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whispereons · 1 year ago

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Oracle!Reader Part 24

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 23, Part 25

Warning! My AU is yandere and can involve gore. Sensitive topics appear in this series. This chapter is a bit bloody but not that bad.

In all honesty, you never expected to be the one to say ‘no’ to a proposal. Love wasn't something you frequently chased, and being a heartbreaker was even farther from your mind.

Maybe that's why you laughed so merrily at Zhongli’s face when you rejected him.

Then again, he wasn't proposing his heart, nor his love. Morax, Rex Lapis, or rather Zhongli was offering an alliance of mutual benefit.

“What's your reasoning for rejecting my proposal? I may not marry you as the Geo Archon, but I'm not undesirable as I am now.”

He takes a moment to think as his fingers taps on his chin. The way the diamond of his iris shrinks and the slight grimace on his face raises a red flag in your mind.

“You aren’t rejecting me solely due to the fact that I’m not operating as this country’s Archon are you?”

The smile on your face becomes tight as your hand shakes with the unmeasurable amount of effort to not flip him off right there. Just what did you do that could have caused such a stupid reasoning to come from his usually smart mouth?

“What the fuck made you think that I even gave a shit about you being an Archon?” Well maybe you couldn’t hold your tongue, but granted you didn’t really need to either.

The man bristles, but ultimately doesn’t answer your question, choosing to instead repeat the first question. “Why are you rejecting my proposal, then?”

“Because you don’t love me.”

“I could learn to love you.”

“But that goes against the terms and conditions of what a marriage is supposed to consist of.”

This brings Zhongli to a halt as he stews on your answer. With a smaller voice, he continues, “The legalities of our marriage would be decided on what vows we utter during the ceremony.”

“Not according to the Creator.” It’s like saying ‘no you’ in an argument, especially with how Zhongli’s face contorts into clear annoyance.

“With what proof do you claim that as the truth? Nothing in any scriptures on Teyvat says that.” He seems to realize what answer you’ll give him even before you open your mouth by sighing.

“Because I’m the Oracle.” The self-satisfied smirk on your face is clear as you step closer to poke his chest. “Unless you’re suddenly going to claim that I’m wrong? Should we cut off another limb? Maybe your pitiful rat-tail as an ornament to decorate it.”

He pushes you away by your head, the material of your mask is cool under his fingers as you let him push you back with a laugh. He tsks at your antics and smoothly replies.

“Have you finished laughing? There’s no need to pick at my appearance when I wouldn’t do the same to you, whenever you would have shown me your face once we wed.”

Light laughter calms down into a brief hum as you take in his words. It’s all just a well-timed cover-up for the internal panic that you had at realizing that marrying him would mean being forced to reveal yourself one way or another.

“Fair point. Do you really want a serious answer from me anyway?” The swift conversation turn doesn’t go unnoticed by Zhongli, but he concedes by answering.

“Yes. Your reasoning may bring me more information on the Creator’s personal beliefs, or even aspects of humanity that I failed to learn firsthand yet.”

“Like rejection?” The smart-ass reply is met with an unimpressed stare as he comments. “Humorous, but not incorrect.”

“I wasn’t completely joking when I said that it’s mostly due to the Creator. Marriage in Liyue at least is mostly decided by the parents.” Your chapped lips become a bit more manageable to speak with as you lick them. “I don’t remember mine, and the closest thing you have to a parent is the Creator themselves, or maybe Teyvat?” Which was a weird thought, but you couldn’t really be sure how to view it.

“Therefore your marriage, or at the very least, my marriage, considering that I was personally sent on a mission by them, should be under the Creator’s control and only theirs. My opinion on it shouldn’t matter.” This was how you remembered China’s history worked, so Liyue hypothetically should have a similar system.

Zhongli’s frown deepens at your answer as you shrug your shoulders. As if you didn’t just make this whole answer up so that you can avoid marrying the ticking time bomb that wouldn’t hesitate to murder you in a split second.

Sure, there was increasing evidence that your acolytes gained this weirdly strong attachment to you, but you weren’t betting your entire life on it. The moment the mask was gone, your life was going to follow it.

“Then it seems I can do nothing but accept your teaching. Thank you for enlightening me on a topic that I was unaware about. Can I chalk this up to something you learned about from the scriptures written in Cloud Ret-”

He cuts himself off as he looks down at the bustling streets below the balcony. “Xianyun’s old abode? The one’s written in indecipherable language?”

Damn, you really forgot about Cloud Retainer’s humansona. Just thinking about accidentally running into her during your visit to Madam Ping makes you irritated in advance.

“No, there are other scriptures that the Creator led me to when I was exploring.” You didn’t want Zhongli trying to trace it back to Cloud Retainers introvert cave. In fact, it was more entertaining to visualize Zhongli searching every nook and cranny of Liyue’s vast lands for said ‘scriptures’.

The sun hits your eyes directly from its position as you try to guess the time. It had to be at least 3:30 at this point, right? Just how much time did you have to see Madam Ping before the dinner with Ningguang?

Who were you even kidding, you didn’t know how to tell the time by the sun. You’ll have to ask someone once you finish rejecting Zhongli.

Noticing your far off gaze and attention no longer on him, Zhongli let the petty, unexplainable indignation at the action simmer as he forcefully turned your body to face the door.

“I believe I’ve taken up more than enough of your time. You’d best be on your way to whatever task may be next on your schedule today.”

Now you feel pretty bad about spacing out like that. “Sorry Zhongli, I was just trying to figure out the time-” Your words seemed to go ignored as he pushed you out the doorway.

“Don’t bother worrying.” Is his brief response. The touch and pressure of his hands is firm and reliable in a way you can’t fully describe, before they’re removed swiftly as if he was burned. “Instead, you can focus on relaying your gratitude the next time we meet.”

Before you can question the strange sentence, the door is already slammed shut in your face. The whiplash of his actions settles as you stare at the wood in bewilderment. Instinctive, your feet lead you back down the stairs as you toss Zhongli’s sudden attitude and words in your mind.

Surely you weren’t that rude? You’ve done and said much worse things to him after all. Replaying your conversation yielded no new revelations, so with a sense of unease, you decide to take his push for your departure as his weird version of sulking.

What he expected you to thank him for wasn’t something you were going to worry about now. The sun shines on you, making the mask a bit warmer against your skin as you exit the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.

If he didn’t bother explaining what you should be thanking him for, then it must be something either very big or very noticeable. Walking past where the balcony was, you look up and can only spot the empty chairs and simple table.

Time will tell, you suppose.

-----------------------

You aren’t completely sure how you expected your meeting with Madam Ping to go, but being stuck inside the temple with your neck being examined carefully by the older woman wasn’t a possibility you had in mind.

“Um, Madam Ping, I’m quite sure Xianyun’s claw marks aren’t there anymore. They’ve long healed at this point.”

“Child, you shouldn’t brush off injuries left by the Adepti so easily. Many can leave varying, strange and frankly annoying effects that can permanently alter your body if not taken care of.”

Sighing, you use your right arm to sip the tea Ping generously made for you, as your left arm was also being examined for any amber fragments from Mountain Shaper.

“You really don’t have to worry. Dr. Baizhu was the one who healed me up, so there’s nothing off about my body.” Ping relents and lets you fix your clothing as she steps away.

It was honestly surprising when she first spotted you and immediately apologized for her Adepti companion's actions. Yaoyao and Shuyu, Xianyun’s youngest disciple, were quick to be corralled away as Madam Ping brought you to one of the smaller rooms for examination.

“It must be an illuminated bird quality to be somewhat violent toward me. Maybe when I meet Xiao, I’ll get an injury from him too.” The joke slips out easily, but when Ping sighs and shakes her head in disapproval, you’re quick to shut your mouth.

“That would be even worse, as the karmic debt can be accidentally seeped into your wound that way.” Each sentence Ping says is clear worry, so you can’t be too annoyed at the slight nagging.

“Even still, I hope you have it in your heart to pray that the Creator forgive my headstrong and stubborn companions.” And here’s the catch. “I’m afraid it hasn’t been long since any of them have been trying this hard to understand humans on a personal level, so they tend to revert into their more proud egos when faced with the unexpected.”

There it was, all the excuses. You were really hoping Ping wouldn’t be the kind enabler that asks the victim to forgive the assaulter under the guise of some excuse. You’ve dealt with more than enough back on earth when bullies actually had abuse and other fucked up shit going on at home.

Likewise, you weren’t about to put up with it from some ‘illuminated beings’ that had more than enough years to learn how not to be judgmental sad sacks of shi-

“I’ll still properly scold them for you, but it’s the Creator’s opinion that I’m truly concerned about.” Would you get in trouble for punching her? Probably. Yanfei is close with her and the best lawyer in existence.

It wasn’t worth it, you told yourself. It wasn’t worth it to argue with Ping about whether it was okay for the Adepti to hurt you or anyone else, solely depending on how connected they were to the Creator. It absolutely wasn’t worth it to point out how the Adepti’s lack of control over their emotions and harsh judgements couldn’t just be scolded away. And that they definitely weren’t allowed to get away with unneeded violence simply because they’re stubborn.

The building tension as Ping continued to ramble and your death grip on your pants was broken by Yanfei walking in while looking off to the side.

“Granny, I heard you came - Oh. Hello there!” Yanfei’s casual greeting had you melting back into the oracle position as you smile calmly at Yanfei.

“Hey, nice to meet you. I was just talking with-” You’re cut off by Ping moving to stand in front of Yanfei and begin to explain and introduce you. Including the fact that the other Adepti attacked you and that you were the oracle.

Well, it’s better than you retelling the story. It’s better to let others lie for you, especially considering the close relations. It’s not like Ping’s way of speaking was fast or overwhelming, it just felt like you would be wrong for whatever reason if you tried interfering.

Doesn’t stop the surge of annoyance, though.

Deciding to just leave as soon as possible and not get into a fist fight with a hidden Adeptus, you move off the bed and walk closer to the duo. Without much trouble, you’re able to slip past them until a hand tugs your wrist quickly before releasing it.

“Sorry, but I just wanted to introduce myself to you before you leave. My name is Yanfei. I'm the top legal advisor in Liyue.” A business card is handed to you as she speaks.

Accepting it, you examine the card to not be rude before stuffing it into your bag. While you’ll probably forget about it, it’s not bad to have it in case you visit Fontaine. Or if things with Ninggnuang get into legal territory.

What actually got your attention was how Yanfei went through the trouble of cutting off Ping to speak personally to you. Could this be the first Adepti related character to treat you with respect as a normal person?

The fact that you’re amazed by basic human decency is pretty fucking sad. The difference in treatment between her and Ganyu despite both of them being half-adeptus is staggering.

“Thank you. Just as Madam Ping explained, my name is Y/N, and I’m an Oracle for the Creator.” At least the old woman didn’t butt in yet. “Yaoyao visited me yesterday to meet her. I just didn’t expect to meet you here as well.”

“You suit your position rather well.” Her head tilts slightly to the side, making the Mora decorations jingle. “Although I haven’t met you before, just by your appearance alone I can guess that you’re either-” A finger is raised. “A - you’re not from here. Or B - you don’t have a traditional job.” The second finger joins the first as she takes in your appearance in completion.

“I would put inhuman beings or vision holders on the list, but your aura is completely that of a human, but also not one of a vision holder. In a way, you remind me of the traveler.”

“It does make sense.” You reply with a noncommittal shrug. “The traveler was the first Acolyte, and I’m the first Oracle, so there’s bound to be some uncanny similarities between us.”

Madam Ping wistfully sighs at the mention of the traveler. “Ah yes, the Hero of Liyue. I was able to gift them that teapot, but what a shame that I don’t have another one to spare for you, esteemed Oracle.”

And here comes the half-praise, half-demeaning words that’s meant to belittle you into feeling worthless while giving meager praise to make her sound generous.

“There would be no need to, since I intend on enjoying our God’s creations rather than hiding away from it in an Adeptal piece of machinery.” A wide grin adorns your face with canines clear to see, but your voice is as excited as a child’s with innocence clear.

Those that hear you would assume nothing but ignorance at fault, but the ones that can see how your eyes dimly gleam with mockery would think otherwise.

Isn’t it so good that Yanfei is by your side while Ping is in front of you?

The words clearly hit a nerve, as Ping’s smile drops into a horribly wrinkled frown. Yanfei’s teal eyes look between you two with a smile that dissolves into a confused furrow of her brows.

“My apologies, child, I was unaware that you were so deprived of empathy for others that you can reduce the hard work of the Creator’s chosen protectors of this land into a symbol of defilement.” The last few words are scathing as her face contorts into a gruesome mess of sagging skin.

“Granny, I understand why you’re mad but-” Yanfei takes a step forward, but is cut off by Ping raising her hand while stepping closer to you.

“I can now understand why Shenhe, that poor pitiful child, was so conflicted about her emotions toward you. I may not understand why the Creator chose a human of your breed to have that holy position, but I can only pray that this journey teaches you a lesson concerning those that you have wronged in this way.”

“Granny!” Yanfei yells in shock as she moves between you two, “How could you say something like that to them? You’re not only insulting them, you’re also insulting the Creator!”

She turns around to face you as she shots a grimace behind her at the fuming hag. “I am so sorry about this, you should probably go now.”

Nodding with a sad expression, you speak in a confused tone. “I-I understand. It was nice meeting you and Madam Ping. I hope we can talk again sometime.” Twisting open the doorknob and pushing it open, you sneak one last peek into the room.

Yanfei has her back to you as she yells on a whisper level. Ping doesn’t look all that pleased until her eyes stray to yours. The smugness practically rolls off you in waves as she scorns at you with disgust.

-------------------------

It was official.

You were lost.

Looking at the doors and people walking around you, you tried to remember what path you took with Ping. But each door looked the same, with different people rushing in and out.

None of them even had time to talk to you as they wheeled out screaming and bleeding people from room to room. You got glimpses of dressings pressed haphazardly on wounds as you continued walking.

Surely you still had enough time until Ningguang’s dinner?

Trying not to freak out over the time, you continue marching throughout the seemingly endless hallways and avoid bumping into the doctors, nurses and more that rush around you. Eventually you arrive at an area of the building that looks a bit calmer.

You spot a woman wearing a dress looking similar to a work uniform and decide to ask her for directions leading out of the temple. You’re about to call out to her when she opens a door and enters it while cheerfully calling out.

“Thank you so much for all the help despite your busy schedule!” She continues to walk in, giving a half-hearted push to close it.

Sneakily, you plant your foot right at the hinge of it, making it stop before it actually closes. A sense of déjà vu nags you as you stand outside the room with your head resting against the wall. You close your eyes to listen to the conversation.

“It’s no trouble at all, Daiyu. I always enjoy volunteering to help those who offer sacrifices to the Creator here.” There’s a light tilt to the voice while remaining sturdy, a good indicator that the speaker is who you think it is.

“Even so, as the Yuheng of Liyue, you still have many duties. Much more than you did when you first began to help out all those years ago…” The anxious woman is met with a brief chuckle.

“As I’ve said before, Daiyu, you can call me Keqing during these times. I’m not here as the Yuheng, but as a servant of our God to learn more.” The faint click of heels can be heard as drawers of what you assume are bandages are opened.

“Well, have you finally come to a conclusion? You know about whether self-mutilation is an ‘overdone’ and an ‘inferior’ way of worshiping the Creator?” The question is met with brief silence before Keqing responds.

“I’ve already made up my mind around the same time as Rex Lapis’s death. Self-mutilation isn’t exactly wrong per se, but it should not be our main way of worship. Our bodies were painstakingly crafted by the Creator’s hands and should not be abused. It’s why I’ve strived to keep myself in perfect shape.”

