Hades stared down in mild disgust at (Y/N)’s collapsed body, Hook who was knelt besides them petting their hair, looked up at the god,
“The poor dog’s sick, that’s what. Pallor as a corpse and twice as clammy.”
“Oh. Yeeesh kid, why even bother showin’ up today?”
“Well I asked them the same thing, and all I got in response was them mumbling something about ‘attaining bread’… their fever must’ve made the poppet delusional.” Hook lifted (Y/N) up from beneath their shoulders, their body now limply resting against his own.
Hades rubbed the back of his neck, a slight pang of worry sparking in his chest as (Y/N) hacked into their arm. He remembered how mortals used to keel over from these types of things….
“Searching for sourdough aside, they can’t be here.”
“You don’t say?” Hook cooed sarcastically, “well what do you suggest we do?”
The flames atop Hades head flickered, the god hemming and hawing, before snapping his fingers.
“Why, we take ‘em home of course!”
Hook stared, his thin mustache twitching as he tried to conceal the sneer threatening to overtake his face. (Y/N) shifted uncomfortably at Hooks tightening grasp.
“Blow me down, that’s just a marvelous idea! We’ll just tell the management that we’ll be leaving company grounds, driving a car that neither of us know how to use to (Y/N)’s home that we don’t know the location of! Brilliant old sport!!”
Hades looked down at the foppish pirate, nonplussed, before spreading his arms out
“James- pal—“
“You don’t get to call me James.”
“…James, pal— I think you forget the company that you’re in. We just happen to be amongst some of the slimiest, conniving, intelligent schmucks ever dreamed up. Here- pick ‘em up and walk with me.”
Against Hooks better judgement, he obliged to the god. Lifting the delirious attendant in his arm and following Hades down the hall.
“Me and a few others ‘ave been speaking about this for a while, y’know— letting bygone be bygones and getting our Σκατά together.”
“And why haven’t been included in these… ‘discussions’?” Hook asked, feeling slightly offended at being un-included
Hades waved his hands, “Ah, not important! This isn’t about you, it’s about our sweet (Y/N) getting proper home rest.”
Looking away from Hades after his dismissal of Hooks question, he realized where the god had been leading the trio, the door to Jafars room slightly open.
Hades, not even considering knocking, swung open the door to reveal Jafar, who was sat at his work desk and buffing his turban.
“WHA— Do you ever knock!?!?”
“What are you, a teenage girl? C’mon. (Y/N)’s sick and we’re taking ‘em home, time to do what we talked about.”
Jafar looked past Hades broad figure at Hook, then down at (Y/N) in his arms. Even in their feverish state, they managed to raise their arm in greeting. The irritated look across his face softened a bit.
“Ah, well then. Give me a moment”
Jafar stood from his seat, grabbing his turban off its stand and placing it back on his head. He then reached down to pick up his staff that rested beside him.
“Who is it we need to persuade?”
“Persuade? Just what in Neptunes name are two blithering about!?” Hook finally interrupted, his patience already strung thin.
“Patience Captain, it will all be explained in a moment~ Now Hades, please lead the way.” Jafar walked toward the trio, joining them in the hallway. He leaned over (Y/N), eyes furrowed as he watched sweat roll down their forehead.
“Oh, they really don’t look good.”
“Exactly, that’s why we need to have a talk with their shift supervisor about taking them home.” Hades began down the hall, not waiting for the others to catch up.
————————————————————————
“Are you two positive this will work?”
“I didn’t become the royal vizier through sheer luck. It’s best you have some faith in me.”
The group stood outside the (Y/N)’s shift supervisors office. Hades rested against the wall with (Y/N) in his arms, Hook needing a break after carrying them for at least an hour.
“They’ve been here long enough, let’s get them the rest they deserve.” Jafar said, rapping his knuckles against the door, “Watch a professional at work.”
The office door opened, the supervisor failing to hide his shock at the sight of the villains.
“Oh! Uh—Jafar? What’s up?”
Jafar gestured towards (Y/N) with his staff, the motion hiding the ruby eyes of the cobra beginning to glow.
“Your hardworking employee, (Y/N), has fallen ill. You will let them off early and give them a fully paid sick leave.”
The supervisors eyes glazed over, the red glow from the staff reflecting off his irises.
“Sick?….of course…they deserve rest..”
Hook stared in shock, having never seen Jafars powers up close before. Hades didn’t care to look, a satisfied smirk growing on his face as he used his heat to keep (Y/N) from shivering.
Jafar grinned, stifling a chuckle as he held his staff closer towards the shift supervisor’s face,
“We will also be taking our darling attendant home, so clear our schedules as well.”
The man muttered something incoherent, turning stiffly towards his work computer, most likely to log (Y/N) sick leave.
Jafar closed the door, turning around to the mildly horrified Hook and a very pleased Hades.
“Look at you, stretch face! Seems like you still got it!” Hades praised, adjusting his hold of (Y/N) to give the sorcerer a flaming thumbs up.
“Yes, now that the… ‘official’ side of this has been dealt with, let’s get the dear home. Are their keys in their locker?”
“Ooh~ way ahead of ya!” With a flick of his wrist, plumes of smoke accumulated in his palm, before disappearing to reveal (Y/N)’s bag.
“Here, catch.” Hades threw the bag at Hook, who fumbled to grab it with his hand, still very much in shock.
“Wha— how- You can use your magic!?” Hook manage to get out, following behind Hades and Jafar towards the exit of the studio. “I thought they left your magic behind when they brought us all here!?”
“Yeah, so did we. That was actually true for a while, but a few weeks back Maleficent sprouted a thorn bush through the floor during one of her fits.”
A slightly yellowed exit sign hung over the back doors of the studio, the employees parking lot visible through the glass of the doors. With a push, Jafar opened the exit doors, letting Hades crouch through the doorframe, Hook following suit, the pirate quickly thanking Jafar.
“So— of course she told us all, and after a few tests ourselves, some of our magic was returning.”
“But not in full, that little trick of mine back there used up all my energy. But it was more magic compared to a few weeks ago,”
Jafar turned to look at Hook, a near manic smile on his face,
“We’re getting our power back.”
————————————————————————
They made their way down the rows of cars, each of them still unfamiliar with modern day technology.
“So, which one of these machines belongs to (Y/N)?” Jafar asked, playing with the feather atop his turban
“If I had to guess, it’d be that beast there.” The Captain gestured with his hook towards a specific car. The car displayed a strange custom license plate, with stickers of (Y/N)s favorite media covering the sides of the trunk window, one specific sticker proudly reading ‘I❤️dilfs’.
“Yep, that’s the one.”
Hook opened (Y/N)’s bag, rummaging around before pulling out a lanyard at least 2 pounds heavy with the amount of keychains on it.
“Oh, for the love of—”
Combing through the keychains finally reveals a set of car keys.
Hades took the keys from Hook and pressed the button to unlock the doors.
“Alright get in. Here—Jafar, you sit with (Y/N) in the back. James, you get passenger seat.”
After some glorified hot potato with (Y/N)s body, everyone got into their seats. Their attendants head resting on Jafars lap as Hades and Hook fiddled with the dashboard. Hades put the keys into the ignition like he’d seen on Tv, but anything after that stumped him.
“This isn’t like any boat I’ve ever steered..”
“No kidding, this isn’t exactly a chariot ride either. But that’s where I put my title of god to good use.”
A look of concentration passed over Hades face, his brows furrowed as he gripped the steering wheel. After a minute, tiny blue flames traveled down Hades arms and across the steering wheel and dashboard. In a flash of heat, the car started, engine rumbling and lights on.
“YES! Hades rules!!” The god cheered, pumping his fists and singeing the roof of the car.
Hook flinched at the sudden movement, gripping the leather seat and slightly tearing it with his hook.
