Unfashioned Creature
Nov. 7th, 2025 08:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hat_writes_stuffTitle: Unfashioned Creature
Author: Almighty Hat
Fandom: Transformers Mystic Tales AU
Characters: ... It's complicated? I made a half-demon baby half-OC, please trust me. Also Sentinel.
Word Count: 1,059
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Gen
Warnings: Aftermath of suicide attempt (except nobody knows that?), Spellbound Sentinel (an asshole)
Author's Notes: Somehow there's no references to suicide in this one. Sentinel doesn't know shit, our viewpoint character knows even less, and I just wanted to get the mental image out of my head and into someone else's. Keferon's excellent Spellbound AU, however, does deal with suicide and the right to it as a main theme.
This... this is something like a kinder gentler Frankenstein's Monster sort of thing. I don't know. A demon, Spellbound-style, without the dying mech inside. Just the magic. Just the shape. I'm not even sure if he's holding the shape together or if he's got that drippy Steven Gammel look and variable size from the dream sequence. Do not ask me to explain the logistics, I don't know them, I'm running on vibes here.
Summary: A determined person can make something out of even dust and ash, or, Blurr only asked that death not touch Shockwave if there was anything alive to save.
Or, I saw this Spellbound update and a related Ask, and I turned to Celaeno and I said, "What if we could keep both of them?"
He-- he? Yes, he. He coalesced, summoned up from... from...
Where had he been? Nowhere? No, he was sure he'd been somewhere. He remembered being separated from something, definitively. Skillfully pushed away from something living-- someone living? There was heat and sound and a soft floral smell, and he fell apart much like he was rising together now.
He opened his mouth and could see.
Before him was a knight, which wasn't wrong, armored all in blue-- but the wrong blue, and with gold trim, and wings, and far too large. Two or three times too large.
So that wasn't right at all, and he let himself be wary.
"A little messy," the knight said, "but you always were, weren't you? I guess you thought death would get you out of your punishment."
He twisted his neck, tilted his head, trying to get a better view of the knight, even if he could see him perfectly clearly. He didn't understand the knight, and didn't like that much. "My punishment?" he said. "What punishment?"
"... You don't-- state your name, demon," the knight demanded.
"My name." He didn't know what he was being punished for, and if he had a name, it wasn't coming to mind. ... He had a vague impression of being called something, though, something soft and sharp. "I'm sure I have one," he said, trying to think what the sounds were, and how they fit together into a name.
The knight smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant expression. "You've always looked like a Longarm to me," he said. "I guess Primus found one more thing to take away from you after all."
"I don't understand," he said.
"Well, you wouldn't, would you, Longarm?" the knight countered, still with that unpleasant smile. "You're a demon, punished by Primus for your crimes. Hideous and misshapen, given to mechs like me to use properly, wisely, in pursuit of order."
"I am not yours," he said, not quite sure he was willing to be called Longarm, even if his arms were much longer than the knight's.
"I brought you back," the knight said, expression angrier-- more honest. That was better. "You damn well are mine again. We have monsters to hunt."
"No," he said, and straightened up. And up. The knight shifted back, looking fearful. "I don't know what you did, but I am not bound to you. I belong to someone else. I am not yours."
The fearful quality only lasted for a moment before the lying smile was back. "Then you'd better run to your summoner. I'm sure he needs his big strong demon to protect him."
And if he focused on it... there was a pull. He was bound. (There should be a blue knight, just not this one. Different blues, lighter, softer. A smaller frame, light and quick. An honest smile.) Perhaps he could follow the pull to find the mech he did belong to.
But the knight's lying smile was back.
"Illogical," he said, instead. "I am sure he left me here for some purpose. He will find me waiting here when he returns."
"You were dead," the knight bit out. "I fixed you."
"I have never been alive," he corrected-- and was sudenly very sure it was so. "But I am sure when the mech I belong to finds me in a better state, he will thank you for your work." He was lying now, and not trying to hide it, and the knight scowled, whether or not he believed the words.
He sat down, on the dusty gray floor, and the knight stared at him.
"What are you doing?"
"Sitting. I will wait here to be found," he lied, "for as long as I must."
