When will you be posting the next chapter? I'm not trying to pressure you but I just am really looking forward to the next chapters!
tbh…..i know this is news people probably aren’t excited to hear, but i’ve come to the decision that i won’t be posting new gtms chapters—at least until i feel comfortable sharing it again. i’ll still edit existing chapters as i see fit (those are not going anywhere) and on occasion, i’ll post gtms stuff that i feel comfortable sharing (be it ocs or little writing snippets). but while i am still writing it, the story itself will not currently be updated on here.
if i’m being honest with myself, this is a long time coming. while i appreciate and am grateful for the enthusiasm and the potential people see in gtms, it’s a tiny original project in one corner of the internet, and it’s just not something i want other people’s eyes or opinions on anymore. i need to restore it as a project for myself without other people’s influence, so while i might someday publish the story, as of now, it will remain private.
tldr—i no longer feel comfortable sharing, so for the foreseeable future, there will be no new gtms chapters.
i know y'all have been foaming at the mouth waiting for it, so here's the next chapter of my GTMS fan story!!
as always, GTMS belongs to unicornofgt!! go read it!!
gt mech suits (ocs) | samson rosales, ricky salem, & caiya condori
2,827 words
language warning
thanks for reading!! reblogs > likes!!
first | previous | next
Condori couldn’t sleep. They’d arrived back at base a few days ago and reported their findings, then they were told to rest up. Everything else would be handled.
So why was Condori here in the dark, staring up at the ceiling? Was it guilt? He’d neglected to mention how the mech pieces they’d found looked more like armor and braces than actual pieces of machinery.
Was it grief? They had lost a comrade. He and Kruger hadn’t been particularly close, but he was a decent guy. Incredible pilot. He’d been piloting FM-111 for years. Now both it and he were gone.
But… the mech was still out there somewhere. Search parties thus far hadn’t been able to find it. What state it was in, no one could say, but Condori could not stop thinking about what he’d seen at the scene of the fight. The discarded armor was bizarre enough, but the footprints… Condori sat up in his bed and raked his fingers through his hair.
“Mechs can’t move without pilots,” he mumbled aloud to himself. “And the helm was smashed and removed… There would be no way to pilot it.”
So how did the damn thing walk away?
Condori threw his covers off and shuffled around until he found the chest at the foot of his bed. He reached in to grab some clothes, but paused when his fingers brushed something hard. A flash of gold caught in the low light. Condori bowed his head.
“I know, Dad. I’m about to go out and do something stupid.” A sad smile shaped his lips for just a moment, and then it was gone. Condori dressed himself quickly in the standard-issue camo pants and white t-shirt, grabbed his old leather jacket, keys, and a small bottle, and swiftly exited his quarters.
It was the dead of the night. The only other people up and about were the night guards. Condori slipped his arms into his jacket before the cold could sink in, and made for the trucks. Just as he found his vehicle, someone called out behind him.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” came a gruff, smug-sounding voice. Condori rolled his eyes.
“Out for a drive,” he said, turning on his heel to face the night guard. “That a problem, Jonesy?”
“Little bit of a problem, Condori,” the guard said. His rifle hung from its strap at his side, but Condori regarded it more as a prop than a threat. “I didn’t hear anything about any authorized trips tonight, so why would I be letting you out, hm?”
Condori resisted the urge to roll his eyes again, lest he roll them right out of his skull. “‘Cos you’re nice like that,” he answered, earning himself a scoff. Before Jonesy could say anything else, he fished out the bottle from his pocket and held it in front of Jonesy’s face. The man’s eyes lit up with interest.
“That’s contraband, Pilot,” he said, but he made no moves to take it.
“It is,” Condori confirmed. “You can confiscate it all you want, and I’ll be on my way.”
Jonesy frowned thoughtfully. “Add some cash for the vending machine.”
“Seriously?” Condori grimaced, but Jonesy stood his ground. With a grumble, Condori fumbled through his wallet and pulled out enough for a soda, and handed it over along with the bottle. “Enjoy.”
Satisfied and smug once more, the guard claimed his payment and returned to the guard station. Jonesy was a dick, but he was easy enough to deal with.