Hades turned towards the men, moving his eyebrows,
“Check this out~”
The car began to slowly reverse, Hades hands nowhere near the wheel. The car steered itself out of the parking spot and began to drive out of the employee lot.
“Incredible…” Hook whispered to himself, even Jafar was silently impressed.
Somehow, (Y/N) broke through unconsciousness, looking around blearily,
“I didn’t buy a plan ticket…?”
“Don’t worry (Y/N), this puppy already knows where to go. Just hold tight and rest up.”
“Ah.. just wake me up when we land..” they mumbled as their fever overtook them.
“I forget (Y/N) has a life outside of us,” Jafar mused, “I wonder what little hovel they call home..”
————————————————————————
When Jafar called (Y/N)s home a Hovel, he had only been partly joking, he didn’t expect his darling to live somewhere like…this.
The car had managed to drive the forty five minute long journey to (Y/N)s house without incident, save for the confused looks from drivers in passing cars. But as closer the car grew to (Y/N)s home, so did the men’s concern.
“Blimey, I’ve seen pirate coves in better condition..” Hook grimaced.
“Yeah no kiddin’… I thought for a second that this car took a wrong turn into the underworld.” Hades chuffed, squinting out the window at a raccoon making off with what seemed like full pack of beer.
The car slowly pulled into a parking lot of a dingy apartment complex, stopping neatly between some other cars and turning off.
“Well— let’s get ‘em home.” Hades ordered, everyone getting out of the car and walking towards the complex. It seemed like no one was outside their apartments, but the villains didn’t want to take any chances, quickly hurrying to a partially covered area.
Hades looked down at (Y/N)s body, which was now being carried by Jafar, and began to slightly nudge their shoulder.
“Babe— Kid, wake up.”
(Y/N) coughed, blinking away sleep to look up at the god.
“We’re here. What’s your apartment number?”
It took a few minutes for the question to be processed before (Y/N) finally responded, the number just barely being whispered out before falling back asleep.
“I don’t like how unresponsive they’ve been, we need to get them to bed.” Hook murmured, taking the lead.
Hook read each individual address before stopping at the correct number. Hades fished the keys out of his chiton, and unlocked the faux wooden door, revealing (Y/N)s home.
The men gaped at the interior. The inside of (Y/N)s apartment was a polar opposite to the filth and chintzy neighborhood. Sure—the apartment was a glorified broom closet, but (Y/N) had managed to work with the space, decorating the interior as tastefully as their budget allowed.
The walls were covered in art prints and photographs of (Y/N)s family, and every surface was covered in trinkets. Even the air smelt like them, a mix of natural musk and their favorite detergent.
For a moment, the villains felt like they were intruding on some sacred space, never having been surrounded by so much… (Y/N), before.
Jafar pushed past the others, walking towards (Y/N)s unmade bed. The rested the attendant down on the mattress, taking their shoes off and pulling the covered over their body.
“Well at least they’re in a proper bed,” Jafar mused “I’ll check the washroom for anything to break their fever.”
Hook looked down at (Y/N), whose pained expression had now softened at being in bed. He strained his mind to remember what his mother had done when he was sick, everything before Neverland was a blur, but through hazy scenes and faces he remembered a blurry bowl of soup being presented to him.
“They’ll need something to take the medicine with. I’ll look through the dears kitchen for something to cook up.” The pirate spoke up, looking up at Hades for confirmation before walking into the small kitchen across from (Y/N)s bed.
That left Hades alone, standing at the foot of (Y/N)s bed. For a moment he just watched the rising and falling of their chest, the sight of a living body being almost uncomfortably unfamiliar.
A shine caught Hades eye, his attention turning towards the picture frame on (Y/N)s bedside table. Other than an empty glass and some medication bottles, the photograph was the only thing noteworthy near his park attendants bed.
Hades leaned down, taking the photograph into his hands for a closer look, only to nearly drop it when he realized what this photo was.
It was the picture that (Y/N) had taken of all the Villains in the studio, after the 100th year anniversary celebration. Each Villains expression a range of confusion and joy. Thinking back to that day, Hades was sure that was the first time any of the Villains were actually happy since they were brought to ‘life’.
And here it was, neatly displayed in an expensive looking frame.
“Geez kid… we-” Hades paused, for the first time in his miserable existence, he was at a loss for words.
“We really mean something to you, don’t we?..”
————————————————————————
The feeling of something cool against their head was what woke (Y/N) up. They cursed at their consciousness, being met with a headache.
For a moment they just stayed still, trying to remember why they were asleep in the first place.
They knew that they woke up with a fever, and tried to push through it, but everything after that was a blur. All they remember was the sensation of being carried, and….being on a plane?
(Y/N) opened their eyes, rubbing the crust away before reaching towards the wet sensation on their forehead. Pulling away the object, they saw it was an old washcloth.
“What…”
Groggy and a little anxious at not being able to recall most of their day, (Y/N) sat up, now realizing they were in bed…back in their apartment.. still dressed in their work clothes..
“Poppet!”
(Y/N)s eyes darted towards their kitchen, mouth falling open in shock at the sight of Hook in their apron, holding a ladle. The man had a rare smile, furthering (Y/N)s confusion.
“James? Wh—am I still dreaming?”
Hook gave them an odd look, before shaking his head and disappearing into the kitchen.
“Oh no, dear. This is actually the first time you’ve woken since we brought you home.” Hook spoke before calling out, “They’re awake, men!”
Shuffling was heard beyond (Y/N)s bed, Hades and Jafar rushing towards their attendant.
“Kid!! How’r ya feeling?”
“You had us worried half to death, I had half the mind to begin blood letting to release the bad humors myself.”
(Y/N) just stared at the men, processing everything that is happening before croaking out,
“I’m pulling through…but what the hell??”
“You collapsed at work (Y/N).” Hades spoke, using (Y/N)s real name to relay his seriousness. “Hook found ya in the hallway with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. We took it upon ourselves to bring you home!”
“…Okay…” (Y/N) nodded, “how?”
“We drove you home, of course!” Jafar grinned. “We’ll tell you all the details later, long conversations aren’t fitting for a fever.”
“Aye, that’s why we’re here, who best to take care of you than the greatest minds ever drawn?” Hook finally walked into the bedroom, holding a steaming bowl. He cut through the others, placing the bowl into (Y/N)’s hands.
“Here, love. You need something in your stomach to for the medicine to take effect.”
(Y/N) managed to break their eyes away from the men, taking the bowl and bringing it to their lips, lightly blowing before taking a long sip.
The soup was… edible. (Y/N) could tell Hook had used measly ingredients left over in the kitchen. The soup being a strange amalgamation of tinned fish and wilted herbs, but still, it sat warm in (Y/N)s stomach.
“Thank you for the soup, James” (Y/N) spoke, their voice now clearer from the warm broth, “I’m already feeling better.”
Hook preened, ignoring the withering looks from Hades and Jafar.
“No, seriously. Thank you, guys. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up, I know I’m not that popular amongst the rest of the staff, so if it wasn’t for you I think I would’ve driven my self home. That, or crawl my way to your lounge like a leper.” (Y/N) looked down at the bowl, a little embarrassed at their genuineness.
“If I didn’t have snot running down my nose right now, I’d give you all kisses to show my thanks!” They grinned, trying to break the tension.
The men all had varying degrees of reaction, each of them shifting between flustered and disgust.
“Save the sap for later, kid. We’ll figure out how you can repay us tomorrow, as well as give you all the exhilarating details on how we got you here.” Hades ruffled (Y/N)s hair, ignoring their groans in protest.
“That’s right darling, just worry about breaking that fever. We’ll be here until you’re well again~” Jafar mused, giving a wave of his hand and turning towards (Y/N)s couch, planning on making the most of their extensive movie collection.
