated to match the newest trends, but it seemed Optimus had kept the pre-war aesthetic. It was a comfort despite the mix of good and bad memories that befell him in response.

“I imagine you have not been keeping track of current affairs, but I have not been head of the Council since Ratchet passed. I handled some affairs for them from here, but otherwise, I have focused my efforts on keeping our history preserved.” The Prime walked softly despite his towering frame almost matching Megatron’s. Many of his gaudy outer plating attachments had thinned and his frame overall seemed somewhat weaker, but it was nothing as prominent as the frailty Starscream and Soundwave showed before their deaths. Optimus’s words almost didn’t reach him amidst the storm of it all, but Megatron still found it within himself to feel a degree of shock.

How out of touch was he?

“What of your scout and the rookie you took a liking to? How do they fare?” Megatron asked, partially to try and distract himself but largely to try and get Optimus to speak on something Megatron actually knew. The yellow nuisance and the elite guardsmech rookie were two mecha that Megatron despised for their efforts during the war but also held respect for due to their show of skills. He didn’t care for them, but if they got Optimus talking and discussing subjects that didn’t cause Megatron’s spark to flare in distress and loss, he would take it. 

“They are just fine. Bumblebee has long since risen to the upper echelons of the ranks of Enforcers and Smokescreen has been focused on integrating the Wreckers, DJD, and Elite guard all into one cohesive unit. He’s had limited success so far, but he is trying his best.” The Prime smiled as he led Megatron to the heart of the archive and stood before a console. For a moment, he looked just like Orion Pax, the brother Megatron thought lost to him so long ago. It hurt, it ached. 

“I brought you here because I do not wish to see you suffer alone. This burden you bear is great. As such, if you would allow me, I would be here to help you endure it for as long as I am able.” Optimus reached out and gently grasped his arm, pulling him a little closer so that he could see the screen. On it was an image of him, Orion Pax, Soundwave, and Ratchet before everything went to slag. They were all smiling, save for Soundwave who projected a smiley face on his visor. Tears he had long tried to suppress clouded his optics as he clutched Soundwave’s pendant, unable to hold back any longer. 

“I do not desire death, but I do wish that I would not be left in this state, untouched by time while all I know fades away before me.” His words came out between harsh sobs. Optimus merely held his servo and drew him into a comforting hug, understanding filling his field. Why was it that all he had left was the mech he once hated the most? Why did his companions have to wither while he did not?

“All will be well Megatronus. This reality that plagues you is not one you need to endure alone. I am here, and I will remain until my end draws near.” Optimus’s ominous final statement flew right over Megatron’s helm as he wept and truly felt the grief of all he lost for the first time. His cause, his Decepticons, Shockwave, Starscream, Soundwave, Knockout, and so many others. All of it was gone, and nothing remained save for echoes, shadows, small trinkets, and the odd mention of them in the history books. 

He hated this, but at least he was not alone.

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

He took comfort in Optimus for many long vorns. The Prime understood him and was the only one who really knew who Megatron was. Often his routine for the following few millennia amounted to retreating to his abode in the forests where little ever changed and going to Iacon a few times a vorn to visit Optimus and teach the sparklings his former foe gave lessons on history to. Surprisingly, the little ones did not fear Megatron when he stood before him. Whatever anger from the war still remained only seemed to linger among the first generation of forged bots who came from the Well. Most war veterans were dead or too old to care, and for that reason, Megatron did not mind teaching at the archives as required.

Time was a blur for him for the most part, a mess of emotion that largely consisted of grief, reminiscing, brief flares of joy, and apathy. Lots of his time was spent in his hab, writing down his experiences, his poetry, and his wisdom. Those things he brought to Optimus who in turn published them under Megatron’s name. He would have preferred he remain anonymous, but the Prime insisted, and Megatron did not have the spark to say no when Optimus was all that remained.

There were moments of joy and comradery, but overall his life was a mess. Optimus helped and proved to be an anchor, but the way of the world meant that when Megatron finally saw, it was too late to do much of anything.

As with his old comrades, Megatron remained unblemished whereas Optimus suddenly grew to be frailer. Optimus was a Prime, the Matrix kept his spark ablaze and youthful, but it did not maintain the vitality of his frame. As such Optimus rather quickly deteriorated. At first, Megatron said nothing. It was not his place to speak on such matters. He assumed that Optimus was merely biding his time, enjoying the familiarity of his frame for as long as possible before going to get a new one, as was customary amongst Primes who lived long.

They were functionally immortal. Why would they not wish to continue on when all it would take was a quick frame change? Megatron understood better than ever why immortality was a curse more than a gift, but despite that, he still could hardly believe his optics when Optimus continued on, never getting a frame change even when he obviously needed it. The Prime’s armor fell off in droves, leaving him thin and emaciated to the point of requiring one of his younger archivists to guide him around. Then his vision began to fail so much that whenever Megatron visited, he often needed to read things out to Optimus if the print was too small. 

Even still, he said nothing for vorns. He was positive Optimus had a reason… up until the Prime tried to go fetch a datapad for Megatron to review only to instead trip, fall, and break his hip in three places. That was the final straw for Megatron. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“Why won’t you get a fragging frame change?!” Megatron demanded as he marched into Optimus’s office, noting with grief the stabilizer that was now welded onto the Prime’s hip to keep it in place. 

“Because I have no need of it,” Optimus replied simply as if he weren’t using reading glasses and didn’t require three pillows just to sit upright in his chair. Megatron growled in outrage, anger boiling within his core to cover for the fear and sorrow that threatened to break loose. 

“You are falling apart, Orion!” He all but screamed, his fists shaking as he tried to make his point. Optimus merely put down his glasses with a sigh and turned to face him, suddenly looking so much more tired than Megatron remembered. His old foe always had an air of exhaustion around him, even when they were both still young. But the mech before him was wearier, darker, and seemingly so done with it all that even his spark lamented life. 

“I know, and I allow it to be. I am tired Megatronus, I have lived long enough and I want nothing more than to rest with my loved ones in the Allspark.” White hot rage ran through every fuel line and processing unit in Megatron’s frame as he marched forward and grabbed Optimus’s servo, holding it gently despite the way a dark part of him wanted to crush the weakening limb. 

“You want to abandon Cybertron? You archivists? Your position? Do you really want to leave it all behind? Are you truly so selfish as to have me endure this reality alone!?” He wasn’t sure when his tears began to fall, but as his wrathful questions poured from his vocalizer, he knew Optimus had already made up his mind. The Prime met his gaze calmly and squeezed his servo in that fond manner only Orion did back before the war.

“I take no joy in this, but I wish to make this singular choice for myself. I want to rest.” Sorrow, rage, denial, and so much more drowned out all logical thought as Megatron tore his servo away and fumed. Memories of the High Council and Orion’s ascension to the rank of Prime plagued him as he marched off, saying only one final thing before he left the archives for what was going to be a very long time.

“FINE THEN! FRAG OFF AND DIE FOR ALL I CARE, PAX!” He slammed the archive doors behind him and took to the skies in a rage, unwilling to heed the messages Optimus sent to him. He couldn’t handle them, not right now. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Megatron retreated back to his hab and fervently refused to so much as look at any messages from Optimus for vorns on end. He didn't want to hear it. He didn’t want to listen to Optimus’s slagging reasoning for essentially offing himself.  The Prime was a selfish fragger and always had been. He could be the one to wait until Megatron was good and ready to come back, at least, that was Megatron’s thought process as he fumed. 

Optimus wanted to leave him alone. The Prime was the only other living mech who could essentially go on living forever just like Megatron. Why did he have to decide to abandon him? Why did that hurt so much? Why couldn’t Megatron move on already?

Thoughts plagued him, his anger simmered into remorse, and by the time Optimus contacted him again after a lull of a whole three vorns… he, at last, returned to Iacon. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“Orion…” His voice echoed in the near-silent room. The only other sound was the tortured venting of the mech before him. Optimus Prime lay on a simple berth in a small hospital room. There was a pile of audio recordings beside him that he had evidently listened to quite frequently if the marks all over them were any indicator. But aside from that, the most notable and startling part of the situation was just how far Optimus had fallen.

He was stick thin, even slimmer than Soundwave was before his death. His plating was all but gone and his limbs were so frail that Megatron doubted the Prime could raise his arm for more than a half klik at most. Despite that, he seemed content as his dull and useless optics remained uncycled while still managing to look in Megatron’s general direction.

“You came…” Optimus murmured, his voice so gravelly and filled with static that it was hard to hear at all. Megatron moved to his ailing companion’s side and gently took the servo that reached out for him. This time he held no anger in his spark, and instead he felt nothing but regret. Vorns he could have spent enjoying the closeness of a former foe and friend were lost because of his bitterness, and now all he had was a few short kliks at best. 

“I did. I’m here Orion.” A weak smile met his words and never more did Megatron wish he was capable of aging. He wanted to have been able to age alongside his fellows, to banter about the woes of growing older, and to have the slagging peace that all of his fallen fellows seemed to have right before the end. 

“Thank you… for coming… one last… time.” Optimus’s optics flickered and his field crumpled. He was out of time. 

