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angstyhikka · 10 months

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(Translations are in image alt description)

Continue development of the Colliestrophy :3

His physical form is unstable, dangerous and very chaotic, as you can see. Limbs are twisted at unimaginable angles, joints seem to be missing at all or there are too many of them, facial features are distorted beyond recognition in seconds.

Colliestrophy, unlike Collie, is completely incapable of hiding and controlling his emotions. He is thrown from one extreme to another, one moment he is crying into three streams, and then he destroys everything around, and then he falls into hysterical fun and makes all the islands dance the Abba dance and maintain the appearance of fun, making sure that no one can sleep, so that there is daylight all day long, and so that everything in the area is so bright that it burns your eyes

There is a moment in the plot when Philip needed to hide Collie in a fragment of his old prison so that the boy would not die from the blood of the Titan. After which he mysteriously disappeared, hiding the glass in the hollow three. And so a month passes, and Philip still does not return. And Collie manages to wrap himself up in thoughts that his best and only friend, almost his brother, seems to have abandoned him, and he is left alone again. How else can you explain where Philip could have gone EXACTLY at the same hour when he sealed Collie and swore that they would run away from the Clathornes TOGETHER and hide?

And when Philip finally finds Collie, releases him and explains where he went and what he was doing, this only worsened the situation, and Collie, enraged and exhausted by languishing in the fragment, eventually turns into Colliestrophe.

In this state, he does not want to delve into his feelings. He's offended. He's in pain. And at the same time, he wants intimacy. Colliestrophe prefers to pretend that nothing happened. He maintains the illusion of their perfect life, until his confrontation with Hunter. Pretends everything is fine. He is doing everything to gain Philip’s favor now, and maybe he will allow him to merge with him. He is almost ready to do this against Philip's will. But he is afraid. Doesn't want to become a rapist. He understands that such a screw-up cannot be made up for by anything later. And so he only begs:

“I still want to try. Even if it hurts. I feel like if I don't get this from you, I'll just die. This all feels like the end of the world

- Collie, brother, this is not the end of the world, believe me. Life doesn't end when you get rejected. It's painful, but not fatal.

“Well, if it hurts anyway,” Colley sobs, “ThEeeeen...

And he buries his face in his elbow.

“But I don’t want,” almost in a whisper, which still thunders like a meteor shower, “for you to get hurt...”

In the end, everything will be resolved well, but it won’t be very soon, and who knows how much the heroes will suffer and what they will have to endure until Colliestrophe becomes just a Collie again.

(Dialogue was written by Ludwig aka LasyMit)

#toh anarchist au #anarchist au #colliestrophe #phillip wittebane #emperor belos #phill the demon king

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hs-transfusion · 5 months

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> DAVE HARLEY

CHUMHANDLE: tenaciousGearbox [TG] STRIFE: machetekind MODUS: Magtape LUNAR SWAY: Prospit MYTH. ROLE: Bard of Doom LAND: Land of Junk and Ghosts

TG: listen hate all you want but you gotta admit its dang nabbin iconic

Dave is, to put it simply, SOMETHING OF A HIPSTER. Though he has access to LARGE SWATHS OF ADVANCED TECHNOLOGY, he opts to use as little of it as he can get away with, preferring more ANTIQUATED EQUIPMENT. He often records DOCUMENTARIES of the island he lives on, both to HEAR HIMSELF TALK and to KEEP HIMSELF COMPANY. He tends to TALK TO HIMSELF an awful lot, actually.

Dave's love for the RETRO AND VINTAGE runs deep. He has a fondness for VHS TAPES in particular, having TINKERED with enough VCRs to practically be able to BUILD HIS OWN FROM SCRATCH. Every so often he fools around with his KEYTAR, though he's not very good at it. Dave has also been getting into VAPORWAVE as of late.

Dave's MAGTAPE Fetch Modus is a somewhat outdated one. Items can be freely stored on any card in the deck, but doing so SLIGHTLY DETERIORATES THE CARD'S QUALITY. Should the card suffer too much damage, the item will either be DESTROYED or DISTORTED BEYOND RECOGNITION with severe VISUAL ARTEFACTS.

Dave's relationship with his dog BEC is a close one. He's essentially his ONLY REAL COMPANION, resulting in the two of them spending a lot of time playing together. Dave is JUST AS LOYAL to Bec as Bec is to him. His relationship with his GRANDPA, on the other hand, is much less close, seeing as how he's DEAD. He never learned how to stuff a corpse (just THINKING ABOUT IT gives him the willies) so his body rests peacefully IN THE FREEZER.

The Land of JUNK AND GHOSTS is a large SCRAPYARD teeming with GHOULISH GREEN SPIRITS. The clouds in the sky seem to dance in an ETERNAL VORTEX as the threat of a RAGING THUNDERSTORM looms everpresent. It's said that the key to the denizen THANATOS' lair is buried somewhere in one of the NUMEROUS JUNK PILES on the planet; a NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK as it were.

#homestuck #fosterquest au #dave harley #hiveswap #kidswap

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kwanisms · 23 days

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A Special Look

I've been working on something for the month of August and am excited to share what I've been working on which will be coming September so please read below the cut if you're curious to see what it is!

➮ no pairing but features Seonghwa of Ateez wc: 2204 warnings: none

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Your footsteps echoed around the dark corridor as you shined a flashlight around the walls. From the outside, you would have never expected the hallway to be this long but were reminded again that if the legends were to be believed, this place could stretch and distort things on a whim.

Taking another deep breath, you pressed on, continuing down the dark hallway as you continued to shine the light around, hoping to find another doorway or even a set of doors to end this stretch. It was becoming unbearably long and starting to weigh on you just how long it had been since you’d seen light other than the flashlight in your hand.

Just as the thought to turn back crossed your mind, you froze, staring into the distance at what seemed to be a light at the end of the hallway. Your thumb hovered over the button on the flashlight and after a moment, you pressed it, the click echoing.

As the beam from your flashlight diminished, the light at the end of the tunnel did not and relief flooded your body as you turned the light back on with a click and continued down the corridor, a skip in your step.

As the light at the end grew and you got closer and closer, you wondered briefly if it was some kind of trick. Maybe it wasn’t a light at all. Or maybe, it was a light but what would you find at the end besides the light source? What secrets were hidden in the dark, deep in the Library of Illusion?

As you neared the light, a doorway started to materialize and a room within also started to appear. The doorway was a stone arch, rounded at the top and the room beyond was larger than you initially thought.