“Aye, especially since our schedules have been cleared! We might even have us a day for you to show us around! I’ve always wanted to see the beaches here…” Hook readjusted the covers on (Y/N)s body.
Hades and Hook left (Y/N)s side, going to join Jafar on the couch, leaving their attendant tucked into bed.
…
“Wait—what do you mean our schedules are cleared? WHAT DID YOU GUYS DO—!?”
————————————————————————
Yay!! This has been in the works for a while! I’ve been wanting to iron out the timeline of the Villains, and if they still had their powers after being brought to reality. I headcannon that Disney took away there powers, but after a while the Villains got them back.
I had Covid a month ago (The day I had to help my sister move), and when I was sick in bed all I wanted was to be doted on, so this is super self indulgent
NOTE – please be informed that scenario-chapter is just an additional part/story that this expands on the HALL OF RECORD (one-shot) not a full series and this might come out a bit weird and a little out of character? I don't know. I wrote this fic with three lattes shot and a lot of confusion, so enjoy?
and you can tell who is fav. I'm a little biased here
O r i o n P a x
The sound of the metal door untouched for what might as well have been an eon whined softly as it scraped against its timeworn track. The hinges gave a creak like an old archivist waking from a nap, cranky and reluctant, groaning at being disturbed after centuries of peace. It was a small sound, really. Barely louder than the low thrum of power conduits far down the hall
But to him, it was the sound of trespass
Orion Pax stepped inside as if the shadows might bite
Faint cerulean light dripped from ancient overhead strips, casting the corridor in the sort of glow usually reserved for ghost stories or forgotten secrets. The deepest level of the archive the forbidden floor, shuttered by Sentinel before Orion had even existed still exhaled softly beneath its shroud of dust and disuse. It felt less like entering a room, more like entering a memory that didn’t want to be remembered. He moved like a student sneaking into the dean’s office half-curious, half-sure he’d regret it
His fingers grazed the edge of a shelf, careful not to disturb the decades of quiet. Or the dust. Especially the dust. It looked like it had unionized
“The Matrix…"
He murmured under his breath, blue optics catching the faint shimmer of dormant holograms “There has to be something here. A record. A clue. Anything” He leaned down, reaching for the ancient relay socket at the base of the console—
“Trigger that, and you’ll wake the whole sound grid"
The voice came from behind him. Calm. Dry. Unhurried. The sort of tone one used when catching a cat burglar who clearly forgot to check for traps. Orion flinched hard enough to rattle a few data shelves and spun around on his feet
You stood there, half-veiled in the shadow of a pillar taller than he expected, posture relaxed, like someone who’d been waiting for him to trip the sensor just for fun. The faint light from your data reader bounced off your optics, revealing a gaze far too unsurprised to belong to a stranger
It wasn’t your first time sneaking in
“Who are you?”
He asked, voice low but edged with a kind of jumpy defiance. His hand inched toward the nearby control panel—not so much in defense as in that universal gesture of ‘I might make this worse but I’ll do something, I swear'
You didn’t answer right away
Instead, you let out a breath. You sighed the long-suffering kind. Then tilted your head and gave him a look that could only be described as academic disappointment. You looked at him the way a librarian might regard a wayward patron using a sacred first edition as a coaster
“The better question is: what exactly are you doing here?”
“This isn’t a tourist wing. No one's supposed to be down here. Not unless you're a glitch in the system or a Prime in disguise" Your optics flicked over him like a scanner on autopilot dusty fingers, light frame, and most telling of all: the cavity at his chest. Empty. No transformation cog. No fancy upgrades
A miner
Your field didn’t spike, didn’t flinch. Just took it in with the sort of ease that said: "Ah. One of those"
He bristled. Just slightly
“And what about you?” He countered, trying for defiance but landing somewhere closer to awkwardly offended “You’re not supposed to be here either… right?”
You smiled then. Not the friendly kind. The kind that curled at one corner like a page in a too-old book “Smart enough…” you said, arching an optic ridge
“For someone who leaves the ventilation hatch wide open while sneaking in"
He snuck into the archives more than once—and more than once, he stumbled into you. Neither of you had the right to be there. You both knew it. But you never sent him away and though you pretended not to care, you always watched him, always
Orion was like a flicker of flame brushing through the ashes inside you. A dreamer, yes but not a fool. Funny, but never dismissive of history. Stubborn, but when you spoke, he truly listened. He wasn’t like anyone you'd met since the age of the Thirteen
He wasn't afraid to ask stupid questions and he wasn’t afraid of you. You often looked at him with a weary kind of exasperation, the sort reserved for someone who should know better. But he always laughed when you snapped at him, as if the weight of silence in the archive had never once touched him
You told him once by accident more than intention
The air between you had been dusted with a kind of trust you hadn’t felt in countless cycles. A quiet ease. The sort that hadn’t truly touched you since the age of the Thirteen faded into ash
Orion Pax a randomly-forged miner with far too much hope and far too little support was the sort to chase impossibilities like they were his rightful inheritance. He reached too far, spoke too loudly, and stood too often where no one asked him to. And yet, he never stopped. Not even when they laughed
“..I used to be Alpha Trion’s aide”
you said, voice quieter than you expected
He froze. Then almost immediately he dropped down beside you, like the truth might vanish if he didn’t plant himself right there, fast enough to catch it. Surprise widened his optics, but so did something else recognition. The name Alpha Trion carried weight: Scholar. Sage. Keeper of knowledge
“Really? I’ve heard of him, but it was always more like… like a myth—”
“It does sound like a story, doesn’t it?”
You gave a faint huff of laughter, more memory than mirth “But I was there. I walked the Hall of Records with the Primes themselves. I once transcribed battle doctrines meant to change the course of the war. I was Alpha Trion’s eyes. His ears”
“And now?” You gestured vaguely, as if your current state explained itself “..Now I’m ‘Advisor to the Prime’ Sentinel’s pet title”
“Sounds good on a datafile, doesn’t it?”
You let your gaze drift toward the ceiling “But it’s a cage. He doesn’t want my counset just my silence. He doesn't want me asking, no more. He says it’s time to let go of the past"
Your voice dipped on that last sentence, quieter than even you meant it to be. Beside you, Orion slowly set his hand close to yours. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough for the intent to be felt
“So… what will you do?”
“How long will you let him keep you quiet?”
You looked back at the desk. Scattered with restricted data slates salvaged from sealed archives. A few of which you had, perhaps, allowed him to read. Just fragments
Maybe, in some strange way, you weren’t so different from him after all. You’d slipped away whenever the chance arose. Found your way back into old vaults that should’ve been wiped from the map. You’d pulled truth from the edges of erasure, and hidden it in places no one else would look. In hopes someone, anyone would find it. Someday
You smiled “It’s not like I’ve been sitting still"
He laughed low and warm, like it lived in his chest “I think I’m starting to like you”
“No! I mean, I like it when you.. don’t just stay still!” You rolled your optics, but couldn’t hide the fact that the corner of your mouth twitched into a smile as well
“You gonna record me, then?”
“–If I ever turn into something important?”