“Sire, rest easy, we will take care of things.” Bumblebee came forward from wherever he was previously loitering in the room and took up Optimus’s other servo. The former scout was aged as well, but it did not show with how kindly he cradled the dying Prime’s servo in his own. Megatron did not even bother trying to fight back tears as Optimus continued to smile so hopefully as if he were but a youngling again, just so pleased to be with those he loved.

“I know… you will both… endure… I know… that one cycle… we will… meet… again.” Optimus’s voice started to fade and Bumblebee began to sob. Megatron held himself upright, wishing he could spill out the millions of apologies that he had rehearsed during his trip to Iacon but knowing he had no more time to utter them. Optimus was fading, and if he could hear the words Megatron wished to speak, he would not have the chance to respond.

There would be no comfort from his dear old friend, and so all Megatron could do was listen and obey. 

“One day… an Autobot shall rise… from our ranks… and use the… power of the Matrix… to light… our darkest… hour.” The Matrix pulsed, its light shining through Optimus’s thinned armor and causing his optics to glow.

“Until that day… till all… are… one…” And just like that, Optimus’s frame went still, his venting ceasing and his spark chamber opening so that the light of the Matrix could bathe the room. Megatron did not stay. He carefully allowed Optimus’s lifeless servo to rest at his side and allowed Bumblebee to do whatever he wanted with the slagging relic as he stepped outside and flew back to his hab in the forest.

He did not care to linger, and as soon as he was home and the door firmly shut, he collapsed against the wall, weeping and clutching Soundwave’s pendant as if his life depended on it. 

“Forgive me Orion… forgive me….” 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Megatron stopped bothering to keep track of time at all after Optimus’s passing. He stopped writing, he stopped doing much of anything. He left his hab with only Soundwave’s pendant and a datapad Optimus gave him vorns prior to read from. Once he had those two items, he merely… wandered. 

He contemplated ending his life by blaster or blade, but he found that reprehensible considering how pathetic it was compared to his comrades who died content and with honor. And yet he also had no desire to really continue living. As such Megatron fell to marching on, wandering the forests, seeing the sights of Cybertron, and avoiding cities like the plague. On the off chance he met another mech, he was quick to fly away. 

Loneliness ate at him, but he disregarded it. He could have left Cybertron and fled back to the stars, but he couldn’t bring himself to. That felt… disrespectful in an odd way, especially after all his comrades did to care for the world he walked. A strange sense of duty kept him firmly planted, and the rational part of his processors explained it away as him keeping his promise to Starscream. He was, by continuing to be present, ensuring that if things really needed to be looked at, he could come to handle the issue. 

At least that was what he told himself as cycles bled into one another and countless deca-cycles were spent laying flat on the ground staring up, unmoving and uncaring of the world around him. 

He wanted to be left alone to wallow, and for what could have been but a handful of vorns of countless millennia, he was allowed to do just that. But of course, Optimus’s final words had a way of following him, and eventually, he was greeted by a new and old face while resting along the edges of the Rust Sea. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“You’re Megatron, right? Megatron of Kaon? Lord of the Decepticons, the great and mighty slag maker, the Herald of the Unmaker, and Champion of the pits? Do any of those ring any bells?” A young mech, one likely not older than perhaps millennia, stood above where Megatron lay on the ground uselessly. He sat up quickly and waved a servo dismissively, agitation blooming in his spark as he moved to gather his datapad and leave. But that didn’t seem to be enough for the pesky thing to leave him alone as quickly the orange, gold, and red youngling stood in front of him, stopping his path.

“Got any time to spare for an adventure?” The youngling asked with a big smile that seemed slightly unnatural to Megatron. He grunted and tried to sidestep before Bumblebee of all mecha hit his leg with a cane the former scout had evidently acquired. 

“Been looking for you for quite some time Megatron. We have a situation on our servos that requires somebody with actual experience to deal with.” The yellow scout scowled as he glared at the youngling who sheepishly whistled, seemingly uncaring of whatever distress he was causing. 

“Something’s gone wrong with Cybertron’s core. The Well is turning up empty with less and less sparklings every vorn. We found some of Optimus’s old texts talking about the ‘Knights of Cybertron’ and we could use your assistance hunting them down.” Surprise was quick to override agitation at the mention of the fallen Prime. Megatron stopped trying to get away as Bumblebee tried to speak only to be interrupted by the youngling before him.

“Bee’s got it mostly summed up! My designation is Rodimus Prime! Just got the Matrix, not all that long ago and I’ve already got a crew ready to go and find these Knights!” A Prime? Megatron could feel his brow raising in cautious curiosity as he looked the mech over. He didn’t at all match any prior Prime Megatron knew of, but then again, it was a time of peace. Odd things happened during peace just as they did while at war. 

“According to Bee, you’ve just been wandering around for the past few millennia since you can’t die. So what do you say? Want to go on an adventure and shake things up? I’ve got stickers!” The stupidity was astounding, and yet Megatron found himself compelled. It had been so long since he’d really attempted to connect with anyone, and quite frankly, Cybertron held too many painful memories to continue hanging around. He kept his promise to Soundwave and Starscream as much as he was able. 

Maybe it would do him some good to leave for a while. If nothing else, he might find someone out there to kill him in an honorable fashion.

“Only if I can be co-captain of this expedition.” He settled on a compromise, not fully trusting the so-called Prime before him. Rodimus seemed only partially let down before he gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up and grabbed Megatron’s arm. 

“Then let’s get going! Cybertron won’t save itself!” Rodimus smiled, Bumblebee grumbled, and Megatron sighed. Whatever was going to happen, at least he wouldn’t be alone.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #megatron #soundwave #starscream #ratchet #bumblebee #rodimus prime #post war cybertron #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfic #emotional hurt/comfort #immortal megatron

[pxnsneverland]

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8| Part 9 | Part 10

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2323

warnings/notes: violence, blood, mentions of murder

Chapter 3: The Awakening

The ride back to Austin's place was a blur, the late-night landscape passing by in a haze. Bonnie clung to him. The moonlight streamed down in intermittent flashes, the leafy canopy above doing its best to shield them from celestial view. Austin drove with a practiced ease, his body automatically navigating the familiar turns and dips of woodland roads, but his mind was elsewhere. The only sound was the masterful growl of the motorcycle engine and the occasional rustling leaves in the wind. His heart thundered a rhythm that echoed Bonnie’s own - one of fear, hope and uncertainty.

Bonnie held onto him tighter, her eyes closing as she tried to block out the reality of their situation. She rested her head against his broad back, his unique scent - a mix of dirt, gasoline and something distinctly Austin - permeating her senses. It was comforting, familiar and it grounded her in the moment. They finally arrived at his cabin tucked away in the woods, a solitary beacon of light amidst the indigo canvas of the night. He cut the engine, and for a moment, everything was silent.

"Are you okay?" Austin asked, as he helped her off the bike. Bonnie nodded, her face pale in the moonlight. She did not trust her voice enough to answer verbally.

Once inside, Austin began to explain. "Our transformation isn't... easy," he said truthfully, his eyes haunted. "But it's part of us, and fighting it only makes it worse."

"But I don't want this." Bonnie's voice was soft, defeated. "I left this world behind."

Austin's countenance softened. It pained him to see Bonnie torn between two worlds - one she longed to forget and another she wished she could return to - both impossible desires.

"And yet you're here now," he reminded her. "You can't deny what you are. No more than I can."

His statement hung heavy in the silence that followed. Bonnie turned towards him, her eyes filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite place - fear or determination, he wasn’t sure.

"But I can try," she answered, her voice resolute. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

Austin sighed, running a hand through his hair. He understood her trepidation. He had lived with this curse - this gift - long enough to know the struggles it presented, the choices it forced one to make.

"We never choose who we hurt, Bonnie," he said softly, looking deeply into her eyes. "But we can decide who we protect."

Bonnie was silent for a moment before slowly reaching for his hands. His breath hitched as their fingers intertwined, warmth spreading through him like wildfire. Their connection was electric, familiar yet completely new.

"Austin..." Bonnie's voice was barely a whisper, but it echoed loudly in the quiet of the room.

"Let me protect you," Austin said firmly, cupping her face in his powerful hands. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked at her wonderingly, as if seeing her for the first time.

Bonnie's breath hitched at his words and for a moment, she just stared at him, her gaze searching his. Her uncertainty was evident, but there was something else too: a softness, a yearning that promised to tip the scale. "Okay," she finally whispered, her pulse quickening under Austin's gentle touch.

Relief swept over Austin and he pulled her into an embrace, burying his face in her hair. His heart pounded loudly in his ears and for the first time in years, he felt something akin to happiness. Their bodies fitted together perfectly as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that had been lost for far too long. Is this how it felt to be in the presence of your mate? He never wanted to let her go again.

"Bonnie," Austin said softly, a serene peace washing over him. He pulled away slightly so that he could look at her, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Why don't you go take a shower? It’s been a long night for you."

Bonnie nodded, disentangling herself from his arms reluctantly. She gave him one last lingering look before making her way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of silence in her wake.