Turning off the flashlight, you looked around at the round room. It was entirely made of stone, a small platform with a small stone gazebo stood in the middle of the room. Surrounding the platform were curved bookshelves full of loose papers, yellowed with age.

Scrolls upon scrolls sat on shelves, stacked on one another in between old worn books, some even looked burned and ruined beyond recognition.

Between breaks in the shelves were six large, wooden doors. Each door had an old, tarnished knob in the middle and decorative knockers that upon first look seemed identical. Above each door, carved into the stone bricks were words.

You moved to the left, reading the words carved above the door closest to you. It read Science Fiction, leaving you with more questions than answers but as you moved further around the room, following the curve, each door had a genre carved into the stone above it; Science Fiction, Crime/Mystery, History, Horror, Adventure, and Fantasy. Between the third and fourth doors was a small square room.

It looked almost like an office of sorts with a large desk, several bookshelves but tucked under a window, between two shelves, was a bed, the sheets a tangled mess as though whoever used it had gotten up recently and not bothered to make the bed.

You moved closer to inspect the shelves, reading various titles but the one that stuck out the most was Dracula. ‘Interesting choice,’ you told yourself with an amused hum before turning to face the desk that was covered in papers.

You walked over, looking at the sheets which turned out to be maps and other pages that might have been diary entries.

You looked up at the wall opposite the bed to find even more shelves, full of the same old yellowed pages, scrolls, and even more books but also long necked bottles with bulbous bases. Each bottle was corked and covered in a fine layer of dust

The bottles themselves were thick, clear glass, distorted with age and the liquid inside was a deep, rich red almost like – ‘Blood?’ you thought as you inspected them. A chill ran up your spin and you forced yourself to turn away from the bottles, hoping your morbid thoughts were just that — thoughts.

As you turned away, another door caught your eye. Like the other doors, it was made of wood and seemed to be heavy. Instead of solid wood, it had a small paned glass window in the shape of a semicircle. The panes were a thick opaque red glass with gold in between each pane.

Under the window, in place of a knob, was a series of keyholes. Seven of them. Four on top and three on the bottom. They were old, most likely fitted to old rusted keys.

As you were inspecting the keyholes, you heard a soft whooshing sound behind you. Quickly, you stood up straight and turned around, finding both rooms empty. You walked to the round room and looked around before raising your gaze overhead.

The ceiling, which you hadn’t even noticed before, was domed and made entirely of glass with iron supports. The glass was littered on the outside with leaves and twigs and even one glass window was broken, which explained the old leaves littering the floor between bookshelves.

As you walked further into the round room, you noticed a pedestal standing in the center of the stage. You were surprised because you hadn’t noticed this before. ‘Was this always here?’ you wondered as you stepped onto the platform.

Placed upon the stone pedestal was a large ornate box.

The base of the box was wooden but it had gold plated metal fitted around the corners and where the lid met the body of the box met in an intricate fastener. Embedded in the gold were red gemstones of various sizes and cuts with the largest being oval.

As you rounded the pedestal, taking in the box, you heard a scraping sound, like a shoe against the stone and turned around to face the small room where the sound came from. Standing in the archway of the room was a man.

As your eyes adjusted to his sudden appearance, your eyes widened in shock, recognition filling your mind along with numerous questions. How, who, why?

You would recognize those dark eyes and piercing stare anywhere. It was him! The man from your dreams. The one you’d been seeing every night for months, plaguing you as you tried to sleep. The reoccurring dreams, the nightmares, all of it. He was the one you always saw.

He took a step forward, the light shining in from the glass dome illuminating him even more. He was as every bit ethereal and beautiful as he was in your dreams, perhaps even more so in person. You stared back at him with wide eyes as he watched you carefully.

You felt like prey caught in the gaze of a predator and as he drew closer still, your instincts kicked in, heart hammering in your chest.

‘Run.’

You tried to do just that, backing away before turning towards the hallway you’d entered from only to find it gone. Before you was a blank stretch of stone wall, the archway present but the gap filled with stone blocks. You turned back to find the man standing where you had just been on the platform, still watching you.

You turned to look at one of the many doors around the room and ran to the closest one, grabbing the knob and trying to twist it only for it to not budge. “Wait,” the man spoke in a clear voice. You looked over your shoulder at him.

“S-stay away!” you stammered, still trying to wrench open the door. He held up a hand, stopping a couple paces away. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he answered. “But that door is locked,” he continued. “And only I have the key.”

You gave up trying to turn the knob and let out an exasperated groan before turning to face him. As your eyes met, the man’s brows rose in what you could only assume was shock. He was shocked to see you? Had he not been plaguing your dreams?

‘That’s not his fault, you idiot,’ you told yourself. ‘It’s not like he knows that!’

The man took another step forward, eyes narrowing as he searched your face. You pressed back, hitting the wooden door as he stepped even closer until you could see his face in detail. His pale, flawless complexion, his red irises that seemed to almost glow in the low light.

‘What is he?’

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his hand raise and you tried to pull back as he reached up, hesitating as you flinched before he gently took your chin and tilted your head back up. His eyes scanned your face, a look of both shock and confusion on his face before a wave of recognition passed over his features.

“Blossom?” he whispered.

You froze. ‘Blossom? What is that? Is it some kind of code?’

His hand shifted, cupping your cheek as he looked between your eyes. “Blossom,” he said again, only this time, it didn’t sound like a question, more of a confirmation. You stared back at him before pushing him back quickly.

“Who are you?” you blurted out. “You don’t know who I am?” he asked. You shook your head, taking note of how the look on his face was replaced with hurt before a look of disappointment crossed it only to be replaced finally with a look of acceptance.

He straightened up, clearing his throat. “My apologies,” he finally said. “You look like someone I knew long ago.” You said nothing, continuing to watch him. “You’ve come for the Library, haven’t you?” he asked.

You stared at him until you realized he was waiting for you to answer.

“Uh, yeah,” you said softly. ��Well, kind of.”

The man tilted his head to the side, giving you a quizzical look. “It’s complicated,” you explained. “But I’d heard rumors,” you continued, crossing your arms in front of your stomach, something you’d had a habit of doing when you were anxious or felt vulnerable.

“Rumors? You came here based on rumors?” he asked, tucking his hands behind his back. “I suppose that’s not the oddest thing I’ve heard,” he added so softly you weren’t sure if you were meant to hear it. “And I suppose you’re here for the treasure?”