You stared at him. Long enough for him to shift his weight, then chuckle, awkward and a little sheepish
“Kidding. I know someone like me doesn’t exactly scream historically relevant—”
“Please. I’ve been archiving you every days, spark-for-brains” You cut him off, tone dry, but softer than your usual “And if you ever do become something important… I’ll be the one to write that story. Properly. With footnotes”
He blinked. You didn’t smile but your optics said enough
D – I6
The underground quarters of the labor miners weren’t much to look at
Concrete walls, low ceilings, overhead conduits that flickered as if sighing with age. Everything smelled faintly of rust and recycled air. It was the sort of place where voices fell flat against the metal and hope tended to decay faster than the tools on the racks. No one expected anything new to walk in and yet. One day, Orion Pax brought someone with him. Not a supervisor. Not a guard. Not an auditor sent from the upper halls
But you. You, who walked in with a step just slow enough to take in the room
Not cautious, exactly but composed. Observing. Weighing. Like you had done this far too many times, and were still waiting to be surprised. D-16 recognized you before you even spoke. He had never heard your name not officially. There were no public briefings with your designation, no files that reached the lower sectors. But he had seen you. On every state broadcast, every emergency address, every ceremonial function where Sentinel Prime spoke before the world. You were always there never in front, but never far like the shadow just behind the throne
Orion had mentioned, in passing, that you had once served beneath the Thirteen themselves. The statement had sounded so absurd at the time like someone claiming to have dined with myths. But now, standing a few meters from you in the dim half-light, D-16 wasn’t laughing
He swallowed. Then, before his mind could interfere with his mouth “Did you… really meet Megatronus Prime?”
The words tumbled out like gravel down a mine shaft too loud, too fast, and entirely unrehearsed
Immediately, he stood straighter. As if trying to fold the question back into his body by sheer posture. His arms snapped to his sides, shoulders tense, expression schooled into impassivity. But even a casual observer would’ve noticed how the plates at his spine had locked up stiff, and how his field normally tight and subdued now bristled with mortified awareness
Orion, standing nearby, shot him a sidelong look that all but screamed Seriously and pressed his mouth into a thin line, clearly biting back laughter. His field buzzed with that particular kind of amusement only friends could afford
But you didn’t look offended
You simply turned to D-16 with a slow, deliberate grace. One optic ridge lifted in mild surprise, not mockery. The look you gave him was not one of superiority but memory. And something just shy of sorrow, your gaze slow and precise, like someone turning over an ancient page
“I didn’t think I’d hear that name spoken aloud” you said, voice soft and even “Not in this era. At least”
Something in the way you said it made the air feel older. D-16 opened his mouth to respond then overcompensated entirely
“I- I mean, I respect him. Megatronus. I really do. Not that I don’t respect the other Primes! I do! It’s just, his power, it was… I mean, the records say he was beyond classification. Singular”
He said it all in one breath, like pulling off a bandage, or confessing something shameful. The words just stumbled out faster than he could polish them, tumbling over one another in a mess of admiration and awkward intensity. For someone usually so reserved, the enthusiasm betrayed him utterly. The silence that followed was so complete it could have been scripted. Orion exhaled sharply through his nose. If he’d had something to throw, he probably would’ve thrown it. But you—
You just laughed
Quiet. Warm. Deep. A sound dredged up from beneath centuries of dust, as if even your voice had forgotten how to smile “You’re the first to say his name with that kind of light in your optics since the fall”
“If Megatronus could hear you now, he’d probably be baffled that he’s become some kind of hero to miners” You tilted your helm, smiling just a little “Though, honestly, I’m not surprised”
D-16 looked like he wanted the floor to collapse beneath him. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to will away the flush creeping across his faceplates. But then. Your voice shifted. Quieter now. Calmer
“I stood beside him. Yes”
You didn’t elaborate immediately. You let the weight of that admission settle, like dust returning to a long-forgotten shelf
“Not as a disciple” you said, after a moment “But as a witness”
D-16 froze. Not just with reverence, but intent. His posture didn’t just still it listened “Was he really like the stories?”
You didn’t answer at first
Your optics drifted upward, tracing the long silver line of a power conduit above, but your vision reached far beyond it. You were looking back through wars and ages, through the collapse of dynasties and the silence left behind “He was strong"
“Of course he was. But that’s not what stayed with me” Your gaze returned to him. You didn’t look at D-16 like he was a soldier or a worker. You looked at him like someone who had just asked the right question “What I remember most… was the way he shielded the weak. The way he stood between them and harm like he was born to carry the weight of their world, and never once questioned if it was too heavy..”
Silence again. But not a heavy one this time
A reverent, holding sort of quiet. Then, you stepped closer not imposing, but deliberate. Your optics met his without flinching “If you want to walk his path…”
“Don’t begin with your fists, begin with what you’d give your life to protect”
You weren’t surprised that Orion kept returning to the old archive. He was persistent like that drawn to lost records and locked doors the way some bots were drawn to light. What did surprise you, however, was that he started bringing D-16 with him. Not just once. Not as a fluke. But again. And again
Each time, the miner sat with his back straight, posture stiff as if the room itself required reverence. He never touched anything without permission. His focus was unwavering, his questions, clear and concise. Never a wasted word. At first, he spoke like someone walking on thin ice. Awkward, hesitant. Always respectful. And always always his questions were about Megatronus
“Did Megatronus ever overrule the other Primes?”— “Is it true he once fought a Quintesson with his bare hands?”– “What did his voice sound like?”
It was always about him in the beginning. D-16 would ask you to recount field notes not available in the public archives. He’d ask what Megatronus thought during the final war what moved him, what held him back. And you told him. You told him everything you remembered. You spoke of war. Of victories. Of moments carved from metal and memory. You even told him how Megatronus once pulled you bodily from the battlefield without hesitation
But then quietly, gradually, his questions began to change. They grew softer. Slower. Less historical. He started asking about you instead. At first, you hardly noticed the shift. His voice was steady, his tone still careful. But the pattern had changed. His curiosity had turned inward toward the storyteller rather than the story and you realized, one day, mid-sentence. You were no longer recounting the past. You were being recorded into it
He hummed
A low, thoughtful sound less an answer than a pause, a space carved out to think, to consider. The kind of sound someone makes when they’re weighing the ground beneath them before taking a step they can’t take back and then, it came. The question.
Delivered with the kind of casualness that only made it more obvious
“And—did you… ever have anyone? Back then. During the wars" His voice caught near the end, like the question had tripped over its own boots on the way out
Your optics lifted from the datapad slowly. Not sharply. Just… knowingly “Anyone?"
It was a simple word, but layered with intent. You weren’t asking for clarification. You were asking if he knew what he was really asking
He immediately straightened his posture a move so sudden it bordered on mechanical. Which was impressive, considering his spine had already been stiff enough to pass for reinforced alloy “I mean allies. Or comrades. People you… trusted. Fought beside..”
The correction tumbled out like bricks falling into place too neatly, too fast. His words tried to anchor the moment back into neutral ground, but the field around him betrayed him. It had shifted subtly, but unmistakably. That buzz of restraint pulsing just a little too sharply at the edges. You didn’t respond right away. Didn’t reach for sarcasm. Didn’t turn away.
You simply let the silence sit between you undisturbed, like dust in a sealed room “I had those” you said, voice low, level. A truth you’d long since polished smooth from memory “And more..”
That did it. The datapad nearly slipped from his fingers just slightly, just enough. He caught it without looking, reflexes honed from years in the mines, but his control faltered for a breath. Long enough for you to feel the ripple of heat in his field. Not embarrassment. Something quieter. More sincere
he muttered “Right, of course- makes sense”
His optics stayed locked forward, trained on some far-off point just above the floor. Nowhere near you. Nowhere dangerous. And after a moment that pulsed like a heartbeat. He said it – So softly it barely left his frame “I think… I’d like to be one of them.”
