#horror alternate universe transformers

[lets-try-some-writing]

Emergency Protocols

Cybertronians cannot be alone. To be alone is a death sentence. There is a reason they travel in groups, and with the war in its last gasp, their numbers are dangerously low on both sides.

Faced with a fate far worse than mere death, things are tense. Unfortunately, both sides are forced to endure a rude and horrific wakeup call when the first of many falls victim to the process they had all hoped to escape.

(Big warning for robogore.)

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“I apologize, Mrs. Darby. I am afraid I cannot abide by your wishes.” Optimus stood firmly, his expression dark in a way Jack had never seen before. Next to him, Ratchet watched the scene like a hawk, his eyes bright and intense to such a degree that Jack involuntarily felt himself shuddering. The rest of the Autobots also seemed frozen as they observed in quiet grimness that was so unlike them that it was almost frightening.

Something had changed over the last few months. Ever since the Darkmount incident, the team had been… off. Jack didn’t claim to be any sort of expert, but it didn’t take a degree to see that the bots were more somber. Even Smokescreen, the most excitable of the group, spent more and more of his time pacing. Every single bot was out of sorts, always hanging around the main part of the hangar and never wandering far unless directly ordered by Optimus. Arcee wouldn’t even drive Jack home anymore. Jack, Miko, and Raf were almost always taken home by his Mom or by Fowler.

The worst part, at least in Jack’s opinion, was the way the bots always stopped to stare whenever he and his friends left. Whatever they were doing halted immediately and they all paused, watching critically as they left the hangar to get a ride back into Jasper with Fowler more often than not. It was a small detail, but oftentimes they seemed twitchy when it came time for Jack, Miko, and Raf to head to and from school.

They were almost upset by it, if Jack had to guess.

“You are NOT taking the kids to go talk to Megatron of all people! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Jack wanted to flinch as his Mom screamed, her face contorted in rage so bright it almost had Jack wishing he could shuffle away. But of course, he knew that wasn’t an option. The situation was tense enough that even Miko was quiet as she held Raf’s arm, trying to find some comfort as the scene unfolded.

“You already keep them here overnight whenever you can! And now you want to bring them out to face the giant metal beacon of DEATH that almost took over the world?!” His Mom’s voice echoed in the base, but not a single one of the bots moved. They all stood quietly, stiffly, even as they observed. All that could possibly be picked up from them was the faint sounds of their engines running and the ever-so-slight twitching of their eyes.

The bots had always been clingy. Jack had never been able to figure out why they’d tried to shoo him and his friends away only to then refuse to let them go anywhere when they had a say in things. Looking back, it was like a switch had been flipped. The bots never let him or the others wander far. They were always observed and always requested that they stay at base longer whenever it was feasible. It almost seemed desperate now that Jack thought about it. The way Arcee seemed reluctant to let him go when she drove him home. The look Bulkhead shared with Bumblebee when Miko and Rafael were similarly ordered to be brought back to their families. The strange expression of terror on Smokescreen’s face whenever Jack and his friends left for the evening…

Whatever was going on was finally about to reach its peak. Jack could feel it.

“I apologize, Mrs. Darby. We need the children. We cannot allow them to leave unless they are traveling with us.” Optimus’s voice was surprisingly quiet as he finally spoke up. Almost too quiet. A faint rattle in his words left Jack nervous more than anything else. How often had he ever seen Optimus upset? Once maybe? Even then, it was moreso a look of surprise. 

“What in heaven’s name could you possibly need my son and two innocent kids for? Bait?” His Mom’s retort was venomous, so much so that Raf stepped close to Jack on instinct. He didn’t think too hard about holding the younger boy’s hand and pulling Miko slightly behind him as Optimus’s eyes shrank down, the tiny pinpricks of glowing blue becoming smaller than ever before.

“We need the children. They are of us now. We cannot allow even one of our number to leave our sight, not like this, not right now.” Optimus twitched violently. His entire body seemed to lurch as he gripped the railing of the platform, putting Jack and the rest on the Prime’s level. The metal creaked, groaning under his strength as Optimus’s head tilted ever so slowly, his antennae drawn back in an almost aggressive manner.

Jack fought back the urge to run as he watched the rest of the bots crowd around, each of them staring quietly and in obvious agreement with their leader’s words. What was going on?

“Optimus, what’s going on?” Miko finally spoke up, her voice shaking with a hint of a whine as she looked between the Prime, Jack’s Mom, and the rest of the bots. He almost wanted to smack her for speaking up and possibly drawing more attention to them, but he couldn’t find the strength to do anything other than pull Miko closer to himself proactively. Whatever was going on here was beyond them.

“Miko, Jack, Rafael… I am sorry you were the ones wrapped up into this… but I will not risk my people dying. I refuse to condemn one of my own to the fate that awaits us if we are left alone.” Optimus twitched again, this time so violently that a crack echoed in the base. Jack winced but didn’t dare to move as Ratchet pulled Optimus back, his eyes never once leaving Jack and his friends.

“June, give them to us now. We aren’t asking, this is a demand.” Jack’s heart beat faster in his chest as Ratchet took Optimus’s place, holding out a hand and glaring at all of them like they’d personally offended him. Jack paused, too afraid to move, until Rafael tugged on his arm, gesturing toward Ratchet’s waiting hand. Miko seemed hesitant, but she was the first to obey and hurry over to the team medic. Jack didn’t have enough courage to tell her not to.

“Jack, Miko, Raf, don’t you three dare.” His Mom’s eyes were wide and filled with fear. Jack wanted to run, he wanted to scream. But what was he supposed to do? The bots were all so much stronger than them, and from the looks of it, they were willing to do just about anything to get their way.

“Mom, calm down. The bots have always brought us back from dangerous situations safely. This is pretty much the same, right?” Jack tried to soothe his Mom, but he felt a deep dread settle in his stomach as he finally got onto Ratchet’s hand, soon sitting with Raf and Miko pressed up against his sides as the tower giant that called himself a medic began to step toward the rest of the bots. 

Jack was only given a moment to see his Mom’s terrified face before Ratchet’s fingers curled enough that he couldn’t see. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Jack, do you think we are going to be alright? The bots… aren’t going to hurt us, are they?” Rafael clung to Jack’s side like a little kid, which he arguably was. Jack wrapped an arm around him in what he hoped was a comforting manner as he felt Ratchet begin to walk. 

“They haven’t hurt us before. I don’t think they are going to start now. Besides, this whole thing seems off. They seem to just want us around like some sort of good luck charm.” He attempted to comfort the younger boy, but Raf didn’t seem all that at ease. Jack couldn’t blame him, especially when Miko was sitting quietly for once, her eyes glued on the light of the groundbridge.

“They will be returned safely once talks with Megatron have concluded.” Optimus reassured Jack’s Mom again, but it did little to ease her. Jack could still hear her crying out as the team stepped through the groundbridge, Ratchet still holding all three of them protectively.

The moment they arrived on the other side, Ratchet’s fingers parted just enough that Jack could see through the gaps.

“Prime! You’ve finally arrived.” Megatron stood on top of the nearest rock formation, a legion of Vehicons all around and on the ground beneath him. Soundwave and Starscream stood at his sides, both watching with grim expressions. What happened to all the vicious eagerness Jack had witnessed time and time again when he’d gotten wrapped up in the bots war?

“Megatron, I appreciate your cooperation.” Optimus stepped forward, speaking for the entire group. Oddly enough, the entire team of Autobots huddled close together, each of them looking a second away from surging into action or having a panic attack. Smokescreen and Bumblebee seemed especially stressed, both hovering near one of the bigger bots for support. Ultra Magnus became a bit of a beacon as Optimus left the group. Arcee, Bulkhead, Bee, Smokescreen, and even Wheeljack all crowded around the Commander.

Ratchet remained about a foot or two away from the Autobot huddle pile, for which Jack was grateful since it gave him a good view of whatever was going on.

“Doc, what’s happening?” Miko called up to Ratchet, looking far more terrified than Jack had ever seen her. Miko was always one for battle and excitement, but the strange, unsettling aura of trepidation was evidently getting to her. Rafael wasn’t much better as he clung to Jack’s side, not even adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose.

Ratchet did not see fit to answer Miko’s question.

“Have you come to surrender at last?” Megatron cackled, his evil grin on full display. Jack personally wanted to cringe at the sheer ego expressed in Warlord’s tone, but he was more worried about how the bots were reacting. There was no anger, not even a hint of combat readiness. They just… huddled.

“No. But I come to bargain for peace.” Optimus raised his hands, not in surrender, but something more… friendly? Jack didn’t really have another way to describe it as the Prime kept his back to the team, watching Megatron like a hawk.

“There is no bargaining to be done here, Prime. I will accept nothing less than complete and total surrender.” Megatron raised his blaster, his grin unwavering. Again, Jack wanted to cringe or scowl, maybe both. But looking at Starscream and Soundwave had him even more concerned. They seemed nervous, and looking at the Vehicons, they also huddled together in a very similar fashion to the team.

This was wrong. Something about all of this was wrong. 

“Megatronus, enough. You and I both know that we are out of time. There are too few of us left. We cannot continue as we are. Sooner or later, one of us will succumb.” Succumb? Jack felt a hint of fear begin to seep into his body as he looked up at Ratchet, then at his friends, and then back to Optimus. All of them were afraid, at least to his eyes. Ratchet’s expression was sharp, his eyes wide and glowing in a way he’d never seen before. Optimus was unnaturally twitchy, scratching at his armor periodically as he spoke. Rafael and Miko were unusually silent, seemingly copying the team as they huddled against Jack’s side.

He didn’t stop them, instead holding them close as things continued to play out.

“You underestimate the fortitude of the Decepticons. We do not need your Autobots to ensure our survival.” Megatron hissed, anger blazing in his eyes. Those around him flinched, even Soundwave. Survival. This was about survival. That meant that something serious was on the line that Jack did not yet know about.

Why would the Autobots want to ally with the Decepticons for the sake of survival? They’d only ever done that when Unicron woke up. And even then, that was just Megatron, not the entire faction.

“You lost most of your Vehicons to the virus that plagued your ship, and many more fell during the battle at Darkmount. You know as well as I do that your numbers are dangerously low.” Optimus’s voice continued to rattle, his fingers digging into his shoulders as he clawed at his armor. The team made worried noises, but they didn’t dare move. Ratchet’s eyes widened even further as Jack momentarily looked up at him.

Numbers. Was this about the survival of the species? Last time he’d checked, Optimus had said Cybertronians were on the verge of extinction. But again, why ally with the Decepticons? Had Optimus finally cracked? But if that was the case, why did the Decepticons, minus Megatron, look so eager to accept the offer. The Vehicons kept edging closer, their weapons lowered as they fidgeted in fear.

“They’re scared. The bots and the cons are scared of something.” Rafael’s voice was barely above a whisper, disbelief in his tone. He hugged Jack’s arm tighter, prompting Miko to do the same. They were way out of their territory here.

“Not low enough to bring us to our knees. We will never bow before a Prime.” Megtron’s retort came spitefully. His words turned into a strange mess of sounds Jack couldn’t pick out as he ranted for a while longer. Jack assumed he must have been talking in Cybertronian, but it certainly still seemed to make Optimus more and more agitated.

“You are a fool! We are out of time, Megatronus! None of us are safe! Not you, not me, and not any of those under our command!” Something seemed to snap in Optimus as he threw his arms up, gesturing to everyone and everything with such energy that Jack had to blink a few times to see if he was seeing things right. Miko and Rafael physically recoiled as they watched Optimus start to claw at his armor again, creating deep indents as he grunted, bordering on a growl.

“Would you like to see Soundwave succumb? Do you really want to potentially lose your last loyal ally? What about the rest of your troops? Do you want to watch them suffer as base coding takes over?” Again, Optimus spoke, his voice shaking in a way that was previously unimaginable. His movements were almost desperate as he continued tugging on and scratching his plating, almost like he had an insatiable itch. Jack couldn’t see much from where he was, but Optimus turned ever so slightly, letting him get a glimpse of the wild and crazed look in his eyes before he refocused.

The bots shifted all around him, huddling even closer and even going so far as to hold onto one another. Even Ratchet shuffled closer to the team, cradling Jack and his friends but not once tearing his gaze away from the scene.

“Your ridiculous chattering aggravates me. I need none of your Autobots to keep my troops secure. But you need us.” Megatron's tone was mocking, almost like he’d won some great battle. Optimus responded in short order, even more frantic than the first time, but in a quieter way.

“We need each other. This war has gone on too long, and if it continues as it has, we are going to fall.” Jack found himself more and more afraid just listening to the sheer amount of defeat in the Prime’s tone. He looked… scared. Well and truly scared as he started to hunch over a bit. 

“Then so be it! I will never succumb! I am Megatron of Kaon!” The leader of the Decepticons cackled, likely preparing to go on into another rant. But he was cut off by a choked sound from Optimus, one that left Jack fighting back the urge to close his eyes.

“You cannot-” Optimus lurched, his limbs twitching erratically as he continued to make an unsettling gagging sound. His antennae moved in unsteady motions, his armor rattled, and his fans blew open as he clutched his abdomen.

“Prime? Are you alright?” Bulkhead hesitantly called out, prompting Optimus to turn around for a brief moment. Miko looked like she wanted to say something, but she shut up the moment the Prime faced them. His optics were wider than wheels, and his jaw hung open in what looked to be a silent, horrifying realization. 

“Sir, step back. A retreat may be in order-” Ultra Magnus also tried to offer a comment, but Optimus just twitched again, his erratic movements turning into fullbody shaking as his voice became pure static for a long agonizing moment. He clawed at his arms, tearing off pieces of armor in terrified, desperate motions, almost like he was too hot.

“N-no…. This… this cannot be my end.” Optimus’s words were choppy and frantic, so much so that Megatron’s smile was wiped from his face. Jack felt his own expression fall as he pulled Miko and Rafael back, his hand coming to rest on their heads as he felt the instinctual need to prepare to cover their eyes.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“Everyone! Get back!” Ratchet all but shoved Jack and his friends into Arcee’s waiting hands. They all yelped, clutching Arcee’s fingers as Ratchet stood in front of the team, urging them back. Between the gaps in Arcee’s fingers, Jack saw a sight that would horrify him until the end of his days.

Optimus was still standing, but he was contorted in such a way that Jack wanted to feel sick. He was bent over, almost like he was trying to perform a gymnastics maneuver only to be stuck halfway. Metal-looking structures jutted out of his spine, possibly his version of ribs. They shone with a sticky substance that hung in strands, still connecting them to the Prime’s body. His expression was pulled taut in what Jack could only assume was pain as Megatron all but screeched for his soldiers to step back.

“Get away from him!” The Vehicons didn’t need to be told twice before booking it back to Megatron’s side. Jack took the chance to cover Rafael and Miko’s eyes as Optimus, usually so composed, fell to crying out in agony.

“H-Help me! I-it hurts-!” Optimus clawed at his armor, wailing as he grasped his head, pulling on his antennae and scratching at his face and neck like it would help him escape whatever was happening. He looked almost feverish as his armor flared and his fans roared.

“M-my spark! Hurts-!” Optimus’s words faded into a scream as he frantically tore off his own armor in a spray of energon. Anywhere he could reach, he dug his fingers under plating and ripped them off. It looked agonizing, almost like he was skinning himself to try and release some deep pain Jack couldn’t even comprehend. Wires were exposed, bright and scarred gray skin like surfaces bleeding as the Prime continued to tear at himself. Miko and Rafael shook against his sides, reminding Jack to keep his hands over their eyes even as he watched on, unable to look away.

“What’s happening!?” Miko whimpered into Jack’s shirt, but he didn’t answer her. Instead, he held her tighter, fighting back the urge building in his gut to vomit.

“PRIMUS HAVE MERCY! MERCY UPON ME!” Optimus screamed like a dying man, twisting like he didn’t know where he was. He flailed before falling to his knees, energon leaking from his mouth, his audials, his eyes, and his vents. He choked and gagged, trying to scream as his spine tore itself out of him, extending and spreading as small rib-like protrusions rose like wings, making room for strange bulbous masses to form all over Optimus’s back.

All over his body, the things Jack assumed were bones ripped themselves out of Optimus’s body in jagged, terrifying snaps. Any remaining armor started to melt, especially around his arms and legs, as more masses developed there. The masses were gray but had a strange hue-shifting look to them that made them glimmer like the world’s most messed-up rainbow, all accompanied by the agonized wail of the ever-stoic leader of the Autobots.

The whole scene looked like it crawled straight from hell, especially as gray looking sludge started to form around him as his armor continued to melt right off and pieces of what looked to be his version of skin began to warp.

“I knew one of us was going to bud!” Smokescream shrieked, covering his face with a sob as he stepped back, only stopped by Arcee who barked at him loud enough for Jack to wince as her voice rang in his ears.

“Shut up!” Jack only tore his eyes away from Optimus’s torture long enough to watch the team start to panic. Wheeljack and Bulkhead clung to each other like the Rapture was on the horizon. Bumblebee had fallen to the ground, watching in shocked horror as Optimus continued to wail. Smokescreen was only held up by Ratchet, who clutched his arm so tightly there had to be dents.

Only Ultra Magnus remained firm, but even that looked like a fragile façade.

“There’s nothing we can do now. Remain clear of the containment area.” Magnus stood firmly, placing a hand over his chest in what looked to be a salute of sorts as the horrific scene continued to unfold. 