You stared at him wordlessly, blinking. “Treasure?”

It was the man’s turn to be caught off guard.

“You don’t know about the treasure?” he asked, sounding outright confused. You shook your head. The man sighed, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “So why have you come here, then?” he asked.

Images of your dreams flashed in your mind. Images of him. Slightly different than he was now but you were certain it was him. There were also flashes of the image of another man with golden glowing eyes and a smirk. Something about the other man felt dangerous but this man, nothing felt exponentially dangerous. Not even the red eyes or otherworldly feeling.

He felt familiar. There was a lingering impression of danger but compared to the other man in your dreams, this man felt much more tame. Much safer.

“Like I said,” you started. “It’s complicated.”

The man sighed and turned around, walking back to the platform and stepping up onto it. You stepped forward and watched as he rounded the pedestal, inspecting the box as well before he looked up, his red gaze meeting yours. A vision of something similar.

An old, dusty building where he was walking around an old splintered desk and looked up in the same fashion. As you returned to your senses, you stumbled slightly, grabbing the nearest bookshelf to keep you upright.

‘What the hell was that?’

You shook your head in an attempt to shake away the lingering dizziness that accompanied the vision. You looked up and noticed the man was watching you with a concerned expression, his brows furrowed together.

“Whatever it is, your reasoning for coming here will eventually come to light,” he explained as he finished circling the pedestal. “They always do.”

He turned his gaze away from the box and back to where you stood. “You’ve entered the Library of your own volition and now you must proceed to escape.”

You felt your stomach sink. “Escape?” you asked. The man nodded. “When you enter the Library, a lock is sealed and the only way to escape is to gather the keys and enter the Restricted Section,” he explained, gesturing to the ornate door in the second room.

“It is the only way to leave. You’ve seen that you cannot turn back,” he continued, pointing at the sealed entry. “Once you pass through that arch, it seals itself and the only way out is through.”

You looked at the door at the back, the one that led to the Restricted Section.

“Who are you?” you asked, your mouth moving faster than your brain. The man hesitated before answering. “You really don’t know?” he asked. You shook your head. You’d seen the man before but you didn’t know his name.

“My name is Seonghwa,” he finally answered.

“And I am the Keeper of Keys.”

╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴

COMING SEPTEMBER 2024 . . .

THAT'S RIGHT BAYBEE WE ARE BACK.

I have been working almost nonstop through the month of August on this and will have the prequels up VERY soon so I can focus on THIS before we get into Kinktober. We are going back to the Library of Illusion! If you want to learn more, read below for the details as well as a link to the taglist!

series summary: Y/N has finally found the place that haunts her dreams, the fabled Library of Illusion. Deep in the forests of the Carpathian Mountains, she arrives and enters to find why it and a strange man have been inhabiting her sleeping mind.

sections:

Crime/Mystery — Caught in the Middle History — The Mad Butcher of Whitechapel Fantasy — Be My Guest Adventure — On the High Seas Science Fiction — The Red Planet Horror — Voices in the Snow

If any of this sounds like something you'd like to read, you can sign of for the taglist here or leave a comment on this post! Taglist will be open until the end of the first week of September and after that, no more names will be added to the taglist!

Regular taglist rules apply.

If I cannot tag you and the problem isn't corrected you will be removed

Blogs without age indicators & minors will not be added to the taglist

Blogs that ask to be tagged but then do not interact will be removed

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ethereal-night-fairy · 9 months

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Heavenly saviour

What if we had a reverse Knight Au where the reader is female knights similar to valkyries in the Thor movies. And Ghost gets to be the pretty prince who's been unfairly kept and tortured only to be saved by his darling. (Tbh I have no idea who's kidnapped ghost but I just want to see him be saved by a female knight)

I know I said female knight but I wrote this as gender neutral to include everyone who wants to play the saviour for ghost.

Prince!Ghost x GN Knight!reader

Masterlist

Words: 1k

Warnings: MDNI, gore, blood, torture, trauma, love at first sight, pining if you squint.

The dungeon is cold, dark and decrepit. The smell of mold and iron was suffocating. But he had no other choice but to breath it in. Thankfully the darkness shrouded his mangeled body. Hiding it from his own view for the time being. But the mutilated images persisted in his mind. Simon heaved the air collapsing in his lungs. They had left him hung and from his ribs, red crimson liquid pooling at his feet. The hook so meanly embedded into his tender flesh. He was no better than a pig hung after slaughter. Though his captors weren't as kind to put him out of his misery. He wouldn't be surprised if it was his father who had sold him to these people for some cheap entertainment. The kingdom was on the brink of collapse anyway, the fucker was probably hoarding as much money as he could. Nor him or his brother could do anything to protect anyone from their fathers wrath. He vowed if he got out of here alive he'd do anything in his power to save his people and family from demise.

His muscles screamed from being pulled and stretched unnaturally. His vision blurry from the pain and stray tears. His pale body scarred beyond recognition. Red hot slashes decorating his supple flesh. His breathing becoming laboured as he whispers his mother's name thinking this was the end.

In his delirium he thinks he hears distant screams followed by shouting. Heavy footsteps by the dozen clambered down like thunder over his head. Their boasterous movement rung out through the manor vibrating down to the dungeon. Had someone come save him? Had God sent him a saviour? Had salvation finally come? If he could scream he would have screamed and shouted until his vocal chords tore but he was fatigued and barely able to keep his head up. If this truly was a hallucination he wishes to see his mother caressing his cheek before he passes. If he truly wasn't forsaken, God would grant him this small request before his last breath.

The screams died down, maybe it was all in his head after all. It was hard to tell if anything was real anymore. Maybe he was already dead and this was his purgatory. All he could see was the congealed blood at his feet. The same blood painted his skin an awful shade of red. He heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs. Ones he would often dread. So he waits patiently for whoever had decided to put him out of his misery.

When the crash comes he desperately opens his eyes to look at the broken entrance to the cellar. Trying his best to figure out if it was a friend or foe. There you stood in all your glory. The light coming from the lit staircase bounced off your armor creating a celestial glow around you. The tears in his eyes caused the light to distort making it look like the heavens had blessed his knight with golden wings.

He watched you walk towards him with confident steps. Your expression ghastly, a bloody sword clutched in your hand. He couldn't quite make out your features; he was too delirious at this point. But you look like an angel; here to enact divine justice. Everything felt fuzzy and shapeless the closer you got. Like he was floating away.