The words didn’t echo
They didn’t need to
They settled into the room like something that had been waiting a long time to be said. You turned to him slowly
Not with surprise. Not with mockery. But with something gentler. Quieter. As though he'd just offered you a piece of himself he wasn’t used to sharing and didn’t yet know if he should regret it. He didn’t meet your gaze. Couldn’t. But you noticed the tight line of his jaw. The slight tension in his servos. The way his shoulders rose just enough to brace against whatever answer you might give and his field normally so disciplined was frayed at the edges. A flicker of static in his composure. Like a transmission that wanted to say more but didn’t know how. You didn’t press. Didn’t tease. Just… watched him, the way one watches something rare and very carefully offered, without changing your tone, you smiled. Not the kind of smile meant to reassure. But the kind that held memory in its corners. That knew what it meant to be seen
“Then start by asking better questions” you said, voice low—carrying more warmth than he probably knew what to do with “I might even answer them”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. But it was there. Not quite a smile. Not yet
But close
You hadn’t said it like a joke. You hadn’t said it to dismiss him. You said it like you meant it. Like there really was a door, just slightly open, and all he had to do was reach and that—that was dangerous
Because he wanted to. He wanted to know more. About you. Not just the archive, not just your history, not just what you’d seen. You. The way your voice changed when you spoke of memories that mattered. The way your optics drifted skyward when you thought no one noticed. The way you never laughed at his awkwardness—only… watched. Quietly. Kindly. Like it didn’t bother you at all
He let his helm rest against the wall
Shut his optics
Let out a slow vent
He shouldn’t get caught up in it. He knew that. He was a miner. A worker. Just another cogless bot trying to survive and you… You were memory incarnate — You carried wars and wisdom in your voice. You stood beside Primes. You remembered gods.
What business did he have wanting to be remembered by you?
But still—under all that logic, that silence, that self-restraint— His spark pulsed just a little faster
S e n t i n e l P r i m e
The corridor stretched long and silent, wrapped in a hush that felt too deliberate to be natural—like a room holding its breath
Ancient murals loomed on either side, half-lit by overhead glowpanels designed to mimic the old morninglight of pre-war Cybertron. Each image painted a different fragment of the same sacred lie: unity, strength, unbroken lineage. The brushstrokes were delicate, reverent, rendered by artists who had believed the Primes were eternal. Immortal. Immutable.
You moved through that quiet with hands folded neatly behind your back, each step measured, silent. You had walked this wing hundreds of times before. Cataloged each pigment, each artisan’s mark, each brittle metadata layer coded beneath the paint. But now even the images you knew by spark felt… remote. Like they belonged to someone else’s story. Your gaze paused at a depiction of Solus Prime, tall, radiant, her forge-hammer glowing in the cradle of creation. But the dataplate had been changed: “Commissioned in honor of the Divine Reconstruction”
Reconstruction?
That plate hadn’t been there last cycle..
Your hands clenched slightly behind your back, jaw tightened. Then footsteps. Not hurried. Not stealthy. Just… assured. You didn’t need to turn. The rhythm was unmistakable
“You always did prefer this wing”
The voice came soft—too soft. Like an echo meant to blend in with the art.
“The lighting’s better here” you replied evenly “Less curated”
Sentinel Prime’s presence filled the space behind them long before his frame did. His silhouette, massive, statuesque, lined with cold gold filigree moved into view with all the ease of a king inspecting his garden. But his steps were quiet. Thoughtful. He approached not like a ruler claiming ground, but like a memory creeping forward on quiet feet.
“I remember” he said, now beside you
His tone was warm. Familiar. Intentionally gentle “You used to drag me here to correct plaques. Spent hours lecturing me on timeline deviations”
“I let you talk. You do know that, don’t you?”
Your optics flicked toward him, then back to the mural “I wasn’t lecturing”
“You were” he said, smiling “But you were right. Mostly” His voice was lower now, quiet enough to ripple through the stillness like heat. He was standing just close enough for his shadow to graze the edges of your frame
You turned toward him at last. Slowly. He was tall. Too tall. The kind of height that once symbolized protection but now only loomed. You wasn’t small, not by any Cybertronian standard, but beside him, you looked like something meant to be set aside. Kept behind glass. Preserved “That didn’t stop you from rewriting it all”
His smile twitched. Only slightly
“Things change”
“Convenient”
“I’m not here to argue”
“You never are” The space between them was thick with old familiarity, but strained now like a song slowed half a beat too long, dissonant where it once sang in sync
“I miss when we used to talk” Sentinel said, his voice thinning with a note too careful to be casual “Real talk. You challenged me”
“so I’m still here”
“You just don’t like the shape of the challenge anymore” He moved a little closer. Not to dominate. But to surround
“You don’t have to fight me..”
“I’m not fighting. I’m resisting. There’s a difference”
His expression shifted only slightly. Not quite hurt. Not quite angered. But something beneath the surface moved “Then stop resisting” he said, barely above a whisper “Let me in again”
The words hung too heavy in the air
You turned to face him fully now, field flickering slightly not with fear, but warning “You’re not asking me to let you in. You’re asking me to comply. To pretend none of this happened. That this mural, and the hundreds of others like it, still mean the same thing”
A long pause. Then quieter “You want me to become part of the illusion..”
He didn’t deny it. Instead, his field pulsed faintly outward magnetic, warm, intentional. The kind of closeness that might’ve once felt like comfort. But now only pressed too much, too close “I never wanted to lose you in this”
“Out of all bot, not you”
The words were too tender. Too particular
And you heard it. The inflection. That little fracture of emotion that didn’t belong in a public address. That wasn’t meant for a former archivist. That if left unchecked would lead to something harder to survive “Then you shouldn’t have replaced everything we stood for”
Silence
He didn’t step away. Not yet. But his gaze lowered just slightly. Not in defeat but in the careful weighing of what he couldn’t control and just before leaving, Sentinel said so quiet it barely moved the air “You don’t have to be the last relic of the past, you could be part of what's next”
“There's still a place for you, beside me”
Then he turned. The shadows swallowed him slowly, step by step, until only the lingering hum of his field remained warm, familiar, and unbearably wrong. You remained there, surrounded by murals of rewritten myths and stories you no longer recognized, stared up at Solus Prime one last time. And for the first time in cycles…
You couldn’t remember what color her optics had been before Sentinel repainted her
You had always wondered quietly, carefully. Why the miners had no T-Cogs. Why these workers–those newborns, forged strong and silent beneath the surface of Cybertron, lacked the very thing that made transformation possible.But it was only ever a question left unspoken. Not because you lacked curiosity but because you knew Sentinel would never answer you
And so speculation took root. Not in accusation, not yet. Just quiet observation hypotheses formed in the hush between truths, the kind no one dared to say aloud. Still, you didn’t want to believe it. You couldn’t. Surely not even Sentinel could be that cruel, could he? Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Until you could see it with your own optics
He treated you much the same as he always had. The teasing still lingered in his voice, familiar as a memory. The smiles came easily, often too easily warmer than necessary, threaded now with a tension you couldn’t name. He could have just wiped you off. Silenced you. Replaced you. But instead, he kept you close. Closer than before. You told yourself it was strategy. Easier to watch you. Easier to contain
But perhaps, just perhaps. He couldn’t bear to let you go. Perhaps Sentinel had drawn you so deep into the architecture of his world that the thought of ruling it without you, felt incomplete, dangerous, like failure. And so, in every public address, every state broadcast and ceremonial decree, when he stepped into the light and into the eye of the world. You were always there. Not to speak. Not to challenge. Not to stand as an equal. But simply to stand. Beside him as if that alone would be enough. And it was. That’s all he needed. For the new age he ruled to begin—with you still in it
The plaza had been remade not merely rebuilt, but reborn for this very moment. Steel arches arced overhead like the fossilized ribs of a long-dead colossus, burnished to a gleam beneath the planetary sun. Between them hung banners of deep cobalt, stitched in gold thread so fine it caught the light like fire
THE ERA OF CONTINUITY, they read
Beneath that, the unmistakable crest of Sentinel Prime, repeated, mirrored, multiplied across every surface like a sigil of divine right. A thousand optics turned as he emerged onto the marble dais. Flanked by honor guard. Flanked by silence.