Once she was out of sight, Austin expelled the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. His heart pounded against his chest - an erratic rhythm that mirrored the whirlwind of emotions he felt. An overwhelming urge to protect Bonnie had taken hold of him, and he knew he would face any danger head-on for her safety. He needed to get a hold of himself. There would be time for emotions later—for now, he had to focus on ensuring Bonnie’s safety. Austin turned his attention to the cabin. He took a moment to secure the place, double-checking the locks on all windows and doors. His senses were on high alert, the primeval wolf in him pacing restlessly, ready to defend its territory and protect its mate.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the soft sound of the bathroom door opening or the quiet padding of bare feet on the old wooden floor until Bonnie was standing right in front of him. The sight of her stopped him in his tracks. Wrapped in a large fluffy towel that barely reached her mid-thighs, with her hair damp and carelessly falling around her shoulders, she looked ethereal under the soft glow of the lamps.

"Is everything okay?" Bonnie asked softly, breaking his reverie.

"Yeah," Austin managed to croak out, tearing his gaze away from her. "Everything's fine."

The phrase was a blatant lie, and he knew it. He could barely focus on anything, but the arousal arising inside him. As Austin looked away from Bonnie, his breath hitched at the sight of her. She had changed into a loose, cozy nightgown that came down to her knees, revealing long, toned legs and the gentle curve of her stomach. He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, like a beacon guiding him towards her. His wolf wanted nothing more than to claim her right there and then, to mark her as his own. But he knew better than that. Bonnie deserved patience. One wrong move could send her running away, especially given the fragile state she was in. Austin had to tread this path carefully, cautiously.

"Austin?" Bonnie's voice pulled him from his thoughts, its softness like a warm embrace.

"I'm alright," he said again, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt. His gaze roamed her face, lingering on the worry etched in her eyes.

"Are you sure?" she asked, skepticism etching her brows together in a delicate frown.

He chuckled at her persistent concern. "Yes, Bonnie, I promise."

He watched as she sighed, pressing a hand gently to her temple, a gesture he remembered from their past. With a start, he realized how weary she looked, the circles under her eyes mirroring the same exhaustion etched into her delicate features.

“Hey,” he said gently, touching her arm lightly making Bonnie look up at him, “come with me.” Gently guiding her by the small of her back, he led Bonnie towards his bedroom. It was simple and unpretentious; a reflection of Austin himself. The king-sized bed sat invitingly against one wall, flanked by two rustic bedside tables. One wall was adorned with various photos and memorabilia from his biker life, creating an interesting contrast with the otherwise bare walls.

“This is my room,” Austin began hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare show of nervousness, “You can sleep here tonight.”

Bonnie blinked at him in surprise, her mouth parting into a tiny ‘o’. Seeing the confusion on her face, Austin quickly clarified.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” His wolf howled in protest inside him, wanting nothing more than to share that bed with her—to hold her close and keep her safe in his arms.

Bonnie’s gaze wandered about as she took in everything around her. The room was neat, everything meticulously placed and not a speck of dust in sight. It screamed 'Austin' - practical, rugged, and distinctly masculine. She glanced at the bed, then back to Austin, her expressive eyes wide with uncertainty, worry... and something else he couldn't quite place.

"I..." she began hesitantly, biting her lower lip nervously, "I'd rather you...," she trailed off.

Austin tilted his head to one side, an eyebrow arched in question. "Yeah?" he coaxed gently.

Her voice was so soft when she finally found the words that he almost missed them. "I'd rather you sleep…with me."

His heart thundered against his chest at her confession and a surge of warmth spread through him despite the chill outside. His wolf preened, satisfied at the prospect of being closer to their mate.

"All right," Austin replied simply. He would honor her request but he intended to keep his distance in the bed as much as possible. He didn't trust himself entirely around her right now and he didn't want to inflict any unwelcome advances on Bonnie when she was so vulnerable.

"Are you sure?" There was a note of worry in his voice that betrayed his composure.

Bonnie nodded, her face a shade of pink that Austin had never seen before. He could tell she was nervous, but also determined. "Yes," she said. She hesitated for a moment then added, "I think I'll feel safer...if you're there."

Those words caused an immense feeling of protectiveness to surge within Austin. He felt his wolf stirring inside him, pleased with the notion that their mate felt safe in their presence. He offered a small smile and extended his hand towards her, which she took after a moment's hesitation.

Austin led her to the bed, pulling back the thick comforter for her to climb under. Once she was settled in, he got on the other side of the bed, keeping a respectful distance between them. It took every ounce of his control not to pull Bonnie close to him and envelope her in his warmth. Sensing his struggle, his wolf growled lowly within him. As Austin lay there in the dimly lit room, the silence between them seemed almost deafening. Bonnie shifted slightly under the covers, her breaths coming out in small, nervous puffs. Austin could feel the tension radiating from her, and it mirrored his own internal battle. He turned to look at her, his gaze meeting hers in the shadows. The vulnerability in her eyes tugged at something deep within him, a primal urge to protect and cherish this woman who had walked back into his life so unexpectedly.

Without a word, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch gentle yet tinged with longing. Bonnie's eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, a small sigh escaping her lips. In that moment, all pretenses and barriers melted away between them. Austin's resolve crumbled as he allowed himself to give in to the undeniable connection that hummed between them. He moved closer, closing the gap between their bodies until they were inches apart.

Their breaths mingled in the space between them, warm and intimate. As Austin finally wrapped his arms around Bonnie, pulling her close to him in a protective embrace, he felt her relax against him, her heartbeat syncing with his own. And in the quiet of the night, surrounded by nothing but trust and understanding, they drifted off to sleep together, finding peace in each other's presence.

A few hours into their slumber, Bonnie began to thrash restlessly beside him. Her face was scrunched up, beads of sweat trickling down her forehead as soft whimpers escaped her lips. Austin woke instantly; his werewolf instincts kicking in at the first sign of distress. "Bonnie," he called softly, his voice groggy with sleep. He turned on his side, placing a comforting hand on her arm. Her body was rigid, her breathing shallow and fast.

She was in the throes of a nightmare. Austin's heart clenched at the sight of her struggling with unseen demons. It was then that he heard it – a quiet murmur slipping out from Bonnie's lips, "Liam… no…"

The name sparked a surge of fury inside Austin. His wolf growled deep within him, hating the thought of anyone causing their mate pain.

"Shh… you're safe, Bonnie." Austin murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he gently stroked her back. He could feel his fur bristle under his skin, fighting the urge to shift and protect. "He can't hurt you anymore."

Sleep proved elusive as Bonnie's ragged breaths echoed in the silence. Each whimper, each plea to her tormentor conjured bitter memories in Austin's mind. Heaving a weighted sigh, he pulled Bonnie even closer to him. His arms tightened around her trembling figure. His nose was buried in the softness of her hair, taking solace in her familiar scent that mixed with the musky aroma of the forest. It reminded him of their shared past, further fueling his overwhelming need to protect her.

“Bonnie.” He whispered once more into the silence, his voice tender and pleading. The mere sound of her name on his lips seemed to soothe his agitated wolf. “You’re not there anymore, baby. You’re safe here...with me.”

As if sensing Austin's determination to keep her safe, Bonnie’s sleep-tossed body slowly relaxed against him. Her breaths became more even as the nightmare lost its grip over her subconsciousness. Feeling her finally settle against his chest, Austin let out a silent sigh of relief. His hand kept an even rhythm on her back, the comforting gesture lulling them both back towards sleep. His eyes remained open, mind alert for any sign of distress from Bonnie. His wolf was restless inside him, pacing and growling in response to the scent of Bonnie’s fear that lingered in the air. Austin allowed the low purr of his wolf to rumble through his chest, a calming lullaby for the woman in his arms.

Stay tuned for part 4!! Click HERE to view!

#austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler fandom #austin butler elvis #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #austin butler feyd rautha #austin butler dune #austin butler major gale buck cleven #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler smut #feyd #feyd rautha harkonnen #austinbutleredit

[carionto]

See, we got this... inclination

The Galactic Coalition is no stranger to war. Every sapient race has a history filled with external conflict, and most with some internal strife as well. Even now, the Coalition is in a stalemate with the United Federation on the North-Western arm of the Galaxy, a recently cooled hot war over what the Federation call foreign meddling in internal affairs, while the Coalition claim is an abusive contractual effective enslavement of a pre-stellar civilization, which goes against the Coalition's Ethics Directorate For All Sapient Encounters.

The Humans, who managed to learn of this on their own, sparking a hushed debate about their espionage capabilities, wanted to send their own delegation to the established Neutral Zone to speak with the Federation. As a party to the Coalition governing body, they have free reign to make contact with anyone on their own terms, with the understanding such individual activity will not represent the Coalition itself.

It did not take long for the Humans to reach back to us with an inquiry:

"So like, this might just be us, but these fellas are giving us some nasty fascist vibes, ya feel me? Maybe we're wrong (though we do got a lot of experience with that), but have a look at this data we've gathered so far."

What we saw were shockingly detailed and up-close images of clearly Federation design medical and emergency disaster relief encampments. A baffling number in fact, but technically nothing that would indicate wrongful action or intent. But there were a lot of them all across the planet.

"Yeah, we only got data from right now, so do you got info on this planet and it's folk from earlier? My gut, and all these shuttles full of some kinda cargo we can't scan hyperin' away, is telling me that it's not gonna match well."

