#echoing astrum

[echoingastrumadnothers]

What would happen if I turned Seven Red Suns into a tiny blorbo, what then

[echosian]

i forgot to post my cool diagram

basically explaining how my iterator are able to sense electromagnetic waves. you can zoom in on this picture

[nargacuga-tamer8000]

Angst time! Angst time! As we've seen in game, there are times when Avis and Astrum unit cooperate and travel together out in the field. And as we've seen, many times a monster jumps out of nowhere! But what if this one got a lot closer..? And what if it was in attacking range of Erik..? And what if the player/hunter stepped in to receive the attack instead..? But of course it was so sudden, so they had no time to block, and had to just take a POWERFUL hit directly.... I imagine there might be a panicked confession or maybe a "you can't die/leave me!" moment 👀 <3333 woodworks!anon

Yeeess I'm here for this! I hope you enjoy!

*Angst warning*

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Where the Flames Cannot Reach

A simple expedition into the Oilwell Basin turns into a life-or-death situation when an Ajarakan catches Erik unaware.

The afternoon heat pressed heavy against your armor as you squinted across the rocky walls of the Oilwell Basin. The air shimmered with the rising thermals, carrying the faint, sour scent of oil and scorched earth.

Beside you, Erik's voice cut through the haze, full of breathless excitement.

"Look—! Look at this sediment pattern," he said, crouching low near a cracked slab of rock. "This whole layer’s been upheaved recently. I think a major territorial shift happened here... Maybe due to the seasonal Firespring? Monster aggression rising?"

You smiled faintly behind your scarf. Typical Erik. Even in a place this dangerous, he threw himself into the world like it was an unsolvable riddle he had to crack open.

"I think we should keep moving," you said, nudging him with your boot. "It’s not exactly safe to sit still out here."

"Just one minute," Erik pleaded, flashing you a grin that made your heart clench painfully. "If I can get a sample—"

A sudden tremor cut him off.

Both units snapped to attention. Alma barked an order. Olivia swore under her breath. Somewhere to your left, your Palico hissed and unsheathed its weapon.

The ground cracked. The air thickened with heat.

Then, with a roar that made the very earth split, an Ajarakan erupted from the rocky rise ahead—scales gleaming like molten gold, flames licking along its massive arms.

It had seen movement.

It had seen Erik, crouched vulnerable against the ground.

It charged.

Everything happened too fast.

Your instincts screamed at you to move—protect him—but there was no time to raise your weapon, no time to brace. Only a blur of furious claws and searing heat.

You moved on instinct, throwing yourself between Erik and the monster just as Ajarakan’s massive, burning forelimb swung down.

You felt it before you heard it—the sickening impact that crushed the air from your lungs and sent you flying.

Pain exploded across your body as you hit the rocky ground, hard.

Shouts echoed distantly—Olivia yelling, Alma calling your name—but it all sounded underwater.

You lay crumpled, armor cracked, blood seeping into the dust.

Above you, the world spun wildly.

"No... no, no, no!"

You blinked weakly. Erik was at your side in seconds, hands fumbling uselessly over your battered form.

"I told you not to—" His voice broke, full of desperate anger. "Why would you do that, you—you idiot—!"

It seemed he was scolding himself for being careless again. Olivia, Athos, and your Palico moved in to fight the monster as Alma kept her distance, assisting the others as best she could as Erik came to you.

You tried to smile, but it twisted into a grimace. "Guess... I’m an idiot too, huh?"

Tears glimmered in Erik’s green eyes, falling freely now as he pressed his forehead against yours, his silver hair tickling your cheek. His hands were slick with your blood where he tried—and failed—to stop the bleeding.

"I’m supposed to protect you," he whispered. "You can't—you can’t leave me."

You felt his grip tighten.

"I never—" His voice cracked again. "I never said it—gods, I was too scared—but I love you. I love you. You can’t die here. Please—stay awake, just—!"

The world narrowed to the feeling of his hands, the heat of his breath, the way his voice shook.

You reached up, weakly brushing your fingertips against his cheek. His face crumpled at the touch.

"I’m not... going anywhere," you slurred. "Not if you're... here..."

Around you, the others were closing ranks, driving Ajarakan back with desperate, coordinated attacks—but all you could see was Erik.

And all he could see was you.

[pupsmailbox]

SPACE︰ALIEN ID PACK

NAMES︰ ace. adam. adrian. alastair. alcyone. aldebaran. algol. ali. alice. alien. altair. alteis. alu. andromeda. antlia. aphelion. apollo. aquila. ara. archer. ariel. aries. arion. artemis. ash. aster. asteroid. astra. astraios. astro. atlas. auriga. aurora. avior. ayla. beast. beep. beli. blue. buzz. caph. carina. castor. celest. celeste. celestia. celestine. cepheus. cetus. chao. chaoph. charon. cheicha. cielo. claudii. comet. constellation. cos. cosmo. cosmos. cyllene. cyra. danica. darby. delphini. dia. dione. disk. diz. dizzy. draco. dust. dustin. echo. eclipse. element. elijah. ello. enfys. epoch. eric. eris. errai. esfir. esther. exo. gal. galaxie. galaxy. gamma. ganymede. gee. gia. glimmer. glob. glow. gnarp. gnarpy. gravity. hadean. hale. hercules. horizon. hubble. hue. ian. icy. inia. io. ion. jamie. janus. jovian. julia. julian. juliet. juno. jupi. jupiter. kepler. kiva. kuiper. kulpar. larissa. laxy. lee. leo. lepton. lethe. lia. lien. light. lili. link. lumen. lumine. luna. lunar. lutetia. mars. martian. martin. matter. matza. merak. mercury. mil. milky. milkyway. mira. miranda. moon. moony. muon. naiad. naos. naut. nebula. neil. neptune. nereid. neso. net. nix. niyr. nova. nyx. nyxie. oberon. onyx. oranos. orbit. orcus. orion. pan. pandora. phoebe. pion. pisces. pla. planet. pleiad. pleiades. pluto. pollux. princey. quark. radio. rigel. ring. rings. ro. rock. rocket. rocky. roy. royal. ruban. rupert. saturn. sedna. shine. singularity. sirius. sitara. sky. skye. skylar. slime. sol. solar. solaris. soliel. soraya. space. sparkle. star. star/starry. stark. starla. starlet. starlight. starling. starry. starshine. starz. stelae. stella. stellan. stellar. stelle. steller. stelmaria. steren. stiorra. sun. sunny. tauri. terra. theo. triton. trix. umbriel. ursa. varuna. vega. venus. vity. void. warp. wisteria. yufo. zeepy. zenith. zeppy. zoop. zygon.

PRONOUNS︰ aer/aero. al/alien. ali/alien. alien/alien. arp/arp. as/astroid. as/astrum. as/troid. aster/astro. asteroid/asteroid. astro/astronaut. astro/astronomical. astro/astronomy. astroid/astroid. astronaut/astronaut. atom/atom. beep/beep. bri/bright. ce/celestial. cel/celestial. celestial/celestial. co/comet. co/cosmic. co/cosmo. com/comet. com/et. comet/comet. comets/comet. constellation/constellation. cos/cosmic. cos/cosmos. cos/mic. cos/mos. cosmic/cosmic. cosmos/cosmo. cosmos/cosmos. cro/crown. cryp/cryptic. cryptic/cryptic. de/deep. dee/deep. deep/deep. dus/dust. empty/empty. enigma/enigma. equinox/equinox. ex/exo. extra/extraterrest. extraterrestrial/extraterrestrial. flu/flux. gal/galaxy. galaxy/galaxy. gem/gem. gleeb/gleeb. gleeb/glob. gleep/gleep. gleep/glorp. glim/glimmer. glo/glow. glob/glob. glorp/glorp. glow/glow. gneep/gnarp. gravity/gravity. gray/gray. green/green. grey/grey. hur/hurp. hx/hxm. hy/hym. h✩/h✩m. ic/ice. infinite/infinite. ix/ix. kuiper/kuiper. leo/leonid. li/light. lue/lumin. lune/lunar. mars/mars. martian/martian. meep/mop. mi/milk. milky/milky. milky/way. mo/moon. moon/moon. muo/moon. mys/mystery. myst/myst. myst/mystery. mystery/mystery. nebu/nebu. nebula/nebula. neon/neon. nep/neptune. neu/neutron. night/night. noe/nova. nova/nova. or/orbit. orbit/orbit. out/outer. outer/outer. outer/outerspace. outer/space. outerspace/outerspace. outside/outside. par/parsec. pla/planet. plan/planet. planet/planet. pul/pulsar. pul/pulse. pur/purple. purple/purple. qua/quasar. quark/quark. ray/ray. ri/ring. ro/rock. ro/rocket. rocket/rocket. satellite/satellite. sci/sci. shi/shine. shine/shine. ship/ship. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. sh✩/h✩r. silly/silly. solar/solar. spa/space. spa/spaceship. spa/sparkle. space/craft. space/ship. space/space. space/spacecraft/spacecraft. space/spaceship. spacecraft/spacecraft. spaceship/spaceship. sped/oopper. spi/spin. sta/star. stae/star. star/star. star/starry. stardust/stardust. stare/stare. ste/stellar. stell/stellar. strange/strange. stranger/stranger. su/sun. sun/sun. tele/telescope. thr/throne. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. th✩y/th✩m. tu/turn. ufo/ufo. uni/universe. uni/verse. universe/universe. unknow/unknown. unknown/unknown. vast/vast. venus/venus. violet/violet. vis/vision. vo/void. voi/void. void/void. wa/water. warp/warp. weird/weird. xae/xaem. xe/xer. xey/xem. xi/xir. xy/xym. xyr/xym. ze/zer. zeb/zob. zeep/glorp. zeep/zeep. zeep/zorp. zib/zab. zorp/zorp. zy/zym. ☄️. ✨. ✩t/✩t. ❓. ❔. ⭐. 🌀. 🌌. 🌕. 🌙. 🌟. 🌠. 👽. 👾. 💫. 📟. 📡. 🔭. 🚀. 🛰️. 🛸. 🧪. 🪐.

[cnnmairoll]

That's good to hear.

I had a little idea based around Tingyun because I love her so much and what happened to her makes me so sad. I had this thought since we go around handing out her gifts for people after she died, what if one of those people was her lover? Like the reader is Tingyun's lover and they think 'wow she must be busy with her job' only for the express crew or madam Yukong to come and tell them the truth about Tingyun and Phantylia and maybe the present given to the reader is like an engagement ring. The angst idea just hit me after playing through it.

Anyway, thank you for listening of course. It was an idea I feel I needed to share.

-🌸

Farewell, Tingyun.

Pairing : Tingyun x Reader Genre : Angst a/n : Sorry this took awhile 🌸anon !! I absolutely love your idea but I apologize if I can't bring it to justice!!

The Palace of Astrum stood silent under the cascade of stars that painted the night sky. You, nestled in Tingyun's room, gazed at the empty chair by her writing desk, where she'd spin tales that would enthrall the entire galaxy. It had been weeks since you last saw her, and though your heart ached for her, you had convinced yourself that her role as Head Representative of the Whistling Flames was consuming her time.

Each day, you longed for her return, but each night you fell asleep with her absence heavy in your thoughts. "She must be busy," you told yourself. "Her work is important, and she's always dedicated to her guild." Yet, beneath the veneer of understanding, a gnawing worry ate at your soul.

On a somber, moonless evening that you sat in your chambers, pondering over a letter you had received. It was from Madam Yukong, the seasoned Helm Master of the Xianzhou Alliance's Sky-Faring Commission. The letter was marked with sorrow, and your heart began to pound with trepidation.

You rushed to the Grand Hall, where Madam Yukong stood, her expression grave. Beside her was Trailblazer, a trusted friend of Tingyun's, and Yanming, the Celestial Guild envoy. Their faces told a story of grief that words could not convey.

"Please, take a seat," she said softly, her voice trembling like leaves in a storm.

You complied, heart pounding, as Trailblazer and Yanming flanked you on either side.

"What is it? What's happened?" you asked, your voice quivering.

Helm Master Yukong took a deep breath, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Tingyun," she began, "Tingyun is no more."

The world seemed to stop. Tingyun, the silver-tongued storyteller, the love of your life, was gone. You could hardly process the words as they reverberated through your mind, a cruel and relentless echo.

"She was on a mission," Yukong continued, "one we believed to be safe. But the universe has a cruel sense of timing."