Megatron and his Decepticons just watched. They didn’t even try to fire as they watched Optimus cry out in agony, the masses all over him growing like tumors combined with the world’s worst allergic reaction. His face split like dried and cracked earth, letting energon pour from the wounds. The same happened all over his frame, internals falling onto the floor as his very body melted from the inside out. The grows just kept getting bigger, cracking and shattering whatever remained of Optimus’s skeleton. 

Jack had to swallow the bile building in his throat as Optimus’s limbs snapped, bending backwards and at odd angles the shouldn’t have been possible. His jetpack had long since been torn to shreds, clinging to the mass on his back like some sort of thorn. The Prime had another growth on his chest that left him breathing frantically as he choked on what Jack could only assume were his own fluids. Two more hung off his arms, each creeping along him like mold. Two others infested his legs, popping off Optimus’s tires and consuming whatever mass was there.

He never stopped screaming.

“By the Unmaker…” Megatron’s curse was just loud enough to hear over the cacophony of sobs mixed with howls of torment coming from the Prime. Jack hardly registered his friends shaking against him, crying softly as they listened. He was glad they couldn’t see. Good lord, he was so glad.

Optimus desperately tried to move with his shattered body, the Matrix shining through a gap in his chest where the growth had not yet infested. The thing shocked him relentlessly as he pulled himself along, trying to get to help. His eyes exploded like light bulbs, leaving him blind and in even more agony as his very jaw began to melt right off, unhinging as if someone had knocked the screws holding it in place clean off. His fingers swelled like grotesque sausages, the armor on them distending until they snapped and the fingers turned into nothing more than good and bits of wire.

The Prime kept crying, trying to reach but ultimately being forced onto his stomach as he weakly pleaded for aid.

“Help… me… please… brother…” Optimus lifted an arm, one almost entirely overtaken by the growth. He reached in Megatron’s direction, but the warlord merely shook his head in horror and disbelief. Not a soul moved, and even Smokescreen’s sobs when quiet as Optimus whimpered one final time before his throat caved in.

Jack wasn’t sure if he was dead or not, but he certainly hoped so, if only for Optimus’s sake, as his body continued to twist and be devoured by whatever was on him. The growths consumed almost everything, bulking and breaking off of Optimus’s mutilated husk once they’d eaten almost all of him. Jack couldn’t bear to look at the corpse as the growths started to squirm, warping and changing.

Forming limbs.

“Is… is Optimus dead?” Raf’s voice was soft, almost a sniffle. Jack didn’t dare move his hands away from his friend’s eyes, decidedly not acknowledging the way his hands shook or how sick he felt.

“I don’t know Raf.” Jack’s words were surprisingly calm, but he chalked that up to shock as each of the masses continued to shift and change, forming into... their own entities. One by one they came online, their eyes lighting up a brilliant blue as they stood on unsteady legs. There were six, five of which appeared to be of similar design. Only the largest stood out, its armor sharp and its body built with a degree of elegance in mind.

All six of the new entities assessed themselves, looking over their bodies. The five smaller entities all had wings, but more startlingly, they all had Optimus’s eyes, albeit with slightly different takes on the design. It was almost like they were related somehow.

Jack wasn’t given time to think much about it as the biggest of the six quietly moved to Optimus’s body, or at least what remained of it. The five followed, the whole group staring at the Prime’s body for a long moment before the biggest reached down, and pulled out the Matrix. The relic was covered in energon, and yet it still somehow looked innocent as the largest one held the relic up, presenting it to Autobot and Decepticon alike.

“Hot Rod of Optimus Prime.” The biggest one, Hot Rod, announced themselves with a stoic expression that rivaled the fallen Prime. The rest of the five soon joined in the chorus.

“Silverbolt.” One of the five presented themselves with a proud salute, their frame blocky and obviously still developing.

“Air Raid.” Another followed in their lead, copying the first.

“Fireflight.” Again, another of the five spoke out, and each voice that rang out seemed to make the bots and cons shrink in on themselves.

“Skydive.” 

“Slingshot.”

The last two exclaimed their names with both glee and a degree of solemn understanding. Jack finally released his hands from where they’d covered Miko and Raf’s faces, letting them see these new bots. They gasped, and Miko began to cry the moment she saw Optimus’s corpse. Jack didn’t try to comfort her. It was useless.

The six stood there, as if waiting for orders. They were without color, and their armor was still shifting like goo. However, they all looked up to Megatron; their actions synchronized as they spoke in unison, leaving Jack’s skin crawling.

“We are of Optimus Prime, and we desire peace.” They all spoke, but Megatron wasn’t having any of it. He shook his head, terror etched onto his features as he threw himself into the sky.

“Decepticons! Retreat to the Nemesis!” Without hesitation, all the Decepticons flew back toward the warship looming overhead, not even trying to take advantage of the situation.

The six, for their part, turned to stare at the team, Jack and his friends included. He could feel their eyes raking over him, assessing him like he was some interesting subject in a lab. He hated it. He wanted to be sick, to sob, and then to never emerge from his room again.

“We will continue our originator’s work in his stead. We will not allow his death to be in vain.” Silverbolt, or at least the one Jack assumed was Silverbolt, collected the battered remains of Optimus’s corpse. The broken thing was little more than a few pieces of melted metal smelted together into an unflattering slab. The only reason it could even be tied to Optimus at all was because of the cracked remnants of a face that stuck to it.

Jack wasn’t sure he would be able to hold back the bile any longer as the six all smiled, the biggest one who still held the Matrix, stepping forward like they were always part of the team.

“Shall we return to base?”

[spreadwardiard]

The Rot (part 1)

In the dead of night, Orion Pax received a call from Megatron. Not knowing what was happening, but sensing the urgency in his companion's tone, Orion followed the instructions given. Unbeknownst to him, the Rot had already begun to spread.

I was super inspired by the My Little Pony Infection AU so had to try my hand at something like that, so I came up with this thing. I wanted to try my hand at some zombies. There is an BIG THANK YOU TO @lets-try-some-writing for all your encouragement and help! (sorry everyone, for keeping them so busy XDXD)

Part 2 Here

Orion woke slowly, the edges of consciousness still unable to grasp reality. The persistent pinging on his private comm link, however, was quickly forcing his processor to rouse from his dream state to deal with it. A part of him hoped that if He just ignored that ping long enough, it would cease, and he could slip back into his dreams. His wish was not granted. 

The pinging continued, and finally he roused enough to note that he had only been in recharge for a couple of joor. It was well into the night, far beyond what would be considered polite to call someone. Orion groaned softly as his optics came online. He had always been one to recharge deeply and come online slowly. It was an unfortunate side effect of processing so much raw data for the Archives. 

The pinging stopped and Orion sighed audibly in relief as he rolled over onto his side to try and drift back to his dreams, only for the pinging to resume abruptly. Obviously there was no escaping this. He sluggishly pulled himself into a seated position, and rubbed his optics slowly as he finally took note of the data attached to the caller: MDT-425-B-D-16.

Megatronus? That was odd. They had just spoken at length, right before Orion had drifted into recharge. Orion wondered what could possibly be so important that it couldn’t wait until he came online in the morning. 

He accepted the call and put his best effort into sounding as if he were more awake than he actually was. 

“Megatronus?” Orion inwardly flinched at how much he had failed in his efforts. His voice was deep, and slow in the way that only showed with exhaustion. 

“Orion?” He heard some shuffling come across the connection, and he heard Megatronus mutter something under his venting, that sounded suspiciously similar to ‘thank Primus.’ He was about to open his intake to begin to jest at him for that, but Megatronus did not give him the time. 

“I need you to listen carefully. In approximately two and a half groons, there’s a train coming directly to Kaon from Transport platform 3-5B. I need you on that train. Do not pack. Just get up and get on it.”

Orion frowned as he took in Megatronus’ words. This wasn’t making any sense. 

“What are you-” But Orion couldn’t finish his question. Megatron cut him off with urgency.

“There’s no time for questions. I promise, I will explain everything when you get here.” Something was wrong. Orion’s tanks churned with unease. “Promise me that you will get here, Orion.” 

He didn’t have time to think, his legs were moving without his conscious consent, pulling him out of the comfort of his berth and into the unforgiving chill of his apartment. “I promise, Megatronus. Please, tell me what this is about.”

“I wish I could. There isn't time.” Orion paused only for a klik with his servo hovering in front of the access panel to his door. He was still largely trying to wake up. Hardly any of this was making sense. He half wondered if he was recharge-walking and this was all a bizarre dream, but Megatronus continued to speak. “I love you, Orion.” 

“I love-” the distinctive click of a comm being dropped slapped him in his audials. “-you too…” 

Orion was suddenly left with an agonizing silence. He felt too alert for this to be a dream, and yet none of what was happening made any sense. He locked the door behind him and sluggishly made his way down the long hall of his building towards the elevator. 

Megatronus said he had two and a half groon to get to the station. As the elevator lowered him down to ground level, he did the calculations in his head to determine if he could make it there on pede or if he’d have to use his alt mode. As long as he didn't stop, he should be able to make it. Using his alt mode would take up too much energy anyway. 

Orion rubbed his optics once again as the elevator dinged, and he stepped off and out into the street. The air was cool against his plating, a sensation that he normally welcomed as it aided him in recovering from his recharge cycles. This late into the night, however, the chill left him wanting to turn around so that he could crawl back into his berth and nestle himself in the warmth of his thermal sheets. His pedes continued to take him towards the station, despite his desire for more rest. He had promised Megatronus, after all. 

It wasn't an especially long walk to the station: he just had to take a left three blocks down by the local pub, and then a right two blocks from there. The route was as familiar to him as his route to the Archives, by this point, which was an excellent excuse for him to allow his frame to fall into auto-pilot mode to get him there. It took up much less of his energy that way, and would allow him to stay firmly planted in his half daze between being fully alert and slipping into recharge. If he could maintain it then he'd be able to slip right back to his dreams as soon as he sat on the train. The thought brought a smile to Orion’s face. 

If he recharged on the train, he would be fully ready to come online just before they reached Kaon. He’d be rested and fully ready to tackle whatever issue had come up that Megatronus required his assistance with. It was the perfect plan… if this wasn’t all a strange dream, that is. If he had dreamt up this entire encounter, then he would at least be able to claim a surprise visit. 

The further down the sidewalk his pedes took him, the more he was convincing himself that this was a dream. Megatronus’ call had been eerily similar to the one he had had just a deca-cycle ago. The Megatronus in his dreams had used the guise of urgency to lure Orion to kaon for a romantic date that had started with dinner and ended in the fantastical way that dreams tend to do, with them dancing together amongst the stars themselves. 

Orion was pulled from his memories by a shrill, yet far off scream. He paused in his steps as his finials twitched, to try and locate the source of the sound. Wherever it had come from, it was far from his location. There was no time to investigate, and it was highly probable that the situation was already being dealt with by Iacon’s dutiful Enforcers. Even so, he found that it put him a bit ill at ease.  

With quickened pedesteps, Orion continued his trek and felt slightly more at ease once he rounded the corner by the pub. He’d never gone inside, but it was a well known landmark in his neighborhood, where many mechs would congregate at the ends of their shifts to unwind. It was strange to see it this late at night with no music or boisterous laughter emanating from within its walls. The audial absence made the area feel cold, and lifeless. Unwelcoming. That is what it felt like when the streets were silent and the city largely in recharge. 

At least the station wasn’t much farther. Once he got on the train, he’d be able to relax and the odd foreboding feeling that comes from walking alone in the dark would pass. He’d be able to slip back into his dreams, and he and dream space Megatronus would dance amongst the stars to pass the lengthy journey. It was a perfect plan. 

He could already see the welcoming lights at the front of the station, and he hurriedly crossed the street, a bit more eager than he expected to be to step into a well lit area. The station was nearly deserted, but that was to be expected at this late time of the night. That was fine by him, that only meant that the line to purchase a ticket would be as well. 

Orion was not disappointed. There was only one mech in line, and by the time Orion’s pedes got him there, it was already his turn. 

“Archivist Pax, its-zzz great to see you again. Heading out to Kaon again? There’s a train about to leave.” The mecha behind the glass was smiling at him, but Orion couldn’t help but notice the viscous optical lubricants leaking slowly from the mech. 

“Ah, that’s right. Can you add my designation to the roster, or am I too late for that?” The service mech raised his servo in a polite gesture. Orion had always been on friendly terms with the mechs at this station. He valued their hard work and commitment to getting everyone where they needed to go, and he tipped them well once he received his bill at the end of each stellar cycle. 

“Anything for you, Archivist Pax. There we go… You’re all set to go. Better hurry, you’re cutting it a little close.” Orion uttered a quick and polite thank you as he turned towards platform 3-5B.

The whistle blew loudly, and Orion cursed softly under his venting as he started to run. He’d come too far to have to turn around now. The service mech was absolutely correct in that he was cutting it close. The doors shut immediately after he boarded the front compartment, and he allowed himself a heavy sigh of relief as he took his seat towards the middle, giving him plenty of space between him and the other passengers. He only jostled slightly as they began moving.

He already knew that slipping back into recharge would be impossible. After that eerie scream and then having to run, he had fully entered wakefulness. The trip would take about four joors. If he was lucky he’d be able to recharge for half of that now and there was no way he’d be able to slip into a romantic dream again, after how strange everything had been since he’d been ripped from recharge. 

It wasn’t normal for Megatronus to call him like this, outside of his dreams, of course. He’d been too tired before to really think about it, but now that he was awake… Megatronus had sounded less urgent and more concerned. He sounded worried…

A loud groan shook him from his thoughts, and he glanced towards the front of his compartment, towards a mech that looked as if he were about to be sick. He had his helm between his knees, and the mech beside him had a servo on his shoulder.  They must have been some of the last patrons of the pub, probably on their way back to their work duties. 

Orion looked back to the ground between his own pedes. It was rude to stare, and he had other things to think about anyway. Like the strange tone Megatronus had on that call. How he had made Orion promise that he would make it to Kaon… how he had said that he loved him…. 

Megatronus never expressed his affections in such an open manner, especially over spoken comms. They had already agreed that they would put their romantic attachments on hold until after they were able to plead their case to the Senate. There was too much at stake to be distracted by their feelings for each other. 

A heavy, twisting feeling began to settle in Orion’s tanks. Something must be wrong.  Megatronus had said there wasn’t time to explain, but Orion had nothing but time now. He accessed his contacts, and set up a secure, private line, opening a comm link to Megatronus, ready to get to the bottom of this. 

………………ERROR 638aaaaaaaa:: UNABLE TO ESTABLISH LINK………….

That… was strange. What was going on? Had Megatronus blocked his commlink? That made no sense, especially after that cryptic and worrying last call. Perhaps Megatronus’ private line had been hacked? It was unlikely, but possible. He could try calling Megatronus’ public line, but that had its risks as well… He tried the private line again. 

………………ERROR 638aaaaaaaa: UNABLE TO ESTABLISH LINK………….

Perhaps trying the public line would be the way to get through. He had to sort this out, or he’d be an anxious mess this entire trip. He vented deeply, preparing himself for an audial full for not using the secure line to call but… 

………………ERROR 638aaaaaaaa: UNABLE TO ESTABLISH LINK………….

That unsettled weight in his tanks surged. This wasn’t normal. Was Megatronus alright? Had something happened to him? Was that concern and worry in his voice because he’d been fatally injured? Orion felt himself begin to spiral, and couldn’t stop himself from immediately trying to reach Soundwave next. The two weren’t exactly close, but Soundwave knew of he and Megatronus’ arrangement, and thus would understand Orion’s concern. 

………………ERROR 638aaaaaaaa: UNABLE TO ESTABLISH LINK………….

Orion then recalled the audible click that had cut him off and ended his previous call. He’d assumed Megatronus had simply ended the call a bit prematurely, having said what he felt he needed to say. But now… Had comms gone down?

A harsh retching drew Orion’s attention back to the drunken mech in the front of the compartment. He looked up just in time to see him purge his tanks of a thick, lumpy, viscous dark green goop. The mech beside him groaned in disgust, but immediately leaned in to assist his companion.  “Get the frag-zzz away from me!” The drunken mech half yelled and half slurred. 

Orion didn’t stick around to see what the outcome would be. He was unarmed, and barely armored. He couldn’t afford to lose his life in a drunken brawl when he and Megatronus were finally making progress with their movement. 

Orion made his way to the back of the compartment, and quietly slipped through the door, intent on making his way to the rear of the train, as far from this scuffle as possible. He passed by the security station in the middle of the train, and informed them of the problem that was brewing in the first compartment. They quickly thanked him, and they parted ways.  

By the time he made it to the last compartment, he was ready to slump into the closest seat he could find. If he was perfectly honest… That was disturbing. He’d spent a lot of time with Ratchet, and had gone over his fair share of medical data. He was no medic, but he definitely knew that purging your tanks wasn’t supposed to look… like… that. 

He’d never seen anything like that before. But maybe Ratchet had? If it was something medically significant, Ratchet would want to know what he saw. Yes, comms to Kaon were obviously not working, but Ratchet should still be reachable. 

………………ERROR 638aaaaaaaa: UNABLE TO ESTABLISH LINK………….

Orion’s spark pulsed in anxiety. In all his life, he’d never had this happen. Something was wrong. He should have picked up on it immediately, as soon as Megatronus had called him. He should have especially known after that admission of love. Now that he replayed the conversation over in his processor, Megatronus had sounded afraid. 

