#i forgot how to write oops

[cubbyhole-for-flea-bee]

Once the theatre monkey discovers angsty broadway musicals its all over y'all

or: I got a new personal project I'm workin' on! I'm at the first pass on the animatic rn! I forgot that 'generate matte' is a thing you can do in SB Pro for a whole hour!! I'm suffering!!!

[pinksaphira11]

An idea for a different take on a Demon Twins au.

–

Danyal stands ramrod straight beside Damian, staring directly ahead despite having his full attention on Grandfather. Danyal does not let his nerves show. He can’t afford to show weakness, especially not before Grandfather and Mother. You already have, a traitorous thought whispers.

Finally, Grandfather speaks.

“It is time to determine which of you will be my heir.”

Danyal feels a thrill of anticipation and dread go down his spine. They’d been looking forward to this for so long. All their training, for this moment. And yet, Danyal knew he was the one seen as lesser, weaker. He already knew the answer. He had for a while.

“The strongest of you will prove themselves the most worthy. That is why, in order to determine who is truly worthy, you will fight to the death. The one left standing will be my heir.”

Danyal couldn’t stop his gaze from jerking to Grandfather. They what? Grandfather looked serious. So did Mother. Danyal swallowed. He’d wondered why they’d kept him for so long despite being the weaker twin. He’d thought hoped it was because they loved him. Instead, it was just so they’d have a spare. His heart sunk at the realization. They didn’t think they needed him anymore. They all knew Damian was better at combat than he was. Danyal would be the first to admit it. They knew Damian would win and Danyal would die. It must be some sort of last test. To see if Damian could do it, and rid himself of what they considered a weakness.

Danyal looked at Damian. Damian’s horrified expression reflected his own.

“Draw your weapons.”

Danyal looked down at his katana. He’d taken lives he’d never wanted to with it, and every single one of them haunted him. He’d never be able to be an assassin. He was too soft, too weak, to do it when no one was there to push him. He’d known this long ago. It’d be better for the both of them if Damian killed Danyal here, and yet… Danyal didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to just give up. He wanted to live together with Damian. He clasped the hilt in shaky hands, then looked up.

Damian looked stricken.

Danyal hardened his resolve.

He pulled his katana from its sheath.

Damian took a step back, betrayal written on his face.

Danyal threw his katana down, turned to Grandfather, and said, “No.”

An all encompassing silence engulfed them. Danyal hardly dared to breathe.

“What.”

Grandfather’s face was a hardly suppressed storm. It nearly shattered his courage, but he held onto it with trembling fingers and repeated, “No. I won’t fight him.”

Damian was suddenly next to him, his own katana in the dirt beside Danyal’s.

“We’re stronger together,” Damian added in support.

Grandfather’s expression turned murderous. He threw his arms open wide and spit, “Then you’ll both perish!”

The League’s agents bled from the shadows and Danyal glanced at his mother. She was frowning, but made no move to stop this. His heart dropped. Did she really not care? The assassins closed in and Danyal suddenly felt like this had been a terrible idea. There was no way they could fight through all of them, and that was with Mother and Grandfather staying out of it. At least they loved them enough not to do it themselves. A familiar hand squeezed his, drawing his attention to his twin.

Damian smiled sharply.

“We’ll show them why we’re called the Demon Twins.”

And Danyal knew he’d made the right choice.

If they went down, they’d go down together, taking as many as they could with them.

And if they somehow made it out of this alive? It’d be only because they’d done it together.

Danyal smiled back, squeezing Damian’s hand in return, then let go to shift into a fighting stance. He watched their movements and they watched his, the air holding its breath.

Then Damian moved.

He dove for their dropped katanas.

The other League members rushed forward.

Damian threw Danyal’s katana to him.

He caught it.

And blocked his attacker’s blade with it.

He felt Damian’s presence behind him and fell into step with him. Damian thrust, leaving his side exposed, and so Danyal stepped back, falling in to cover him. Danyal sliced, his leg over extended, and Damian stabbed at the spot, the prediction catching an enemy between the ribs. The movements were easy, natural, from all the time they’d spent fighting together, learning each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Danyal was convinced that no two people could ever fit together as perfectly as they did.

Danyal slid his blade through his next opponent’s throat, their eyes going wide as they choked on their own blood. He normally hated killing. Hated the feel of his blade going through flesh. The look in their eyes as they died. The smell of iron and the feel of blood. But it was them or him and his brother, and so there was no choice. He’d do anything for Dami. Maybe it’d come back to haunt him in the future, but for now, he charged onward, so they’d have even a chance at a future.

The assassins kept coming, pushing against their defenses, their blades an endless torrent, constantly testing their skill, but they continued to stand tall, too synchronized to fall. Yet even the best defenses eventually crumble.

It started with a misstep. Danyal was growing weary, yet there seemed to be no end. His tired muscles reacted too slowly, his katana not coming up fast enough. Instead of blocking the attack, it slid off his blade. He jerked his head to the side in time for it to slice his cheek instead of his eye, and he retaliated with a blade to the abdomen, but the damage was done. His mishap left Damian alone in their dance of death, and so he stepped where there should have been someone guarding him. He was instead left open to a slice across the ribs. Danyal scrambled to return to his spot.

There was a reason they called him the weaker twin. He didn’t necessarily think they were wrong.

In his haste, he left himself open, and they took full advantage of it. Someone stepped in and swiped at him, forcing him to take a step back. Someone else threw a dagger at him, making him spin away to avoid it. Before he knew it, he and Damian were separated. Danyal’s hope was hanging on by a thread. This was his fault. If he’d just been better, he wouldn’t have exposed them like this. It was already practically impossible that they’d win, but even less so now that they were apart. Danyal fought desperately to get back, could see Damian doing the same, yet they were kept apart, their futile attempts earning them more and more wounds, weakening them further, and their defenses crumbled under the maelstrom.

Danyal noticed someone behind Damian.

Their blade was in the perfect spot for a killing blow.

Damian was focused on someone else.

He’d never be able to block it in time.

The throwing knife left Danyal’s hand before he could even think.

The threat fell.

Damian turned to him.

Damian’s eyes widened.

They were focused behind him.

Danyal tried to turn around.

Pain shot through his back.

A katana emerged from his chest.

His eyes met Damian’s.

He couldn’t hear what Dami screamed before the darkness claimed him.

—

Damian saw Dany’s eyes go blank, his body slide off the blade, fall to the floor, lifeless. He knew what death looked like. He’d never been so horrified by it.

“DANY!”

He dashed forward, cutting the back of the knee on the assassin that dared to get in his way, and skid to his knees beside the corpse his brother. Suddenly everything was still, quiet, reduced to that moment. It was like the world held its breath, giving him a reprieve in the eye of the storm. He hesitated for a second. Then turned his brother over. A sob ripped itself from his throat.

Dany’s eyes were open and glassy.

He was already gone.

Damian reached out a shaky hand and closed Dany’s eyes. League assassins shuffled closer, the storm approaching once again. Damian let his tears fall and grabbed Dany’s katana. Then turned to the assassins and screamed, lunging at them with all the fear, anger, grief he had. His blades struck out one after the other, cutting up everything in their path. His world narrowed to his blades and his next opponent. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Damian slashed and stabbed and cut until there was nothing left to attack. The assassins were returning to the shadows, no longer interested in fighting. Damian looked to Grandfather Ra’s al Ghul. His hand was raised.

“You are the only surviving sibling and have proven yourself capable. Congratulations, you have shown yourself worthy of being my heir.”

And he walked away. He just left Dany there. Damian couldn’t believe he’d ever looked up to Ra’s. Damian would not do the same. He turned to walk back to Dany, but was stopped by a hand on his wrist. He snarled at them, turned to stab them with a dagger, but froze when he realized who it was. Mother.

“Damian, no, we need to go.”

Damian couldn’t believe it. Her too.

“No! I’m not leaving him!” he snarled, yanking his hand to release her grasp. She was too strong and she tightened her grip further.

“He’s dead! You’re still alive! Come quickly, before Father changes his mind!”

Damian pulled against her, tried to twist his arm out of her grip, but she stayed firm.

“I don’t care! I won’t abandon him!”

“Damian, stop being so stubborn!”

“No! We were going to stick together no matter what, and I intend to do so!”

“So, what, you’ll let yourself die too then?! Do you really think he’d want that?!”

Damian froze. Would Dany want that? Would he want his brother to join him in the afterlife? It took barely any thought to find an answer. No. No he wouldn’t. Dany would have him take advantage of the second chance he was given. He stopped fighting and let Mother take him away from Danyal’s corpse.

Damien felt like he was walking through a haze, the only thing grounding him Mother’s grip on his arm. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Dany was gone. Just last night they’d snuck up to the roof together to look at the stars. Now he was dead. And they’d never get to do that again.

Mother said something but Damien couldn’t hear it, his thoughts too weighed down. He only realized he was in his room when the door clicked shut. Mother must have closed it behind her, he briefly acknowledged, before his mind turned back to Dany. They’d never get to hang out together again. He felt tears start to fall.