He did not know very much, but he knew a few things: he belonged to someone, was bound to someone. Someone whose commands he would follow, someone who would have only his truths, someone who he could not harm, someone whose questions must be answered. The knight with the lying smile wanted to be that someone; had expected to be that someone, and was angry not to be. He was not certain that what he was was truly called 'demon,' but he knew he needed no rest or fuel, that he could feel very little discomfort-- that he could keep at a task eternally if he had to, for he was not a living thing.
The knight with the lying smile was a living thing. He needed fuel and rest and comfort-- and more importantly, the knight could grow bored. Impatient.
(Possibly he could also grow bored and impatient, he wasn't certain of that yet either-- but somehow, he was certain that the knight would suffer that first.)
He did not know very much, but he knew if the knight with the lying smile followed him to the person he belonged to, that person would be in danger.
So he would sit, and wait, and be very very boring indeed, until the knight with the lying smile went away. Then he would follow the line of his binding to see where he belonged.
Hours and hours later, he drifted, dust and ash on the wind, ink in the river, stretching and testing and following, following, while shying away from the lying knight and anything he'd touched.
He was dreaming, or someone was-- he should not have known how the damaged mech had been damaged, that he had changed, he should not have known that mech didn't fit in his shell, didn't see himself when he looked at his reflection. He should not have known what to say, although he chose how to say it.
The mech was not him.
But the mech-- he had one optic, but it was kind. His hands were broken, but gentle when they reached for him. When the mech touched him, it was loving, understanding. It was not forgiving, for what was there, between them, to forgive?
His shell wouldn't fit the mech, either.
The mech woke.
He lost the connection to whatever place they'd been.
But not his connection to the mech.
That bond, different than his bond to the person he belonged to, with fewer rules, remained.
But both bonds tugged him in the same direction.
He would go, and he would protect both of them.
When it was safe to find them.
End Notes: For posterity/dating, the most recent Spellbound update hit while I was writing my notes.
The longer the comfort goes on after all the hurt, the more I worry what's going to happen to these boys.
Next Part, less canon compliant
Next Part, more canon compliant
Author: Almighty Hat
Fandom: Transformers Mystic Tales AU
Characters: ... It's complicated? I made a half-demon baby half-OC, please trust me. Also Sentinel.
Word Count: 1,059
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Gen
Warnings: Aftermath of suicide attempt (except nobody knows that?), Spellbound Sentinel (an asshole)
Author's Notes: Somehow there's no references to suicide in this one. Sentinel doesn't know shit, our viewpoint character knows even less, and I just wanted to get the mental image out of my head and into someone else's. Keferon's excellent Spellbound AU, however, does deal with suicide and the right to it as a main theme.
This... this is something like a kinder gentler Frankenstein's Monster sort of thing. I don't know. A demon, Spellbound-style, without the dying mech inside. Just the magic. Just the shape. I'm not even sure if he's holding the shape together or if he's got that drippy Steven Gammel look and variable size from the dream sequence. Do not ask me to explain the logistics, I don't know them, I'm running on vibes here.
Summary: A determined person can make something out of even dust and ash, or, Blurr only asked that death not touch Shockwave if there was anything alive to save.
Or, I saw this Spellbound update and a related Ask, and I turned to Celaeno and I said, "What if we could keep both of them?"
He-- he? Yes, he. He coalesced, summoned up from... from...
Where had he been? Nowhere? No, he was sure he'd been somewhere. He remembered being separated from something, definitively. Skillfully pushed away from something living-- someone living? There was heat and sound and a soft floral smell, and he fell apart much like he was rising together now.
He opened his mouth and could see.
Before him was a knight, which wasn't wrong, armored all in blue-- but the wrong blue, and with gold trim, and wings, and far too large. Two or three times too large.
So that wasn't right at all, and he let himself be wary.
"A little messy," the knight said, "but you always were, weren't you? I guess you thought death would get you out of your punishment."
He twisted his neck, tilted his head, trying to get a better view of the knight, even if he could see him perfectly clearly. He didn't understand the knight, and didn't like that much. "My punishment?" he said. "What punishment?"