The Human, or his... gut?... (we'll have to ask them to elaborate, we thought they only had one mind?) is correct, startlingly so. We informed the Human the atmosphere was far thinner than it was merely 40 years ago, containing a third less Nitrogen and almost no trace gasses at all, save for CO2, which was at nominal levels, but the planet used to have an abundance of Helium, now almost entirely gone. If further investigation corroborates this, and perhaps other inconsistencies, this will be cause for a full open investigation and possible sanctions!

"So... can we fight them?"

The Human's question startled us from our anger, now replaced with confusion and worry. Humanity boasted the most powerful fleet in Coalition space, there was no question about it, but they are still only a singular planet with some specialist stations dotted around local space, while the Federation was composed of dozens of races across thousands of planets in a very efficient hierarchical structure, plus the true strength of their military was unknown.

This is a delicate matter and we need them to not act rashly. We have learned, however, that outright denying Humans anything leads them to desire it more, so we must adopt a new approach to each situation we wish the Humans to... not take the initiative on.

Offering the delegation leader command of our own covert investigation units, and requesting he withdraw his ships to act as emergency response and intervention forces in the area seemed to please him. He had an important task to do, and his crew busied themselves preparing for a variety of possibilities, thus making the Humans feel both needed and engaged in productive activity, preventing them from escalating the situation. For now.

We really hope this "gut" will not cause rash action.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humanity fuck yeah #humans are space orcs #carionto #humans are crazy

[synkverv]

(DUNE RHAENICENT AU) During the long rule of the tyrant, Leto II Atreides, a leader emerges from the outskirts of the known galaxy. Rhaenyra, daughter of Viserys, has long been trained to take the planet Arrakis to sever the God-Emperor's supply of spice and his connection to Shai Hulud. With her Bene Gesserit concubine, Alicent of the High Tower, she marches against Leto.

Rhaenyra: I will tame Arrakis and I will end the damned Atreides' reign of tyranny. Who is one man to decide all our fates? My father wished to see us all free of that despot, and it's my destiny. Alicent: The universe can only know peace with you at the helm, Rhaenyra, and the power of the Bene Gesserit behind you. I believe this, I know this.

#syncreates #house of the dragon #hotd #hotdedit #dune (herbert) #god emperor of dune #rhaenicent #rhaenicent au #bene gesserit #dune au #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #emma d'arcy #olivia cooke #no one asked for this #and yet

[ask-turnedtechgodhead]

this thing on

fuck yes aight check this shit out-

DAVE, I'VE BEGRUDGINGLY COME TO UNDERSTAND THAT STANDING IN A CORNER ALONE SPEWING THE TYPE OF NONSENSICAL BABBLE ONE MIGHT EXPECT FROM A WRIGGLER IS WHAT PASSES FOR ENTERTAINMENT IN YOUR EMPTY THINK PAN.

I'VE EVEN BEGUN TO APPRECIATE IT, IF ONLY BECAUSE WE NEEDED *SOMETHING* TO FILL THE AGONISINGLY LONG SWEEP WE WERE STUCK ON THAT OTHERWISE SILENT AND YET SOMEHOW JUST AS MISERABLE FUCKING ROCK HURTLING THROUGH SPACE TOWARDS CERTAIN DEATH. BUT WHAT IN THE EVER-LOVING SHIT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WITH THAT BULBOUS FUCKING OVERGROWTH JAMMED AGAINST YOUR RIDICULOUS EYEWEAR?

damn man i thought we covered this in our human tech 101 lessons. its a camera- I KNOW ITS A CAMERA. I WAS TRYING TO LOWER MYSELF TO YOUR LEVEL SO THAT MAYBE YOU WOULD DECIDE TO GRACE ME WITH YOUR ATTENTION AND ACTUALLY LISTEN TO WHAT I HAD TO SAY. try harder SHUT UP. AND ANSWER THE QUESTION. how the hell am i supposed to answer the question if im shutting up? cant have it both ways bro. cant just have your cake and eat it too you either eat that bitch or shut your mouth forever and starve to death- HOLY SHIT WE BOTH KNOW YOU AREN'T GOING TO SHUT UP EITHER WAY. COULD YOU AT LEAST DO ME THE MERCY OF TELLING ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE DOING BEFORE I DROWN IN THE PUTRID STREAM OF BULLSHIT CASCADING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH?

documentary CARE TO EXPAND UPON THAT? OR AM I NOT WORTHY ENOUGH TO GET MORE THAN ONE WORD OUT OF YOU? SHOULD I BE PROSTRATING BEFORE YOU THANKING YOU FOR DEIGNING TO GRACE ME WITH ONE WORD FROM YOUR TIGHT ASS LIPS? 'DOCUMENTARY'. TRULY A HOLY WORD. RELIGIONS WILL FORM AROUND THIS ONE WORD, DAVE. HOLY BOOKS WILL BE WRITTEN ABOUT THOSE ELEVEN LETTERS. TODAY WILL BE CELEBRATED NOT AS THE DAY WE CREATED A NEW UNIVERSE, NO- TODAY WILL BE FOREVER MARKED AS THE DAY DAVE FUCKING STRIDER SAID 'DOCUMENTARY'-

AND GET THAT FUCKING THING OUT OF MY FACE YOU NOOKWHIFFER

holy shit check it out im being censored already

karkat do you support censorship

is this what this is karkat

is this where we find out that this entire session has been your master plan to create a new world for you to go stalin on its ass

because dude im so down to create some propaganda for supreme leader vantases glorious reign

just let me finish this shit first cmon man

HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO AGREE TO THAT WHEN I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT 'THIS SHIT' IS?

i told you man

IF YOU SAY DOCUMENTARY I SWEAR-

documentary

about the creation of the new universe

no big deal or nothing just thought it could be mildly interesting to get on camera

idk ill probably tape over it later for some shitty sitcom rerun

do you think theyll have the simpsons on the new planet

god i hope they do

AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THAT IS.

troll the simpsons

YOU CAN'T JUST PUT 'TROLL' IN FRONT OF SOME PANDEAD EARTH THING AND EXPECT ME TO KNOW WHAT IT IS AND HONESTLY, I'M DOWNRIGHT FUCKING INSULTED THAT YOU'D THINK THAT ALTERNIA HAD ANYTHING EVEN REMOTELY COMPARABLE TO YOUR EYEGOUGING EXCUSES FOR 'MEDIA'. MY PLANET ACTUALLY HAD STANDARDS, UNLIKE YOUR MISERABLE PILE OF DIRT.

says the guy that was responsible for that pile of dirt

and didnt even record its creation

imagine being an absent father to a whole universe karkat. what the fuck man

thank god im here to break the cycle of abuse

OH, I'M SORRY I COULDN'T RECORD YOUR WASTE OF SPACE PLANET BEING CREATED - I WAS TOO BUSY NEARLY GETTING MURDERED BY THE MURDERBEAST *YOU*-

oh shit idiot shuts up now

thats you youre the idiot

STRIDER I SWEAR TO FUCK

dude seriously shut up

hes doing it man

hes making it hapen

=>

#turntechgodhead #homestuck #dave strider

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

Insurgency: Long Live The Queen

Summary: A totalitarian regime reigns over a South American country in which the virus is being distributed to its citizens at the pretense of a “cure.” Leon was sent to retrieve a sample of the virus mutation when he stumbled upon a group of anti-government activists whose main goal is to overthrow their government. Will Leon help the cause or will he fall down with the government as well?

Warning: Mentions of mature themes. Read at your own discretion. Slow burn. Age gap (Leon is 38 and reader is 21+). Reader is female.

Word count: 5,105

A/N: how we feeling about this so far? :3

[part one][part two][part three][part four][part five][part six][part seven][part eight][bonus]

“The whole question here is: Am I a monster, or a victim myself?” - Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment.

Leon was put into a room after you guys reached La Sénte. He was given food and water as well as a bed for him.

What a nice welcome, he thought.

You were currently in a meeting room with Yarina and other Insurgents.

“The president is on to us. She knows we’ve been the ones targeting her military. From now on, we’ll be facing death head on. This is no time for hesitations. We must act or die,” Yarina stated as she looked down at the papers scattered on the table.

“Yarina, we can’t risk losing people. We will be outnumbered if we want to go to the city states-“

“Enough,” Yarina slams her fists on the table, “We cannot sit back and watch as President Mendez treats our lives as rag dolls. Yes, there’s a chance we will die but I’d rather die fighting than die a coward.”

Silence overtook the room, the atmosphere was tense and heavy. Ever since the President had broadcasted the message of public executions, everyone’s been at edge. Including you.

“Why don’t we use the American?” One of the insurgents spoke up, he seemed to be the secretary of Yarina. “How do we use him exactly?” She asked.

“A life for a life. We send a message to President Mendez demanding that she freed all the captured civilians. In return, we’ll give him to her-“

“A swap,” you interjected. “It won’t work-“ you turned to look at Yarina, “Listen, those soldiers- they’re nothing like the ones we’ve seen. San Bandero is protected by tanks and endless troops. We’ll die the second we step foot there.”

Yarina hums and brought a hand to her chin as she thought hard.

“We’ll split up,” she pointed to the map, “Half of the available Insurgents will storm right into the city with our bomb artillery. I’m talking tanks and rocket launchers. The other half will go underground and perform an evacuation for the remaining citizens who are unharmed. I want this to be quick and efficient. We have no room for mistakes. Prioritize the children.”

