#insignia solar

[danieidiomas]

Stafir de insignia real, sigilo europeo antiguo para hechizos (para lección de curso online de Galdr o magia nórdica en Udemy). ¿Sabes cuál es?

DM para encargos --> https://www.instagram.com/dani_e_idiomas/

Crédito: Publicado en Instagram, original de Daniel Lucas Hernández (16/1/2023).

NUEVO CURSO DE INTRODUCCIÓN AL GALDR DE LAS RUNAS Y SIGILOS ESCANDINAVOS

Cupón válido hasta el 5 de febrero con el código ENERO2023

¿Quieres un mejor cupón? Envíame un mensaje privado y te haré uno mejor

https://www.instagram.com/dani_e_idiomas/

https://www.udemy.com/course/galdr-simbolos-magicos-escandinavos-runas-y-bindrunes/?couponCode=ENERO2023

[deadsetobsessions]

Edit: thank you @tetranationaltortoise for pointing out that the Red Spot is on Jupiter instead of Saturn! Fixed it! You’re not nickpicking, you’re providing very appreciated constructive criticism (and a basic fact check I should have done lol) <3

Danny, as usual, hadn’t meant to become the local cryptid. Local being extremely relative, as his locality in this instance is… space.

He just wanted to have some relaxation time. He just wanted to do some homework, chill on Mars or something, and then call it a day.

This hero business was taxing and Danny took his breaks when he could. Take that, work-life balance! Just kidding, Danny had no work-life balance. His life is a mess and he's overworked.

What was it that Superman had said in that one interview?

“Evil never sleeps."

Apparently, that also meant Danny never slept either.

“Hrk!” Danny snorted awake, looking around wildly at the vast expanse of space to see what woke him.

….

Yeah, that’ll do it.

In front of him, merrily floating through space, is the battered remains of what used to be an asteroid and a mecha that’s a weird combination of Gotham’s vigilante hero, Batman, and Metropolis’ Golden Boy, Superman.

The vibrations of the collision had shaken Danny awake.

Danny got up, baffled as hell and half asleep still. He floated to the giant Bat insignia tumbling around, inching closer as he saw the- oh hell, that’s so cool, it’s a plane!- cockpit and the passed out hero inside of it. Danny clicked his tongue, the sound swallowed by the lack of air.

He shoved the plane closer to earth, passing it to a bewildered (and both beat up and stressed out) Superman, who did a double take at the glowing green boy chucking him the Toy-maker Batplane.

Danny had waved, blinked out of visibility, and had gone back to his nap.

After phasing inside the plane and nabbing a batarang from Batman’s pouch, that is. Danny will consider it payment for the clean up service he’d unwittingly signed himself up for.

And so went the first encounter.

——

The second time he met the so called Big Leagues, Danny had just come back from fighting Dan. He wanted a break, dammit, and if staring at Saturn’s gorgeous rings and gaseous formations helped him sleep better, then that’s what’s going to happen.

Then, a similarly green glowing Green Lantern “landed” to where he was floating curled up. Danny knew about Lanterns. Their council often tried to meddle in his court.

“Hello,” the Ring projected its Lantern’s words to Danny’s head. Danny tilted his head without looking at the Lantern. “I’m John Stewart. What are you doing out here, kid?”

Danny thought this guy had a nice, soothing voice. Powerful, as Latern tended to be, but infinitely kind.

Danny decided that this one wasn’t immediately on his shit list.

“Phantom.” He said, and the Lantern asked him to repeat it as the glow of his ring enveloped the halfa.

“Phantom. Are you lost, Phantom?”

“No, just dead.”

John Stewart paused. “…Dead?”

“I’m a ghost,” Danny raised his hands and phased it through the Lantern’s arm.

“Ah,” the man said, flustered. “Right. So… you’re just…”

“Hanging out.” As he talked to the Lantern, Danny had a rather amusing idea. He rotated himself- turned- towards Jupiter and pointed to the Red Spot. “That’s actually my grave.”

John Stewart paused. “I’m sorry…?”

“My grave. Don’t disturb it. It’s rude,” Danny lied through his sharp ghost teeth. “Your council disturbed my grave the last time they stopped by and it took ages to get it back right.”

The green Lantern shield enveloping Danny flickered as John Stewart went through the five stages of grief. To be fair, the council had last visited this solar system... a couple thousand years ago, so John was no doubt rapidly doing some mental math regarding Danny's age.

“The council disturbed your grave…?”

“Not that they knew it, those pretentious weirdos.” Danny pretended to be offended, just to see the struggle on John’s face as he debated defending the council or telling a dead child their grave didn’t matter. Because Stewart was a hero, he went with the latter.

“I see. I am sorry, on their behalf.”

“Eh, whatever. Just make sure they don’t do it again. So… what can that ring do?”

——

"Hi. Could you not litter in space, please?"

Wonder Woman whirled around, sword out and pointed at Danny.

"A... child? Who are you, child?"

"I'm not a child-! You know what, it doesn't even matter. See that?" Danny waved at the pieces of shattered meteor and smashed up alien tech floating outside of the watch tower. "Littering is not cool."

"How did you get in here?"

"I'm Phantom. This is kind of my neighborhood." Danny let his mouth run, sleep deprived and exhausted. "I'm dead, that's how I got in here. Could you not litter in my backyard, please?"

He had better things to do than cleaning after full grown adult heroes.

"Oh, you are the ghost child Lantern mentioned! I see! My apologies, the clean up will be starting in a bit." Wonder Woman slid her sword back into its sheath.

"Great. Nice meeting you. I'll stick around to make sure you young whipper snappers clean up properly."

With that, Danny sunk into the floor. After a moment's deliberation, he decided to take a nap in the floor vent.

——

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Danny jolted awake once more. Ancients, like mentor, like mentee. Robin stared at him, awkwardly wriggling through the floor vents.

"I'm taking a nap here," Danny grumbled. "What are you doing in the vents?"

"Me? What are you doing in the vents? I'm allowed in here!"

"Wonder Woman knows I'm here," Danny replied. She knows... probably? "I'm Phantom."

"Robin."

"So... what are you doing?"

"Knowledge is power," Robin intoned, clearly imitating the Bat.

Danny stared.

"... You're stalking the JL?"

"Information gathering!"

"Stalking," Danny concluded, ignoring Robin's grumble. "Yeah, okay. If you need help, let me know, I guess."

"I don't need help." Robin paused, tilting his head to the side like a particularly curious bird. "Unless you're up for some pranks? Green Lantern's been getting on my nerves lately."

Danny frowned at him. "I like John Stewart."

"You've met- no, not him, the other one."

"Oh. What do I get out of it?"

Robin reached into his belt pouch and pulled out... a bag of marshmallows? How the hell did that-? Ah, right, hammerspace.

"Oh, wait, can you eat this?"

"I'm dead, not tasteless. I love marshmallows, hand it over. I'll help out."

"Deal."

——

"I swear to god, Spooky, there's something in the walls. It's even creepier than you!"

Batman grunted. He'd stop Robin if he went too far and it started affecting Lantern's abilities on the field, but as far as the Dark Knight was concerned, the Green Lantern had it coming. Robins were vindictive on a good day. If Hal hadn't learned that from Dick, then Jason's retaliation was well deserved.

"Oh, maybe it's the ghost!" Hal said, looking around with his ring glowing.

"I thought John said he was a godling?" Diana polished her sword as she looked on in amusement.

"The boy." Batman grunted. "Not human, his pointed ears and green skin is proof of that. Did J'onn say anything?"

"Not yet."

"Whatever he is, he saved Batman. He's welcome in the Tower," Superman tilted back as his hearing picked up on Robin's and Phantom's snickering.

[rallentando1011]

Valentine’s Day With Donnie

(rise Donnie x gn reader)

Saint Valentine’s Day: a fickle holiday that celebrates even more fickle emotions, a day that forces the formation of many a precarious bond that statistically would not last

At least, that’s how Donnie saw it for the entirety of his life

Until you came along

Now, don’t get him wrong, he still thinks it’s stupid, but maybe something could be stupid and enjoyable

He means, he enjoys his brothers’ company, right? (/j… maybe /hj)

Either way, for you, he doesn’t mind giving Valentine’s Day a genuine go

So, when you come over on the holiday, Donnie’s ready

“As you know, I think Valentine’s Day is an example of rampant consumerism devouring the meaning behind holidays and people’s wallets, but there is something special about a day in which one can express their admiration for each other.”

“Wait… you got me something?”

“Correction: I made you something.”

The man proceeds to hand you a new phone, the insignia on it implying it was made, or at least modified, by his hand

You’d been complaining mentioning that you needed one that actually works

You smile and thank him eagerly

“It’s fine if you don’t have anything, I wasn’t really expecting-”

“Au contraire, Don, I made you something too!”

He looks baffled for about 20 seconds as you hand him a small gift bag containing red velvet macarons, lavender tea bags, a small, smooth rose quartz, a miniature turtle plushie

“Well, me and Mikey made the macarons together. Gotta give credit where credit is due.”

He barely registers your comment, too absolutely enamored by your consideration of him

Donnie doesn’t know where his mind is at, but it definitely isn’t in this solar system, perhaps not even the surrounding stellar systems

Bottom line, bro’s ecstatic

The huge grin on his face and brightness in his eyes effectively gets his point across

Not only did he give a heartfelt gift, he received one?

Okay, maybe this Valentine’s Day had something to it

Watching rom-coms solely to trash on them is a mandatory tradition

Every other Valentine’s Day he’s spent by his lonesome has mostly consisted of hours of mercilessly ragging on romantic comedies

Yep, definitely just to criticize them

No sadness and/or yearning involved

But now, with your company?