Tears streamed down your face as you clutched your chest, your heart shattering into a million pieces. Tingyun was gone, and you hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye.

Barely holding herself together, Yukong insisted on a "soul-soothing ceremony" to appease the pain that everyone felt. Before the ceremony, you, Trailblazer, and Yanming were tasked with sorting through Tingyun's belongings in the Palace of Astrum. It was a painful task, a cruel reminder of her absence.

As you carefully sifted through her possessions, you stumbled upon a small, ornate box. A label bore your name, and your heart leapt in your chest. Trembling, you opened it and discovered an engagement ring, a beautiful, delicate thing with a shimmering gem that seemed to hold the very essence of the stars.

Tears flowed freely as you clutched the ring to your chest, realizing that Tingyun had planned to ask you to be her forever. The weight of your loss bore down upon you, but the ring was a bittersweet reminder of the love you had shared and the love she had intended for your future.

In the midst of grief and heartache, you found solace in the love that had blossomed between you and Tingyun. Her captivating tales might have enchanted the galaxy, but it was her love that had captured your heart. And as you held that ring, you made a silent promise to carry her memory with you, to keep her stories alive, and to love her for all eternity, even as the stars continued to shine above, indifferent to the pain of mortals.

[ammirabilis]

Chapter 4

Pairing: Olivia x Fem!Hunter/Reader

Synopsis: In the aftermath of a hunt gone horribly wrong, you're forced to confront the ghosts of your past and a feeling you’ve been too afraid to name.

Genre: Action, romance, angst, hurt/comfort

CW: There is SMUT in this chapter. Minors DNI.

Divider by: @strangergraphics

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 | Also on AO3

The day comes all too soon when Olivia is given the all-clear by Medy and tossed back into the fray. Her re-entry to the field is celebrated by the entire Astrum unit and all the expedition teams alike. No one even questions if she’s ready for it. You don’t either, but it doesn’t stop your chest from tightening when she rides off with a cheerful wave. 

It was just after nightfall when she returned to base, footsteps echoing faintly as she stepped into the outpost. You were already waiting in her tent, pacing a little whilst pretending you needed to hand in a report. The moment she came through the tent’s flap, you turned quickly, holding your breath. Her familiar silhouette fills up the entryway. She didn’t appear to be limping or wincing, and you feel yourself exhale as the weight lifts from your shoulders. 

“You’re back,” you said, and immediately felt embarrassed by how obvious it was that you’d been waiting here all evening. 

Olivia simply gave a smile, and tossed her vambraces in a box to the side of the entrance. “Of course I’d be.”

You were already moving toward her, gaze sweeping over her form in quiet urgency. Her armor was a little dirty but otherwise intact. She didn’t wince when she moved and her shoulders were relaxed. But you still had to be sure. 

When you reached for the clasps of her chestplate without asking, she didn’t stop you. Instead, she stood still and let you work. One by one, you loosened the buckles carefully as if any abrupt movement might hurt her somehow. You watched her face for any flicker of pain, but she only watched you in return, her expression patient and indulgent. 

“You’re staring,” she murmurs, the corner of her mouth curving upward softly. 

“I’m checking for injuries,” you replied, though your voice came out quieter than you intended. 

She tilted her head playfully. “Not anything else?”

You didn’t answer, just unfastened the last buckle and eased the armor away from her shoulders, revealing the soft fabric of her undershirt. No scratches, just a few light bruises. You let out another breath of relief. 

“I’m not going to disappear, you know.” She takes your hands, pulling you closer to her. 

“I know.” Your voice cracked in a way you hated. “That doesn’t mean I’m not scared about it.” You let your fingers trail up the back of her hands, your thumb passing over her wrist, searching for the steady rhythm of her pulse as if you still needed to convince yourself she was really there. 

You hesitated, taking in a deep breath as you looked up into her eyes. In that small space, you finally found a sliver of courage to speak the words that had been heavy on your chest for so long.

“I love you,” you confessed, voice soft but resolute. You’ve never said those three words before, afraid of what they meant and how real everything would become. But it was already real. From the moment you saw her brushing her drenched hair back during the monsoon, your heart had already been hers. 

The words came tumbling out of you like a dam breaking open. “I love you so much, the thought of being without you terrified me. I kept thinking about what would happen if you hadn’t thrown yourself in front of that blast—”

Olivia interrupts you with a shush and you snap your jaw shut, suddenly afraid you’d said something too raw, too intimate. You looked down, heart thudding in your chest. When she didn’t pull away, you looked up at her again. Her expression was unguarded and you saw the same fear you’d been carrying mirrored in her eyes. 

“I love you too,” she whispered, as if the truth had always been there, just waiting to be named. A small breath left her then and she continued. “That’s why I moved, you know. When I saw the charge building, I knew that your armor wouldn’t hold. I was afraid that I would lose you.”

Her words hit something deep inside you, an ache that was both painful yet profoundly beautiful. It all made sense now; the countless SOS flares she had answered for you, the times she stood closer than she needed to, the way her eyes always found you first in the crowd. She would have died for you, and you knew without a doubt that you’d do the same for her. 

It had always been this all along. 

Everything was laid bare now. Not just love, but the terrifying reality of it— that you’d both chosen each other anyway, in spite of the fears and risks that came with.

“I’m still scared,” you admitted.

“I know.” She bent her head, resting her forehead gently against yours. “But I’m here. I won’t go anywhere.”

Then she leaned in and her lips met yours in a kiss that was deliberate and passionate. It spoke in all the words neither of you had dared to say until now. Her mouth was soft, but certain. Every motion held a longing so deep you both burned under it. Olivia had always held you gently, like something cherished. But now, her hands gripped you with intention. Her touch said everything: I’m here. I’m real. This is real. 

The kiss deepened slowly as her fingers threaded into your hair, and yours curled around her waist, drawing her in. When you parted for a breathless second, the sweet sound of your name fell from her lips and you reveled in it. 

“I want you,” you whispered, the truth of it catching on your tongue. “I need you.”

That was all it took.

She kissed you again, slower this time, with a tenderness that stole the breath from your lungs. You melted into her, yielding to the press of her thumb along your jaw and the warm weight of her palm steady at your back. Her presence, solid and real, lit embers under your skin. You had missed this. Missed her — the way her breath grew shallow beneath your touch, how she pulled you in as if this wasn’t close enough.

Her fingers slip beneath your shirt now, lifting it off you with a smooth motion. The roughness of her callused hands met the curve of your spine, sending shivers across your skin. You took your time with each other, undressing in the hush of the tent, wrapped in heat and shadows. There was no danger or looming edge of duty here. Just the slow, searching press of her mouth against yours and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat under your palm.

Then, she eased you down onto the bedroll, settling herself between your thighs. Olivia was radiant above you, bathed in the golden tones of lamplight. Her eyes deep and vivid, held your heated gaze with equal passion. Your hands roamed the expanse of her, tracing muscle and scar alike, desperate to memorize every inch.

“Don’t let go,” you sighed, voice trembling with want. 

“I won’t,” she promised, brushing her lips against the hollow of your throat. “I’m right here.” 

She placed another kiss to your neck before suckling gently, making her way down to your collarbone and chest. Soft red marks bloom against your skin where her lips had been— proof she had been there, proof that you were hers.

When she pressed herself fully against you, the heat surged between your bodies. Your hips met in a slow, sensual grind, her thigh pressed between yours as your hands clutched at her back. You arched into her, gasping when her mouth found your breast. Her tongue circling your nipple before taking it gently between her teeth. She soothed the sting with another languid swirl of her tongue, then moved to the other, lavishing you with a devotion that unraveled you entirely.

You felt like floating, and every nerve in your body pulsed with need. Yet, Olivia’s touch kept you grounded. Each kiss, each stroke, each whispered word of reassurance tethered you to her. She slipped a hand between your thighs, using her knees to spread your legs apart. Her fingers parted your wet folds, coaxing a strangled gasp from the back of your throat. She circled your clit in smooth, steady movements, fingers slick with how ready you were. You gripped her shoulders, feeling the muscles flex against your palms as she handled you.  

And when she finally slid her fingers inside, you moaned, low and broken. She filled you gently, moving in time with your body and relishing in the way her name fell from your lips like a mantra. Then, she curls her fingers just right, and your hips jerked with a pleasure sharp and sudden.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, her mouth returning to yours. 

You tilted your head, chasing her kiss as if to make up for the time you’d lost. Your body arched into hers as she moved, each thrust of her fingers pulling you closer to the edge. You clench around her, arousal dripping down her fingers with how needy you were. She acquiesced when you begged her to go faster, her fingers now so deep inside you that she could cup your sex with her palm, thumb ghosting over your puffy clit. 

Your climax hit like a breaking wave, shattering you from all your thoughts except for her. Your whole body curled around her as you came. Olivia held you through it, and when the trembling passed, she didn’t pull away. She stayed, her hand squeezing the supple flesh of your thigh as your breath synced back into hers.

Olivia shifts slightly, hands moving to lift your hips up and position you as she liked. She was far from done with you, always preferring to completely ravish you before taking her own pleasure. But tonight felt different. Your desire for her ran hot through your veins, and you wanted nothing more than to claim her as yours. You tugged gently at her arm, stopping her in her tracks. 

“I want to mark you too.” You stated, almost shyly. Surprisingly, she moves without hesitation, letting you roll her gently to her back. It made your breath catch, the way she looked at you with such trust. You smiled, taking in the sight of her under you for once— still beautiful, still yours. 

You kissed your way down the freckled slope of her shoulder, letting your lips linger, then your teeth. A wanton sigh slipped past her lips when you sucked lightly at the spot just above her heart, leaving your own mark behind. A love letter written in her skin: You were here too, and you’d never leave. 

She gasped softly beneath you, her fingers curling into the blanket as your lips moved lower. Her skin was flushed, and when you glanced up, her gaze was already on you, steady with affection. You kissed a path down the center of her chest, pausing when your lips reached the jagged scar just below her ribs. It was the one she earned the day she shielded you from the Rey Dau’s blast. The memory still flared in your mind like a tender bruise, and something tightened in your throat.

Your fingers brushed along the edges of the scar as you leaned in and pressed a kiss to it, reverent and full of something deeper than gratitude. You let your lips linger there, then placed another kiss just beside it, and another, until her breath hitched again and her hand came to cradle your jaw.

“You don’t have to—” she began, but her voice caught.

“But I do,” you whispered against her skin. “I want to. Let me take care of you this time.”

For a moment, Olivia doesn’t speak. Her thumb grazed along your cheekbone, and you tilted your face into her palm, kissing the center of it. Then, slowly, she nodded.

“Then take me,” she said, voice low and steady, her eyes never leaving yours. “I’m yours.”

Her answer made your heart soar, and your lips returned to her body with renewed purpose. Each kiss was an offering, each touch a devotion, a promise stitched into skin. When you finally reached the place where she needed you the most, you didn’t rush. You kissed her there first, gentle and slow before parting her with your tongue. She gasped, fingers tightening in your hair as you began to move. You licked her in long, deliberate strokes, savoring the taste of her and the way her body responded to every flick and curl of your tongue.

Olivia whispers you praises and you dig your fingers into her hips, hungry to give her more, as she deserved. You teased at her entrance, then pushed in, your nose brushing her clit with each thrust, coaxing more of those breathless sounds from her lips. You moved slowly, purposefully, letting your tongue write everything you still wanted to say: I need you. I love you. I would do this forever if you let me.

Her thighs tightened around your shoulders, trembling slightly as you mouthed at her. You curled your tongue against her warm heat, moaning in satisfaction when her hips rolled up to meet you. When she came, it was with a cry, slightly muffled by the back of her hand. You drank her like a gift, savoring every drop as if it were nectar from the gods. 

Even as she fell back against the pillows, body still quivering from the aftershocks, you didn’t stop. Your mouth pressed firmly against her, spit and slick wet against your chin. Her breaths came in heavy and short bursts, stomach taut with pleasure as you continued to take her higher. 

Only when her trembling ceased to something more languid and relaxed beneath you did you ease your touch. You turned your head, offering a kiss to her inner thigh, then another near the curve of her knee.Your worship trailed in a slow path back up her body— across the other thigh, over the curve of her hip, and the warm plane of her stomach. You followed the contours of her body like a tide drawn endlessly back to shore, back to the only place that felt like home.

And when she reached for you, caging you under her body once more, you were ready to surrender to her completely. 

