#mortemcantio

[his-lost-horn]

mortemcantio:

oh my fucking god this is the meanest fucken shit ive ever read lmao………… and racist…… omg

OOC

LOL. God, get fucking lost, Edd. You don’t know shit about anything and you continue to be so ridiculously stupid that you can’t read between the lines: No one fucking cares about your melodramatic, toddler-grade feelings or your uneducated, fallacious opinions. That’s the entire goddamn point of all of this. If you’re not going to bother refuting anything I’ve said except cry like a little bitch about “WHHAAAAAAHH THIS WAS MEAAANNN”, then don’t fucking respond to me at all. Not only is it extremely embarrassing to see a goddamn, what, nineteen-year-old say shit like that, but it’s outrageous because my rebuttals are way too fucking good for you to just respond with something weak all for the mere sake of feeling like you got the last word. If you don’t want be to called a psychopath and a societal reject, then maybe you should stop fucking acting like one; stop with the accusations that those who write noncon must be masturbating to their content; stop insinuating that we must be rapists if we’re willing to write sexual violence. Maybe the next time one of your friends wants to start shit, you’ll stay on your goddamn hiatus instead of trying to whiteknight and use that classic Edd emotional bullying tactic on me. Those who associate with you might let you get away with that shit when you do it to them, but you came to wrong neighborhood if you thought, for one second, me or my friends were going to do the same damn thing. Go shit in your baby diaper somewhere else, Edd. No one asked you to go on hiatus, but I’ll be damned if none of us aren’t wanting you to fucking stay there. EDIT: Just so everyone knows, the little shitstain (predictably) blocked me, so I had to copy everything into a new post.

[therisingdarkness]

mortemcantio replied to your post: ::Two whom should I address regarding a shipment...

::…You told me I was either with you or against you, where rebuilding your Cybertron is concerned. I’m with you.::

[[Forgive me if I sound suspicious--I usually am, and you, dear Tarn, have not yet managed to endear yourself to anyone I consider to be under my charge. 

However, necessity outweighs propriety in this situation. How much energon are you willing to part with?]]

[reqandroll-archive]

I like my f-face where it is, th-thank you.

[autobotelectrum]

Electrum didn’t look at the mech, she just spoke as she concentrated on the swish of fine energon in her glass as she spun it in a circle before her, “so, tell me about ‘your empire.’”

[thesoundlessvoid]

:: Don’t worry. I haven’t used it as a sex toy in a few days. ::

@mortemcantio

[therisingdarkness]

∞ if you're still doing these?

NAME: TreganSTABILITY: Can swing either way, but more often than not, they manage a pretty stable fusion; breaking them apart is easy if you throw an alternate Megatron in their path, especially one who wears an Autobot badge, but this isn’t necessarily a weakness, as sometimes it just means they’re so pissed off they wanna beat him to death with their own bare hands.SONG: Adrenaline by ShinedownDANCE: High energy! These are two mecha who look forward to fusing, and it shows in the way their movements are quick and flow together so easily. It’s one of the shorter dances, but don’t mistake its lack of intricacy for reluctance.SUMMARY: The perfect Decepticon? No, really, Tregan is perfect, and he fucking knows it. Nothing gets his crankshaft spinning faster than destruction for the glory of the Decepticon Empire, but he loves a good spot of music and the finer things in life--oddly enough, he’s not above slumming it, either. This is a mech who won’t complain about much of anything, but never forgets a wrong done to him.PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES: So much purple it should be illegal. Regal as fuck, Decepticon-insignia faceplate framed in a crown of silver spikes, and a gatling-gun ensemble of fusion cannons. A plus-size fusion at about seventy-feet.

[thesoundlessvoid]

How scared were you when Tarn survived your cannons?

Send me a △ and ask a really invasive question aimed at my character

2 out of 10.

“Not going to bother lying. When you’re in a fight and you know that only one of the two of you are coming out of it, fear has alot to do with how someone reacts. Someone can either let it overcome them, or let it help them. Fear is useful. I been fighting in life or death situations for almost all my life, I’ve learned to keep my head, and I’m way better at one-on-a-few type fights than I ever was on a straight up battlefield. So when Tarn climbed back up the cliff to finish what he started, I was scared, but I wasn’t anymore so than I’d been since the start of the fight.”

[heligooddeals]

Because I was hit with a sudden bit of inspiration right before bed last night, thanks to @mortemcantio​/@iteru​

As promised, the parts are delivered, given to her by a courier she does not know or recognize in a crate that is deceivingly clean and neat. When she asks who it’s from the courier tells her they were instructed to say only this: “Megatron. His Megatron.”

She knows what it is. Her field and her visor darken and she thanks the courier for their delivery, sending them off.

The crate is brought on board and promptly stored away in the corner of her room. Day in and day out, she tells herself she will do something with him; Sell his parts; Smelt them down and make something useful out of them; Hang them up on the wall and laugh at his face (or whatever’s left of it); Give them to Blackout so he can revel in his demise as well. But day in and day out, the crate remains firmly shut in the corner of her room, with every ounce of unimaginable terror and evil that made up Tarn resting neatly inside, contained, controlled, and sealed away from the living world.

She fears opening it will bring doom, if not to herself and her family then onto others. If his parts are placed in others they will inherit his corruption; If his parts are turned into something else it will become a totem of pain and suffering; If his parts are hung on the wall they will slowly pull themselves together and he will be reborn, even more soulless than he was before, and he will finish the job.

The crate sits untouched in the corner of her room. She tells everyone she will do something with him one day, but he will always remain there, contained, controlled, and sealed away. His presence gives her nightmares, but she does not mind them. It’s better this way. A few sleepless nights are well worth the price of keeping him away.