He’s still criticizing the ever-loving heck out of those movies

If you genuinely enjoy rom-coms, be prepared for this little pessimist to rain on your parade, grumbling questions of the logic and flow of the film

However, if you, too, find them stupid, you’ve found yourself the perfect, cynical viewing buddy

“You can tell just from the cinematography of that one guy catching her that he’s the secondary love interest.”

“I swear on Galileo’s heliocentric model itself- how many love interests can one main character have?”

“I think that’s the challenge that was going on in the writer’s room - to see how many variations of a love triangle they could make.”

“The challenge in the writer’s room was that they had too many people slamming on keyboards, yet none of them wrote Shakespeare.”

“Was that an infinite monkey theorem allusion?”

“And a simultaneous dig on the foul writing - zing!”

Following the festivities of movie-binging and gift-giving, he turns to you with a rather uncharacteristic diffidence in his demeanor

Glance askance, slight perspiration on his forehead, fidgeting hands, stammering words

As you start to ask what’s wrong, Donnie quickly, almost unintelligibly so, asks if you want to dance

If you feel so inclined, you nod, take his hand, and offer a dance

If Sinatra is playing (Nancy or Frank or both), you know some slow dancing is going down

Bill Withers or Kitty Kallen, maybe even Dean Martin, something classic, whispering in the background, a hand or two on your hips, yours on his shoulders, chins tucked cozily on the crook of each other’s neck or crown of the head, just the two of you gently swaying together to the rhythm sounds perfect

Normally when he dances, it’s fast-paced boogie or groove (he didn’t get the name Bootyshaker9000 for nothing), but for today, for you, he’ll keep the dancing slow, smooth, sweet

Keeping you close and spending time with you has certainly made this his favorite Valentine’s Day thus far

The macarons you gave him also significantly improved his verdict

(Happy Valentine’s Day gang ‼️ HERE are some accompanying sketches with this!)

[cozzzynook]

Pleasure bot Bumblebee who joins the autobot ship when the war breaks out.

He didn’t want to be aboard an autobot ship. He was on his way to a neutral planet when his transporting ship was gunned down in “friendly fire.”

His ship crashed offlining almost every bot aboard and the only reason he survived was because he transformed in time heavily damaging his alt mode.

When he woke up he was in an autobot medbay being treated by Ratchet who informed him he was on an autobot base. Bee wanted to transfer from the ship the moment he onlined but with how far they were from neutral territory he couldn’t. If decepticons saw him leave in an autobot spacepod he’d be shot down.

So Bee stayed and rejected any offers to become an autobot. He stuck to doing simple work around the ship and kept his helm down. He didn’t want autobots learning how he made a living. They typically were the bots who judged the most and did things even if they claimed to be the “good guys.”

It wasn’t until he met Optimus did he think autobots weren’t so bad. Optimus took an immense liking to Bee right away wanting the mini to keep besides himself as if he was a sparkling following their sire.

That put Bee even more in the light of others and Bee found himself knowing every bot on the ship. It was easy for bots to like him even strict bots like Ratchet and anti social mechs like Prowl. Bee didn’t particularly want to be close to any of them still and he wasn’t save for Optimus. But even then Bee kept his past to himself.

His frame was a reveal to his past of course. Being shaped like a femme did not help him any but since his pleasure bot stamp was hidden none knew. He was thankful Ratchet didn’t check his the fuel globe mesh on his chassis. That meant he didn’t know Bee was a pleasure bot or that he was a carrying mech.

Of course Bee long had his reproductive tank sealed shut, sure it was done illegally with dangerous methods but thats just how things worked before war broke out. Better to be a pleasure bot than a breeding bot.

Not that he liked either option.

He just picked the one with less complications.

Only complications still came when the autobots ship ran into the decepticon ship with none other than Megatron and his golden army.

The battle was intense and left both ships heavily damaged. Bee was taken to a part of the ship that was supposed to be safe but nothing was ever truly safe.

The door was broken in half and in walked one of the last mechs Bee thought he would ever get to see again.

“Hummel?”

Bee doesn’t know how much time passed as he stared at the large mech who once looked so different. The mech he used to laugh with under the solar system when they had a chance to meet. The mech he’d buy extra energon for so he could take it back to his friends and trine. The mech he once let stay in his suite when his own was burned down by the counsel. It turned into the two living together permanently and though the mech didn’t like his line of work he respected him and went out of his way to make sure he was safe.

The mech would sneak him treats that were his favorite and draw him when he was recharging in his berth or on his lap.

It was the best Bee ever felt.

But then one day the seeker just disappeared and Bee was crushed.

He once thought the worst had happened to him but now. Now he just wishes to be wrapped in his arms as he demands to know what happened and why he abandoned him.

“Frostwing?”

“I go by Blitzwing now, bug.”

“Blitzwing,” the name still tasted of cyber honey on his tongue and Bee found himself shedding a droplet from his optic which Blitzwing caught.

Bee hadn’t seen him move yet he didn’t feel threatened, he knew the mech was dangerous now if his speed was anything to go by. Yet he felt..old and new. A familiar stranger was holding him and he couldn’t stop himself from seeing the decepticon insignia.

Blitzwing halted in hesitation but Bumblebee laid a servo on his chassis above his engine and spark and leaned in with a smile.

“Vill jou come vith me hummelchan?”

“With you Blitzwing,” his spark pulsed deep, “always.”

-

[loneberry]

FIRST TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSE

Images from my first total solar eclipse, depicting the outer corona, inner corona, prominent prominences, diamond ring, and the partial phase. Photos taken by Dan.

A black sun. Never had I seen a black sun, that insignia of melancholia that will forever remind me of Kristeva, which will forever remind me of M’s suicide—it was one of the few books M had with her at the very end, the book that her mother believed was the key to why she did it.

Black sun. On the day of—or day after—M’s death anniversary. I had been weeping for days when I found myself beneath that darkening sky.

*

What’s the difference between a partial and a total eclipse? I vaguely remember going onto the playground with some glasses as a child, but I don’t remember what I saw in the sky. What’s the big deal? The sky goes dark for a few minutes. It can’t be much different from the onset of night.

Wrong.

The rhapsodic scientists I listened to on various podcasts convinced me that there is really no comparison between a partial and total eclipse. I tried to hatch a last-minute plan to get myself in the path of totality. In the days leading up to the eclipse, I would be at the French King Bridge for M’s death anniversary. The only person I knew in Western MA, besides M’s mother, was my poet friend Ethan. So I asked him if he had a plan to see the eclipse.

I did not know, when I texted him out of the blue, that his parents lived in the path of totality in northern Vermont, that his father Dan was an astronomer (communist astronomer!) and eclipse chaser (this was his 14th eclipse), that Dan had even organized the local viewing event and wrote a book on the history of astronomy. At Ethan’s parents’ house there were literally photographs of eclipses mixed in with the family photos (see below). His father had even built a little observatory on his land. I had, in the most haphazard fashion, found the perfect guide to my first total solar eclipse.

Dan brought his equipment to the eclipse viewing: cameras, filters, binoculars, and a $4000 hydrogen alpha telescope that we used before the eclipse to look at the sun’s prominences and a sunspot on the surface. He enthusiastically answered all my questions. How had the Babylonians worked it out so long ago? Why does the wind pick up when the eclipse begins? Why is the sun’s corona so much hotter than the sun’s surface? (It’s still a mystery to the scientists…) Why why why. (People often tell me that I always ask a lot of questions—almost like an eternally curious child.)

The eclipse. It is not like the dimming of sunset, with its orange hues and plunge into the horizon, the low angle. It is a light unlike any light I have seen before, a strange dream-like atmosphere, a gray yet shimmering unreality, the air suddenly cold, the birds in a confused tumult. The uneven temperature of the atmosphere makes the wind pick up as the moon slowly covers the sun. Though the light was not the gold of sunset, you could see a band of orange on every horizon like a 360 degree sunset, an eerie gloaming that electrifies your skin.

A silence descended on the field as the moment of totality approached. Then, audible gasps—we couldn’t believe what we were seeing. I think the first thing I said was, “Holy. Shit.” Nothing prepared me for the numinous beauty of the sun’s corona, those elegant wisps of bright white light haloing the black sun. I think it’s probably the closest one can come to seeing God while alive on this earth. I cried during totality while observing the patterns in the corona through binoculars. A beautiful pink arch of plasma (a prominence) was visible toward the bottom of the sun. Dan pointed out Venus in the sky.

In the center of that black hole there is an abyssal silence

I don’t know how to describe it. Celestial indifference to human endeavor, human emotion. A kind of coldness in that heat, the heat of the corona, beyond even the fires of Hell. Then I can hear the angelic squall of the corona ringing over the landscape. It is a sound full of grace even as it cannot be called happy.

I can see why the ancients might interpret an eclipse as an augur of something deeply ominous, perhaps apocalyptic. The experience is, at once, sublime, ecstatic, and deeply unnerving—all your perceptual faculties are telling you that something is wrong. The ongoingness of the world and its rules cannot be taken for granted, for the sun went black, not in my dream, but in the afternoon sky.

And just as soon as it began, it was over. We had almost 3 and half minutes of totality. I was surprised by how quickly the sky brightened, how much light we get when the sun is almost completely covered.

One day the moon will float away. There won’t be any more total solar eclipses. Be grateful you were alive during this slice of cosmic time.

This is my favorite scene in all of cinema, from Béla Tarr's Werckmeister Harmonies. Watch drunkards reenact an eclipse in a drab Hungarian bar...

Ethan and communist astronomer dad!

I even got eclipse-branded maple syrup (peak Vermont)

[talonabraxas]

Solar Logos Talon Abraxas

"The Greeks believed that Apollo, Bacchus, Dionysos, Sabazius, Hercules, Jason, Ulysses, Zeus, Uranus, and Vulcan partook of either the visible or invisible attributes of the sun. The Norwegians regarded Balder the Beautiful as a solar deity, and Odin is often connected with the celestial orb, especially because of his one eye. Among the Egyptians, Osiris, Ra, Anubis, Hermes, and even the mysterious Ammon himself had points of resemblance with the solar disc. Isis was the mother of the sun, and even Typhon, the Destroyer, was supposed to be a form of solar energy. The Egyptian sun myth finally centered around the person of a mysterious deity called Serapis. The two Central American deities, Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl, while often associated with the winds, were also undoubtedly solar gods.

