This Was Supposed To Become A Stempunk Cyborg Lamia. 8 Legs And As Mighty As A Small Horse.

Messaging people for the first time is so hard. What am I supposed to say? Like, "You seem really odd and your blog intrigues me. Do you want to have philosophical conversations or perhaps talk about fictional characters?" What! Whatever. I will just follow you back and stare at your blog with my big beautiful brown eyes.

Black kites and whistling kites are among a group of bird species known as firehawks. They intentionally spread fires in order to catch prey.

A touching story

@creepysmlile

"Oh have you try the seekers claustrophobia? I love all the lore the fandom created for the seekers"

"Caged Sky"

The pirate vessel never stood a chance.

Megatron had ripped through it like a storm, scattering its pathetic crew to the void. The Decepticons had moved with precision, cutting down every mercenary that dared raise a weapon against them. It had been an execution, not a battle.

Because no one—absolutely no one—stole from him.

And Starscream?

They found him in a dimly lit cargo hold, curled into himself, optics dim, frame battered. He hadn’t spoken much when they pulled him out—just muttered something weakly sarcastic about Megatron taking his time. But even that had lacked its usual venom.

Megatron hadn’t dwelled on it at the time.

They had won. The Seeker was back. Everything should have gone back to normal.

Except it hadn’t.

---

Starscream refused to leave the landing pad.

At first, it had been easy to dismiss. Maybe he was just sulking, milking the situation for sympathy or attention. It was Starscream, after all.

But then a cycle passed.

Then another.

And he was still there.

Sitting on the edge, wings twitching, staring out into space.

Megatron had ignored it as long as he could.

Now, he had had enough.

---

The Nemesis was a warship, not a Seeker’s personal perch. Megatron stormed onto the landing pad, optics burning with frustration.

“Starscream,” he growled. “This ends now.”

Starscream barely turned. “Oh? What ends?”

Megatron’s patience frayed. “Your pathetic stalling. Get back inside the ship.”

Starscream shifted, still not looking at him. “I will, Megatron. I just need a little more time. The—ah—the atmospheric recalibration is—”

Megatron’s optic twitched. “Enough.”

He grabbed Starscream’s arm.

And then—

Starscream panicked.

The Seeker shrieked, thrusters kicking in as he fought, wings flaring wildly. His talons scrambled for purchase, yanking his arm away with a desperation Megatron never expected.

“Let go!” Starscream’s voice was sharp, nearly frantic.

Megatron did.

Starscream stumbled back, vents heaving, optics wide—too wide. His claws gripped his own arms, shoulders hunched. His wings trembled, betraying tension, fear.

Megatron frowned. “What is this?”

Starscream ex-vented sharply. “Nothing.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “You—”

“I just need more time,” Starscream snapped, though his voice wavered. “That’s all.”

Megatron studied him.

The way he avoided looking at the entrance.

The way his frame coiled like a cornered animal.

The way his optics flickered—not at Megatron, but at the walls of the ship.

Understanding dawned.

“…The pirates,” Megatron said slowly, testing his theory. “They confined you.”

Starscream stiffened.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

---

Megatron dragged the truth out in fragments, each one like shattered metal pried from a wound.

The pirates had beaten him, sure. That was expected. But they hadn’t known what to do with him. He was valuable—too valuable to kill outright.

So they had caged him.

Not a brig, not a cell.

A crate.

A shipping crate, small, cold, dark.

They had folded his wings to shove him inside, forced him down, locked him in. No room to stand. No room to move. Just metal walls pressing in on all sides.

He had screamed—at first. Kicked, cursed, threatened. But no one had answered.

The air had grown stale.

His vents had struggled against the thick, unmoving atmosphere.

And for the first time in a long, long time—Starscream had believed he was going to die.

Alone. In the dark. Crushed in a box.

No sky. No escape.

Just metal, choking the life out of him.

And now?

Even Nemesis’ walls felt like a cage.

---

Megatron listened.

He said nothing.

When Starscream finished—when he finally ran out of words, voice tight and fragile—there was silence.

Then—

“…If I could,” Megatron said, voice low, dangerous, “I would kill those wretched parasites again.”

Starscream’s optics flickered toward him.

Megatron’s gaze burned.

“But this time, it would be slow. Painful.” His claws curled into a fist. “I would ensure they felt every agonizing second of their pitiful existence slipping away.”

Starscream stared at him.

Megatron met his gaze evenly.

A long moment passed.

Then, softly—softer than Megatron had ever heard from him—Starscream ex-vented.

“…I would like that.”

Megatron nodded once.

Then he turned toward the ship.

“Come,” he said, without demand or force.

For a moment, Starscream hesitated.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward.

And, step by step, he followed Megatron inside.

Shockwave and Seekers..

Don't forget me, too:)

The thing about the setting of Sky COTL is that even though the player characters can all fly the world is built by an ancient civilization of people who could not and pretty much all the NPCs you will interact with outside of the dev inserts during anniversaries etc. are spirits of those people who could not fly. as a sky kid you are functionally just a mimic that takes on the appearance of the ancestors and picks up their gestures and fashions through imitation of their cultures you are exposed to. you don’t sneeze innately - you learn how to do a sneeze gesture by watching a spirit sneeze. this is how you learn how to wave to people, how to dance, how to applaud. when sky kids (players) communicate with each other, this is the language they have learned to do so, but because of how players communicate with each other, they are abstracting the language from the ancients into a sky kid culture of their own. player communities use the Bow emote frequently with each other in gratitude at every little interaction, which makes sky kids out to be funny little courteous guys. i got so offroaded from what i was going to say originally, which is that the pleasure of a world where you can fly is not necessarily one absent stairs, but one where stairs exist but where you can circumvent them with flight

Favorite bird genre has got to be 'that's literally just a dinosaur'

Groove-Billed Ani

Hoatzin

Pheasant Coucal

Galarian and Gigantamx form Gardevoir

Wanted to do another doctor who inspired galarian form, can you guess what it is? ;)