The night melts away in the heat of your gentle lovemaking, time unraveling at the edges as you lose yourself in her. When morning comes, it feels too soon. Already, you mourn the moment’s passing and the inevitable loss of her warmth against your skin. Soon, you’ll have to leave the safety of her arms and head out to face the day. 

As her fingers card through your hair idly, you wished you could stay like this forever— safe and untouched by the uncertain future, just the steady thump of her heartbeat quieting the world outside. Moments like this were always so fleeting in the life of a hunter. How long before the hunt came calling again? What if next time you weren’t so lucky?

“Still thinking, little bird?” Olivia’s voice gently cuts through your thoughts. Her hand trailed from your hair to your chin, tilting your face up to look up at hers. Her tone was light, but beneath it was the same depth that always saw through you. 

In the dim light, her lashes cast delicate shadows along her high cheekbones. She’s always been captivating, but here, beneath all her armor and behind the mantle of Captain Olivia the Guild Ace, there was simply the woman you loved. The one who reserved the most tender parts of herself just for you, who kisses you like you’re the only thing she’s ever been sure of, and who mends all your broken parts without even trying. You felt your heart squeeze at the sight of her. 

“You said before that the dream we walk in is fragile…” you trailed off, voice thin and wet. 

Olivia wraps her arms around you tighter, and you fully sink into her touch. “Yes,” she murmured, “it is fragile. And only through constant betterment of ourselves can we delay its inevitable end.”

Her voice was softer now, more intimate than when she first shared those words with you beneath the plain’s sun-baked sky. Back then, they were words of advice from one hunter to another. Now, they felt like a promise meant only for you. Suddenly, you understand her words with a new clarity. It’s why you keep fighting: to stretch the dream even if just for a little longer, to protect the world you're building together— the one that lets you have this, here, with her. 

And when the next hunt comes, you know that you’re ready to follow her through the fire. Because when the smoke clears, there will still be the two of you, in between heartbeats.

[bwoonies]

mascneu "astral" npts ^__^

names: echo ; vega ; darby ; dione ; warp ; nereid ; umbriel ; charon ; ruban ; kuiper ; starlet ; orion ; aries ; cielo

pronouns: star/stars ; moon/moons ; cel/celestial ; astro/astronomical ; tele/telescope ; stell/stellar ; as/astrum ; vis/vision

titles: the darkest star ; a shining moon ; a body in space ; they who venture beyond earth ; they who float in deep galaxies ; the astral adventurer

feel free to change pronouns on the titles ! for nonnie ^__^ a few of the names are moons and other space things, ehe

[cinnabarblood]

them inspiral astrum fucks /echo

[ausp-ice]

Rahamil (he/they/we). An echo of an ancient time, brought into being in an advanced era. He carries the wisdom and knowledge of thousands of souls pulled from the weave, combined with advanced artificial intelligence of his own time.  He built grand structures for his civilization, only to grow bored with his assignments, especially as the civilization slowed down its expansion. He began tinkering on his own, and eventually, he made something that pulled him from his own universe into another. In time, he encountered Astrum and became a regular visitor there. Updated reference for an adopt I got from Tooie! Personal Website | Discord Server | Astrum Lore

[ask-healthy-light]

After the echoes of the ear-piercing sound of the heavy cutlery falling onto the delicate plates had finally died down, and everybody had been given a moment to rest their ears, Light noticed that the Guards around them were quivering in their armour, the sounds of the heavy plates grinding against one another hurting their ears as they tightly held their spears, trying not to fall over.

Their senses now on high alert, Light held steady their nerves as they felt all eyes in the room fall upon them, for, evidently, they had not realised the severity of the phrase that they spoke in the halls of the Castle of the Crystal Empire; but they remained calm, and breathed slowly, as they asked Lady Cadance and Lord Shining if they knew of anything that could be related to the phrase.

For a moment, Light waited patiently and quietly for an answer, anything that could be of use that the Royals of the Empire knew about; but they picked up their cutlery and continued eating, without speaking a word to the Kirin, not even acknowledging their question or mere existence; so, after concerned glances from the other Princesses towards Light, they nodded firmly, and remained silent.

For the remainder of their time around the dinner table, not another word was spoken, neither from the Royals of the Empire nor any of the Princesses, nor Astrum, nor Light; and many ideas formed in their mind, trying to figure out what the phrase meant to the inhabitants of the Empire; what could have caused so much distress, even to the Royal Guards, if not something too awful to describe?

Eventually, after everyone finished their dinner, and the table was cleared, Light wished to speak, to thank the Lord and Lady for their hospitality and any help that they could give them; but before they spoke, Lady Cadance rose, and firmly asked Light to refrain from uttering that phrase, or any that was similar; and if they wished to know what its meaning, they would have to find out alone.

Not another word was spoken as both Lady and Lord left the table, exiting the room, followed by the Princesses Twilight Eclipse and Celestia, whom tried to speak to the Royal Rulers, given their closer relationship with the two; but they spoke not, save for the request to prevent 'that Kirin' from speaking about that which they knew not; and when they returned, they bore a defeated look.

Shortly after the Princesses returned, a pair of Guards approached the seat upon which Light sat, gesturing them to follow; and they sighed, rose from their seat, and were led back to their room, whereupon entering, the Guards closed the doors, and, thanks to their keen hearing, Light heard they stationed themselves just outside, only raising more questions that they wished were answered.

The intense reaction that they received when mentioning the phrase they found, coupled with the following responses from Lady Cadance, greatly confused Light, who hoped they could make amends; wishing to explain to the Crystal Royals that they meant no offence, if they took any, only wishing to uncover the mysteries of the Catacombs they discovered, where the phrase was found by Starswirl.

Their thought process and forming of an apology was interrupted by voices they heard outside of the door, followed by gentle knocking and familiar voices asking to enter, to which they agreed; and walking in were Princess Luna and Astrum, who apologised to Light, though before they continued, Light thanked them, but said they need not apologise, for they had not done any wrong to them.

A gentle smile grew upon their faces as they walked forward, asking if they mean to continue with their plan; and Light nodded, rose from their seat, and took the pearl from their satchel, which they then placed upon their back; though before they left, Astrum undid her disguise, restoring her form to Nox, who stepped forward, asking them to wait for a moment longer, for she wished to help.

'I have asked for help. I cannot join you, but I will never be far away with this.'

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

Featuring: Nox Lunarwing from @nox-lunarwing Solar Eclipse and Twilight Sparkle as Twilight Eclipse from @asktwilighteclipse

[goldilockswrites]

Ok so first and fore-fucking-must. Why so much shade towards me?? I’m literally an angel?? And how dare you expose me like that with 33-36

Anyway, now that i got my personal issues out the way🙄

Can I get 28 with Thomas? I feel like he’s the embodiment of a sunrise🥰

A HERO’S LAST DAYS

╔═════ ∘◦ ☆ ◦∘ ══════╗

Pairing: Thomas Raggi x Reader (she/her)

Requested: Yes (by my gorgeous lovie)

Summary: The story of a set-up marriage and the sound of waves.

A/N: Hi, guys! The shade towards you is literally none at all.  Now, I’m not sure about this, but I will post, because I need a new fic up regardless of how I feel. A friendly reminder that you can reach out to me for any noticed mistakes. :) All the love, Axe <3

Tags: @wasteddoubts @teenyweenynightghost @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @cheese-toastie-11 @unitersmoonshine @selenophiliaxx @mywritingonlyfans @l0standn0tf0und-fics @sunflowerpumpkinpie @writingmaneskin (if you’d like to be removed from the tags feel free to tell me :) )

© 2021-2022 @idyllicbutterfly​ on Tumblr All Rights Reserved

Add yourself to my taglist - Check out my other stories

╚═════ ∘◦ ❉ ◦∘ ══════╝

Erstwhile, long after Epimetheus accepted Zeus’ gift, autumnale (autumn) leaves crunched under bare feet. Æsc (ash tree) branches getting tangled in her long, caerulum (blue) skirts as she ran. Quiritatio. (scream) Y/N. Forte. (louder) Y/N. Forte. (louder) Y/N. 

Waves battered albus (grey) cliffs; eensy pebbles rained with salty droplets. Her banloca (body, “bone-enclosure”) collapsed to the miry sand, sericum (silk) cutis (skin) tearing open. "Audentes fortuna iuvat." ("Fortune favors the bold.") Her father would catch her and sacrifice her to the grædig (greedy) Gods, she’d perish from this cruel adl (sickness); the longing for a better fortune.  

Selfish nothi (bastards). They’d feast on her flæsc (flesh) and drink her asper (sour) gore as if it was the finest nectar (the drink of the Gods). Her soul will be aevitas (forever) kicked to pits deeper than ever, far away from the halig (holy) heofon (heaven). 

So she wept. She asked to be saved. Begging for mercy from the very thing that will execute her. 

- ‘Ey! - The voice was austerus (somber). Like the ones of the fishermen who hung around the narrow streets of the market. Like the leoþ (poems) her mum used to read.

- Hello. - Her efforts to stand up proved to not be very felix (successful); vermillion caedis (blood) stained her dress. 

A hand. Grip vigorous around her waist, helped her up. He felt calidus (warm). His skin scented with the Poseidon's realm, tinted by the sol’s (sun’s) tender kisses. A few brun (brown) flecks stippled over his cheeks; rouge peeking under. “The Gods’ favourites.” That’s what her father used to say. Silvae (Forests) seemed less puzzling than the mazes in his irises. His rutilus (golden) locks, shining ar (copper) formed a little diadema (crown) atop his head, a tuft of tousled strands, fulvus (yellow) Hibiscus and purpureus (purple) Helleborus crept over his forehead, framing gentle features. 

- Thank you. - She grasped onto his umerus (shoulder). It was bare. More freckles blossomed upon plush skin. 

- No problem. - A small grin spread over chapped lips. Y/N. Screams continued to echo through the beach. 

- I’m sorry, but I have to go. - Aerius (Blue) irises bore into his one last time, memorizing each delicate line. Crafted by the Gods. His grip didn’t loosen. 

- You are hurt. - Gaze hugged her. Cura (Concern) bubbled in it. - I will take you to my home. 

- No, I couldn’t possibly… - Fingers brushed through her braid.

- It’s that or mors. (death) - Ceald (Cold) laced with his words. 

- Take me. - Her tone dripping honey; quiet and gentle, like the breeze kissing the violae (pansies).

His sedes (home) seemed abandoned. It was inanis (empty). Only a few decayed letters, a few coins and a yellowed boc (book). 

***

The sun had begun to set once again. The astrum (sky) was blac (black); the flavus (blond) stranger came back; looking as breathtaking as always. Sæ (sea) water soaked the strands of his hair and Y/N found herself wanting to run her fingers through each lock. And she did. The sensation was knotted with deja vus. 

- Thomas. - His name was murmured hushed, almost like a forbidden word. The son of Poseidon. 

- Y/N. - Her name too rolled off his tongue in a whisper. The daughter of Athena. 

And their love bloomed again. Another sige (victory) for love. Flutters of papilionis (butterflies) and rosae (roses) grew in their suavium (kiss). 

All of a sudden fulmen (lightning) tore the sky. 

***

The water God’s cursed son, was a sunrise and the Goddess of war’s daughter became the sunset. Both could turn human only when their lover was in the sky, admiring their colours until it was time to switch again.    

[echoingastrumadnothers]

I pick you up and spin you around like a kitty

honestly i would too

[echosian]

once again aggie dot io

[a-world-in-grey]

Nani here - does Sola get pulled into Dissidia?

Oooo, Dissidia AU!

Okay, bear in mind that the only bits I know of Dissidia are what @secret-engima has rambled about, but based off that-

-Sola doesn’t get called to Dissidia. No, during Sola’s life it’s Noctis and Ardyn who are called as Champions.

-No, instead it’s Phoebe who finds herself tripping into the middle of a dusty, dry red desert that’s honestly nothing like Leide. Finds herself sidestepping the decapitating strike from a silver haired man with cat-slit green eyes and a blade longer than the swordsman is tall. Finds herself following the man - Sephiroth, he calls himself - to the glowing red tower in the distance, the only spark of magic in a world on it’s last breath.

-Phoebe would very much like to know what the actual Pyre is going on, and she’s more than a bit insulted that she’s been lumped in with a bunch of nutjobs and murderers. Sure, Snow is less villainous and more... jaded and broken, but after him the next decent is Sephiroth, and he gives off an air far too similar to Sola’s memories of Ardyn. 