A spark-freezing scream tore him from his thoughts. That… came from the front end of the train. A tremor of fear rang through him, and he quickly got up from his seat to engage the locking mechanism on the door of his compartment.  Before he could return to his seat, his audials were assaulted by the screech of brakes ripping into the tracks and the explosive groan of metal crunching against metal. He didn’t even have time to brace himself before he suddenly was airborne. 

And then Orion’s entire world went black. 

[tanema123]

I warned you that angst was coming!!!

This is for the prompt challenge with @katy-l1988

Carmilla has just arrived at the scene. Tears immediately started to fall from her face as she collapsed on the ground. She was too late. Too late to save them. Why.... Why has this torture befallen her!

Suddently, she felt someone aproaching. She turned around to see the angels. Anger filled her veins. She felt her body shift. Something was changing. Her hair fell as her feathers started to grow on her head. Her arms were slowly getting covered as well. She screamed in pain as her legs started to shift, making her shoes fall of her feet. Her fingers dug into the ground leaving claw marks in their wake.

None of this pain can componsate what she is feeling. As her mind slowly slipped away, the last thing she remembered was the terror in angels eyes and the flashes of her fallen daughters and husband. Carmilla Carmine has lost herself.

[boomstixx]

EXAMPLES OF ART:

[mean-bf777]

Reunited AU & Human Uni: (Transformation art)

"GORIOUS TRANSFORMATION"

❗❗❗ABSOLUTE TW❗❗❗

(EXTREME AND HEAVY GORE AND BLOODS, PAINFUL AND AGONIOUS WEREWOLF TRANSFORMATION, EXTREME AND PAINFUL VIOLENCE, LOUD ANIMALISTIC SCREAMS, FLASHING LIGHTS, HORROR THEMES)

Feat: Galaxstars Weredom (Human!Weredom [Pre-triggered wolf form → Full wolf form transformation)

[saritamanyalu]

I can feel your heartbeat, human.. - Sunder 

A special gift for @velvetblackjack Crosshairs is hiding from a creature who is chasing him, but he needs to be quiet or the thing will get him.

Sunder (c) Hasbro

[madamealtruist]

WRITING COMMS OPEN

Hey, guys, Gwen here! With certain events having sadly reared their ugly heads, I am in dire need of some extra cash. So what am I doing? I'm opening commissions! Albeit, I'll be selling written work and not design work since I still lack any real visual artistic skills. But, my writing skills are still sharp, so I hope you'll be ready to see what I have to offer! But first I'd like to lay out a few ground rules!

I have the right to refuse any commission in violation of these rules. So, PLEASE respect and read them!

RULES

No graphic sex scenes. This includes heavy topics that I will not name at this moment.

No hate speech. Racial slurs or remarks against any groups of individuals will not be written in my stories.

If you want to have your story have gore, please tell me the amount of it you want in it. I cannot stress this enough, as I want to ensure you are comfortable with your results.

Payment will be made via PayPal.

I'm new to commissions, so please bear with me if I make errors.

WHAT I'LL WRITE

Fantasy/Science Fiction/Science Fantasy

Horror/Slasher

Action/Adventure

AUs that differ from existing material/reinventions of existing material

WHAT I WON'T WRITE

Porn/Fetish

Nonfiction Drama

AUs/Fanfiction that makes little to no change from existing material

Assistance with Homework Assignments

Alright, with the ground rules all settled, let's move on to prices. Keep in mind, that I will be using flat prices, so don't worry about having to pay per hour. Moreover, I'll be offering typical story writing, so if you want me to write a short story, or help out with a longer series, I can do that. I'm also offering special assistance sessions for writers who have ideas in mind but might need a helping hand in fleshing out said ideas for their stories.

BASE STORY OPTIONS

Small Work (Less than 1,000 words): 30 USD

Large Work (Over 1,000 words): 45 USD

Longer Projects: 25 USD per chapter

SPECIAL ASSISTANCE SESSIONS

Character Creation: 20 USD

Worldbuilding: 50 USD

Plot Assistance: 35 USD

EXAMPLES

SHORTER WORK

LONGER WORK

CHARACTER CREATION

WORLDBUILDING

If you've read this far, congratulations! You're ready to begin! Now, if you'd like any examples of my writing, feel free to ask me over at my Discord (thegrimoiresvoice) and we'll be in business. I look forward to working with you all and hope to see you soon!

[eemoo1o-animoo]

Somewhere, in an alternate universe, Grelle Sutcliff wears blue

[bamsara]

Have you seen cannon Eclipse yet?? Will Ruin be effecting how you portray them in SL?

(Ruin spoilers) Long post!!! Sorry I rambled klsdhglksd plus I pulled out some of my older art so it's a bit of a ramble post about Eclipse and how I write/draw them / the duality of man (robot) / and SL's AU universe

Most likely not since a fully-booted-up Eclipse in SL wouldn't be too terribly different from what I could work with coming from Ruin. I've already made several art pieces and writing drafts about the 'scary looking but sweet' Eclipse type more than the murder murder murder scary kill kind having to do with the virus's invovlement, so I think this developement is actaully pretty steller for me

Not to say my Eclipse won't be a bit more intense than what was shown in the DLC, but I think it still works out

I mean Look at my doodles and writings of Post-Solar Lunacy Eclipse and how they act: you've got your spooky behavior that comes from Five Nights At Freddy's being a horror game + based off of the DCA's behavior + general alternate universe junk :

and then your silly goofy:

I've always adored the Duelity of Man (Robot)

So basically: Ruin DLC will probably not affect how I write Eclipse at all because from the short few lines we got from them kinda already alligns with how I see Eclipse behaving, at least Post - Solar Lunacy. Sweet boy.

Eclipse's dialect is a bit different in the ruin dlc then how I've had it planned but I think that's okay too, considering how I had their dialect/manner of speaking pretty down similar to how Sun & Moon were speaking in the DLC at least (the short sentences, phrases, occasionally long ones) although this is kinda just a writing flow choice / au character interpretation thing that's a personal preference, since I personally have Moon less verbal than Sun and Sun a lot more talkative in my fics than even the og Sun in Security breach.

Appearance wise? Nothing really changes! The hat and sunrays combo can switch inbetween having a hat or just having sunrays (like how arcade game Eclipse just has sunrays, but character model Eclipse has Moon's hat) and it really just depends on the scene and/or if the DCA was already wearing the nightcap as Eclipse makes an appearance.

I'm keeping the four-arms deal. Best thing the fandom came up with and love it when they do that for characters. Insert 'i just think its neat' image here.

Solar Lunacy has been and still is a AU universe so like said before, some aspects of canon are choosy to whatever I think makes a good entertainment story and all, so not too worried about sticking to canon all that much. Yippie for transformative and creative expression!

THAT BEING SAID, I absolutely fucking adore the glimpse of personality we got from the few scenes of canon Eclipse in the Ruin DLC and it fits an idea of character in my head for them, so I won't really need to divert from the original draft too much for Eclipse!

I'm really happy ahh!!!!

[sweeneydino]

Welcome to my humble abode.

🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈 lgbtq+ safe space.

Surprise.

Ignore the soda cans and crumbled pieces of paper, never really got the chance to clean that up.

I am proud to announce a master post that I will likely never use!

Yes, I know, very useful.

It will collect dust just like all of my other projects and dreams.

Archive of Our Own (AO3) Fanfics

Lime meets emerald[HIATUS]

Spikeangelo

The Good Father

Comics

Weapons of Hamato [1]

Alternate Universe Shenanigans

Spikeangelo AU!

Au idea | Titan

Spikeangelo Asks!

Transporters don't act like they do in Space Heroes Leo! (TSHL) [CW: BODY HORROR]

Au Idea

Mold

Weapons of Hamato

Au Idea

New Friend [Part 1]

The Good Father

Au Idea | Rat Dads in New York

Grown Up Don

Future Menace

Past Remembrance / PT.2

Paper Scales/ Little Dragons [CW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH]

LITTLE DRAGONS

Au idea | Explored

Splintering | Father's Day | Forgive me

Little Dragons | Dragons | Twin Disasters | Eldest and Youngest |Oh Fuck THEY ARE GROWING UP | Awakened Dads | Mood Ring

Himbo | Uncle Mike

New Years | January 1st

DANGER | Forms of a Monster | Trouble

Strange occurrences | Prey drive | Clear Picture | Mimicking | Stronk | Friends | Moody | Omen | Mystic Bab | Holy Shit | Honey | Buddy | Travel

Tot adventures

Actual fucking dragons | Dai | Mura & Aoi | Akai | COLORS

Fanart: 🧡 🧡 💜

A FANFIC BY @/SHYADRI ON TUMBLR AGAIN THANK YOU SMH CHECK THEM OUT PLEASE 🙏 IDK IF I SHOULD @ THEM HERE SO PLEASE LOOK THEM UP THANK YOU

Collection of other Free-to-use AUS [CW:BLOOD/GORE]

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

Honestly, a lot of my stuff is free to use. Just credit me is all I ask 😌

Animations

Shelldon's Daisy

Where is the pizza, Casey?

Give Splinter a break man

TAP

Sunrise Duo, but with a little red

Mystic Bab

Posers

Side Blogs

Mostly Sanic stuff with gay hedgehogs @lintandsteal

Stuff I scraped out of the bottom of my toilet (18+ ONLY because I have 0 clue what I'll pop out on there) @trashinyourpockets

A fair warning that although I draw A LOT fluff and baby turtles, I also draw(and sometimes write) whump, a lot of angst and gore/extremly violent art(those will be properly tagged in their own post).

My joy in drawing cute stuff must be counterbalanced.

[inhuman-obey-me]

True Forms: Sides + New Characters

Once upon a time, long, long ago, we wrote some true demon forms for the demon brothers. And we had so much fun with it that we've returned with a follow-up! Now featuring not only demons but also some angels, a reaper, and one immortal "human" sorcerer.

No in-between forms for MC's sake this time though -- we die like men being driven mad by unspeakable, incomprehensible horrors.

Like before, content warning for unsettling, eldritch descriptions and body horror.

DIAVOLO

The Crown Prince of the Devildom doesn't often go into this true form -- it's incredibly dangerous, and if you see it, you might as well already be in your grave.

The first thing that hits you is the scent of sulfur and burning, so strong that you feel like you're choking on it, suffocating even though there's no smoke to be seen.

There is, however, plenty to be seen of him, as his form is utterly massive -- every direction you look, he seems to stretch infinitely around you, no end in sight to his immense presence.

To his sides, sparks and flashes of gold and darkness alternately flicker off of black flame wings as they languidly float back and forth behind him, singeing the very air they occupy.

The rest of his body mostly transforms into that of a dragon, much like the ornament you normally see upon his chest, covered in brilliant triangular golden scales except for the glowing red orb at his center.

The orb pulses like a heartbeat, and in it, you see yourself -- no, rather, you see a distortion of yourself, all the corruption and cruelty that hides in your very core laid bare before your eyes.

Meanwhile, fire roars everywhere, filling every open space around him and spiraling into a grand crown upon his head.

Despite the noise of the flames, however, his commanding voice can be heard clearly, a low rumble like the roar of a dragon yet distinctly regal and elegant in its tone.

On his chest, the black marks you see in his more humanoid demon form expand and twist outward, hypnotizing you as they wrap like vines around your body.

You hardly even notice as they capture you in a world of complete darkness -- darkness that overtakes not just your senses, but your mind, your soul, your whole existence, like a fire that burns away everything until there's nothing left in you but the abyss, all else turned to ash.

BARBATOS

To witness the true form of the ever loyal and capable steward to the Crown Prince of the Devildom, your fate is already sealed -- one of demise and ruin.

His body shifts and stretches, and stretches, and s t r e t c h e s -- you cannot see where, or if, he ever ends -- like time itself.

His body resembles that of a dragon -- though not the same of his master, but those creatures known across the human world as the lóng, the ryū, the druk, the nāga.

His face blurs, rots, melts -- bits of bone showing through flesh and one eye now just an orb of empty, everlasting black.

The spindly, web-like horns that grace his head grow thicker and longer, the talon-like ends even sharper than before.

Whiskers sprout from his face that are slick and forked at the ends, like his more humanoid-demon form tail, an electric buzz sparking at the end of them.

The scales along his body are black and teal, that familiar lightning pattern reflected in some while you catch glimpses of other universes as they gleam.

It is then that you notice you are slowly being buried in sand -- it cascades off his body, from the ridges in his back and gaps between those captivating scales.

Time itself seem to distort around him as he swims in the air, the very fabric of space rippling and warping against his form.

When he opens his mouth to roar, all that can be seen is a void of space inside, an all-consuming black hole.

There is an awfully maddening absence of sound, the very weight of silence seemingly suffocating and crushing you as you try to gasp for air.

The longer you stare into his face, his form -- the more you get lost and trapped across universes, seeing every branch of time lay itself out before you, over and over and over and over...

Your soul will be trapped forever in that endlessness, true death never taking hold as no reaper can ever reach you to claim it.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Every ghost story about haunted suits of armor originates from the true form of Mephistopheles.

In this form, he truly represents his noble heritage as proud knights tasked with defending the royal family -- grand, intimidating, gallant.

From afar, he seems exactly like those stories, an empty suit of golden armor with eerie peridot green lights glowing as eyes through the helm.

Atop this helm, a showy plume of magenta feathers swoops in a proud arc, and from his back, a grand set of opalescent, translucent feathered wings stretches impossibly wide.

Each flap of these wings creates torrential whirlwinds, tornadoes that tear destructively through entire cities in their path, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake.

Up close, however, it becomes clear that the armor is hollow because he is the armor -- though he usually keeps most of them closed for protection, eyes of green and magenta can emerge all over the gleaming metal plates.

Also dotting the plates are various gems and precious crystals, embedded throughout as if daring someone to come close enough to try to steal them, tempt them as demons so notoriously do.

Every movement, too, deafens with the cacophony of jewels crashing against coins, ringing out for miles and miles around him.

Looking upon this form always makes you feel slightly off, as though he's not standing quite straight, which in turn makes you feel slanted as if constantly slipping down sideways.

However, it's best not to look at all, as gazing upon him melts your flesh away to pools of thick, smooth black ink which indeed would make you slip and fall.

Before one would fully melt away, he opens up to consume any potential wearer of the armor, crushing them inside and using their bones to reinforce the strength of the metal.

Because of this, streaks of ink are always running down the seams where the armor opens, dripping endlessly in deep pools everywhere he goes.

LUKE

Before Luke descends as an angel, a soft smell of grassy sunlight fills the air, and you feel a gentle breeze pick up alongside you.

The sound of bells chimes softly as if rung by this breeze, though no bells can be seen.

Slowly, bursts of tiny stars shimmer into view as if creating a veil from which the angelic child steps forth.

Once he has appeared, the stars gather in small clusters, dancing around him as if engaged in a waltz.

Being a lower-ranking angel still, his form is generally humanoid and looks much like the Luke you know and love.

However, his shape looks more unstable at the edges, buzzing and shaking like a Chihuahua.

Though most of him is covered up by his Celestial garb, you notice eyes peeking out from between the folds, gazing up at you unblinkingly, staring right into your soul.

The eyes on his face, on the other hand, remain peacefully closed, as though you're looking upon a child asleep.

As he delivers his message, the scent of wheat and honey drifts from him, filling the air around you.

Although this form does no harm to you to look upon, you get the distinct feeling that you would fall into endless despair if you were to fail him.

Michael likes to send him to would-be runaways for this reason.

RAPHAEL

Though he may be the youngest of the seraphs, his form is no less grand and imposing.

You hear him before you see him -- the melody of a flute, a tintinnabulation, mixed with an enchanting voice singing words in a tongue you cannot comprehend.

Six large wings surround him, feathers light grey with the same iridescent sheen found on those of homing pigeons, spanning far and wide.

Where his face might be instead are twisting golden rings filled with eyes, swirling in a mesmerizing pattern that captivates you.

His arms, too, are made of a stack of metallic rings that mirrors armor, though no flesh resides within them, and interlock with the shapes of diamonds and spades.

Various chimes hang off like tassels at various points along those metallic arms, ringing endlessly.

In place of his torso is an opalescent crystal ribcage, though there are no organs for it to protect.

A number of spears, pointing downward and outward, fan around his bottom half, with needles circling golden thread around the spear "boning" -- making his bottom half resemble a cage hoop skirt.

Above the swirling rings of his face rests a halo, made up of floating spear tips, sharp and deadly.

And behind him, around him, are more rings that are linked in circles like an atom, so numerous that they are reminiscent of chainmail, all while swirling at dizzying speeds.

Surreal light emits from every element of his form -- every ring, every feather, every pointed end -- giving him an unsettling and ethereal glow.

Anger him in this form, and the mix of melodies becomes mind-numbingly discordant and cacophonous while numerous spears glisten with their sharp ends pointed towards you, ready to strike.

SIMEON

When Simeon was a seraph, his form shared a number of features with that of Raphael's: twisting golden rings for a face, an iridescent crystal ribcage, the stacks of rings for arms, and that surreal, unsettling light emitting from every element.

However, his form differed greatly as well -- his halo was actually an ouroboros, dotted with eyes peering into your very soul and lined with large, long spikes.

His six wings were not made of feathers but of fire, their flames a striking and dangerous blue -- four flanking his back, while the other two surrounded his head of twisting rings, protecting his face with their chaste embers.

His "legs" were composed of crystal shards, slowly twisting and catching the light to create a constant prismatic display.

Past the faint crackling of flames and metallic sonority, you could hear a soft and distant harp that lulled the senses.