And flanked by them. You followed exactly half a step behind, as protocol required close enough to signify loyalty, far enough to signify subordination, your frame was immaculate under the precision lighting, each panel polished, each edge adorned with ceremonial filigree. Upon your chestplate gleamed the freshly-forged insignia of Principal Historical Advisor to the Prime a title announced only a cycle prior, yet already murmured through the chambers of power like scripture passed hand to hand
Sentinel raised a hand
The plaza obeyed
“My fellow citizens of Iacon” his voice unfurled like silk over steel calm, crystalline, unyielding “today marks not only remembrance but restoration. A new page. A unified future”
He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice carried like gravity inevitable, inescapable
Behind him, you held your stance with exquisite poise, expression serene, the curve of lips calibrated to precision not warmth, not joy, but symmetry. The kind of smile meant for monuments, not mouths. You weren’t unrecognizable. You had merely become… curated — A fixture, flourish
“In every age of transformation” Sentinel continued “we must reach not only toward innovation but to those who hold the lineage of wisdom. And so, I walk forward with those who once stood beside the Primes themselves” He turned just slightly enough to cast the gesture like a flourish of choreography, an artist unveiling his favorite piece “My advisor. My historian. My conscience”
Applause
You bowed, flawlessly. An angle measured. A nod practiced
“They remind me, daily that the past is not to be erased, but honored”
And that, you thought behind your perfect smile, is what a lie sounds like when it wears poetry for armor
The crowd didn’t know. Couldn’t know
They didn’t see the redacted records, the vanishing cross-references, the warped timelines spliced together like a forgery passed off as scripture. But you did, knew every phrase pre-approved for the interview after this, knew which questions to feign surprise at, which answers to lace in ambiguity, which smiles to hold half a second longer—for the press, for the pose, for the pageantry
When the mic was passed to you, you spoke clearly. Without tremor “It is my privilege, to ensure that the light of Cybertron’s past still guides our steps. We move forward… not in forgetfulness, but in reverence”
The voice did not falter. But behind your back, fingers curled
Just slightly
You could feel him watching. Not with threat. Not with command. But with the kind of gaze one reserves for polished statues an artifact restored, admired, and displayed. He stepped closer. Just enough for proximity to read as intimacy to the cameras drone. Just enough to veil the weight behind the words “That was beautifully said” he murmured
You didn’t even look at him “I know”
“You still surprise me sometimes”
“I shouldn’t”
He laughed. Quietly. It sounded like warmth. But you knew the tone was forged from pressure. You just smiled again for the cameras, for the world, for the lie. All the while counting the seconds until they could shed this costume of allegiance
and return to silence. To truth. To records that hadn't yet been rewritten
The applause hadn’t faded. Not truly
Even as the final words of the speech dissolved into the crisp evening air, even as the recording lights dimmed and flickered out, the plaza still thrummed with the afterglow of orchestrated pride. A thousand optics shimmered with patriotic sheen. The banners above caught the wind like the sails of a sanctified warship, reborn, rebranded
Sentinel turned slightly as they stepped from the marble dais. His hand extended not in earnest assistance, but in something more… choreographed. Just close enough to suggest warmth. Just distant enough to deny obligation
You did not take it. You descended with mechanical grace, each movement refined to ceremony, smile remained a studied curve, not a flicker out of place, electromagnetic field was wound tight, compressed close to frame static-thick, airtight. But Sentinel didn’t retract. He adjusted A beat. A breath. Then he fell into step beside them. One hand still positioned loosely at their back not touching, not quite, but present. Suggesting
“You handled that perfectly” he murmured, voice pitched just for them an intimate register dressed in silk “Even that line about reverence” he added, with a glint behind his words “It almost moved me”
“I was quoting your own speech, from six cycles ago. You just don’t remember”
He laughed, quiet, indulgent “That’s why I keep you close”
His hand settled lightly at the small of your back. A touch that, from a distance, would read as fondness. Dignified. United. Photogenic. The Prime and his trusted advisor—l a tableau of loyalty
You didn’t recoil. But felt it. The message in the weight of it. The duration. The confidence. The performance. You tilted your head a fraction not a glare, not yet, but a signal
“You’re taking liberties” you said, voice sheathed in quiet silk. A murmur passed as jest but honed like a blade
“I’m taking advantage of optics” Sentinel countered, unapologetic “That’s what this office demands” He leaned just slightly toward you, as if confiding something lighthearted. The angle of his smile curled with practiced ease “Besides” he added, almost inaudible beneath the hum of the crowd “if I wanted to take liberties… I’d be far less subtle”
Your optics slid toward him — Sharp. Unblinking. Glacial “Then it’s fortunate, that subtlety suits you. It keeps your hands clean”
He didn’t respond immediately
Let the silence grow roots. Let the proximity say what words couldn’t. Then, with the grace of a ruler accustomed to applause, he stepped ahead. Half a pace. Reclaiming the lead. Shoulders squared. Expression unblemished. A portrait of command. A symbol of benevolent strength. Behind him, you followed. Impeccably. Your smile still worn like enamel. Uncracked
The drone captured the moment—the Prime descending the steps, his advisor close at his side. A soft brush of proximity. A glance. A smile. Unspoken trust. Unshakable partnership. A unity sculpted for the archives
You kept the pace
Matched the image
“You don’t want me. You made that clear from the beginning”
“No” he said, softer, took a step closer now “I said I could no longer have you in the same way”
Unmasked. Unarmored. No shield of title, no pageantry of power. You’d forgotten how tall he was. Or perhaps he had been refitted. Prime-forged and sculpted for presence. It hardly mattered. What mattered was how close he stood now, and how easily someone like him could end you if he wanted to. One strike. One breath
And yet. He never had. Not once. Not with force. Not with violence. He wasn’t that kind of tyrant
“You were a pillar” he said, voice slow, deliberate “Unshakable. I relied on that. Trusted in it”
“But this world. My world, has no place for things that do not change” His tone was not cruel. It was… sorrowful. Almost reverent. The voice of someone delivering last rites to something sacred “That doesn’t mean I wanted to break you”
“You’re the last piece of a world that made me who I was”
A i r a c h n i d
The hallway this time was brighter
Wider. Less suited to shadows, and yet—still quiet enough for things to go unnoticed
You stood near the polished threshold of a secondary archive chamber one of the newer annexes built under Sentinel's regime. The walls were smooth. Unscuffed. Sterile in a way that felt unnatural, like something grown in a vacuum instead of history. Every surface gleamed too perfectly. Nothing here had aged yet. Nothing here had memory. You scrolled slowly through the contents of a datapad not reading, not truly. Just moving. Optics skating over headlines, edit trails, deleted citation links. The silence here was curated. Sculpted
You weren’t here for the records
You were waiting
And right on cue “You're early today”
The voice arrived like a brush of silk through charged air. Smooth. Deliberate. It always was. Familiar now but still edged like a knife’s smile. You didn’t look up immediately, didn’t have to
You already knew who it was
Airachnid was leaning against the terminal bank, as though she’d been there since the system powered on. One hip balanced lightly against the edge, arms folded, posture relaxed but not truly at rest. Her helm was tilted just enough to unnerve, like she was watching from an angle no one else thought to use. Her smile was slight, carefully measured. It didn’t quite reach her optics, but that was the point
“You’re very consistent” you said mildly, glancing at her from the corner of your optics “Do you clock in like this for everyone?”
“No” Her tone was a velvet purr, low and intentional “Only the ones worth watching”
“I’m flattered”
“You should be”
The silence that followed was thick enough to hold shape. You looked back down, scrolling through the datapad with a laziness that masked purpose “Do you enjoy this?” you asked, voice light
“Watching me sort metadata? Or is this just another item on your schedule?”