A sigh can be heard with an almost bitter note.

“But humans can not regrow lost limbs. Thus, I do not believe self-mutilation is the best way for humanity to worship the gods. Blood offerings and even human offerings of other criminals can be done, but I believe that self-mutilation should be left for extreme sins and for the Adepti to present.”

With eyes trained to the blood-stained floorboards beneath your feet, you push yourself off the wall. It seemed you weren’t going to gain any useful information from here.

“The public won’t accept that kind of view that goes against what we’ve been taught for thousands of years. Then again, that never stopped you before - Aw, damn it! There’s barely any medical supplies here, too.”

The tapping of your feet walking away is concealed by the clicking of heels.

“There’s nothing left? Ugh, probably Ningguang again. She’s always doing this stuff.”

But perhaps you should have stayed just a bit longer.

“The Tianquan?! Oh, please don’t let her know what I said! I quite like my job!”

“Relax, Daiyu, she wouldn’t care about your complaints even if she did hear them.”

“Then why are you frowning like that?”

You never know what you might hear.

“It’s just a bit strange to me. Not long ago she was doing all sorts of planning with an annoyed expression, but this morning she was pleased. She must have either taken care of whatever was bothering her or hatched the perfect, foolproof plan for it.”

----------------------------

Thankfully, you did manage to find your way back to the first floor. (When did you even walk up the stairs?) Most of the people there were rather calm, with incense and prayer rooms decorating this floor.

The smell was of cinnamon and something with a strong woody scent. The one’s in the prayer rooms had healed scars exposed, either doing a full floor bow or at least on their knees.

If they had them, at least.

It was a gruesome sight if you were to be honest. Some had skin raw red from what looked like boil scars, others with self-inflicted writing carved into their skin. Words like; ‘Holy One’, ‘Savior’, and the most popular one of all: ‘Beloved Creator’ were in some way permanently branding their skin.

The wind blew from a certain hallway, as if Teyvat was trying to finally lend you a hand in leaving this temple of smoke and blood. Taking long strides past the rooms that muttered and screamed at varying levels and intervals, you see a set of wide doors.

WHAM

The whir of a sliding door before it slams into the doorway is all you hear before a hand is wrapped firmly around your wrist and pulling you into the dark room. Your breath is knocked out of you as the soles of your shoes search for purchase.

Your hands reach up to where you were grabbed to dig into the scalp of your assailant before you both fall to the ground from the struggle.

“Let go of me!” You grit out as the slender fingers continue trying to pin you down. A feminine grunt of pain is heard as you finally manage to push her away, making your assaulter hit the wall.

Like hell! You weren’t just going to leave after being attacked for no fucking reason. Rushing forward, you pin the person against the wall as your eyes adjust to the dark room. Silvery hair can be seen in a tangle between your fingertips as you hold her wrists against the wall.

“Shenhe, what the fuck were you thinking? Are you still pissed at me? I thought we cleared it all up.” With a mix of anger, disbelief and pure confusion, you stare at her face as her features slowly become more defined.

“I just wanted to see you again…” The kicked puppy look is not suiting the bloody bandages wrapped around her left eye. Or what used to be her eye. “I didn’t hurt you this time.”

“Dragging an unsuspecting person into a dark room isn't not hostile either, Shenhe.” She simply stares at you in silence, as if she’s incompetent enough to not understand your words. “We almost fought to our deaths last time we met. How am I not supposed to assume that you’re trying to hurt me?”

Shenhe’s head drops a little bit as her mouth opens and closes repeatedly with no success. After giving her a moment, you sigh with a hint of annoyance and let go of her. “I have to get going, Shenhe. I'm not going to sit and wait forever.”

“I’m sorry.” You glance back down at Shenhe as she sits on her knees with her hands clenched tightly on her thighs. “I’m sorry for hunting you down so insistently while framing you as someone who wronged me on a personal level.”

Could you really accept this apology when you did stab her first for killing those Hilichurls you were friends with? Then again, they did give you liquor while Shenhe convinced herself that you were an evil entity. “Thanks for the apology, but that still doesn’t change much. I spent days in Bubu Pharmacy trying not to die from all the shit you and Yelan put me through.”

“I already heard about it and saw the vivid details of your healing progress while I waited outside your window that day.” Those words alone had you whipping your head around to her as your jaw dropped.

“Shenhe, what the hell!?” She staggers back to her feet with a worrying sway before taking mute steps towards your shocked form.

“A good partner is one who is attentive and keeps detailed track of their lover's affairs and health, correct?” Trying to wrap your head around the twisted logic she presents you with, you bury your face in your hands.

“Yes, but not in the context of our relationship.” You stress as your arm automatically reaches out to stop her from swaying to the ground. With your hand firmly on her arm, you continue to speak. “I know that you don’t really use that word often considering Xianyun’s teachings, but it’s pretty fucking important.”

A sole iridescent blinks lazily at you before her whole body weight is pressing down on you. It’s less of a hug and more like a ‘glomp’. Deciding to hold her by her waist to prevent being crushed by the pure muscle mass that made up her body, her forehead rests on your shoulder.

It’s burning. Definitely unusual for a Cryo vision holder.

“Shenhe? Shenhe can you hear me?” You ask as her glazed over eye stares into yours with no recognition seen in them. Swinging your head around, you finally spot a blood stained coat off to the side.

“C’mon, Shenhe, just work with me a bit to get you back to bed.” You spit out as you carry more of her weight to avoid dragging her on the floor. Thankfully, she helps out by wrapping her legs around your body and despite the slight constriction, you still manage to carry her back to bed.

Dropping her on the bed, you carefully fix her up. Brushing her hair out of her face, pulling the covers back over body, and adjusting the surrounding bandages around her injured eye to fit snugly.

She did apologize after all, it would be cruel of you to leave a person with a fever and probably an infection a mess on a bed.

That didn’t mean you were going to stay and nurse her back to health. Ningguang was probably at the restaurant at this point, and you weren’t going to be late for it.

Turning around, you take a quiet step toward the exit until a hand wraps frantically around your wrist.

“You forgive me, right?” Heavy breathing fills the room as her sweaty skin clings to the little contact she has with you. “I apologized sincerely, I’ll do it again if I must.” A trembling eye stares into your soul as her voice breaks. “Please…”

You stare down at the disciple with an unreadable expression until a smile breaks out onto your face. Shenhe’s grip loosens as hope begins to light up. Your other hand gently removes her fingers from your wrist before you whisper.

“Why don’t you sleep on it, Shenhe?”

Her eyes slide shut from pure exhaustion as you walk away and exit the room. After taking note of the room number, you resume your short walk to the exit. A nurse is nearby and just as you pull one of the wide doors open, you lean in to whisper a brief message.

The door closes shut behind you as the nurse rushes away. With careful footsteps, you walk leisurely toward the Xinyue Kiosk. The burning stares of civilians and soldiers alike are rolled off you in waves.

It was pointless to fight with the puppets when the puppet master invited you to meet her.

A feel like this part took forever. It's just the beginning of my spring break before I have another quiz and exam. So my break is just more studying, wonderful. My editor didn't need to do much considering the small size but I also feel like this wasn't the best of my work. I did write piece by piece every few nights when I got back home dead tired. I really can't wait for this semester to end…. But I'm also really excited to get started on the dinner with Ningguang! Taglist is always open!

@vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername

@zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @starsofabundance, @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100, @waveto-earth, @flyingpansaurus, @silverstarred, @iamapotatoe, @ghosthii, @beloveddroplet, @uchihaeirin, @ibelieveinsleep, @idk098, @thefirstonetoeverlikemeback, @toramune, @haaaaaades, @horologiumwise, @melovaaaa, @alittletiredcry, @aphxdea, @atsukawolfcat, @desirabletravel, @pinkpainc, @eccedentesiast-sapphic, @yuyuzi-ling, @hyperfixationwhore

@juuuuuj101010, @avalordream, @kurayamioterasu, @tottybear, @koiikuno, @lynx-of-skies, @quacking-simp, @synthe4u, @kascar-chronicle, @hug4helios, @hug4helios, @silverstarred, @koiikuno, @ithoughtthinks, @remiivx, @lemonade7255, @melpomenelurks, @average-yandere-enjoyer, @mnhao, @fuji-sen, @altumsomnum

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artsy-hobbitses · 4 months ago

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One of the images that would not leave my head is that of Prowl coming face to face with the man he once was, which happens during TTB's Functionist! AU arc and becomes a narrative testament to the growth he's gone through as a person inside, as opposed to the shiny, chrome outer growth of P7031 who sees him as a glitch that has to be eradicated. So they go Highlander on each other because THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE As an additional treat, a short fic under the cut!

Preston Wan Peirong - Prowl

Jace Zayden - Functionist!AU Jazz

Benjamin ‘Ben’ Bane - Functionist AU Bumblebee

Hanley Riordan - HotRod

Hale Donovan - Hound

Stefan Scavarro - Starscream

Spencer Rao Shouren - Springer

Breaking into Sentinel Prime’s base was a deathwish back in his own universe, and it was no different here, Preston Wan mused to himself as he slipped out of the shadows during the five minute window — just as he’d predicted — where the guards at the outpost were scheduled to change shifts before beckoning the rest of the ground crew to follow in his stead.

The first line of defense cleared, they silently made their way towards the heart of the self-proclaimed dictator’s operations, breaths hitching in unison every time a guard passed a hair’s breadth away from them.

The base schematics Jace Zayden had managed to hack into and download through one of the contractors’ stolen biometrics data revealed a network of utility corridors which saw little use from the guardsmen — minute cracks in the citadel’s defenses they could capitalize on.

“How close are we to the laboratories?” Jace inquired under his breath as behind him, Benjamin Bane surreptitiously peeked at the hologram of a map emitted from a prosthetic hand.

“There’s a turn 500m ahead—we gotta take a right from there,” the youngest member of the team murmured, frowning slightly before adding: “You really think that’s where we’ll find them?”

“If what we know about the Matrix is true and Stefan’s communications with us are found out — and I’m sure they have been — then yes,” Preston said with a nod as they moved deeper into enemy territory. “The Quintessons ate those of us they couldn’t use—with greed rivaling theirs, I don’t believe Sentinel would waste a warm body on a grave over a weapon. Ours included.”

Jace winced.

“A ‘We got this team, let’s not get caught’ would have sufficed.”

“Pep talks are your specialty,” Preston reminded the rebellion leader with a raised eyebrow. “Facts are mine.”

“Like you keep proving with every sentence, my man,” Jace responded with a resigned sigh as they were halfway to the turn, when he suddenly came to a dead halt.

The raised hackles, the snarl, Preston knew what it meant even before he caught the faintest sound of gravel crunching underneath metallic soles approaching them.

“It’s him,” came the low growl from the shambling mass of fur and muscle that was Hale Donovan, who suddenly loomed over them protectively.

“Hey, it’s five on one tin man this time, and between the lot o’ us, I like those odds,” Hanley Riordan pointed out, taking on a defensive stance, and immediately Preston could feel a migraine coming along at the risk of the plan derailing entirely.

“Listen to me. Any changes to the plan at this stage, and we risk losing both Starscream and the Matrix,” he said sternly as he held out an arm to bar the rest of the group from engaging with their pursuer. “Keep the pace. I’ll stall him.”

Ben and Hanley both opened their mouths to protest, though Jace’s voice cut through the tension first.

“We’re not leaving you to get smoked out here!”

“Don’t be dramatic, I have no intention of disobeying a direct order by dying out here,” came Preston’s brisk assurance with a wry, fleeting grin as the pistols hooked to his belt hummed to life.

“An order from whom?!” Jace snapped, his grip on the Autobot chief strategist 's shoulder tightening as the heavy footfalls echoed closer to them.

There was a pause as Preston clutched the grips of his firearms, stoic features softening with tender solemnity. Home. He’d been ordered to complete the mission and come home. Home to Spencer, who needed him more than ever now. Home to—

“You.”

Jace blinked and took a second to compute an order that seemingly never passed his lips; the thought was about as absurd as the idea of two Prestons inhabiting the same universe; One a hated nemesis, the other a fledgling friend.

“... Aight. Holding you to my order, Prowler,” said the rebellion leader firmly as he thumped the ex-cop’s chestplate twice with the side of his fist in a brotherly manner, gaze dripping with loathing for the figure that strode purposefully out of the shadows. “Go full Highlander on his ass.”

With a sharp flick of the hand, Jace led the rest of the crew and made a dash for the laboratory block, while Preston positioned himself to block any access to their path.

The figure, all sleek steel and titanium save for a face that he imagined was as devoid of warmth as his was from years ago, stopped nine feet away from him.

“I’m under directives from the Prime to take all of you in for questioning,” P7031 said emotionlessly, cocking his fist to activate a firing gauntlet.

“Affirmative. I’m under my own to see to it that you don’t, and my captain’s to ensure I survive this encounter,” Preston responded in kind as he whipped out his pistols.

P7031’s blank slate of a face suddenly rippled with something that looked like it could have been pompous scorn.

“Strong words for a glitch. And what exactly do you imagine you can do against a better version of youself in every conceivable way?”

There was a second’s pause as Preston thought back to the man he once was a lifetime ago, a perfect cog in the machinery he was told kept the peace for the good of the many. He’d been taught to view deviation from his purpose and the system as something that had to be fixed—a glitch, as P7031 had so eloquently put it. But if it was one thing his time with the Autobots, with Jace had taught him, it was that he was more than his purpose, more than his past, and more than the copy of The Art Of War which those who shared the barcode on his neck were ordered to memorize word for word from the moment their small hands were steady enough to hold a weapon.

“Improvise.”

#Maccadams #Humanformers #Prowl #writing #fic #art #Humanformers Art

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imagine-darksiders · 3 months ago

Text

Angel of Highway 49.

Ch. 6 - Collateral.

Optimus & Reader. Bulkhead x Reader. Starscream x causing mayhem.

Summary: 'For the first time, your eyes meet his optics, and there’s not an ounce of recognition flickering in their glossy depths as they stare up at him in unmitigated terror.

No… not terror…. Horror.

You’re horrified by his presence, his appearance, his incomprehensible existence.'

-------------------------

On paper, the mission brief had seemed quite straightforward.

Investigate the substantial Energon signature that Ratchet's scans had turned up, get in, gather as much as they could carry, and get out again.

Optimus knew the likelihood of beating the Decepticons to the punch was minimal, at best. No doubt the only reason Ratchet's scanners had picked up anything was because raw Energon had been exposed where it wasn't before, say, by a mining operation that drilled straight into a fresh deposit laying deep beneath the Earth's crust.

The coordinates had been of immediate concern to the Prime, and as soon as the team was debriefed, he and Bulkhead drove straight out to the reference point with their pedals almost to the floor, though the latter couldn't fathom his Leader's sudden sense of urgency, and when prodded, Optimus only told him that the location was 'concerningly close to a human settlement.'

It was a mine, long-abandoned, sunk beneath the cliffs near a large agricultural unit.

They were to evaluate the subterranean passages, determine the level of Decepticon activity, preferably without engaging, and look for any opportunity to seize Energon from the enemy forces. Underhanded, perhaps, but if it secures his Autobots a few more months of precious fuel, Optimus isn't above resorting to clandestine tactics.

Of course, as it's been said before, even the best laid plans often go awry...

----------

The sturdy cables of Optimus’s neck buck and strain against their tubing as he wrenches his helm towards the Southern tunnel, his optical apertures spinning wide, blazing with a fierce, cyan light.