"... You don't-- state your name, demon," the knight demanded.
"My name." He didn't know what he was being punished for, and if he had a name, it wasn't coming to mind. ... He had a vague impression of being called something, though, something soft and sharp. "I'm sure I have one," he said, trying to think what the sounds were, and how they fit together into a name.
The knight smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant expression. "You've always looked like a Longarm to me," he said. "I guess Primus found one more thing to take away from you after all."
"I don't understand," he said.
"Well, you wouldn't, would you, Longarm?" the knight countered, still with that unpleasant smile. "You're a demon, punished by Primus for your crimes. Hideous and misshapen, given to mechs like me to use properly, wisely, in pursuit of order."
"I am not yours," he said, not quite sure he was willing to be called Longarm, even if his arms were much longer than the knight's.
"I brought you back," the knight said, expression angrier-- more honest. That was better. "You damn well are mine again. We have monsters to hunt."
"No," he said, and straightened up. And up. The knight shifted back, looking fearful. "I don't know what you did, but I am not bound to you. I belong to someone else. I am not yours."
The fearful quality only lasted for a moment before the lying smile was back. "Then you'd better run to your summoner. I'm sure he needs his big strong demon to protect him."
And if he focused on it... there was a pull. He was bound. (There should be a blue knight, just not this one. Different blues, lighter, softer. A smaller frame, light and quick. An honest smile.) Perhaps he could follow the pull to find the mech he did belong to.
But the knight's lying smile was back.
"Illogical," he said, instead. "I am sure he left me here for some purpose. He will find me waiting here when he returns."
"You were dead," the knight bit out. "I fixed you."
"I have never been alive," he corrected-- and was sudenly very sure it was so. "But I am sure when the mech I belong to finds me in a better state, he will thank you for your work." He was lying now, and not trying to hide it, and the knight scowled, whether or not he believed the words.
He sat down, on the dusty gray floor, and the knight stared at him.
"What are you doing?"
"Sitting. I will wait here to be found," he lied, "for as long as I must."
He did not know very much, but he knew a few things: he belonged to someone, was bound to someone. Someone whose commands he would follow, someone who would have only his truths, someone who he could not harm, someone whose questions must be answered. The knight with the lying smile wanted to be that someone; had expected to be that someone, and was angry not to be. He was not certain that what he was was truly called 'demon,' but he knew he needed no rest or fuel, that he could feel very little discomfort-- that he could keep at a task eternally if he had to, for he was not a living thing.
The knight with the lying smile was a living thing. He needed fuel and rest and comfort-- and more importantly, the knight could grow bored. Impatient.
(Possibly he could also grow bored and impatient, he wasn't certain of that yet either-- but somehow, he was certain that the knight would suffer that first.)
He did not know very much, but he knew if the knight with the lying smile followed him to the person he belonged to, that person would be in danger.
So he would sit, and wait, and be very very boring indeed, until the knight with the lying smile went away. Then he would follow the line of his binding to see where he belonged.
Hours and hours later, he drifted, dust and ash on the wind, ink in the river, stretching and testing and following, following, while shying away from the lying knight and anything he'd touched.
He was dreaming, or someone was-- he should not have known how the damaged mech had been damaged, that he had changed, he should not have known that mech didn't fit in his shell, didn't see himself when he looked at his reflection. He should not have known what to say, although he chose how to say it.
The mech was not him.
But the mech-- he had one optic, but it was kind. His hands were broken, but gentle when they reached for him. When the mech touched him, it was loving, understanding. It was not forgiving, for what was there, between them, to forgive?
His shell wouldn't fit the mech, either.
The mech woke.
He lost the connection to whatever place they'd been.
But not his connection to the mech.
That bond, different than his bond to the person he belonged to, with fewer rules, remained.
But both bonds tugged him in the same direction.
He would go, and he would protect both of them.
When it was safe to find them.
End Notes: For posterity/dating, the most recent Spellbound update hit while I was writing my notes.
The longer the comfort goes on after all the hurt, the more I worry what's going to happen to these boys.
Next Part, less canon compliant
Next Part, more canon compliant