-It doesn’t help that the other Champions have been summoned in their various finery, while Phoebe is in her battered Hunter leathers. And while Phoebe is fairly certain she’s nowhere near the oldest, she certainly looks it, pushing fifty as she is. Though Phoebe does admit, side-eyeing some of her fellow Champions, at least she isn’t under-dressed.

-Then Phoebe learns of Materia and her Champions, of Order and Harmony, and Phoebe remembers enough of Noctis’ various video game rambles to realize that she’s essentially on the Villains’ side. 

-And she’s pretty sure she knows why. Which, okay, fair, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it.

-Now, to find out which poor sod got dragged into this mess as Materia’s Champion.

-Regis is not happy when he finds himself in a dusty desert that is most certainly not his office. He’s even less happy when he hears about why he’s no longer in the Citadel, and he has no compunctions making it clear to Materia his exact feelings on the matter. He has a kingdom to run, and a newly wedded wife and premature, newborn daughter to get back to!

-It’s his worry for Sola - born too early, born too small and monitored around the clock because the doctors don’t know if his little Sun will survive - that brings Regis’ fatherly instincts to the fore and by the time Materia’s Champions head out to find and battle Spiritus’, Regis is fussing over the half of Materia’s Champions who are eighteen and younger. The eighteen years olds - Firion and Terra - try to protest the treatment, but look, Cor is eighteen so there’s little they can do to stop Regis from slotting them into the ‘must protect’ category.

-Regis honestly has no clue who his counterpart in Spiritus’ Champions is supposed to be. He just... doesn’t have an archenemy like the rest of Materia’s Champions, certainly not like the WoL or Cloud. Someone from Niflheim, perhaps?

-It’s not.

-They run into some of Spiritus’ Champions, and Regis is fending off the Champion aiming for young Onion Knight - and trying not to look at how little she’s wearing, but it’s rather difficult when she’s attacking so insistently - when there’s a low, inhuman snarl and a glaive nearly spears the the woman from behind. The shattering of chimes, golden shards of magic and the woman has to dodge the fire and lightning aiming to utterly obliterate her.

-The battle screeches to a halt. Spiritus’ Champions stare at the redhead in battered leathers, their supposed teammate as she snarls at the scantily dressed woman. Materia’s Champions stare for an altogether reason, Regis included, because-

-“Phoebe?” He sputters.

-“Not now Regis.” Phoebe tells him, gaze not leaving her target as she spins her glaive and stalks forward with the lethal grace of a Coeurl. Her Hunter’s uniform disappears in a burst of golden shards, replaced by gilded black leather armor. “I have a would-be childslayer to deal with.”

-Phoebe’s target flees, Phoebe in hot pursuit. And Regis wonders when everything stopped making sense.

-Lightning glances at Regis’ shocked expression. “Not who you were expecting, I take it?” And all Regis can do is shake his head.

-No. Not at all. Not the magic, the oh so familiar pattern of lines tracing Phoebe’s face, a pattern altogether different than Regis remembers seeing on her, and the dark lines dripping from blackened eyes glowing red with the force of her fury.

-But he knows Phoebe. Perhaps not as well as he’d once thought, but regardless of her secrets the woman herself has not changed. Her protective fury is proof enough.

-So when Phoebe tracks them down, unarmed and in her Hunter leathers once more, eyes and face as Regis remembered from their first meeting, Regis waves for the others to stand down.

-“I assume she’s been taken care of?” Regis says after a moment.

-Phoebe’s satisfied smirk is answer enough. But she sobers only a moment later, shifting from foot to foot as she looks away. “I... guess you’d like an explanation.”

-“Not if you don’t want to give one.” Regis refutes immediately. He’s had the time to think about it, to stamp down on the shock and think rationally. Revelations aside, Regis has never had any reason to distrust Phoebe. Not when the woman has done so much for Regis, including facing down Gilgamesh to rescue Cor from the Immortal Shield.

-“Well, I’d like one.” Lightning interjects, crossing her arms and staring at Phoebe with narrowed eyes. The rest of his fellow Champions look no less suspicious. “Who are you?”

-Phoebe hums, and Regis would almost say the Elder looks amused. “I’m Phoebe, Chief of Clan Astrum and Regis’ kin.”

-“And the... incident, earlier?” Y’shtola asks. “Not that we aren’t grateful.” She hurriedly adds. “But it is... odd, for a Champion of Spiritus.”

-Oh, Regis knows the answer to this one. “Phoebe is Galahdian.” He tells them, echoing the words from years back. “Galahdians don’t tolerate childslayers. Or would-be ones.”

- Phoebe’s grin is less a smile and more a baring of teeth. “We execute them.”

-Which is pretty much the same thing Phoebe and Koios told Regis when he asked about it.

-Lightning looks like she has a headache. “So why are you Spiritus’ Champion?”

-“I’m considered Regis’ rival.” Phoebe shrugs. “If you want to be technical about it.”

-“Because you’re a candidate for the throne?” Y’shtola asks.

-“Ah, no. Not that.” Phoebe grimaces. “But the gods would rather Regis try to kill me, given I’m the Accursed.”

-Regis chokes. “You’re what?”

[hadit93]

AA, Thelema, Crowley, and OTO.

This post can also be read here.

The title of this post refers to the order of importance which I ascribe to the various aspects of the Modern Thelemic movement. It is my intention to briefly define what all these things are and describe where they reside in the modern Thelemic movement. Why the first two are more important than the last two even thought the last two are often placed upon a pedestal above the first.

AA

The term AA has become synonymous with various outer order mundane spiritual groups which offer teaching and testing in the system of magic and yoga laid down by Crowley. AA is often stated to stand for Argentium Astrum or Astron Argon. Either way it is said to refer to the order of the Silver Star. This is all well and good when Crowley was alive and there was a single order, however, now everyone and their creepy uncle claims to be the head of a lineage or indeed the ‘one true AA’ and things get messy. The truth is there are many lineages which claim to be in touch with the AA and members of the AA which add others to the chain so that they too may know the AA. No human being is the head of the AA, not even Crowley was head of the AA.

The reason for this is that the AA proper is not a terrestrial organisation of occultists. It is a spiritual order which exists outside of time and space and it ‘run’ or influenced and delivered by beings which the Western Mystery Tradition calls ‘Secret Chiefs’. I won’t pretend to know what these beings are or shove a dogma down your throat, however, I would assert they are not people like your neighbour next door. They are definitely spiritual in nature.

The AA has existed since time began and will continue to exist when humans dwindle. Their mode of teaching differs and Thelema is but one mode of teaching which they have selected for mankind. At least, this is the narrative which Crowley taught. The AA were also responsible for the mystery cults of Greece, for Christianity and Islam, for Judaism, for every single spiritual movement on the planet. The AA is made up of those beings people would calls Gods, Ascended Masters, Secret Chiefs. It is a collection of spiritual ideas which influences the tides of humankind. All true spiritual gnosis arises from the spiritual AA, the mundane AA is but one outer vehicle of that spiritual order.

The AA in terms of terrestrial lineages is the third order, the order beyond the abyss in the city of the Pyramids which Magister Templi and beyond inhabit. I won’t say more on that because I am sorely unqualified to do so.

Thelema.

As touched upon above, Thelema is but one vehicle for the AA. It arose from the AA, however, it does not mean it is the totality of the AA. Thelema is the method of spiritual attainment which Thelemites believe is the norm or the most productive in the New Aeon. The times have changed and with it the formulae of initiation. Thelema was not created by Crowley, there have been echoes of Thelema for centuries. Crowley simply wrote a lot down and did a lot of work and developed an updated system.

People scoff at this idea, but the truth is Thelema has touched and inspired most of the modern occult movements which are still active. Wicca is effectively the watered down grand baby of Traditional Witchcraft and Thelema. When you look at most Western societies you can see more and more Thelemic principles being normalised. Free speech, equality for all, love, light, life, and liberty. You may not have picked up a Crowley book or even know who Ra-Hoor-Khuit is, but if you are living to the true expression of yourself and seek to be in line with the universe you are for all intents and purposes a Thelemite.

Thelema needn’t refer to the religion which modern practitioners have tried to force it into. It was never meant to be that, Crowley didn’t want that. But people have attempted to make it so and it is a bastardisation of what Thelema was meant to be. Crowley was not a man to be revered, yet revered he is. Crowley wrote it all down, he wanted people to forge their own paths, find their own mysteries to solve, to be true Thelemites and follow THEIR Will. What has come out of 1970s America has been a disappointment which he foresaw on his death bed. The current Caliph OTO has bastardised Thelema and I fear there is no turning back.

Thelema is bigger than Crowley. It is bigger than modern day Thelemites. It is bigger than a religion or a philosophy. It is a current which extends from the AA for all humanity not just some weird occultist drawing geometric shapes in their mothers basement. You can be a Thelemite and never practice yoga or magic in your life. You can be a Thelemite and practice a spiritualised form of Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism. So long as you strive to find your purpose and accomplish it, limiting your restrictions- both internal and external as you do so, you are a Thelemite. At least in my non-dogmatic eyes.

Crowley.

I can’t cover the man that is Crowley in a few simple paragraphs. Books have been written and a couple of them are good. Don’t google him, don’t watch documentaries, the rumours and lies have been presented as truths and it has perverted the truth. He was an arsehole, he was born in Victorian England into a wealthy family. He was entitled, held racist attitudes, essentially hated anyone. Often made homophobic remarks despite being openly bisexual himself. He was complicated. He was human and incredibly flawed. In fact, I probably would have hated him.

The thing is, he was also brilliant. He also received genuine spiritual insight because he genuinely did the work, which is something few can honestly state. He also had two sides, Crowley the spiritual teacher was definitely a believer in equal rights for all humans, Crowley the man was white, English and a Tory. Since most white, English Tories have not changed in modern times either (Boris Johnson) perhaps we should not be too surprised.

Crowleys spiritual writings are important, the so-called ‘holy books’ are important. The system of AA which he laid down is important. His personal letters, remarks, attacks- his entire personal life is not important. People need to stop avoiding him because of it or worse still idolising him because of it.

BUT, your own work and own spiritual insights are more important. As I mentioned above, Thelema is bigger than Crowley. Crowley penned founding documents, it is up to us to flesh the system out further. It is okay to disagree with Crowley- he was wrong on multiple occasions. It is okay to go in a different direction- if your will takes you there, follow it. Too few have dared to go further. Instead what we have seen in Thelema’s first century is the regurgitation of the same ideas often watered down in outdated psychology. Over and over. It is sickening. It is stagnation. It needs to end. If you are thinking of publishing a book which simply teaches basic qabalah and the Golden Dawn system. Stop! We have enough Regardie and enough Cicero books- they have done fabulous work we don’t need any more.

There are few who dare to dream, who dare to explore. Kenneth Grant and Michael Bertiaux are too example who have taken Thelema in weird and wonderful directions. Often going against some of Crowley’s beliefs and teachings because they have found in their experience that he was wrong.

I guess I could go on forever, but to sum it up- be a Thelemite not a parrot.

OTO.

The OTO stands for Ordo Templi Orientis and refers to a pseudo-Masonic order which existed before Crowley and allowed both men and women to join- which was at that time anathema in freemasonry. Furthermore there are less degrees and a central secret of sex magick practice which has since been published openly much to their chagrin.

Crowley became head of the order in shady circumstances and reworked the lower degrees to conform to the new aeon. The OTO was said to be a vehicle inspired by the AA- that is the spiritual order- and thus had to be in line with the Thelemic current. It was a publishing vehicle, a means for promulgating the teachings of Thelema, a social group. Above all it was and is a failure.

Crowley created the mundane AA with the intent of limiting social contact, because things get nasty in magical orders when social contact is concerned. The current OTO has become the nastiest of the nastiest despite promoting itself as a loving and nurturing environment.

I am wary of space and so I will be brief. The OTO and AA died with Germer- a student of Crowley whom Crowley still recognised as a master. The OTO was revived by Grady McMurty and Phyllis Seckler. TImes were probably good then. Then after Grady’s death the black brotherhood moved in. They have connections with the far right. They want to assume control of the AA and of Thelema- both of which as I have mentioned are beyond humanity and thus cannot be controlled by a part of people. They want to brainwash and indoctrinate rather than guide.