Now it was only Damien. Just him. Not the Demon Twins, just the Heir. He’d always have that empty spot beside him. He’d never get to hear his brother’s voice again. Never get to hear him laugh again, or hear him rattle off facts about the stars. He’d never… get to do anything with Dany ever again. It was brutally ripped away by the Demon Head. And Damien had been given the chance to live in that world without him, all because he was favored. If their places had been swapped, and Damien had died instead, would Danyal have been given the same chance? He highly doubted it. But because he was their favorite, he’d been given a second chance. He wasn’t even sure he wanted it. He’d been so ready to go down with Dany. He almost wished he had. But Mother’s words came back to him. No, Dany would want him to live, to take advantage of this life he’d been given. Damien just wasn’t sure how he’d get through it without Dany.

Damien curled up on the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs and putting his head down as he started sobbing. For the first time, he found himself sympathizing with the League’s victims and their families.

How was he supposed to do this? How could he simply move on? How was anyone supposed to be able to do anything after such a great loss? He’d never get to do anything with his brother again. Never get to see him again. Never get to hear him again. Never anything with him again ever. He wished he’d cherished those last moments they’d had together. Wished he’d paid more attention, focused on Dany more, so he could remember him better. He’d commit all he could to memory, go over every last detail until it was etched in his mind so he’d never forget. He wished… he wished he’d told Dany he loved him more. He’d said it maybe once or twice their whole lives. Did Dany know he’d loved him? He hoped he did. Hoped all the times they’d done things together was enough to show Dany he’d loved him. The spot beside him felt bare. He wanted his brother back.

“Dami?”

Damien’s sobs ground to a halt and his head jerked up. Who-?

A glowing person was standing halfway through the wall. What-?

“Dami?” the person said again, coming fully into the room, face concerned. There was something familiar about them. Their clothes looked like a League uniform but white instead of the usual black. Their hair was similarly white and their eyes were as green as the Lazarus Pit. The voice and face seemed a bit familiar as well, like they were made just slightly off by the glow and echo. It was the word itself that tipped Damien off.

“...Dany?”

The person- Dany- smiled hesitantly and nodded. He was so different, but now that he knew, he could see it so clearly, it was Dany, he was somehow here and-

Damien jerked to his feet and crashed into his brother. Their arms wrapped around each other and Damien couldn’t stop himself from burying his face in Dany’s shoulder and sobbing. He was here.

“It’s okay Dami,” Dany said, his own voice choked with tears, “I’m here, it’s alright. I’m sorry I left you, I didn’t want to, but I’m here now. I won’t leave you again.”

—

Yes, Danyal is fully dead. Yes, this means this is a full ghost au. ik a lot of people make it so ghosts form in the Ghost Zone, which I agree with, but uh, I didn’t wanna do that here, so something something Lazarus Pit messed with things? Idk, but this is an au, so I don’t work for canon, canon works for me. :P btw, I did purposely write Dany instead of Danny. Why? For two reasons; one, I like how it looks, and two, to helps me separate the demon twin au from normal dp canon. I just like making it different sometimes, particularly if it’s this different. Idk, my brain just works like that.

(If you don’t want to read these next few paragraphs there’s a tldr after them.) Also, it’s probably pretty obvious but I know almost nothing about DC. So I have no idea if the stuff for DC here is accurate or not. Hopefully I know superheroes and tropes well enough to have been able to fill in the gaps, but there’s only so far that and fanfics can get you, so idk. Because of this I also have no idea if anyone is ooc here because I don’t really know DC or the League of Assassins so, here’s hoping they’re alright.

I’ve watched a few pieces of media set in the DC universe but it’s pretty much just been movies and they don’t really dive into the depths that I’m sure there are, based on my experience with Marvel. I actually had planned on not getting involved in dcxdp whatsoever, was very content with just normal Danny Phantom things, there’s enough to get into with superhero stuff in the Marvel fandom, thank you very much, did not need another huge superhero thing to get into.

Then, while perusing dp fics, I stumbled across a dpxdc one that, from the summary, sounded interesting enough that I thought I’d give it a try. I could always stop reading it if it didn’t pique my interest and go read something else. I ended up reading the whole thing, and since it had a good story and some great art, I decided to check out the author’s tumblr to see if I could see some more of their art. I decided to search through their dp tag first, as that was what had brought me there, and the only things I could find for it were the parts of the fic I’d already read and a few things about demon twins au. I was curious enough to take a look at them. Oh boy did I not know what I was getting into.

See, I am a sucker for good friendships, regardless of if they’re familial or not. Ratchet & Clank, Hiccup & Toothless, these fantastic, unbreakable friendships make me wanna flap my arms and squeal cause I love em so much. So when I saw that these two were kinda being painted in the same light? Oh boy was I all in. I’m honestly still not interested in the rest of the DC stuff, but things pertaining to this? Oh man do I wanna know it all now. This stuff is my jam, especially because there was so much delicious angst potential here. Mmmm, giving me all the good stuff. So yeah, I fully blame @aealzx for getting me sucked into dcxdp (even if it’s only a part of it) when I otherwise was determined to stay out of it.

Tldr; I don’t really know DC but, through a fic and the author’s tumblr, have now become very invested in Demon Twins au regardless. I also am unsure how accurate this would be to anything DC.

The way I see this potentially going would be for Danyal to haunt Damien and use his powers for the Greater Good (read: for pranks and stealing things for Damien) while with the League. I’m unsure if, in canon, Damien runs away from the League on his own or Talia sends him to Bruce. I’ve seen it both ways in fics so I’m not sure which they’d do, but I imagine that regardless of which one it is he’d leave to go to Bruce fairly soon after this event. (I’m also unsure if Talia actually loves Damien or not, the fics were also controversial on that front, so I kinda tried to leave it vague. Actually anything I was unsure of I left vague if I could.)

There’s a few ways I’m thinking the people from Amity Park could be included in this:

Between leaving the League and getting to Gotham they somehow run into Jazz, Sam, and Tucker and befriend them.

After leaving the League they hear about the Fentons and their ghost research, so they go to them to try finding out more about Danyal’s new afterlife.

After they join Batman someone hires the Fentons to get Phantom out of their way. (I personally like the Fentons, they’re just oblivious etc, so the way I’m seeing this is as them helping Phantom eventually, but it could be them just being evil is someone wanted to do it that way.)

All fun ways of potentially bringing them into a story like this, thought I’m sure there’s even more out there, these are just the ones I thought of.

I personally am actually not a huge fan of Obsessions. I don’t like the idea of something forcing you to act/feel certain ways rather than you being able to choose for yourself, but I do understand why people came up with them to begin with and they can be fun to play with, so for those that want to attach an Obsession to this, here’s a few ideas I had:

When he died he was trying to protect his brother, which caused his protection obsession.

When he died instead of it just being a generic protection obsession, it’s specfically an obsession about protecting Damien. (In this au I kinda see him as something of a guardian angel to Damien, as I think he’d really just care about Damien and making sure he’s safe and happy with his life since his own got cut short, so I think this one makes a lot of sense here.)

When they actually get to Wayne Manor and knock on the door, there are two fun ways I think this could go:

They both show up together, introducing themselves as his twin bio kids and then having Dany just tell them outright, right out of the gate, that he’s dead.

Only Damien introduces himself and Dany remains invisible and just kinda stays hidden. This would probably result in him pulling pranks and unintentionally leaving clues here and there until he’s discovered. He probably at one point tries to make them think the house is haunted. (Which it now is thanks to him being there but he doesn’t think of that. XD)

They’re both hilarious in different ways and I can’t tell which one I like more. XD

Now, knowing superhero things and how many characters die and then come back to life, maybe they find a way to revive Dany! Or maybe they just half revive him so he’s a halfa. Or, maybe, for once, a superhero character actually stays dead and he just continues to be a ghost. Up to you and your imagination.

As you can see there’s a lot of ways this could be taken. I just think it’s fun to take ideas like this and play with them.

The songs I switched between while writing this fic were Paris by Chainsmokers and Hercules by Livingston, for anyone interested. The vibes were perfect.

Now normally, I put all my writing on ao3, usually just wanna leave my tumblr for casually perusing stuff for my favorite fandoms, but with it being a snippet for a thing I don’t plan to do anything more with, putting it here seemed more appropriate. Why don’t I plan on doing more with it? Mainly because I don’t know DC like, at all besides some origin stories for the main heroes. And I’m not all that interested in learning more. The story I’d wanna write for this would probably follow DC canon quite a bit, with Dany as Phantom probably just helping out or something, idk, didn’t really think it through much cause I knew I didn’t know enough to do much with it. But this was all I really planned to do with it. Just get the idea out of my head and out in the wild. The only thing I think I’d do more for this is if someone decides they’re willing to lore dump about all the stuff important for this and it’s different enough from what I wrote for it to matter, I’d then edit this to makes things fit better with DC canon/how the characters would act, but that’d be the extent of what I’d write for this. Otherwise it’s for someone else to do what they want with it. It’s outta my hands now.