In Masonry the sun has many symbols. One expression of the solar energy is Solomon, whose name SOL-OM-ON is the name for the Supreme Light in three different languages. Hiram Abiff, the CHiram (Hiram) of the Chaldees, is also a solar deity, and the story of his attack and murder by the Ruffians, with its solar interpretation, will be found in the chapter The Hiramic Legend. A striking example of the important part which the sun plays in the symbols and rituals of Freemasonry is given by George Oliver, D.D., in his Dictionary of Symbolical Masonry, as follows:

"The sun rises in the east, and in the east is the place for the Worshipful Master. As the sun is the source of all light and warmth, so should the Worshipful Master enliven and warm the brethren to their work. Among the ancient Egyptians the sun was the symbol of divine providence." The hierophants of the Mysteries were adorned with many insignia emblematic of solar power. The sunbursts of gilt embroidery on the back of the vestments of the Catholic priesthood signify that the priest is also an emissary and representative of Sol Invictus." -Manly P. Hall

The Solar Logos is inherently the Avatar Christos Matrix, which is the fourth triad of intelligence that holds the higher frequency bands of the 10th, 11th and 12th dimensions in our Universal Time Matrix. The triadic identity of the Avatar Matrix is required to link into the Soul Matrix in order to directly ascend back into the Universal Mind and Cosmic Logos. This level of consciousness embodiment is now possible from within any section of the time matrix. The Avatar Christos is the energetic reality of experiencing Unity with God, embodying the Unity Logos as an intelligent consciousness field, where enlightened extradimensional contact begins for working in Universal Service for the Cosmic Sovereign Law of One.

[krsnaradhika]

Yamuna x Kanha

Yamuna had seen it all.

From the princess of Surya-loka, to the ascetic lass who wandered in and around the verdant forests that besieged her banks where settled a village of cowherds. Kalindi was death's twin, the daughter of the solar god, and a darling younger sister to the god of justice. Once bedecked in all fineries and jewels and celebrated amongst her devotees for her piety, she was now draped in a garb meant for unmarried women though saffron in hue, rudrakshas and jasmine blooms sitting in wreaths and garlands on her slender physique. Her jet black tresses mostly were held back in a bun, a fallacy that kept unwanted attention away when she pulled up the farce of being ordinary and roamed among her children.

An immortal goddess, the one who was foolish enough to abandon the riches and go after a lord whom she had once fallen for, they would say. She was as chaotic and pervasive as her waters were, flooding and bringing destruction when even attempted to be dishonoured. Her complexion resembled that of the butter thief lad who played the flute with the other rustic boys and had long relinquished the vraja she poured life into. Yamuna had not stopped him, she couldn't, but aeons first and now years of wait and agitation told her that she probably should have.

"Jiji, why don't you just tell him?" Nasatya had frowned, enthroning his head on her lap, a distinct melancholy in his almond eyes that resembled hers. "Besides, had he really cared…he would have come to you by now."

"Hush, munchkin!" She chuckled, a great distraction to her lovelorn heart as the elder of her twin baby brothers pouted at the address. "You must not speak of him thus. We are not having this discussion."

"But—"

"Shh! I am not coming back, and you know it." She staunchly shook her head and brushed her alta-smeared lotus palms over his eyes, a gesture for him to rest them shut. "Moreover, I am here because I want to. He is nowhere to be held responsible for my whims and resolve."

And of course, he didn't have to. Love isn't always returned now, is it?

"Even if it would take another lifetime, I'd be unbudged," she says, "I'd give you all of me and all that I can offer, darling. But alas, it's only this heart that I had a right on, and you have it now.

Neither golds and silvers, nor silks weaved brocade and tapestry. Only I come to you, would you still want me?"

Maybe Nasatya was right. Maybe Dasra would be upset with her for another millennium. Perhaps Surya would no longer hold her close to his heart and shower her with unbridled love. Probably Sangya and Chhaya were more than appalled, she had agonised them more than they deserved. And Shani…well, he did have a temper but a cute one. But he did go on and around visiting her once in a while; bringing berries sometimes, bouquets the other. He too, had been impishly outraged by the sheer audacity. But who was she fraught with? The art of exasperating people had to be the loveliest of all!

"It's all that I had ever desired, beloved." She finds her Kanhaai speaking from beside, their hands intertwined as he brings them to his lips and kisses her knuckles, and the back of her palm, her forehead and her heated jaws and fuchsia tinted cheeks. The peacock feather tucked in his diadem lilts with his heart where she resides. The Shrivatsa insignia gleams in exuberance. SangyaNandini giggles at the funny feeling which somersaults in her tummy, leaning and basking against the warmth his mere presence itself effortlessly exudes as they saunter into the territory of Khandava.

"Oh yes? But I had butter for you. You know, I thought it had to be the condition of espousing you."

"Really, Yamunae! Where?!"

Yamuna laughs, yet again. And Madhava looks at her for a moment, adoring the smile that had her bimba like lips stretching from ear to ear. He tugs at her veil mischievously and deliberately, demanding, "Maakhan, Priyae! Where is it?"

"Oh well you see—" She makes an utterly naive face and points at her lips, where she does have some traces of the butter she had received from her devotee as an affectionate offering. Kalindi's Keshava raises an eyebrow, leans and seeks consent before capturing them in a soft kiss that grows passionate with each passing moment and cradles her, so full of love and yearning - the feeling which once gnawed at her. She feels his midnight black curls against her fingers as they roam around in them, desperately clinging to him, and yet blushing tomatoes at the act.

They cross the rest of the distance with her in his robust arms, swayed off her feet quite literally.

[cannibalcaprine]

idea

the Holy Grail of Mars

a small golden device, encrusted with jewels and sacred, untranslated runes of circles of lines, in the shape of a human skull with the stalk of a chalice

the crown of the skull had been removed, instead replaced with a bolted lid of iron, bearing the insignia of the Cult Mechanicum atop an Imperial Aquila, and a small window of glass, stained martian red, is inlaid in the skull's left eye socket

a typical person looking into the window of the skull sees only pitch black, occasionally intermixed with emerald green pixels and golden solar bursts

a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus will not report what is inside, instead, babbling religiously about "a slice of divinity, a shard of the Dragon of Mars"

while the true Dragon of Mars still remains in the God-Emperor's prison, it is believed that this may be an imitation of His power, or a small section

removing the iron skullcap reveals a blinding light of green, turning any who gaze into it to a bizarre metal, similar to that found on the hands of the long-dead Gorgon

[rauthschild]

The Anglo-Saxon Nazi Khazarian Jewish mafia (KM) is planning a holocaust or mass murder event for the US Christian heartland on April 8th. The entire April 8th solar eclipse event has been forensically traced to the (kill 90% of humanity and enslave the rest) Chabad death cult.

Let us be perfectly clear, solar eclipses are when the moon blocks the sun and have never been associated with mass casualties. This means what is planned is not a solar eclipse.

USNA US Space Force sources tell us the KM are planning to use Reagan-era Star Wars satellite-based weapons, laser firing planes and other methods to kill as many people as possible in a burnt offering to Moloch, aka Satan. The mark used by the cult of Moloch is the official insignia of the Satanic Nazi government of Ukraine.

These Messianic fanatical criminals want to carry out this event as a preliminary for a planned sacrifice of a red heifer to Moloch.

This would be followed by the construction of the third temple. Since the time of Moses, only nine red heifers have been sacrificed. Now, a “massive altar” for the tenth red heifer sacrifice has been built in Israel, and there is a tremendous amount of speculation that it could happen soon…there was “a practice run of the purification ceremony” in 2023. But an official ceremony must be conducted before the heifers get too old to be used for such a sacrifice…according to Temple Institute rabbis, they hope to carry out the ceremony before [the April 22nd] Passover 2024.

The holocaust planned for this sacrifice WILL BE STOPPED. The US Space Force and white hat military will shoot down these satellites and other weapons if they are deployed.

Also, if they carry out a mass murder event in the US heartland then Jerusalem, Geneva, Kiev and the Norwegian Antarctic base will be wiped out by intercontinental nuclear missiles, US Space Force sources promise.

The reason the KM are desperate to carry out a mass murder event is because they are losing power and know they will be facing war crimes tribunals and the death penalty when that happens.