You will often hear that the AA lead by Gunther is the one true AA- it is the AA that the OTO sided with. This is inherently false. Anyone claiming to be the one true AA is selling you a lie. Anyone claiming to be a representative off that order and has a lineage is probably also selling you a lie- although there are a couple of decent claims to that. The AA exists outside of terrestrial affairs and certainly does not inhabit beings who side with the far right and no-nazi scum.

The reason the OTO backs up this claim is because the head of OTO and his right hand, gun wielding, man are students of Gunther. Gunther was actually expelled by his teacher, he has no lineage claims to hold on to. His claims are that he is in touch with the secret chiefs- he is also apparently a magus and received a word. He is also the new Thelemic messiah. In truth he is a messed up individual with a southern baptist background trying to create a religion out of Thelema which as mentioned above is a bastardisation of the current.

I have been quite quiet on these matters, but who you get your teachings from matters. Who you link with spiritually matters. Avoid the stagnation. Avoid the poison. I’m not an ex member of OTO, I have no reason to hate them. I don’t hate the members, but I can see from the outside what the organisation stands for and what it has become. I am not blinded by the principles in the blue equinox because they are not my imaginary utopia.

The OTO is not, in my opinion, a true representation of the Thelemic current any longer. It is dead, it is inert. It lost its ability to claim to be an order of love, life, light and liberty when it covered up rape scandals and protected the abusers whilst slut shaming the victims. They are despicable and they need to answer for their crimes. And everyone who is still involved with them, even those who are beautiful people- I am sure there a lot of them- are equally despicable for paying dues to the organisation. Hang your heads in shame you have forgotten your brothers and sisters in favour of advancement.

Seek the true Silver Star, do the work yourself, question everything, and seek that which is beyond.

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Fortuna Inversis

Kaon. It’s an open, festering wound on the otherwise generally peaceful and prosperous planet of Cybertron; a city-state prostrate under the heel of the tyrannical Lord Straxus. Everyone knows this, and no one knows it more than the inhabitants of its closest neighbor, the city-state of Vos. Kaon is a place of energy deprivation, filth, poverty, and misery; in short, it is a place Vosians go out of their way to avoid. So how did a well-bred Vosian noblemech like me end up in one of Kaon’s hovels? That, I am afraid, is a rather complicated story, and for you to fully understand it, I need to start at the beginning. My name is Succendam Off de domo Domini Cael (or, for those of you who do not speak Vosian, Blast Off of the House of Space), the creation and only heir of Dominus Spatium and Domine Astrum.

My creators were extremely wealthy, arguably even wealthier than the royal family, and they were a regular presence in the court of Rex Ventus, the King of Vos; however, they were also spacefaring explorers, and, as such, they were killed in a particularly unpleasant spaceship explosion when I was four stellar cycles away from the age of legal majority. It was a tragedy, of course, but as they had been away from home frequently for most of my life prior to that point, it did not affect me as much as it might have, and upon their deaths, I became the master of the Cael estate and its workers. Not long afterwards, I hired a mech from Kaon to serve as my clerk. He was quiet and efficient, and generally did good work, but he was always filthy and clearly half-starved, not to mention a war-frame, and that did not fit in with the image I wanted my staff to project. Thus, I fired him; which proved to be stressful for both of us. When I informed him that he was being let go, he started creating quite a scene, begging me to keep him on for the sake of his family and generally acting horribly undignified. In the end, I grew tired of trying to reason with him and had my guards remove him from my estate. After a few days, I forgot about him altogether, little imagining that we would encounter each other again, and my life progressed quite smoothly for the next two stellar cycles. I even arranged a sponsalia (that is, an engagement) for myself with Illusion of the Furtim Line, a female from the Towers District. But my happiness proved to be transient. Just a few solar cycles after I reached sedecim (sixteen) stellar cycles of age, I was baselessly arrested for treason. Sure, I may have made a few….inopportune….statements about Rex Ventus’ ability to rule, but I had never plotted to overthrow him, and everyone knew it. As he soon made clear, his real interest was not whether or not I had betrayed him but rather to see if he could get his filthy hands on my land and holdings….and irritatingly, because he was the king and thus the head of the judiciary system of Vos, it soon became apparent that he could do just that. On the pretext of incredibly flimsy evidence (even the king’s young creation, Princeps Stella Clamor- Prince Starscream- remarked on the flimsiness of it), I was found guilty of treason, and stripped of my title, my lands, and my holdings. Ventus made a show of mercy, claiming that he would spare me from execution because of my youth. Then he banished me to the slums of Kaon with no servants, no Shanix, and no energon….which, had fate not intervened, would have been nothing more than a prolonged death sentence. So much for his mercy. Not long after I was abandoned in Kaon, I was approached by a mech whom, I would soon learn, was one of Lord Straxus’ Enforcers.

“What are you doing out at night, Empty?” he spat. While I could understand Neocybex fairly well, my ability to speak it was rather limited. Most nobles (and their servants) could speak Vosian, after all, so there had been little need for me to practice speaking the language. Thus, my response to his question was less than elegant.

“I do wrong?” I stammered in broken Neocybex.

“What’s the matter, Empty? Can’t you speak?” the Enforcer mocked

“Empty?” I echoed, utterly confused. I knew the word-in Vosian, it was vaccus -but he seemed to be using it as a noun rather than an adjective.

“Yeah, an Empty. That’s what you are…a worthless piece of gutter trash. Although if you’re too stupid to know what that means, then maybe you’re also too stupid to know that no one is allowed out after curfew. If you don’t get inside in the next ten minutes, I’m taking you to prison. You got that, Empty?”

“Yes,” I replied. With that, I bolted away from the mech and started searching for some way to get inside before I got thrown into a Kaonite prison, which I was certain would make the one I had been locked up in in Vos seem like my palatial estate by comparison. After a few minutes, I stumbled upon a small building-a hovel, really-and, in desperation, banged on the door.

“ Fac me introire! Ergot placet mihi! ” (Let me in! Please, let me in!) I was in such a panic that I didn’t even stop to consider the fact that whoever was inside probably didn’t speak Vosian. After a few seconds, the door was opened by an exhausted-looking war-frame, one who was startlingly familiar.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” he barked in Neocybex.

“Need roof...help,” I replied, now desperately wishing that I was more fluent in the language.

“ Vosiane loqui possum. Quod requires? ” (I can speak Vosian. What do you need?) the other mech asked, surprising me. His rough, thickly accented voice was also familiar, but I still couldn’t place him.

“ Et opus tectumque . Quaeso! ” (I need shelter. Please!) I replied. The war-build examined me, and then glared at me coldly.

“Et nota videtur. Quod nomen tibi est? ” (You seem familiar. What is your name?)

“ Succendam Off de domo Domini Cael ,” I replied….and just as I said this, I realized why the war-build seemed so familiar. He was the same one whom I had fired from his position as my clerk two stellar cycles previously. A sense of dread washed over my spark. This was not good.

“Quid si ego auxiliatus sum tui? Et accensus sunt me, cum scires haec non erat familiaris. ” (Why should I help you? You fired me unjustly, even though you knew I had a family.) the war-build said coldly.

“ Paenitet! Paenitet-” (I’m sorry! I’m sorry…) I exclaimed, stopping short when  I realized that I had never bothered to learn his name.

“ Impetus. Impetus sit nomen meum. Cum tibi, ne quidem sciunt nomine meo: ego auxiliatus sum tibi, non. Exite!” ( Onslaught . Onslaught is my name. Since you do not even know my name, I will not help you. Go away.) In complete panic, I fell to my knees.

“ Amabo, noli me manere. Faciam quod vis facere! ” (Please, let me stay! I’ll do anything you want!) I pleaded.

“ Quidquid ?” ( Anything ?) Onslaught asked.

“ Ita, quod, ” (Yes, anything.) I replied. Onslaught seemed to ponder this for a few seconds, then pulled me to my feet.

“‘Ut maneat in domo in tribus conditionalibus. Primo, vos mos reperio a officium, mercedem tuam super me, et convertam. Habeo tres alere velis nobiscum sic oportet operam. Secundam, maneat, si tu non es membrum de familia. Et erit servum, et sic potest haberi. Tertius, et sic loquetur ad me, domine . Mecum adhuc volo?” (You may stay in my home, on three conditions. First, you will find a job and turn over your wages to me. I have three brothers to support, so if you wish to stay with us, you must contribute financially. Second, if you stay, you are not a member of the family. You will be a servant and be treated as such. Third, you will address me as “sir.” Do you still wish to stay with me?) he asked. Naturally, I was horrified by the conditions that he had set, but because the alternative was even worse, I was forced to swallow my pride and accept them.

“ Ita domine. Habeo alia optio, ” (Yes, sir. I have no other choice.) I said. Onslaught nodded.

“In that case, you can come in. You will speak Neocybex from now on.”

“I...try, sir,” I replied. Onslaught nodded, and mercifully did not comment on my broken Neocybex. Then he led me inside the shack of a building he called his home, and I was shocked by the squalor inside. There was a table, three recharging centers, and four chairs, crammed into a space that was smaller than the storage closets on my estate. Other than that, there was no furniture-no washracks, no energon dispenser, nothing! In place of those essentials were a third grown mech who clearly transformed into a tank, a grey youngling whose rotors marked him as a helicopter, and the tiniest sparkling I had ever seen. He was bright yellow and had enormous purple optics, and he appeared to turn into a ground-based vehicle of some sort, though I wasn’t sure of what type.

“These are my brothers, Brawl, Vortex, and Swindle,” Onslaught said, as he pointed to the tank, the youngling, and the sparkling in turn.

“Who’s that, Onslaught?” the tank, Brawl, asked. He was exceedingly loud, and I could tell right from the beginning that he was going to be a major irritant.

“This is Blast Off of the House of Cael,” Onslaught replied.

“The rich jerk who fired you? What’s he doing here?”

“I’m not entirely certain of that, Brawl, but given the fact that he, a very wealthy, very arrogant mech, begged me to allow him to take shelter in what he probably thinks is a shack, I’d guess that he has run into a disaster of some kind,” Onslaught replied. When he said this, I realized for the first time just what I had done. I had agreed to work as an unpaid servant in exchange for being allowed to take shelter in a hovel !  

“We can barely keep ourselves fueled; why’re we givin’ some of our energy and our home to a rich, spoiled jerk?” Brawl asked.

“We aren’t “giving” Blast Off anything. This is probably a foreign concept to him, but rest assured-from now on, he’s going to have to earn every drop of energon we give him,” Onslaught replied. Although he was ostensibly speaking to his brother, it was clear that Onslaught was telling me something as well: namely, that if I didn’t please him, I would not get to refuel.

“Where’s he gonna recharge?” This question came from Vortex. The question being something that I, too, was interested in, I turned to Onslaught for the answer.

“There isn’t enough space for him to recharge on the floor, at least not without us tripping over him on a constant basis, the recharging center you share with Swindle is far too small for another sparkling, let alone a shuttle of his size, and my recharging center barely fits me. Thus, he will have to share Brawl’s recharging center,” Onslaught replied.

“ What ?” Brawl and I exclaimed simultaneously. Vortex giggled.

“Now you know how I feel having to share a recharger with Swindle,” he said to his older brother. Brawl growled, and I backed away from him, but the small helicopter just giggled again.

“Vortex, go back to recharge,” Onslaught said.

“But I’m not tired! And Swindle kicks really hard in recharge,” Vortex whined, gesturing at the unconscious sparkling. How that sparkling managed to stay in recharge with Brawl and Vortex shouting around him, I did not and do not understand.

“I know that sharing a recharger is unpleasant, Vortex, but we don’t have enough Shanix or enough space to get you your own. If you don’t recharge properly, you’ll be at risk for developing a virus that we wouldn’t  be able to afford to treat. Please at least make an effort,” Onslaught said gently. Vortex pouted, but he climbed onto the tiny recharging center regardless. Evidently, he had been lying about not being tired, as, only a few minutes later, he was clearly in recharge. Once he was assured that the youngling was resting, Onslaught turned back to Brawl and me.

“It’s very late, so it would be wise for the three of us to get some rest, too. I’ll see you both in the morning,” he said. With that, he went to his own recharging chamber and was almost immediately dead to the world, leaving my-shudder-new companion and me staring awkwardly at each other.

“Just my luck, havin’ to share a recharger with a prissy little snob,” Brawl muttered.

“I...not like….either,” I replied, mortified by how poor my spoken Neocybex was. Brawl shot me an odd look.