But that changed the second you touched his mutilated skin. You brought him crashing down to reality. Like Icarus plummeting to his demise, the only difference was you were here to catch him. Every nerve ending springs alive to throw him back in the cycle of his never ending pain. Your words are soft and soothing as you try to get him to settle. He wished he could make out your features properly. Wished he could burn your image into his mind. But fresh tears obstructed his view. Gasps and groans spill from his cut face when you pry away the hook that's lodged between his ribs, taking the brunt of his weight.

You lower his body to the ground as you tell you've got him now. That you'll take care of everything from here. He shows you a smile so kind and sweet you wondered how anyone had the heart to harm him. Though It didn't matter anymore they were all dead now. Laying in pools of their own blood when you had chopped them down like the animals they were. You watch the prince go in and out of consciousness as you tie rags to his most open wounds.

“Captain! King Price has sent word! The castle has been captured! All occupants were killed before the arrival of our army. Reports say the previous King went on a murder rampage before fleeing with a small entourage. Prince Simon wasn't found among the dead bodies!”, one of you soldiers comes down to report to you waiting at the entrance of the cellar. Your body obscuring his view of the person you were tending too. You take the handkerchief off on your arm as you go to tie it around the prince's face making sure not to obstruct his ragged breathing in any way.

“Go now tell the King all noble houses have been dealt with…Prince Simon wasn't found among any of the bodies”, the soldier leaves immediately at your words as you lift the Prince's body in your arms. Ready to carry him to safety. You'll report the truth to the King later. But there was no way you'd let this poor prince suffer any more humiliation than he had already experienced.

His brother and mother didn't deserve to die the way they did. And you'd do your utmost to make sure you'll protect the prince, like he had protected you when you were only but a mere peasant. His smile never changed, not even after all the torment he faced. Even though they had tried to carve it out of him; no bruise or scar could ever take away from his radiance.

This was a new era for him. One in which you plan to be his sword. To be his shield, to be his…just his. He could use you however he sees fit. You will stand by him regardless; come hell or high water.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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spreadwardiard · 6 months

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The Rot (part 2)

Dazed and confused, Orion pax comes online surrounded by rubble. Luckily, he isn't alone. However, that does not mean he's safe.

Part 2 of my 'inspired by MLP infection' AU! I hope y'all enjoy it! Again, big thanks to @lets-try-some-writing for all the help and encouragement!

Part 1 here

The hot, yet soothing tingle of his self-repair system’s nanites tending to the aching wounds of his frame was what finally brought Orion’s processor back online. His awareness floated slowly in and out, only able to sense the slowly ebbing pain signals from his damaged frame. His helm throbbed aggressively if he so much as even attempted a thought. It was reassuring, however, that each time Orion’s awareness floated back to him, he ached a little less and that his thoughts were able to come more freely.

Where was he? Even without his full processing power, he knew that he was not in the safety of his berth. Accessing his memories did little to answer that question. He recalled Megatronus contacting him about a train, and he could remember that he had indeed left his hab, but beyond that, his memories were still too damaged to retrieve. The only option available was to allow himself to float away once more and allow the nanites time to continue their repair.

When he next came to awareness, it lacked the gentle ebb and flow of before. Rapid flashes of his most recent memories assaulted him in waves: coming online to an unexpected call, Megatronus’ unexpected declaration of affection, his walk to the station, boarding the train…

His processor throbbed as if it would burst while the emotions tied to his memories crashed into effect: confusion, worry and then fear. Orion’s optics shuttered online just as the panic hit him. He sat rapidly, causing his helm to spin and his optical input to become distorted.

“Shield your field!” The command was hissed at him with quiet urgency, and Orion clamped down on instinct. He brought his servo to his helm and groaned softly as he rubbed at his closed optics with his palm in a desperate attempt to placate the pain in his processor.

“What happened?” Orion croaked out softly. Behind him came the soft shuffling of small pedes, and before Orion could even process what that meant, his companion was at his side.

“There’s no time to explain, Can you walk? It isn’t safe here.” Orion reset his optics, and slowly opened them once more, relieved that his inputs were no longer spinning. He was surrounded by broken glass and crumpled sheets of metal, dangerously sharp. Strips of soft mesh cabling dangled from above him, some slowly dripping fluids that he couldn’t identify.

Orion’s optics finally found his companion. He ex-vented in relief as he was struck with recognition. Ravage observed him with a raised optical ridge, and the look on his face gave Orion the impression that the cassette hadn’t expected him to come online as suddenly as he had.

“I think so?” Orion whispered through his grimace as he felt the stiffness in his hydraulics as he shifted his weight, to maneuver onto his knees. A flurry of diagnostic pings assaulted his HUD, alerting him to several injuries that were, luckily, non-critical.

“Good. We need to leave. Now.” It was a command, and one Orion thought almost sounded laced with fear. Ravage darted forward, his cyber-feline frame having no issue ducking beneath what appeared to be the mangled remains of a bench that had been partially ripped from the walls in the crash.

It wasn’t especially difficult to maneuver his frame through the small space, but it did ache like the Pits to crawl his way through what was left of the compartment. He was dangerously low on fuel, that much was obvious by how exhausting it was to hold his frame and move at such an angle.

That also explains why my nanites did not complete my self repair. Orion thought as he dragged himself forward through the jagged remains. By the time his helm popped through a crushed window, he was venting heavily, and his arms shook with the strain of holding up his weight.

“Hurry. We don’t have much time.” Ravage paced nervously outside the wreckage, his optics constantly scanning around them. Orion begrudgingly hauled himself free from the shattered window and grimaced as he stood, taking only a klik to allow his optics to adjust to the increased light before following the cyber-feline between two hunks of deformed metal.

Orion almost couldn’t believe the utter devastation around him. Smashed bits of transport compartments lie crumpled as far as he could see. Mutilated remains of Cybertronians were scattered haphazardly about, some obviously crushed by impact alone, while others looked…. Gnawed at, as if something had consumed them.

He’d never seen anything like it before, not even on his long deep-dives into the darkest reaches of the data-net. Orion’s tanks churned, hot and sickly sweet, at the thought of what could have done damage like that. Some of those bodies were completely eviscerated…

Orion focused his optics on Ravage, not wanting to see any more of the surrounding carnage than he had to. This was beyond wrong. His internal chronometer told him that he had been offline for several cycles, which should have been plenty of time for rescue crews to have saved not only him, but everyone else strewn around. Surely, the Transport Commission would have sent a crew to clean the debris off the tracks.