His seraph form somehow evoked both a sense of serenity and a gnawing, unnerving sense of dread.

Since his demotion to archangel, however, his form is a bit different -- more telluric, more humanoid, with wings more traditionally white and feathery at his back.

The delicate music of the harp that used to accompany him is gone, now replaced by the brash announcement of trumpets.

His more exquisitely airy elements have become more earthen, those radiant crystal pieces composed now of jagged rock and gleaming metal instead.

So too do fragments of steel float around and over his right side, resting upon his shoulders like a cape flowing gracefully from shining pauldrons.

Drifting idly just past his fingertips, a sword rests across his form, long and thin, both a tool and yet inherently part of him, dancing easily at his command and always ready to strike.

Each metallic sliver is dotted with eyes, peering and watching over you, at once benevolent and yet you can feel them -- watching you, judging you, sharply observing every move you make.

Another eye watches as well, from above, gazing serenely from the center of a spinning seven-pointed star which serves as his head.

There are no other facial features to speak of, but the look in that single blue orb expresses all there is to understand.

Though his voice rings clear in your mind with any message he may have from above, you can see your fate clearly from the moment your eyes connect with his gaze.

THIRTEEN

As a reaper, there is no question of death's approach when Thirteen transforms into her true form.

You become aware of long, low bells in the distance -- for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

From the moment you hear that very first clang, you cannot move, an icy chill washing over you and leaving you frozen in place.

However, it is not fear that you feel, but instead an odd sense of peace that overtakes your mind and makes the world around seem distant and hazy.

All light fades from view except the eerie blue flame of the candle she carries in one hand, along with the vivid green fire that takes the place of one eye.

Through the flickering light, you can see where bones replace flesh -- a half jaw, a sharp cheekbone, a partially exposed ribcage.

Her other eye seems to become more reptilian in nature, scales surrounding her brow bone and the hollows of her cheeks, jagged and harsh.

Her teeth are sharp and large, the exposed jaw making it appear as if they are locked in a menacing grin.

Gauze wraps around her neck, dark ichor seeming to seep through it and drip onto her chest and into the hollow of her ribs.

She floats towards you, no legs to be seen as she rolls atop mist and fog that sprawls ever outward, reaching the edges of your vision.

Within that mist you catch a glimpse of fluttering iridescence -- butterflies, their wings part black and shining with opalescent darkness.

No longer does she wear the tattered black robes so often thought as the reaper's uniform -- instead, long pieces of black chiffon, tulle, and mesh twist around her form, giving the illusion of a cloak.

Long, sharp claws wrap around her scythe, its blade broad and keen -- but it shimmers in the light, its form malleable and able to transform into whatever the reaper so desires.

However she decides to capture your soul, the last thing reflected in your eyes will be the blue flame of the candle extinguished, its wax melted away with the end of your life.

SOLOMON

Hello, my adorable apprentice

What's wrong? Don't you recognize me?

It's me, Skeletiano Solomon

The true form of an immortal human sorcerer is...

Yeah this seems right

Right?

[lets-try-some-writing]

Emergency Protocols: To Preserve A Legacy

Optimus Prime has fallen, and now everyone must deal with the after effects of his sudden and horrific death. Knockout, unlike the rest of the Decepticons, has taken grim inspiration from the loss.

Part 1 here.

(Warning for robogore)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

“This is an order! Every mech will travel in a group until further notice!” Megatron’s order rang out on the bridge, earning frantic nods of understanding from every single Vehicon present. Starscream in particular seemed keen to obey an order for once and almost instantly grabbed a few Vehicons to stay by his side.

Knockout watched quietly, his optics never once leaving the screen above Megatron’s helm.

“I don’t care what you are doing or what your orders are. If I catch anyone alone, there will be consequences.” Megatron all but growled as he glared down at every one of his soldiers. Knockout’s optics cycled in quiet interest at the sight, but he refused to look away from the screen and the beginnings of grotesque suffering playing on it.

“The Autobots have begun to fall. We cannot risk such a fate ourselves.” The warlord’s words were frighteningly shaky as a video played on screen. It was a recording obviously taken by Soundwave, or perhaps Laserbeak. Whatever the case, it projected a scene of true horror.

Optimus Prime wailed in agony, his frame tearing itself apart as buds began to form all over him. One on each limb, and two great ones on his chassis and jetpack. He tore himself to pieces, ripping off armor and frantically screeching as his frame cannibilized itself to produce six new lives. That was a new record, at least in modern documentation. The largest recorded budding only produced five newbuilds. How very Optimus of him.

“Prime succumbed, and if a mech as mighty as him fell, any one of us is just as likely to suffer a similar end.” The recording zoomed in on Optimus’s expression of sheer agony as he tried to crawl on mutilated limbs. If things were different, Knockout might have gagged as he watched the Prime convulse, wheeze, and then fall still while whatever remained of him was consumed by his unwanted offspring.

As it was, Knockout found himself more intrigued than afraid, especially as the recording showed the six that came from the fallen Prime. Five of them were flight frames, an incredible oddity considering Optimus was, up until his reforging, a grounder. The sixth was the one that really caught his attention. The newbuild had Optimus’s structure, tapered waist, and overall build. But they had an interesting series of differences, a few of which felt vaguely familiar.

“Be wary! And never find yourselves alone! Until we can confirm that none of our number are liable to succumb to this brutality, this ship is on lockdown.” With a final wave of his servo, Megatron marched off, likely to hound Soundwave about something or other. The Vehicons filed off eventually, most huddled in groups of five or more to limit their fear. A few attempted to gather around Knockout, but he waved them off.

He didn’t want companionship. He had other plans.

Making his way back to the medical bay, Knockout quietly shut the door behind him and locked it. He settled at his console, tapping the device thoughtfully as he pulled up the recording of Optimus Prime’s final moments all over again. He really should have been disgusted or upset with what he was going to be seeing, but after so much loss, it was more interesting than anything else. Eventually, the Decepticons would have someone end up budding. After all, one budding meant that the situation was dire. Dire circumstances induced panic, and panic tended to make budding happen in other subjects even if their numbers were acceptable.

Stress was bound to get to them. After all, activation of the protocols needed for budding only required a deep sense of loneliness and isolation. If the crew felt that they were alone, those who were capable of budding were likely going to begin expiring one after another. The Vehicons would be fine, largely since they were the result of budding and cold forging. Empurata victims were incapable of budding since the entire section of their processor devoted to registering emotional distress was deactivated, so Shockwave would be fine. Beastformers tended to take longer to start budding, meaning that Arachnid would be alright on her own for a while. The same went for the Insecticons and the Predacons.

That left high command of both the Autobots and the Decepticons. Optimus had already keeled over, and considering how traumatic and sudden it was, Knockout didn’t doubt that someone else would follow after him. Probably Ratchet or the Prime’s unofficial ward. 

One by one, the shock and horror would get to all of them, regardless of faction.

They were well and truly slagged. Sooner or later, all the big players in the war would combust into several smaller and inexperienced idiots who would, inevitably, end the war at some point. Be it through extinction or peace, it wasn’t really important. Knockout personally had no desire to live in a world or on a restored Cybertron with a bunch of framewalkers who looked far too similar to old friends and foes for his liking. It all seemed so pointless. 

He was tired. That was the only way he had to describe the sheer apathy burning in his spark. Breakdown, his other half, was gone, taken by enemies who were now long dead and dispersed. There were no more victors to join, not when everyone would quickly be put on even ground once old grudges joined their holders in the grave. There was no point to all of it anymore. What did he have to gain from trudging ever onward? A restored homeworld? Sure, that might be nice for a grand total of five kliks, but it wouldn’t be the same without proper closure or Breakdown.

“If we’re all doomed anyway, we might as well make the most of it.” He grumbled, taking great care to not rub his face and ruin the polish, even though exhaustion weighed on him. They were all going down, so why not try and make it somewhat meaningful? Budding was a process that had not been properly studied since the Quintessons ruled. It either happened in private or it was so sudden that no real documentation could be made. Case point: Optimus’s spontaneous and gruesome death.

If he was going to die, he wanted to leave something behind and perhaps even secure his legacy with something important.

“Show me what you’ve got, sweet rims.” He pressed play on the video, leaning back in his chair as he sighed and observed Optimus’s final moments. He had to watch it three or four times before he became desensitized enough to actually start making note of things of interest, but he got there after a few sessions of wretching into his disposal unit.

Optimus’s early symptoms began with itching and, from the looks of it, twitchyness and emotional turmoil. That seemed about right overall. Then it seemed that as the budding began, tearing off armor was an instinctual response meant to allow the buds to grow without hindrance. The spine tearing out of the back appeared to just be a side effect of one of the buds developing in that location, as bones and other skeletal structures also tore free where buds developed on the Prime’s body. 

The malformation didn’t appear to be a necessary part of the process, but one that Optimus unfortunately endured due to the sheer number of buds on him. The buds themselves sucked protomatter right out of their host by liquidizing the host’s internals. A lot was lost, as evidenced by Optimus quite literally being dismeboweled via his innards turning to goo and oozing out of him. Frankly, it seemed that the process was largely streamlined. Optimus was just an unfortunate victim of Primely fertility.

If he were back on Cybertron, he might have broken the record again by producing more due to his increased mass prior to their arrival on the mudball they currently called their battlefield.

“Noted. More buds equals more pain.” He tapped the console methodically, watching again and again as Optimus wailed and endured a fate far worse than most other forms of death. Knockout took notes meticulously, observing with silent interest as he watched the buds develop over and over again. The biggest of the lot caught his attention more than the others. That one was obviously a powerhouse in the making, having Optimus’s overall frame structure. But there was something about the new build—something unique.

Once he recorded everything he could from the video, Knockout turned to the database. His digits flew across the keys until he pulled up Optimus’s record. A few passwords later, and he was looking at sensitive data that was only tenuiously confirmed. The Prime’s history in the archives, embarrassing and noteworthy developmental milestones, but most importantly, his relationships.

Optimus only had one confirmed romantic partner. The depth of their relationship was not recorded, but there were enough indicators of a spark merge having been involved for Knockout to feel fairly confident calling them Conjunxes. With that in mind, he pulled up the video again on his second screen, zooming in on the largest of the newbuilds hovering around Optimus’s battered corpse. 

He looked at Elita-One’s picture and then at the newbuild. The similarities were obvious. The frame shape, the kibble placement, even the newbuild’s optics. All of them were similar to Elita. Had the spark merged influenced the budding to produce a newbuild that possessed Optimus and Elita’s traits?

“A spark merge affecting a newbuild... it’s certainly not impossible.” He tapped the console with more frequency as he considered the possibilities. If all of high command was going to keel over, Knockout most likely included, why shouldn’t he research the process? Why shouldn’t he make the most of it? For Optimus and Elita to have produced a bud that carried both their traits after what might have only been a single spark merge...

He stood up sharply, his optics widened as he glanced over at the single piece of Breakdown’s armor he’d taken from the corpse as a keepsake. It sat innocently on his shelf, a reminder of the loss and now a symbol of possible hope.

“One merge. It only took them one merge.” He reached out to collect the piece of armor, a dark plan forming in the back of his processor. He didn’t necessarily want to die, but it was going to happen anyway. Sooner or later, he’d drop dead and spawn something that was but an echo of himself. Why not die on his own terms? He could study the process of budding and, if things worked out, preserve Breakdown’s legacy as well.

He’d keep his reputation as Cybertron’s finest medic through his research, and he’d be able to honor his fallen partner before joining him. It saved him from having to go on endlessly without the mech he loved most, and it meant that all his loose ends would be neatly tied up. He wouldn’t have to live in a world not his own with mecha mimicking the dead.

It would be painful, but he could limit that to a certain extent. 

"Well, Breakdown, it seems I’ll be seeing you soon enough.” A grin wormed its way onto Knockout’s features as he laughed and carried the piece of plating over to his workbench. There was much to do, and considering the panic amongst the crew, very little time.

“Lord Megatron, I’ll be performing a little analysis on some sensitive material over the course of the next deca-cycle or so. Don’t worry if I’m unavailable; my research will prove quite useful, I’m certain.” He sent his message to Megatron with quiet glee as he settled at his workbench. He had preparations to see to and he couldn’t afford an interruption. Not now.

“All alone now. It’s just us, Breakie.” Tapping the piece of plating, Knockout laughed again before gathering his determination to drop the piece into a vat. He placed the vat into one of his extractors and stepped back, looking over himself and his medical bay. While CNA was being extracted from Breakdown’s plating, Knockout could begin his real work.

He spent a whole cycle thinking through Optimus’s fate and preparing for every eventuality. He methodically, albeit with much chagrin, removed his outer armor. He would rather not endure the pain of ripping it all off in a frenzied madness and so opted to skip that step altogether. Once that was all removed, he began preparing various painkillers of different doses. Too much at one time might have a negative effect on himself or his spawn, so a gentle ramping up of the solution would be necessary. The finished solutions were left near the medical berth, ready to be used.

For good measure, he adjusted the straps on the medical berth to activate the moment he laid down and to deactivate once his vitals dropped beyond a certain threshold. He couldn’t risk the buds, not when they were going to be so vital to his goals.

“As much as I pride myself on my finish, I do think you’ll forgive me this once for not sporting the red you adored so much.” Knockout found himself laughing more and more in the quiet of his medical bay by just the second cycle of work. He had gone to great pains to continually keep himself from heading out for any reason, and so far it seemed to be working. He could feel a faint tingle underneath his plating.

He wasn’t quite sure if it was nerves getting to him or not, but as he handled a full vial of Breakdown’s CNA, he reassured himself of his goal. He was going to do this and document the whole affair.

This was fine. He was going to be fine. He wanted this. He’d get to see Breakdown again.

Right?

“Breakdown, I hope you aren’t going to be too upset. I’m doing this for both of us.” He spoke into the open air, quietly and with more than a little hesitance. It took all of his mental fortitude to keep it together when Megatron called him.

“Knockout, what in the Unmaker’s name are you doing?” The warlord’s glyphs were harsh and layered with over a dozen vaguely fearful undertones. Knockout would have grinned, but he couldn’t blame Megatron for being afraid. Optimus was dead. The Prime of Cybertron was not only gone, but the first to have perished. In a way, Knockout envied him. To be the first meant Optimus didn’t have to watch everyone crumble around him.

“Lord Megatron, as I stated in my previous message, I am working on something of incredible importance. Don’t worry your pretty little helm about it. The experiment shall conclude in a few cycles, just as planned.” He kept up his usual attitude of cockiness as he stared at scans he’d taken of his frame. According to what his machinery was gathering, his frame was starting to swell in places, small pockets of protomatter less than an inch in side, all forming one by one all over him like organic skin pores.

It was rather disgusting to think about it in that light.

“Do you have assistants with you? I will not risk this vessel’s only medical expert offlining.” Knockout fought back a scoff as he held the vial of Breakdown’s extracted CNA. He fiddled with the container, smiling as he replied.

“Of course. I have my most trusted assistant right by my side.” Megatron made a noise of agreement before shutting down the comm link. Knockout leaned against his console, fondling the vial a while longer as he looked up at his scans. 

Soon. Very soon.

The cycles wore on, and as they did, Knockout dutifully documented the changes. His need for fuel had drastically decreased, a sign of his frame preparing for something or other. Additionally, he was recharging more and more often and for longer periods of time. A certain level of lethargy hung in his limbs, making it difficult for him to continually make note of his circumstances and not leave his medical bay despite how much base instinct tried to get him to move and go toward where he knew there were others.

Megatron bothered him every now and then, but Knockout was quite skilled at keeping his tone even. The warlord suspected nothing, just like Knockout wanted. This was meant to be special—just him and Breakdown. He didn’t want his boss to come kicking the door down in an attempt to stop what had already begun and ruin the significance of it all.

“Till all are one... you know, Breakdown, I never really believed in that lovely quote from the Primacy. But I think it makes more sense now that we’re going to make something beautiful together.” He was tired, so very tired. But looking into the faint blue glow of the vial containing all that was left of his other half, Knockout found something akin to peace settling in his spark. His frame ached, but soon everything would be better.

“I miss when you held me in your arms and complimented my features. I don’t think I ever told you that the reason I kept up the red was because you liked it so much.” Leaning back in his chair, Knockout held the vial to his chassis, closing his optics in order to pretend that somehow, through some miracle, Breakdown was with him. He imagined firm servos on his shoulders, massaging tense cables and helping him unwind after a long cycle. 

Fond memories supplied him with a cheerful laugh filled with nothing but adoration as he and Breakdown playfully bantered, exchanging gossip like there wouldn’t be consequences if they were caught distracted. He recalled all their frantic couplings, never daring to risk taking too long to be one in mind and spark for fear of punishment. He wished he’d taken more time back then. He wished he’d savored the protective warmth of his companion’s spark brushing up against his own in the most intimate of kisses.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them from taking you.” Coolant gathered in his optics as his frame began to heat up in response to his unsettling emotional state. He felt the drops roll down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. He merely held the chilled vial close, desperately longing for a spark signature that was long gone. It was clinical, so very clinical... and there was no warmth to be found.

“I’m sorry, I’m too weak to go on without you. I know… I know you’d want me to live life to the fullest in your absence, but I can’t.” His composure cracked as he looked up at the ceiling, trying not to gaze around his medical bay in the vain hope that his beloved might still be there, gathering supplies or sorting through datapads on his behalf. 

He could hardly vent; it hurt so much.