“Why’re you talkin’ funny, Prissy?” he asked. I scowled at him, as I did not at all appreciate him calling me “prissy”. It was hardly my fault that I had been bred to be disgusted by the squalor that these brothers lived in!

“I speak Vosian. I...not good...speaking...Neocybex,” I explained, inwardly fuming at how unfair it was that I was expected to adjust to the language used by these plebeians.

“Oh. Okay then. Which side of the recharger do you want? I ain’t gonna like it regardless, so it don’t matter none to me,” Brawl asked. I idly wondered why he insisted on butchering his own language before replying.

“Left,” I replied. I had no desire to be trapped in between the tank and a wall.

“Fine. Just so you know, Prissy, I snore. Hope you don’t mind,” Brawl said as he got onto his recharging center. I very much did mind, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing I could do but wish fervently that I was anywhere but in the slums of Kaon and follow him to the recharging center. I gingerly joined the tank on the center, glad that the lighting was too poor for me to see how filthy they both probably were, and struggled to enter recharge. It seemed as though every time I was about to do so, Brawl’s engines decided to rumble noisily, and then, as though that wasn’t unpleasant enough, he eventually rolled over in such a way that he pinned my arm to the recharging center’s slab. This was, as one might imagine, quite painful, and I cried out, but no one reacted. Evidently, they were accustomed to recharging through a racket. After what seemed like an eternity of discomfort, exhaustion eventually took over and I fell into recharge.

“Wake up! You have work to do!” I checked my chronometer, and was startled to find that it was only 4:30 in the morning.

“ Suss etiam mane, ” (It’s too early.) I protested. I was not fully awake, and, as such, my CPU had not yet fully registered that I was no longer at home. Then my optics focused, I saw Onslaught, and the events of the previous night rushed back to me. I groaned in a mixture of exhaustion and disgust, and then quickly got to my feet. A quick perusal of the room (my processor simply refused to accept it as a building) revealed that Onslaught, Brawl, and Vortex were already awake. The tiny sparkling was still asleep, but then, he wasn’t even out of his first frame. Clearly, then, and much to my distaste, I was going to have to become an early riser.

“I had better not have to wake you up again, Blast Off. As one of my employers told me, it’s ‘not my job to coddle the hired help’,” Onslaught snapped. The fact that I had been the employer in question made the whole situation even more mortifying.

“Yes, sir,” I replied weakly. I knew that protesting would likely only make my-*shudder*- employer angrier.

“Good. Now, your alternate mode is a shuttle- if a small one- correct?” Onslaught asked.

“Yes, sir. Quare -er,why?” I asked, wondering what my alternate mode had to do with the work that he would expect me to do (whatever that proved to be).

“You have no work experience, and you can barely speak Neocybex. Due to those handicaps, the quickest way for you to get a job is to get you employed as transport of some kind, since, as a shuttle, your alt mode meets the main requirement for that position. Here are the instructions to the transport center; download them to your CPU,”  Onslaught replied as he handed me a small chip. I stared at him, mildly appalled. A noblemech working as transport? It was beneath my dignity!

“Hey, Onslaught, I don’t think Prissy likes that idea,” Brawl observed, sounding mildly amused. Vortex snickered.

“Can I call him Prissy, too?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Sure, kid,” Brawl replied.

“You’re in no position to complain about what they call you, Blast Off; or, for that matter, the job I want you to get…..unless, of course, you’d prefer to find energon and shelter on your own,” Onslaught said coldly. I sighed weakly. Any ludicrous hope I had had that I would be able to maintain a semblance of dignity as the-ugh-unpaid servant of a pauper was effectively dashed by what Onslaught had just told me.

“I….be good, sir.” Onslaught nodded.

“In that case, get going. Brawl and I have our own jobs to get to,” he snapped.

“Energon?” I asked. Surely, they didn’t expect me to go job-hunting on an empty fuel tank! Brawl and Vortex laughed.

“Wow, you’re even dumber than Brawl if you expect energon now! We never get to refuel at this time of the solar cycle!” Vortex exclaimed.

“Dumber than Brawl? I’ll show you dumb, tiny!” Brawl bellowed.

“You always do, bro,” Vortex replied, giggling as he ducked to avoid the punch Brawl threw at him. Such barbarism!

“Enough! Blast Off, not everyone is able to refuel whenever they feel like it. This unit is lucky if we get to refuel once a solar cycle, and at present, I have gone without refueling for three solar cycles. Do you understand?” Onslaught asked. I stared at him in shock, wondering vaguely if this was some sort of joke, before realizing that he was serious. If the unit couldn’t even fuel itself properly, no wonder Onslaught needed my labor! Grimly resigning myself to hunger, I nodded.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Then, for the last time, I will tell you to go find a job. I don’t have time to explain everything to you. Brawl and I have work to get to,” Onslaught said. I nodded and quickly left the hovel, then downloaded the directions to the transport station into my CPU, transformed into my alternate mode, and took off. Roughly forty minutes later, I arrived at my destination, which, although not quite as disgusting as the hovel I was currently living in, was still quite filthy. I transformed, landed, and walked inside the building. The inside was just as filthy as the outside. I reluctantly walked over to the window that was marked as “Employment”. Much to my surprise, I was the only one there, so I winced, swallowed my pride for the millionth time in less than 24 hours, and walked closer to the window. The mech on the other side looked at me with very little interest.

“You a shuttle?” he asked. He had a very strange, slightly echo-y voice.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“You’re awful small for a shuttle,” the mech said. In response, I transformed into my alternate mode, which, although much sleeker than the shuttles typically used for-ugh- transport, was still most definitely a shuttle. Once I was confident that the other mech was convinced that I was, indeed, a shuttle, I returned to my robot mode.

“All right, all right, you’ve made your point. Though why a delicate thing like you is applying to work as a garbage shuttle, I couldn’t begin to guess,” the other mech said. It was at this point that I realized just how much of a grudge Onslaught held against me. It was one thing to expect me to work, but this? This was an entirely different level of humiliating.

“Job,” I replied weakly.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he asked.

“Vosian. Not good at Neocybex,” I replied. His optics brightened in apparent understanding.

“You can’t speak Neocybex? That explains it, then. Garbage transports don’t have to talk much-and given how lithe you are, I think I’ve got a good job for you. You see, the Towers District has been requesting more garbage transports, but they say they think our regular employees look too bulky. A sleek shuttle like you would be the perfect fit, and I can finally get my boss off my back about that. What do you say?” he said. My first instinct was to say “absolutely not”, but then I remembered that my life was very dependent on my getting a job.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to sound absolutely horrified.

“Great! You’re hired! Follow me!” he exclaimed. I complied, and he led me to what appeared to be a hanger of some sort. A few other shuttles, all much larger than me, were milling about. They were all filthy and covered in grime, and I shuddered. My beautiful, clean plating….

“Can you transform for me?” a different mech asked. I did so, and then he started gathering cans of paint.

“What...you doing?” The new mech laughed .

“Repainting you. All garbage transports have a specific color, and you don’t match it yet. That being said, this will probably take awhile, so if you want to take a nap, you can. I’ll wake you up when I’m done,” he said. More out of a desire to escape my situation than anything else, I decided to take his advice. I was reawoken about forty-five minutes later.

“All right, I’m done. You can go ahead and transform back into robot mode now,” the second mech said. I complied, and had to hold back a nervous breakdown. My beautiful purple-and-white coloration had been replaced with a hideous shade of brown, and my family crest had been painted over and replaced with Neocybex lettering that read “Garbage Disposal”. Once I had calmed down from panic to mild disgust, I turned to the second mech.

“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t feel thankful at all, but it seemed prudent not to let him know that. The mech smiled.

“No problem,” he replied. He walked off, and the mech who had hired me walked up and took his place, then handed me a chip similar to the one Onslaught had given me earlier.

“Here’s your schedule. Your shift starts at 6 and ends at 5. You make 12 Shanix per day; if you’re late to any of the pickups, it comes out of your pay. Any extra Shanix you earn will come from tips. Any questions?” he said rapidly.

“I...start now?” I asked.

“No, you start tomorrow. That way, you have some time to go over the schedule, though I guess you’ll have to find someone to read it for you if you don’t understand Neocybex very well,” he replied. I didn’t bother to tell the mech that I could read Neocybex just fine; there didn’t seem to be much point.

“I...go home?” I asked. I felt very relieved that I was not going to be immediately thrust into a humiliating, unfamiliar work environment.

“Yeah, you can go home now. But if you aren’t back here by 6 AM sharp tomorrow, you’re fired. Got it?” the mech replied.

“Yes, sir,” I replied. With that, I left the transport station, transformed into my vehicle mode, pulled up the directions that I had used to get to the station, and then simply reversed the directions in order to get back to Onslaught’s hovel. (One of the benefits of being a shuttle is the fact that we all possess a natural skill for navigation.) Upon my arrival, I returned to robot mode and knocked on the door, which was opened by none other than the tiny sparkling.

“Hi,” he said. He seemed a bit bemused, but not particularly frightened. A few seconds later, Vortex joined him at the door.

“That’s the shuttle I told you about, Stumpy, the one who showed up last night when you were in recharge. His name is Blast Off, but Brawl and I call him Prissy because he used to be Onslaught’s boss, back when you were even littler than you are now. He used to be really rich, and he still thinks he’s better than us, but something bad happened to him and now Onslaught says he’s the “hired help”, and that means he has to do what we say. Ain’t that right, Prissy?”

“Yes,” I replied, still a bit shell-shocked by the fact that I-the wealthiest noblemech of Vos-now had to take orders from two filthy little brats.

“Onslaught must think you’ll make a lot of Shanix.” Unbelievably, this particular comment came out of the mouth of the tiny sparkling.

“What?” I asked.

“If you’re living with us, we’ll have to buy energon for you, which will increase our expenses. If Onslaught’s letting you stay anyway, it must be because you’ll bring in enough energy to cover the difference-and also make a net profit,” the little sparkling replied. I stared at him in utter bewilderment. What sort of sparkling had that level of understanding of economics?

“Onslaught says that Stumpy’s an “economics prodigy”,” Vortex explained, as though sensing my confusion.

“I see,” I replied. It was rather unfortunate for Onslaught, then-but quite fortunate for me, conditions being what they were-that the sparkling was far too young to be employed full-time (even in a cesspool like Kaon).

“What are you doing back here so early, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be getting a job?” Vortex demanded.

“I...got job. Job starts tomorrow,” I explained quickly.

“Oh. Okay. See you later, Prissy. Stumpy and I have stuff to do,” Vortex exclaimed. He grabbed his younger brother by the hand and proceeded to pull him outside.

“You go to school?” I asked.

“School?” Vortex and “Stumpy” echoed, apparently perplexed, which in turn puzzled me. Surely a youngling and a prodigy knew what a school was.

“Learning place,” I explained. Vortex frowned.

“We know what school is, dummy. We just don’t know why you think we go to school,” Vortex replied.

“Schools cost money, and Onslaught can’t afford to send us,” the sparkling added. This shocked me. Apparently, my assumption that public education was available across the entirety of Cybertron was mistaken.

“Where going?” I asked.

“Out,” Vortex replied. Before I could ask any more questions, both the youngling and the sparkling scampered away and disappeared. After a few seconds of worry that Onslaught would be upset that I had not kept an optic on them, I quickly realized that, since Brawl and Onslaught both worked, and I hadn’t lived with them until very recently, they were accustomed to Vortex and Swindle taking care of themselves in spite of their youth...and in truth, they were both probably more street savvy than I could ever hope to be. Unfortunately, with their departure, I was left alone in the tiny, filthy hovel, with little to do except reflect on my thoroughly unpleasant situation. Starting the following day, I-a noblemech of Vos!-would be working 11 hours every day as a garbage transport, all so I could pay my former employee for the “privilege” of living in a hovel and sharing a recharging center with a loudly-snoring, filthy tank. How had I been reduced to this? Overwhelmed by the blatant unfairness of it all, I started to weep. Why me? After I finished wallowing in (very deserved) self-pity, I finally downloaded the schedule that I had been given at the transport station, which promptly created yet another cause for self-pity. Because the universe apparently has it out for me, the last stop on the schedule was Amabilia Manor, the estate of my sponsa (betrothed), Illusion of the Furtim Line. In other words, there was a very real chance that Illusion, whom I was still quite fond of, would see me working on her estate as a garbage shuttle ! What had I done to deserve that? A few hours of alternatively wallowing some more in self-pity, vaguely wondering if I was supposed to be responsible for cleaning the interior of the hovel, and trying to ignore my ever-lowering fuel levels later, Vortex and the little yellow sparkling returned with a handful of Shanix and one (very small) energon cube.