Hidden parallel to his leader, ducked down behind a stack of energon crates on the other side of the cavern, Bulkhead does the same, his colossal chin piece falling open with a dull ‘thunk,’ and his entire frame turning rigid with alarm.

Unfortunately for them both, so too do the frames of all four Vehicon Miners.

One by one, each of the energon drills wind down to sputtering halts as their wielders disengage from the deposits in the cave walls, pausing to turn their inexpressive masks towards the disruption.

And what a disruption it is.

A haunting, spinal-strut-chilling shriek is ringing out through the mine like an air-raid siren, more piercing than the drills and far shriller than the clanking of heavy machinery. The sound goes on and on, even when the source runs out of steam, and only the echo of a scream passes through the labyrinthian tunnels until that too falls silent, leaving every Cybertronian who heard it caught in a moment of temporary bewilderment.

Optimus is the first to recover.

Denta grit tightly behind his mask, he draws his slate-dark brow plates together and begins gauging the distance between his hiding spot and the tunnel.

Speed will be essential here… Because it’s to his utmost distress that he’s matched the vocal patterns of the distant scream to that of a human.

In the next instant, his private com-link scratches to life, and Bulkhead’s hushed, bassy voice is whispering into the Prime’s audials.

“That wasn’t Miko, Boss,” he defends his charge without hesitation.

Admirable, of course. But in this instance, unnecessary.

Optimus is well aware that the cadence of the scream doesn’t belong to any one of their charges. He has them logged, after all – though he often wishes he didn’t, if only because those audio logs serve as constant reminders that there have been times where the three younglings – whilst under his care- were in states of distress severe enough to cry out at all.

That aside however, Optimus is also confident that right now, the children are safe and sound back at the Autobot base with Ratchet, doubtless waiting anxiously for Arcee and Bumblebee to return from a routine scouting mission around Jasper’s outskirts.

But that begs the question; why would a human be down here in a defunct mine during the middle of the night?

It’s a question he doesn’t give much processing power to, not when there is a far more urgent matter at hand that needs addressing.

Loathe to wait even another second for something bad to happen to the unfortunate, wayward human, the Prime heaves himself out of his crouch and vaults gracefully over the energon stacks he’d been using as cover, barking a single, concise order to his comrade-in-arms.

“Engage!”

He’s barely cleared cover when he hears Bulkhead’s response.

“So much for the element of surprise!”

A necessary sacrifice.

If there’s a human down here in danger, they no longer have the luxury of scoping out the mine’s multiple chambers and trying to take things slow.

No matter.

What matters is getting to them before whatever – or whoever - frightened them can do any harm.

Optimus’s explosive arrival sends the Vehicons scrambling about to face him, and no less than two of the four manage to drop their handheld drills in shock.

“Prime’s here!?” one bellows, tripping over his own pedes in his haste to retreat towards the far wall.

“And he brought company!” his fellow growls.

No sooner has he spoken than an eruption of noise rocks the cavern as Bulkhead comes careening around the side of his hiding spot with all the unstoppable brutality of a runaway freight train.

“Head’s up!” he bellows, raising his hefty arm high into the air and charging for the first, unfortunate Miner.

Only one seems to have recovered in time to aim his plasma cannon at Optimus, who ducks smoothly beneath the first shot and skids along the ground on his knees for several metres, drawing up close enough to the Con to negate any space between them.

Before a second round can even charge in its chamber, one of the Prime’s enormous metal servos curls into a devastating fist, and with the struts of his forearm tensed and locked in preparation, he launches himself off his knees and –

‘CRUNCH!’

The knuckles of his servo connect with the Vehicon’s chin-guard with terrifying precision.

An uppercut, the power behind which is enough to send the dark, purple visor snapping backwards with an audible crack. Its wearer is quick to follow suit, crumpling over onto his back before Optimus’s fist has even finished its upswing.

One down…

Bulkhead has also reached his own Con, and Optimus is glad to see that he seems to have taken the Prime’s briefing to spark.

Incapacitate only, where possible.

These are miners, not warriors.

The wrecking ball perched on the end of Bulkhead’s arm is already swinging by the time the Con has his own weapon readied, and it’s promptly knocked aside by the Wrecker’s weaponised name-sake, who is quick to follow up with a single punch to the Vehicon’s helm.

One, hard wallop, and he’s down like a sack of bricks.

Two down, two to go…

The remaining pair, those clumsy enough to have dropped their drills, at least seem wise enough to recognise when they’re outmatched.

Bulkhead wheels about, shaking scraps of the miner’s visor from his fist as he glowers at the retreating taillights of two, purple vehicles fleeing as fast as their tyres can carry them down one of the adjoining tunnels.

“Aw, where’re you going!?” he taunts them as they vanish around a corner like jettisoned scrap, “I didn’t even break a sweat!”

Yet another turn of phrase he’s picked up from Miko, Optimus notes, thankfully one of her more palatable expressions. Primus knows that girl could be an honorary Wrecker through vocabulary alone…

“Leave them!” the Prime commands urgently, breaking into a loping run for the opposite passage and shifting the plates on his dominant arm to reveal his colossal, devastating barrage cannon, hoping against hope that it won’t be seeing any action beyond warding off a potential threat.

Setting off a detonative blast in this place could cause the whole subterranean structure to collapse in on itself, another reason he’d stressed the importance of melee before this mission.

Clunking footsteps soon fall into pace behind his own, rattling the shards of energon still wedged into the cave walls.

There’s little point in maintaining stealth now, not with time swiftly trickling away beneath their pedes and the deafening silence the drills have left behind.

Whoever remains in this cavern is bound to know of their presence by now.

There’s a sudden blip on his radar - an energon signature far more significant than the deposits in the walls. It’s large, and active, and at this distance, uncloaked.

With coolant pumping fervidly through his pipes, Optimus kicks himself into gear and swings around the curve of the tunnel, bringing into view a sight so gruesome, it nearly freezes his spark inside its chamber.

A surge of alarm - his very own - hits the airwaves before he can suppress it, and although he reels it back in microseconds, he knows Bulkhead has already felt it, even from several paces behind him. An answering jolt of panic crashes into Optimus’s field as the Wrecker stumbles, his armour flaring nervously.

Because if the Prime is worried, then…

Optimus doesn’t have time to reassure his teammate.

Starscream is looming up ahead, silhouetted at the tunnel’s end by an unearthly blue light.

Megatron’s second in command cuts an intimidating figure. A frame as sharp as his tongue is angled towards the oncoming Autobots, but his attention – and more horrifyingly – his missile arm is aimed near the ground at a comparatively small rock, behind which Optimus has already locked onto four human signatures.

Another surge, this time of unshackled indignation rattles the plating across his shoulders and sends his protective protocols careening into furious overdrive.

Taking point, the Prime charges from the tunnel and into the cavern first, cannon raised and whirring as he digs in his heels and slides to a halt, drawing up his colossal frame to stand tall beneath the rock ceiling, his optics narrowed to thin slits.

“Starscream,” he thunders, authoritative and unyielding. His voice booms around the cavern, drawing another short scream from one of the humans below, yet he doesn’t dare take his optics off the threat to assess their condition, not while Starscream still has his weapon aimed unwaveringly at them.

It seems his arrival was anticipated after all.

The Decepticon doesn’t balk at their presence, doesn’t raise a weapon to defend himself… Gradually, wholly aware that he has the advantage here, Starscream raises his helm and tips his chin back to flash the Prime a haughty smirk.

“Ah, ah, ah~” he singsongs airily, just as Bulkhead lumbers to a halt at Optimus’s side, “That’s close enough, Autobot scum.”

Letting out a choked sound of rage, the wrecker lifts an arm, and his ion blaster whirls to life, though Starscream is quick to nod at the rock near his pedes and add, “Surely you wouldn’t risk any collateral damage now, would you?”

The Prime’s optics flare brightly.

Collateral… A Decepticon’s preferred synonym for the children under the Autobots’ care.

As Starscream speaks, he bobs his missile tauntingly up and down, never letting it stray from the humans locked in his crosshairs.

Behind the battle mask, Optimus peels back his dermas by a fraction of an inch – the only show of frustration he allows himself.

He’s almost relieved that Bulkhead is, by contrast, able to express himself so freely.

A low, thrumming growl shakes its way out from between the Wrecker’s clenched dentas. “Bullying humans now, Screamer?” he fumes, chomping at the proverbial bit but held in check by the seeker’s threat, “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size for a change? Or are you afraid you might lose?”

Starscream’s smirk twists down at the corners into a sneer, yet before he can offer some cutting retort, another voice pipes up from below, shattering his concentration.

“Bulk!?”

Two of the three Cybertronians present feel their sparks drop heavily into their tanks.

Bulkhead’s jaw hits his sternum with a ‘clunk!’ whilst Optimus’s only outward display of shock is the slight jump of his optical ridges.

“Miko!?” the former exclaims in a voice so shrill that it might have been comical in any other situation.

At last, unable to resist tearing their optics from the Con, both Optimus and Bulkhead shoot twin glances down over the top of the rock.

The Prime only needs a nanosecond to process the faces of each human below him.

And it’s just as he’d feared.

There’s Jack, a tired face gone slack with relief at seeing Optimus tower above him. And Rafael, with his youthful features pulled taut in fright, yet those wide, brown eyes are still so full of trust as they silently implore the Prime for help. Miko in the meantime is gazing adoringly up at her guardian with a gleeful smile stretching the edges of her mouth.

But it’s the fourth human that Optimus finds his optics drawn to and struck by, locking onto a face not quite as familiar as the children’s but known and inexplicably fond to him all the same.

“Y/n?” he murmurs far too softly to be heard over Bulkhead’s sputtered sounds of dismay and increasing panic.

His last parting from you was... regrettable, and still weighs heavily on his spark and processor when he finds himself alone with his thoughts.

For the first time, your eyes meet his optics, and there’s not an ounce of recognition flickering in their glossy depths as they stare up at him in unmitigated terror.

No… not terror…. Horror.

You’re horrified by his presence, his appearance, his incomprehensible existence.

In your eyes, he and Bulkhead are no different from Starscream – the true and only threat. In your eyes, what is he? Not a protector, but an aggressor. An unknown you have no hope of overcoming.

It doesn’t escape his notice; the stance you’ve taken in front of the children. With your back to them, arms flung out wide, you’re a trembling bulwark of fear and confusion and bravery, and the only thing standing between them and the Decepticon’s missile.

An unanticipated curl of pride warms the spark in his chamber, though it immediately bucks when his optics register the discolouration on your back. From his elevated angle, he has a clear and uninterrupted view of your shoulder blades… and the distressing gradient of a deep purple shadow sweeping across them, hemmed in by a frame of diffusing yellow.

It’s a bruise - he distantly recalls the term – and it’s swallowing up a vast swathe of your fragile skin, disappearing beneath your shirt. He’s seen bruises on humans before, small ones on the children’s knees and elbows after a tumble, or underneath Agent Fowler’s eyes after one too many sleepless nights. And while those instances are disquieting enough to witness, none have quite matched the extent of this one.

He knew you’d been hurt but this looks…

The lights in his optics flicker.

… He should have put his pede down… He should have just driven you straight to the medical clinic in Jasper regardless of your protests - no ‘ifs,’ ‘ands’ or ‘buts.’

Of all the humans who could have ended up down here, it would be the one who implied quite categorically that they never wanted anything to do with him again. He supposes there’s something divinely poetic about that. Divinely comedic too. Perhaps right now, Primus is looking down on his creation with a knowing smile.

Optimus, however, finds himself wishing that you were anywhere else at all, that fate had not led you down here. That it hadn’t led any of you down here, where your life and that of the children’s hang treacherously in the balance.

The nanosecond ends when you blink – and Optimus’s intake stalls to see a shimmering tear break free of your lash line and trickle down your cheek.

It strikes him that not only do you believe you’re supposed to protect Jack, Miko and Rafael from Starscream, but now that the Prime has unwittingly added himself and Bulkhead into the mix, you think you have two more perils to contend with.

Optimus flicks his optics up to the Decepticon once more as a dozen differing strategies spin around inside his processor. He’s getting you out of here. You and the children. ‘Whatever happens,’ he sends a silent promise down to the humans under his charge, his solicitous field spilling all the words he can’t verbalise, ‘I will keep you safe.’

Bulkhead feels it – Optimus’s EM field is a powerful thing, like everything else about the Prime. And right now, the noble intent of his leader hits the wrecker’s chassis like there’s real force behind it, tangible and physical.

Starscream feels it as well, though he isn’t bolstered by it like Bulkhead is. In fact, judging from the sudden wipe of his smug expression, the Seeker may have just come to the realisation that he’s currently threatening the very young, very vulnerable wards of a Prime and his powerhouse of a soldier.

Optimus wonders, between flitting through tactics, what you might think of him if you could feel it too.

-----

This has got to be one of – if not the - most vivid and dramatic nightmares you’ve ever had.

Either that, or…. or there’s a buildup of… of gasses in this mine or something, causing you to hallucinate. Hell, maybe that’s why this place was abandoned to begin with. If those old miners found coal seams or shale deposits down here, you could be standing in a pit filled with methane right now. And those beams and timber that were rotting away over your head as you made your way down…? How long have they been decomposing? Long enough for the carbon dioxide to seep out and gather at the bottom of the mine, you’ll bet!

That has to be it.

Gasses. Hallucinations. A nightmare.

Because you couldn’t possibly consider the third option, could you? That this might actually be happening. That there really are three unfathomably colossal titans surrounding you and the kids on all sides.

It certainly feels real enough. The sweat slicking your palms and hairline, the blood roaring in your ears, and the heart in your chest trying to make a jailbreak are all about as vivid as it gets.

Rationale is telling you that this isn’t happening. Your body is telling you otherwise. And it’s very hard to try and listen to both at the same time.

When the tallest of them – the one that had shouted something in a voice that sent a ping straight to your brain – lowers its ‘eyes’ to lock you in its sights, you freeze in place, helpless as a butterfly pinned to a corkboard.

Awful, cerulean light cuts like frostbite through the dimness of the mine and sends a chill sweeping up the length of your spine.

You’re stuck fast by its stare, the light cold and calculating as it burns down at you from an otherwise expressionless face.

Your own eyes sting with the effort of keeping them open, too afraid to blink, too afraid to take your gaze away lest it decide to strike the moment it thinks you aren’t looking, like a predator, a hungry wolf with designs on the back of your neck.

It’s hard to believe that the giant is the first to look away, pulling those twin beams of light from your face and turning them onto the comparatively smaller monster, the one with a blood-red stare.

Battling down the temptation to collapse onto your knees, you instead suck in a deep, noisy breath through your nostrils and clamp your lips firmly together as your gaze flits across to the third and final titan, shorter yet somehow so much larger than the others.

It’s as broad as a barn. Broader, perhaps. Military-green from head to toe, and it too sports a gaze that’s just as blue as the strange quartz that surrounds you. It cocks its colossal head at you, what passes for a head on that behemoth anyway, and the lights set in its face blink off, then on again. Once, twice… until something in your brain clicks into place.

It’s blinking.

You’d almost begun to entertain the notion that you’ve unwittingly stumbled upon some kind of Government-built superweapon, and that Terry might not be the crazy bastard you thought he was. But when it blinks at you, when it tips its head to the side as if it’s curious… in some uncanny way, you recognise it for what it is.

That’s something humans do.

That’s something living things do.

… What the Hell have you found down here?

Or perhaps the better question is, what the Hell has just found you?