[betabites]

+++ ADEPTUS ASTARTES CHAPTERS ACTIVE IN TROIAS CLUSTER +++

+++ OFFICIO ADMINISTRATUM MEMORANDUM +++ ++ SECURITY CLEARANCE LEVEL MAUVE-TAUPE ++

++ AMPHISBAENA ++ Founding: Ultima (presumed Ultramarine successor). Codex compliant. Standard: A snake with two heads, facing each other over a rising sun. Regalia: Blue with green and silver trim. Solar and reptilian motifs. Local assets: Demi-company (4th/2, Phobos & Intercessor armor), reinforced by a 1st Company squad (DN, TDN armour). Gladius Escort Frigate Cetus. Brief: Initial reports mistook them for Ultramarines during the 639th Purge of Medesicaste, but the Amphisbaena liaison dispatched to the local Guard command (Troian 19th Foot, 35th Recon, & 76th Dragoons) soon corrected that misapprehension. De facto attached itself to prior regiments for the duration of the campaign, serving as a elite scout and assault unit. Unfortunate tensions with the Battle Sisters of the Order of the Bloody Sabaton (1st Alius Mater Preceptory), including accusations of "suborning existing hierarchies." Accusations were dismissed by the local Commissar after the Amphisbaena Lieutenant on site made a passionate appeal to "Purge the Enemies, and then do the necessary paperwork." Their sterling conduct in battle, commitment to inter-service operations, and willingness to compromise battleplans in order to protect civilians have won them many allies throughout the cluster. Inquisitor Andominia of the Ordo Hereticus REDACTED was heard to remark, "They're the very model of a Space Marine. Those karkers are up to something. REDACTED"

++ FORLORN HOPE SALAMANDERS ++ Founding: 1st/Ultima (unknown if Salamander proper or a successor chapter). Not Codex compliant. Standard: n/a. Most wear a Gothic "F" in place of Chapter insignia, and "Forlorn Hope Company" is written on vehicles. Regalia: Green with black and gold trim. Fire motifs. Local assets: Short company, with Gravis, Intercessor, & Phobos armour, TDN armour, DNs, and Land Raiders (engines Azula and Nostos). Vanguard Strike Cruiser Riddle of Adamant. Has suborned elements of the Troian 65th Recon, 95th Armour, 104th Armour, and the Dictator Carrier Cruiser Pride of Tomania. Brief: Arrived in sector immediately prior to the Night of a Thousand Rebellions, claiming to be hunting Ymgarl Genestealers. Attacked Gubernatorial Palace on Ilona, killing both the Governor and the ringleaders of the rebellion. Suborned local Guard presence and brainwashed local populace. Active throughout cluster, primarily against local governance. Voxes broadcast by them indicate that Ymgarl Genestealers have infiltrated local Arbites, PDF, and Guard. Statements have been proven false by government-administered Genetic Purity tests. Requests to allow the company's Apothecary access to testing process, sites, and data have been dismissed as baseless. Despite obvious signs of madness in their poorly-kept geneseed, they receive sympathy from the populace, repeated statements of good character from the Battle Sisters of the Order of the Bloody Sabaton, and grudging respect from Guard units they have not purged. Politically unwise to declare renegade at this time.

++ NOBLE SONS OF PYRRUS ++ Founding: 2nd (Blood Angels). Not Codex compliant. Standard: A bell, or a three-armed cross, sometimes one formed from the via negativa of three clustered circles. Regalia: Red with copious gold and white and blue trim. Stripes and stars. Local assets: Multiple companies; precise number varies with nearby crisises, but typically 3-5. Conflicts with the Mechanicus has led to the Sons using older and refurbished armour and vehicles. Battle Barge Second Moon, various strike cruisers (mostly Agentha & Maegaron classes). Recruiting worlds: Briseis & Cressida. Brief: A minor but growing presence throughout most of the cluster's history, the Cicatrix Maledictum has sundered the Sons from their primary recruiting worlds, and they have greatly increased their local presence. As Briseis & Cressida is also the cluster's capital, their stock in cluster politics has correspondingly increased. The Sons treat the Sanguinarian defect in their geneseed by complex archaeo-biological means involving the transmutation of iron into gold. Their internal fluids have been replaced by this golden ichor, which causes much distress in the local menials until they realize it solidifies into pure gold. As a result, their expeditions are typically assisted by a large contingent of irregular militia. Known throughout the cluster as doughty warriors, their expulsion of precious metals causes no end of suspicion and distrust from those afraid of the shifting economic tides, such as from the smiths of the Forlorn Company and the ascetics of the Order of the Bloody Sabaton. But, as a rising tide lifts all boats, they will come to see the benefits of association with the Sons in time.

++ PERYTONS ++ Founding: Unknown, Ultima? (White Scars). Not Codex Compliant. Standard: Many-pronged set of antlers, sometimes framing a heart. Regalia: Teal with green and bronze accents. Hearts, horns, and wings. Local assets: Bike demi-company (6th/2, Phobos, Gravis, & Intercessor armour), with air assets. Nova Frigate Jinate. Brief: Apparently inherited White Scar interests in the nearby Sabbat worlds, including the use of Kreusa as a recruiting world. Their recruiting is in conflict with the local Guard regiments, the 51st Cavalry (Parth's Slammers) and 119th Dragoons (X Ork Hewers X). Their presence also seems to be causing escalating clashes with the persistent Ork infestation. Tensions are also high with the Kreusa deployment of the Order of the Bloody Sabaton, but thus far, conflicts seem to be largely about kill counts and the local practice of 'joyeux-du-cheval', stealing the vehicles of rivals and taking them on 'performance tests.' There are unsubstantiated rumors of Perytons ripping out the hearts of enemies and civilians alike, and messily devouring them. Said rumors then culminate in lascivious descriptions of frenzied orgies, so it has hitherto been the position of the Ministorum that such rumours are baseless slander.

[kratt-au-void]

hmmmm objetos random

Rayos y Centellas

Insignia Real. Accesorio. "Una medalla de honor, +200 estabilidad, otorga inmunidad ante ataques de zombies. Una muestra de reconocimiento y confianza"

Capa Celestial. Armadura. "Una larga capa hecha con los mejores materiales, +700 defensa. Suave y acogedora, refleja el estado del mismo cielo"

Corona del Rey. Armadura. "Una brillante corona, +150 defensa. +400 esperanza. -200 velocidad. Otorga control sobre animales y zombies. Sientes el peso del mundo sobre tus hombros"

Uniforme Escolar. Armadura. "Un viejo uniforme desecho, +30 defensa, -300 esperanza, otorga inmunidad a todo efecto negativo, triplica las estadísticas de la Corona del Rey. Al usarlo el terror llena tu alma."

Solar Flare

Alas Celestiales. Armadura. "Grandes alas emplumadas, +250 velocidad. Otorgan la capacidad de volar. Ligeras y doradas, símbolos de libertad"

Tiara Brillante. Armadura. "Una diadema naranja con cristales, +100 defensa +80 estabilidad. Brilla bajo el sol, te hace sentir esperanzado por el futuro"

Pedazo de Cielo. Accesorio. "Una piedra lunar, +2700 fuerza -500 estabilidad -500 esperanza. Bañada con la Maldición de la Luna, provoca muerte instantánea si se junta con el Medallón Solar"

Medallón Solar. Accesorio. "Una insignia en forma de sol, +3000 vida -300 esperanza, inmunidad a efectos quemadura y veneno. Una vez fue el símbolo de La Gracia del Sol, verla te llena de culpa"

Wild Schools

Tennis de Carrera. Armadura. "Un par de zapatos para correr, +30 defensa +200 velocidad. Calzan a la perfección, te sientes libre al usarlos"

Chaqueta Azul. Ropa. "Una chaqueta estilo deportiva color azul, mejora habilidades de nado. Muy bien cuidada, no puedes evitar sentir una pizca de superioridad al usarla"

Escudo CETA. Arma. "Un escudo con un logotipo extraño, +1000 defensa. Está rasgado y golpeado, parece haber pasado por mucho"

Escudo San G. Arma. "Gran escudo con incrustaciones metálicas, +200 defensa, provoca parálisis a todo quien lo toque. Aparenta ser más de lo que es"

[pirateflavor]

Alright, time for the ＭＡＳＴＥＲＰＯＳＴ✨

✴︎All about Eclipse✴︎

Ref sheet:

Basic info:

Height - 9’5 feet

Age - ~300 (full adult in demon years)

Voiceclaim (Eng) - Caleb from Blood (1997)

Favorite food - Raw steak (believes overcooking meat is a crime)

———

Bio:

Basically this demon got fed up with the underworld and revolted to the point of a war breaking out, so he’s completely rogue and definitely a little unhinged. He managed to escape and now lives like a drifter on the surface world.

Classic edgy brooding gunslinger who intimidates most people and is proud of that. Totally someone you’d see in a bar with his legs kicked up on the counter.

He’s an asshat and constantly pissy. Can and will beat the shit out of you if you annoy him. Usual method of quickly dealing with irritation is to throw one of his steel-toed boots, aimed right for the face. And yes he is super fucking strong and can throw bodies across the room no problem. He’s also immortal but can still get injured, and can only be truly killed by other otherworldly beings (i.e. other demons, angels, gods, etc.)

He still wears his helmet he used in battle for a couple reasons, partly since he’s uncertain if he’s got a bounty on him or not, but mostly cos he’s trying to distance himself from his identity as a demon. He does have low self esteem and a lot of unresolved issues (y’know since he was literally a servant of the devil and a battle survivor). Totally bottles up his feelings to the point they manifest in anger. Poor guy needs therapy and a good cry session.

But he still cares. He hides how soft he can really be. Only fully relaxes around people he trusts with his life. Getting past his tough shell rewards with a guy who’s got a passionate soul and a warm heart.

———

Trivia:

-He has his own insignia which he used during his revolt

-His eye turns red with fury

-His blood is black and tar-like

-When he’s happy his tail wags, and he does purr

-He eats raw steak as a way of weaning off the urge from being forced to feast on the souls of the damned when he served hell

-At one point he had an angel counterpart named Solar Eclipse (his previous full name was Lunar Eclipse) but he’s pretty much outdated and a dead oc now

-His prime design inspiration - the music video for the Vocaloid song ‘Alter Ego’ by Misumi

(Also I have no idea how or why this happens, but pretty much every time I’ve shown him off there’s always at least someone who finds him cute and attractive? Like there has been legitimate thirst for my guy before and it’s slightly concerning given this man will severely injure you if you aggravate him enough. I mean yes he’s a charming softy once you win him over but that’s near impossible.)

———

A few songs for him:

Vita // ビータ(Vocaloid version) - Kairiki Bear (Theme song)

Believer - Imagine Dragons

Alter Ego // オルターエゴ - Misumi

Animal I Have Become - Three Days Grace

Guilty Man - Nik Ammar

VOTE FOR HIM HERE

@original-character-championship

[asanee44]

GRANN BRIGGITE’S VEVE

Grann Briggite has a somewhat complicated history in Haitian Vodou, especially in comparison to her consort Baron Samdi. Grann Briggite is typically considered to be the wife of Baron Samdi as she is the queen of cemeteries and graves. Though consistently associated with the morbid, she has a jovial and fun temperament, and she is a festive dancer. And the veve of Grann Briggite likewise symbolizes these attributes.