Condori climbed into his vehicle and pulled up to the gate. He waited for a long moment, watching the red lights. When nothing happened, he shot the guard station a glare. Staring back at him was Jonesy with a shit-eating grin, soda in hand. The gate lights turned green, and finally slid open, letting Condori pass.
“Jackass,” he muttered.
Beyond the gates spanned the wastelands. His headlights did little to illuminate the darkness, but he had a good idea of where he was going.
* * *
Cold pricked his skin. It was a familiar, welcoming cold. Rosales felt himself moving, like he was gliding, like he was flying.
He could smell something sweet. Tropical. Fruity. Long, brown locks of hair filled his vision. “Eva,” he muttered. A name. But no face. He could feel her touch, though. He could smell her. He could faintly hear her voice, but it sounded so far away. What was she saying…?
A weight rested in his arms. The smell of baby powder hit his senses.
“He looks just like you,” said the voice. Rosales couldn’t see the little bundle’s face either. Yet, he still felt overwhelmed, overcome by emotions stronger than anything he’d ever felt. Pride. Love.
We need to go. Get to a shelter! Take only what we need!
He had everything he needed with him, through all the evacuations and close calls. He had everything he needed.
“No, no no! Eva!” Cries of anguish shredded his throat. Another voice cried with him. She’d been ripped from his arms. His world was being torn apart.
“Rosales.”
We need to go! He had to protect what he had left! She would have wanted him to.
“Rosales!”
The giant jolted awake with a strangled noise. He struggled to breathe. Sweat rolled down his temples.
“Hey! Easy, big guy. It’s okay.”
Rosales glanced down to his left, to the voice. Ricky stood with her hands up. She looked tired. Worried, but tired. Rosales breathed out and rubbed at his forehead.
“You awake?” They asked.
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
“You were talking again.”
He grunted. He’d been dreaming, but any traces of the visions were already gone, slipped through his fingers like sand.
“Who’s Eva?”
The giant lifted his head and stared off into the middle distance. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t remember why. It sparked a recognition, an emotion in him that he couldn’t place. Happiness? Grief?
“I don’t know,” he said with a sigh.
Ricky stared at him for a long moment, then looked to the sky. Rosales followed her gaze. The sun would be coming up in the next hour or so.
“Go back to sleep,” he said. “I’m fine.”
She looked like she wanted to protest, but she didn’t. Instead, she pulled her hearing aids out, tugged her raggedy blanket over her shoulders, and lied back down, facing away from him.
Rosales watched her side rise and fall, the rhythm gradually slowing as she drifted off again. He could hear her heartbeat, too. It followed the same pattern, slowing down to a calm, placid rhythm. Rosales envied how easily they could fall asleep. He was lucky if he managed to catch a quick nap here and there.
Then again, Ricky was exhausted from following him for the past couple of days, which could contribute to her speedy clock-out. Despite his insistence that they buzz off, they just kept on coming back. And then those damned bandits jumped her, and he couldn’t bring himself to just ignore it.
So now he was stuck with them. If he was honest, it was kind of nice to have company, even if she talked non-stop. The wastelands were wide and desolate; it felt good to share the solitude with another soul.
Not that he’d ever tell them that.
More practically, Ricky did know this part of the wasteland well. They knew how to avoid other bandits, and where to find water. Most importantly, they knew how to evade the Alliance vehicles that had been crawling all through the canyon, no doubt looking for him.
He was still pretty lost on the way the world worked, but, if Ricky was to be believed, the Alliance was responsible for taking his memory, and turning him into this giant monster. He was inclined to trust her, if only because of the sense of dread he felt whenever the Alliance came to mind.
Rosales expelled a heavy sigh through his nose. He leaned back against the rockface and closed his eyes. He wasn’t optimistic about his chances of catching any more sleep, but he intended to try.
Unfortunately, the world didn’t like his idea. In the distance, somewhere above the canyon, he heard a rumbling sound. It was a vehicle. A truck, if he were to guess. He went tense.
“Ricky,” he whispered. She didn’t answer. “Ricky,” he tried again, more forcefully. Still nothing. He glanced at where she lied, snoozing away.