Everyone nodded and began to scurry out of the meeting room to prepare for battle. “Y/n, can I talk to you for a second?”

You stopped walking and walked back towards her.

“I heard about what you did for Josue, that was really heroic of your part,” she said quietly.

“It was nothing, really,” you muttered back with a short nod.

Yarina chuckled and patted your back, “Humble too. You never fail to surprise me.”

She cleared her throat before continuing, “Listen, I didn’t just held you back to talk about your accomplishments.”

You could only nod slowly in silence, “I actually wanted to let you know that if I were to die tonight… I want you as our leader.”

Your eyes widened at her statement and you felt your throat run dry, “Yarina… don’t say that. How are you sure you’re-“

“Y/n. There is no guarantee that I’ll make it alive after the mission. The President is on to us and once she finds out that I’m the leader, she’ll kill me.”

You could only stare at her in silence. What she said was true. If President Mendez were to find out that Yarina was the leader of the rebelling group then she’ll most definitely die.

“Okay,” you nodded and agreed quietly, “I’ll do my best to be a good leader.”

Yarina smiled softly and squeezed your arm, “Good, now let’s get this mission over with.”

-

Leon heard the sounds of footsteps through the halls.

They must be making their next move, he thought.

He wondered how exactly everything started. Getting captured by a group of people who want to overthrow the government wasn’t really on his to-do list. But alas here he was.

The food was way better than other times he’s been to other missions. He had to give you guys credit for having edible bread and good chicken.

-

You were put into the group of Insurgents who will storm right into the city. Currently, you seating in a car with other members. Weapons in hands and boxes full of explosives ready to be used.

As you were driven there, the sun began to set. You’ve gotten used to fighting in the dark. It was better since the soldiers’ helmets didn’t really allow them to see at night. This was your advantage.

As you neared the city entry, everyone jumped out of the car and proceeded to blend in with the trees and bushes that surrounded the area.

Hiding behind a bush, you kept watch as the person next to you took out their rocket launcher and shot the city.

Multiple bombs were set off, each hitting a different thing. Buildings, tanks, soldiers- anything they can shoot. The ground shook and insurgents ran out of their hiding spot and began to attack the confused soldiers.

Your weapon ready in your hand, you shot the soldiers in front of you. You managed a few headshots. It was good that you had improved your skills ever since this whole thing started, it was good you were becoming alive.

-

As the insurgents in the sewer system began to drive the citizens of San Bandero out, they felt the ground shook. They needed to get out of there quickly before the roads collapsed on top of them.

“Madam President, there’s an attack in San Bandero. A group of rebels are shooting out soldiers and bombing out buildings. Do you want-“

“No,” the President cut the assistant off. She was angry, more angry than anyone has ever seen her. She stood up and walked towards the window to see. And sure enough, fire and smoke came out of San Bandero.

“Find their leader and bring them to me. I will end this once and for all,” the President said as she walked away from the window and back to her desk.

-

You and Yarina were fighting back to back as the soldiers tried to pounce at you both.

“Fuck! I’m out,” Yarina exclaimed as she tried to shoot with her gun but no bullets came out.

You took Yarina by the arm and dragged her into a collapsed building, giving both of you enough time to reload your weapons.

Yarina was busy reloading her gun as you kept watch, “Yarina…” your eyes widened as you stared at the TV on the tower. Yarina grew confused and then looked out towards the TV as well.

It was a video footage of the sewers- the citizens walking while the insurgents helped them out.

“Citizens of Pruye, let this be a reminder that traitorous acts do not go unpunished. Everyone in relation to rebellion will face consequences,” the President spoke.

Suddenly, a bomb fell down from a plane and into the roads. You and Yarina took cover behind a fallen piece of debris. The ground shook tremendously as heat and light took over.

You couldn’t hear anything for a good minute, only the constant ringing. You peeked at the scene and saw that the bomb had fallen right on top of the people evacuating. Your eyes trailed towards the TV and couldn’t help but let out a soft sob.

Children, women, men and insurgents lying dead on the floor. No trace of life after the explosion. Smoke and ashes filled the air and your hearing got back.

You heard Yarina scream and turned your head over your shoulder to find Yarina being taken away by two soldiers, “¡¡Come mierdas- todos ustedes!!”

You were about to start running towards her but another soldier lunged at you, pinning you the ground. You gripped their wrist and tried to not let them stab with the knife they had in their hands. With as much energy you could muster, you harshly threw the soldier off of you and shot them in the head with your gun.

You looked back at where Yarina was last seen but she was gone. Panic and anxiety coursed through you. You didn’t want to think about it. But you knew Yarina was going to die.

-

It’s been three hours since Yarina got captured. The remnants of San Bandero were the only thing that remained of what was once a lively city. Now it was just debris and dead bodies all around.

Some insurgents were being treated for their wounds and others were patrolling the streets. You were sitting down the sidewalk as you contemplated what to do.

It wasn’t until the TV on the tower turned on and President Mendez spoke,

“Citizens of Pruye, with every heartbreak comes good news. Although a city of ours has been destroyed, we too, have something that is worth destroying for those who oppose me.”

The camera pans to Yarina kneeling down before a soldier who has a gun pointed at her forehead. Her hands were tied behind her back as she had a piece of cloth around her mouth, gagging her.

“Yarina…” you whispered as you stood up and stared at the screen.

“Let this be a lesson for all. You cannot win a helpless fight,” the President continued.

The soldier hooked his finger around the trigger all while Yarina maintained eye contact with him. She didn’t fear death, she wasn’t scared in that moment. Yarina is a smart person, she’s known all along that by starting this rebellion she’d face her ultimate death. Not once did she flinch nor did she beg for mercy.

She took a deep breath and let her body fall to the ground after the soldier pulled the trigger. The bullet penetrating her skull, sucking the life out of her. A poodle of blood surrounded her head as she died with her eyes opened.

Gasps and screams were heard from the other insurgents around you. You, yourself, felt anger. Anger at yourself, anger at the government, anger at the whole world. But beneath all that anger, was a girl who feared and cried. She was hurt- you were hurt. And nothing is this world could do anything to settle the turmoil inside you.

-

Leon was brought to the meeting room right after everyone reached base. News of Yarina’s death reached everyone, including him.

You stood at the center of the table, the proclaimed new leader. Your whole demeanor changed, you were serious and angry. Your eyes held a pain that only Leon could guess and relate to, because he also knew what it felt like to lose people right in front of your eyes.

He didn’t say anything and allowed the insurgents to pull him in front of the table.

“Change of plans,” you started as you began to motion for everyone around the table, including Leon. He raised a brow but obliged.

“Everyone knows San Jolonia has medical supplies and weapons we can use. If we are going to fight Mendez, we must be ready,” your brows were pinched together and your tone was serious and a little terrifying to some.

“But San Jolonia has been abandoned. The President ordered for people to leave the city,” one of the insurgents said. You nodded, “I know, hence why I need to take this opening and take as much as we can- guns, medicine, food, clothes. I won’t let anything go to waste.”

“Wait… you’ll go by yourself? Y/n I don’t think that’s safe, you saw what happened to-“

“I know,” you mumbled and stared down at the map in the center of the table, “San Jolonia is abandoned. Plus, the American is coming with me.”

The insurgent’s eyes widened and Leon only stared at you with mild shock.

“Y/n- you can’t trust him. What if he-“

“If I wanted to kill her, I would’ve done so already,” Leon interjected. He stared at you and you stared back, the tension high.

“I saw what happened to one of your people,” Leon continued just a little bit softer. The atmosphere turned solemn and some insurgents looked away as he began to talk about Yarina.

Leon sighed, “I want to help.”

You furrowed your brows and narrowed your eyes in skepticism, “Why?”

“Because no one should deal with this type of control. You are fighting against a dictator and you’ll need all the help you can get…” he exhaled and looked away briefly, “I’ve seen people die in front of me as well. Feeling helpless and unable to do anything to save everyone… it’s a shitty feeling.”

Your face fell and you nodded slowly, he looked back at you from across the table, “Let me join you. If there’s anyway I can help, I’ll take it. No more innocent lives need to die.”

He was right, in a way. If you want to bring down the government, you’ll need help. And Leon was an American soldier. They’re known to be ruthless and strong. It would a great asset to have him.

“Okay,” you nodded, “untie him.”

An insurgent went behind Leon and untied his hands. He massaged his wrists and then looked at you.

“You and I are leaving tonight, do not be late,” it was the last thing you told him before you left the room.

-

You waited for Leon at the gate, it was dark outside. The night breeze flowing gently through the trees and grass. Leon approached you as he was checking his gun.

"You ready?" you asked him before opening the gate. He nodded at you, "Yeah, let's get this over with."

Since it was nighttime, you decided not to use a vehicle. It was dangerous already if the soldiers were to notice a vehicle roaming around, then they'd most likely shoot you. So, you settled on foot.

As you and Leon walked through the forest, he couldn't help but make small talk with you.

"So..." he started quietly as he pushed some branches out of his face.

"So?" you mumbled as you led the way, "Whatever you want to say, just say it."

He hummed and chuckled faintly behind you, "Aren't you the nice one..." He shook his head and walked beside you.

"Listen, I don't doubt your skills or anything..."

"But?" You raised a brow as you glanced at him before looking back at the forest.