She is said to have traveled to Haiti with Irish and Scottish indentured servants. This is one reason why she is often represented as a white woman. However, others say that she traveled from Africa during the transatlantic slavery period. Some consider Grann Briggite to be an incarnation of the Yoruba Orisha Oya, as she is likewise closely associated with the dead. Therefore, she is also sometimes depicted as a deity of African heritage.

GRANN BRIGGITE’S ATTRIBUTES

Either way, Grann Briggite is a very powerful healer. She is often called upon to heal terminally ill children. Fertility issues are also within the realm of her healing domain. Particularly concerned with women’s rights, Briggite acts on behalf of women who are abused or neglected in society.

Likewise, she is often consulted for financial and legal ills. Her position as the Judge in the Court of Spirits provides her with imminent power. As such, she favorably settles disputes on her petitioner’s behalf.

Grann Briggite’s day of the week is Monday, Wednesday, or Saturday, depending on the sosyete (Vodou society) that you belong to. The colors purple, violet, and black are universally associated with her imagery. And her number is 9, which symbolizes death, endings, and transition.

Grann Briggite – 11 oz Black Mug // African Spirit Etsy Shop

GRANN BRIGGITE VEVE SYMBOLISM

Loa Grann Briggite’s veve prominently features a heart at the top and an upright triangle bearing the cross at the bottom. These symbols simultaneously represent the feminine and masculine principles that are embraced in a love connection. The heart is indicative of the soul as it relates to passion, drive, and desire. The upright triangle bearing the cross embraces the traits of sulfur or volatility, dryness, and heat.

THE SACRED HEART

Located inside the heart are two solar words indicative of logical and creative wisdom. The heart also contains 12 feathers, and four additional feathers are located on the premises of the upright triangle bearing the cross. Feathers constitute the principle of the sky god and likewise correlate to morality or justice.

FEATHER INSPIRATION

The 12 feathers in the heart signify optimism, joy, inspiration, and hope, especially in relation to spiritual resolutions. The four feathers outlining the upright triangle bearing the cross symbolize balance, which invites the presence of divine spiritual beings. In totality, there are 16 feathers which is the number of cosmic order in many African traditional religions.

STAR POWER

The heart is likewise surrounded by eight stars indicating spiritual procreation or the ability of spirit to replicate itself. A ninth star hovers over the right corner of the heart. Altogether the nine stars depict the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, which are inherent attributes of Grann Briggitte. Additionally, her insignia incorporates 16 crosses bounded by upright traits, which correspond to mercurial water or the water of life. This element provides for eternal health and the resurrection of the dead when the principle of divine cosmic order is present.

[cozzzynook]

For the murder bot bee au. What if during his time in his OG frame he was so infamous that the DJD knew about them and either Tarn wanted to recruit him or Bee is one of the few bots alive with his name on The List. I imagine that they have at least met once before and Bee managed to injure them enough for the DJD to retreat.

Okay, so. Heres the thing about Bee.

He’s dangerous, incredibly so.

Not at all because of his physical strength, but because he’s swift, sharp & deadly creative.

When he’s serious he doesn’t overestimate his abilities in fact he plans for the worse with his weaknesses in mind that gives him an edge.

He’s smart, painfully smart and silent.

He’s not above killing a mech without having ever been in the room instead relying on traps or poisons or even seduction.

So with that in mind he would never let the DJD corner him since he knows he can’t take them all at once. Is he battle efficient and can handle his own? Yes. But he’s no match for the DJD alone with all of them coming after him.

And so if they do come after him he has plans and weapons on him to take them out one by one. Bumblebee is slippery and crafty and he’s good at hitting points to make a bot immobile and silent enough to sneak up on someone and fast enough to go in for a quick kill.

But he’s not at all foolish enough to think he truly stands a match against them if there is more than one.

The DJD know this and have tried cornering him but he always slips away and they know its no point trying to take him alone because he will have the upper hand and he will offline them painfully.

Tarn tries to recruit him but Bee has gone as far as to send Megatron a ping message asking him to get Tarn off his aft and he’ll take out any mech for Megatron.

Oddly enough Megatron accepted but instead of offlining a bot Bee took Starscream off Megatrons servos for a solid solar cycle. After that Tarn only bothers Bee because he thinks the mech is attractive and Bee is annoyed for a whole new reason.

Bee has his name taken off the list because Megatron proposes he take Starscream every once in a while to give every bot a break and Bee agrees.

But then suddenly Bee stops responding for a long time and then suddenly he’s back but in a new frame and with the autobots of all things.

The decepticons figured something went wrong for Bee who preferred being an unaffiliated killer bot that preferred residing on neutral planets. To see him with autobots and in a new frame so different from his original bearing an insignia they know the autobot council had something to do with this.

Eventually Bee gets his original frame back and if course he’s back to having no insignia, though he down take side missions anymore.

Of course its Tarn who tries to make a move on Bee when he gets to Earth only for Blitzwing of all mechs to go aiming for Tarns spark. Megatron doesn’t try to stop the mech at all since Blitzwing marked and lay claim to courting and spark bonding Bee as his making him off limits.

No one told Tarn because they wanted to see a brutal fight.

-

🇨🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩

[terra-wisp]

Writing Exercise: SG 071422

A/N Here, have another random writing exercise. This one slapped me upside the head while I was on the bus, so typed it out during my commute. Many thanks yet again to the usual people (you know who you are) who let me randomly word vomit on their discord until I can eventually copy it over and edit it. Fandom: Supergirl Title: Wedding Vows

"Oh, don't give me that look, Supergirl."

Lex Luthor roughly gripped the blonde's chin and enjoyed the visible wince that showed up on normally invulnerable features.The glare he received in return would've surely been heat vision... had the Kryptonian not Solar Flared just two hours before.

"Damn it, Lex—get away from her!" Lena practically snarled from her spot tied to a chair just a few feet away. The elder of the Luthor siblings audibly tsked at the loss of comportment; what would their mother think?

"Really Lena, you should be thanking me." His grip on the other woman's chin tightened further, just enough to bruise. The involuntary whimper that caused was like music to his ears — how often was it that a mere human could cause physical pain to a false god?

"Stop it, you're hurting her!"

His younger sister struggled against her restraints, but Lex just chuckled. He may not have been a boy scout, but his rope tying skills were top notch.

"Dear sister, are you daft or something?"

Lex let go of the blonde's chin with a flick and flourish of his fingers and watched as Supergirl's head fell back like a doll with its strings cut. It wasn't surprising; with the amount of broken bones and wounds that littered her battered body she was likely in immense pain. There wasn't even a reason to tie her up like his sister.

"After all, she's already hurt."

He downright giggled, as if he were sharing a cute little joke.

Then again, he was Lex Luthor—this very well was amusing to him.

Lena looked torn between attempting to eviscerate her brother with her eyes and worrying about the fallen hero. Judging by the blonde's barely open eyes, she was conscious but her breaths were obviously shallow and pained.

Lex noticed his sister's split focus and rolled his eyes.

"Oh don't be that way, it's not like I'll let her die or anything."

He grabbed the hero's limp left wrist and gestured to the black metal cuff that encircled it. It was plain save for a single ornate insignia in gold and green that lay on the outside—a stylized L.

"Thanks to me, your precious Kara is officially part of the family now."

The bound raven haired woman glowered at her peacocking sibling but didn't say a word. But Lex could spot his sister flexing her left arm, clearly still unused to the matching cuff he had slapped on there just an hour before.

But that's alright. The newly wed couple would get used to the accessory he had lovingly gifted them.

Lex got up and dusted himself off; not that the blood on his Armani suit would go away so easily.

"She's a Luthor now, baby sister. And you're both going to make our family so proud." He smiled at them both, but that look only sent chills down Lena's spine.

Without another word, Lex walked out of the holding cell and the door shut firmly behind him. A second later and the overhead light turned off which quickly threw the entire room into darkness.

All Lena and Kara were left with was the unsightly green glow that emanated from the Luthor crest on their respective cuffs.

[elitaxne]

┊ ❛ BATTLECRY ❜

Skinny digits smeared the bright blue war paint over her fascia in thick yet precise globs despite the trembling. Lip plates, chaffed and worn, pressed together tightly in an attempt to steady the quivering, though it hardly made a difference. Every pulsation of her spark HAMMERED in her audials, its vibrations rippling violently from her core to the ends of her circuits; frame shaking from each and every heightened electric surge.

                                                 In for four, out for four...

Large cerulean hues glanced down, watching as digit tips dipped back into the paint jar then brought the new coat back to her faceplates; obscuring youthful features to the best of her ability. Ariel vented anemically. At least paint hid her blanched appearance... it was about what every member of her company were thinking if the rattling metal and trickling ex-vents filling the prep station were anything to go off of.

Their first deployment, right into the heat of a skirmish on Hyperion — nearly an entire solar system from Cybertron. This wasn’t even their war, and yet here they were, shipped off to the edges of their sister colonies without a secondary thought. It was almost as though the High Council WANTED them off-world. Less mouths to feed, less bodies that would likely return. Young as she was Ariel wasn’t naive, she had seen the reports in the news and overhead internal conversations among her superiors; Hyperion was a relative death sentence.

It was no coincidence either that they had filled the barracks with as many lower-caste mecha as they could draft. Ariel had joined the Sentinels WILLINGLY, volunteered of her own volition as a last resort to climb the ever-elusive caste ladder. The rest of this company, however, were here against their wills. Mandated with knocks on the door in the dead of night and brought to the Sentinel base from all over Cybertron.