It seemed that he and Ravage were the only two living mechs around. But if that were the case, what had Ravage so anxious? It was painfully obvious as Ravage led him through the debris field, zigzagging to stay in the shadows of the rubble, that he was trying to avoid them being seen, but from whom, Orion couldn’t begin to guess.

It seemed like the rubble stretched forever. The closer they came to the front of the train, the worse everything seemed to be. Train compartments were smashed against and piled atop each other in such a disordered way that it almost could have been beautiful. If only the place wasn’t littered with corpses and plastered with splattered energon.

“Hey!” A panicked voice called out to the pair, causing Ravage to startle and Orion’s helm to whip towards the source of the sound. A young mech, pinned at the waist beneath a large scrap of steel, waved frantically at them. “Oh! Thank Primus, you’re not one’a them…” He could see the fear that emanated from his optics and the stains of dried optical lubricants painted down his face.

Orion thought nothing of it. His internal processes immediately flooded him with coding to provide aid. He rushed towards the trapped youngster, ignoring the pings flooding his circuits from his injuries. He wasn’t that far from them.

“Pax! Stop!” Ravage called out to him in a harsh whisper, his frustration evident in the slight growl lacing his command, but Orion could not heed that request. Not when his coding so persistently urged him to help someone so desperately in need.

“You gotta get me outta here! They’re coming!” A wall of hunger assaulted the archivist’s EM receiver, unlike anything he’d ever felt before: thick, desperate, and driving. Something was coming, that was for sure, and Orion had a feeling that whatever it was, was the same thing that had caused all the carnage he’d been trying to avoid looking at. He had to get him out fast, or he’d be torn apart, just like the corpses littering the whole area.

A weight slammed into him from behind, sending Orion careening face-first into the ground. Ravage hunched atop his back and hissed furiously into his audials. “There isn’t time, Pax! They’re here! We have to leave him!”

Orion lifted his helm, anger coursing through his circuits like an inferno. He opened his intake to retort, but was frozen solid in fear when a shambling mech, painted in red and gold, tumbled down from atop the hunk of metal pinning the youngling down, landing with a ground shaking thud. Chunks of his armor were missing from his frame, and Orion immediately recognized the same thick, green goop oozing from his intake and down his front as he saw the drunken mech purge before the crash.

The youngling screamed as the mech shambled towards him. Ravage jumped, and suddenly was in Orion’s line of sight, their faces nearly touching,

“We have to go now! More will come!” Ravage pushed his entire face against Orion’s aggressively, an obviously desperate attempt to push him up onto his pedes. The youngling’s field erupted suddenly in a hot, sickening burst of panic. “There’s no saving him now, Pax!”

Orion couldn’t remember getting to his pedes. Everything happened so fast. The shambling mech grabbed the youngling by the arm and mercilessly tore at the plating. Another mech, covered in the same putrid ooze, shambled forward from the shadows, and Orion’s processor flooded him with a new command: Run!

Ravage was two steps ahead of him on that front, and Orion instinctually followed the cassette as he swiftly led them away, even passing more of the shambling, rotting mechs that were hobbling towards the source of the screams.

The youngling’s field projected his agony and fear of death far beyond the wreckage field, and by the time the screaming stopped, Orion was venting far too heavily to even notice its absence. He ran until the pressure building in his hydraulics overpowered his internal command to flee.

His HUD flashed red. He was overheating, and his hydraulics couldn’t continue at the brutal pace that his survival coding had forced on him. He had to stop. His frame shook from the overexertion. He couldn’t stop the anguished screams of that mech from playing on loop in his processor. If he’d had any fuel in his tanks, he would have purged it all right then.

“Snap out of it, Pax. We can’t stop now. We’re almost there.” Ravage’s annoyed whisper broke through his inner turmoil. Ravage was right. He couldn’t afford to stop. Not when those things were out there, likely to follow them once they were finished with-

No! Orion forced the thought out of his processor and forced his legs forward, despite the stinging pressure and pinging diagnostics. He wasn’t ready to return to the Well just yet. He was grateful that Ravage accepted this slower pace that his frame now demanded.

They were following the tracks. Orion hadn’t noticed when they were running. All he was able to focus on was Ravage and trying to keep up with the far nimbler cyber-feline. He wasn’t even entirely certain how far they ran before he stopped, and he absolutely was not about to turn around and find out.

When they finally stopped, it was at what appeared to be an empty Emergency Depot. They were scattered relatively regularly along the various strings of transport lines around the planet. Ravage led him inside, and as soon as the door snapped shut behind them, he let out a furious hiss.

“Don’t you ever do something that slagging stupid again! You almost got the both of us killed!” Orion jumped away from his smaller companion and opened his intake to respond, but Ravage gave him no time to do so.

“I will not die for you, Orion Pax. Do you understand me? If you pull something like that again, I will leave you behind! I don’t care if you’re Megatronus’ favorite upper cast plaything. You ain’t worth dying for!”

It was like the very air was sucked from his vents. Orion deflated, his gaze falling to the floor and his finials lowering. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know”

Ravage sighed dismissively and flicked his tail. He said nothing for a few kliks, but Orion didn’t want to think about why. He had too many other concerns vying for his attention. His tanks ached with their emptiness, and his frame felt heavier than he’d ever remembered it being. He ached deeply, down to the protoform, and he still had no clue what was going on. Overshadowing all of that was the fear that clawed at his spark and made him wish he’d just slipped into stasis instead of coming online to this nightmare.

“Frag… you’re a real piece of work, aren’t you, Pax?” Ravage said, but his tone was gentler than before. It made Orion think of when he was a sparkling, annoying his caretakers for attention, which, unfortunately, didn’t make him feel any better in the moment.

“Megatronus just told me to get on the train. Ravage… is he alright?” The cyber-feline rolled his optics and turned to slink deeper into the building. Orion had no choice but to follow, making sure to close and lock every door they came through, just in case.

“I don’t know. Comms are down all over. I can’t even contact Soundwave.” Ravage huffed softly at that. “I found this place about 2 cycles ago. There’s some energon rations stashed in the back, and some mediberths if you need to recharge. They, uh… they haven’t come back. They tend to hang around the crash.”

“The rations taste like scrap, but the packaging says it's nutritionally complete,’ whatever that means.” Ravage shrugged, and hopped up onto a sofa in the dimly lit space that Orion could now see was a lounge of sorts, probably for the mechs who normally were stationed here.