“Not without you.” Primus was cruel to take a mech as good as Breakdown so soon.

The itching started around the fifth cycle of his isolation. It was faint at first, but then it grew more and more difficult to ignore. It felt like he was bloated, almost as if he had a series of microscopic tears in every single one of his fuel lines. He scratched without meaning to more often than not, and more than once he had to set his door to lock automatically to keep himself from running out.

Itching, itching, itching.

He wished Breakdown were there to caress his frame, chasing away the discomfort with loving touches and soothing words. For such a big mech, he was so very kind. 

But Breakdown was gone. He’d been gone for months now. All Knockout had left was a vial of his CNA. His forever’s final gift and remnant.

By the sixth cycle, taking decent notes was all but impossible. He settled on setting up a camera just above the medical berth for when he inevitably met his end. He was fidgety, itching, and nervous in a way he’d never been before. Sometimes he found himself pacing, muttering nonsense that he only managed to stop through sheer force of will.

The itch never stopped. 

Emotional codes became tangled and out of place. Priority calculations shifted and left him paranoid, leading Knockout to try and perform manual labor more than once before realizing he was out of his designated role. His protocols were blaring all the time, drowning out his vision with demands for him to find a group and to get to safety. He screamed at some point, clutching his helm and whimpering at how overwhelming it all was.

How had Prime dealt with it all before death all but snuck up on him?

On what he assumed was the seventh cycle, the itch turned to an infuriating burn. Clawing at his protoform and base armor wasn’t enough. It hurt, so much so that he could hardly see straight, much less make any logical decisions. All he had the strength to do was jab and IV with his painkillers into his arm and inject himself with Breakdown’s precious CNA before he collapsed onto his medical berth, the straps clamping down on his limbs.

The vial was discarded on the ground, empty, and used. Despite the fact that it no longer had anything of Breakdown left in it, Knockout wished he could hold it, if only to comfort himself as the pain increased.

Panic set in not long after the straps finished tightening. His venting hitched as the burn worsened. For a moment, he regretted every life decision he’d ever made, including his idiotic choice to go down in flames like he was taking one for the team. When had he ever been a team player? What the frag was wrong with him?

“Slag. This is going to hurt.” He winced, biting back a cry as he felt the first tears begin to form along his protoform. Optimus had skipped this part entirely, going straight for bone obliteration and internal shredding. Knockout almost wished he could do the same as cracks began running along his limbs, the angle of the medical berth letting him see how energon and protomatter started to swell in the wounds.

The painkillers were his salvation as he watched in grim fascination, observing as his very protoform bubbled as if an inflamed fuel line was growing and threatening to burst right beneath the surface layer of his very being. He bit his lower derma as his protoform continued to bulge, finally bursting in his legs and in his right arm. He didn’t dare cry out, instead forcefully silencing himself for as long as possible.

Screams would draw attention. Sound would ruin this precious moment between himself and what he was going to make. This was a family matter, his and Breakdown’s last gift to the world. It couldn’t be interrupted.

Cables burst, spurting energon that trickled down the medical berth and pooled on the ground beneath him. Wires and various connectivity tissues pulsed and all but slithered as the buds started to take shape. It hurt like slag, but it wasn’t as bad as it likely would have been without painkillers. The scene itself was still a work of horror, especially as the small mounds began to grow, their mass pushing aside everything else.

“Looks like at least one of these buds is going to turn out just like you, Breakdown! They’ve got your size already!” Knockout laughed, lost in medically induced mania as the bud on his left leg swelled and caused the entire limb to bloat. His pede shifted, deforming before snapping off entirely to allow the bud to consume the stump. Knockout did end up screaming as his bones snapped under the weight of the thing, every pain receptor in the limb activating in hot waves of agony.

The bone stuck out from his leg, jutting at an odd angle and glittering blue as if Primus himself had thrown some sort of polish on it. Knockout could see every single micro-connector within the broken skeletal structure, still pulsing with charge. The medic in him screamed, demanding he heal the wound. But he was well aware of his doom. The metal around his abdomen was already graying, a sign of severe energon loss.

There was no stopping it now.

The chorus of suffering was only added to as the two other buds performed similarly. The smaller one on his right leg bulged and crawled up his limb like mold, eating away at his plating with acidic effects that revealed delicate circitry that sizzled and popped as they were corroded. Knockout couldn’t have possibly predicted that outcome with how the bud on his left leg was acting. The one on his arm hurt the most, surprisingly. Knockout could hardly see through the coolant, causing his vision to become hazy, but he did note his digits doing the same thing that Optimus’s had before his death. They increased in size, the plating oozing with protomatter before cracking and all but exploding to make way for the bud.

The remnants of his digits were nothing more than thin skeletal bones connected only by tender ligaments, which had quickly begun to lose their strength. 

He shrieked as the painkillers were overridden by the sheer amount of torment assaulting him. There was no comfort to be found as he started to flail, composure fleeing him as he cried out for anyone to help him. He was sure he screamed for Breakdown most, but at some point he must have cried for someone else as well, because he started to hear murmurs outside his medical bay. A Vehicon must have noted his wails.

“Breakdown-!” He sobbed against his restraints, hardly able to watch as more and more parts of his very frame tore themselves apart. The buds did not climb higher than their sectioned limbs, but they consumed, ripped, and tore. There was so much blue. So much blue...

Crack after crack, cry after cry. It blended into a meaningless babble. 

At some point, the agony almost entirely ceased as weight dropped off Knockout like a heavy burden long forgotten. The straps holding him came undone, leaving him to lay there, bleeding out and struggling to keep his fans running. The relief he felt was palpable as he reveled in the lack of pain. Although the chill that crept into what remained of his frame did little to comfort him.

Once he’d cleared the coolant from his optics, he mustered the will to look toward the ground where the three buds floundered. The sticky mounds convulsed, thin stick-like limbs jutting out in almost spider-like fashion before more living metal could wreath the limb in musculature and mass. The things looked horrifying as faces tore themselves from the masses, gaping intakes and lightless optics appearing half melted before they convulsed a few more times and finally booted online.

Knockout’s venting slowed as energon loss began to set in. The painkillers were finally doing their slagging job, giving him a half-decent look at his spawn as they stood up one by one, looking over their frames with the innocence of the newly forged. The newbuilds were so very fascinating, so very... Breakdown, each in their own way.

“You are not supposed to be alive.” The biggest of the bunch, a heavy-set newbuild with a rounded helm structure and bright headlights already in formation, addressed Knockout quietly. There was no mockery, no insults, merely an observation. This was like him. Knockout could see it in the red optics that met his own. They were modeled just like Breakdown’s.

“Just had to make sure... that you lot carried Breakdown... in your CNA as well.” His voice came out as little more than a pitiful wheeze, but Knockout didn’t have the presence of mind of care as the other two stared at him. The smallest of the ground was also quite a bulky thing, another of Breakdown’s traits. They shone with gold optics, so reminiscent of his beloved.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, originator.” The smallest one looked him up and down, likely assessing the horror that was Knockout’s devastated frame. He managed a grim laugh at that, even as his senses started to dull.

“You look just like him.” Knockout coughed up energon, his spark flaring painfully in remembrance as the last of the newbuilds waved to him shyly. The newbuild was blue and orange, looking almost exactly like his other creator in all but accenting paint and digits. He had Knockout’s claws, a fact that brought him no small amount of pride.

“You’ve done well, originator. Return to your Conjunx. We will take over from here.” The biggest of the newbuilds touched Knockout’s helm, caressing his helm crest and audials in a fond manner. His venting hitched again, this time in loss as he looked over all three of his spawn.

Breakdown would have been thrilled to meet them.

“Your… designations?” His vision started to fail him as he stared at the three. They shared a look, and then all of them smiled.

“Flatline of Knockout and Breakdown.” The largest answered first, bringing more tears to Knockout’s optics as he heard both his and his beloved’s designation. They were both honored here.

“Quickmix.” The smallest replied curtly, but they were kind enough to touch Knockout’s shoulder in their form of a silent goodbye. They reminded Knockout of himself when he was young. At least this one would have siblings to help them along.

“Wildbreak... of Knockout and Breakdown.” The last of the bunch uttered their name quietly, but with a hint of awe. Knockout couldn’t help but smile as his vision failed him and the touches of his three creations lingered on his frame.

This... this had been worth it.

“We did it… Breakdown.” His voice was lost as his hearing started to putter out. The last thing he heard was his door crashing down and the booming voice of Megatron echoing in his medical bay.

“KNOCKOUT-!”

[five-rivers]

Stargazer, Moonweaver, Net

Hey, you. Yes, you. Have you ever wondered, hey, what would it look like if @five-rivers, @jackdaw-sprite, @seaglass-skies, @datawyrms, and @akela-nakamura all worked together on a fic for Phantasy Phest? No? Too specific? Well, if you had, it would look exactly like this fic here.

AO3 link

Tags: Lost Time, The portal accident, Phantasy Phest 2023, Alternate Universe - Modern Fantasy, Fairies, Blood Drinking, Moths, Clockwork has low opinions of the Fenton Parents, Transformation, Body Horror, Danny gets to say Fuck

Word Count: 11,197

Fic continues after cut.

.

"Ohno. Oh, no, no no nooooooo."

The stars were bright tonight.

Danny could even see them from where he was at the edge of a large clearing, where the trees stopped to wreathe the base of a hill.

Unusually, Danny didn't care.

"Nooooo," he said again under his breath.

Danny pushed at the net again. It reeked of garlic and sage the same way his parents’ nets always did, and the cord was rough and knobbly between his fingers. They must have woven this one with something extra.

He needed to get out. But with his flashlight fallen somewhere he could barely see the net or where it might end.

His flashlight. Where was his flashlight? Danny crouched, and began to grope at the ground around him. It couldn't have rolled too far, right?

The net folded up into his face, scratchy and unexpected. Danny flinched back but kept going, moving his hands in a circle. They met dead leaves and earth, and more than once he touched slimy and wet things he hoped were slugs.

He didn't find anything that felt like a flashlight.

"Heck," said Danny.

He sat down on the ground. The damp seeped into his pants but at this point that was a distant concern.

Maybe he could just find the edge of the net. It was a net. It had an edge. And his parents weren't always great at traps.

Danny pulled the net hand over hand in one direction and stopped when he felt something thicker cross over an arm.

He groped at it. It felt like the edge. Or an edge. One side didn't have all the net stuff. With mounting relief he followed it with his fingers–and discovered that it was attached to an opening only about large enough to slip a hand through.

There wasn't a tie that he could feel.

He couldn't find any other holes in it.

The relief withered. He was caught, alone, in the dead of night, in one of his parents' stupid monster catching nets. Without a flashlight.

And his parents, at best, might find him in the morning.

"Heck," said Danny, again.

Then he remembered he was alone, deep in the woods in the middle of the night, and no one would hear him.

"Fuck."

If only, Danny thought a while later, he'd brought his pocket knife. Or literally any knife. Something sharp to cut through the ropes.

None of the rocks he could reach had worked, though that was probably a little because he still couldn't see much of anything. It was really hard to wear through rope when you were doing it with a rock, blind. And through a net.

He was cold. His butt was colder from sitting in the leaves earlier. He kind of wanted to do it again, as a measure of his suffering. He wanted to be home, dry, and warm even more.

Maybe he could just wait for morning. Maybe his parents would know the trap had gone off, and come to check it. Maybe they'd check it anyway. They were the town crackpots for a reason. They didn't just believe in fictional creatures, they did so enthusiastically and with the kind of prejudice that made them set net traps in the woods. For one of their own innocent children to get caught in when he was only trying to stargaze on a clear night before school started in a few weeks. See some constellations, spot a few meteors, maybe a handful of planets, that kind of thing.  

Never mind that he’d maybe snuck out. Because he knew they’d freak out about him going into the woods alone. Because they believed in faeries.

Gosh, he hoped this didn't get back to Dash.

At least the stars were bright tonight.

He sighed and looked up, eyes automatically picking out familiar constellations.  The Big Dipper was easiest, although finding the rest of Ursa Major was less familiar.  All seven stars of Ursa Minor were easily visible, which again highlighted how good the seeing was. Then there were the other circumpolars.  Draco, Cepheus, Cassiopeia…  He could see the V of Andromeda, where it blended with Pegasus, and he could almost convince himself that–

An owl - he thought it was an owl - hooted somewhere nearby.  He jumped, which had the side effect of reminding him that, yes, he was still in a net.  He rubbed his shoulders and neck where they’d been rammed into the net.  Straining against rope shouldn’t have felt like running into a wall, but he supposed he did have his weight on the bottom of it.  

But he soon had other things to worry about than his parents’ irrational net design.

(Seriously, why was there enough room to stand up in this net?  What were they even trying to catch?  At first, he’d thought he could just walk away, back to town, even inside the net, but it was tied to something.  Maybe one of the trees?)

Sounds started to rise up from all around the clearing.  First the high-pitched chirr of crickets, then croaking, buzzing, and chirping.  Small noises, from small things.  

But with those small noises, Danny started to notice rustling and creaking and–  Was that a dog howling or a wolf?  Were there even any wolves here?  He remembered a unit in science last year where the teacher talked about wolves going extinct in some states.

The stars were bright tonight.  The woods around him?  Not so much.  

“People spend nights outside all the time,” he said out loud.  The word probably would have been more impactful if they weren’t whispered.  “All the time.  People go camping and hiking and stuff for fun.”  Never mind that they were usually more prepared to do so than Danny currently was.  And that most of the time, they could decide to just leave and go home or get a hotel room if camping got to be too much for them.  He continued, more loudly, “I just have to wait for morning.  They’ll find me in the morning.  And– and if they don’t, I’ll be able to see.  I’ll be able to get myself out.  I’ll be fine.”

If nothing ate him first.  

No.  No.  That was–  What out here could even eat him, anyway?  Wolves, yeah, okay, but were there wolves?  Still unclear.  Bears?  If there weren’t wolves, he doubted there were bears.  He’d never heard of any bears out here, anyway.  What else could eat a human who wasn’t, well, already dead?  Cougars?  That one school, a couple districts over, had a cougar for a mascot, didn’t they?  That didn’t really mean anything, though.  What else, what else…  Feral pigs?  Those were supposed to be invasive around here, weren’t they?  Danny had kind of laughed at the idea of it in class, but, here, now, in the dark, was a different story.   

He was pretty sure anything else was too small.  So.  Three things out of how many animals?  Thousands?  Yeah.  Yeah, the odds of those three specific animals showing up to bother him were low.  Yes.  Nothing wrong with the math there.  No siree.  

(And the stuff his parents were worried about, the stuff they’d set this trap for, that stuff didn’t exist at all, so he didn’t have to worry about it.  There were no werewolves, no chimerae, no hobgoblins, and definitely no fairies.  Wasn’t even worth thinking about.)

A branch snapped.  Then another.

He’d thought the owl was close, but this sounded closer.  And those didn’t sound like small branches.  

A deer?  There definitely were deer here.  Sam talked about deer resistant and repellent garden plants, sometimes.  Deer could get big.  Like, reindeer were huge, right?

It was dark under the trees, but by starlight alone Danny could still perceive a shadow moving among other shadows.  Something tall.  Something not shaped anything like a deer.

The shadow came closer.  

Danny held his breath and shrunk down against the nearest tree.  He couldn’t fight a bear.  Not even when he wasn’t caught in a net.

"Hello."

"Hi," said Danny back, on autopilot.

Danny continued staring at the shadow for several more tense moments before it occurred to him that it had talked.

"Wait, you can talk?" Danny asked.

"It would appear so," said the shadow, and did not move.  Now that Danny was looking and thinking rather than just freaking out, the shadow looked, well, pretty humanoid.  Tall, sure, and wearing a long coat with a hood - or maybe a dress?  And that could be long hair.  Significantly less weird in the middle of the summer than a coat - but humanoid.  

Human, he should say.  Outside of, like, parrots, there weren’t a lot of other things that could talk.  No matter what his parents said.  

"Um. I'm a little stuck," said Danny.

"Really?" The shadow did not sound surprised.

"Can you, I don't know, cut the net loose? Please?"

The shadow hummed. "I think the more interesting question is why you're stuck in the first place.  One does not frequently encounter those such as yourself in the woods so late at night."

Oh, wow.  Danny could empathize with the curiosity.  He really could.  This was a weird situation to come across, and whoever this was, they must be just as confused as Danny.  But he also really didn’t want to explain anything about this to a stranger.  And he would really rather be out while talking to what was, yet again, a complete stranger.  

… Humans were pretty dangerous themselves, come to think of it.  

“Yeah, I guess not.”  He swallowed.  “Why are you out here, anyway?”  Maybe he was being rude, but the shadow had asked first.

The shadow shifted, looking up.  Starlight limned pale skin and a sharp, straight nose in shades of gray.  “The stars.  The sun is too bright during the day.  It is easier to see them at night.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  Maybe, hopefully, not a murderer, then.  Just another person out stargazing.  A weird person but…  Danny didn’t exactly have room to talk.  “Yeah.  Me, too.  Since the moon isn’t up and all.  I just, uh, ran into this.  Trap.  Thing.”  He tugged at the net.  “And now I can’t get out.”

The shadow’s head tipped back down.  “Can’t you?”

“I really can’t.  I can’t even figure out how it’s tied on.  Do you, like, have a flashlight or something?”

“I do not.”

“Not even, like, one on your phone?”