Right. She’d taken out her hearing aids. Rosales huffed at his foolishness. He leaned nearer and tapped his fingers to the ground right next to her. That roused her, and earned him an annoyed, groggy look. He ignored it and pointed upward, mouthing that someone was coming.
Ricky was up in an instant, hearing aids in, and stuffing her bedroll into her bag. “How far?” They asked.
Rosales listened, focusing on the sound of tires on rock. “Not far. Ten minutes out, maybe.”
Ricky cursed under their breath. She slung her bag over her shoulder and peeked out of the crevice they’d taken shelter in. She couldn’t see much beyond the rocky overhang above them.
“They’re just on this side, right?” She asked. Rosales confirmed with a nod.
“It sounds like it’s only one vehicle.” Which was strange. All the search parties thus far had at least three or more vehicles.
“That’s weird,” Ricky echoed his thoughts. “Lift me up.”
Rosales’ head snapped back towards her, his brows pinched in confusion. “What? Why?” He’d only ever held her a couple of times now; it still made him nervous.
“Because,” Ricky said, sounding exasperated, “I might be able to see what’s up there.” She wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable with being handled.
The giant stared. “Absolutely not.”
“Rose––”
“What if you get spotted?”
She threw her hands up. “Then you grab me and run. But we’re not gonna know what’s going on unless one of us takes a look, and you stick out way more than I do. Come on.”
Rosales didn’t like this idea. Reluctantly, he lowered a hand, palm up, before them. She weighed nothing, but feeling her shoes and hands as she climbed aboard made his fingers twitch. Careful not to move too quickly or make any sudden jolts, Rosales brought her closer to his chest and stood up, then lifted them up as high as he could. Even still, she couldn’t quite reach the canyon ledge, so she climbed the extra foot or so and pulled herself to the top, much to Rosales’ discomfort.
“It is just one car,” she reported. She pulled out a pair of binoculars, crouched behind a rock, and tried to get a better view. “Alliance truck. It looks like there’s only one guy in the front. Could be more in the back, though. He’s not driving very fast… But he is coming this way. Definitely looks like he’s searching for something. Why is he alone?”
It was a good question, but Rosales didn’t like how close he was getting. A low rumble sounded in his throat, drawing Ricky’s attention back down to him.
“I think if we stay put under the overhang, he’ll drive right past,” they said. Rosales didn’t like that idea either, but he didn’t have a better one. Strategic hiding had thus far kept him safe from the Alliance.
“Coming down!” She shouted. Rosales flinched, raising his hands just in time to catch Ricky as she jumped off the ledge. She landed without so much as a stumble, and met his scowl with a beam.
“Don’t do that,” he growled. He brought them in close, and scooted back into the crevice as far as he could. Once he was settled in, he let Ricky off on his shoulder, and went still, listening to the car approach.
It came closer.
And closer.
Rosales closed his eyes. The truck stopped somewhere above them. The door opened, and someone stepped out onto the ledge. Rosales could hear the Alliance man’s heart just as clearly as he could hear Ricky’s, and his own. It was calmer than either of theirs, though he thought he could detect some stress in the beat too.
For what felt like forever, the three of them remained frozen in place. And then the man turned on his heel, got back into the car, and drove on. Rosales stayed still.
“What the fuck?!” Ricky’s startled voice made Rosales jump. His eyes flew open, and his hand rose up to cup around her, though he didn’t quite touch her.
“Dude––!” Ricky stepped onto his fingers, clinging to his index. She seemed unharmed, and the truck was still heading away from them. Rosales looked puzzled. “Rose––you were invisible. Like, seriously invisible. It looked like I was standing on nothing.”
Rosales blinked, no less puzzled. “What? That’s ridiculous.”
“I know how it sounds, but I’m not fucking with you, Rose.” They waved their free hand, trying to gesture to all of him. “I promise, you were completely invisible. Can you do it again?”
“I’m not convinced I did it the first time…”
Ricky groaned in frustration. “You did. You’ve gotta try again.”
“Even if I could, I don’t know how I would do it again.” He leveled his hand so Ricky could stand. She pinched her chin in thought.