“I see you’ve added another little pet to your menagerie,” the first robot suddenly drawls, breaking the silent stalemate that’s been brewing between you all for the past few seconds and sending your attention snapping back towards its slender face, chest rising and falling as you remind yourself to keep breathing, “I’m beginning to think you don’t care much for humans at all, if this is where you bring them to play.”

‘Humans?’

Your racing mind latches onto the word and sticks fast.

Humans… It called you humans. Implying that the speaker isn’t one…

The revelation doesn’t help you much, you’re still very much in trouble here, regardless of whether there’s another person operating these things or if they’re powered by something else entirely.

The longer you stand there without a shift or a waver in the makeup of the figure ahead of you, the less confident you are in your hallucination theory.

“Who’re you calling pets!?” Miko’s voice abruptly blasts past your ear, reminding you quite starkly of the three children pressed to your back, “If anyone’s the pet, it’s you! Megatron’s little groupie!”

You don’t have a chance to wonder what in the world she’s talking about.

The robot’s red glare snaps to her and zeroes in with murderous intent, its strange, malleable lip curling with hostility. Somewhere below your elbow, you hear Raf hiss “Miko!”

Just like that, you realise with a start that it doesn’t matter if you’re hallucinating or not.

If you are, and the children are too, it just means that you have to get them into fresh air as soon as possible. And if you’re not…

If this is real, if this is happening to you, then there truly are lives on the line, more than just your own.

And if this turns out to all be some incredibly vivid nightmare, well… you can nervously laugh about it once you’re awake. But for now…

“You dare address your betters, pest!?” the robot seethes, tilting its arm by a fraction, just enough to indicate that it’s aiming its missile point-blank at the girl. Behind you, there’s a mechanical whir, like a machine is being charged up.

Your stomach lurches. Somebody needs to do something….

….

………. Shit. Fine.

“Don’t!” you blurt out before you can put too much thought into your actions, taking a fumbling step forward and drawing the silver juggernaut’s furious glare, “Don’t point that at her! She’s just a kid!”

There are several intakes of breath from behind you, and one from somewhere high above your head, but your attention remains fixed steadfastly on the red-eyed robot, goosebumps springing up along your arms when it lets out a deriding chuckle and flashes you a glimpse of stark-white metal sitting just beyond its ‘lips,’ like a set of teeth.

“Oh? What have we here? Trying to play the hero,” it sneers the word with about as much sincerity as it might afford a dead fly, scoffing somehow through its gap for a mouth, “Pathetic. Ah-! Not so fast, Prime!” Quick as a flash, the robot lifts it gaze to the ones behind you, sharp red lights flashing dangerously, “Unless you want to be picking up the pieces of your little friend here for the next deca-cycle.”

You haven’t forgotten about the threats behind you, snatching a glance over your shoulder to see if the other robots are keeping their distance. To your horror, the green one is still subjecting you to its stare, blue lights brighter than ever as it observes you. The slab of grey metal stretching like a chin-guard across its face has fallen slightly to hang open, revealing a sliver of darkness behind it – its own mouth, you realise with a shudder.

Even more perturbingly, the tallest of the trio has definitely taken a step closer. You can see the indentation in the dust where its foot had rested only seconds ago, several metres back.

Your tongue sits like a lead weight in your mouth, dry as a bone.

At the silver robot’s words, it stills entirely, one of its gargantuan hands held up placatingly. Its compliance demonstrates that there must be some sort of hierarchy here. Despite the apparent size advantage, the taller robot had deferred to the one with red eyes.

That at least clues you in on which danger to prioritise, so you turn back to the first giant, your own hands unconsciously mirroring the same, appeasing gesture.

It’s an absolutely uncontested fact that you’re outmatched in size, numbers, speed, strength, and more than likely intelligence too.

So, what do you have in your arsenal?

What could you possibly have?

Think!

The toe of your boot slides forwards an inch, just an inch, just enough to bump gently into an obstruction that rolls slightly under the force.

A rapid glance down reveals the object; the torch you’d dropped earlier, sitting innocuously by your boot, dim and harmless…

… In a split second, you make a decision.

It could very well prove to be your last decision, but it’s better than staying paralyzed by indecision and fear. One option guarantees that you won’t be leaving here alive. The other… might at least buy you some time…

In one, darting motion, you dip down and swipe the torch off the ground, straightening back up just as hastily and holding it out in front of you with both hands, aiming the glass face up towards the scarlet ‘eyes’ leering down from above you.

“Back off!” is all you can think to yelp, arms and voice quaking, “O-or I’ll shoot!”

....

The silence that falls over the cavern couldn’t be any heavier.

It makes the rattling plastic of the torch that much louder in your ringing ears.

For several heartbeats, nobody moves, not the kids, not the robots, only you with your knocking knees and trembling, outstretched arms.

Then suddenly, sound floods back into the chamber, all in the form of a scratching, obnoxious cackle.

The silver robot peels the plating around its lips back and laughs at you, the missile jerking wildly with the effort to stay trained on you despite the wielder’s convulsing frame.

“Oh~! Oh, that is rich!” it chortles, smirking maniacally down at you from twenty-something feet, “You’ll shoot, will you? You’ll shoot me with that little toy of yours?” You can see the guard dropping, there’s more movement behind you. You have to act now, before the other two monstrosities get the chance to intervene.

“This toy-!” you blunder, cutting shakily through the mocking laughter, “I-is an… um, a military… tactical… laser! It’ll blind you from fifty feet!” You have no idea if robots can be blinded. You have no idea why you’re bluffing like a gambler losing at poker. The torch, if anything, is about as bog-standard as it could possibly get. You know that.

But you’re hoping the robot doesn’t.

Apparently though, it does, judging by the fresh peal of laughter tumbling out of it and ricocheting around the mine chamber.

There’s a nervous hum of uncertainty from one of the kids - Jack, if you had to guess.

“Do you really think, human, that I don’t know a bluff when I hear one?” it remarks snidely, sweeping a slender claw beneath one of the red lights in a mocking rendition of someone wiping away a tear.

“You… you don’t believe me?!” you shout up at it, wedging your thumb underneath the switch and bracing every muscle in your body, praying that this works.

Splaying its free hand across what serves as a chest, it retorts, “Do you take me for a fool? Of course I don’t believe you!”

“Good!” you exclaim as a fresh cascade of adrenaline surges through your blood, shoulders aching with the effort of keeping them aimed up at the robot’s face which contorts from a smirk to a frown at your unexpected turnaround. “Then you won’t try to defend yourself when I do this-!”

On the final word, your thumb jams the switch into position, and a stalwart beam of light flies straight and true, crashing into the robot’s pale face and dousing those ominous red lights faster than you can blink.

The effect is as immediate as it is melodramatic.

The relatively quiet air of the cavern is suddenly ripped asunder by the robot’s jarring and unexpected screech of alarm. Reeling backwards, it wrenches its gangly arms up and flings them over its face, shielding itself from the little beam of your torch.

“MY OPTICS!”

You don’t stick around to see what happens next, all too aware that the same bluff never works twice.

The very instant that missile’s trajectory changes, you’re moving, aggressively stamping down on the instinct screaming at you to haul yourself to the far passage as fast as your legs can carry you.

There are three people who need to reach it first.

The front of Jack’s shirt is the first thing your fingers latch onto when you spin around and make a wild grab for one of the kids. His eyes are on stalks, bugging out of their sockets when you unceremoniously hurl him out in front of you and shove his back for good measure, shrieking at the top of your lungs, “RUN!”

He’s still getting his feet under him properly by the time you’ve snatched up Rafael’s wrist in one hand and Miko’s in the other, all the while chaos erupts around you when several-hundred tonnes of metal begins to move.

You almost wrench the poor kids out of their shoes as you take off, haring at breakneck speed towards the tunnel you’d come down like a fire has been lit under your heels.

----

Optimus has to admit, it isn’t very often that he can be surprised anymore, though he has noticed that the instances seem to be occurring with more and more frequency of late. That they happen to correlate with his arrival upon Earth is hardly coincidental, he’s sure.

Humans, as it stands, are just about the most pleasant surprise he’s come across in his extensive travels throughout the Galaxy, and there’s always something so refreshing about their ability to deliver.

Refreshing, yes. But somehow at the same time, spark-wrenchingly, tank-churningly alarming.

Even the Prime couldn’t predict that you’d resort to bluffing with a Decepticon, let alone that the bluff had actually worked, however briefly.

The only blessing he can latch onto is ‘thank Primus Starscream has never taken an interest in human electrical devices.’

Optimus had been waiting on the tips of his pedes for the opportunity to put himself between you and the Seeker, all he needed was an opening where he could be sure that missile wouldn’t be going off anywhere near you and the children… Easier said than done, of course.

Then, in a matter of moments, as Starscream lurches away from your ‘blinding’ beam of light and throws his arms up to defend his optics, the Prime finds himself mirroring Bulkhead’s astonishment. The pair of them gawk down at you as you take their youngest charges by the hands, drive Jack ahead of you and bolt for a tunnel across the cavern whilst your weapon of choice flickers weakly in the dust you leave behind.

However, Optimus doesn’t linger for long to marvel over your quick-thinking.

“I’m BLIND!” Starscream is shrieking, tearing his servos away from his optics and blinking down at them, faceplates screwed up in anguish, “YOU’VE BLINDED ME! YOU-!...”

Just like that, he goes utterly still, giving another series of rapid blinks as he flips his very-much-still-visible servos back and forth, wings slumping at the realisation. “Oh.”

Whatever relief he might have felt, accompanied by the swelling fury that he’d been a victim of blatant skulduggery is short-lived.

Motion from the corner of his optic alerts him just in the nick of time to Optimus Prime’s fist, hurtling on a collision course with his helm. Letting out a squawk, the Seeker barely manages to duck the first strike, feeling the air rush past his faceplates as he launches himself backwards, vying for some much-needed distance between himself and his adversaries, only for his efforts to fall flat when an even more devastating force catches him unawares.

With all the driving power of a siege engine, the Wrecker’s signature weapon buries itself into Starscream’s tanks. Hard.

“ACK-!” The garbled sound jumps unwillingly off his glossa, and he doubles over at once, yet still forces his pedes to scramble backwards, curling one arm around his stomach plating while the other flies up to aim his missile at the Prime, sweeping it back and forth in wild motions to ward them back.

To his shock, both of them fall still at once, glaring murderously down at him with their own weapons raised and cocked, but otherwise motionless. And there they stand, side by side; two bridling Autobots planted stoutly between himself and their fleeing pets.

Starscream’s denta grind together audibly, and he lets out a strangled growl, tanks roiling from the force of the hit.

He’s lost the upper-hand. Without the human meat-shields, he’s only too aware that he’s just lost any and all chance at getting something out of this. And to think, he’d been mere milliseconds away from calling in Megatron to inform him that his loyal and devoted Second In Command was holding Prime at gunpoint.

Bullet quite literally dodged, he concedes. Minor blessings.

It doesn’t escape his notice how the Autobots’ optics are locked onto his raised weapon, nor how they’d turned rigid at his flaunting of it.

And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, he realises why.

It isn’t the notion of his weapon firing at them that’s paused their advance.

It’s his weapon firing at all.

‘Of course,’ he comprehends with building anticipation, his processor firing rapidly as ideas cluster around inside it, ‘The mine…’

Structurally, Decepticon scouts had deemed it sound for the finer precision of their mining drills… but the impact blast from an uncontrolled detonation that targets one of the fundamental tunnels….?

Oh-ho! Now who has the upper hand?

A flash of movement between the Prime’s legs catches his attention, and he dares a glance through them to see the little pests making their escape. And there, leading the pack is the duplicitous human who cost him his advantage.

Starscream’s optics narrow as he tracks the humans’ path, noting their trajectory.

Perfect.

Whilst the Prime and his loyal hound are bodily blocking Starscream from taking aim at their humans, neither of them have apparently thought to cover the entrance to the tunnel those humans are currently sprinting towards…

He’ll have to be quick, so it’s a good thing he already knows which tunnel will lead him out of this doomed mine, and a jet’s speed is leagues ahead of the ground-crawling Autobots and their vastly inferior vehicle modes.

“Give it up, Screamer,” Bulkhead grinds out, shifting his weight restlessly from one pede to the other, “We have you outnumbered. And outgunned."

"So I see," the Seeker wheezes, painstakingly drawing himself to his full height once again and fixing his sights on the Autobot leader, “And there’s something else you have that I don’t.”

The line is cast, and to his unmitigated delight, Bulkhead takes the bait.

“Oh yeah?” the Wrecker grunts warily, glaring down the length of his poised weapon, “And what’s that?”

With a smirk plastered across his faceplate, Starscream angles his missile to Bulkhead’s left, relishing the twin looks of shock and realisation that spark in his adversaries' optics.

He grins, a fever coursing through his wires.

“Collateral,” he says, and fires.

#Transformers #transformers prime #tfp #Angel of Highway 49 #Woah #First time writing Starscream how'd I do?#Bulkhead #Optimus Prime #Starscream #Jack Darby #Miko Nakadai #Rafael Esquivel #Reader #Protective Optimus

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arinzeture · 3 months ago

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Two Years of President Ibrahim Traoré 🇧🇫: A Report Since Assuming Leadership of the Nation

1. Burkina Faso's GDP rose from around $18.8 billion to $22.1 billion.

2. He declıned loans from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank, stating, "Africa doesn’t need the World Bank, IMF, Europe, or America."

3. He cut the salaries of ministers and parliamentarians by 30% while raising civil servants' salaries by 50%.

4. He cleared Burkina Faso's domestic debts.

5. He established the country's first-ever tomato processing plants.

6. In 2023, he launched a modern gold mine to strengthen local processing capacity.

7. He halted the export of unrefined gold from Burkina Faso to Europę.

8. He constructed Burkina Faso’s second cotton processing plant, adding to the single existing one.

9. He inaugurated the National Support Center for Artisanal Cotton Processing, the first of its kind, to aid local cotton farmers.

10. He prohibited the use of Britısh legal wigs and gowns in local courts, replacing them with traditional Burkinabé attire.

11. He prioritized agriculture by distributing over 400 tractors, 239 tillers, 710 motor pumps, and 714 motorcycles to enhance production and support rural communities.

12. He facilitated access to improved seeds and other agricultural inputs to maximize farming yields.

13. Tomato production grew from 315,000 metric tonnes in 2022 to 360,000 metric tonnes in 2024.

14. Millet production increased from 907,000 metric tonnes in 2022 to 1.1 million metric tonnes in 2024.

15. Rice production rose from 280,000 metric tonnes in 2022 to 326,000 metric tonnes in 2024.

16. He bąnned French milıtary operations in Burkina Faso.

17. He prohıbited French media from operating in the country.

18. He expęlled French troops from Burkina Faso.

19. His government is building new roads, expanding existing ones, and converting gravel roads into paved surfaces.

#blacktumblr #black history #black liberation #african history #nodeinoblackbusiness #buy black #ibrahim traoré #burkina faso

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chaoticallywriting · 5 months ago

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Animals ⋋Chapter One⋌

A/N: Thank you to all the love that I've received over the prologue! I did change the name from Beastly to Animals for all those who may be confused. It just felt better. This will be updated every Saturday unless otherwise stated. As always, thank you so much to @blitzs-largest-horsiest-dildo for proof reading this for me <3

Pairing: Silco x Reader (eventual/slow burn), Viktor x reader (past/ex's)

Summary: Heartbroken and disgraced from your lifelong dream coming to a halt and the only person you've ever loved abandoning your scientific pursuit. You decide to turn towards a newfound Kingpin in the city you once called your home in hopes of making your dreams come true.