"But don't you think you should... take a break? I mean- a lot has happened to you and not taking the time to process what just happened can cause you to-"

You stopped and turned to face him, "I didn't ask for a therapist. I'm fine- we need to push forward."

He sighed and watched as you walked ahead of him. He sighed and followed behind you.

-

You both reached the outskirts of San Jolonia, abandoned and ruined. Must've been President Mendez's doing.

"Don't stray off too far," you said as you walked towards the entrance of the city state, "I don't you to get lost so just keep close."

Leon nodded and silently walked behind you. It was completely silent, except for the sound of your footsteps. The night was cold and the air was soft. You walked towards an abandoned pharmacy and began to stuff your bag with as many things as possible. Leon stood behind you, keeping watch in case something were to come out.

There was a strange peace between the two of you. Like as if both of you already knew what the other thought. When you're involved in a battle, it can help bring people together.

And Leon couldn't help but feel sympathy for you. You were young, too young to be in something like this. Sure, wanting to fight for your freedom is a noble cause. But he also understands the pain that comes with it. He's conflicted. He wants to help in two ways- wants to fight alongside you but he also wants to avoid a war. But you seem set on the idea of war and there's nothing in his power that can change that.

You weren't dumb, you knew Leon thought this. It was written in his face. The man had a great sense of justice and only cared for the lives of the unfortunate. If you had to guess, you'd say he probably feels a lot of guilt. A guilt that kept on piling up as the years went by.

"We should camp out, it's getting late," You broke the silence and walked towards another abandoned building.

One of its walls was collapsed while parts of the ceiling were missing. You stepped inside the ruined building and began to set up a fire. Leon was too far behind, he walked slowly as his eyes looked around. It wasn’t everyday that he would get pulled into events like this.

After you started a fire, you sat in front of it and began to pull out some food you brought, “Hungry?”

Leon looked at you and shook his head no, “I’m good, thanks.” He went over to sit next to you as you shrugged, “Suit yourself,” you muttered under your breath before you took a bite out of a piece of bread.

Leon stared at the fire in silence. He was aware of the occasional glances you’d throw him but he hasn’t said anything, yet.

You sighed and looked back at the fire, remaining in silence once again.

“Why are you here?” You mumbled and looked at him.

“You told me to come-“

“That wasn’t what I meant,” you cut him off. “What made you come to this place?”

He looked back down at you before shrugging faintly and looking back at the fire, “Got sent here. Wasn’t really my choice.”

His voice was quiet and the light from the fire highlighted his features. You never actually sat down to get a good look at him but now that were, you couldn’t help but think hoe handsome he was. His foggy blue eyes piercing down at the flames as his dark fringe fell down the sides of his face. His stubble had been growing for a while- maybe even before he got sent here.

You exhaled softly and looked back at the fire, “So you were forced…”

He nodded, “Yep. I mean, it’s also partly my fault in a way. I work for the government and I get these… missions. Shits crazy when life hits you with the consequences of your actions, don’t you think?”

“I guess…” you mumbled and looked down at the bread in your hands, “So, you’re like a personal soldier or something?”

Leon chuckled and looked at you for a brief moment, “You’ve been watching way too many American movies.”

This time, you smiled softly and looked back at him, “What can I say? You Americans are the leaders of entertainment.”

That caused him to smile back, “Good point…” he exhaled softly before looking back at the fire, “But no. I’m not a personal soldier or whatever. I’m just an agent. I work in the defense department, lots of fighting.”

You hummed quietly and looked back at the fire in silence for a moment before speaking up in a cautious tone, “Was it your dream to become an agent?”

Leon felt his body freeze at that question. He blinked slowly as his expression fell slightly and then looked at you with a pained expression, “No, it’s not.”

Your own expression mimicked his as he continued, “I wanted to be a cop. Like the ones in Brooklyn 99 or Chicago P.D. But after…” he quickly trailed off, deciding whether or not he could tell you about Raccoon City.

“After?” You asked,

“After Raccoon City,” he replied quietly.

You were aware of what happened in Raccoon City. It made global news how the U.S. nuked it’s own people. But no one knew as much as Leon and you could tell that it left him with a big weight on his shoulders.

“When I escaped Raccoon City, my whole life changed… I was no longer the 21 year old rookie cop,” his gaze trailed on, no long focusing on the fire. Right now, he was somewhere else.

“I met this girl, when the whole Raccoon City thing started, she was like 10 or 11- and I couldn’t help but feel… anger. Not at her, obviously, but at everyone else. Children died that day, sisters… brothers… everyone died and I couldn’t save them,” he inhaled sharply,

“It felt like everyone moved on and I’m still stuck in that same fucking time-loop…” he looked down at you, “Not a day goes by where I don’t dream about it. About everything.”

You stared back at him and watched as his eyes told the story. His raw emotions emanated from within, “To this day, I still see them. Every figure and shadow of what remained of that goddamn city. The guilt to not have been able to help… it hurts more than anything in the world.”

He turned to look back at the fire in silence. You’ve never seen someone so hurt. Although it took you by the surprise, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. All those years that went by and he’s still in the same place.

“Is that why you’re helping us? Because you don’t want to feel guilt?” You asked quietly.

He nodded, “If I can help… I wouldn’t let the opportunity pass by. I’ll take hold of whatever chance I get to save people.”

You stared at him for a moment in silence. It was very noble of him basically risking his life for people- dangerous but very noble.

"You know," you started quietly, "I didn't even know how to fight before.. all of this even started." Leon raised his brow at you and then chuckled. He shook his head and stared back at you, "I can tell. When we first fought, you had so many openings."

You rolled your eyes at him and then looked back at orange flames, "Give me a break. I was just some random girl working in a canteen... before chaos took place," memories of when the soldiers first came with their tanks filled your mind. You sat there in silence before finally saying something. If he basically trauma dumped on you then why shouldn't you as well?

"My brother died from a soldier," you mumbled softly as you fiddled with the bread, "He was out with his friends one night and some soldiers came up to him. They tried to arrest him but he resisted and eventually... he got shot."

The words barely came out of your mouth. It was painful to rethink about all of the deaths that happened, but Leon knew that. He understands the pain.

"I'm sorry about your brother," he mumbled. You swatted your hand in the air before looking back at him, "He wasn't the only one I lost. I lost my two friends from my job... we got bombed and one of them got squashed by a building and the other... bled to death..."

Leon remained silent as he listened to you. He may not have been there when all of that happened, but he knew the pain.

A dry chuckle escaped your lips, "And now Yarina is dead, and I became the leader of her group... I feel like life is mocking me. It's like, 'Hey! You lost your friends but don't worry! You'll lose more people'... These types of battles don't go well- i know that. But a part of me wishes that i should've just left. Left for America for a better future... Instead, I'm stuck here leading a rebellion." You took a bite out the bread and got quiet. Leon was just watching you, reading you. He could tell you were in a lot of pain, more pain than you believe.

He sighed and looked back at the fire, "Life's been shitty to the both of us, huh?"

The ends of your lips curled up slightly as you nodded, "Pretty much."

"You look young... life can get better for you, trust me," he mumbled softly.

"I don't feel young. Does it ever actually get better?" you asked as you turned your head to look at him.

He looked back at you and shook his head, "No, it doesn't... but you learn to live with it."

"I don't want to live with it... I want to forget everything ever even happened. I want to live a normal life..."

Leon looked at you with sad eyes, "But that's not the case, is it? You can dream all you want but the hard truth will always drag you back to reality... and it's a reality you must live in."

You stared into his eyes for a moment in silence as he stared back at you. The atmosphere was complicated. One minute you were cautious of him and then the next you express your inner emotions to him. And now the tension was high. For what? You don't know but you could swear you saw his eyes drift down to your lips.

It's not like you were a virgin, you had your own experiences. But yet, you felt something starting to build inside you and you could almost see it in him as well. Feelings were growing when they shouldn't be.

Your eyes drifted down to his and you leaned a little closer. But your subconscious mind pulled you back. You turned your head away, "We shouldn't..." you whispered.

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes lingering on your lips, "Says who?"

"This is wrong. It feels wrong... I mean, we're in the middle of an incoming war. Is it even okay?"

Leon brought his hand to your cheek and gently forced you to look back at him, "You're not killing anybody. It's okay," he whispered as his thumb caressed your cheek.

You swallowed and allowed him to gently pull you towards him. You closed your eyes and felt his breath on your face as he brought you two together.

His lips landed on yours in a soft kiss. Lips so soft and tender despite the environment. He kissed you gently and brought you closer as you rested your hands on his shoulders. His free hand traveling to your waist, giving it a gentle squeeze. You gasped softly against his lips and he took the opportunity to bring his tongue inside your mouth. His tongue entangled itself with your tongue. It felt so intimate yet so calm. He was kissing you as if he didn't want to hurt you. You've been hurt far too much already but this kiss felt like a band-aid on top of your scars.

He pulled apart to catch his breath, eyes opening to look at your face. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyes were already staring at his. He brushed some hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear. There was a moment of silence as the two of you just sat there staring at each other.

"Rest," he whispered, "We still have a lot of things to do tomorrow."

You nodded slowly and laid down on your side, giving your back to Leon. You closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Leon watched as you fell asleep, he took off his jacket and laid it on top of you. So many thoughts lingered in Leon's mind but he also had questions about your previous conversation.