Airachnid’s helm tilted further, just a fraction “Do you enjoy testing the patience of your security detail?”
“I prefer to test the depth of curiosity”
That earned a quiet sound from her. Not quite a laugh, more a click. Dry. Surgical. Like a scalpel being returned to its velvet-lined case “You don’t strike me as the reckless type”
“I’m not. But I’ve spent more time speaking to corrupted code than to people lately. You’re more intriguing than most encrypted files” Airachnid uncrossed her arms with slow precision and stepped away from the terminal bank. Her movement was seamless, gliding, but deliberate. Too fluid to be lazy. Too elegant to be harmless
“Careful. Curiosity makes a poor shield”
“So does ignorance”
They stood across from one another now.
Not close enough to touch, but close enough to read nuance. Like two scholars dissecting the same artifact, each searching for a different truth beneath the same surface “Tell me something” your voice gentler now
“Were you always like this?”
Airachnid’s optics narrowed slightly
The light from the overhead glowpanels traced cold reflections across her faceplate, catching in the sharp line of her jaw, the subtle gleam of her plating “Define this” she said, quietly, but with that razor-curious edge. Like she was offering you a choice: explain, or be dissected
You didn’t flinch
“Loyal to the point of silence. Efficient to the point of invisibility– I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone hold power so tightly… without wanting it”
Airachnid said nothing. She simply looked at you. For longer than was polite. Longer than was comfortable. Not with surprise. No, she rarely wasted optics on emotion but with something like scrutiny. A kind of analytical regard, like she was reassessing a threat level. Then, just a half-step forward. Just enough to be noticed
“What makes you think I don’t want power?”
“Because you already have it. And yet, you stay in the shadow of someone else’s crest” You didn’t hesitate, voice remained even
Her smile shifted at that small, curling inward like a claw retracting just beneath the surface. It wasn’t a smirk. It wasn’t for show. It was closer to truth
“You assume I follow him”
“Don’t you?”
The silence that opened between you wasn’t heavy but precise. Like a scalpel laid on a sterile tray, gleaming and untouched. No breath. No movement. Just tension wound in stillness “I serve Sentinel Prime” Airachnid said, her tone glass-smooth “Because he knows where he’s going. And because he gave me a place where I no longer have to pretend”
You didn’t blink “Pretend to be what?”
Her optics glinted, cool light on polished alloy, the gleam of a trap sprung just enough to warn
“Anything less than what I am” That landed harder than you expected. Not just the words. But the way she said them. The calm certainty. The unapologetic sharpness. You watched her – still, quiet, measuring
“He trusts you”
“Utterly”
“That’s rare”
“That’s earned”
This silence felt different. No longer stretched like wire across a minefield. It settled between you like cooling metal, coiled, yes, but no longer poised to strike. A mutual understanding, or something close. You gave a small nod
“Thank you. For the conversation”
Airachnid didn’t nod back. Didn’t tilt her head. Didn’t break the mask. She simply said, plainly “I’ll still be watching”
“I know” You turned back to the datapad but didn’t move. Didn’t scroll. Didn’t type. Your hands rested on the console’s edge, tension vibrating faintly in the joints
Behind you, Airachnid moved with the silence of trained instinct, less like she walked away, more like she was subtracted from the scene. Gone. Clean. Seamless. Somewhere behind her careful silence, something lingered. Not doubt. Not regret. But the smallest flicker of recognition. The way one predator sees another in the wild not a threat, but a mirror. A different species of survivor. She’d known from the first time she was assigned to monitor you
You were dangerous
Not because you fought. But because you watched. Because you remembered. Because you asked questions like knives and in this golden empire built on curated truths, it was those who asked quietly that had to be watched the closest. As her shadow faded into the long corridor. Airachnid didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. You were still there, rooted in archives, cloaked in dignity, poised like a weapon Sentinel still thought ornamental and if there was war coming beneath the sheen of peace
Airachnid would not choose a side
She was the side. Already chosen, already loyal, already lethal
Sentinel doesn't have the time to watch you every day. To follow you. Track you. Monitor your movements. And that’s precisely why Airachnid does it in his place. He entrusted her with the task assigned her to keep a careful, unflinching eye on you. To guard you, yes. But also to measure. To evaluate. To intercept, if needed. She has never failed him before and so, Sentinel has no reason to question the arrangement
When you are not with him then you are with her. It’s always one or the other and you’ve grown used to that rhythm. Far too used to it. Used to it enough that you’ve begun to speak with her. Start conversations. Ask things. Curious. And, strangely perhaps suspiciously. Airachnid lets you
She allows the exchange. Doesn’t cut you down. Doesn’t shut you out. Maybe it’s a tactic. Maybe she’s letting the walls fall just enough to get closer. To make it easier when the time comes, when Sentinel finally decides to erase you but you know how to play this game. You’ve survived long enough by knowing when not to step away. And you’re not about to waste the opportunity now
“You already have power and yet, you stay in the shadow of someone else’s crest”
She almost laughed at that. What a foolish perspective. Sentinel isn’t her shadow. He’s her axis. He gave her a place where she didn’t have to soften herself to fit. You doesn’t understand that kind of loyalty. Because theirs is built on memory. On rules. On history. And all of that burned. Still—Airachnid cannot help but.. observe you
You doesn’t speak like a politician. Doesn’t stand like a servant. You carry something harder. Older. The weight of someone who has seen too much truth to be satisfied with a lie, but is too tired to shout it anymore. She doesn’t hate you. That surprises her. She respects. And that’s dangerous. Because it means that if Sentinel ever does order her to remove them. It won’t be clean. It won’t be mechanical. It will leave a mark
The archives were quiet, but that’s nothing new. What was new, though, was the feel of someone waiting in the wings—someone not standing in the open, but lingering just at the edge, just beyond the light, as if they were the shadow. Airachnid’s presence was invisible, like most things she did. The moment you began to analyze data once more, she appeared at the edge of their peripheral vision, standing just far enough not to intrude. She didn’t speak. Didn’t even move. She just waited
“I thought you’d be occupied” you said, voice not accusatory but more curious “Or are you always so quiet?”
Airachnid remained still, like a spider perched at the edge of its web.
She didn’t look directly at them. Not yet “Sometimes” her voice just soft enough to blend into the silence of the chamber
“quiet is all that’s needed”
“You’re not here for me to ask you questions”
Airachnid shifted her weight slightly, taking one step closer without breaking that eerie calm that surrounded her “I don’t answer questions” she said, stepping into the slight illumination cast by the panel. Her silhouette now clear, framed in the soft light “I observe. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
You turned, but the motion was slow, thoughtful “Observing? ..or controlling?”
Airachnid tilted her helm a fraction of an inch, her optics glinting in that same sharp, calculating manner they’d seen so often. Yet, this time, there was a softness, a subtle understanding that hinted at something deeper “If I wanted control, I wouldn’t have left you alone long enough to ask me that question”
There was a moment of hesitation, of silence that stretched far longer than it should have. You lowered your optics, a soft chuckle escaping their lips, though it wasn’t directed at Airachnid
“You do like keeping your distance, don’t you?”
“Distance is necessary” Airachnid replied simply, her voice like ice melting in the sun “But observation... that’s personal”
You stopped, looked at her again, not with caution, but with genuine curiosity. For all her quiet, for all her efficiency, there was something about Airachnid that had always fascinated them. The way she moved, measured and deliberate. The way she saw things others missed
“Why do you stay here? Why stay with Sentinel?”