“What did you do when the truck was above us?”
Rosales shrugged. “That I didn’t want to be seen. But we have more important things to focus on right now.”
She pursed her lips into a pout, ready to protest, but Rosales stood up, cutting any backtalk short.
“We need another place to hide,” he said.
“Well… the truck’s headed towards the watering hole, so we should avoid that today.” Unfortunate, since Ricky’s canteen was almost empty. “We can backtrack, go back to that cave you were in yesterday. Then we can see if you can turn invisible again.”
Rosales groaned, and started walking.
* * *
Watching the sun slowly rise over the canyon almost made Condori forget that the world had collapsed, and that portals and monsters roamed around, tearing up what was left of humanity.
It reminded him of times with his mother and father. One distinct memory came to him of when he was six or seven, when the three of them sat on the roof of their house and watched the sunrise. The pinks and oranges were breathtaking. He wished he had a picture.
Condori reached into his pocket for his wallet, and flipped it open to a picture––the one picture he had left. His parents smiled back at him, so much younger, so full of life. Between them was baby Condori, laughing his gleeful little heart out. This picture came from his dad’s wallet.
He flipped it shut and put it back in his pocket.
Thus far, his search had turned up with… less than stellar results. But he was forming a theory. A long-shot of a theory, but a theory nevertheless. He knew of a watering hole up ahead.
Well, he thought it was up ahead. In his haste, he didn’t think to grab a map before leaving base, and there wasn’t a spare in the truck anywhere. He was going off of what he remembered from maps he’d seen and exploring the area prior.
“Should’ve grabbed something to eat, too,” he muttered. His stomach growled out its complaints quietly. Condori grimaced. He should have checked for rations when he’d stepped out earlier to orient himself. He could do that later, though, once he found the watering hole.
So he drove on. He hoped he’d reach the watering hole before the sun got too high and the heat got too oppressive. Today, as it turned out, was his lucky day. After only about ten minutes, he saw the sunlight glinting off of the little pool down in the canyon. He pulled up to the edge and stepped out to get a better look.
It was hard to tell, but he thought he could just faintly make out giant footprints in the dirt around the pool.
“No way… You might just be seeing things,” he said to himself. But what if he wasn’t? Was there something alive in the mechs? He had to get down there, had to get a better look.
“Who ya talkin’ to, soldier boy?” Came a voice from behind him. Condori went stiff, feeling the barrel of a gun press to the back of his head. He dared not move, but he could see in his peripherals a couple of sun-baked bandits. There were at least three of them, including the one holding him at gunpoint.
“Easy now,” he said, raising his hands. “I’m just out having a look. Not here to bother any of you.”
One of the bandits barked in laughter. “Out having a look? For what? That giant man belong to you?”
“Didn’t know you Alliance-folks had flesh and blood in those mechs of yours,” another scoffed.
What about 'you're a weapon...' or 'everyone I've cared about...' for Morgan?
(hey remember how cass canonically tortured morgan for like a week and some change let's see what that was like)
Cuffs around his limbs, binding his arms behind his back and forcing him onto his knees. A collar around his neck, keeping him from lunging at the prying eyes on the catwalk in front of him. He always had an audience, it seemed…Whether it be from the armed guards who were ever so eager to point their little guns at him, or the labcoat wearing vermin that delighted in sticking more and more needles in him. Morgan couldn’t say for sure whether or not these people were familiar–his memory failed him more than it saved him, as of late.
The only person he recognized, the one that seemed to always show her face, was the blonde one. The woman with the cold stare and hateful sneer. Bagley, he reminded himself fiercely. Her name is Bagley.
She liked to watch. To supervise. To dole out punishment, if she needed to. Though Morgan couldn’t say for sure, he was under the impression that he must have done something to piss her off in the past…or perhaps she just had a mean streak a mile wide. In a way, he was almost happy to see her–pleased that she brought a sense of consistency to this nightmare. That he could still remember her, or at least, remember the hatred that the sight of her face brought him, was a miracle in it of itself.