“No.”  The shadow leaned forward, and might have held out a hand, but if they did, they didn’t touch anything that Danny could feel.  “What a curious and terrible thing,” murmured the shadow.  “What cruelty and carelessness, to leave it to trap the unwary.”

Danny winced.  Yeah.  Yeah, okay, it kind of was, and it was probably a small miracle that no one else had ever gotten trapped in one of these things.  

That Danny knew of.  

He pushed the thought of his parents absent-mindedly forgetting to check one of these traps, or only checking them once a week, out of his mind.  His parents were crazy and kind of forgetful and… well, the point was, he would have heard if something had… happened.  

They wouldn’t do that, anyway.  

“Yeah.  But, um.  Even without the flashlight, please, help?  Just, maybe if you could untie me, or if you have…”  Did he really want this guy to have a knife?  Not really.  Still.  “Something to cut with, maybe?”

“I cannot cut the net in which you find yourself.”  The shadow shifted again.  “However, I will stay with you until you are free.”

“Maybe if you tried some of the knots, you could get me out, though,” pointed out Danny.  

“I have encountered ropes like this in the past.  They do not agree with my skin.”

“What, like, you're allergic?” asked Danny.  

“Something like that.”

Just his luck.  He was found, but the person to find him was… incredibly strange.  And not very useful.  And had possibly run into his parents’ nets before and had a reaction to them.  

“Okay.  But maybe you could call for help?  I mean, I know you said you don’t have a phone, but you could go get someone who can get me out?”

“Child,” said the shadow, with a touch of amusement, “there are things in these woods that would eat you whole.  I am equipped to deal with them.  You are not.  It would be irresponsible of me to leave you while they wander.”  They settled themselves nearby.  “Besides, I can see the stars here as well as I could elsewhere in these woods.”

“Eat me?” squeaked Danny.  He'd thought about bears earlier, but not, like, out loud.  Talking about them out loud was different. He cleared his throat. “You mean like bears?”

“In some respects,” said the shadow, still amused.

"Okay, um." Danny really did not like confirmation that there were bears around. He could have gone without knowing that. Except he probably should know. Considering he was in a net.

The net.

Which the stranger somehow thought he'd be able to escape on his own?

"Hey, um. I have been trying to get out for a while," said Danny. "It hasn't been working. You're sure you can't do anything to help?"

"There is more than one kind of trap here."

Danny blinked.

Crap.  That would be just like his parents, wouldn’t it?  They couldn’t leave it at just one stupid trap in a public space, they have more.  “Where?”

“You will not be able to see it from your perspective, but I have no doubt it would close were I to attempt to free you.”  

“Great,” said Danny.  He took in a shuddering breath.  “Great.  And you, what, think I’ll be able to avoid it on my own?  When I can’t even see it?  Or is this a ‘wait until morning’ thing?”

“You will, at least, be less liable to be eaten by wild animals at that point.  And more able to untie knots with the light of day.”

Okay, yeah.  Danny had been thinking both of those things as well, but with someone here, he’d hoped… 

He rubbed his eyes, tiredly, and, to his absolute horror, his stomach rumbled.

“Are you hungry?” asked the shadow, as if Danny wasn’t already embarrassed enough.  

Danny mumbled something indistinct.  He had eaten.  Just…  The main course had…  Well, some things were better left unsaid.  The salad (courtesy of Jazz) had been okay, and so had the carrots.  He’d felt full right after dinner.  He had.  

But, yeah.  He was hungry.  Dinner had been hours and hours ago at this point. 

“I have food enough to share.”

“Uh,” said Danny.  “Okay?”

Something moved under his nose, and he flinched.  He hadn’t seen the shadow move.  

“Um, I’m not sure I can…”  He tried to wedge his fingers into one of the holes of the net.  He’d lost track of the opening.  

“They are small.  They will fit.  Hold out your hands.”

Danny, only a little skeptical, held out his hands. As promised, several round, slightly damp things, like largeish marbles, were dropped into them through the holes in the net.

“What are these?”

“Star jelly.”

“Like, from starfruit or something?” asked Danny, interested.  He squished one between his fingers.  It was springy, like a gummy.  But still.  Damp.

“Or something,” said the stranger.

“Why is it damp?”

“It hasn’t dried.”

Well. That was almost no information at all.

“But it’s edible?”

“I enjoy them regularly.”

Danny huffed slightly.  This guy was weird.  Again, that was the pot calling the kettle black, but Danny didn’t go around offering weird food to strangers.

No, he went around getting trapped in nets.

And he was hungry.

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t eaten weirder things. His parents could be creative.

Maybe he wasn’t supposed to accept food from strangers, but…  This guy was his getting caught in a net buddy.  And he had to admit, he was pretty mad at his parents right now.  It’d serve them right, that Danny was eating someone else’s food.  

Did that make sense?  Maybe not.  But it wasn’t like any of the stuff Sam or Jazz did made any sense, either.

Plus, it had ‘star’ in the name.  He basically had to try out at least one.

He squished the smallest between his fingers one last time, then popped it in his mouth.  

He chewed.

There was no burst of flavor. It tasted… pretty bland, actually. All the way through. But the texture was okay.  Mostly.  It was at least better than what had happened to the chicken fated for dinner.

So.  Probably not poison.  

(Although why anyone would bother to poison him when he was quite literally trapped in a net was beyond him.)

“I also have a variety of mushrooms.”  

Who was this guy? The last hippie in Amity Park? A revolutionary war survivor?

“Do you have hardtack, too?” asked Danny, unable to help himself.

“I have biscuits.”

Oh thank goodness. Normal food.

“Can I have one?”

Something distinctly cracker-like was placed in his hand.

Danny didn’t even bother snarking, he just ate it. The texture was flaky, the flavor nutty and buttery and just salty enough to coat the whole of his tongue with flavor. He crunched into it again and the layers almost shattered between his teeth, then melted in his mouth like butter in a hot pan.

Danny swallowed. He’d never had a cracker that good.

“Can I have another?” he asked. Then, as more fell into his hands, “Where did you even get these? They’re great.”

“I baked them myself.”

Well.  That explained why he didn’t have a phone.  He was a hippie of some variety.  Danny didn’t comment aloud, though, too busy plowing his way through another cracker. He spent a little while chewing in blissful silence before he could swallow.

“They’re great,” Danny repeated, and had another one. And another.

“Ah,” said the shadow, “I believe that was the first proper shooting star of the night.” 

“What?” said Danny, looking up from his impromptu meal.  He licked his fingers, then stretched out the net, the better to see through it.  “Really?  Where?”  

“From the neighborhood of Cassiopeia, crossing her and going north.”  A pointed finger stood out in silhouette against the slightly brighter sky, tracing an imaginary line.

Danny sighed.  “I can’t believe I missed it.”  The Perseid meteor shower was, after all, one of the main reasons he risked sneaking out.  

“Many meteor showers reach their peak shortly before dawn,” said the shadow.  “As we will be here for some time yet, I believe you will have the opportunity to see many more.”

“But the first one…” Danny said, trailing off.

“The first from our perspective.  This shower has been going on for some time.  For someone to our east, perhaps it is, instead, the last.”

Danny grumbled.  

First the net and now this…  

Something golden green streaked across the sky and he perked up.  That one had been nice.  A breath later, a smaller, shorter one flashed at the edge of his vision, a tiny needle of light.  

“See?  There will be more for you to wish on.”

“That’s really not why I wanted to see them,” said Danny, wrinkling his nose.  Wishing was, well.  It was the sort of thing little kids did.  It wasn’t scientific.  It was the kind of thing his parents strictly forbade.

“It isn’t?”

“I…they’re cool. And it’s nice. Or it would be, if it weren’t for this net.”

“What would it hurt to make a wish?”

Danny sighed.  It wasn’t like they were wrong.  This situation was stupid and illogical.  So.  

“I wish I could get out of this stupid net. Before my parents find out about any of this.”

The stranger hummed in interest. “They don’t know?”

“They sure know about the net,” griped Danny.  He didn’t take his eyes off the sky, but he did tug on the ropes to make his point.  The rope was homemade, twisted with nonstandard fibers along with more common silk and hemp, rubbed with garlic and sage.  It was distinctive.  It was familiar.  It was something he'd probably tripped on a dozen times when it was left half-finished on the living-room floor.  “But it's not like I told them I was sneaking out. Like, who's going to tell their parents they're breaking rules?”  

The shadow hummed again.  "That is true."

Danny was distracted from replying or continuing by a pale, oddly oblong blur to the north.  It stayed in place, even as colorful shooting stars passed it by.  

"Is that–?" gasped Danny.  He leaned forward against the tension in the ropes and a similar, less tangible ache in his chest, as if he could get closer to the sky.  

The oblong blur widened into several similar streaks, like thumbprints on glass.  Green, pink, and purple began to seep into them.  

"There must have been a solar storm I didn't know about," said Danny as meteors shot through the undulating curtain of the Aurora. Delight was dancing in his stomach and thrumming along his limbs at the sight. "We hardly ever get the Aurora this far south." 

"It is an auspicious night for stargazing, then," said the shadow, "and one I am indeed glad to share, despite the circumstances."  

The thing was, they were right.  Despite the net, stargazing with someone who liked it as much as he did was nice.  It was really nice, despite the net.  Nice enough to wish, quite sincerely, and on a meteor that fell across the sky in that very moment, that they could do it again.  It probably would have been nice even without the Perseids and the Aurora, but with them he was practically giddy.

Briefly, Danny imagined how this meeting might have gone sans net.  

Okay.  Honestly, Danny probably would have run for it.  Weird adult in the middle of the night, after all.  He had briefly wondered if the guy was an axe murderer. 

He rolled his shoulders.  His back was starting to get sore - probably a combination of the net and how long he'd been looking up, but he didn't want to take his eyes off the light show even for a second.  

"My name's Danny, by the way."  They were kind of sort of friends now.  Stargazing buddies.  Net buddies, even.  Danny couldn't refer to the as 'the shadow' or as 'the guy who sat with me all night the time I was trapped in one of my parents' nets' forever, and he doubted the shadow wanted to keep mentally referring to him as 'that weirdo kid who got stuck in a net' for eternity, either.  

"I am honored that you would trust me with your name," said the shadow, tone strangely formal. 

"Uh, you're welcome?" Danny said.

"I go by Clockwork."

Wow. This guy really was strange, huh?  Was that his legal name?  Just a nickname?  A screen name?  Had he changed his legal name to that?

"Nice to meet you, Clockwork," said Danny, for lack of a better response.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, as well."

Pleased to make your acquaintance. Well. Danny's parents were eccentric too (see also: net. see also also: believing said net was going to catch faeries and demons.) and he was now almost eighty percent sure this guy wasn't an axe murderer.

Danny shifted under the net. He could try and shake hands, but the excitement and delight hadn't faded much at all and it was hard to focus on formalities when so much of him was full of so much energy.

Wait.

That was weird, wasn't it? Danny frowned. Should he have taken random food from a stranger? Clockwork had mushrooms, too. Had the star jelly been not just edible but an edible?

Was he high right now?

"Clockwork," Danny began, and the Aurora bloomed across the sky. The moment filled with shared murmurs of admiration, and by the time it died the thought had passed.

Even if the energy hadn't.

He flexed his fingers.  Maybe he’d run through some kind of itchy plant?  That might explain the tingle on his skin.  

There was a hollow, almost melodic popping noise from the vicinity of the shadow.  The vicinity of Clockwork, he corrected himself.  

“You should try to stay hydrated,” said Clockwork.  

A scent both floral and salty wafted up to Danny’s nose.  The green glimmer of the Aurora reflected off the glassy lip of a bottle.  “Is– Is that alcohol?” asked Danny.  “Are you offering me alcohol?  Wine?”

“I am not,” said Clockwork.  “This is far more nourishing.”

“‘This’ being what, exactly?” asked Danny, still vaguely suspicious.  

“It is mostly sugar and water.  Fruit juice, salt, nectar, among other things. As you would call them, electrolytes. You have exerted yourself.  It has not been purposefully fermented.” 

This guy and his weird food. Still, that didn’t seem…bad, exactly. Danny was thirsty, and he liked gatorade, and that was kind of similar, right? And he was curious.

The crackers had been good.  And even the star jelly had been edible.

It took some experimentation to hold the bottle firmly through the net.  The body of it was too large to fit through any of the holes.  But the mouth and neck of the bottle could go through, and Clockwork seemed content to hold it until Danny figured it out.  

The liquid inside was thicker than he had expected.  Sweeter and saltier, too.  The flavor was… interesting.  A little sour, a little bitter, a little… savory?  It definitely tasted like flowers smelled.  Only, it also tasted like something else?  A lot of something elses.  

He pulled the bottle back and licked his lips thoughtfully.  He… didn’t hate it.  It sure wasn’t something he’d just drink on his own, though.  On the other hand, taking that sip had made him realize how thirsty he actually was.  Which was very thirsty.  He must have gotten more dried out than he’d thought, first walking here and then fighting the net for who knew how long.  

He took another sip, trying to focus on the flavors he hadn’t quite been able to name.

And another.

Something in him settled as he drank. He hadn’t realized how nervous he’d been. Was it nervousness? He’d thought it was excitement. Delight. Something positive.  But now it was settling into something softer. Calmer. And yet the sky was no less compelling.

Maybe it was a different sort of happiness, now that the unexpected relief and delight of a fellow stargazer out here had calmed his nerves. Maybe he hadn’t managed to calm down until now, and the drink was finally letting him?

Regardless, his limbs weren't so tense anymore, and breaths he hadn’t realized had become so short were drawing long and even now, and that was a relief.

He alternated sips with looking up at the stars.  The Aurora undulated slowly, and was periodically pierced by meteors.  The stars behind the curtains of light were harder to see, but he could still pick out his favorites coming and going, first hidden, then not.  The motion of the lights almost made them seem as if they were moving. It was hypnotizing. 

He tilted the bottle back once more, and made a disappointed sound deep in his throat when he realized it was empty.  Huh.  He must have liked it alright after all.  That wasn’t a small bottle.  In fact, it was bigger than he’d originally thought when Clockwork had first given it to him.  

… He hoped this didn’t make him have to pee.  He was in the woods, but standing next to, um.  Well.  An impromptu bathroom.  Until dawn, at least.  Would make the net thing much worse.

“Done already?” asked Clockwork.

“I guess I was thirstier than I thought.”

“You had been exerting yourself for some time.”  Clockwork plucked the bottle out of Danny’s hands.  “But I believe that you will soon see the fruits of your exertions.”

Danny sighed and leaned more deeply against the tree he was attached to.  Subtly, he rubbed his back against the bark.  The soreness was getting worse.  “Not unless you see a rescue party.”

Clockwork hummed. “I do not. But perhaps you will not need one. The weave of the net seems looser, now. Can your hands fit through?”

Danny tested it. His hand fit through one of the holes easily. And another. It was the same with the third he tried.

“What,” he said.

“It is progress, is it not?”

“I don’t know how,” Danny said. “It’s not like Mom and Dad don’t tie these things at every connection. I didn’t think they could slide.”

“And yet your hands can fit through.”

“Yeah. I just wish I knew how that happened.”

“Dawn will come,” said Clockwork. “You will be able to see it then. Perhaps you worked them loose with your straining.”

“I guess,” said Danny, still wondering.

“And with dawn, you will be free, one way or another. For now, shall we focus on this spectacular sky?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.

He’d never seen a night sky like this before, after all. Even if he was stuck under a net, he had a …not a friend. But a fellow stargazer who was just as appreciative. And he was full, and no longer thirsty, and even the cold of the wet earth beneath him wasn’t as cutting with Clockwork’s company.

He settled in again to watch the lightshow, and worried at the cords of the net as he did. It wasn’t like he couldn’t do both, after all.

The stars flashed.  The sky spun.  Clockwork and Danny both exclaimed and pointed at particularly impressive meteors.  Clockwork noted the visible planets and occasionally pointed out asterisms Danny had never heard of before.  The Veil, the Key, the Mistletoe, the Dancing Maidens, the Hive, the Moth.  He half suspected Clockwork was just making them, and the stories that went with them, up to entertain Danny.  But, then, Danny was entertained.  He couldn’t complain.  Even when Clockwork tried to get away with calling Libra The Balance, Danny found his objections were more laughter than indignation.

The eastern horizon began to blush pale. Danny found himself almost disappointed at the sight, even if he’d be able to get out of the net soon. And really see Clockwork. After stargazing for hours together, it felt odd that he still didn’t know what the man looked like even though his voice was becoming as familiar as a friend’s.

He rubbed one of the net cords between his fingers.  Was it just him, or did it seem… scratchier?  Thicker?

He stroked the skin on his palms. Did he have rope burn, maybe? He had been pulling on the cords for hours.  And who knew what his parents had soaked the nets in after they’d been woven?  Danny sure tried not to.  

More importantly, before too much longer the sun would drown out the meteors and the Aurora both.  He wanted to press this sight into his mind to keep forever and ever.  And not just the sight, but the feeling of…  He couldn’t put a name to it, to what he felt, sitting here with Clockwork

It just felt important.

A meteor fell.  He wished it would last.  Another meteor, brighter.  He wished that even after Clockwork inevitably found out who Danny’s parents were and what they were like in person, he would still want to be ‘acquaintances.’  Friends.  Whatever.  He was weird enough.  Probably.  Like Sam and Tucker.  

He wished–

A huge fireball bloomed directly overhead, a celestial arrow angling down, north, wreathed in blinding green.  It took Danny’s breath away.  