Orion couldn't care less how the rations tasted. His tanks demanded refueling, and his coding told him that he would feel better all over if only he could get something into his him. He tore into them, devouring one after the other. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was, or how much his systems had been starving for the power to simply function. It took four entire ration cubes to satiate him.

The effect struck almost immediately once he lowered his last cube to the floor. His self-repair routines rebooted, and he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge for recharge. He didn’t even try to make it to the mediberths. The lounge sofa was much closer, and right now, it looked like the most comfortable thing on the entire planet.

Ravage only huffed softly as he hopped down from the sofa, and up onto the adjacent chair, where he curled up in the way that cyber-felines did; curled in a ball with his helm tucked under his tail.

“We can’t stay here.” Orion said, his voice just above a whisper. His processor was fighting against the wave of recharge that was crashing over him, forcing him to think about how close those things really were to them, and mixing those thoughts with how much he wished Megatronus was here…

“Not for long, no.” Ravage glanced up at him, with a raised optical ridge, his tone dry and tired. Orion tried to keep his optics focused on him.

“I promised him I would get there.” Orion’s vocalizer started to slur his glyphs, and Ravage tilted his helm and scrunched his optics in confusion.

“Promised who?” Ravage’s tone said that he really didn’t care.

“Mega…” Orion’s optics shuttered closed, and he in-vented deeply to quell the anxiety that still bubbled behind the coding trying to force him into recharge.

The cyber-feline snorted at that and laid his helm back down.

Orion frowned and forced his optics back open. There was still too much data he needed to understand what was happening around him.

“What happened to everyone?”

Ravage sighed at that question, and lifted his helm to meet Orion’s optics once more.

“Shut up, Pax, and recharge. I’ll tell you all I know when we come online.”

#spreadwardiardfics #infection au #tfp fanfic #tfp alternative universe #maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #pre war cybertron #zombie apocolypse au #orion pax #ravage #Orion pax & ravage #The Rot AU #megop #megaop #MLP 🤝TF

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razberrypuck · 1 year

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staring at the .2 seconds of winter king's ice king we saw. yes WK is an unreliable source yes he could've been emphasizing how awful ice king was to make himself look better in comparison but also. his ice king (or his illustration of him) seems so much angrier than ours. and looking at his apparent lack of care for betty, and the existence of ice marcy, I really do think that's the case -- because it seems like this version of simon lost everything. his fiancée. his surrogate daughter. himself.

and rather than spend his days searching for the lost love of his life, the princess he was surely destined to marry; rather than constantly finding himself around marceline with no understanding of why he was drawn to her; the madness of the crown amplified many of this ice king's negative emotions, rather than twisting and distorting the positive ones beyond recognition. so he was angry and jealous and sad and ever more willing to put other people through the bad feelings HE felt -- eventually ending in a spell, to project his own madness onto princess bubblegum, probably for the same reasons our IK liked her so much: she reminded him of betty. but rather than finding it endearing, it only served to hurt him more, without even knowing why.

and now the winter king refuses to move on. he takes care of a little ice marcy, and spoils her rotten, and gives her all the things he couldn't give the REAL marceline. he barely acknowledges betty's existence at all for reasons we don't know. perhaps an aftereffect of projecting the madness elsewhere, because I find it hard to believe that even a single simon in the multiverse wasn't head over heels for that woman. obviously this is all speculation but I like thinking about it bc I don't feel that an ice king exactly like the one our simon used to be would really feel the need to project his own insanity onto PB.

#fionna and cake #simon petrikov #winter king #ice king #adventure time

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schafpudel · 1 month

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free yourself from the desperate dire need for the author to confirm your reading of the text and just sit back and go "well Timmy Tanaka from GoRetter (1987, Inkei Studio) resonates with me as an autistic polyamerous gay transmasc because of how i see my own experiences in the text, and art appreciation is an act of interpretation." instead of begging strangers to confirm your headcanons and getting mad or forming conspiracies when the author says they dont see their own story in the same lens as you.

the very anal need to have things be *explicitly confirmed* to be valid interpretations isnt new in fandom, but i have seen a shift where it was once predominantly associated with conservative fans using "they never UNAMBIGIOUSLY SAID shinji and kaworu are gay therefore they arent" to shut down yaoi, and also any marginalized perspectives; now it's the people who were bullied by that side of fan culture, clinging desperately to the idea that god will come down from the heavens and tell them they were Right All Along and that this will banish the Bad Fans, anxious that anything less than explicit is The Dreaded Baiting. death of the author has been abused and misused and its meaning distorted beyond recognition in fandom but also it exists in accademic discussion for a reason. knowing at least a little of the author's intent is useful to understanding *why* a text is what it is, but if you cling to authority to hand down validity onto your reads you are doomed to self-deception and misery

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keshetchai · 1 year

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I think a huge problem in internet Judaism (also sometimes irl!) discussions is often that we're so focused on fighting or pushing back on misconceptions, Christian normativity, and distorted Christian ideas about our theology — that sometimes in the pursuit of this, we forget to approach a more complicated internal reality, or we overlook parts of our own religion while trying to not assimilate.

Things like the Talmud talking about Yom Kippur being a happy day. A lot of folks were surprised and didn't know there's a huge tradition that YK is supposed to be a positive holiday and many Jews observe with joy. Then some folks went on to elaborate that if someone wished them a happy Yom Kippur and they were Jewish it was fine, but if they were gentiles who simply didn't know anything and didn't bother to learn, then they were annoyed by the lack of care re: cultural nuance or whatever.

But like...of all the annoying christian-normative bullshit that exists — someone trying to wish me a happy holiday on a holiday that is noted to be solemn AND positive, but not really knowing anything about my religion — that doesn't really make a list of things I have time to be mad about! Or even irked by!

There's a lot of ways in which people are shitty and careless or make it obvious they consider our non-christian holidays an annoying quirk they have to acknowledge, but "happy yom kippur!" Is not one of them. Sometimes I just have to remind myself that I want other people to assume the best of me, even when I am the one who is socially awkward or ignorant, or stumbling around just trying to be an okay person. And sometimes I am the clueless one who has only a shallow understanding of someone's interior life/culture and I said/did nothing actually offensive but treated the situation the same way I treat similar ones in my own life because everyone has cultural blinders somewhere.