[vynxwave]

Share your thoughts on MegaSound? It was one of my first Transformers ships and even though it's not a rarepair or anything it's oddly less popular than I'd expect, and I don't see a lot of analysis of what their relationship is actually like in various canons

I'd love to! Yeah, finding out it's not as popular as I thought was surprising. With Soundwave often depicted as loyal to Megatron, I really would've thought it'd be more popular than it is. You're definitely right about there being a lack of analyses on their relationship, so I think I'll eventually make a post analyzing their relationship in various canons. For this post I'll be going over how I see MegaSound (and from what parts of canon I derive it from) and sharing thoughts about its (lack of) popularity/prevalence.

Here I'll note the basis of canon I ship them from across various continuities where they have a positive relationship*:

Megatron likes monologuing in Soundwave's presence and talking with him (Dreamwave Generation 1 (2002) #4, Megatron Origin #4, IDW Robots in Disguise (2012) #22, Prime). Considering Soundwave's continued steadfast loyalty, I'd reckon he likes hearing him talk/plan.

Soundwave is Megatron's confidant (War Within #2, Prime, IDW Robots in Disguise (2012) #17, IDW 2019)

The both care for each other's continued functioning (Soundwave does so consistently in loyalist depictions, and for Megatron it depends on the continuity/writer but is often true of him too (though, Soundwave doesn't get injured often); [specifics cited later in this post])

Soundwave's loyalty even extends to when Megatron loses his marbles (WFC: Kingdom E03, Galvatron in Sunbow G1 S3E14 & Headmasters E02 & E04), but his loyalty does not extend to Megatron defecting from the Decepticons (IDW Dark Cybertron, EarthSpark) due to Soundwave's loyalty to the Decepticon Cause.

Dreamwave Transformers: More Than Meets The Eye #6 Soundwave's character bio written from Megatron's perspective expressing his uncertainty of whether he can risk lending his trust and friendship to Soundwave is one of my favorite things with them.

(*this mostly excludes where Soundwave's characterized as a self-serving opportunist and where Megatron treats him as just another subordinate)

My MegaSound Thoughts

(Preface: Inspiration taken from all over, but classic Decepticon Cause and they're both as evil as typical. I ship them in various canons but here I describe a broad overview of ways I interpret this pairing and what aspects I'm interested in. I tried to avoid citing Soundwave's self-serving opportunistic depictions for the most part, but he often has a lot of character I like in them xD.)

For me their ship is built upon their longstanding mutual trust, respect, and reliability; especially compounded with the fact many of their comrades' loyalty is prone to wavering from time to time (whereas Soundwave has continuously stuck by his side). I also like to focus on Soundwave's staunch loyalty to and belief in Megatron and the Cause he embodies — and, importantly, Megatron's recognition of this.

For Megatron I like to think about what valuing someone in such a way means to a tyrant whose sights are set on control, destruction, and personal power.

I think Soundwave's competence, strength, devotion, skills, and intelligence would all be appealing to Megatron. Soundwave, with said qualities, has made himself indispensable to the Decepticons, and therefore indispensable to Megatron himself.

Perhaps one reason Megatron is drawn to Soundwave would be for the steadfast security he provides (compared to the unreliability/treachery of others).

Though, with Megatron being surrounded by the infighting/treachery of Decepticons, I think it would be natural for him to sometimes be uncertain of whether his closeness with Soundwave is as safe/secure as it seems (inspired by Dreamwave More Than Meets The Eye #6's Soundwave bio written from Megatron's perspective) due to how much sensitive information and vulnerability Soundwave's been trusted with. But any such feared betrayal would not come to pass, because Soundwave sides with him, including in his times of need.

All I've written so far assumes a wishy-washy loyalty in Megatron's other followers; for where he has other loyalists, perhaps Soundwave is just one of his oldest followers (Sunbow G1 "War Dawn", Dreamwave G1 (2004) #10, IDW 2019, Prime S1E26) and his loyalty is ultimately tried and true.

Time and time again, Soundwave is shown to care about Megatron's continued functioning/well-being (Sunbow G1 "MTMTE, Part 3" [Soundwave warning Megatron of Starscream's attack], Transformers: The Movie, War Within #6, Prime, All Hail Megatron #13, Fall of Cybertron [saddened at Megatron's death & later rebuilds him], Retribution ["And if it turned out he couldn’t save Megatron, Soundwave knew what his duty demanded. / Vengeance on everybody involved."], Transformers vs. The Terminator #2 [Soundwave repairs Megatron's optic], WFC: Kingdom E03).

In cases where Soundwave has been injured/killed, this has often been true of Megatron too (Transformers (2009) #17 [this & AHM #13 were both written by Costa — making this mutual care of each other's continued functioning intentional, I presume], Prime S2E14, Headmasters E02 & E04 if including Galvatron, WFC: Kingdom E03 [where Dinobot downs Soundwave then Megatron comes swinging]).

For Soundwave I first want to detail the basis of his character as I think it's important to recognize his beliefs and personality. His personality and how much is shown ultimately depends on the continuity and writer; and varies depending on if the writer favors the Marvel UK G1 Soundwave (self-serving opportunist) or the Sunbow G1 Soundwave (loyalist) depiction.

Soundwave believes himself to be superior to others (to other lifeforms, to Autobots, and even to fellow Decepticons) and it's not just a cool line, but an actual sentiment/belief he holds (Transformers: The Movie, Spotlight: Soundwave, Revolutionaries #3, Skybound Transformers #7, Animated S1E10 Sound and Fury), and it is continuously embodied in his actions and loyalty to the Decepticon Cause (conquest & domination). Following this, Megatron's ideals of Decepticon superiority must appeal to Soundwave greatly — as a result, their vision of the future and values are quite similar.

Soundwave has (well, if the continuity depicts it) a negative reputation among other Decepticons, with others actually being aware of his monitoring and subsequent reporting to Megatron (Prime S1E13 [among other episodes], implied in Robots in Disguise (2012) #11... I think, Earth Wars: Sea Phantom: "[...] The walls have audio receptors, if you know what I mean." / Coelagon: "Yeah, Soundwave has the place wired for sound.", Sunbow G1 "Countdown to Extinction" & "The Golden Lagoon"). Instead of such a reputation being a negative for Soundwave, it is something he has intentionally fostered for indirect power and control over the other Decepticons; and by doing this he's made Megatron hold him in high esteem (Prime, Dreamwave More Than Meets the Eye #6 [Soundwave's Bio], All Hail Megatron #10) and positioned himself securely in the Decepticon's upper ranks.

In line with his beliefs of superiority, Soundwave personality-wise is quite confident and secure. This is also true of his standing with Megatron (for reasons described above).

Following Soundwave's colder depictions, perhaps one of the bots he finds himself the most "warm" to or emotionally responsive to is Megatron, even if he may not express this the same way most others might (but I'd think Megatron would understand it, due to his perceptiveness and having known him a long time).

With Soundwave generally not being much of a conversationalist, I'd think Megatron easily makes up for this with all his talking and monologuing (they are so [eloquent] yapper x listener to me). Given Soundwave's continued loyalty, I'd like to think he quite likes hearing Megatron's voice and his ideas/plans; for Megatron I'd like to think he enjoys an intelligent and receptive audience and finds it in Soundwave (who gets to hear his words/plans unfiltered from the manipulative rhetoric he gives others), and likes Soundwave's encouragement and amoral pragmatism. As Megatron's confidant, Soundwave gets to hear him at his most honest (Dreamwave War Within #2, IDW Primacy #4, Prime).

I like to think about how them both being evil impacts what activities they find enjoyable. Moments in various canons that come to mind: All Hail Megatron #1 (where Megatron's like "Soundwave, if you will?" then >:D when Soundwave diverts the missiles), Prime S2E22 ("You should have seen Optimus Prime's face when his precious Star Saber shattered like glass [...]"), and Retribution Ch. 9 (where Soundwave really wants to show Megatron a playback of him and Ravage interrogating/torturing Decepticon traitor Axer for information that Megatron wanted). Could sharing the joy of violence be an evil love language xD?

For angst I think there's a lot of potential based in EarthSpark or Headmasters (the same is true of IDW 2005, though I won't be expanding on it here).

For EarthSpark there's S1E08 0:24 & 2:30 plus a sentence from the guidebook: "Soundwave believes that anyone who defects from the Decepticons is a traitor, and he considers Megatron the worst traitor of all!" Based on their interactions and dialogue (S1E08 Decoy "Don't make this personal, Soundwave." "It already is."), it's apparent that they used to be close before Megatron switched sides; and Soundwave's feelings impact Megatron a lot! Soundwave's recording calling out his hypocrisy invokes such a rage in him; and Soundwave calling him a traitor disheartens him, making him lower his cannon (and he would've been blasted had Optimus not intervened)!

For Headmasters Soundwave/Soundblaster would witness how much Galvatron differs from Megatron — how insane he's become, but also how distant he's become from him. (The Headmasters E04 & E10)

In general, I think there could be angst found in Megatron's favorite trope: getting put out of commission for a duration of time. Or, that trope could be bestowed upon Soundwave for a change xD (like in Transformers (2009) #17). Exploring the consequences of Megatron's hubris or lust for power could be fun too.