Warnings: Classism, arguing, theft, lack of self care, mentions of prostitution, mentions of nausea, mentions of teenagers operating bars, poverty

WC: 4.7

Before // After // AO3

So maybe in your haste to pack you might have stolen your shared savings that you had both stored away in a floorboard under your mattress. Maybe you were using said savings to get a cheap apartment in the Undercity and maybe you spent the first four days wallowing in bed while combating a nasty cold.

You were never the one to get sick, always tried to keep yourself healthy so you could watch over Viktor. Never stayed in the cold for long, always kept yourself warm, tried to eat regularly. You wonder how he is, if he's figured out it's over. If he's missing your fingers in his hair like you're missing his. Is he peering out at the nasty weather in your old apartment, wallowing as you are?

You'd shared goals with Viktor, or so you thought. You whispered them while you were meant to be sleeping as teenagers, after you moved in with him and his ailing mother. She worked doubles despite her horrid cough just so he wouldn't have to work and to thank her for letting you share a bed with him, you ended up working at some dodgy bar near the pier. Should a fifteen year old be pouring beer? Probably not in Piltover, but in the Undercity a job was a job, and if you were old enough to wipe your own ass then chances were you were old enough to do whatever brought in cash.

But those nights, the ones where your legs would tangle under the threadbare blanket on his bed due to the lack of room and his arm would wrap around you, that was when you'd whisper about your dreams. All you wanted was to make the Undercity a better place, and more specifically wished to clean out the water that the city got it's main food source from. The fish were as questionable as the air in the mines or the quality of light and so no one batted an eye if one of those bad boys had three extra fins or if the insides held a concerning green hue. If it didn't immediately kill you then it would only make you stronger. A motto used in many establishments.

The water was highly toxic, toxic enough that it made being a fisherman one of the most dangerous careers in the Undercity. Spending all day out in those oil slicked waters, fingers getting nicked from fish hooks and then soaked in the salty, polluted amalgamation Piltover tried to pass off as 'safe'. The life expectancy of a fisherman was short and children were told to be grateful your pops lasted as long as he did.

You were meant to clean the waters, and then use the money made from your purifier to fund the medical research needed to keep Viktor and so many other street rats alive. To clear their lungs of the pollution constantly swirling inside, embedding itself into the very lining of such a vital organ. But it's gone, all of it.

On the fifth day you finally get up and shower, you've been surviving off of stale crackers and slop from a food stall right outside your building. The lack of proper nutrition left you a bit nauseous and swaying lightly as you take the stairs down to the busy streets two at a time. From your brief time apartment hunting (if you can call taking the first place you found apartment hunting) you learned there had been a shift in power recently. While the infamous Vander hadn't necessarily in charge of the Undercity, he had helped keep it afloat.

Back when you had spoken to the landlord of this mold infested joint, he had offered you one of his cheap cigarette's. After quickly declining he had waddled over to the counter of your new kitchen and blown a puff of smoke into your face. His voice was raspy as he muttered to you about the recent happenings in the Lanes. "Now that new big shot's got some drug gettin' sold in the clubs and a' bars. Don't get hung up on that shit, I don't need any a' my tenants usin' rent money on some glowin' purple liquid."

"Big shot?" It had been years since you lived in the Undercity and they didn't exactly have a newspaper to help keep their citizens up to date on recent happenings. Word of mouth was the best you'd get, so you pried some more but all he had to offer was how a bunch of important people wound up dead a couple weeks ago. Roughly around the same time that big explosion happened at Jayce's apartment. Stupid fucking Hextech.

Now the Last Drop is under construction. You needed more information, and there were certain places in this city that got information faster and more accurately than anywhere else. One place in particular was so popular and high in demand that just about any half decent girl born in these slums had debated trying out for a spot on the staff just to get them off the streets. Babette's.

The Brothel had been around since before you were born and potentially before your own mother was born too. She had briefly worked there before meeting your dad and some of the older staff members had always been kind to you in passing. They made sure to treat the girls like family, so if you were related to one? Well then it was your lucky day.

It's early enough that the place is practically desolate, the front rooms near the entrance are empty, being cleaned by the back of house staff, and the sounds coming from nearby bedrooms are few and far between. You pass them all, heading straight for the office you had last gone into in order to say goodbye to the woman in charge. Now you're rapping your knuckles against the worn wood, nose scrunching as the intense fragrances of a nearby incense wafts over to you. The citrus scented smoke only serves to remind you of your lack of breakfast as your stomach almost turns.

A muffled, "come in," comes from a worn voice you'd recognize anywhere. You venture inside the office where an elderly Yordle sits behind a wooden desk that looks nicer than most pieces found in this city. A cigarillo is held between two of her fingers and the usually jovial expression seems replaced by something mournful. She's somehow aged ten years and somehow you know it must be because of the rumored deaths at the warehouse.

Her expression only softens upon spotting you, eyes saddening even further. The cigarillo gets dropped into a metal ash tray and suddenly she's up and walking towards you. "I thought you escaped."

So did you. All you can offer is a shrug and a watery smile that doesn't reach your eyes. Soon the yordle is beckoning you and you're bending over to hug her so tightly she might just pop like a balloon. But she doesn't, she only hugs you back.

"Oh honey, what happened? Did something happen to Viktor?"

His name only furthers your tears, causing cracks along the mental dam you've been building over the past few days. You grip at her lascivious robe, breaths coming out a little choked for a minute or two. Only a minute or two. You can't keep losing it, you won't let yourself. You got out of bed determined to fix this shit. Crying won't do anyone any good.

"He abandoned our research, found someone new with a shinier idea." Before you can stop yourself, you're confessing everything to her, sparing no details. You watch as her eyes begin to blaze when you mention getting tossed out like some kind of vermin. At this point she's managed to coax you into one of her arm chairs that reek of smoke and cheap perfume. She rings a bell for tea and some porridge, something hearty to help fill your empty stomach. Your exhaustion and poor self care must be obvious because she stirs in some honey to your porridge before handing it to you. Part of you wishes she had taken you in as a teenager instead of Milena and Viktor, maybe then your heart wouldn't feel like it's been split in two.

But Babette had known a brothel was no place for a teenager, despite the dubious ages of most of the working class in this city. Even if you'd just lived with her, you still would've been connected to this place, and she always said it'd drag you down if you stayed. Everyone thought you were too brilliant to be tied to this city, but now your here and he's up there.

"I heard," you say after swallowing a mouthful of hot porridge. Your tongue burns from it, but you find yourself barely caring. "That Vander died?"

There was a time when you were far younger, before the attempted revolution on the bridge, where it seemed most of the Undercity was finally a united front. There was still crime, still backstabbing, but it had become scarce among fellow street rats. Instead foreigners were targeted for pick pocketing and scams. Your dad had spoken a few times about secret meetings over oily boxes of Jericho's only for your mom to flick a clump of rice at his face in return. 'I won't become a widow just because you let some smooth talker convince you to become one of their soldiers.'

He'd grunt and pout the rest of the meal, pushing around his fried tentacles before little eleven year old you would dart for one of them. The mood would lift and all would be forgotten.

"Yeah, him and three of his kids. Rumor has it he's got the living one locked up somewhere. No one's seen her."

That's darker than you expected. Messed up shit happens all the time in the Fissures but it's still a shock, especially when there's kids involved. There was a time when there was so few that made it past the first couple months, before the filtration system had been put in place. Children were a rarity and teenagers were shocking. You were told stories of that dark time seeing as you were one of the few born right before the air ducts were built.

While you remained fine with lungs relatively untouched, the kids in your age group were sparse. Viktor wasn't as fortunate as you were, but you both had a theory that genetics also played a part in his misfortune. With his mother passing away from a common and supposedly incurable illness. Right now it was mainly just his leg and an occasional cough during winter, but that same cough is how it started for her.

"Listen, kid. . ." She relights her long forgotten cigarillo, smoke swirling through the room as the elderly mistress inhales deeply. Her fingers rub against the worn paper, lips pressing into a thin line. "If you can get back into Piltover, do it. Shit's changin' and I can't promise it's for the best."

She means well, she's only saying this because she cares. You try to remind yourself of this but you find yourself setting the half empty bowl down with a roll of your eyes. There's nothing left up there, nothing to go back to. You both destroyed your chances; him with you and you with… Well everything. You stole from him, destroyed academy equipment, and called those enforcers variety of colorful names. They probably laughed about you to their coworkers over drinks that night. Probably didn't care if you wound up dead after tossing you out like trash. You go up there and you lose your pride. Which is just about all you have left. You'd rather scrape your way through the underbelly of this city than lose that.

"Who's the big bad that's got everyone all scared?" With a lofted brow you pick up your chipped cup of tea that is mostly lukewarm. It has copious amounts of honey in it, just the way you like it. "I was born and raised here, I've dealt with Undercity assholes and Piltover assholes. You know how many guys I've fucked up from my days bar tending."

She stares into your eyes and you simply stare back as you sip your tea. Your stubbornness is something many hate, it's a trait you've been told to work on all your life. But your mom was stubborn just like you, and Babette always found it endearing. Until now, it seems, at least you think so. You aren't one of her girls, she can't frighten you with stern motherly love. So after a few beats, once your tea is almost gone, she finally speaks.

The new big shot (as your landlord dubbed him) is named Silco. An ex revolutionist who ran 'The Children of Zaun'. He helped organize the big bridge riot all those years ago and for some time he went quiet, licked his wounds, or well, according to Babette, his wound. "It's frightening, unnatural. Nothing is normal in this city but that reeks of the kind of shady dealings that'll get you in Stillwater."

He's responsible for all their deaths. Apparently some big fight happened at his old hideout, some abandoned factory. But that was blown to smithereens so he's taken his seat at his new throne. The Last Drop.

Most of the coziness has apparently already been torn away. Neon lights and some big addition to the back are being constructed. And the purple liquid Mr. Landlord mentioned? Babette calls it shimmer, well first she calls it bad news and then she specifies that it's actually called shimmer. Some new drug that tops all the others, that's dangerous beyond dangerous and yet-

"So he's a chemist?"

"I didn't say that, he's just the one distributing it. I don't think Silco could make shimmer himself. That wasn't his specialty."

You frown, calloused hands gripping your empty tea cup. "But he has to know who made it if he's distributing it. Which means he knows an extremely skilled chemist. At least if this stuff is as bad as you're saying."

She scoffs and slides off her chair. Her cigarillo has since burnt out and despite the fact that it's barely midday, she heads straight for her bar cart. She uncorks some bottle with a worn label on it, pouring herself a glass with her hunched back facing you. "It is bad, kid. The worst. I know you wanna make everything better but a guy like Silco will just destroy whatever it is. He's not a good guy anymore, not since the bridge."

"I'm not saying he's a good guy, Babette. I bet the chemist is an ass too. But my idea, it could make them millions and if you're telling me he once wanted to make this city a better place then-"

"Shimmer won't make this city better," she interjects. Her glass is already empty, so she fills it again. "He just wants power. Please , for once, listen to me."

The stroll you take around the docks does little to quell your thoughts. You have two options and both aren't looking so great. Option one, you listen to Babette and maybe get a job bar tending again to make ends meet. You try to scrape together the materials you need for your purifier and hopefully stumble across a biochemist worthy of helping with your project. If you don't manage either of those then you drink every bar in the Undercity into closure.

Option two, while far riskier, holds a much higher reward. You break your promise to Babette and find a way to talk to this Silco man. You manage to work alongside his biochemist and make your childhood home the thriving community you always envisioned. Whilst potentially only drinking one bar into closure.

If for some reason you can't convince the big bad one eyed monster, then either he kills you or you go back to option one. Which, in some ways, will most likely be worse than death. Giving up on your dream, scraping to get by, letting go of the last speck of joy in your life.

As you reach the end of a pier, the oil slick water comes into view. Swirls of pinks, greens, and yellows all float along the surface, looking like some kind of gorgeous painting that would be held in a pretentious gallery in Piltover. But it's not art, it's how your people live. It's what killed your father and continues to slowly kill so many others. A school of four eyed fish swim by, bodies swaying through the thickened waters.Hope flickers in your chest, a familiar flame that's felt doused in this tumultuous time. You can still make a difference.

Maybe by the time Babette finds out you broke your promise, your purifier could be done and she'd see that what you did was worth it. If not then, well, the Undercity is used to losing people. At this point the only person left who would even notice is the old Yordle herself. Your parents are dead and you sort of isolated yourself growing up. You'd clung to Viktor and stuck your nose up at others. Occasionally you'd let Skye come around but it always made your stomach twist with how she gazed at him. You know it's the same way you look looked at him. Like he hung the moon and painted the stars. Like you'd die if you didn't feel the brush of his lips against your own.

The taste of salt jars you and your shaking fingers brush against wet droplets gliding down your cheeks. Perhaps coming to the docks wasn't the best idea, it always made you feel sad, as reminders of your dad often did. Your heart is already so fragile right now. With a slight scrunch of your nose you aggressively wipe at your eyes and take a deep breath. The salty ocean air offers a slight change of pace from the Undercity's smokey streets and the stifling halls of the academy. You welcome it, even as the slight burn from the pollution clings to your throat.

You can't let others hold you back anymore, not Viktor or Babette. You know she means well but you need this like you need air. This idea is all you have and you cling to it like some fiend desperate for their next fix. It's not worth living if you can't have this, perhaps you could have been placated with a simple life in the shadows, if you had him with you.

But you don't.

Your feet carry you back to your shoddy fourth floor walk up apartment as you think of how you need to make this work. The idea of turning the Undercity into a better place with your invention and ideas not only thrills you because of the positive change that would come of it but because it would feel like the perfect revenge. A middle finger to your ex, a way to shove in his face everything he gave up.

Moving quickly, you shove everything you need back into your bag before rushing off once more with a slam of your door. You almost forget to lock it in your haste for your destination. Just like you almost miss the last step of the stairs or how you continuously bump into others as you race through the streets. This is the most invigorated you've felt in weeks, even before the breakup. Viktor had been coming home later and spending less time in the lab, and it had made you feel invisible, like your work meant nothing. But right now as your boots smack against uneven cobblestone your heart races with that same feeling you get right before you solve an equation. Like that last puzzle piece has finally been found.

So Babette will never know of you standing in front of the Last Drop as construction workers wrap rope around a metal beam and use a pulley system to lift it up into the air. She'll never know of you gripping your bag that's full of paper and journals and your metal model. Babette will think you're at home, wallowing as you told her you would be. Crying over a broken heart instead of marching past two frightening looking men that stand on either side of the double doors. Shoving Jericho's into your mouth instead of side stepping piles of building materials and loose nails.

Maybe she thinks you'll go looking for a cat to suffocate with all your sadness, not sliding up to the bar where some lanky kid is pouring over blueprints. "Hi," you say as you totally don't break your promise to Babette.

The guy, who couldn't be older than maybe seventeen, jerks his head full of greasy hair up to you. His eyes shoot up to his brows, lips smacking before stuttering out "oh we aren't open yet! Uh, if you're here for the lunch delivery you just leave the food at that booth over there." He shoves his pencil in the direction of the booth, waggling it for emphasis.

You just shake your head, fingers tapping against the sawdust covered bar. "I'm here to see Silco."

His face reminds you of a fish fresh from being caught. Right after your dad would pull the hook from their mouth, they'd just sort of gape at you. This must be his first job, you can't recall being this nervous at the bar but then again, that felt like eons ago. The sounds of construction from outside fill the awkward silence that follows, sawmills, hammering, curse words and shouts. The usual.

"Is he here?…"

"No one is allowed to go see him. He's busy."

"I get that, but I've got something he might wanna see."