So sometimes, I have to look at other people doing The Thing and ask myself if it's at all malicious or harmful, and if it ISN'T, shouldn't I assume the best of another human bumbling around like I do all the time? "Hey thanks. Yeah I had a meaningful holiday."

Likewise, YES, we do have a history of wrestling with G-d and pushing back and asking questions and so on, but no, stiff-necked isn't wholly complimentary, it's...frequently the opposite of that. And the knee-jerk reaction is often to push back against Christianity and Islam vilifying Jews and their stubbornness/failures/wrongs in the Bible. Which is totally reasonable, there's a huge history of a theology of antisemitism and blaming there that impacts us today.

HOWEVER, we can push back against the antisemitic theologies and interpretations of these stories without necessarily having to recharacterize everything beyond recognition?

Yes, Abraham yelled at G-d that one time, and it was great. It may have even been a test of Abraham. Yes, Israel wrestles with G-d. Yes, the Jews in the desert complain to Moses they are dying of thirst and ask what was the point of leaving Egypt if they should only die while wandering instead?

Great. Love that. BUT ALSO: yes stiff-necked is not always a compliment. Yes, the Israelites struggled and made mistakes, and are utterly and painfully human just like people are today. Flawed. We are not so stiff-necked as to say we have not sinned!

Is anything as scary as a group that admits no flaws? No errors of judgment? Never questions themselves or learns from past mistakes? Idk to me, it's all very "with great responsibility comes great accountability, and power isn't the point here." Yes? If we take pride in the moments of arguing and the pushing back, then by that same token, we have to own the failings just as much to learn from. The relationship between G-d and Jews is a two way street.

It's not a failing to be an imperfect human, but it would be a failing to screw something up and then never admit it or keep doing it when you can change.

Idk I just...there's got to be ways we can dig into meaty and interesting stuff without having to constantly be like "just because some ancestors screwed up and G-d was angry at them doesn't mean you can say Jews lost the love of God and the covenant and were replaced you absolute weirdos."

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ingravinoveritas · 5 months

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You know what's kind of wild to me? Anna just confirmed they've been together for 6 years. People forget she's still 29, and isn't 30 yet. So they met when she was still 23. Not hugely different from 25, but notable I think. Idk where the narrative that she was 25 came from and how that stuck.

Hi there! So I am still catching up on Asks, and I wanted to make sure I addressed these (grouped together due to similar themes). For those who might not have seen, what is being referred to are two separate incidents that occurred in the days after Anna posted the t-shirt story on Instagram. On Tuesday, she posted this story lashing out at a Swedish publication for sharing a story originally from a UK publication (The Independent) about Michael's answer to the age gap question on The Assembly. The story was originally in Swedish, but the English translation is on the right:

Then on Wednesday, she did the same thing again, this time with another Swedish paper:

Since so much of this hinges on what Michael said in his response, I will post a short clip of that here, so we have the visual:

When AL's stories were first posted, I noticed a few comments on a post from @nightgoodomens from someone who speaks Swedish, and after reading the article, their observation was that all the magazines did was literally translate what Michael said, word for word (which we can then also further confirm by watching the video above).

So Michael's words were translated directly, and on top of that, Anna was not tagged by these papers, or contacted by reporters "for comment"--she seemingly sought out these news stories and shared them on her own social media. What's strange is that most of us would never have even seen them otherwise, and yet she chose to draw attention to them. And if these articles truly are meaningless clickbait, I'm confused as to why Anna would lash out so hard at them, especially if she feels as secure in her and Michael's relationship as she has wanted us to believe.

The other thing for me is that the one voice that is (again) noticeably absent here is Michael's. Nearly every post Michael has responded to/shared in relation to The Assembly was about a moment between him and one of the interviewers, Leo. Not only has the clip of Michael's answer to the age gap question gotten much less circulation/attention than the initial clip of the girl asking him the question, he has not said a single word about it since the show aired on April 5th.

He has especially not said anything about being misquoted (either in UK magazines/newspapers or international ones). And this becomes even more glaring when you realize that Michael immediately jumped on someone Twitter the day before AL shared that first story and corrected them for misquoting him (in regard to his comments about Welsh actors and Welsh roles). So it's very clear that if Michael thought he was being misquoted, there is no reason why he wouldn't speak up about it. And yet...complete silence.

I also find it interesting that for months, Michael was being attacked on social media, first in the aftermath of his comments about the situation in the Middle East, then more recently after recording a video saying hello to Good Omens fans in Russia. In both cases, he was defamed over and over again, accused of supporting war and genocide, and in general had his comments twisted and distorted beyond recognition--in other words, he was repeatedly misquoted (to put it mildly). Not once did Anna defend him against any of this. Not once was there an Insta story or anything speaking up in support of Michael. But as soon as it was something about her/their relationship, here she was posting these stories and letting us know exactly what her priorities are.

To your comments @lookforthelight97 about AL inadvertently saying the quiet parts out loud, that was also something that caught my attention. We could be here all day talking about the narrative and who is trying to change what, but for those who don't know, the narrative of her being 25 came from every media outlet stating that Michael and AL met in May of 2019...despite the fact that she gave birth to Lyra just four months later, in September.

It was this discrepancy that gave a lot of us the feeling that something was off even back in 2019 (and I would urge folks to check out @problematicwelshman, who covered a lot more of this at the time). In actuality, Michael and AL would have had to have met in late 2018 (when Anna was actually 24, as her birthday is in August) for her to then become pregnant and have the baby in September. All of this to say that if the official PR line for the last five years has been that they met in 2019, it makes you wonder why AL is suddenly publicly contradicting it, especially to show the lack of contentment she seems to feel about the relationship even after five (pardon me, six) years.

In any case, my incredulity is and continues to be at AL so readily showing her insecurities in this way, because all these two Insta stories have done is to draw more attention to her response than to the articles that are mentioned. Articles that again, none of us would have known about if she hadn't shared them. Yet as was said above, I don't think there is anything that anyone could post or write that casts doubt on Michael and AL's relationship the way her own social media posts do.

And to what you @vaguelyomens and @angelsadvocate96 said about Michael mentioning that his greatest fear is being alone, I feel like maybe Michael has such a fear of being alone because he already knows what it's like to feel alone. To know deep down that you are not remotely on the same page as the person you're in a relationship with. To know that they don't understand you and never will, but feeling responsible for them nonetheless, and not knowing how to reconcile those two things. It's difficult to imagine anything that would make someone feel more alone than that.