Favorite Moments in Various Canons

Dreamwave More Than Meets The Eye #6 Soundwave's bio:

[From the Datatracks of Megatron, Decepticon Leader] What is more valuable to a commander, loyalty or reliability? Loyalty is a luxury, but reliability is a necessity for effective military operations. Soundwave exemplifies the latter while projecting as much as the former as realistically possible. He is an indispensable lieutenant and a fierce warrior, with seemingly unshakeable loyalty to me and our cause. When I enter into combat with Soundwave beside me, I am assured that he will perform his role unerringly. I am, however, well aware of his blackmailing of other Decepticons and the fearsome retribution he takes on any who attempt cross him, safe in the knowledge that he is virtually untouchable in his current position. His flaunting of his role have caused many to turn against him, which has only strengthened his need for my favor and implicit protection. Thus far, Soundwave has been utterly faithful to my commands and risked his own life on my behalf several times. But is he only biding his time until his own power base is secure enough? Many great commanders have been undone by trust and friendship in the past… can I afford to extend these to even my most capable solider?

Dreamwave War Within #6 & Generation 1 (2004) #10 (Also, throughout Dreamwave's run Soundwave is actually visibly by Megatron's side, which I think is a pretty neat detail)

All Hail Megatron #13 & Transformers (2007) #17

I enjoyed their dynamic in IDW 2019 because of how visibly instrumental Soundwave is to the Decepticon's rise, and his subsequent importance to Megatron. (#5) (#16) (#26)

Soundwave's sheer nonchalance at getting yelled at/scolded by Megatron who was breaking things in rage (#11) was so funny to me... Soundwave knows he's too important.

In Fall of Cybertron (37:15) Soundwave reaches out sadly to Megatron's hand sticking out from beneath rubble (thanks to Megatron's hubris getting himself scrapped)

In WFC: Kingdom E03 Soundwave is concerned about Megatron and tries to caution/advise him, but it goes unheeded.

The Transformers (2003) PS2 Japan: nearly every time Soundwave and Megatron talk... ["Lord Megatron, I'm glad you're unharmed!], ["This is how a subordinate should behave!"], ["No, don't apologize. You are not to blame"], ["..."], ["high price"], [deferring to Soundwave's judgement]

I haven't actually watched Robots in Disguise (2015), but its portrayal of Soundwave's devoutness is pretty cool... specifically in S3E21 Collateral Damage what he says at the timestamp 5:49:

Soundwave: "[...] when [the transgalactic beacon generator is] activated at the highest point in the city it would transmit a signal strong enough to summon Megatron back to Earth." Sideswipe: "[...] but that much radiation won't just call Megatron it'll—" Soundwave: "—devastate the city, then spread to eradicate all life on Earth. Incidental collateral damage."

I don't know how to describe how much I love the coldness/callousness in his inconsideration for an entire planet, all for the sole purpose of getting Megatron back.

(Lack of) Popularity

I've thought about the reasons for the ship's lack of popularity/prevalence. The one that jumps out the most to me is that there's a lack of in-depth exploration into their relationship in canon despite their constant proximity and importance to each other — as in, plots hardly ever test/strain/strengthen their relationship (to elaborate, there's rarely tension between them, and when there is it's minor and carries no meaningful weight).

Well, IDW 2005 did do some things with their relationship, but it didn't feel as in-depth as other relationships because their backstory together (which occurred in phase 1 with Soundwave's self-serving opportunistic characterization) was recontextualized/retconned for phase 2's Decepticon Cause of equality origin and was there to ultimately serve their subsequent (and separate) becoming betterish arcs relevant to that origin, and then they never got a proper reconciliation together; post-Dark Cybertron Soundwave continued to keep Megatron in mind, whereas Megatron (iirc) doesn't ever think about him in any noteworthy way. (Elaboration/analysis of this will be in whenever I make that analysis post, although trying to analyze IDW 2005 is kind of a headache for me.)

Rarely does Megatron communicate how he feels about Soundwave to him beyond his usefulness/function (e.g. Megatron praising Soundwave in Prime and Sunbow G1). There's IDW Robots in Disguise (2012) #22 ("Ours, Soundwave. The world shall be ours." is a cool line that expresses Megatron wanting to conquer Cybertron with Soundwave, but this scene is a retcon & flashback — it only serves phase 2 Soundwave's arc in the present).

That's not to say Megatron never expresses any thoughts/feelings about Soundwave, of course (various episodes of Prime, Headmasters E02 ["Soundwave! NGHAAAHHHHH" — Galvatron after witnessing him explode], probably some moments from The Transformers (2003) PS2 Japan).

The most explicit of Megatron recognizing Soundwave's importance to him I can think of off of the top of my head is Primacy #2.

Obviously with this post, I think a lot about their relationship can be inferred from the way they interact and talk regardless of how much or little Megatron directly expresses to him. (With this post being for the purpose of shipping, all I mention here is through a shipping potential lens xD).

Perhaps another reason for this ship's lack of popularity, related to the first, is maybe Soundwave is broadly thought of as just a loyalist without knowledge of his other qualities and so people don't think it's interesting? (I could say more on this, but I'll end this post here.)

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

Why Let the Offal Go to Waste?

Thought about this post too long and wrote this in two hours!

Note, this started as me musing in the tags on that post and then i had 4 paragraphs as a reblog before stopping and moving to a doc, so it starts without much of an introduction. I might recommend reading the post first for more context. I think I want to write a slightly longer version of this with more of an intro, so this is Why Let the Offal Go to Waste (prime) essentially.

Kayne thinking about Arthur being his and eating his heart, 846 words.

@fortheglowingeyes

What is - no, was - what was wrong with him?! Why was Arthur Lester different? Was that Lillith's fault -that was what he'd said - she'd watched him as a child, let him survive then and well that clearly had meant something or.

Or. Or something else. Something else made him different. Something Kayne couldn't see. Something that let Arthur survive and come out better. To talk of hope like there could be hope in a universe made by an uncaring, unthinking, dreaming THING!

His thumbnail punctured Arthur's heart, small stream of blood rolling down his thumb. Kayne stared at the first drop as it moved, as it moved across his wrist before meeting his shirt sleeve, joining the rest of Arthur's blood that had soaked there. More blood moved along the bottom of his pinky finger.

The voices in his head quieted to a whisper watching the drop, as it half rolled down to the shirt sleeve, half seemed drawn by gravity towards the ground, to the rest of Arthur beneath him and the blood around them. Torn between them. Slowly, carefully, lest the drop fall before its time, Kayne brought his hand towards his mouth - leaning closer - and wiped away the indecisive drop with his tongue.

The taste of Arthur’s blood bloomed in his mouth like a fine wine. Kayne closed his eyes, savoring the taste. He’d tasted others, of course, but this was his Arthur. 

His Arthur who hated being told what to do, who he couldn’t see coming, who was a fascinating, annoying, mystery, who lived and struggled and survived. Who wouldn’t live to fit another’s mold, to be confined to living for another’s purpose. Who could not be just the happenstance of a blind idiot’s dream! Azathoth didn’t think, didn’t feel, see, care, listen, or know anything! Didn’t have hidden designs unfolding, didn’t have a plan to make things better or any reason for the suffering in those smaller than him, didn’t extend a hand to his children when they begged him to answer, to acknowledge them, to hear words they said and to respond in some way.

No, his Arthur Lester was more than a spec from Azathoth’s dream. 

Arthur Lester was Kayne’s.

Kayne had killed him. He’d cradled his face as he cried and gurgled and the little king begged and wept. The body below - and on - him had been irreparably changed by Kayne, torn asunder, made into something new. A design that was not Azathoth’s. A work of art that was entirely Kayne’s.

There was still that something one of the voices in his head murmured, breaking the moment. The something that made him survive, made him an anomaly. What Kayne hadn’t understood. The something, he thought annoyed towards the voice, was Lillith. Discontent passed through his head. Was it? Was that really right? It must be.

Or - oh look, we’ve come full circle - he was something different. An anomaly like Kayne, not like the mold they were supposed to fill and Kayne still had no idea why.

And would never know.

Arthur Lester was dead. Kayne had seen to that. And there was a small part of him that Kayne didn’t know and couldn’t make his.

Kayne opened his eyes. While thinking, his hand had moved away from his face - blood running less now - but it was still close enough to take up the majority of his vision.

An idea occurred to him. One that seemed to be funnier the longer he let it linger in his mind. A small chuckle turned into Kayne doubled over with manic laughter, forehead nearly touching Arthur’s, his hand holding Arthur’s heart tucked between them, nearly against his own. Eventually, Kayne sighed, sat back upright, and looked at Arthur’s heart.

There was something different about Arthur. Something Kayne didn’t know. Something that wasn’t Kayne’s, wasn’t his. But it could be.

Kayne raised the heart to his lips and smiled. Softly kissed the muscle. Whispered against it “thank you.” Then bit down. Muscle and fat tore slowly, severing under his teeth, ripping, blood flowing, and Oh god if he thought Arthur’s blood was divine the experience of this was heaven anew. He savored the taste, the feeling of the heart, chewing slowly, before swallowing and looking at the heart again. Now missing a bite sized part of it.