For all his awkwardness he finally regains some semblance of normalcy, at least the kind of normalcy you'd see on any other kid. He drops the pencil onto the counter that is littered in papers and blue prints and shakes his head, letting out a deep huff.

"He'll be mad if I interrupt him. I'm sorry. Maybe uh, mention it to the guys by the door and they can tell him you came by. They actually talk to him . . . Sometimes. I've never talked to him. Or seen him, I just bring the contractors whatever they ask fo- Oh shit they asked me for these blueprints!" He scrambles to grab fistfuls of the paper, pencil clattering to the floor and suddenly he's off.

Leaving you alone. In the building that Silco is supposedly in. Hmm, your feet drag you towards a cramped looking staircase to the left of the bar. The mezzanine above is small, just shoddy wooden railing, maybe five steps and then a door. To the left you can hear construction just past the wall, this must be where they plan to expand. You wonder what's included in this grand idea of his, maybe a special murder room? The way Babette spoke of him he sounds like he'd want a place to beat up innocent people.

Only one more obstacle. There's another beefy guy in front of this door. He's not all nervous and unsure like the kid below, instead he's standing with his chest puffed out and his hands clasped in front of him. He's got a gun strapped to his waist and arms the size of your head. You aren't a fighter, you're a scientist, an engineer to be specific. You can throw a decent punch when it comes to handsy drunkards but a professional? Yeah, that's not happening.

"Get out," his voice is gruff, very stereotypical of a big scary guard. Maybe you'll get to keep your promise to Babette after all. I mean you can't break it if you never even managed to see him. But still, you step forward and let out a deep, shaky sigh.

You take another hesitant step forward. "Look I'm not a threat, you can literally stand directly behind me the whole time if you'd like. I just really need to see this guy."

"No."

Your shoulders slump, eyes beginning to burn. You just need a win. If you don't get a win soon then surely you'll combust into a million tiny shard of despair. Maybe that's what causes you to blurt out your words, voice a little louder than intended as you swing your arms about for emphasis.

"I don't know who you are, I barely know who this guy is but I do know that people say he used to want to change this place for the better and I-" you swing your bag around, hastily opening the flap and rip out a handful of crumpled notes. In your haste to grab the papers you hadn't noticed the guard withdraw his gun but you see it once you look up. Your hands shake, voice wavering. "I have this brilliant idea, something that can help. So if you just let me in."

He doesn't move, gun still pointed at you. He cocks a bow, so you wave your hands. Gods if you could see yourself a week ago you would have laughed. You're about to cry in front of this stranger while brandishing your research papers and blueprints at him. You probably look insane. Maybe those blue bellies were right.

"Just let me in! This is revolutionary, it's something he'll want to back if all the rumors are true!"

The guard shoves his gun back into his holster, but your excitement is short lived as he walks over to you. Rough hands grab your waist and you begin to wiggle in his grasp. Strange men need to stop manhandling you and you need to invest in some knives so this doesn't happen again.

Your hands smack against his back as he tosses you over his shoulder, papers clutched tightly in your fist. "Let me go! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" You bark at him, "How fucking dare you, How fucking dare all you fucking me-"

"Egor, set the loud woman down." From the way you're being held you can't see who said that, but their voice is smooth and masculine. It runs down your spine like honey slowly running down the handle of a teaspoon. The brute of a man slowly sets you down, his emotionless eyes staring down at you before he steps aside to let you through. "Thank you."

As you finally lay eyes on the talk of the city, you get what Babette meant earlier when she'd referred to Silco's wound. Before you is a tall, lithe man who holds himself with a certain confident air. His sharp face has two very different and very striking eyes; one sea green, kind of the like the foam that bubbles over the water sometimes, and the other bright orange, like a flame.

The orange one is surrounded in inky blackness and you find yourself wishing to ask how he managed that. It's got to be something with medicine or drugs or a procedure because well, people don't just develop literal black eyes. But even then his impressive eyes aren't the only striking feature. High cheekbones, a strong nose and sharp jaw- he looks almost aristocratic. Like he's to good for street rats like you.

"I'm not usually loud," you utter after a few beats of silence. Silence spent with him looking you over as you gawked at this strange and yet powerful man. You wouldn't have needed to hear all the gossip to know it either, not with how he holds himself. Power and control rolls off him in waves and sort of sucks you in. "I'm just desperate."

"Desperation tends to lead towards mistakes."

His eyes rake over you once more before lingering on your hands which are still white knuckling disorganized research papers and notes. You slightly loosen your hold and in the overwhelming silence you can hear the slight crinkle from them.

"Can't make mistakes if you've got nothing to lose."

His lips, narrow with a defined cupids bow, slightly quirk to the right at your words. "Even more dangerous if you have nothing left."

Despite his words Silco steps to the side, uttering "come in." You find yourself quickly obeying and your heart begins to race once more. As you step over the threshold something feels final, your boots press against the floorboards and some kind of line has been crossed. You don't know what or how but something drastic is about to happen.

And then the door clicks shut.

Taglist : @soniiyi @galactic-magick @adsky4 @alexandra-001 @drpepper280 @mac-and-cheese21 @watasinekoru @anthy-j-ander @fudosl (if your name is struck through than it would not let me tag you! You may need to check your settings)

#arcane #silco #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x oc #silco arcane #arcane x you #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #that's my queue

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arknights-imagines · 14 days ago

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Welcome back Exe and happy anniversary to your blog! Thanks for creating the event, I'm looking forward to seeing what operators the others request! As for mine, could we see Lumen and the ribbon being tied on his finger (you can choose between pinky or engagement ring finger 😉, either would be really cute!).

Hiya there anon!! 🥹🫶 Tysm for your ask and for participating in the Pink Ribbon event!! 💕🎀

Anywho... First things first... So!! LUMEN won the fish battle lmaoaojsiss!! 😭🥹 So here he is sbshhss!! (Ulpainus up next then! Unless I get sudden inspiration for someone else lmaosjskjs)

And anon, OFC you can tie a ribbon around Lumen’s finger 🤲🎀 (I picked pinky... Just because sbjshs I think Lumen might just outright faint if you tied it around his ring finger loosmsosjks 😭🥹⚰️)

This is my first time writing for the guppy... I hope I did him justice aaagaha 🥹🙏 I know he's v v beloved!! And he's one of my favourites too omg 🫶

Anon and everyone else, please enjoy aaa 💘

Lumen's Pinky Finger!

A pink ribbon, dainty and sweet; now where, dear anon, shall it become a bow?

[a total of 10 ribbons have been made a bow!]

A dainty ribbon - colour reminding him of the streaks that paint over the horizon line in the earliest hours of the morning, softness reminding him of the sea breeze’s caress - ties around Lumen’s smallest finger, the pink bow sat at the base of his pinkie in mimic of a ring.

He watches you fuss at the wings and tail of the bow, curiosity brightening tangerine eyes, “A ribbon? Is this-- it’s for me? Please, if this is another promotion medal of sorts, I haven’t achieved anythi--” Your explanation, piped out casually without you even looking up from your task, halts his words - and his breathing, and his ability to think.

Near immediately, the Ægir’s eyes widen, his lips fall agape, and colour floods his face until his freckled cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears match his new accessory.

“No, no-- my love, I can't accept this…” Guilt roughs across his expression, furrowing his brows and tugging his lips into a frown, while his head shakes vehemently, “This is... it’s far too much for someone like me!” His free hand catches your wrist - gently, never has there been a moment his touch has placed upon you otherwise - in order to halt you from pulling your hand away after you finish securing the ribbon, “I’m not nearly worthy enough for your affections to begin with, much less a symbol of them…”

Your responding pout is theatrical, Lumen is aware of this. Before you, however, his heart seizes control over him - and it aches at even the smallest of your frowns.

The need to provide solace is inexorable within him. His hands are cradling your face before he even realizes, the ribbon soft against your jawline as his thumbs stroke in soothing motions, “Please, my shine, you don’t need to look so dejected.” His panic causes his Iberian accent to thicken on his words now, “I’m not refusing it out of rejection, I would never! You know I….I…”

Before his face burns off completely or he chokes up on pieces of words, the Ægir snaps his jaws shut with a tiny whine in his throat. His brows furrow and his lips tug into a guilty frown, before a conceding exhale leaves him, “Fine, my love. I’ll accept it.”

Your pout upturns into a shining smile instantly, and the tightness in his expression melts, eyes softening and the pink flush returning to his cheeks - as his heart eases in his chest once more. Though his gaze shies yours, fixed to the pink bow upon his smallest finger, a grin tugs at his own lips, “But, please don’t dedicate things representing such great value to me again. My heart’s not strong enough for it.”

Lumen’s hands remain on your cheeks still, and his touch somehow gentles more - any less pressure, and his touch will be hovering over your skin rather than touching it - as he tilts your head upward. Tangerine eyes linger on his ribbon-adorned finger, before they find yours finally, and with what will he can muster, he locks your gazes together as his head begins to bow. Slowly, always so slowly, offering as many opportunities as possible for you to pull away, his forehead lowers to rest against yours, “I…I promise to treasure it. Thank you, my love. Truly.”

You watch as his freckles become prominent against burning scarlet cheeks, the red especially clashing against the navy hair framing his face; at your chiming giggle, the Ægir mumbles a ‘please, have mercy on me’ and tucks his face away into your shoulder, gentle touch lifting from your cheeks to settle on your waist as he folds inward.

“There’s no need at all for any tokens or gifts…” His voice is muffled against your skin where his scorching cheeks press and his wispy hair tickles. The hand adorned with the ribbon lifts slightly behind your back, then his head tilts upward enough for his gaze to peek at it - and against the curve of your neck, you feel Jordi’s lips curl into a timid grin, “My shine, that someone as precious as you would stand by side at all…is already like a dream come true.”

NOW PLAYING: Let The Light In - Lana Del Rey: 'Cause I love, to love, to love, to love you / I hate to hate, to hate, to hate you

#The sweetest guppy shsjshjs.... Jordi!! Please know how many AK fans love you aabsjshhs 🥹🫶#also... I definitely headcanon that his accent comes out when he's extra panicked or flustered sbshsbs 🥹🫶#arknights #arknights imagines #arknights x reader #arknights lumen #lumen arknights #jordi fontanarossa #inbox #exe's events arknights imagines pink ribbon event #arknights fanfics #x reader

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lets-try-some-writing · 8 months ago

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Final Respects

Smokescreen was set to aid Optimus Prime in reviewing an abandoned Decepticon mine. He imagined it was largely going to be guard duty. Instead, he found his views of the dead challenged by his idol.

Previous Smokey related thing can be found here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Optimus, what are we doing here?" Smokescreen walked a few feet behind his Prime, observing the abandoned battlefield quietly. The Decepticons had fled long ago, leaving behind only their useless mining excess and the bodies of the Vehicons who were killed in the fight for the mine less than an hour prior.

"We are here to offer the dead their final respects." The Prime answered quietly, almost solemnly. He didn't pause in his steps, instead marching through the rubble and into the mine to assess the damage. Smokescreen followed without question, his gaze falling upon the abandoned furnaces and strip mining tunnels just inside. The Decepticons weren't trying very hard to hide this particular operation.

"Why? They are Decepticons-" Smokescreen attempted to voice his concerns, but Optimus silenced him with a weary sigh and by halting his steps.

"Smokescreen, I lived before factions were even a murmur on the wind. Many of these soldiers were born into this role. They had no choice in the matter." The Prime gestured to the devestation, the bodies strewn in and out of the mine. Smokescreen followed his gaze, but he didn't find his spark swelling with any kind of pity. He saw the badges and the masks. They were Vehicons. Not Autobots or civilians.

"Still doesn't change the fact that they are enemies." He tried to state his objection to this whole mess, but Smokescreen found his voice came out weak and uncertain. Under Optimus's gaze, he felt like a sparkling being schooled after having stolen from a store.

"Neither does it disregard the fact that each and every one of these Vehicons were forged Cybertronian." There was a certain undertone of sterility to Optimus's glyphs that made Smokescreen want to vanish into the ground. But he managed to reset his vocalizer as he looked at all the bodies again. What was the point of it all? Why give funeral rites to enemy soldiers when energon was already scarce and they were so overworked?

"I don't get it. Why waste energy on Vehicons? I mean, I'd get it if they were alive, but they are obviously offline." Again, Optimus sighed. Smokescreen felt like even more of a discrace to his non-existent bloodline as he watched the Prime rub his face and then gesture between them both.

"If your comrade fell in battle, would you honor him?" The question hung in the air mockingly for a moment. Smokescreen took the chance to contemplate whether or not it was meant to be a trick question as he nodded.

"Of course. Autobots stick together, especially a soldier who goes down for the cause." Touching his badge, Smokescreen showed it off with an expression of uncertainty. Optimus remained as composed as ever as he fired back with another inquiry.

"What about a civilian? A neutral caught in the crossfire." Smokescreen hesitated a bit longer with his response. He was not liking where this line of questioning was going.

"Sure, I mean they didn't do anything wrong." He almost grumbled but fought back the response as Optimus's optics cycled, as if preparing to land the killing blow. In their verbal spar, he might as well have been as he again gestured to the dead around them.

"Then what sets a Decepticon apart from an Autobot or a neutral? Why are they unworthy of a funeral?" There it was. Smokescreen actively winced as he found his worldview attacked. His drill sargent always said to see the enemy before the mech. It would make shooting them down easier.

It wasn't exactly fun to have to consider things from a moral perspective.

"They are the enemy. It's not a good use of resources to give them funeral rites." Not really wanting to deal with the emotions involved in dealing with the dead, Smokescreen opted for logic. Optimus, however, didn't seem very inclined toward it as he knelt beside the nearest Vehicon, removing the mech's mask to show a face frozen in terror.

Smokescreen was unable to stop himself from grimacing.

"I understand that being raised in a time of war has made seeing our people as one unit effectively impossible. But I would implore you to look beyond the badges of your fellows." Optimus reached out, tenderly closing the optics of the dead mech before carrying it over to the nearest furnace and laying the Vehicon's body inside.

"They have faces." He picked up more bodies, always taking care to remove the mask in order to assess each and every face. Some were relatively peaceful, as if they'd expected their end. Others were forever stuck in a state of horror or pain. A few select ones even seemed sad, with dried tearstains on their faces. Optimus wiped the marks away from those fallen bots, his expression solemn but not unkind.

Smokescreen felt sick to his tanks.

"They have names." As if to rub rust in the wound, Optimus held up a Vehicon's arm before he gathered up the body. Smokescreen was met with the sight of numbers burned into the mech's very plating, a designation in a sense. He couldn't help how his spark clenched in its chamber at the sight. They weren't proper names, but these mechs still had something.

"They have sparks." Optimus gathered up more of the bodies, showing the ones with torn chassis plating so reveal their cold and lightless spark chambers. It really shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. But seeing the dead be so empty… it made something instinctual in Smokescreen recoil.

"Look at them and tell me once more that they do not deserve to be given their final rites." Optimus's voice rang out as he continued to move bodies into the furnace, his tone neither harsh nor particularly soothing. He was teaching Smokescreen a lesson, one which he was not enjoying all that much.

"They carry scars just like we do." Optimus held a body in his arms, one mutilated from battle and the explosion that killed them. Smokescreen's devotion to his viewpoint faded futher and further with every motion the Prime made.

"They had wants and wishes just like every other living being." As the last body was loaded into the furnace, Optimus came up and clasped Smokescreen's shoulder, breaking him from his reverie. He should have been helping… and yet here he was. Rethinking life or something like that.