His wrists were raw and ragged from straining against his bonds and every inch of his body was in agony. Exhaustion had taken its toll on him, making him feel as if he were a sailboat straining against the weight of the ocean. His eyes drooped, his head fell forward, and though he felt the gag of the choker against his throat, he hardly cared. Oblivion would take him, he’d fall asleep soon and–
Fire through his nerves, an electric shock that tore through him with an unholy fury. The pain jolted him wide awake, if only for a second, as he stiffened hard and pulled hard against his bindings. Morgan struggled in vain, each tug earning him another shock, and another, and another until he finally gave up. Sucking in a ragged, wheezing breath into overworked lungs, he could feel his eyes begin to sting bitterly. No. No, no, no.
Try as he might to fight it, he could not stop the floodgates as tears rolled down his cheeks. The most he could do was stifle his sobs, grit his teeth as hard as he could so that they couldn’t have the satisfaction of actually hearing him cry. The unfairness of it all, the depravity, and all the helplessness he felt came crashing down upon him as if Atlas himself had given Morgan his burden to shoulder.
Another shock, this time stronger than the last, quickly stopped the tears. His back arched as waves of agony crept through his body in terrible droves, leaving him breathless and staring wide-eyed up at the woman orchestrating his suffering. She met his gaze unflinchingly, unwaveringly, and merely raised an immaculate brow up at him.
“You are a weapon.” Bagley said, her voice calm. Matter-of-fact. “And weapons don’t weep.”
Morgan was tired. He was tired, hurt, and in that moment he knew he would never stop hurting. So long as this woman lived, the pain would keep coming. Over, and over, and over again. No escape. No release. Not even a moment of rest. That realization woke him up better than any electric shock could, poured white hot fury into his veins that made his limbs feel just a little lighter, tricked his body into thinking it wasn’t on the brink of collapse. He would never stop hurting…so what was the point of being docile?
Why let her trample all over him without trying to fight back?
Morgan lunged forward with all his strength, straining so hard against his cuffs that he knew he must have pulled something out of place. Dislocated something. It didn’t matter. He could hardly breathe as he pushed forward, leaning up so that he was mere inches away from the catwalk. A snarl tore through the air, so forcefully he could see the catwalk shake and shiver as it echoed throughout the room.
She was so close. She was so bloody close, just a little closer and he
could bite that pompous little head off–
Bagley didn’t flinch. She merely stared up at him with the same neutral expression she usually wore, while her lackeys scrambled about like headless chickens. Frightened. At least he did something right.
She pressed a button on the little device she held, and once again, he felt nothing but searing pain. Though it rippled through his limbs with a vengeance, he stayed firm, turning red in the face as he pushed harder and harder…Something in his throat burned. It was different than the electricity flowing throughout his nerves–a fire that most certainly did not come from the chains that bound him. Hotter and hotter it grew, its intensity rising as he fought with all his might to stay upright...until he could fight no more, and he fell back hard and fast, cracking his head against the wall as he slumped in a defeated heap. Chest heaving, he glared up at Bagley, the burning in his throat starting to cool.
“If I’m a weapon,” Morgan wheezed, invigorated by his regained defiance. “I can’t wait until you’re looking down my barrel.”
So I finally read GTMS by @unicornofgt and holy shit I love it so much. Read it if you haven't, it's so good (massive tws for death, gore, violence, and the apocalypse though).
The brainrot consumed me to the point where I had to make ocs
Let me know if anything about them goes against the lore! I did my best to study it carefully to make sure I'm not going against anything, but I miss stuff sometimes
Info about them under the cut
Josefa Guadarrama is a second generation Mexican immigrant and was around five years old when the Start happened, causing her to become separated from her parents. To survive, she turned to a life of crime, eventually getting caught stealing from an Alliance storage warehouse. The Alliance in the area was in desperate need for cores and Josefa had the correct DNA to become a core, so they used Josefa to create a mech.
Josefa's mech is one of the mechs used to try and locate Obermann, but they get into a fight where her mech ends up getting slammed into the wall of the canyon causing her to wake up. She quickly uses her ability of invisibility to escape, but ends up collapsing due to exhaustion a few miles away from the fight. While investigating the commotion, Esi Ayodele, a loner rouge, comes across Josefa and helps her hide and eventually nurses her back to health.