Kayne could make that something his, could make all of Arthur a part of him. When killing the other versions of himself, he’d never done something like this. He’d made their worlds his, added them to himself, made himself the entirety of his soul, but to consume and transform like this…

Arthur’s body would be transformed into his, staying with him, belonging to him, being him. Not Azathoth’s, Kayne’s. Would be made entirely new, even whatever it was that made his Arthur Lester different, kept him alive. That too would be Kayne’s - maybe it would help Kayne in his Wager. 

Arthur Lester wasn’t entirely Kayne’s, not yet. But he would be.

Kayne took another bite of Arthur’s heart, this one even better than the first. 

[llitchilitchi]

dumb little comic based off this

some extra thoughts under the cut

this started as a silly joke because I sincerely adore this meme and after reading the tags in the reblogs I couldn't help myself. but while drawing all the scales on their linothoraxes I started thinking about this more

now, as confident as Alexander was, everyone has doubts every once in a while, and he would probably be proud enough to cover the true deeper meaning of these insecurities under something silly (or poetic. he would probably quote Euripides for all we know.) 'would you still love me as a worm?' - would you still love me if I wasn't the great king? would you still love me if I wasn't your commander? would you still love me if I lost a battle? would you still love me if I lost the war? would you still love me if I lost my kingship now? would you still love me if I was crippled in battle, if I could no longer lead and fight? would you still love me if I was no longer the richest, most powerful man in the world? would you still love me if I was a soldier, if I was a servant, a slave? would you still love me if I was a worm?

it was one thing for them to be friends and lovers in youth, quite another once he proved himself undefeatable time and time again, after he took Egypt and Babylon and Persepolis. and with people he considered close betraying him, he'd grow.... anxious, I think. I don't want to say outright paranoid, but he likely worried that the people he cares for deeply no longer loved him, and only pretended to for his favour, which meant everything in his new empire. he likely had such thoughts more often the further he got in life. or maybe I'm just projecting, who knows. either way this was an interesting thing to consider.

[jicklet]

Elemental (2023)

[libdeminomenon]

it’s hard to call a podcast “good” or “lawful” but this was my best attempt

[obsessivecelestial]

Did this doodle of Dusk on my phone, missed a few details for this one- but meh

I really needa solidify my style more 😰

!More suggestive version under cut :3!

[midnightwind]

Clipped Wings

Summary: One Year. Lucanis Dellamorte has been imprisoned for a whole year. If he had to guess. Desperate, almost hopeless, rescue has finally arrived in the guise of two excitable elves, but his saviors might be too late. Who would want a demon to come home? (Lucanis and Spite PoV)

Word Count: 6743

Previous | Read on AO3 | Next

Chapter Four: Demon in the Depths

It was cold when the haze of unconsciousness finally faded, his body sluggish. Flashes of what had happened played like the hitched scenes of a stage play. They had brought the accursed vial of his blood to the cell, had wound the strings of their vile magic around his limbs, and contorted his motions to suit their needs. The demon had thrashed in his bones at it, throwing himself against his ribs painfully and clawing behind his eyes as he screamed in fury. They had returned his leathers, a baffling action, and had him cast aside the prisoner's rags he had worn for almost a year. His gear hung loosely around him, the torture and confinement hollowing him out. Spite hissed at the ugly feeling it caused, sinking teeth into the soft meat of his soul.

Struggling against the magic’s hold, he had to simply watch as another mage approached. The man held a comb in one hand and scissors in the other. The sight was so absurd he wanted to laugh, but the spell only allowed him a vicious smile. The man's hands shook, the tremor worsening as the assassin glared him down with naked bloodlust the closer he got. A year at their mercy and they still were terrified to approach him. It was one of the only pleasures left to him here. Spite had lodged himself in his throat, gripping his vocal chords and begging for blood. It caused an almost feral growl to crawl from his lips, his would-be barber jumping at the noise.

They were making him presentable, he realized. Dressing him up for someone or something. It caused a drowning panic to rise in him like a vile tide. Spite howled, seizing his limbs with his own phantom versions and thrashing. His fingers twitched and the man stumbled backwards, away from him at the motion. No one stopped the cultist as he fled out of the cell, though the mage with the phylactery did bark orders at him. When they weren't met with obedience, he scoffed. Fear always won. Instead of trying to finish his twisted spa day, they trapped his hands behind his back and clapped iron around his wrists and ankles. The mage in charge had muttered something about having other subjects to prepare and he was soon being led through the facility as his phylactery was spirited back into the depths.

He had waited until the searing pull of the thing faded before launching into action. A simple jump to pull his hands back in front of himself, using the shackles to bludgeon one cultist to the ground. When another swung their magic imbued daggers at him, he caught the blades with the chain between his hands. The enchantment cut through it like a hot knife through butter. If nothing else, the Venatori were deft hands at crafting weapons to draw blood from even the most armored victims. He still had to dodge the rest of the swing, but his hands were free and that changed everything. Now the familiar rhythm of work was settling into his frame, every movement and swing of blades like a beloved symphony he had almost forgotten. His body sang with each kill. He carved a bloody trail through the halls, using another cultist blade to cut the shackles free completely during a brief reprieve. He had searched the bodies for keys, whatever relic or weird device would allow him to finally leave the prison.

He never got far, another wave of Venatori descending on him. It was exhausting, but he was a Crow. He had trained for exhausting. The wave of demons was a surprise he should have been expecting. The surge of the tiny bastards nipped at his heels, pushing him away from the path to freedom with slashing claws and sharp teeth. Spite was hissing like a feral cat at them. It caused every hair on his body to prickle, an electric hum so intense it felt like his bones were vibrating. The creatures seemed to falter and as he surged forward into that hesitation with sharp blades, he barely noticed the large shape that crashed into his side. He was thrown against a crumbling wall, left scrambling in the sand for purchase before a large clawed hand wrapped around his chest. The demon squeezed, his ribs screaming as the air was forced from his lungs. He angled vicious stabs into the creature's flesh, but it didn't seem to phase it. It simply tightened its hold. His world spotted black as he wheezed for a breath, clawing at the iron grip. And then the world went dark.

Now he was in a new prison, cold ice steadily locking him in place. He thrashed, the desperate need to escape chasing the fatigue from his limbs. Wherever they planned to take him next would be worse than the Ossuary, he had no doubt. Spite was rousing at the sharp emotions, sinking sharp nails into his psyche as he clawed awake. The spell was winding closer and closer, alarm almost blinding the assassin now. And then it paused, wavering, as discordant voices cut in. The demon surged, a sharp snap heralding skeletal wings bursting into existence on his back. They lunged for freedom as one, the ice shattering as the spell failed. The familiar work of killing settled into his hands once more, his world narrowed down to the cultists trying to trap him and nothing else. He was a flurry of ruthless violence, each Venatori dead within seconds of the last. Pulling in a shivering breath, he turned to face whatever had interrupted the ritual and then paused in surprise. Those were not cultists.

Mage.

The demon’s voice curled at the edges of his thoughts, almost purring the word as he stared at the two women blocking his way out. There was a fascination to it, but also a hunger, a pull the spirit felt. He watched its ghostly form stalk around the tanned elf, pulling in huffing breaths. It pawed at her red hair, as if trying to capture a lock between its fingers. Frustration growled from the spirit, turning instead to stare into her slate eyes.

Smells sweet. New scent. What is it? So sweet…

He blinked in confusion, taken aback. In the year since the demon had been forced into him, it had expressed curiosity only a handful of times. The pure rage of being trapped usually took up most of their stay. It unsettled him how Spite was suddenly enamored with a stranger. It felt foreboding. Then the demon was twitching to look at the woman’s companion. Another elf, dressed in bright leathers with her dark hair gathered in a messy bun. She seemed to vibrate with nerves and energy in equal measure, with heavy looking metal… contraptions, for lack of a better word, wrapped over her arms.

Dusty. Reeks of magic. Stolen. Borrowed. Found. Smells of ancient.

And then it was back to prowling around the redhead, a starving grin cracking its face. It caused a scowl to crease his own. Anything or anyone that captured the demon's attention like this was trouble. He shouldn't have even given them pause. A few more knife flicks and he'd be on his way to freedom. The cold calculation of his work was washing through him, but then Spite was surging to stand in front of him, causing him to jump.

Smell good. Maybe help? Finally! Let us out! Free us! Outoutout!

The thoughts were a deluge, slamming into his mind like a tidal wave. It scattered him for a moment, causing his head to swirl. He tightened his grip on his daggers, leather and steel biting into his palm. The weight of his weapons centered him, but before he could pull himself into familiar, deadly action, Spite's fascination was speaking.

“You must be Lucanis Dellamorte.” It wasn't a question. Her eyes seemed to almost shine as she looked him over.

She knows you.

He narrowed his eyes. “Who sent you?” And then his brain finally recognized the armor she wore. “You're a Crow.” She was sporting the leathers tailored for mages, loose sleeves trailing her motions. Had another House put a price on his head? Did this mean he had been properly abandoned here?