"No matter which side they stand on, they deserve to be laid to rest. If only to honor the lives they could have lived if they were not cut short." With that, Optimus moved away to start a fire. Smokescreen wasn't paying much attention to the whole affair. His focus was on Optimus and the machinery he was forcing back into functionality to get the fires burning.

"Why'd you pick me to help with this?" He found himself murmuring as the flames began to rise up, covering the bodies in the furnace. He wasn't doing much on the helping front, but he couldn't help but wonder why he was shown this at all. Logically, he assumed it was for the sake of learning a lesson. But why bother? He was just a rookie.

"Because you are the only one who has not yet seen the horrors of war as we have. I wanted to teach you to honor your enemy before you grew too bitter to see them as kin." Optimus moved away from the furnace to stand by Smokescreen's side. They both watched the bodies start to melt under the intense heat, metal and internal components turning into liquid that would soon be mostly useless to any organic who came across it. Without protomatter or energon, cybertronian steel was only somewhat stronger than human metals.

The dead would not be able to be used as a weapon.

"Records from the archive said that traditional rites would have the dead be turned back into parts for the living, or used as sentio metallico for a newbuild." Smokescreen spoke up softly, voicing the old information that came to the front of his memory banks. Optimus hummed beside him, his optics trained on the flames.

"Normally, that would be the case." Looking up at him, the Prime seemed so very tired. His optics held depth that was impossible to fully comprehend, but within the haze of age old knowledge, there was what Smokescreen could only assume was grief. How Optimus managed to care for so many mecha after so long being embroiled in war was behind him.

"But on this foreign world, in a place so far from our home… it is safer to destroy that which we cannot salvage. That way, no others may use the bodies of our dead to create more devestation." Optimus's response was not heavy, although there was a not of regret in his tone. Somehow, it made Smokescreen's spark pang in sorrow. He couldn't imagine being left as a pile of slag on a foriegn world, forgotten to everyone.

"That's… really sad. It almost feels wrong to just have them all burned up like this." Every part of his training screamed at him, demanding Smokescreen return to the mind of a soldier and witness his foes for what they were. But seeing the bodies burn? He just… couldn't do it. It was not an honorable end. Burned up into liquid metal and left to clump and become soiled on a world that was not their own.

It wasn't right.

"And now you see the worth of a life, Smokescreen." Optimus's voice was little more than a murmur, but Smokescreen caught it anyway. He said nothing else as they watched the flames, waiting until everything was fully melted before dousing the flames. Once they were done, they exited the mine, at which point Optimus shot at the entrance until it collapsed.

Smokescreen winced as dust and rubble rushed past him, but again, he said nothing. What a sad way to die. A mere number, then abandoned in a slagging mine of all places. As much as it bothered him to admit it… not even Decepticon deserved to be forgotten.

"We honor our dead as best as we can, but in the end, we are still at war." Optimus's servo fell upon his shoulder, heavy and comforting all at once. Smokescreen could faintly hear the ground bridge opening behind them, but he couldn't help but stare at the collapsed mine for a little while longer. Part of him wondered, distantly, what the world would have looked like if there hadn't been a war. Would he have known any of those Vehicons?

Slag, Optimus had a way of making him rethink his entire life's purpose.

"Guard the living, remember the dead. Honor the fallen, and fight in their names. That is all we can do to ensure we do not lose ourselves in the haze of eternal conflict." The Prime's commentary was grim, but it was not without wisdom. Smokescreen could only sigh in response, his vents fluttering as he watched for a moment, and then turned to follow Optimus back through the ground bridge.

No one deserved to be forgotten.

Not even enemies.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #smokescreen #vehicons #short fanfic #go smokey go #get you some morals

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cosmicretreat · 1 month ago

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Trump’s “Big Beautiful Bill” isn’t just about tax cuts it quietly guts federal protections and reshapes entire agencies. Here’s what’s buried inside:

Closure of the U.S. Department of Education

25% expansion of logging in national forests, bypassing environmental reviews and fast-tracking timber production

Rollbacks on clean energy incentives, cutting tax credits for EVs and renewables, gutting key climate provisions

More public lands opened up for drilling, mining, and logging, with royalty breaks for fossil fuel companies

Withdrawal from the Paris Agreement, ending U.S. participation in global climate efforts

Executive Order 14215, forcing independent federal agencies to follow White House legal interpretations and centralizing authority under the presidency

Pension changes for federal workers hired before 2014, cutting take-home pay by raising required contributions, reducing future payouts, and eliminating early retirement supplements

REINS Act-style regulation repeal, where major federal rules expire unless Congress re-approves them every 5 years allowing Trump to quietly erase protections without rewriting laws

Expanded executive control over agency budgets, allowing the White House to move federal funds internally without explicit congressional approval

Restoration of impoundment powers, giving Trump the ability to block or delay spending already passed by Congress reviving powers stripped after Watergate

Creation of the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), placing White House–aligned teams inside every federal agency with access to internal systems and influence over hiring and daily operations

Sharp cuts in regulatory enforcement, with agencies like the EPA, CFPB, and Labor and Transportation Departments halting enforcement of key safety, environmental, and anti-discrimination rules

Trump’s personal control over economic policy, strengthening his power to direct tariffs, pressure private companies, and dictate pricing with little resistance treating the U.S. economy like his own business This bill isn’t just “big.” It’s a roadmap for dismantling oversight, hollowing out federal protections, and handing Trump sweeping, unchecked control. Read the fine print.

By Alt National Park Service (as shared on FB)

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accidentwithapen · 6 months ago

Text

Ok reminder that i mainly do the art thing and. not writing. im sorry or thank you or whatever you feel like heres some gigs in space au 🙏🙏

context: takes place in the very beginning of the story right before Impulse joins the crew

---

It should go without saying: Grian isn't some kind of track star. Which is why he really shouldn't have poked the beast that halted the galaxy's largest mining operation- because now it was time to run.

A thunderous roar tore through the halls and Grian paid close attention to the sound and the time between the echoes it created- this thing was close. Ducking behind pillars and leaping across dips in the rocky cave floor, Grian spotted a gap in the wall that he just might be able to squeeze through. He sprinted to the hiding spot- dropping small scanners along his path as he went- and caught his breath.

"Skizz do you read me? I've got the sensors in place. I need someone to lure it down so I can get out."

His communicator crackled in response, and the voice on the other end hesitated.

"Yeah- no can do G. Im still working on cracking this old mine system and Scarface here wont be moving any time soon."

A second voice, a bit fainter this time, cut in with obstinance. "I can't get these stupid legs working!! Every time I put weight on them, they crumble like a sack of potatoes."

Grian huffed. All the people in that stupid prison and he was stuck with these two idiots. Just his luck. There was no other way, he was gonna have to loop this thing around the room to clear his exit.

"Remind me when I get back there to kill you guys and then kill you again."

"Copy that"

The beast roared again, a deep and gargling sound that sent chills down Grian's spine. He peeked around the corner once more, mapping his route around the central pillar. The cave walls around him shuddered with the beating of the creatures feet (hooves? He really didnt know.) and Grian held his hand up against the receiver in his ear.

"Alright, I'm gonna count to three and this thing is going to follow me through to the scanners. I cannot emphasize enough that this is a crazy plan and in my obituary I want it clear that I did not agree to this"

The voice on the other line, explicitly ignoring the second half of Grian's communique, dutifully replied.

"Sensors are prepped for scan. Ready when you are, G-note."

"Here goes nothing," Grian clenched and unclenched his fists as he got ready to run again. A life of delinquence and petty crime and this. this is what takes him out.

"One.. Two..."

He hated this part.

"Three!"

#gigs in space #hermitblr #mcytblr #trafficblr #hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #grian #skizzleman #please forgive my writing i beg #hermitfic

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just-some-friendly-fun · 6 months ago

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✦ ꜱᴏɴɢʙɪʀᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇꜱ

: ̗̀➛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1: ᴀ ɢʟɪɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜɴʟɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋꜱ

current, next chapt

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: News often travels fast within the energon mines between every miner. It's become a personal community of sorts. So when news catches wind of a new figure in the mines, D-16 ends up being the last to find out about this matter. And much to his surprise, D-16 comes face to face with the new bot!

■ ᴛᴀɢꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Cursing, brief mentions of death, pre-exile/pre-canon, oc x canon

✎ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4,972

ׂ╰┈➤ A/N (if needed): Helloo, so with this there might be some inaccuracies? Maybe? It's more of just language-wise and term-usage. I think I might js bounce back and forth with using cybertronian and just standard English-terms for things. I don't want my readers to be bouncing back and forth on the transformers dictionary constantly as much as I did 😭. ALSO, you do NOT understand how many times I had to watch the movie to check how accurate I was on their MINING??? Anyways, enjoy <33

▶︎ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴄᴄᴀʙᴇᴇꜱ

D-16 considered himself to be one of the more well-informed bots down in the lower sectors when it came to information.

Sometimes.

That is, if you consider the conveniency of how close he accidentally ends up being to one of his fellow peer or two when they've begun to spun up a little rumor-- that just happens to catch his interest, even if a little.

Whether it'd be mentions of a collapsed tunnel, the loss of another miner to said-collapsed tunnels, someone getting promoted--fired--hired, anything really. He'll have heard it, just as much as anybody else had in the operations below ground.

Information was as valuable as it was freely given sometimes, unconditionally--to the ones who humbled themselves as the "non-nosy" type and those who drank every word to the slightest sliver of the news temporarily unheard.

Someone would say something and suddenly, everybody down in every sector would know about that--something.

There wasn't really much to blame though with how rapid news spread about down in the mining operations.

None of the miners really went up to the upper levels, much less to be around in Iacon City, if at all--save face for a few, or if special arrangements and events were being taken place that allowed for the low-caste bots and miners to attend too.

But generally, heading up to the upper sectors was... Almost a privilege in a way. Visits up to the top, were rare and few. Some of the miners he'd known for most of his life cycle had only been outside of the mines solely for work-related measures, and even then it was brief--save space for Orion who'd disappear occasionally to chase after something that'd reprieve his boredom.

Naturally, the question on whether--"is this necessary and/or contributing to work?"--was constantly hardwired into their processor to think on every waking act. And if it wasn't?--Whatever action or initiative was going on should be promptly halted, work in the mines must always come first, that was simply just protocol. (Even if unsavory and neglecting of their own personal wishes and wants to see the floors above, ones devoid of the same faces of work peers, rocks, lifeless machines churning away at the belts, and ore-filled carts.)

So to hear of information often revolving around the mining operations was a rather common practice rather than to hear about anything up on the above ground level, lest it came in the form of a live transmission from Sentinel Prime himself.

And besides, whatever happens in the mines usually stayed down in the mines only, for better or for worse.

Not that anybody from the above ground level cared to pay much of a mind what happens down below, so long as every bot got their energon. They don't bother to ask how the process is done, it's only when do they get it and whether they can at all.

D-16 grunted, his tool struck against the stone, and sparks decorated the space that surrounded. His drill began to pummel its way through the stone in search of ore. The chisel of his drill ate away at the rubble, carving into it and demanding for its very own passage around the designated space until all that came loose in the end was am energon ore, raw and yet to be refined. The jackhammer he bore slowly came to a halt, a soft hiss escaping with his sigh of relief. it was slowly resorting to an idle position once his digits came free from the trigger. He reached forth to collect the bounty, nudging aside loose pebbles and dust to pluck up the cube and examine it.

It was fairly sized, small if anything but it would do. Anything to count for his fair share of the workload... And most of Orion's, as D-16 swept his helm left and right and even spun around to search for the bot but when his eyes scanned no sight of the familiar red and blue mech (even under the darkness of the cave). D-16's optics dimmed in realization that his mining buddy had fled off elsewhere for the time being to avoid the work shift for now, making a mental countdown on how long it'd take before he'd get his skid-plate hauled back into line. It'd been the fourth sudden take-off this month alone.

D-16 started to walk back and lazily chucked his ore in with the rest within the cart, an audible clatter resounded before the pile welcomed the new piece. The mech circled on back to where he first found the ore, burrowing through more of the space in hopes that one small pebble could lead to a bigger vein within.

. . .

Hours had gone by since his grueling search and so far, D-16 had only managed to find two underwhelming veins that lead to a moderate sized deposit. It was easily cleared out and thrown to the rest within the pile, that was now being pushed right back up to the entrance of the opened channel. He grunted and took to the rear position, having denied the initial assistance from most of the other miners to haul the load back to the entry point for refining.

Despite the heavy weight of the energon, there was also the weight of pride that lingered in his chassis somewhere. In his processor, he knew well that the heavier the cart, the more efficient and productive he'd been today! Which... Sparked some form of happiness in his endeavors, a trickling taste of enthusiasm for the day's accomplishment that would lead him to getting promoted, hopefully... One day, but it was a thought, nonetheless.

D-16 would tell himself the same thing day in and day out, punch in, get as much work done, refuel, and then hit recharge, wake up, repeat, and eventually it'll have been all worth it for something. Whether it was a shiny pin and a promotion to the upper levels, or mere praise from his supervisors (which came very rare to nobody's surprise). It gave him something to work hard for--motivation--an incentive, and with Sentinel Prime's constant emphasis in the importance of their work as miners, it gave him a sliver of motivation. (And perhaps it left D-16 exploring on the dream that maybe one day, he'd be able to hear Sentinel Prime say it himself to D-16 on how proud they were, personally, for his work. His efforts alone. It was a far-fetched idea, but an idea he entertained--embarrassingly than once but he'd never let that secret touch daylight).

It was a thankless job, but through the thick of it, D-16 had to persist. For Iacon, he thought, and if not, for Cybertron.

Soon enough, the cart managed to reach the open entry point and he raised his helm once the cart was taken off of his servos to be guided onto the conveyer belt, a quick "thank you" exchanged here and there. Before he turned around, ready to dive back into the channels until the sounds of a virtual beeping came overhead, and an intermission crackled from the speakers, "All mining units, cease operations. You've got an hour of intermission, refuel, recharge, and then return to work," a gruff voice resounded, before a crackle emitted as the intermission promptly ended with no further regard.

A symphony of relieved sighs could be heard once the announcement ended, and then, a steady line of miners began to pour from the open maw of the tunnels, flying on and marching out in rows. Steady and idle chatter began whilst D-16's shoulders drooped, he'd hoped to had gotten in one more round back in the tunnels but, a break was a break and who was he to deny to that?

After all, with the audible creak that came from his stiff joints and the tension in his wires. D-16 thought it would do him some good to begin some self-maintenance, and refueling sounded quite appealing at the moment.

His yellow optics searched for Orion Pax amidst the traveling sea of helms and workers departing as he slowly merged into one of the lanes, loosely calling out in hopes that the mech had returned from his endeavors, "Orion! Orion where are you??"

No response, yet.

Determined, D-16 continued to pass through the walls and lines of moving bodies, "S'cuse me... Pardon me... I'm so sorry-" Left, right, behind, was where he whipped his helm nearly spinning it while, gently pushing his way through to find his companion, monitoring through the waves that slowly diminished and began to sift itself out as workers broke off to go to their recharging stations, refueling hubs, or anywhere else really. He couldn't care less at the moment, more eager to find Orion Pax at the moment, so long as he hadn't already ran off to indulge in another one of his personal escapades.

He carefully navigated his way through the crowd, keeping his audial receptors and optics peeled for just one particular red and blue bot, picking up most of the conversations here and there:

"... Hey did you hear? There's a new bot down in the mines..."

"... Really? Is it a new miner?... Or just some lame old boss bot like Darkwing?..."

"... Shhh, careful. He might j'st be right behind ya..."