When Josefa is better, she decides to stay with Esi and the two team up to survive in the post-apocalyptic world, eventually falling in love because I am a lesbian and I need to make all my ocs lesbians and girlfriends. Josefa suffers from frequent migraines as a side effect of becoming a core. However, Esi is always willing to comfort her giant monster killing girlfriend.
I'm still working on bits and pieces of their stories, but again, just let me know if anything here goes against the lore and I'd be more than happy to change it!
(listen to This Song while reading for a better experience :) )
The guitar in Nick’s hands was old. Scratched, dented, and its chords were barely tuned and looked ready to snap at any given moment…but it was a comfortable weight, and he knew it’d croon softly enough for him if he gave it just a little tender love. He hadn’t played since he enlisted, but the second his fingers pressed against the old strings that rust hadn’t settled on him just yet. He sat around the dying embers of what had been a large bonfire in the center of the camp, carefully tuning the guitar as best he could, the idle conversations of those who remained quieting down as he began his work.
An experimental strum…it wasn’t the best, and he knew if he kept messing with the strings that he'd have a good lashing in the face by one of them if he wasn’t mindful enough. He could feel eyes on him, from Bagley’s bright excitement and Obermann’s quiet curiosity–but most importantly, there was Morgan. The furrow of his brows, the way his nose scrunched up when he was lost in thought…the weight of his glowing eyes bearing down upon him, focused entirely on him…
Nick met his gaze, offering him a sad little smile. Something in his heart ached, it mourned for all the nights they’d shared just like this that Morgan couldn’t even remember. He wondered if Morgan was mourning too. How much of this was familiar to him? How much of it wasn’t?
His fingers settled against the chords like they had a thousand times before, and he began to play the first notes of an old song he knew by heart. When he was sure that the guitar’s wonky tuning wouldn’t completely butcher it, Nick continued on with the chord. The guitar struggled–its note were warbling, the strings were too stiff and the faults with it could make a list a mile long…and yet it played. Not perfectly, not expertly, but it played–and it was more beautiful than it had any right to be.
The camp grew deathly silent, as if even the birds and crickets had decided to stop and listen to his song. Nick continued to play, lost in the joy of an old hobby he thought he’d never pick up again. Those few years he thought Morgan was dead were…soundless. Joyless. There was a gaping wound in his chest that only grew wider and wider each time he’d see something that reminded him of the man he’d lost. They very thought of picking up his guitar again would have been enough to drive him into a pit of misery that he could hardly climb out of.
There was hardly a point in playing when he didn’t have his singer, after all.
Above, he heard someone inhale–a gasp from the man of the hour himself. Nick stopped playing, looking up to the giant with a tilt of his head.
“Is everything alright?” He asked, concerned.
Morgan didn’t answer at first, his lips pursed together in a tight frown…but then he shook his head, gesturing absently with a hand.
“‘M fine.” He replied, the frown slipping right off his face and replaced with a gentle smirk. “...Take that from the top, will you?”
Nick obliged, and started the song over again. Though this time, he noticed something was different this go around. A quiet humming from the giant before him, going along with the sound of the guitar as he played. It got louder and louder, more confident, the further through the former pilot got…
And then he heard a sound he’d longed to hear for three years. One he thought he’d never hear again.
“And when you run
Far from my eyes
Then I will come
In the dead of night,”
Morgan’s voice rang through the night, echoing across rocky canyons and rocking Nick to his core. All those sitting around the fire’s embers and milling about in the wee hours turned to look at him, to take him in…The monster, the dragon, crooning out a melody that must have stuck with him even through the worst of his memory loss. His voice was just as lovely as ever–raw in a way that most singers were, cracking from years of disuse…Warbling, struggling, but beautiful.
“But I won’t speak
Till mornin’ light
I’ll be the song
Just be the song,"
Nick continued to play, even though his eyes
stung and his fingers began to shake as they ran across the chords. The bittersweet feeling that set his heart ablaze now was all encompassing. He wanted to drown in it, to suffocate under its bliss. The ground shook briefly as Morgan moved from his spot, kneeling down in front of Nick to tilt his head up with the tip of his finger as he sang, and sang, and sang.