Before the doubts could work themselves into a proper panic, she was giving him a flourishing bow. “Of House de Riva. It's an honor.” It sounded almost genuine, voice tinged with a laugh. Then her head flicked up slightly, her gaze meeting his. “Caterina sent us. She’d like you home.”

Hope swelled in his chest, bittersweet and sickly. He hadn't been forgotten, but it was too late wasn't it? He was far too changed, now. A monster in human skin. It was a cruel twist of fate. He pulled in a long breath, finally sheathing his daggers. A member of Viago's House meant this was likely genuine. Rescue had come and he could trust that. So long as the other Crow led, he wouldn't have to worry about a poisoned blade nicking him. A second assassin would make his job easier, too.

“I still have a contract here. I need to kill Calivan, but before I can do that we need to find the vial of my blood they took.” He had to grind the words from his throat, disuse trying to choke them back down. “They can use it to control me otherwise.”

The other elf finally spoke up at that as she almost cowered behind the Crow. “Because of the demon.” Her voice was soft, empty of malice, but the single sentence cut him to the core.

This was where they'd leave him at best, or try to kill him at worst. He felt his fingers twitch, heartbeat leaping as adrenaline surged. He'd have to kill the mage first, that was fine. He knew how to do that. She sported a knife instead of a staff, so he'd have a few seconds to close the distance as her orb was summoned. That was plenty of time to slit her throat and collide with the archer before her bow could be nocked. He'd owe Viago an apology for killing one of his Crows, but it was par for the course.

“That’s fine, assuming you're still the Mage Killer the First Talon promised me.” The mage said brightly, smiling.

She didn't move for her weapon, her hands even clapping quietly in front of her. That was baffling. The word demon sent mages into a panic, usually, all fire and brimstone raining down at the thought. Why did she look almost gleeful?

“I can still work.” He answered carefully.

“Perfect!” Relief caused her shoulders to sag for a moment. “Once we clean up your contract, I have my own for two ancient elven mages pretending at godhood. If the stories I've heard about your work are even partially true, your help would really turn the tides.”

“I…” Gods? That was a new one. “I would owe you.”

“A favor between Crows.” She closed the distance in an instant, startlingly fast, and held a hand out to him.

The sweet scent that had fascinated Spite washed over him. Red berries and jasmine. It was pleasant enough, but strong. Hiding the acrid smell of poisons and venoms with perfume was a popular cover among assassins. Given her House, it made sense. The scent was simply dizzying after his year in this pit of the ocean smelling only rotting seaweed, blood, and burning flesh. It also made him hesitant to touch her at all. His reluctance must have been obvious because she laughed, pulling her hand back.

“You know Viago, huh? I don't coat myself in poison quite as enthusiastically as him. Perfectly safe to touch!” And then she was winking at him. “Kissing less so, but you look like a gentleman.” He wasn't sure what to do with that, but she was spinning on her heel and waving at him over her shoulder. “I’m Mirenna, by the way, though people are calling me Rook nowadays. Maybe Viago mentioned me?” There was a hopeful note in her voice, a desire for acknowledgement. When he remained quiet, she let out a disappointed sigh. “Likely not by name. If you ever had to listen to him rant about an annoying protege, I apologize. I exist to annoy him, apparently.”

That did stir some faint memories of the Fifth Talon muttering about a recruit causing nothing but trouble. His tone had never been properly angry or even particularly murderous. It had always read to him as a similar energy he reserved for Illario. A sibling that needed to be scolded, but whom you loved. Now he had a face for the many complaints. The reverie was interrupted as her companion popped into his view.

“Um, I’m Bellara, by the way. It's nice to meet you. I think?” She seemed to want to say more, mouth opening before snapping shut as she scurried after the mage. “Do you really have poison on your lips, Rook?”

Rook’s eyes crinkled as a devious smile curled across her face. “Would you like to find out?” 

Her voice was low, almost sultry. Tempting. It was familiar. Viago was close with Teia, it wasn't a far leap to assume that the elf would have had contact with House Cantori. The casual seduction had Teia written all over it. The perfume also made a little more sense, the initial allure of the honeytrap. His assumption that she was trouble only felt more vindicated.

Bellara tittered away from her, half laughing and half nerves. “No! I'm okay. I like not being poisoned.”

“Shame, it's a fun one.” Rook hummed. “I can give you the rundown back at the Lighthouse. We have Venatori to gut and a legendary assassin to free.”

Knows of you. Likes the idea. Spite was prowling behind her, head cocked. What would. Poison taste like?

“Not as pleasant as you want.” He muttered, voice quiet and leaden feet finally following his odd saviors.

Taste like smells? So sweet. What is scent?

“Red berries and jasmine.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smile on her lips. How loud had he said that? Turning on her heel, she walked backwards to face him.

“Offer stands for you, too.” Her voice was just as alluring as before, but she had dipped her head toward her chest, looking up at him through her lashes.

Cheeky! I like her!

He blinked blandly back at her, cursing himself for letting the demon bait him into this situation. “I'm familiar enough with what the Fifth and Seventh Talons may have taught you.”

She tilted her head to the side, mischief touching her features. “No curiosity for what their talents combined might create?”

Spite is! Let me talk. More fun.

“I am perfectly content as is.” His tone was flat, emotion scrubbed free.

Boring! Let me out! Let me talk. Spite was raking claws through his psyche, his shade looming before him as he screamed. Outoutout! You cage! You trap!

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked past her, trying not to think about the myriad of poisons she could sprinkle on his leathers at this distance. Dealing with the demon was exhausting enough, a second Teia would simply be too much. There was a quiet scuff of her boot on the rock floor as she turned back around. The silent speed that had her matching his pace shortly after was unnerving. She seemed on the verge of saying something when they finally emerged back into the facility.

A group of Venatori had been desperately trying to set up the wards again, the blood magic causing his eyes to ache. The two Crows were in motion instantly, his daggers almost leaping into his hands and a crackling orb sparking to life in hers. Lightning magic explained her speed. Bellara was a few seconds slow on shrugging her bow off her shoulder, each assassin removing a blood mage before she had an arrow loose. The smell of ozone filled the room, like the air before a storm. He had expected the mage to fight at a distance, but she peppered the Venatori with quick bolts before lunging forward with the mageknife. Her magic jolted through their bodies at the contact, their writhing forms easy prey for his blades. And then she was shooting off to swipe the enchanted blade at the next target, sweeping their legs and falling upon them with a ferocious stab.

It had been some time since he last saw a Crow mage in a melee. Watching her parry a bolt of energy back at the caster before letting loose a scorching ray from the orb, walking slowly forward as the magic ate the man alive, quashed any doubts he had about her training. She danced and dashed among swinging blades, hunted down any mage that dared to fire in her direction, and was careful to curve her dagger around his and Bellara's strikes as they navigated the field. She was skilled. By the time the Venatori were dead, he had a seed of respect for her taking root. He had been afraid the flippant energy had meant he'd be babysitting another Illario in a fight. He had been wrong.

Smells of blood. Metal and sharp. Powerful.

Wiping his daggers clean on the tunic of a dead mage, he watched her sheath her weapon and shake her hands. Almost like she was trying to regain feeling in them. When she caught his eye, she gave him another wink. He frowned, turning away to pluck the key for the door from a corpse. She followed two steps behind him, quiet for a moment.

“You don't like the tactic.” Again, not a question.

“I was never fond of Teia’s method. It is more my cousin's style.” He rested a hand on the pommel of a dagger. “I prefer being direct.”

“Oh.” There was a note of disappointment coating the word. “Teia took me for a ride. She promised it would be funny, but she meant for herself, didn't she.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, busying himself with unlocking the door. “What?”

“Told me to tease you. Said it would be hilarious.” Was she pouting? “Now I just feel like a jerk and like I made a terrible first impression.”

“Would you have preferred I swoon?” The door opened silently under his touch.

She made a noncommittal noise in her throat. “If it made you a little less gloomy, sure. Laughing would have worked, too.”

Gloomy? He imagined he would look a little worse for wear, but gloomy?

She wants. A smile?

Ah. That felt beyond him.

“Rook messes with everyone.” Bellara chimed in, hovering several steps behind him. It made him wonder how long it would take to slip a dagger between her ribs from this distance. A few seconds, just a handful of quick steps. “Usually means she likes you!”

“Should I be flattered?” There was an almost bright note to his voice as he led them through to the next dilapidated chamber, perhaps an overcorrection on his part.

“Only if she stays nice with it.” She continued, her steps gaining an almost bouncing quality as they walked.

“Don't give away all my tells, Bell!” The mage feigned injury, hand pressed her chest, but the wide smile betrayed her intent. “I'll only look cool and capable until we get back to the Diamond.”

“Oh, was Viago not done? He sure yelled at you for a long time already…” Bellara gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“He could berate me for a week straight and still have a bone to pick.” She shook her head sadly. “Such is my lot.”