"... Heard she's not from Iacon..."

"... I don't even think she's meant to be down here..."

"... Who'd want to come down to a place like this? Must'a gotten some sort of malfunction up in their processor to-"

Suddenly, something clapped onto his shoulder-plates and pulled him back abruptly, the audible clang nearly ringing into his audial receptors, startling D-16 from his focus as he appeared to have gotten himself too focused on the passing current of whispers, reeling back to reality. The catch of rumors stowed away into the back of his processor. D-16 staggered, then twisted around, meeting to a set of familiar blue optics and a brightened grin. D-16 sighed and shook his helm, "Orion..." He began, almost with a breathless sigh from the near spark-attack, a slight chide in his tone far too exhausted to stand alone in his voice, but relief filled his tired gaze.

"Dee! Hey! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Orion Pax exclaimed, throwing an arm over his shoulder-plating and nudging him closer.

"Looking for me? Pff--I've been looking everywhere for you," D-16 insists after rolling his optics, gently pushing him back, "where the hell were you?"

"Ohh, wait until I tell you this!--" He said, holding D-16 by the pauldrons, suddenly guiding him elsewhere once Orion's blue optics spotted something behind D-16. And before the mech himself could catch a glimpse on what his close friend had seen. He was hurried off in another direction towards the refueling hubs, merging with the bundle of bots nearby.

Most of the miners had been used to Orion's antics, D-16 being the most well aware of them all, and like many would suggest.

Trouble always happens to find Orion more than he found it, and now? One could only guess that the trouble was currently sweeping the working grounds for Orion at the moment, leaving D-16 to place an arm around the back of Orion's neck to play his role of getaway, silently ushering him to move faster.

"C'mon! I wanna get some energon first, and then, I'll tell you all about it, It was crazy!" Orion spoke, lowering his voice as if it'd make them any less suspicious.

"Crazy, huh? No less than usual?" D-16 shook his helm and quietly laughed, looking over to the bot, "Got into some trouble again?"

"Ooh!... You bet, and big time," He said.

"I just hope I don't have to bust my skid-plate to pull you out of it this time..." D-16 noted, a slight drag to his tone, mentally counting just how many times he'd already done just that already--within a week or less so far. Orion Pax chuckled on and guided his mining buddy off down the path, offering little to no reassurance that this wouldn't happen again, but for now?

D-16 indulged to it, looking back every now and then to make sure they hadn't been tailed by any angry-looking bots.

. . .

The intermission came to a close, and eventually each bot was sent back into the mines. So with that, D-16 took to his drill once again and went down with the rest of the mining crew into the newly opened channels. The very minerals that made up the caves parted far them, presenting open pockets of ore that peaked out from the earth between, to which they went at within the first sight of it with starved drills and cutting edges. Buzzing and minerals chipping away filled the atmosphere around, with the occasional shouts and requests here and there for assistance. The hours dragged on, rolling by within the blink of an eye. Every passing minute was punctuated by the clatter of ore filling the cart until the metal wailed along the journey back up to the exiting point again, only for another to replace the cart soon enough.

D-16 was off on his own occupied chase, drilling into the minerals with desperation, a droplet of coolant ran down the side of his face. He had spotted a trace of a vibrant blue glow pulsating between the crevices and struck down with determination, breaking away the minerals as it forced through the stone, gutting and burrowing deep until he had reached the fruits of his labor, a large chunk of energon became exposed to the open air. It was larger than his last initial findings, nearly around half his frame, "This should do..." He sighed, leaning back for a moment to wipe the condensation off of his forehead, before chipping away at the massive chunk down to sizable halves before leaning his drill to the side to haul it back in his arms. He grunted, lowering for a moment before tossing the chunk over the wall of the cart and then repeated with the other. His success coming off in the sound of harsh crash of chunks and rocks, watching the pieces roll to the edge with a dull thud before it settled.

He dusted his servos off and nearly resumed back to work, only pausing as he collected his drill off from the stone wall to look over to the space beside him, "Hm?"

He paused in his work and glanced over, noticing to a bot who'd been struggling for quite some time, using to the same tools he did but with... Less efficiency, and expertise.

He wasn't sure if they had realized it, but they were holding their drill... Upside down, somehow managing regardless to maintain in using it and scoring a few measly pebbles and a few pieces capable of fitting into a servo, out of shear luck or spite somewhere. He was impressed by the odd sight in a way, nearly speechless.

He continued to stare on for a moment longer, merely marveling at how this bot was even managing as he watched them. They stood in the dark, devoid of using their headlamp, but with gritted teeth and determined optics that pierced the dim lighting around. She persisted.

. . .

The femme pulled back and for a moment, took to a deep sigh, her digits nearly loosening around the trigger from the coolant build-up, making her palms all slick and gross much to her internal protests and grimaces. She loosened her hold on the item and it settled--or rather slipped onto the ground beside her with a gentle "clunk!" and her shoulders drooped, looking to the fruits of her labor.

She nudged a few crumbled bits of rocks with her digits, trying to check whether any was "good enough" but, the femme hadn't really spent enough time before down below, looking at unprocessed energon ore to know a thing or two on what counted as "good" or "bad", nor the worth.

After a minute or two of fishing around between her remains, all she could find was supposedly one light shard of energon ore and a hundred littler... pieces... pebbles? She shortly estimated their worth to be rather appealing enough to skip across an oil stream at best, watching the pieces fall between the gaps of her fingers.

"... Slag," She whispered, so maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew.

Regardless, she threw her pieces up into the cart above, landing one and losing a couple from a few misses (to which she proceeded to chase and pick up again in mild embarrassment) before spending her time pinpointing accuracies on the arch of her throws. Once done, she steadily returned to her work, wiping the coolant off her palms against her skirt-plate, collecting dust and dirt that clung stubbornly. She huffed at the sight but found it to be useful at least, now that her hands were no longer leaving her tools to slip free from her fingers even if it was a little gross...

Okay, maybe not just a little--very, very dirty and gross.

The femme took to the drill and hoisted it up, accidentally pulling down the trigger for a second and scaring herself halfway to death once it struck against the rock and rattled loudly, leaving her to squeak in surprise. She remained frozen and embarrassed herself once again, internally smacking herself in the processor, before fixing her grip on the weapon and then hurriedly looked to her sides in fretting hopes that nobody had noticed her slip-up.

Once safe and certain, she was about to return to the task, sucking in a breath until, a hesitant hand came into her line of sight, followed by a stream of light.

She paused, looking over to follow the white lighting emitted before meeting to the source, standing in silent shock once she met gazes with a pair of bright, yellow--almost orange optics.

The yellow lenses stared back at her and for a moment, the hue deepened and she found herself lost in watching the rings of their optical lense spin slowly--her own silently responding in turn to take in the light.

And for a moment, all she could think of was how pretty they looked, under the dim lighting and soft, contrasting, blue, darkness that surrounded. She could never quite recall the last time when she'd seen a bot outside of her own family, carry optics such as these.

She lingered in her awe, holding her gaze and softly gasping once she realized she'd been staring too long. The monochromatic mech's servo retracted back at her sucked in breath, just as equally fretful of the idea of spooking her.

They both lingered in awkward silence, before he reached out again, keeping his digits distant from her own. The mech pushed his words out first, hastily before he'd become interjected, "Here, uh. Let me help you," He began, and at her tensed silence.

He reached out and carefully laid his servo over her own, guiding it when she had released the death-grip around the handle. He glided his fingertips along the steel and briefly persuaded her into forfeiting the drill on over to D-16 who rotated it around and handed it back to her. She gazed over with confusion riddling across her expression, the inner rings of her optical receptors glowed and rotated to adjust in the sight of the tool's rotation. She held to it and ran her gaze over what she could, squinting and forcing her optics to brighten a little further to see.

At this point, D-16 grew to notice that the femme before him didn't bear any kind of mining light upon her helm, and leaned forward slightly to focus his helm on positioning the lighting over the handle of her drill so she could see. He awkwardly shuffled close to her back and side to help lift the drill up, taking her servo into his own and securing it around the trigger. He made careful gestures to make sure at the very least not to push down the trigger from gripping her servos too hard,

He could feel her frame stiffen briefly against him and with that he tried to reassure her, "I-It's okay, I just... Need you to hold it like..." He trailed off, lifting the end of the drill up over her shoulder and guided the tip to touch into the slight hole she made earlier during her personal scare. He fixed her servos positionings with his own and she watched to him carefully, nodding with every silent lesson he gave and watched every point he gestured with, "This." D-16, now firmly making sure her position was secure, pulled back to give her a bit of room, and pointed to the back of the equipment.

"The end of the drill's gotta... go here, hovering just over your shoulder. I don't recommend resting it completely onto there unless your servo's off the trigger. It sometimes leaves scratches from the impact and from the intense, repetitive motions... a little," He informed, slowly finding his words, and to that she nodded slowly, glancing to her shoulder-plate to make sure she hadn't suffered that mistake yet and resumed to the position he guided her to take, breathing out slowly. She eyed at the placement in the stone, noticing to the bare glow beneath.

D-16 monitored her, and walked back to retrieve his own drill, marching back once she began to carry her drill with confidence, before pulling the trigger and digging back into the earth,

He watched the sparks fly and with that, he pushed for conversation to help loosen the atmosphere even more, "... First time using it?" He asked.

She anxiously shifted between watching where her drill went and to the mech beside her, giving a meek nod before eyeing back to the cracking stone, "... M-mh, yeah, actually." The femme responded.

D-16 nodded and struck to the sight of a glowing energon ore peaking out on his side, letting his own drill bury through and pursuemthe trail. In the meantime, he wanted to at least get to know the new face beside him as recollections of the rumors he had heard before hand began to resurface at the top of his mind. His optics scanned over her for a moment. Her frame was darkened all over, making her nearly one with the underground environments she was within. Her lack of helm-lights was odd initially, but upon further inspection. She bore no jetpack either.

How was she meant to escape a potential tunnel collapse?--maybe she forgot it up at the surface?

But that's dangerous and unaligned from safety protocols!

Nonetheless, he kept calm with a twinge of concern for the newbie, his expression scrunched, "... First time... Down here in... General?" He asked, tilting the word on his glossa slightly, biting back in cautious hopes he hadn't offended the femme if she wasn't new.

The bot paused in her drilling, and looked over, before avoiding his gaze with a slight purse of her lips, "... Is it... that obvious?" She pushed back, almost defeated, as though her act had already crumbled before it could begin.

"Oh no, not at all. It's just--I-I don't think I've ever seen you around down here before," D-16 said, hoping to ease the defeated look in her optics.

Her lowered optical ridges raised up, and lessened into a more understanding expression, bobbing her helm slowly. Her grip on the implement readjusted once again, raising it up, until D-16 held out a servo to stop her. She froze and looked beneath to where her drill pointed to and hurriedly scanned the area for any mistakes. D-16 lowered his drill again and wandered over, guiding the edge of the drill into the ground and gestured her closer, "Here," He advised, before taking to his own drill to provide example.

"You have to hit it at an angle like--this--so it kind of sinks in properly," He informed once more, pulling back and pointing, "there's nothing wrong with the way you're doing it, but if you want it to stay still a little easier and maybe not carry as much of the weight then, it helps." He shrugged, before stepping back once again to give her some space. She nodded and narrowed her optics, searching for a designated spot to test out the method.

"Hit here," D-16 pointed, tapping the front of his drill against the stone to light a few sparks so she could see it, "and try to go for kind of a slightly tilted angle instead of keeping it directly vertical or straight, maybe like a light degree in-between,"

She bobbed her helm lightly, steeling herself once again and struck into the targeted area, pulling the trigger as it began to fill the air between them with an audible "rat-tat-tat!" sending small stars and sparks up from repetitive collision of steel to stone, as well as dust and pebble.

Moments later, the ore loosened from the stone, crumbling away enough for her to scramble and retrieve to the reward of her achievements with brightened optics and a smile that stretched from one audial receptor to the other. She dropped her drill for a moment and reached down to collect the material, curling her arms around the hefty chunk, a soft "hmmf!" escaped her as she strutted back to the cart, dipping into a crouch to amplify her jump and throw, pacing back and forth until all the ore she had mined out was finally cleared.

The femme looked up happily to D-16, the look of gratitude came in the form of her sparkling optics before the words had even yet to settle, a slow smile mirroring onto his lips from her own. He chuckled and reached down to pick up his own finds, wandering over to the cart to dispose it with the rest.

He looked over to the femme beside him and smiled, "see? All you needed was a little help with your technique. Now you don't have to struggle as much and you'll use less energon while at it,"

She hummed in acknowledgement, hastily nodding, “… T-Thank you kindly,” she remarked, a soft accent tucked beneath her words that tried to hide itself. The need for assistance wounded her sense of independency, but it was warmly welcomed nonetheless. She'd have preferred the help over making herself look like an even bigger fool than she was being mere moments ago. She clasped her servos together, digits entwined and folded formally before her, fidgeting “I-I don’t know how to repay you, stranger,” She admitted truthfully, averting her gaze for a moment, only for it to to light up when she noticed D-16's drill drew nearest to her side, retrieving to it and strutting right back to him.

He tilted his head slightly while he watched her return his tool. He chuckled a little more and crossed his arms, amused by the shy gestures, "you're welcome, though you don't need to pay me back really if that was your intention. I just wanted to help. What's your... Designation, anyways?" He asked, taking to his implement from her servos, leaning it on his shoulder for the time being.

“Silversong…” She replied, finally looking back to D-16. Silversong smiled with her optics, the very edges of her eyes slightly raising with the gentlest pull of her cheeks to perform the warm expression, “… And you, stranger?”

He smiled at her in turn, his expression a little worn out but it didn't stop him from offering a gentle expression back. His optics softening at the sight. He then placed his hand to his chassis, introducing himself, "I'm D-16. Nice to meet you, Silversong."

A trickle of humor ran through him and in the moment. He kept his hand to his chest and bowed his helm, nearly dipping the front of his frame in a regal manner.

Out of surprise, Silversong softly chuckled at his little bow, amused by the rather friendly gesture. She raised a servo to conceal her lips and thought for a moment. She wanted to continue talking, maybe longer if she could but the moment was severed into two and the reminder came in the form of another bot who had arrived, clapping D-16 on the shoulder-plate with a loud "clang!".

Silversong had nearly forgotten that there was work to be done, and internally deflated once the moment of reprieve slipped from her. But still, she persisted in her idle expression, watching the interaction. D-16, in his confused state twisted his helm to listen to--who she assumed was a friend of D-16.

"C'mon, Dee! I just found a rich energon vein over here, if we mine this, we'll probably be able to take the rest of our shift off for the day!” Orion Pax exclaimed optimistically, almost dragging D-16 away, unaware that he was talking to someone.

D-16 stiffened and felt his pedes drag a couple inches into the ground as Orion seemed determined to show him this energon vein, looking up to Silversong, who only bid him farewell in the form of a slow wave and a reserved smile. He would've returned the gesture, but by then she had already looked away.

D-16 slowly turned around to right himself back onto his pedes and fell into line beside Orion, looking behind him before, shaking his helm at Orion's blind optimism. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd hope that Silversong didn't think of his sudden departure as rude or anything... Stealing another quick glance back and--she was gone.

His lips pursed and his optics dimmed, sighing. He looked over to Orion and recovered his expression to an exasperated smile, rolling his optics, "Yeah, yeah..." D-16 cracked his knuckles and briefly went back to pick up his drill, dragging it along.

"I hope you're not just lying so we don't have to mine as much. Let's just just hurry and get this done with,"