He wished he could do this again. He wished he could cast off the shadow of his parents’ weird fae traps and property damage and hatred of creatures that didn’t even exist. He wished he could have the space and time to figure out who he was and who he could be, whether that was an astronaut, an astronomer, a screw up, whatever Jazz was trying to convince him to be that week, or, heck, even someone just as strange as his parents and Clockwork.  He wished he could be himself, could just shed the image of what they and almost everyone else seemed to see in him.  

Also, the net.  

Some of the net fell heavily around Danny’s shoulders, then slid off them.  He didn’t look down, still entranced by the after-image.  Then pain, white hot and as sharp as a knife, drove into his temples and back.  It took his breath away.

He dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for air and squeezing his eyes so tightly that tears began to slip out.  What had happened?  What was wrong with him?  He hissed out a shaky breath that was dangerously close to a sob as the pain redoubled, strengthening and strengthening again until static pulsed in the dark of his shut eyes.

It felt as though his head were splitting open.

The pain lanced down his back and he revised the thought. It felt as though he were splitting open.

And then his face came apart.

And then there were only scattered fragments. Scratching.  Growing. Stretching. The feeling of fingers on earth. The feeling fingers of earth. Unfolding. Squeezing. Balance; a knife’s edge.

A great and overwhelming sense of space.

Like a leaf before a storm, Danny trembled.

Eventually, it ebbed.

He was clinging to the ground with all his might, which wasn’t much; the whatever-it-was had left him weak. His limbs felt like jelly and seemed half as cooperative. He was gasping for air, each breath harsh enough to sting his throat. There was a blanket over him and he had the halfway-delirious thought that if Clockwork had a blanket he’d have appreciated it sooner than this.

He couldn’t feel the net.

Had Clockwork gotten him out once it got light enough out? It seemed much brighter now, even if the thought of opening his eyes made Danny wince.

There was a painful, high-pitched chirr sound in the background.  It hurt Danny’s ears and made him wonder if there was an injured animal nearby.  

Something pressed down gently on the back of his neck, where the fuzzy, fluffy edge of the blanket rested.  It removed itself, then returned at the top of his head, whereupon it slid down to the top of his back.  

Oh.  Oh.  He was being petted.  Comforted.  That must be someone’s hand.  Clockwork’s?

It felt… unusually satisfying.  Especially when they fluffed the ruff of the blanket which Danny was strangely aware of.  

Very gradually, the tension in his body began to ease, and he was able to start cataloging the parts of his body that hurt, which was all of them.  But there were a few that hurt more.  His eyes.  His ears.  His temples and the sides of his head.  His entire back.  His shoulders, neck, ears, and large parts of his spine felt like every hair on them had been individually plucked out and then sandpapered.  Speaking of his spine, that felt as if it had been stretched, pulled to bits.  And his back still felt like it had been stabbed.  Multiple times.  Especially around his shoulder blades and at the base of his spine.  

Other than that, he was just sore, everywhere.  

The quality of the chirr sound he’d been hearing started to change, morphing into a sort of purr.  One that rose and fell in time with the hand petting Danny.  

Huh.  

His hand flexed on the ground.  Something was…  There was something very off here, beyond the pain, but that was getting better, and he was starting to feel almost… comfortable.

His weight shifted again, and the ground shifted under it.

It was warm.

It was…damp? Wet. There was something wet under his hands.  Carefully, worried that it would move again, Danny took one hand off the ground and brought it to his face to sniff.   

It smelled good. It smelled wonderful, salty and hearty and just a little bit like chicken soup.

He licked it.

“There we are,” said Clockwork, softly.  “Take as much as you need.”  

Danny needed a lot, right now. His throat was raw, and he was thirsty and suddenly starving, and beyond that the pain that was still leaving echoes through his body. This was warmth and comfort and he wanted both.

He lowered his head and began to lap directly from the source, and warmth and comfort steadily filled him like the morning sun.

He pulled back, not exactly satiated, but needing something else, something different, now.  He made a soft, pleading sound, more like a chirp or a keen than anything human.  He didn’t understand what was going on, but part of him trusted he would be cared for.  Loved.  He’d already been given so much he didn’t know he needed…

Another plea escaped his throat.  It blended with the softening chirr, fitting with it far better than Danny felt it should.  

Something soft and sweet-smelling tickled his cheeks, and Danny dove in, his tongue coming out to search for what he knew was there.

Sweet.

Sweet, but not in the way of candy or even sugar. This was softer, perfumed, more reminiscent of honey but lacking that sharp note.

He wanted more.

As he pushed his face deeper into the… container… something touched his…  Touched…  What?  It was touching his… not his head, but something over it, something attached, something he could feel, and now that he could feel it, was thinking about it, whatever it was, he could feel its movements, as even the sigh-soft breeze pushed it around. 

It– No, they were something fine.  Something soft and delicate.  Something light and flexible and oh so very sensitive.  

The hand, Clockwork’s hand, stroked down his back again, and Danny realized he could feel the fluff of the blanket the same way he’d been able to feel the things on his head. And it trailed past that, to his horribly sore back, and down, all the way down, past where his back should end.

Down, to where Danny could feel something laying across a foot. Down, to where he could feel a hard object under him.

Something twitched, and the thing across his foot fell away. The hard something vanished, too, replaced with the soft ground he found himself on.

Danny chirred, confused.

Oh.  He had been the one making that sound all along.  But.  That wasn’t a sound he could make.  It wasn’t.  

He had to see what was going on. 

Opening his eyes was, perhaps, the single hardest thing he had ever done.  It wasn’t that they were stuck closed or anything, they were just so heavy, and a large part of him just didn’t want to know, wanted to stay half asleep, wanted to keep being held and petted.

Red. A deep, rich red puddled around him on the strange, soft ground. And the ground was uneven, and covered with small ridges and creases where it didn’t vanish beneath the red. Which was welling up from the ground like a spring.

Danny was wrist-deep in it.

A short distance from his face lay the biggest flower Danny had ever seen.  It was bigger than his head, its pale petals stained liberally with the red.   Handprints.  The red stains were in the shape of handprints.  Danny’s handprints.  

The red looked– Well, it looked a lot like–  Like a scene from a horror movie–  But it was coming from the ground, it couldn’t be.  It couldn’t be blood.  

Danny had been drinking this.  What had he been thinking?

“Are you feeling better?” asked Clockwork.

Danny looked around for him.  Then, he looked up.  

The very first thing he noticed was that there were still stars in the sky.  It was still dark, the Aurora was still bright.  The meteors were still falling.

Why could he see?

Why could he see so much more?  He’d only ever seen the stars like this in long-exposure photographs.  The light pollution was way too strong this close to the city.  

There were other, closer things.  The leaves on the trees were green, but they weren’t just green.  Their veins seemed to glow with soft pinks and blues.  He could see insects and birds, too, all of them strangely bright to his eyes, like they had swallowed stars.  

Then, there was Clockwork.  It had to be Clockwork.  There wasn’t anything or anyone else it could be.

“I will interpret that as a yes,” said Clockwork, smiling down at him with love clear in all six eyes.

He had the nose Danny had seen before, yes, and long, silk-white hair, but everything else was so far beyond what Danny had imagined that it was hard to even comprehend.  

And yet it suited him perfectly.

His skin was blue, like summer twilight, warm and rich.

His face glowed in the same soft, steady way as the birds, and set in it, his eyes were a kindly red. There were four on his right side but his left had only two; a deep black scar tore its way down most of his face and left two empty sockets in its wake. It was interrupted only by his primary eye on that side, and Danny felt tender relief that the old wound hadn’t taken that one, too.

White filaments made up a thick ruff around the collar of his– No, that wasn't a cloak, those were wings.  Huge, dramatic, moth-like wings, layered over one another.  There had to be dozens of them, all the way down his back.  They were as dark and starry as the sky on the outside, but some were turned towards Danny to show the luminous, moon-pale undersides.

Below that–below that, Danny couldn’t see. The ground he was on was too high, and Clockwork too large. The ground–

He wasn’t on the ground.

Finally, like disjointed pieces of a puzzle, the details became whole. The uneven place where he lay, with its softness and whorls of ridges and creases. The warmth of it, and the placement.

The–the blood.

He was on Clockwork’s upturned hand.

Forget the rest of it.  When, and how, did Clockwork get so big?  

Danny chirred a question. Wordless, overwhelmed and wondering.

(And why was Clockwork bleeding?)

“You are safe, little one. My little one.”

Danny chirred again, a little cross. That didn’t answer anything.

Clockwork only smiled, and then there was a gentle rocking motion as they moved. Like clouds, the trees in the distance slid sideways with deceptive speed. 

Danny settled, feeling sleepy, slow, and stupid, but still safe.  Like he should be able to make this all make sense, like this should make sense, if he was just a little more awake and aware, but that it didn’t matter if he couldn’t, because he would be protected.

And then, Clockwork tilted, and his hand jostled, and though he didn’t become more visible, they were suddenly surrounded by great spikes of grass and flowers, stories tall. Some of them drooped, heavy with seeds or droplets of dew. They hung huge and heavy from the stalks, like fruit ripe to bursting.

Danny blinked. Frowned. Blinked again.

There was something, an idea, that made sense. But it hung just out of reach, blurry, and every time he reached for it, the thought passed through his mental fingers like the morning mist.

It was, it should have been, obvious.

Clockwork would know. Danny chirred his question again.

“It will come to you,” Clockwork said. ”Give it time.”

Clockwork cleaned him off gently with a huge, damp cloth, taking special care with his ruff, antennae, and wings. He mopped up the blood pooling beneath Danny as well, with a reassurance that Danny was welcome to more if he needed it. With another hand, he laid another huge flower down next to him. The stem where Clockwork had held it glowed briefly, before it faded into the relative dark of early morning, leaving the flower with the same odd coloration as the tree leaves earlier.

Dawn was still hours off. He wasn’t in the net.

Danny looked up.

He’d wondered what it would be like to stargaze with Clockwork without the net.  Apparently, the answer was wonderful.

The stars were still so beautiful. More beautiful, now. There was such an incredible array of color and brightness in the sky, like a living painting. There was scarcely any black left in it.

Danny blinked, slow.  He rubbed his face with his hands, lingering over his ears - which felt long and soft, like a cat’s or a rabbit’s, he must really be sleepy - and the long fluffy things that had sprouted from his head.  They twitched under his fingers.  

He looked up at Clockwork, still hoping for an answer and… Clockwork had things growing from his head, too, now that he looked.  He’d mistaken them for hair, before, but while Clockwork certainly had plenty of that, braided, beaded, and beribboned, that wasn’t all he had.  

They were antennae.  Four of them.  White, fluffy, and softly glowing.  They were much longer, compared to Clockwork’s body, than Danny’s were compared to his.  Danny raised his hands to feel his again.  He had two.  And, maybe, behind each, a ticklish little nub.

It felt…right, that they should both have antennae, though. Satisfying. Comforting, like a hug. Like the stroking had been, and the blood.

What else did Danny and Clockwork share, now?

Danny’s eyes trailed carefully over Clockwork’s face.

Danny was pretty sure he only had two eyes, but he touched his face again, just to make sure.  Then his ears…  Clockwork had big, long ears, too, the edges of them soft with white fur. Just like his ruff.  Danny’s ruff was black shot with silver and… it was growing from his skin.  It wasn’t part of a blanket, which meant…

He twisted his head to check.

There was no blanket.  Danny had wings.  They were wrinkled and slightly damp, but they were wings, just like Clockwork’s, although he didn’t have nearly as many.  Two sets, to Clockwork’s uncountably many.  

He also had a tail. And only two arms, to Clockwork’s four. Somehow, in the moment, this seemed less important than the wings.

His eyes kept returning to his wings.

The outsides looked just like the darker parts of the sky did now, streaked with meteor silver and edged with Auroral green.  The insides were the same vivid colors as the Aurora itself.  Pinks, purples, blues, and greens all dancing together.

They were beautiful.  He definitely, definitely should not have them.

He wanted them.

He shouldn’t want them.  

He did.  

He drew them close to his body and looked up.

There was a huff of fond laughter. “Remember to fan them out, my little fledgeling. We want them to dry well.”

Oh. Right. Danny unfolded his wings again, a little embarrassed he’d forgotten.  

And then he returned his attention to the stars. He was determined to enjoy this for however much longer this might last.  Maybe this would all make sense in the morning.  Maybe all of this would be taken away from him.  Either way, neither was true now.

Now, Danny was here with Clockwork, looking up.

Now, the sky was vast and beautiful.  

Later, his eyes started to feel heavy again.  He pulled the flower close, and began to absent-mindedly chew on the petals in an attempt to stay awake.  He didn’t want to miss anything else.

Despite his efforts, his eyes began to droop. His head kept falling into his neck fluff, and the flower tumbled from his hands.

Clockwork plucked it from where it fell, and replaced it with a blanket, just Danny’s size.

“Some inevitabilities we must fight,” said Clockwork, “but this isn’t one of them, my dear child.”

For another few moments, he kept his eyes stubbornly on the sky.  Another pair of meteors fell, and he wished, perhaps selfishly, that this could last forever.  

But, he admitted to himself with a sigh, he was very tired.  

Danny curled up in Clockwork’s hand, tucking his head under the wings he was careful to keep fanned, and his tail around his head.

“Rest, my little one,” said Clockwork’s voice, already distant. “We can talk more when you are rested.”

And Danny did.

Dawn.

The kiss of the sun on the horizon.  The beginning of a new day.  The banishment of all things of the night.  

Danny jackknifed straight up as if its fire had been poured directly into his veins, heart pounding.  He woke just in time to see his new wings, his beautiful, terrible, fully spread wings evaporate like the morning dew.  

The antennae, the tail, and the fur that had grown around his neck and shoulders and down his spine stayed.  

More concerningly from Danny’s perspective, his perspective didn’t change.  He stayed small, just the right size to fit snugly in the palm of Clockwork’s hand.  

Clockwork’s wings stayed.  So did his extra eyes, his antennae, his skin color, and everything.  

This wasn’t a dream.  

Or there really had been drugs in the food Clockwork gave him. 

Why, oh why, was that the best case scenario right now?  Why was the best possible answer to the question of what was happening that he was just really really high?  

Because if he was just drugged, that meant he was only normal human stupid.  People took stupid drugs accidentally and on purpose all the time.  But if it wasn’t drugs, if this was real… That meant he’d somehow wandered into a world where his parents were right, had always been right, and he was probably about to get eaten.  

“I would not, and will not, eat you,” said Clockwork.  “I never would.”

“I don’t know what you would or wouldn’t do!” hissed Danny, pulling on his hair. “You turned me into some kind of– of moth boy.”  

“You would have turned regardless, trapped so thoroughly and so long on a faerie door on a night like that. I simply made sure that it was kinder.”

“Kinder than what?”

“Any number of things. Any number of fates. They do not give much more mind to cruelty than your parents.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was their trap you fell into, dear one.  Without their actions, you could be human, still; safe and warm at home.  Though,” and here Clockwork smiled so gently that Danny couldn’t help but be comforted despite himself. “You are safe, and you are warm. And you could be home as well.”

Danny hunched his shoulders.  “What,” he squeaked, “is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that as you are, you would be in danger with those who made the net that trapped you. I mean that you would be welcome in my home, and cared for, and safe. You are not the first lost and lonely child I have found. Nor the first with parents who should have protected them, and did not.”

“You’ve kidnapped other kids?”

“I have adopted other children. Other children, who were not cared for as they should have been, not loved as they deserved. As you deserve.”

“My parents love me just fine,” Danny snapped.

“I see,” said Clockwork, and he seemed sad. “And your presence here in the night? Alone, without even a light to see by?”

“I snuck out. And I brought a flashlight with me.”

“Alone,” said Clockwork.

“I thought the woods were safe.”

“Why? Did your parents tell you they were?” asked Clockwork, eyes narrowed and nose flaring.

“No! No, they said they were full of monsters.”

“So they didn’t teach you we could be dangerous?”

“No, I–I didn’t believe them.”

“My child, humans can be dangerous. Even to other humans. Surely, you know–”

“I know that,” interrupted Danny. “I didn’t think you existed.”

Clockwork frowned. “Your parents set cruel traps for the unwary.”

“Because they are crazy. Were crazy?” Danny moaned, burying his head in his hands.  He resisted the urge to start preening his antennae and fluff. “I don’t even know anymore.”

“Their cruelty is the same,” said Clockwork, “Regardless of whether you believed the target existed. And they let you go hungry.”

“That wasn’t their fault.  They made dinner.  It just… didn’t work out.”

“Then whose fault was it?” asked Clockwork.  “Yours?  Your sister’s?  As parents, they should provide for you, not leave you to fend for yourself.”

“They didn’t leave us to fend for ourselves,” scoffed Danny, crossing his arms.  

“What do you call them leaving to go test what was left of that chicken?”

“That was– Okay, but what happened to the chicken was really weird–”

“It was not the first time, or the only time, that they abandoned you in favor of crafting their weapons and traps.”

Danny shook his head.  “They love us.  They love me.”

“Sometimes, that is not enough.”

“Sometimes it is.  Of course it is. They love me. They love me enough to–” Danny swallowed, fighting down grief and horror. “I’m not leaving them.  Or Jazz.”

Swallowing hadn’t helped. It had only shoved the churning knot of emotion down into his chest where it could reach awful vines around his heart and squeeze.

His hands were shaking.

God, what would Jazz do if he randomly disappeared?  They annoyed the heck out of each other, and Jazz definitely held some of the things she did for him over his head for guilt trips, but he didn’t doubt she loved him. He didn’t doubt she would be frantic if he vanished.