He knew death was inevitable but seeing everyone- including you- fight with so much resolve made him believe that you had the opportunity to do something he couldn't.

To save people.

He wasn't jealous or mad, rather, he felt a sense of guilt. He didn't want to see you die. Leon wanted to see you and the rest of your people overthrow the government. He beg the heavens above to let you live just a little bit longer if it meant seeing you free this country.

He'd plead to whoever.

-

An announcement alarm went off and the TV from the tower turned on. Flashing images of people lined up, kneeling down with bags over their heads, with soldiers behind them pointing their guns at their heads.

You woke up as stared at the screen, which Leon did was well. The two of you watched as the soldiers began to shoot the people one by one. Their bodies falling limp against the floor and letting the blood pool around them.

Your heart felt heavy and you tried to move but couldn't. You were frozen in place.

"We've captured more traitors who must pay the price for their treason," President Mendez said.

You felt anger. Some were children.

In a fit of anger, you took your gun and dashed out of the ruined building you were in. Leon followed behind you, "Wait- where are you going?"

You ignored him and kept walking. He ran behind you and pulled your arm to stop you, "Y/n..."

Eyes welling up with tears of anger, you looked at him with so much anger, "Those were kids. And she's killing them like pieces in a game. I need to do something-" you harshly pulled your arm away from him and ran towards the tower. Leon quickly caught up to you and hooked his arm around your waist. He hoisted you up in the air and you thrashed in his hold.

You cried. Sobbed and screamed in anger. The once silent abandoned city was now filled with your angry screams.

"Let me go!" You struggled against him, but he didn't move. He knew you were going through a meltdown, and it wasn't safe for you to act in a fit of anger.

"I said let me go!!... let me go," your head fell forward as he slowly put you down on the floor. You clung to him as you cried loudly. You were so angry and hurt. This was the last straw for you.

It was heartbreaking, really. There was nothing you could do except watch as these innocent people died. President Mendez won this battle but you vowed to yourself that you'll win this war.

War.

You declared war.

-

Both you and Leon walked back to base. Something changed in you as you walked through the halls and towards the meeting room.

You slammed your fists on the table, "Send a message to the president," you started with anger on your tone and face.

"Tell her that tomorrow morning, we will start a war. And we will win this war."

The other insurgents looked at you and then at Leon who stood behind you. They all stood still and you only got more angry.

"I said- send her a fucking message that says we declare war on her. Now."

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #id leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon smut #leon #leon kennedy smut #di leon

[absolutebuffoonery]

PT 3 (including finale): I convinced my dad to watch merlin with me and here’s what he has to say

pt 1

pt 2

---

“They’re loving that.”

“I don’t even wanna know what they’re doing in there.”

-When Merlin and Arthur get caught in the net booby trap

-

Arthur, to Merlin: You’re the only friend I’ve got and I couldn’t bear to lose you. 

Dad: *literally gasps and gapes at me in surprise*

Merlin: Really?

Arthur: Don’t be stupid. 

Dad: *laughs hysterically*

-

*uther emerges from the veil*

“Wow, of all the dead people, he got the right guy”

-

“Was that a reference to fisting?” -the horseplay scene when Arthur threatens Merlin with his fist 

-

“Okay that was pretty gay.”

(I don’t even remember what he was talking about here, but he was right)

-

“Arthur’s unconscious again, alert the media.”

-

“I really don’t know what to make of Mordred.” 

(whenever he said something like this I had to hold in an earth-shattering screech)

-

“Okay, this son of a bitch has to die” -About Mordred, s5e12

-

“I am OBSESSED with her.” -about Gwen after she runs someone through with a sword in s5e12

(same)

-

Arthur: “Just... hold me.”

Dad: *just nods his head*

(I think he was simply acknowledging the queerness)

-

Arthur, during That scene in s5e13: I want to say something that I’ve never said to you before.

Dad: Ohh boy. 

-

His thoughts after the finale (he wrote an Official Statement for his “tumblr fandom,” including the hashtags at the end):

Well, watching Merlin was a much more satisfying experience than when my kids made me watch Glee with them. Although it was difficult at first to accept the way they bent time to accommodate Merlin and Arthur being contemporaries, I got over it because they succeeded in creating a relationship between two boys-to-men who wouldn't normally exist in each other's worlds. In actual Arthur lore, Merlin is old and wizened long before Arthur is even born. In fact, you remember in an early episode when Gaius references magic being necessary for Uther and his queen to produce a son? Well, in Arthur lore, that magic was cast by Merlin, and Merlin was present during Arthur's childhood. But ok, let's give the BBC some breathing room because they did a good job showing the generational transition from the failings of toxic masculinity (Uther's reign) to the superhuman potential of unapologetic bromance (Arthur's reign). In fact, how many times did I furrow my brow when Uther did something stupid or said something weenie just because he thought he was being strong, but he was actually being...alone. When it was Arthur's turn to do something stupid or say something weenie, he had a posse of good bros by his side to prop him up.

Even in S5E3 when Arthur gets the opportunity to see the ghost of his father and be like, "Bruh, I miss you," Uther instead treats Arthur like shit and belittles him for not being a dick to his people. Respect through fear, I believe is what the ghost Uther was preaching. But that strategy was pretty much self-defeating, given that respect through fear got Uther prematurely dead. Luckily Arthur didn't give it too much thought and decided, "Yeah, nah, I'd rather hug my droogies and marry a servant woman and be respected for doing the right thing, so biyee douchebag." In fact I'm assuming the writers created this post-mortem meeting not as merely another display of magic, but as a tangible means of showing Arthur's wrestling match with his own conscience. Even the playful and boyish banter between Arthur and Merlin (and the way they gaze at each other adoringly) is an example of Arthur's determination to part with toxic masculinity, especially when he gives Merlin the opportunity to be right sometimes without getting his chainmail hoodie in a bunch.

  This could absolutely be a lesson to voters the world over, who have the power to put real leaders in office but choose crusty old assholes instead of fresh, young minds and hearts. All the Uthers in the world are giving AOC and Sanna Marin shit for dancing. Can you believe we actually live in an era when our leaders get chided for dancing? For fucking dancing! Meanwhile AOC and Sanna Marin are attracting loyal followers in New York and Denmark, who would follow them to the ends of Camelot, while the same old self-serving ancient curmudgeons who keep getting elected are busy pulling Agravaine after Agravaine out of their bungholes. Perhaps I digress.

  Their parting from lore that is a little less acceptable is what they chose to do with Lancelot. Love triangle with Gwen and Arthur, yes, but Lancelot's BBC fate was less than satisfying. There are many tellings of how Lancelot dies, both with and because of Gwen, but the BBC opted against putting Arthur's best knight at the roundtable through most of this series. How fascinating. And weird.

Anyway, the end: Avoiding spoilers, I'd say the series ended appropriately. My 20-year-old daughter is traumatized by the ending, but I know enough about Arthur lore to know that the end is appropriate and loyal to legend. Camelot enters a new era, Merlin finally gets the respect he deserves, and a strong woman rises to power (I hope she dances). Satisfying. My parting thought: Walking away from this series, I've discovered a new career aspiration. I don't need to be king of anything, but I really want a job that allows me to say, "Ready the men, we ride at first light" without getting bullied. I mean, that's just really damn cool.

Thanks for all of your comments and responses. It's been fun. 

#Merlin #ArthurAndMerlinOTP #ToxicMasculinityVsBromance #ArthurWasPan #TristanAndIsoldSpinoff

#merlin #bbc merlin #bbc #colin morgan #bradley james #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #merthur #merlin x arthur #gwen pendragon #mordred

[mariacallous]

He didn’t have to go. In August 2020, Russian dissident Alexei Navalny had been poisoned, probably at the direction of Russian president Vladimir Putin, who saw in Navalny one of the vanishingly few legitimate threats to his reign.

Navalny went to Germany to recuperate. While there, he managed to confirm that the poisoning had been carried out by Russian security services by calling one of his would-be executioners and pretending to be a fellow Kremlin goon. Mother Russia wanted one of her own sons dead.

So why return? “It was never a question of whether to return or not,” he wrote in a social media post in Jan. 2021. Several days later, he landed at Moscow’s Vnukovo Airport, where he was greeted by admirers.

We Russians in the West admired him, too. I saw in his return a refutation of the argument that all Russians wanted was Louis Vuitton boutiques—freedom and democracy be damned. He came back to remind us, whether we were in Brooklyn or Kaliningrad, that we were better than that. Or that we could be, in any case.

Navalny was promptly arrested on entirely fictitious fraud charges that were intended to keep him sitting comfortably at some Washington or Berlin think tank, no threat at all to the Stalinist project underway in Moscow.

He wasn’t supposed to come back. Only he didn’t get the message.

He would never see freedom again. An obeisant court found him guilty, then tacked on “extremism” charges for good measure. “They really do initiate a new criminal case against me every three months. Rarely does an inmate confined to a solitary cell for over a year have such a vibrant social and political existence,” he said in a typically sarcastic social media post conveyed via his representatives.

Navalny became a cause célèbre, one of the few figures within Russia we Russians could be proud of. In arguing that we were better than the country shelling Ukrainian innocents, we could always point to Navalny, even as he looked increasingly gaunt in the video footage made available by his jailers.