This mission wasn’t WORTH the more advanced soldiers, at least, such was the impression. No. Those mecha, those who volunteered to maintain proud military lineage or simply to serve their planet remained in the outskirts of Iacon, Tarn and Altihex. Middle-caste mecha who considered service as more of a pastime if anything. To the lower-caste, with infinitely less training, time, and education, however, military service was the only option to avoid poverty. A roof over your helm, Energon in your tanks twice a day... it sounded better than the alternative of rotting in the gutters of Cybertron, or worse, being sold into servitude.

Still, the divide remained even within the Sentinels.

                                                             SENTINELS.

Primus, the name itself made her upper lip curl. Sentinel Prime’s own doing EONS ago and remained even after entering the Golden Age, after gaining a new Prime. During the Uprising, whatever fledgling Cybertronian military that had begun to form had named itself in the the Prime’s honour, once independent, operated underneath an all-encompassing banner. A singular faction without borders, acting on behalf of the High Council to maintain peace and order in their world, and in cases such as Hyperion, beyond.

More paint. More shakily glided digits over her fascia in the trained pattern: a thick band across her optics to the outer-most metal, two thinner lines trailing down from her optics over cheekplates to the edge of her bottom jawline, and a final line from her lower lip to her chin. Slowly, distinguishing features blended into the paint, losing her individuality to join that of the singular military entity. The design itself was reminiscent to the paint Sentinel Prime himself wore in battle against the Quintessons during the Uprising. However, facial war paint wasn’t the only means of disguise, or rather, sacrificed self-identity...

A paint droplet rolled from the bottom of her jawline and fell to her plating below, optics watched in the dingy mirror with a blink. Cerulean hues peered down, the bright Energon-like blue droplet marking her just above the Crest of Cybertron insignia emblazoned at the centre of the petite chassis; the Sentinel badge each member of the military wore, along with scarlet paint schemes from helm to pede. Cybertronians were made in the Primus own image, and the military in Sentinel Prime’s, she mused...

The pain scheme was mandated for all foot soldiers — another cog in the expansive machine. Superior Officers got to keep their original schemes, making them easier to distinguish from the general horde. Actually, Ariel didn’t mind the colour change so much. Her previous scheme had been a pale pink; nearly opalescent upon first glance. Nothing remarkable. Nothing particularly optic-catching. Bright, saturated colours were worn predominantly by middle and higher-caste mecha after all. Those below bore protoform-like silver or naturally muted hues blanched by sunlight and low-quality Energon.

Ariel reached to the side for a rag, wiping the paint from scarlet chestplates quickly, precisely. Every action pounded into her from the few months of training she had received, to a point it could nearly be considered instinctual. The timeframe was more than the others around her had been allotted, so she took solace in the fact. Still, she couldn’t shake the knowledge of being SEVERELY underprepared for the impending deployment. The basics nowhere near having been mastered and skills virtually non-existent.

As was the case with the rest of her company every superior made clear she didn’t belong, even among the other lower-caste drafts. Short. Skinny. Ariel had embarrassingly struggled with nearly every facet of basic training. As quick of a learner the femme was, she lacked the strength, sturdy frame, and height to be formidable. Ariel had SQUEAKED by on her speed, agility, and improving marksmanship alone, activated for deployment purely because they needed BODIES for Hyperion. She wasn’t a soldier, not really; she was a TARGET, a soon to be short-lived shield for other, stronger mecha.

                                                   In for four, out for four...

The young femme vented then shuddered again, swallowing back the nerves despite the dry lump caught in her intake. Ridges furrowed and her jawline hardened. Digits finished painting the design on her fascia with a last swipe. Ariel stared back at her reflection, assuring all was even and to Sentinel standard. Perfect. Skinny servos wiped themselves off with a cleansing rag, leaving not a single bead of paint left to be seen in the crevices of her digits; a tedious task given how they continued to shake.

❝ Ya dun alred-eh there, lass? ❞ a voice quietly asked beside her, Tarnish tongue and thick accent unmistakeable.

Ariel looked over to her battle buddy, Cypher, still struggling to get the lines evenly painted over marred fascia. Cerulean hues darted about the multiple attempts left staining the horrifically scarred faceplates; acid burns mutilating the near entirety of his fascia from his chinplate to just above his optics.

It had been an unfortunate and agonizing factory accident. A vat overheated and splashed up into his fascia, corroding the metal down to its inner components. Fresh surface metal had been retrofitted to cover the wounds, but, the burns and welds keeping his fascia together were vast. Ariel, along with every other mecha he came across involuntarily GAWKED. At least with her the gaze hadn’t been in disgust, which Cypher appreciated. The both of them quickly befriended each other as the defective mecha they were in their company; him facially, and her vocally.

                 How he wished his defect was as simple as a stutter...

Despite Cypher’s current reflection, at one point, he had been considered an attractive mech — now, he wore a facial covering as much as possible to hide the monstrosity he’d become. Heading into battle, though, such was not permitted. It left Cypher feeling naked, wanting to lather on the paint to cover up his deformity as fast as possible, but the raised ridges and welts made the task near impossible. He’d never gotten the hang of it in the two weeks of basic training he’d received prior to being activated for departure.

❝ Aye, ❞ Ariel nodded, speaking in his native tongue, one of the few she actually knew besides common Cybex. ❝ Need s-s-some help? ❞ she asked, turning towards him pre-emptively.

Cypher nodded almost too eagerly and wiped off large digits on his sullied rag, the linen completely blue from his many, MANY failed attempts. The taller mech hunched over to grant her better reach. Ariel’s lips pursed in assessment, careful not to upset the still drying paint marking her features. He’d been able to get the thick band over his optics ( and above his disfigurement ) done properly, but the smaller lines in the design proved to be the source of setback.

Swiftly getting to work her digits coated themselves in Energon-blue paint, dragging over the uneven surface meticulously. The Tarnish mech momentarily flinched upon feeling her cold touch, then settled. He’d only known Ariel for two weeks but the cooler-running systems of the tiny femme ALWAYS caught him by surprise. It was like being touched by a walking ice box. Both frames shuddered on another ripple of nerves, ever-present in them both and likely would be until they returned... if they returned.

                                                   In for four, out for four...

Ariel vented deeply inward then outward. Cypher watched her intently, studying the flits of her optics between the passes of her cold servo, and the scrunched expression that crossed her fascia while she concentrated. The mech bit back an amused grin. She looked like a sparkling would while focusing on a task, and given Ariel’s age, he wasn’t far off in his assessment. He himself wasn’t much older than her from what he’d learned, the deformity only gave him the appearance of such. Sparklings, practically, the both of them — they all were.

❝ D...D-Don’t move yer mouth— ❞ Ariel hushed, quiet yet no less demanding. Time was running out before their Corporal would come by for pre-checks, and he ran a tight operation.

Cypher complied instantly, tenor vocoder emitting an acknowledging hum. The mech sucked in a wavering ventilation. Large black servos trembled as they unconsciously fidgeted in his lap. Cerulean hues shifted to meet his orange gaze — another marker to his ‘otherness’. The acid has splashed up into his optics, eating away at the natural colour filter and tinged them deep orange. Very rarely did mecha have optic colours other than blue, always drawing attention whether intentional or not. Despite the accident occurring millennia ago Cypher still struggled to recognize his new reflection; cobalt optics and handsome fascia now only a painful, distant memory.

❝ In fer four, out fer four, Cyph, ❞ the tiny femme murmured encouragingly. Demonstrating just that with her own ventilation pattern. One, two, three, four she vented inward. One, two, three, four, the vents expelled steadily from her frame, unable to hide her own nerves as they swirled about on her EM Field. It matched his own terrified energy, and that of the entire company. All of them choking the prep station with their unease.

Cypher took the advice in stride, remembering the shared mantra and putting it into motion. Silence. Another repetition of vents. It helped... marginally.

❝ What in the PIT do ya think yer doin’, Rookie?! ❞ a gruff voice barked over in mandated Cybex.

Ariel and Cypher recoiled, each bolting upwards from their seats to stand at rigid attention as the older mech clomped towards them. Piercing azure optics practically peeled the femme’s paint, narrowed in a hardened glare and stealing the air from her vents. Although, the tar cygar the teal mech incessantly puffed away on was also partially to blame. Bitter white smoke stung her optics as he stopped in front of them, LOOMING over to block out the overhead lights. At least Cypher stood closer in height, only a half-helm below the Corporal. Ariel, meanwhile, barely came to the Corporal’s mid-chassis. Something the intimidating older mech never failed to exploit.

Processors whirred, expertly switching to Cybex in preparation.

❝ Assisting my teammate, S-S-Sir, ❞ Ariel quietly dared to answer, knowing full well she couldn’t remain silent to his query. Cerulean hues didn’t budge from their froward stare, catching the Corporal’s movement only by peripheral vision and forceful EM Field beating her weaker one into submission.

Speaking around the cygar poised in the crook of his mouth the mech drawled lowly. ❝ He don’t need yer help, he’s a grown aft mech! Everyone does their own paint— ❞ the Corporal barked again. Ariel narrowly escaped the instinct to flinch. Glowering down to Cypher he continued, ❝ Finish up. On yer own. NOW. ❞

❝ Aye, Corp-eral Kup, Ser— ❞ Cypher replied, his Tarnish accent ever prevalent. Seating himself he immediately started back on task. Praise the Maker, all that was required was the line from the lower lip to his chinplate... Primus bless ya, lass.

Ariel remained in place, optics forward, servos clasped at the base of her spinal column, shoulders back and chin level to the floor. Perfect stance. Kup leaned closer to come within inches from her fascia. She didn’t move. Locked in place like a statue, rigid and tensed.

❝ Ya think ya did such a perfect job ya can offer yer services to yer buddies, eh, Rookie? ❞ he scoffed, blowing the cygar smoke into her faceplates.