So, those are my thoughts on the Insta stories AL shared earlier this week. As I have said before, I know that I could be completely wrong, and I'm happy for folks to share their perspective, whether you agree or disagree. A heck of a lot to think about, for sure...

#lookforthelight97 #vaguelyomens #angelsadvocate96 #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #the assembly #this is cringey all around tbh #and if this is just one thing about Michael and AL's relationship that has been fudged/manipulated #it's hard not to wonder what else has been left out of the story. and why #curiouser and curiouser #also her posting those stories and attacking the media outlets with no comment from Michael feels like a one-sided conversation #the more i think about it the weirder this all seems #choices #not all of them good #but i will leave it to my followers to make up their own minds #anna lundberg #relationships #discourse

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gotyouanyway · 9 months

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you might assume sex with a type 103 tardis would be more boring than sex with, say, a type 40, because a type 103 can mimic human sex whereas a type 40 is all machine. you’d be assuming wrong though. because a type 103 would not want to mimic human sex. they would just incorporate some aspects of human sex into the weirdest machine sex imaginable, distorted beyond recognition to make it weirder. on purpose.

#p #dw #nails this to the church door

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soundlessroom · 21 days

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It was really hard to press the publish button, despite being in the artist scene for decades and putting personal works out there. To show something so intimate to the world is surely an experience. You place your heart out there and hope nobody will stomp on it.

But nothing that’s easy to get is worth having, right?

Sneak peek underneath the cut; the rest of the chapter is on AO3.

To you, who stole the stars,

Our sickle moon is nearly the only light left. By now, if you wanted, you could look up at the vast darkness you created and count every single star—knowing the exact number. People celebrate you as a hero, the one who saved the world from the chaos those twinkling lights caused. They granted wishes, distorted reality, changed people, and twisted our memories beyond recognition.

We lived in fear, yet none of us truly wanted it to stop. If any of us had genuinely wished for the stars to cease fulfilling our deepest desires, it wouldn’t have gone this far. There wouldn’t be remnants of wars with titans or strange new races roaming our world, ones not even mentioned in fairy tales. If just one soul had held a pure, untainted wish—something not dark and sinister, something not world-altering—you wouldn’t be our Savior.

We wouldn’t celebrate you; we wouldn’t bow to you. Your towering building in the middle of a city—so often rebuilt and renamed that it’s now just a place people avoid—wouldn’t be a symbol of hope.

In the darkness you’ve created, you will remain alone.

You can steal all the stars in the sky, touch each one of those little wonders, but you’ll find no wish left to fulfill for yourself. You can hoard the possibilities of a better world, keeping them all to yourself. But it isn’t enough that you have wealth, power, and everything the world wished for. It isn’t enough that you collected and preemptively caught every falling star before anyone else could.

Whatever you do, it will never be enough.

So, I write this letter to tell you that I’ve stolen one of your precious stars. Just one. The moment I touched it, my wish was fulfilled—I’m certain of it. It came true in a way I never imagined possible. But who am I to judge the ways of the stars?

My wish, despite my doubts and hesitation, didn’t end the world. And now, I sit here wondering, what have I done? I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. And yet, here I am, asking you for help.

I love this world. I loved you. Maybe I still do. Please, forgive me.

... continue on AO3

#♪♫~ Soundweaver || Original #writers on tumblr #amwriting #writing community #creative writing #♪♫~ Lumis Words Vomit

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ryemackerel · 8 months

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my argbur’s headcanons from my own personal headcanon! his entire backstory and lore is *still* work in progress, but i managed to come up with a TON of stuff i would love to share with you all :] FYI my argbur’s lore completely deviates from the original arg, do remember this is just a fan-interpretation of argbur!!

big brain dump incoming btw!! apologies if none of it makes sense or is completely disorganized, its just a way to dispense my ideas before i forget them :)

creepy/unsettling imagery for images below the cut! mainly 2nd, 3rd, and 4th images

(first image features doodles of the headcanons and some notes!)

i like to imagine arg is a test subject gone COMPLETELY wrong. what started as an experimental test *severely* devolved into a complete amalgamation. a vision with “good” intent turned into a nightmare.

these are my ideas for my “void argbur au” :)

in the beginning, an unnamed individual, beloved and known by many, was reported missing the first week of january 1996.

the news was taken as a devastating blow to their close friends and family. for years, police would search for the location of the missing person, however to no avail. missing posters, websites, and public television announcements would spread everywhere.

(concepts of the missing person and sites featuring old photographs. missing posters and images are everywhere. the image in the top right is a distorted copy of a photograph of the missing person. the copy’s quality has greatly diminished due to the original’s poorer quality.)

years later, the individual's body was discovered. it was mutilated beyond recognition.

[this part of arg's lore is still highly work in progress!!! but i like to think an attempt to bring this person back was made. if revival wasn't possible, then a physical clone that recreated the likes of the missing individual. by whom, i'm still not sure. WHY specifically this person, i do not know. we'll perhaps figure out as i continue to build onto arg's lore. :)]

traces of this individual's dna were sampled for the experiment. the dna was then fused with an unknown, malleable, liquid-like black matter. tests with the matter are still limited. the results could vary wildly. they were working with an unstable substance, though powerful, is highly dangerous.

maybe this substance was able to shape itself into whichever subject it desired? its experimenters were unsure of the potential the substance had. it seemed to have a consciousness of its own, and they needed a way to tame it.

fast-forward to the very creation of the subject, the experiment was successful, though with the substance used, it was *wildly* unstable. the subject broke through its containment cell.

its temperature fluctuated greatly, it was unusually extremely cold. it was given a human form, but under high-stress situations, it was unable to maintain its form. several of its limbs grew and clung onto the walls. it spread about the hallways, leaving trails of matter everywhere it went.

(examples of “void arg” in his most extreme forms. 1st image is his last form, 2nd image is his various stages of forms he can undergo)

the subject was and continues to be missing. authorities continue to investigate the whereabouts of the subject.

for AGES (years?), arg has had to learn how to suppress his strongest emotions to maintain his human form. he felt that major stressful situations can result in unwanted consequences, for him and for others who might find out. this was, of course, harmful to his emotional wellbeing, but was the only way he figured how to cope with stress at the time.

he often hides in dark, secluded areas to prevent being recognized by onlookers, especially investigators or authorities.

#argbur #argbur fanart #wilbur soot #wilbur soot fanart #bursona #bursona fanart #bursonas #bursonas fanart #ryemackerel art thing #Spotify #body horror #void argbur au

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