The two continued their inane banter for a while longer, but he ceased to listen. Instead, he focused on the twisting pull of his would be phylactery. Normally its presence filled him with dread. It still did, as they drew closer, but there was a note of dizzying anticipation. The shedding of the final chain. Freedom. His steps quickened, pulling ahead of the two women. He led the duo toward his target, singular focus trained ahead. And then he stopped, staring at the wide chasm that yawned between him and a very enthusiastic stabbing. The path had collapsed at some point and he faltered. He didn't know the facility well enough to pick an alternative route, if one even still stood.

“Ah. Damn.” Rook muttered, chewing on her thumb. “I really hoped we wouldn't come back this way. I don't have a plan for this.”

Just walk? Path is right there.

“What?” He forgot to quiet his voice, too baffled by the suggestion.

Do you not see? Oh! A path. Just for Spite! Poor Lucanis. Needs help! The demon was definitely laughing at him. I can pull. The path through. Let me reach.

Rook had turned a confused eye to him and he groused under the gaze. “He says he can pull something through.”

“Who..?” She started, but he was already holding a hand out.

Spite had pressed itself into his body, the ghostly avatar layering over his skin. He felt the demon grab something, weighty and odd, and together they pulled. Phantasmal rubble sprang into being over the gap, an echo of what used to be. It felt draining in a strange way, an inkling that the path wouldn't stay forever.

“You can just do that?” The mage gasped.

“I'm as surprised as you.” He breathed before shaking his head. “I don't think it lasts, let's move.”

That seemed to light a fire under them as they quickly scrambled to the other side. The route grew more precarious as they went, large chunks of the facility sheared away from itself to form deadly chasms. Bellara had fallen silent, staring down at her feet as they shimmied along a crumbling wall. Rook for her part was almost trapezing along the rubble, lips curled faintly in a smile. She paused as they reached the next section of fractured flooring, head tilting.

“Demons.” Her voice was almost flat.

He stole a peek, sizing up the several prowling shades. “Zara’s pets. That’s what success looks like.”

She gave a hum at that before tossing him a wild grin. “I’ll get their attention. Looking forward to seeing you work again!”

Before either he or Bellara could object, the mage was vaulting over a broken pillar. Lightning crackled as her orb materialized, her mageknife rolling once in her hand. She took bounding steps, running the outer ring of the platform as her weapons streamed magic. The demons swarmed towards her like moths to a flame. Lucanis cursed under his breath, sliding down the slight incline to try and close the distance. Bellara had begun nocking arrows, firing into the mass from her vantage point. He wasn’t going to make it before the creatures reached the elf. Why did all his jobs go south?

He loosed a handful of throwing daggers, downing one demon and staggering another. That earned him a few more seconds. It might actually be fine so long as she kept running. Except she turned on her heel without warning, her orb shimmering into a second dagger as she lunged into the mass of monsters. She planted the two blades into the heart of one demon and then pulled. The air sounded like it was torn apart violently, a violet maw cut open with electricity and lightning slicing free. It floored several demons, easy prey for his daggers. As the magic fizzled away she was throwing out another spell, a carpet of thunder that sent her jumping backwards with a cackle. For a split second, the magic almost looked like a cloud of feathers before it too evaporated.

When the creatures finally recovered, most of them were dissipating back to the Fade. The stragglers went down easily to the dancing blades and patient arrows. He huffed as he pulled a dagger free from the steadily disappearing corpse under his boot. Rook was back to shaking her hands, bouncing from foot to foot for a moment. The sounds of rocks being displaced announced Bellara joining them on the lower platform.

“You,” he started slowly, pointing a blade at the mage, “are reckless.”

“But it tends to work.” She gave him a lopsided smile.

“Until it doesn’t.” He clipped.

“S’why I have you guys!”

“Rook…” Bellara cut in, her tone scolding.

The mage sighed, holding her hands up in surrender. “Fine, sorry. Proper plan before the next fight.”

“With any luck, our ‘next fight’ is Calivan.” There was a sharp edge to his voice now as he started to pick his way further into the facility.

She was silently at his side again with no warning. “Was there a specific way you wanted to deal with him? It is your contract, after all.”

“Oh, do Crows not usually work together?” Bellara asked, popping up on his other side.

Rook hummed, shrugging. “If you belong to the same House and your Talon tells you to? Then sure. Between Houses is more rare, but poaching a contract is frowned upon. Unless they super fuck it up, anyways. Besides just being rude and an insult, the buyer can use it to try and weasel out of paying which causes all sorts of issues. But since I’m here on a contract for the First Talon, I think we’re good. I don’t plan on trying to cash in on the Calivan contract either.”

“If you help me take him down,” Lucanis cut in quietly, “you would be entitled to the reward.”

She gave him a queer look at that, head tilting slightly. “Viago would likely take any gold I make. Besides, your whole thing is killing mages. I don’t want to get in your way.”

“And here I thought you had a fondness for attention.” He mused.

A wide grin slowly stole across her face. “Is the Demon of Vyrantium teasing me?”

“Surely not, I’m gloomy after all.”

“Bell, I need you to pinch me.” She extended an arm behind his back, causing every alarm in his mind to scream. “This has to be a dream.”

The sound of the other elf gently slapping her hand away with a laugh had him quickening his steps. They responded well enough if he played along, good to know. It kept them distracted, but that had its uses. He didn't fully trust having another Crow from an ostensibly rival House at his back, but he could only dedicate so much worry towards her right now. If Caterina had truly given de Riva the contract to rescue him, she was maybe safe enough.

He had a bigger target to focus on. Confronting Calivan had a few ways to play out. If they were lucky, he was holed up in a chamber with deep shadows and high perches. Dropping on the man from above to crush the air from his lungs as daggers bit deep would be ideal. Quick but brutal. Given the state of the facility, however, it was far more likely the mage would be in an annoyingly open area with next to no cover. Getting to punch him into submission had its allure, but it was messy. Unreliable. Dangerous. He did have a mage and ranged support, so a head to head confrontation would likely go better than usual. It made him uneasy, but a little trust would go a long way.

“When we find Calivan,” he started suddenly, voice even, “if he's in a place where I can take him down from stealth, that works perfectly. I think it more likely he'll see us coming a mile away with the state the Ossuary is in. Which means I'll likely be the distraction whether I want to or not.”

“I'll make sure to shock him within an inch of his life for you.” Her grin had a hungry edge to it this time, the job bringing a sharp focus.

“Helping with a Crow contract…” Bellara sounded almost in awe at the idea. “The Jumpers won't believe me.”

“We gotta find him first.” Rook hummed before she stopped suddenly, catching the edge of his leathers and tugging gently to have him follow suit. He almost wrenched it violently from her grasp, a year of bad memories leaping up at the touch. “Lots of Fade activity ahead. It's a mage at the very least, could be Calivan though.”

“Quick and quiet, then.” He murmured the little mantra, blades snapping into his hands as he prowled forward.

It was, unfortunately, not their target or his blood vial. Instead it was an underling trying to fend off loose demons. They simply waited for the mage to finish killing off the monsters before quietly approaching and putting an end to the Venatori. The next few chambers were just as disappointing. More demons and abominations to be put down to clear the path, the facility seeming to hold an obnoxious amount of them. The tug was growing more incessant and there was a sense of familiarity to the area. He'd walk this path many times on the way to the Venatori lab. His stomach twisted at the thought. That singular room held many horrors for him.

For us. Spite hissed.

There was a nagging worry as they entered the large chamber that functioned as a torturous lab. If they didn't want to break his phylactery, if instead they wanted to use it, would he have time to stop them? Would it be better to lead the way, forcing them to pass him to seize control, or hover behind them, daggers hungry?

He was playing and replaying the scenario in his mind as they took in the remains of the less fortunate subjects. When they quietly destroyed the many Venatori crystals locking them out, he was favoring the plan that let him bury a knife in each back with one strike. He let them walk in first, eyes watching their weapons carefully as they beheld the sizable phylactery.

“I’m guessing the monstrous vial is yours?” Rook offered weakly, trying to force a note of mirth into the words and failing.

His daggers slipped silently from their sheaths. “Destroy it and let's move on.” His voice was level, not quite emotionless, but peaceful. Encouraging.

“Should we-” Bellara started, but she cut herself off with a yelp.

The vial exploded without warning as Rook flung her mageknife at it. The loud shattering was the most beautiful sound he had heard in his life. She shifted a foot back, bracing, as the fiery laser leapt from her hand again. The blood concoction ignited, burning any lingering connection to a crisp. His daggers were sheathed in the next instant, eyes fixed on the mage. There was a familiar cold calculation to her features, the Crow focus brushing aside the lopsided grin. There was a deeper emotion buried in it, almost like a fury. That was interesting.

Free. Spite seemed to breathe the word. She freed us. She hated. The final chain. Why?

Maybe she knew something about being controlled like that. Maybe as a mage she simply had a dislike for phylacteries. Maybe the mere thought of dominating someone like that sat ill with her. He didn't have an answer for the demon. So he remained quiet as they boarded the elevator, focusing instead on carving his path to Calivan. Killing the man wouldn't make up for what had been done to him, but it would feel good. He'd take the scrap of positivity.