“Flow down all my mountains
Darlin’ fill my valleys”
Flow down all my mountains
Darlin’ fill my valleys
Flow down…”
The guitar stopped, and so too did Morgan, as Nick could no longer play. He set the guitar down, grabbing onto the gigantic hand before him and holding on with everything he had. A sob wracked his body, and he felt weightless as the giant scooped him up into his hands and picked him up off the ground and brought him up to his chest. Nick was pressed carefully against him, the booming thrum of his heart drowning out his shaking breaths.
“Did I do good?” Morgan murmured, rubbing the little man’s back soothingly. Nick buried himself into his chest, his little hands grabbing the material of his suit by the fistful like he thought grasping tight enough would keep him from breaking down again. He looked up, meeting those gleaming eyes again, and swallowed hard.
“You did.” Nick managed to choke out, taking his glasses off to wipe at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Can you…can you take it from the top for me this time?”
Morgan nodded, and Nick settled in his grasp as their song echoed through the air and reverberated through him–soft, broken, and sweet. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
what did Morgan do for a living before he got put in the mech?
for a while he did basically anything that would pay him until he managed to fix up an old motorcycle and eventually settled on being a package courier that would agree to do any delivery--be it weapons, supplies, drug running, whatever. so long as he got paid what he agreed on, he was happy to ferry other people's shit around.
morgan was pretty hellbent on keeping his "professional" and personal lives separate, mostly to keep his family safe. he never took off his bike helmet while on the job, and when asked for his name he told them to call him "morrigan", inspired in part from his childhood nickname and the deity it was derived from.
he managed to make his mark pretty severely this way. "the morrigan" became known for his efficient and timely deliveries, as well as his rather...harsh temper when it came to a few missing dollars.
i know he is the local Silly Man, but i don’t think people should forget that bagley is an apocalypse’s man.
he began a scared, nine year old boy, previously playing hockey and dreaming of being a pilot like his mother, then thrust into a crumbling world of alien-like danger; transformed into a twenty six year old man, shaped by seventeen years of the end of that world, clinging to the one person who remained—and ultimately becoming a man who has finally let. go. and yes, he is literally ‘the little guy’: outnumbered and outmatched by forces thousands of times more powerful than himself, but he’s adapted to get by the skin of his teeth—and joke all we want, he does it well. not gracefully, not painlessly—but well. learning through the confusion and the ache to lean back into the chaos—roll with it, move to the beat of it, find his place in it; becoming one with all that is out of his control. no, learning his true state is chaos has not been something that has come about gracefully or painlessly. because he is finding that the true end to his world has been coming more slowly than the rest; that for aaron bagley, the world ends twice; and this time it does not come wearing the face of monsters unknown, but that of his sister. it looks at him with a face unmistakably different, but completely and undeniably so much like his own. it is more personal, more raw, coming back to claim the scraps like a wolf left out to starve.
and when i think about him—a fresh faced, wide-eyed little boy with big ears and skin bursting with freckles, petrified of the unknown—that little boy, now a man with those same features, hardened by time and crisis, living in the end after the end; slowly coming to thrive in the chaos that used to terrify him, used to consume him, and using it to build a new world, a new life…. bagley might be the funny, silly, little guy hopelessly out of his depth, always struggling to keep up with the forces around him, but it should never be forgotten that bagley himself is a force, born not from inhuman power, but the very human need to adapt and rebuild.
🎶 for the feeling of submitting to and embracing chaos, life itself by glass animals
This is my fan Character for @unicornofgt 's GT universe. The description was edited my my sis @tooshytoexistproperly , TYSM💕 I have to thank Uni that gave us permission to start posting, I'm excited haha. Enjoy my trashy art, or don't𓆏
Heyy! I just spent the night binging all of the gtms content i am absolutely obsessed, and love the dynamic of tiny man and huge lady. Can you ad me to the tag list? :3 I am so excited for all the future updates!
thank you for reading! we'll be sure to add you!
-taylor
tangentwithtanner
pixelskylines
areudirty
gummygunk