“How... you get that?” I asked.

“Stumpy. I dirty him up a little, set him in full view of passersby, have him make his sad face, and bam! Instant Shanix. Nobody can resist helping out a poor, starving orphan, after all. It’s great!” Vortex explained. Wonderful. I was living with a pair of miniature con artists.

“I hate it. Why don’t you ever have to be the orphan?” the tiny sparkling said.

“Because I’m a warbuild, and thus, not small or cute enough to get sympathy. For some reason, you were the only one of us our creator didn’t design as a warbuild, so you have to do the cutesy stuff. Besides, you’re a better actor than I am,” Vortex replied.

“But I have to do all the work!”

“No, you don’t! When your cute face doesn’t bring in enough Shanix, I make up the difference by raiding their subspace containers while they’re distracted. How do you think we got the energon cube today, magic?” Vortex replied. Oh, terrific. One of them was a thief as well. However, much to my surprise, rather than keeping the Shanix for themselves, the pair instead deposited it in a container located under Onslaught’s recharger. The box was largely empty and lined only with a thin layer of Shanix, which puzzled me. Even considering the fact that neither Onslaught nor Brawl was likely to have a particularly well-paying job, it seemed like they should have more Shanix than that. With two grown mechs (soon, I reflected sadly, to be three) working full-time, why were their savings so limited, and why did they have to ration energon so strictly? The answer to that question arrived a few minutes later, when a large red-and-white mech stormed into the hovel, prompting shrieks of fear from Vortex and the sparkling, who both  promptly ran to hide behind me.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“An Enforcer. Do whatever he says,” Vortex explained, clearly ill at ease. Given how confident he had been previously, this was rather alarming.

“All right, Empties. Pay up!” the Enforcer exclaimed aggressively. In response, Vortex ran over to the Shanix container, handed it to me, and instructed me to hand it to the Enforcer, which I did. The sparkling started crying into my leg, and for the first time, I actually felt a pang of sympathy for the two of them. If I was terrified, it had to be even worse for a youngling and a sparkling. The Enforcer emptied the container into what appeared to be his personal subspace compartment and then scowled.

“Is that all the Shanix you have?” he demanded. I looked at Vortex, who nodded. In response, the Enforcer proceeded to upend the hovel, apparently in search of any hidden Shanix, and totally destroying one of the chairs. My fuel pump felt like it was beating out of my chest, and my spark constricted in terror. After what seemed like an eternity, but, according to my chronometer, was actually only five minutes, he stopped tearing the hovel apart, now apparently having determined that Vortex had told the truth. Then he stomped over to me.

“Tell Onslaught that if he doesn’t have at least fifty shanix waiting for me next time, I’ll take your two youngest brothers as payment instead. There’s a titanium mine that would pay hundreds of shanix for a couple of slaves who are small enough to fit in those hard-to-reach crevices,” he said threateningly. With that, he grabbed the energon cube, downed it in one gulp, dropped it back onto the floor, and stormed out of the hovel. As soon as he was gone, I found myself awkwardly attempting to comfort a sobbing sparkling while also trying to work out what, exactly, had just happened. After a few seconds, I gave up and decided to just ask Vortex.

“What happened?”

“I told you that guy was an enforcer, right? Well, all of the Enforcers work for Lord Straxus and make sure he gets to stay the boss. Because of that, they can do whatever they want-short of trying to overthrow him, that is-and almost all of them eventually set up this thingy they call a “patrol fee”, which is a fancy way of saying that they can come into your home and take as much of your Shanix as they like, and you can’t do anything to stop them...unless you wanna get thrown in prison. And if you can’t meet the fee they want for whatever reason, they’ll throw you into debtor’s prison or sell you into slavery,” Vortex explained. This, as one might imagine, was less than comforting news. While it certainly explained the desperate poverty of Onslaught’s unit, the revelation that most of my earnings wouldn’t benefit me even remotely was even more disgusting and unpleasant than the fact that I was expected to work as garbage transport in order to earn them in the first place. Once the sparkling finally stopped sobbing, I reorganized the hovel to the best of my (very limited) ability, as Vortex watched with very irritating amusement. I was trying my best! It was not as though I had ever personally had to reorganize a room before! As soon as he was convinced that his home was (more or less) back in order, Vortex started heading for the exit again, dragging his younger brother behind him.

“No! I’m n-not going out again! The Enforcer might still be around, and if he catches us begging, he might put us in jail!” the sparkling said, clearly terrified. His huge optics somehow seemed even wider than usual. Vortex laughed.

“C’mon, Stumpy. They’ve never caught us before,” he said, remarkably boldly, I thought, for a youngling who had been hiding behind my leg, in apparent fear of an Enforcer, not thirty minutes before.

“‘“M not going. Enforcers are scary,” the sparkling replied, suddenly sounding a lot more like what I had expected a sparkling still in his first frame to sound than a business mech.

“Only if they’re close enough to hurt you. If they don’t know where we are or what we’re doing- which they won’t-they’re no threat,” Vortex replied. In response, the sparkling latched onto my leg again, much to my mild disgust. Although I pitied the pair, I had no desire for them to be putting their filthy hands on me on a regular basis.

“You can’t make me. The Enforcer is too close! And if you do, I’m gonna tell Onslaught,” the sparkling said. Vortex scowled.

“Fine! Stupid sparkling,” he exclaimed. With that, he pouted and sat down on his recharging center. It was at this point that I realized that I had not yet learned the sparkling’s name (or, for that matter, how old he was). Onslaught had told it to me the previous night, but I had subsequently totally forgotten it.

“Name? How old?” I asked the sparkling.

“Swindle. I’m five stellar cycles old,” he replied. “Swindle” seemed like an odd name for a sparkling, but then again, “Onslaught” and “Brawl” weren’t exactly names that I would have imagined a creator giving to their creations either. Perhaps it had something to do with what their creators were like. Since three out of the four brothers were war-builds, it seemed likely that at least one, if not both, of them were also war-builds, amongst whom such names might be common. My curiosity having been aroused, I decided to continue questioning the sparkling to see if I could obtain any further information about Onslaught’s unit.

“Creators?” I asked. Much to my surprise, it was Vortex who answered. I had assumed that he was too street-savvy to trust me with such information, but evidently I had either overestimated him, or he did not think that the information was important.

“Our male creator was named Dragline and our female creator was named Highwall. They were miners and they died in a cave-in two solar cycles after Stumpy was brought online. He doesn’t remember them at all, and I was only three stellar cycles old, so I only remember little bits and pieces. Brawl was eleven stellar cycles when the cave-in happened, and Onslaught was thirteen, so they remember more,” he explained.

“Other members of house?” I asked.

“Well, there was Dragline’s brother, Onslaught. He was a soldier, but he was offlined in battle a long time ago, I think before Brawl came online. Our Onslaught’s named after him,” Vortex replied. Stunned, I started performing some mental calculations. If Onslaught the elder was the only member of their house besides their creators, and he and their creators had all gone offline by the time Onslaught had reached the age of thirteen stellar cycles, that meant two things. First, Onslaught had been raising his three younger brothers, alone, since he was thirteen, and second, if he had been thirteen when Swindle had just come online, and Swindle was five stellar cycles old now, that meant that he was currently only eighteen stellar cycles old, barely any older than me. I had thought he was at least thirty-five stellar cycles!

“I see,” I replied at last. The next several hours passed largely uneventfully (especially in comparison to the shocks that the morning had provided), and, around 7:00 in the evening, Brawl returned to the hovel. (His approach was so loud that I heard him coming several minutes before he actually arrived.) Upon his arrival, he immediately collapsed into one of the chairs, looking absolutely exhausted.

“Hey, Brawl, how was work?” Vortex asked.

“Long. Did Prissy get a job?” Brawl replied.

“Yep. He starts work tomorrow,” Vortex said.

“You stay out of trouble, Tiny?” Brawl asked. Vortex smirked.

“Of course, bro. Stumpy and I would never do anything that would get us in trouble.” Brawl snorted. Clearly, he knew better than to believe his brothers.

“And what really happened?”

 “We got ten Shanix and an energon cube from our usual methods, but then the Enforcer broke in and took all of it, so now we’ve got nothin’ again. I hope you picked up some extra shanix today, ‘cause if not, none of us are gonna get to refuel, and I’m hungry,” Vortex explained.

‘Lousy no-good Enforcers. Ain’t like we got any Shanix worth stealin’,” Brawl muttered.

“How much Shanix did you earn, Brawl? I’m hungry too,” Swindle asked. In response, Brawl actually gave what passed for a smile; which was much more terrifying than his scowls.

“10, plus 6 extra I spent on energon,” he said. Vortex and Swindle cheered, and even I felt a sense of relief. Admittedly, it was disgraceful that I- a noblemech!-felt relief at the prospect of something so basic as being able to consume fuel, but it was still better than dying of fuel deprivation. Vortex started pawing at his older brother, likely in search of the energon.

“None of that, tiny. Nobody’s refuelin’ till Onslaught gets back,” Brawl said. Vortex pouted, but didn’t argue, instead choosing to kick me in the shin to relieve his frustration.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed. Vortex giggled, and I glared at him. Why had I felt sympathy for the filthy little youngling, again? I elected to ignore him and turned my attention to Brawl instead.

“Where...work?” I asked.

“Construction. Ain’t many jobs for a stupid tank like me, but I can lift stuff pretty good. So long as I can do that, my boss don’t care that I’m not so bright and don’t have no ed-you-cay-shun,” Brawl replied tersely. (I am not exaggerating his pronunciation of the word “education”, by the way. That’s exactly the way that he said the word.)

“No...school?” I asked.

“Not really. Our creators worked real hard to make sure that they could send Onslaught and me, but I only went for a stellar cycle. Teachers said I was too stupid to learn anything, and so my creators took me out ‘cause it was too expensive to spend Shanix on school for me if I wasn’t gonna be learnin’ nothin’. My female creator tried to teach me some after that, but she was always real busy, so I never did learn much before our creators died. Onslaught’s real ed-you-cated, though. His teachers said he was the brightest student in his level, and he always made real high scores. Our creators were so proud of him. He was ‘posed to be our ticket outta bein’ poor, seein’ as he was so smart and all. His teachers even said he could probably get a scholarship to Kaon’s Military Academy, but a stellar cycle before that could happen, our creators were killed, and he had to drop out to provide for Vortex and Swindle and me. Don’t bring that up around him, though. Makes him mad,” Brawl explained. I had a feeling that this was the longest that I would hear Brawl speak for a very long time. He didn’t seem particularly chatty by nature. The fact that he didn’t say another word until Onslaught arrived at the hovel about an hour later, even as his younger brothers chatted nonstop around him about a variety of inane topics, proved my suspicion correct. Upon Onslaught’s arrival, he took one look at the room and then glared at me.

“What happened here?” he demanded.

“I...sorry, sir! Not...clean...before,” I apologized. Onslaught didn’t look appeased.

“It wasn’t really Prissy’s fault, Onslaught. An enforcer showed up and tore the place apart looking for Shanix other than the ones in our container. Prissy was just too stupid to know how to put things back right,” Vortex said. Normally, I would have glared at him, but I was too relieved that he was defending me to really care whether or not he was calling me an idiot (which, for the record, I am most certainly not.)

“An enforcer? Are you two all right?” Onslaught asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine, but the Enforcer said that if we didn’t have at least fifty shanix when he came next time, he’d take me and Stumpy as payment instead,” Vortex replied. In response, Onslaught sat down on his recharging center (remember, there wasn’t-and, sadly, isn’t- that much room in the filthy hovel) and buried his faceplates in his hands, clearly quite upset.

“He said WHAT?” Brawl exclaimed as he jumped out of his seat, so loudly that I am surprised my audio receptors weren’t burnt out. Vortex repeated his explanation, and Brawl collapsed back into his chair, his anger evidently spent. Onslaught, for his part, turned to me.

“Did you get the job?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to think about how horrible the job was.

“Good,” Onslaught said, sounding utterly exhausted. Then the little sparkling walked over to him, huge optics filled with worry.

“If we don’t give him enough Shanix to pay his “patrol fee”, the Enforcer’s gonna take us away! You won’t let that happen, will you, Onslaught? I don’t wanna be taken away by an Enforcer. They scare me,” Swindle asked.