His mind turned back to planning, imagining sinking a dagger to the hilt in his tormentor. If they gave him the time, there were several places he could plant a knife before finally killing the man. A little payback would be nice. Some kind of retribution for the cruelty.

“So,” Rook's voice sliced through his murderous fantasy abruptly as Bellara seemed to huff next to her, “what's Caterina like, usually?”

Was she trying to fill the time? Couldn't she have asked anything else? He couldn't help the bitterness in his voice. “I've been gone so long, I fear I don't remember.”

She seemed to flinch, a quick hunching of her shoulders. “Right. Well… we’ll have you reunited soon enough it won't matter.”

The elevator thunking to a stop saved them both from trying to salvage the conversation. Rook led them down the crumbling hallway with quick steps, a sharp focus coming over her. She was almost darting forward, seemingly appearing on top of piles of rubble to look ahead. She had pulled the hood of her leathers up to hide her shocking red hair as she scouted. An unhappy hum escaped her as she bounded back to them.

“Big open space. Might be some side rooms, but… we should be ready for a fight with little cover.”

Iron and salt. Screams and curses. Blood for blood. Kill Calivan.

It felt like Spite was clawing at the world from behind his eyes. He rolled his shoulders, neck cracking. “Time to work. Ready?”

Bellara swallowed heavily, but gripped her bow tightly in hand and nodded. “If he doesn't know Rook and I are here, then that gives us an edge.”

Rook flicked her mageknife into hand, the blade glinting as her orb crackled to life. “Quick and quiet.” It was unto a prayer for their work, her features sharp and focused.

“Quick and quiet.” He echoed before he stepped into the open.

The Venatori mage was waiting for them, in a sense. A ritual circle was carved into the floor, a permanent fixture to the chamber. He had been turning a slow circle, observing the runes, when Lucanis stepped into the open. The jailer clicked his tongue in almost disgust, an exaggerated shrug lifting his shoulders.

“Of course it’s you.” He spat. “Zara and her little jests. ‘He’s already the Demon of Vyrantium! Won’t this be ironic?’ We should have killed you months ago when the demon never manifested. Waste of time and effort.”

The Crow didn’t wait, daggers in hand as he sprinted towards the man. If the monster wanted to taunt, let him waste the air. The Fade fizzled as glaring red orbs sprang up around his target, forcing him to spend precious time dodging left and right. He caught a brief blur out of the corner of his eye as his knife lunged out. The blade caught against the mage’s staff, his offhand punching towards the man’s gut. The burn of magic in the air stung his eyes, his strike missing as the Venatori fade stepped away. The scream that followed from the mageknife biting into his back brought a ravenous grin to his lips.

Rook had used his initial rush to dart around the little piles of rubble and crumbling pillars. Calivan had positioned himself directly in front of her hiding place and she had wasted no time capitalizing on it. Her magic sparked along his body, shimmering as it pinged off the barrier so common to mages. Calivan spun with a snarl, swinging his staff towards her, but she tossed out her own spell. The carpet of electric feathers blinded the man as she darted back into the shadows.

“You made friends. Was the demon not enough?”

The taunt was met with two daggers swinging for his neck, the barrier cracking heavily under the dual strike. He snarled, a wave of red crystals erupting from under his feet that left a flaming trail. It forced Lucanis to leap backwards, daggers held defensively against a follow up attack that never came. An arrow cracked loudly against the barrier and it shattered as Calivan half turned with the strike, a red line cut into his cheek. Spite surged at the smell of blood, a fury and glee rushing through his limbs with such strength it caused his hands to shake.

Blood for blood! Screams and curses! Iron and salt!

The manic chanting caused his head to swim, his step faltering. It earned him a crimson bolt in the shoulder. The pain grounded him and he let the attack’s momentum spin him into a low crouch. A throwing dagger was plucked from his belt and loosed in the motion, gifting the mage a matching pain. Two more arrows arced towards Calivan, a zigzagging shadow rapidly approaching from behind. His angry summons sliced through the air, the force of the Fade bursting open throwing the two Crows back as a lumbering demon took the mage’s place. That… that was a problem. Lightning crackled along its body as it clawed into the physical realm. Lucanis took two steps back, assessing, trying to find the weak point, bracing for an attack. A familiar mad laugh reached his ears, his gaze stuttering over to Rook.

Her orb was streaming magic again, held aloft like a beacon as a wide grin split her lips. “Now there’s a challenge!”

She was taunting demons again. It turned on her with a starved hunger, blade lashing out. Lightning arced along her legs, the air burning with her magic and she seemed to blink around the strikes the demon aimed at her. Her cackle matched Spite’s own echoing laugh in his mind. She was weaving closer and closer to the demon before her orb seemed to snap out, snagging the demon’s blade mid strike. It flicked the weapon back into the creature’s face and it staggered backwards. Three daggers and a flurry of arrows descended in an instant, the thing screeching. The next exchange of blows it managed were weaker, scattered, and Bellara managed to bury two expertly shot arrows into its core. It died with the sound of dry wood cracking.

Victory was short as Calivan manifested where the demon had stood, a look of pure fury on his face. The shimmer of his barrier was back and as he fade stepped out of the way of more arrows, several copies of himself popped into existence. They all smiled with his sickening grin, but the gloating ended abruptly. Rook had lunged forward into the center of the clones, two magic daggers sparking. The air was rended, a loud cracking of lightning heralding the devastating tear she had used earlier. Calivan staggered, alone in the center of the room and cursing. The line of spikes he sent out with a furious growl did catch Rook before she could recover from her casting, sending her staggering over a pile of rubble.

Two more arrows thudded into the man before he could chase the downed Crow. He spun with a snarl, launching a barrage towards the archer. It was all the opening Lucanis needed. He was behind Calivan like a dark shadow, one dagger slipping easily between the ribs to puncture the heart, the other drawing a quick line across the throat. The mage sputtered, hand grasping uselessly at his neck before he crumpled. Lucanis let him slide off his blade with a heavy thud.

“The Crows send their regards.” Was all he offered, bending down to wipe the blood from his daggers on the rich robes of the Venatori.

Cold and quiet! Heavy chains, scraping metal, sharp edges! Silent and gone!

The demon's celebration felt like it was rattling his teeth. Bellara was sprinting to where Rook was struggling to sit up, the mage rubbing her legs gingerly. Her leathers were singed, but she appeared fine otherwise. She was wincing as the elf helped her to her feet. With wobbling steps, she joined Lucanis over the body.

“Well, one contract down.” A lopsided grin settled on her lips.

Lucanis nodded, his response drowned by Spite.

Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet!

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the demon manifesting at his side, to the point where he almost missed Rook's question.

“Lucanis? Are you good?”

Careful. They know. We're not right.

“You cannot see him. I had wondered…” His voice was tinged with weary curiosity.

“Alright, vaguely ominous. But more on all that later.” She waved it away. “I'm tired of the ocean, aren't you?”

An earnest laugh rumbled in his chest. “More than you know. Lead the way.”

She seemed to beam at his response. “Oh, does your plus one have a name or… title? How do demons like to be addressed…”

A wry smile tugged at his lips as they filed out of the chamber. “It's Spite.”

Requested Tags: @weaponizedvirtue

[angelbokk]

Mouthwashing doodles

Finishing anything is so fucking hard rn all i can offer are sketches

[thatfriendlyanon]

sometimes i think about some alternate timeline where my creative writing professor did not beat us over the head with flannery o'connor for two semesters straight and instead i come away with a deep appreciation for her talent & work & approach rather than loathing that's not even directed at her art but really directed at my professor's southern-gothic-obsessed opinions and the fact my life was lowkey falling apart as i had to read yet another violent short story to get "shaken awake"

[jessamine-rose]

*lovingly tackles Aine*

Read my Yandere! Pierro longfics first ♪( ´▽｀)

Last week, my beloved mutual @ainescribe surprised me with Savior! Darling fan art and AHAI9232@2-!/! CRYING SCREAMING I WANT TO LOOK AT THIS ART AND WORSHIP YOUR VERSION OF SAVIOR THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BLESSING ME WITH YOUR ART—

*clears throat* Anyway, now that I finally have the time to properly sit down and comment on the fan art, I’ll do just that. Feedback will be in the tags and it will be unhinged. Once again, thank you so much to Aine for drawing this <3

[hyenabrained]

“I’m paying.” In-ho states firmly, flipping it open.

“You are absolutely not.”

In-ho frowns. “Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun is already circling around the counter, waving a hand at him like he was trying to bat away a fly. “Put it away. You think I’m gonna charge you for this?” He nods at the bouquet. “Come on, man.”

“You have a business to run. It really isn’t a big deal–”

“Hey! It is a big deal. Business or not, I have a moral code, and that moral code says I don’t take money from friends– especially when it's clearly for something important.” _____________________ chapter 6 is up :) 

[good-beansdraws]

Random doodles from a while ago -- the two big ones used pose references but the others were freehand/no reference

Huh.... my brain reversed him....

[kindest-little-fella-in-town]

forgive the general trashiness and the planner paper background, i did this on the train ride home and it was all i had. anyway, Walk With Me Here, Guys,

[vinkandpaint]

idk my bff rose