There, look at him. As long as Navalny lives, there is a hope of a better Russia. As long as he lives.

Finally, they did what so many of us always feared they were going to do. On Friday, Navalny died at the IK-3 penal colony in Kharp, a remote Siberian village. He apparently collapsed after a walk. He had been in poor health for many months, as he moved from one penal colony to another, suffering prolonged stretches of isolation and other privations.

I grew up in the same country as Navalny: the faded Soviet Union of the 1980s. The desperation of those years, and the chaos of the 1990s, drove many Russians (including my own family) to the West. Some of those who stayed only did so because they figured they could get rich. A seller of blue jeans could suddenly become a copper magnate, as long as he could survive the mafia hits that came with a regular cadence in Moscow and St. Petersburg throughout the go-go Yeltsin years.

An attorney by training, Navalny did not stay to get rich. He stayed for the same reason that would see him return in 2021. He truly believed in Russia, in the possibility of a democratic nation rising from the ruins of the Soviet empire.

Only that wasn’t the country that took shape. “I can’t stop myself from fiercely, wildly hating those who sold, pissed away, and squandered the historical chance that our country had in the early nineties,” he would later say.

Having never won an election, Putin emerged in 1999 to replace the inept and inebriated Yeltsin. He quickly arrogated every means of power, even as Western leaders like George W. Bush foolishly insisted that he was committed to democracy.

I returned to Russia for the first time in more than two decades in 2003. The country looked almost Western: Western-ish. I was impressed. The erosion of democracy, already underway, seemed like a small price to pay for upscale beer gardens where there had once stood drab cafeterias.

Then the price rose. In 2006, the investigative journalist Anna Politkovskaya was murdered for reporting on the brutality of Putin’s campaign to pacify the restive republic of Chechnya, as well as his repressions targeting every segment of Russian society. Politkovskaya saw clearly what was happening. "Who can say,” she wondered, “we are not returning to Stalinist ways under Putin?"

Navalny refused to let it pass.

If some in the West had had a too sunny view of Russia, as if it were nothing but a Harvard Business School case study in unfettered capitalism, there were others who grumbled that Russians were “incapable” of democracy, that something in the Russian spirit required iron-fisted leadership. But whether you believed in the market or the czar, both of these views deprived Russians of dignity and self-determination. We were always to be subject to greater forces wielded by larger-than-life figures, whether Mickey Mouse or Vladimir Putin. It was never our call.

Disenchanted by the cowardice of most Russians with any cultural or political influence, Navalny had, by the end of Putin’s first decade in power, become a full-blown dissident. He started blogging in 2008, then moved towards pure political agitation. It was a dangerous occupation: like Politkovskaya, most critics of the regime were murdered or, if they were lucky, chased out of Russia. “He’s taunting really big people and he’s doing it in an open way and showing them that he’s not afraid. In this country, people like that get crushed,” one Russian official worried to The New Yorker in March 2011.

In Dec. 2011, Navalny was arrested for calling into question the results of a sham parliamentary election. The West took increasing notice. The New York Times pointed to his “Nordic good looks” and “serene confidence,” observing that what “attracts people to Mr. Navalny is not ideology, but the confident challenge he mounts to the system.” He went to jail for the first time, for 15 days.

An authoritarian system always knows how to shore up its weakness. After a brief interregnum during which Dmitry Medvedev pretended to play the role of president, Putin returned to power seemingly determined to never cede it again. Since the 2012 election, he has sat unchallenged in the Kremlin. It is widely assumed that he will remain there until death.

Navalny was virtually alone in trying seriously to dislodge him, challenging Putin for the presidency in 2018 only to see his bid disqualified on invented legalities. “The process in which we are called to participate is not a real election,” he said.

By this point, many of us Russians in the diaspora had come to realize that no number of Moscow skyscrapers could disguise the fact that Putin had turned Russia into a gaudy embarrassment, a country that ran on petroleum and propaganda and aligned itself with Syria and Iran. The invasion of Ukraine shattered all remaining illusions.

It was to this Russia that Navalny returned. Soviet history is rich with artists, intellectuals, and scientists who refused to stay silent in the face of state-sanctioned atrocities. Anyone who grew up in the Soviet Union knows their names: Akhmatova, Sakharov, Sharansky. Navalny reminded us of this tradition, of the eternal need to rouse the people of this huge, complicated country, whose day-to-day lives can be so grindingly difficult that it is hard to think of anything but survival.

Navalny believed in ordinary Russians, in their desire for something more than the material comforts bought by Putin’s petrodollars. That is what he came back to. That is what he died for.

Today, a Russia free of Putin and Putinism seems almost impossible to imagine. But for the sake of Navalny, we must imagine it.

“My greatest hope for Russia is that dictatorships always appear solid until suddenly they aren’t,” Uriel Epshtein, chief executive of the Renew Democracy Initiative—who traveled frequently as a child to Russia, where his family is from—told me. “Putin may feel untouchable today, but he can still be proven wrong. At a certain point, some part of Russian society will decide that they can no longer live under his yoke.”

[lillified]

can i ask what the general lore for your au is? love me some good lore

I think I’ve done a pitch outline before that’s covered some of this, but I can give you the basic background for reference! (Tumblr page search seems a bit broken the further back you get anyway)

Cybertron is an alien planet with a long history of strife. Following the reign of the Quintessons, a hostile and colonial alien species, and their eventual ousting, the remnants of a military-industrial state and its tyrannical caste system left only a matter of time before massive conflict erupted.

Cybertron: The original home planet of the Cybertronians, and the current territory of the Autobots. Cybertron is a very ancient planet formed around the remnants of an enormous organic “ancestor,” whose blood and other material is extracted for use as food. This organic material is vital to the survival of all Cybertronians, and the most important component, Energon, is extremely highly coveted. It can be found sparingly in other parts of the universe (notably other early established Cybertronian space colonies), but without access to the original ancestor, or its sparsely documented relatives and protégé, it is unrenewable, which would inevitably mark the end of the Cybertronian race. Extensive industrialization on a global scale made Energon sparse, and an exhaustive global war only exacerbated this scarcity.

The Decepticons: Made up primarily of the former lower castes of Cybertron, the Decepticons are a mish-mash group of revolutionary mercenaries, banded together to end the tyrannical rule of Cybertron. Although they were originally known as the Ascenticons, they gained the derogatory name after their defacto “leader,” Megatron, permanently maimed her rival for the primacy, Optimus, during a political demonstration that turned violent. Optimus was famously left without a lower jaw, and the brutal scuffle was used to galvanize moderates against the perceived extremity of the group.

Now, having been largely driven off of Cybertron after a battle which devastated both sides., the fractured branches of the Decepticons struggle to find places they can recoup and regather amid the cosmos. Their primary squad, team Alpha, is currently drifting in space, eagerly anticipating the day it can find the resources to reestablish communication with what remains of the Decepticon army.

The Autobots: A faction formed out of the former military of Cybertron and its allies. Figureheaded by the stoic and personable Optimus Prime, the Autobots barely hold onto control of Cybertron, and seek to persist against the Decepticons’ demands for radical reconstruction. Now made up of many of Cybertronian’s youth, plenty of Autobot soldiers aren’t fully aware of what they’re fighting for, and barely retain memories of life before the war. If the current course of the war continues, they hope to drive the Decepticons out of anywhere they’ve hidden until they surrender and concede.

The Present: With impassible stakes for everyone involved, if they want any hope of surviving and reclaiming Cybertron, the Decepticons must do the impossible: overcome their many differences and work as a team. Our story starts in the far reaches of space, where Decepticon Team Alpha is searching for resources and a temporary residence where they can begin to reestablish communication with their allies.

The members of Team Alpha include:

Megatron: the melancholic leader, whose reputation does not match her lethargic withdrawal.

Starscream: the second in command with a penchant for mutiny. Her disloyalty is kept a secret, for both Megatron’s sake and Starscream’s.

Soundwave: the enigmatic and cynically self-important communications officer and third in command. Their speciality is espionage and information control, though they haven’t seen much of it recently.

Lockdown: former bounty hunter turned medic. this mean-looking ‘Con might not be certified, but in a pinch, he’ll patch you up—by any means necessary.

Knockout: the only thing worse than a mad doctor is his lackadaisical and negligent assistant. Knockout doesn’t really believe the Decepticons will win, but his hate for the Autobots is stronger than his realism.

Breakdown: a bruiser-in-training rescued from a docked Decepticon warship. He and Blitzwing were the only trainees who survived being stasis fried. Albeit a strong and capable fighter, this ‘Con doesn’t really have the “Deception grit” yet.

Blitzwing: Breakdown’s fellow soldier. Though she was also trained to be a mercenary, Blitzwing lacks a lot of the natural talent for fighting Breakdown has. Her unrecognized skill lies in weaponsmithing, though Starscream hopes to make a competent combatant out of her yet.

Ravage: don’t be fooled—this weapon class Minicon only looks like a Cybercat. The eldest of Decepticon team alpha, this odd bot gave up his Cybertronian appearance to live out the laid back life of a lazy mechanimal. His powerful spark makes him Megatron’s weapon of choice.

#transformers #ask #text post #text #long post #lore