Ariel wheezed ever so slightly against bitter air, ❝ No, S-S-Sir— ❞

❝ Then keep yer servos to yerself! ❞ Kup replied loudly, assuring everyone in the prep station could hear him. A few closest to the pair braved their curiosity to peek over, then just as quickly returned to their own paint jobs. The threat of deployment already hung above their helms, they needn’t a terrifying altercation with Corporal Kup to add to the mix.

❝ Y-Yes, S-S-Sir! ❞ Ariel stammered in acknowledgement, feeling another involuntary tremor course through her circuitry. Dangling scarlet cables at the top of her helm rattled behind matching backplates, catching Kup’s scrupulous attention. Dammit. Ariel bit back a wince, already anticipating what he’d say.

❝ An’ get those THINGS properly secured. If I catch ya with ‘em down one more time, yer aft will be doin’ waste chute cleanin’ for a VORN— ❞

❝ Y-Yes, Corporal! Right away, Corporal! ❞ the femme sputtered, all but THROWING herself back into her seat.

Trembling limbs frantically tore into her subspace for the helm-cable covering, yanking the cables up and twisting them in preparation at break-neck speed. Meanwhile, Cypher cleaned his digits at the side, too petrified to look over. Her covering magnetized in place with a CLINK, cables neatly secured and out of sight. Ariel despised how she looked without them, feeling a deep betrayal to her Carrier in even taking such an action in the first place. Helm cabling was an inherited trait— one of the few Ariel took PRIDE in. A marker of the great Solus Prime’s influence, or at least, so she had been taught. But, these were the rules. Plus, the alternative was less appealing: having them chopped off at their roots.

What must’ve been a nanosecond after the Corporal stood at the front of the prep station. Gruff voice loudly echoing off the walls with another order, assuring everyone could hear despite the slight distance from front to back.

❝ Company, ATTENTION— ❞

Creaks of metal shooting up to stand followed immediately, all taking to the proper military stance in a sparkpulse, Ariel and Cypher included. Every optic was trained on Kup, hardened expression partially hidden by the never-ending wafts of cygar smoke. If anything, it only added to their anxiety; never quite able to tell where he was looking at any given time, or at who.

❝ Weapons! ❞ he demanded.

The conglomerate of mecha — about one hundred or so — complied instantly. Plates shifted into the proper configurations, bringing onlined weaponry mods to view for inspection. Down the line Kup went one by one, checking their war paint and weapons, assuring they were calibrated, properly cleaned, and paint up to Sentinel code.

Unfortunately, the process took longer than he liked and wanted, high standards aside the mecha before him were incredibly underprepared. Greener than green. If half returned from Hyperion he’d consider the mission a success, but in the recesses of his core he anticipated every spark in the room to be snuffed. A disheartening part of the military, especially when it concerned the lower-caste drafted soldiers.

Not nearly enough resources were put into proper training as it was simply considered wasteful. Lower-caste mecha were a dime a dozen, their population large and only increasing with every passing year. While Kup never spoke of it aloud, he assumed on more than one occasion the High Council did so purposely as a means of population control. Still, he’d would do his best to TRY and get them all home, as he always had done. Despite his reputation even HE wasn’t completely sparkless...

Standing in front of the skinny femme once more Kup grabbed her helm, tipping it from side to side roughly to check the war paint. Clean, even lines. Perfectly spaced. Near perfectly straight, though, he hadn’t expected any of the strokes to be all that steady given nerves. Lip plates pursed. Good. Kup released her with more slightly force than intended, she was simply much lighter than he’d been expecting and had exercised with every other mecha in the company.

Ariel vented shallowly, locking her weapon in place as he reached forwards. Sparkpulses continued to RING in her helm, vibrating against the confines of her chassis so violently she swore Kup could feel it coursing through her limbs.

                                                   In for four, out for four...

The Corporal turned the blaster over from side to side, next checking the internal components, and again, perfection. He huffed. The femme had an incredible optic for detail, meticulous as a seasoned vet would’ve been, it mildly impressed him. When it came to being technical the kid EXCELLED, but when it came to physicality... that was her constant challenge. She simply wasn’t BUILT for being a Sentinel. Every form served a function and this was so obviously not hers, but, she came as a volunteer; a rarity from her caste. Whatever it was she set out to prove in being here remained to be seen, and likely never would.

Kup withheld a sigh and released the weaponized arm back to her side, gentler this time, though however barely. Today would be the true test he supposed. Just like that he moved onto the next, Cypher, without a second thought. Sentimentality and emotions had no place here. Besides, he hardly knew the femme — knew ANY of these mecha — there was no use lingering on things.

The inspection lasted ten painstaking minutes before finally coming to completion. After which came a quick briefing. Two boundaries on Hyperion were locked in a deadly and bloody battle over a border feud. One trying to absorb the other to gain power over the resources ( and reach ), with the other fighting to maintain its independence as their own region. A tale as old as time...

Previous waves from both Caminus and Cybertron had come mainly to assist in civilian transportation and TRY to maintain peace, but, as the battle waged on, their services were needed to push back against the invading region’s forces. Caminus pulled the majority of their guards after the first wave. Cybertron willingly continued to shuttle in wave after wave of mecha, each less prepared than the last. But what they lacked in skill they made up for by sheer NUMBERS, bolstering the allied forces just enough to maintain position against the invaders. This company’s objection remained simple: hold the line, advance if at all possible.

❝ Load up an’ shove out, LET’S GO— ❞ Kup suddenly barked, stepping ahead in preparation to lead.

The sea of scarlet frames moved as one unit, falling into their orderly lines and marching out of the prep station to the distinctive tune of heavy pedefalls. Cerulean and orange optics of both Ariel and Cypher respectively shared a nervous glance. If the shared look were any indication they each were seconds away from purging. Even beneath the bright war paint the blanched colour tinging each faceplate were unmistakeable, and in Cypher’s case, making his welts and burns all the more apparent. Surrounding frames trembled as they marched, adding to the general cacophony of the company with Kup blazing forwards at the pre-determined brisk pace.

Ariel clenched then straightened dainty servos at her side, desperately trying to fight the heavy and numb sensation overtaking her extremities, taking to shaking them one then the other. It did nothing. Processors whirred and she swallowed against the perpetual lump in her vocoder, struggling to complete the action with her mouth now entirely parched of saliva.

Once in the main hangar they could hear the whirs of rotors preparing takeoff checks, adding to the white noise of the bustling space: vehicle transports, other marching company’s, superior officers giving and relaying orders, overhead speakers echoing updates and notices. This was happening. There was no turning back now. Reality settled over Ariel and every other mecha surrounding her like a thick, dense fog. EM Fields frantic and frenzied, mixing into an endless wave of FEAR.

Each pedefall brought them closer and closer to their aerial transport, the large back entrance open and waiting to swallow them. Ariel took a last peek around the hangar, too overwhelmed to notice any real details in the moment before crossing the threshold and marching up the inclined ramp. Kup gave another loud order and they settled onto the benches, seated and ready for takeoff — each secretly hoping the transport would be delayed in one way or another. Or, better yet, word that the conflict had miraculously ended. None came.

Large doors closed with a heavy creak and pneumatic hiss, sealing them inside along with their fates. Bright white lights of the hangar were now replaced with total blackness. Cypher’s vents hitched to Ariel’s side, deeply phobic of pure darkness such as this. Ariel glanced over and reached for his servo, skinny digits giving the thicker, warmer ones a small squeeze. Cypher reciprocated, CLINGING to her for the small comfort the touch brought; chilly as ever. A click. Dimmed red lights slowly onlined overhead to feebly illuminate the interior, allowing their optics to adjust to the nightfall exposure awaiting them at their arrival point. Servos remained tightly wound but hardly anyone noticed — they weren’t the only ones taking such action.

Scarlet plates all RATTLED against each other at varying levels, piercing every set of audials in the hull. Shaking, squeaking metal against neighbouring metal filled the space in an unsettling melody. Short, staggered vents wheezed all around, nervous ticks becoming all the more apparent now that they were officially en route. Pedes tapped at the ground, some simply let the entire leg bounce erratically. Digits thrummed over bent knee joints, or cracked the components in each digit on repeat. Denta chewed on lower lip components and inner mesh. Shoulder pauldrons lifted only to then fell, trying to dispel the tension pent up in tight neck cabling. The list went on...

Engines whirred to life as did rotors. The transport lurched forwards then up, briefly jolting the company trapped inside. Take off. Overhead, static pre-emptively filled the broadcast comm, followed by a muffled voice from one of the pilots.

                      >> ETA: TWENTY-MINUTES TO OBJECTIVE <<

Ariel cycled inwards and outwards as steadily as possible. Keeping to the four count she had been taught back in her youngling years by her Creators. Ridges crinkled, the familiar phantom ACHE made its presence known in the depths of her spark. A pained vent trickled past quivering lip components. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Her Carrier’s voice continued to whisper to her over and over like a faulty record. Soft but strong, just as she had when Ariel had lost her—

                             No, when she had been TAKEN from her.

Large cerulean hues stung with pricks of coolant threatening to fall. Ariel swallowed hard, it would muss up her war paint if they did, Kup would be furious. Optics screwed shut as she focused on her ventilations instead. Reaching up, servos blindly felt around the back of her neck joints for her helm cabling, going to pull them forwards to comb skinny digits through yet only found air. Optics opened. Right. They were fastened beneath a covering at the top of her helm.

Beside her, Cypher rocked gently back and forth while massaging slow circles over his sparkpulse, self-soothing in his own personal way as many mecha had taken to. Beneath his breath the quiet tenor voice every now and then met her audials, mumbling a half-realized song to himself. The melody barely existed, but Ariel picked out the longer held vowels and slight dips and rises in their enunciation. Actually, the hull had begun to fill with similar whispers, mecha speaking to themselves or partner next to them. Same region-originating mecha took to their own languages and traditions in the form of prayers, mantras, and other offerings the young femme could only partially understand. All of it bled seamlessly together into a constant yet hushed hum.