“I most certainly will not allow that to happen, even if it means working even more shifts than I currently do. Nothing is going to pull this unit apart,” Onslaught replied firmly. At this, Swindle seemed to relax. I, on the other hand, still felt nervous. No matter how hard Brawl, Onslaught, and- *sigh* -I worked, I did not see how it was possible for us to be able to purchase energon and consistently maintain at least fifty shanix for the enforcer on our meager salaries.

“Now can we refuel? I’m hungry,” Vortex asked.

“Yes,” Onslaught replied. With that, he, Vortex, and Swindle joined Brawl at the table (which was, like the rest of the furniture, rather worse for wear), and Brawl retrieved four energon cubes from his storage compartment. One was split between Swindle and Vortex, one was taken by Onslaught, and one was taken by Brawl. Assuming that the last one was mine, I reached for it...only to have my hand slapped by Onslaught.

“You are the hired help, remember? You fuel after we are finished,” he snapped. My circuits heated up with embarrassment, but I retreated back to “my” recharging center and sat down on it to wait anyway. While it was humiliating for me-a noblemech!-to be treated like a servant by my own ex-employee-a desperately poor pauper, no less-I could not afford to raise a fuss. Luckily, Onslaught’s unit refueled remarkably quickly, so I was able to refuel myself less than thirty minutes later….only to immediately gag. The taste was disgusting!

“Energon...bad,” I choked out. Onslaught gave out a harsh laugh.

“I would advise you to get used to it. It may not taste like the delicacies you’re used to, but it’ll keep you alive, and it’s all we can afford,” he said sharply. Although I hated to admit it, he made a good point, and so I forced myself to consume the fuel despite its taste. After all, for all I knew, it might be solar cycles before I could refuel again. Not long after I finished, Onslaught sent Swindle and Vortex to recharge. Both complained extensively, but eventually gave in, and were in recharge in only a few minutes. This being accomplished, Onslaught collapsed onto his own recharging center and was immediately offline to the world, and Brawl followed suit. Clearly, both of them had been absolutely exhausted, and that did not bode well for the career that I would be starting the next day. It was only 8:45 in the evening! Was I going to be that exhausted from work every solar cycle for the rest of my life? However, I still joined Brawl on the recharging center a few minutes later. If I was going to have to wake myself up at 4:30 in the morning, I needed as much rest as I could get. I set an internal alarm to ensure that I wouldn’t oversleep and anger Onslaught again, and tried to ignore Brawl’s loud snoring. I fell into recharge after what felt like an hour (but likely wasn’t). Luckily, the alarm worked, and I was woken promptly at 4:30, then left Onslaught’s hovel to head to my first solar cycle on the job (shudder). I arrived at the transport station at 5:10, and sat around awkwardly for twenty minutes, then departed for the first stop on my schedule. (I definitely did not want to have my pay docked for showing up late, so I felt that it was wise to depart early.) I arrived at the first of the manors of the Towers District at 5:50 and sat around awkwardly once again. At about 5:56, a mech whom I assumed was one of the manor’s servants arrived with a garbage container. I winced, tried not to think about what I had been reduced to, and then opened the door to my cargo bay. The servant then deposited the garbage into my interior, and I shuddered. It was so unfair! I hadn’t been built for work like this! Once he finished emptying the container (into my interior!), he pulled out a few Shanix.

“Hey, you! Transform so I can give you your tip,” he said. I complied with an intense feeling of humiliation. Why me?

“T-thank you,” I stammered, hoping my mortification wasn’t too obvious. The servant handed me the Shanix, and I put it into my subspace compartment. (Shuttles actually have two, one which stores the cargo they can carry in alternate mode, and one which is for personal use.)

“No problem. My boss really appreciates your streamlined design, so he decided to reward it. He says it’s much more “aesthetically pleasing” than the other shuttles he sees,” the servant replied. I nodded, reverted to my shuttle mode, and then took off for my next stop. For the next eleven stops, nothing particularly interesting happened, though my beautiful plating quickly became covered in filth and grime. I did receive tips at all eleven of these stops, evidently because of the sleekness of my alternate mode. I had no idea if this would be a regular occurrence or not, but I wasn’t about to complain about it. The more Shanix I made, the more reason Onslaught would have to keep me around. While it was still humiliating to be tipped like a servant, it was preferable to the alternatives, so I planned to keep my mouth firmly shut on the matter. However, the thirteenth and last stop was not so uneventful (sadly). The flight between the twelfth stop and the manor of Illusion was shorter than the flights between most of the other estates, which meant that I arrived early. Although one of the servants was ready with the garbage (and my tip) when I got there, this meant that I had a full hour before I was expected to deposit the garbage at the dump. As such, I found myself standing around awkwardly on the grounds of the estate, listening to the servant talk about various things.

“Sure, they’re a bit stuck-up, but they’re not that bad, all things considered. And in speaking of not bad, the Lord’s daughter is a beaut...and whaddaya know, she’s come out on the grounds with some of her friends now. Aren’t they lovely? Of course, they’re way out of our league, but a mech can dream,” he said. My circuits heated up in humiliation. I had been betrothed to Illusion less than five solar cycles ago, and now she was “out of my league”?

“Yes,” I said quietly. He grinned.

“Well, I gotta run. Have fun watching the lifestyles of the rich and famous,” he said. With that, he left me and went back inside the manor, and I turned my attention to the conversation Illusion was having with her friends.

“Is your betrothal off then, Illusion?” one of the friends asked (I believe her name is Argenti.) Illusion sighed.

“I don’t know. Blast Off hasn’t so much as called me in three solar cycles, and the King of Vos says he hasn’t seen him for awhile, That doesn’t seem like him,” she replied. I sighed. It was official. The Universe hated me.

“Well, if this is his way of calling off your engagement, then I’d say you dodged a laser blast,” Aurum, another of her friends said.

“No kidding. If he doesn’t appreciate someone like you, he’s crazy,” Argenti added.

“But I know him, Argenti. He’s a bit arrogant, but he’s not inconsiderate of me. He likes me! He would never just fail to call me for three solar cycles. Something must be wrong,” Illusion replied. As you might imagine, I was more than a little relieved that Illusion, at least, didn’t think that I was some sort of irresponsible cad.

“I’ll say something’s wrong. Your conjunx-to-be is a creep,” Aurum said. Suddenly, a blue-and-white mech appeared out of nowhere, prompting shrieks from the females. I recognized him as Mirage, Illusion’s cousin. I had met him once or twice at dinner parties.

“Mirage! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” Illusion exclaimed. Mirage laughed .

“Is that any way to talk to your favorite cousin?” he asked.

“Mirage, you’re my only cousin,” she replied.

“Technicalities. And I have to say, I agree with Aurum. If Blast Off doesn’t appreciate how beautiful you are, he doesn’t deserve you,” Mirage said.

“Me? Beautiful? That’s why suitors have been beating down my door, I suppose,” Illusion replied dryly.

“They don’t know you’re available again yet, cousin dear,” Mirage said.

“And they won’t be the only ones chasing you. I think that garbage mech is sweet on you, Illusion! He hasn’t taken his optics off of you since Tersus left,” Argenti exclaimed.

“And no wonder! You’re probably the first clean, beautiful thing he’s seen in a stellar cycle,” Aurum added. She, Argenti, and Mirage laughed.

“He would certainly make for an interesting story, at least...and you could use the smell to scare off all the other suitors!” Argenti said. This conversation, as you might imagine, was mortifying, and I decided to make myself scarce. I headed for the edge of the estate, hoping that I would no longer be able to overhear the conversation. Much to my surprise, however, Illusion actually followed me to the edge of the estate.

“I’m so sorry for what my friends said about you. You weren’t causing any harm, and….Blast Off?” she exclaimed. Apparently, being covered in grime and wearing hideous brown paint was not sufficient to prevent my sponsalia from recognizing me.

“ Ita ,” (Yes.) I replied quietly.

“ Quid tibi accessit? Ubi eras?’ (What happened to you? Where have you been?)

“ Me expulso rege fictis maiestatis criminibus. Et comprehenderunt omnia mia. Ego autem in Kaon cum pristini ... servum suum servo suo ut nihil minus. Qui autem pauperrimus, et sicut tale, et iussit ut reperio a officium ad terminos occursum. Est nimis ignominia.” (The king banished me on false charges of treason. He seized everything I own. Now I am living in Kaon with my former servant…as his servant, no less. He is very poor, and as such, he ordered me to find a job to make ends meet. It’s very humiliating.) I explained.

“ O, non! Quod sonos terribilis! Quid facere possum?” (Oh, no! That sounds terrible! What can I do?)

“ Proelio nostros dicere videmur. Non possum non enutriet, et non aliquid incorruptelam possidebit.” (I think we should call off our engagement. I can no longer support you, and you will not inherit anything,) I replied. Because Illusion had an elder sister, Apparition, she would inherit very little from her creators. As the younger child, her fortunes were dependent on picking a suitable Conjunx Endura. I, sadly, no longer fit the criteria.

“ Non curo illud! Te amo,” (I don’t care about that! I love you.) she exclaimed

“ Ego autem en uno-locus, magno cum quattuor aliss. Opus mihi quotidie horas undecim. Ibi sus ‘nunquam satis cibum. Illic est non satis manducare. Non possum facere vobis.” (I am living in a one-room hovel with four other mechs. I have to work eleven hours every solar cycle. There’s never enough energon. If you become my conjunx endura, you’ll have to slave away just to stay alive, too. I can’t do that to you.) I said. As horrible as it felt to call off my engagement, I couldn’t drag Illusion into the desperate poverty that I had somehow found myself in. It wouldn’t be fair to her, and living with a Conjunx Endura that I was unable to support would have been unbearably humiliating. Illusion frowned, but then nodded, apparently having realized the full costs of becoming my Conjunx Endura.

“ Saltem accipe pecuniam,” (At least let me give you some money) she said. Then she handed me a pile worth about 500 Shanix. Part of me wanted to reject it, but knowledge of my dire situation won out.

“ Optime. Gratias tibi,” (Very well. Thank you.) I replied.

“ Gratias. Bona fortuna,” (You’re welcome. Good luck.) she said. I deposited the Shanix in my subspace compartment, bid Illusion farwell, and then transformed into my alternate mode and departed from her estate. I dropped off the garbage at the dump, flew back to the transport station, where I received my (pitiful) wages, and then returned to Onslaught’s slum. Swindle and Vortex were waiting there for me.

“How many Shanix did you earn?” Swindle asked.

“Twelve. Thirteen...tips. 500...female,” I replied.

“500? We’re rich!” Vortex exclaimed. I deposited the Shanix in the container, as Swindle and Vortex enthusiastically speculated about what they would do with it all. About an hour later, Brawl returned home, deposited his earnings in the same container....and then stared at his younger brothers and me in shock.

“Where’d we get so much Shanix?” he asked loudly.

“Apparently, a girl gave Prissy a bunch of Shanix for some reason, and now we’re rich!” Vortex replied.

“That true?” Brawl asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

‘Huh. Maybe you ain’t as bad as I thought, Prissy,’ Brawl said. Coming from him, this was high praise indeed. Onslaught, upon his return to the hovel, was just as surprised.

“How did you manage to get this much Shanix?” he asked.

“Can’t explain...Neocybex. Don’t speak well,” I replied. Onslaught shrugged.

“I suppose that it doesn’t matter where we got it so long as we have it,” he said. That was all he said on the matter, and for most of the evening he treated me with the same hostility of the previous two nights. However, after his brothers had entered recharge, he walked over to me and actually gave me a look of what seemed to be respect.

“You’ve worked all day without a single complaint, and you managed to bring more than 500 shanix to my home with you...more than enough to keep Swindle and Vortex safe from the Enforcers the next time they come by. For that, I suppose I should thank you. I still don’t like you, but you’ve proven that you can earn your keep. You’re still our servant, but you’re now a member of the unit, which means that I’m not kicking you out. You do good work,” he said. With that, he went to his own recharging center and was quickly dead to the world, leaving me to my thoughts. As much as I hated the life I was now stuck in, at least I was no longer utterly hated by the mech whom I depended on for shelter. That, at least, was a positive development, and it is one that has stuck. The past six lunar cycles have been dreadfully humiliating, but at least there is one glimmer of hope. If I could win over Onslaught and his unit, then maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance that all of us might be able to escape the festering wound that is Kaon.