He chirred again, mournfully, and only looked up again at Clockwork’s light touch.

“If love is enough,” said Clockwork, softly, ”then shouldn’t it be enough that I love you?”

“I–I don’t know,” said Danny.

Because the thing was, he didn’t doubt that Clockwork loved him. Nor that Clockwork would nurture and protect him, as he already had. It was easy, terribly easy, to imagine snuggling under Clockwork’s wings or into his ruff and trusting that he would be safe.

Danny pinched his eyes shut. “I’m going back.”

“As you are?  Knowing how they would treat those they consider monsters?”

“Yes.  They’re my parents.  They love me.”

“Through this forest, and all of its dangers?”

“Yes.”

“Through all the hazards of that human city?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing I can do will dissuade you?”

“No.”  Although, Danny reflected, Clockwork could certainly stop him physically.  All he would have to do was hold him.  But Danny would fight him.  He’d fight, and he’d never stop fighting, and trying to get back home, no matter what.  No matter how much Clockwork seemed to care for him, or how gentle and kind he was.  

Clockwork sighed.  “Then I have no choice.  I will let you return.”

“You– You will?” asked Danny, suspiciously.  It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“Yes.  But I would not have you killed out of hand, my child, as would certainly happen if you were to return as you are now.  First, let me show you how to change.”

“I don’t want to change anymore,” said Danny.  “I don’t.  I don’t.” The fear was a beating heart inside of him, the idea of more change, unknown and untraveled. 

“Perhaps I should say, change back.”

“I can be human again?” A needle of hope lanced through his chest. But would he ever see Clockwork again? 

“Not precisely,” said Clockwork, before Danny could dwell.  “No more than you are now.  But it was the doorway that changed you, and doorways are of the between rather than here or there.  Thus, you are of both sides of the door, not just one.  You are still half human.”

Danny sat down.  “I am?” he asked, voice wavering.  He wasn’t going to cry.  Not now.

“Yes,” said Clockwork.  “You are half human… and half faerie.  Half of their house, and half of mine, tied by blood, if not birth.”

Danny remembered.  He remembered drinking Clockwork’s blood (again, what had he been thinking?) and how good it had tasted.  

He hoped that wasn’t going to be, like, a recurring thing.  

“So, what do I do?” he asked.  

“First,” said Clockwork, “you ought to take off your clothing, so it doesn’t tear.”

“So it doesn’t…?”  Danny looked down at himself.  Maybe he should have realized earlier, but he wasn’t wearing the clothes he’d put on yesterday.  Which made sense.  At his current size, they would have been far too big.  Instead, he was wearing simple white layered robes that had openings in the back for his wings and tail.  

“I will have to get you something enchanted to change sizes, or to come when you transform, should you choose to remain and change often,” continued Clockwork.  “But I was able to make these on short notice, and they were suitable for the night.”

“You made these?” asked Danny, oddly touched.  He was supposed to be mad at Clockwork.  He was supposed to be afraid of him.  But both of those feelings just ran out of his hands like water out of a fist.  

“I did,” said Clockwork.  

“What happened to my clothes?”

Clockwork shifted one of his wings, showing what was beneath it.  Silver buckles and pocket watches shone brightly against dark silk and leather.  Other things, like bottles, herbs, and what looked like a small spyglass hung from belts or were secreted in pockets.  Danny’s ratty jeans and t-shirt stood out like a sore thumb.  

“Oh,” said Danny.  “Okay.  Um.”  His hands curled around the edge of the tunic-like top portion of the robes.  “Don’t look.”

Clockwork closed his eyes. 

“Now what?” asked Danny, who very much was not enjoying being naked in the open like this.  

“We are creatures of the night sky,” said Clockwork, eyes still shut.  “We are of the Stars and the Moon.”

“The moon is up during the day, too.  It’s up right now.”

“So it is,” agreed Clockwork.  “But so is the Sun that drowns out the Stars.”

“The sun is also a star.”

“So it is.  But it is not like other Stars.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It is not like other stars to us, or to humans.  It is the light by which so many see.  It is what divides day from night.  It is, you see, what has clipped your wings.” Danny shifted slightly, the missing weight of his wings both foreign and familiar. 

(There was so much to unpack.  He hadn’t any time.)

“Why is it different?”

“Its proximity, perhaps. We can discuss it at a later time, if you wish. I would enjoy such a conversation.”

Danny hadn’t really thought about there being a ‘later’ with Clockwork, but…  The thought of never seeing Clockwork again made his heart squeeze painfully, so he shoved it away.  

“In any case,” continued Clockwork, “for those like yourself to change, you reach for one or the other.  For the day or the night.  The light or the dark.  The Moon or the Sun.  However you would like to think about it.  You give precedence within yourself to one or the other.”

“Is it harder when they’re close to one another in the sky, like now?” Danny asked.

Clockwork smiled, though he kept his eyes shut. “As I do not transform that way, I do not know myself. My other children may have more comparable experiences, and we all are more comfortable under the phase we were born under.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be running into your children any time soon,” said Danny.  Seeing them would, after all, mean that Clockwork had succeeded in kidnapping Danny, too.  Even if it meant that he’d see Clockwork again…

“Even so.  You will be able to see for yourself before long.  Reach out, now.  Can you feel them?”

Clockwork had a lot of confidence in Danny being able to figure this out quickly, huh.  

(Despite still being mad at Clockwork - he was mad, he was - Danny didn’t want to disappoint him.)

Reach out… to something inside himself.  Which was also outside himself?  He wasn’t entirely clear on how literal the connection to the moon and sun was.  But…  Right.  Okay.  He could do this.  He didn’t want to be a little gremlin moth thing that Clockwork - or, heck, an average bird - could carry off at a moment’s notice.  

He closed his eyes.  

Day and night.  Light and Dark.  Moon and sun.  This was the kind of Yin and Yang stuff Sam sometimes got into.  Balance and changing balance.  

If he was reaching for the sun - for the Sun, the idea of the Sun - he should reach for heat, shouldn’t he?  Heat and life and truth.  

He could feel it, on his skin, warming him, cutting through the coolness of the morning.  He imagined that warmth sinking through him, filling him up.  

But there was warmth inside him, too.  It built in his chest and left his lungs with every breath. It churned in his heart and coursed through his veins like the blood that helped to carry it.  It was easy to take that, and imagine light to accompany it, centered at his heart.  To imagine it reaching out as the sunlight reached in.  He imagined it growing, brightening, pushing out against the inside of his skin, chasing away the dark, chasing away the moonlight and starlight and Aurora.  Gold, chasing out black and silver.

Except… not entirely.

The sun was also a star, and all moonlight had once been sunlight.  They mixed at the edges, blending comfortably, linked inexorably.  

(There was magic he would be able to touch through this link that few others could.  He understood this instinctively - but he was not yet ready for it, and the feeling was pushed away, put aside for a later, more appropriate day.)

This was the Sun, a tiny spark of it held within himself.  

(There was the Moon, dark but no less itself, no less present and pulling for its invisibility during the day.)

And… the balance shifted.  

He wouldn’t be able to explain what it felt like, to fall back into his skin.  Not now.  Not today.

Maybe not even if he lived a hundred years.

(Maybe he would, something whispered in his ear. Who knew how long moth-things lived?)

But he found himself at his proper human teenager size, cradled in Clockwork’s arms, no fluff or tail in sight.  

Still naked, though.  

He snatched his clothes from Clockwork, and, blushing furiously, ran behind a tree to change.  

It was strange, walking next to Clockwork.  The… Danny wasn’t actually sure what Clockwork was.  Mothman?  Moth monster?  Anyway, Clockwork was still way taller than him, and the way his ruff and wings made him seem bulkier made Danny feel a little bit better about initially mistaking him for a bear.  

The walk itself was still weird and awkward.  Danny kept drifting closer to Clockwork, and then when Clockwork’s wings ruffled out towards him, as if to part or turn back to let him shelter under them, he flinched away, walking as far apart as the trees would allow.  

Danny wondered if one of the things Clockwork had given him to eat had been some kind of… family love potion, and if it would ever wear off.  Despite no longer having any fur, his skin still itched for Clockwork to touch him, pet him, hold him.  

Although, for that to be perfect, he’d need to change back.  Shrink back down until Clockwork could hold him securely in one hand and pet him, head to tail, with the other.  

Which– No.  No.  He was never going to turn back into a moth.  He wasn’t going to think about it.  He wasn’t ever going to have antennae, or wings, or a tail ever again.  

… Clockwork had a tail.  A long one, longer than Danny’s had been, compared to his body.  It trailed on the ground like the train of a dress, and both the left and right side of it was completely lined with moth wings, as opposed to Danny’s where there were only wings next to the little bulb at the end.  Which Clockwork also had.  It flickered with light, like a lightning-bug’s tail.

Danny wondered if his tail would do that, too, under the right circumstances.  

Not that it mattered.  Again, weird fairy door magic or whatever, he was going to be human from now on.  Yep.  

(Wow, the more he thought that, the less convincing he got.  That was sad, actually.)

They reached the edge of the forest.  Amity Park seemed to sparkle in the light.  Too bright.  Too artificial.  Unreal, after the events of the night.

“Here is where we part, for now,” said Clockwork.  “If you need me, you will be able to find me.” Could he say anything that didn’t sound ominous and weighty?

“Right,” said Danny.  He hesitated, then, impulsively, hugged Clockwork.  He shouldn’t have.  Clockwork was exactly the kind of monster his parents had always warned him about, and was an admitted serial kidnapper who had spied on his family and turned him into a moth.  

But he couldn’t imagine leaving without hugging Clockwork.  Just once.  

Clockwork hugged him back, with all four arms and what had to be a dozen wings.  It was the best hug he’d ever had - even if it was also the most terrifying.  

Then, Clockwork leaned down so that his lips were next to Danny’s ear.  He whispered to him a simple handful of words.  Most of them were familiar.  His name.  His full name, the one on his birth certificate, the one his parents and sister used when they were really upset with him.  But… one of them he hadn’t heard before.  Not once.  Not ever.  

It was still his name.  

He knew this with the same surety as he knew the rest of his name.  He also knew it hadn’t been his name before last night.  

It was his name… because it was Clockwork’s.  It was a family name, belonging to him as indelibly and as truly as the name ‘Fenton,’ one that bound him not only to Clockwork, but to the rest of Clockwork’s kin.  

It did more than that, too.  When Clockwork spoke his name, his true, full name, it was as if every molecule in his body had been magnetized and his name was a magnet.  He was held still by it, at perfect attention.  Whatever Clockwork wanted to say, whatever he wanted to do, Danny had no choice but compliance.  

Not that, in the moment, he wanted another choice.  

“Follow your conscience, my dear, sweet child,” said Clockwork.  “I want that for you, always.  But when you do, please…  Have a care for yourself, too.  Do not needlessly throw yourself into deadly danger.”

Danny, pinned to Clockwork’s chest, nodded.  

Clockwork, with palpable reluctance, released him, hands tracing along his cheeks before falling away.  “Be safe, Danny.”

Danny nodded again, and stepped backwards, out of the trees and into the sunlight.  He didn’t know why he felt so sad, all of a sudden.  He was going home.  He’d avoided being permanently kidnapped or eaten.  He was fine.  

He turned away.  

He was going home. 

Stay tuned for the sequel. :)

[robsheridan]

The November 1975 issue of SPECTAGORIA profiled the magazine’s own Samhain Gala, a lavish and mysterious party which editor Sera Clairmont held in various “sacred” locations at the beginning of each November. The event was said to be a decadent celebration of the end of the harvest season which Clairmont described as “a transference, from one state of being to another.” Guests included a melting pot of models, close friends, occult colleagues, and according to Clairmont “certain other visitors, who have to come from adjacent spaces to partake in the evening’s rituals.” Indeed, the food and drinks and phantasmagorical entertainment were followed late in the night by a series of ancient rituals to “open passageways,” to “return to their own realms the demons and spirits who danced with us in the mortal plane this Hallowe’en.” She implied that some guests would leave the night “transformed,” and some “might never return.”

Of course, as with many things in Spectagoria’s curious history, no one is entirely sure how much of Clairmont’s parties were real, and how much they were more of her elaborate photo shoots. And that was probably the point. In an interview with Playboy earlier that year, Clairmont was asked how “real” the imagery in Spectagoria was. “Maybe it’s all real,” she replied, “maybe it’s all staged. Who cares? If reality is what you’re caught up on when you read Spectagoria, you’re missing the point. Reality as a tangible objective truth is one of the most insidious lies we’re told. Spectagoria is a spinning mirrorball that catches the singular light of what you think is real and reflects it back as the true nature of the universe: Disinterested in form or logic, splintered into a thousand chaotic versions of itself, moving faster than you can comprehend, overlapping and intertwining across the topography of matter and time; confusing, illogical, terrifying, and beautiful. You can to try and make sense of each individual piece until you go mad, or you can step back, open your mind, and see the glistening tapestry it becomes when the tracers blend together… and you can dance in it.”

Clairmont took no further questions in the interview.

Previously:

Spectagoria: Vaporgoth, 1985 part 1 / part 2

Spectagoria: The Swimsuit Issue, 1978

Spectagoria: Apocalypse in Pink, 1983 part 1 / part 2

Spectagoria: Sisters of the Solstice, 1975 part 1 / part 2

Spectagoria: Phantasm Road, 1974 (Introduction)

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NOTE: Spectagoria is an ongoing work of fiction created by me. This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series (visit that link for a lot more). NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and interconnected alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider subscribing to my free newsletter to stay up to date on my projects, or supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

[tmntkiseki]

So you know how one of the fandom's biggest complaints is that SAINW was never really acknowledged outside Donny's (extremely heartwarming) hug with Raph and Mikey when they reunite during the Ultimate Drako arc finale?

A while back, I was digging around on Peter Laird's blog, and on a post concerning drafts for the scripts of various Ninja Tribunal episodes... well..

Lloyd, Here are my comments on the Ep. 112 final. 1.) Re: the following: "**RAPHAEL Yeah, that was my dream.  There were all these funny lines.  And then, she was at the mercy of the Shredder! ON DONNY, cautiously adding to the narrative. ***DONATELLO I saw that, too! And then New York was transformed into a horror show … like an alternate universe … but worse." It's nice that my suggestion to have Don compare his nightmare to his experience in the Shredder-ruled alternate universe he was sent to in "Same As It Never Was" was considered, but the way it is rendered here misses the point. My idea was not that Don compare this nightmare to just "... AN alternate universe", but to THE alternate universe he was sent to. Here, his comparison of his nightmare to an alternate universe just seems weird and pointless. Here's a suggestion: "DONATELLO I saw that, too! And then New York was transformed into a horror show … sort of like that alternate universe that Ultimate Draco blasted me into… but worse. (Don pauses, shivers.) If that's possible..."

We were so, so close.

[the-awful-falafel]

OKAY, so. Full overthinking Doise (and Peddito) headcanons incoming (assuming they're real and not just fictional characters made up for Noise's movie):

I have this idea that Doise is actually from an alternate universe, and he's that universe's Noise equivalent. He's been fleeing for years through tower secret portals and gates to various other universes in an attempt to escape Peddito (aka his universe's Peppino equivalent turned vengeful cosmic horror ghost, obviously), specifically by trying to lure Peddito to kill Doise's alternate universe counterparts / doppelgangers / whatever to try and cheat the curse. It doesn't work, obviously, but he's selfish and willing to try anything at this point (despite superficially acting like a far nicer guy than Noise).

This is also why he appeared on the NTV movie set-- maybe he actually signed up for the role and made it seem like just a funny acting gig while hiding his ulterior motives, or he appeared to fight Noise completely unscripted and Noise and the others just shrugged and left it in, brutal murder and corpse and all.

Doise brought this all upon himself in the first place by being responsible for Peddito's death in a certain incident that may or may not have involved messing with supernatural / cosmic horror forces. They used to be good friends in their home universe, but that's long gone. Doise refuses to take responsibility for any of what happened and would rather spend the rest of his life desperately running from the consequences of his actions.

In addition, through Doise doubling down and continuing to mess with forces he shouldn't in his attempt to avoid Peddito, he has granted himself a limited form of resurrective immortality as another way to cheat death. As implied through his boss battle background (and, although it's just a silly noncanon thing, the pre-update DOOM mod stream having two Doises also inspired this idea), Doise can body-horror mitosis and bud off into another Doise that has all of his memories, so him getting brutally murdered in-game does not mean he's gone for good, as long as he remembered to create another Doise beforehand. However, his soul is divided equally between all his bodies despite them being mostly autonomous beings from each other, so not only does he struggle to use this ability beyond creating two or three extra Doises, Peddito can sense and hunt down all of them the same.

Peddito, meanwhile, has been utterly fucked up and transformed into a true supernatural horror by whatever happened, and by this point he will not rest until Doise is dead and dragged down with him. He will brutally kill whoever is in his path to murder Doise, but assuming Doise isn't currently present, he's creepy but surprisingly benign to everyone else-- albeit uninterested in socializing. He follows most vengeful ghost rules with a dash of creepypasta logic, and just because he isn't currently manifested doesn't mean he's not watching.

(Also Doise and Peddito's home universe is probably home to a full cast of knockoff "original character do not steal" counterparts relative to the Pizza Tower universe, which is really funny to think about. I imagine Peddito was a pasta chef and Doise was a Broadway actor.)