Ariel watched the circling passes over Cypher’s much broader chassis, the mark of a traditional Tarnish bot through and through. Sturdy. Strong. Exactly as her Sire had been. Primus, never had she wished to have inherited such a frame more than in this moment. Instead, she took mostly after her Carrier; slim, slight, pure-bred Vosnian. The few curves Ariel’s form bore were the only hints to her mixed-race, a confusing mash-up of thoroughly opposite regions that all too often made her stick out like a sore thumb. Not Tarnish. Not Vosnian. Not a pure flyer. Not a pure grounder. Simultaneously two things and yet nothing.

Circles continued over wide scarlet chestplates, steady and constant. The mech’s thumb caught on the Sentinel insignia at the centre every now and then, but remained largely undeterred in their pattern. A beat. As if feeling her gaze on him Cypher looked over, soft smile briefly twitching across the horrific scars and metal-grafts. The unoccupied servo reached for her nearest one, bringing it to the petite chassis and guiding the same circular action gently over her plates.

❝ Aye, jus’ like that, lass. Nice an’ slow, as yer reg’lar pulses oughta be, ❞ Cypher murmured in his native tongue, tenor voice shaking despite his best efforts.

Ariel expelled another unsteady ventilation, nodding slowly as optics blinked furiously against the welling coolant captured in the crooks; never fully banished back, yet still refused to fall.

❝ What was it ya were s-s-singin’? B’fore? ❞ she croaked, again swallowing back the knot in her vocoder impeding the Tarnish dialect.

Cypher’s smile broadened slightly, ❝ Ack— don’t tell me you’ve nevar heard th’ tradish’nal war chant a’ Prima... ❞

His servo fell from hers though neither took notice. Without warning the transport BOBBED to the side, forcing its occupants to grasp at hanging holds for stability. Tanks LURCHED violently into her intake. Ariel shook her helm, focusing on Cypher instead of their current journey and growing nervous nausea.

❝ Well, s’ppose there’s no time like th’ present, ❞ he half-chuckled, ❝ Aye’ll teach ya. Watch an’ listen to what aye do, lass. ❞

The servo over his spark pulse tightened into a fist. Completing three circles across his chassis the fist banged against the insignia twice in quicker succession, then dragged again in another three circles to repeat the pattern. At the same time a large pede stomped quietly against the ground in a baseline beat, feeding into the growing rhythm. Steady. Strong. Dropping his tone a guttural hum manifested in the pit of the Tarnish chassis, low like rolling thunder. Cypher held the tone as the pounds and stomps continued. It was then that his large frame couldn’t help but move along to the rhythm, swaying back and forth ever so slightly in place as he had done before. Moved by the music he created.

Ariel nodded slowly, mimicking the actions in a fast study. Pounds and stomps came not as powerfully as his, but they didn’t need to be, she could feel it move through her all the same. Dropping her vocoder to as comfortable a low register as she could the pitches harmonized in perfect tune, cerulean and orange optics locked onto each other in an unwavering connection. Ready.

Cypher broke the hum as Ariel continued, singing the ancient Cybex chant to the same steady rhythm:

[ Listen Here ]

❝ Iron and ore ignite the Wellspring, Bright white light to carry me home, Sunlight cresting to the Moons new splendor, Rise and fall

Vows of honour and fight for freedom, Spark catch fire to warm my form, Energon pulses hot like lightning, We stand tall.

Raise your fists and come together, Fate shines down upon this day, Know no fear when your might is sundered, Heed the call.

Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me... ❞

Cypher regained the previous low hum, nodding over to Ariel. Her turn. The pounds to his chassis and stomps grew in intensity, garnering the attention of the nearest mecha beside and across from the pair. Ariel ex-vented, lyrics committed to memory as well as tune. From the top she repeated the chant just as the Tarnish mech had, in perfect time to his continued beat. Every word sung earned more and more self-assurance, the once meagre embers of her persona flickering to newfound life.

❝ Iron and ore ignite the Wellspring, Bright white light to carry me home, S-Sunlight cresting to the Moons new splendor, Rise and fall.

Vows of honour and fight for freedom, S-Spark catch fire to warm my form, Energon pulses hot like lightning, We stand tall— ❞

Behind frightened cerulean hues a fire caught before his very optics, BURNING behind Ariel’s gaze. The younger femme’s features hardened underneath the warpaint in a different kind of way than the mech had ever witnessed before; a ferocious, unyielding determination.

❝ Raise your fists and come together, Fate shines down upon this day, Know no fear when your might is sundered, Heed the call— ❞

A sudden shiver ran down his spinal column, spark growing hotter and hotter in the bowels of his chassis. Cypher’s optics flashed, lowly rumbling the final lines of the chant along with the femme in perfect contrast to her higher register. Their combined fervor and volume GREW.

❝ Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me. ❞

By now, a few bots had caught on. Several knew the ancient chant by spark whereas the majority learned in the moment, joining in from the top to both Ariel and Cypher’s surprise. Even more surprising was when — without any sort of warning — the femme SHOT upwards to her pedes, unable to be confined to her seat... or was it contained?

Cerulean hues SEARED into orange, skinny frame willing ever fibre of her being to stomp harder into the ground and against her chassis, repeating the words even louder than before; stutter vanished completely. A dangerous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, prompting Cypher to do the same. disbelieving what he assumed to be such a meek femme to make such a STAND. Little did he know, however, she had performed in front of crowds teeming with tens of thousands of mecha back in Kaon, a couple hundred now as witness was nothing to her.

Courage BILLOWED from Ariel’s EM Field with newfound ferocity, goading the others in proximity to lose themselves to the feeling as it flooded over and surrounded them. For a moment they could only stare at the femme and take in the small but mighty energy SURGING from her with a power comparable to the sun; a different kind of strength that they had never seen or felt the likes of which ever before.

                                                            MESMORIZED.

Unthinkingly, Cypher joined her in standing, heavy mass drawing more power and volume for those seated farther away to take note of. He turned, facing to the back of the transport to engage them as Ariel did similar with the front. In an instant, clanks of heavy servos and thuds of weighted pedes added to the growing tally. Down the multiple benches the chanted words and steady rhythm caught like wildfire through the red-lit hull. Each repetition bringing forth more and more participants as the words and music were better learned.

The transport roughly dipped to the side in choppy air. Ariel briefly clung to Cypher to stay upright as he reached up for a hanging grip, yet the chants never relented, if anything, it merely ROSE in volume to drown out the approaching battle. Optics burned brighter and brighter as frames rocked to the music, and one by one throughout the hull, mecha came to stand at their places.

Some opted to keep the constant baseline hum, others chanting along with the words. Some simply bobbed their helms and frames, fully focused on the beats to their chassis or stamps of pedes, garnering more power with every movement. Each and every bot of the hundred-mecha company echoed with their chosen method LOUDLY in the cabin, banishing back their fear in defiant unison again, and again, AND AGAIN. Together, they made known to the High Council back on Cybertron that their sparks would not be so easily extinguished today.

❝ Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me. ❞

Kup sat at his place in the back dumbfounded, cygar threatening to fall from the jaw now hanging completely agape. Never before had he seen ANYTHING like this, especially from the lower-caste drafts. Widened azure optics fixated on the tiny scarlet femme and disfigured mech at the centre of the storm, soon afterwards losing sight of them as now EVERY bot had come to stand on their pedes. Synchronized movements ebbed and flowed like ocean waves to the beat, infectious as ever.

The energy palpitating in the hull could only be described as ELECTRIC. A furious, relentless power that felt as though every spark in the vicinity were about to burst into a great cataclysm; an absolute super nova of strength. Every pound to a chassis and stomp of pede against the metal flooring brought a deep BOOM felt in the pit of each spark casing, vibrating the cores in a visceral, instinctive pulsation as though the Well itself had manifested in the transport; loud and HEAVY.

¦ ¦  Corporal, what in the Pit is going on back there? We can feel the transport QUAKING.  ¦ ¦

One of the pilots filled his comm. Kup had to STRAIN to hear above the thundering volume. The teal torso twisted to face the wall immediately behind to try and dampen the background noise though it was of little use.

¦ ¦  DON’T YA KNOW A BATTLECRY WHEN YA HEAR ONE?  ¦ ¦

He shouted over the BOOMING chants, clanks, and stomps.

❝ Iron and ore ignite the Wellspring, Bright white light to carry me home, Sunlight cresting to the Moons new splendor, Rise and fall— ❞

¦ ¦  — 5 minutes to objective, Corporal!  ¦ ¦

¦ ¦  COPY.  ¦ ¦

Now, Kup also rose to his pedes. Those nearest him took notice and watched with wary expressions, unsure if he were about to give them a verbal lashing for their unruly actions or not. Sucking in another long ventilation of the tar cygar its bitter smoke whistled from his frame. Azure optics flashed, pede stamping against the ground in unison with the company, naturally gravelly vocoder adding to the baseline hum.

❝ Vows of honour and fight for freedom, Spark catch fire to warm my form, Energon pulses hot like lightning, We stand tall... ❞

Down the rows mecha begun to turn around slowly but surely, never breaking stride or beat as they came to face their Corporal. Ariel and Cypher remained at the centre, lost to the sea of Energon-blue war paint and scarlet frames. Kup took the cygar from his lip components, chanting through the residual white tendrils as the transport banked in descent.

❝ Raise your fists and come together, Fate shines down upon this day, Know no fear when your might is sundered, Heed the call— ❞

The horde continued, undeterred and unapologetic. Savouring the high that came with the indescribable feeling claiming them for as long as they would be permitted. Their possible final moments ticked down in pings overhead, only adding to the raucous rhythm.

❝ Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me. ❞

[ TO BE CONTINUED . . . ]