Airachnid’s optics darkened slightly, but she didn’t look away. Her answer came with a slight, almost imperceptible shift in her stance
“I don’t stay. I’m here because I choose to be”
You let the question settle, watching the way she stood, poised but not impatient and just as your optics lingered too long, just as your mind shifted–Airachnid’s hand moved, almost without a thought. She slid a small data disk onto the edge of the console. Not just any disk. One with new directives “It’s not what you’ve been told to look for” she said softly, almost as if she had read the question forming in their mind “But it’s something you’ll need soon”
You stared down at the disk, thoughts moving a mile a minute, hadn’t expected this. Not from Airachnid, not from someone so loyal to Sentinel. But the glance she gave them, fleeting, calculating, spoke volumes
“Just make sure you don’t miss it”
she added, before stepping back into the shadows, fading from view once more. The disk sat there. Silent. Waiting. As if it, too, knew that its secrets had already begun to spill, even before you had reached for it
She remembers their last conversation, low-lit corridor, quiet exchange. The way they tried to read her.
As if she were text on a slab of archive steel. ‘You can’t catalog a predator’ she thinks. And yet… something in you had watched her not with fear, but effort. Like they wanted to understand. To connect
It was foolish. Possibly suicidal. But it was real and real things are rare. She reports to Sentinel later that cycle. The conversation is short “They’re stable. Contained. But restless” Sentinel leans back in his chair. Fingers steepled, voice soft
“And still trying to find where they belong?”
“You’ve already decided where they belong”
He smiles. That cool, refined smile that has sealed fates without ever raising his voice “Then make sure they stay there”
She nods once. No hesitation and yet. Later that night, she walks past the corridor where you sometimes works late. She does not stop. She does not speak. But she slows. Just for a moment. And in that moment, she wonders ‘If they ever fall… will I warn them first?’ It is a thought that should not exist. So she leaves it behind, buried in silence. Where it belongs
Sometimes when you sneak out to hide in the old archives that are considered a forbidden place for no one to invade, or even when you talk to the bots that you shouldn't, she doesn't report that to Sentinel
BONUS ON
D A R K W I N G
The lower quarry shook with the thunder of drills
Sparks flew. Gravel sang under heavy treads. Miners shouted to one another over the noise some urgent, some desperate, most ignored. And at the center of it all stood Darkwing. Massive. Smudged with energon soot. Half-snapped shoulder armor from who-knew-what yesterday. He barked at two workers who’d paused too long
“I said get it moving, you slagging excuses for bolts! You want the Prime’s wrath down here next?! MOVE!” He raised a reinforced datapad like he was going to throw it. The worker scrambled back, someone coughed
A soft, polite cough. A very high-ranking, polite cough. Darkwing froze. Turned–
You stood at the edge of the overlook, flanked by two silent escorts and dressed in the calm, formal sheen of someone who did not come here to yell, ust… to observ
“Oh. Uh. Sir-Ma’am-Advisor!”
Darkwing stiffened, saluting with one shoulder (the only one still intact) “Didn’t, uh didn’t know you were coming down today”
“It was unannounced” you replied mildly, stepping closer “I was told this sector has been underperforming”
Darkwing nodded too fast “Yes! I mean no! I mean uh, there were some delays. But nothing that can’t be! Well, you know. Handled. Promptly. Professionally”
You raised an optic ridge. Behind him, a miner who’d just been shouted at looked up, mouth slightly open at the shift in tone “We noticed an unusual spike in damage reports from your crew” you continued
“Yes-eh-that’s…” Darkwing tried to scratch the back of his helm. Realized he had a dent there. Scratched beside it instead “We’re in a rough phase. You know how ore layers get. It’s the… uh. The fault of… geology”
You stared. He stared back.
Then laughed-awkwardly. Loudly “Heh! Cybertron, right? So unpredictable!”
The silence behind Reader was immediate and cold
“We’ll be reviewing your operation logs and your conduct notes”
“Absolutely. Please. All yours. I love paperwork. I dream of audits”
“Of course you do” You turned slightly to speak with their aide, but before they could finish a sentence “Would you-like some energon, Advisor? We have, uh, local brew. Very unrefined”
“...No, thank you”
“Good choice. It’s terrible”
You looked at him one last time. Measured “Carry on, Supervisor”
Darkwing saluted again—sharper now. Nearly knocked his own helmplate with the angle. Once advisor and their group disappeared from the walkway, he let out a sound between a groan and a short-range radio malfunction
Behind him, one of the miners whispered “Did you just call geology unpredictable?”
Darkwing glared “SHUT UP AND DIG”
Maybe it was Sentinel’s bad habits rubbing off on you. Or maybe it was your own emotionally-repressed tendencies finally leaking out sideways. Because, sometimes.. you enjoyed bothering Darkwing. There was just something undeniably satisfying about watching him get flustered just a little. The way he’d fidget, posture, start to sweat wires the moment you casually inquired about the progress reports and mining quotas under his jurisdiction. Naturally, that only made you press harder. Because why wouldn’t you?
It was fun. In a terrible, twisted, borderline-unethical kind of way. It wasn’t you. You swore it wasn’t you. And then when you know Orion and D-16. After that, well, let’s just say you suddenly found a lot more reasons to “personally inspect” the lower levels of the mines. Every now and then, you’d find an excuse to stop by. Just a quick visit. Just enough time for a few questions. Some light conversation. Perhaps a little friendly interrogation
Occasionally, you had to bribe Darkwing with a few of Sentinel’s private assets. Nothing serious. A datachip here, a high-grade component there but most of the time? You just threatened him. Nicely. Harmlessly. In that special way that makes guilty bots break into a cold sweat and confess things they didn’t even do. Honestly, it was probably fine. Mostly …Probably
If possible would you be open to doing a human s/o with D-16? Like the human came from another planet that was destroyed and they got stranded on Cybertron and somehow managed to end up in Iacon city?
D-16 (Megatron) x Reader – The Creature From Another World - Part 1 of 2
A/N – This is so much longer than I thought it would be. I think it may be the most fun, silly fic I’ve ever written and I am so happy that I got to write it. Also, SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE TRANSFORMERS ONE MOVIE IN THE FINAL SEGMENT!
Warnings – None.
Rating – T
It was all Orion’s fault. Everything that was likely to get D-16 in trouble was his fault. It was always, ‘Hey, what if we searched the tunnels for something even more valuable than energon?’ Or ‘You want to come into the archives with me? Of course, I have a permit. It’s not like I would try breaking in… again.’
This time, the line that was sure to get D-16 into trouble was, “Hey bud, don’t tell anyone but I got us a pet!”
D-16 rubbed his helm exasperatedly, “A pet, Pax! Why can’t you just obey the rules for once.”
“Hey, there are no rules against keeping pets,” Orion said excitedly, heading over to his locker to retrieve the creature in question.
“Of course there aren’t! Because no one would be stupid enough to keep one!”
“You just haven’t seen it yet. It’s really cute.”
“I hope your spark eater tears off your face, Pax. I really do,” D-16 deadpanned.
“Not a spark eater,” Orion chuckled, then he began whispering into his locker, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt ya, little cutie. That’s it, settle down now.”
D-16 shook his head, “You’re gonna get demoted all the way down to the 40th sub-level and when you do, I’m not gonna save your sorry aft. Besides Pax, there isn’t enough energon to go around as is. How’re you gonna feed a pet?”
“That’s the thing,” Orion said eagerly. “It doesn’t fuel up on energon.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. What kind of thing doesn’t need energon?” D-16 asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him as he tried to peek over Orion’s shoulder at the so-called ‘pet’ he was trying to grab.
He heard some scrabbling, Orion said some more soothing words and then Orion turned around, holding a creature half his size around the waist in both servos.
“D-16, meet our new pet, Minitronus.”
“Minitronus!” D-16 said excitedly. He knew Orion had only picked the name to foster his attachment and ensure that he kept the creature a secret.
D-16 got close to Orion’s pet, resting his hands on his thighs as he bent down. “Whoa, what is it?”
“C’mon D-16. If you don’t know, I’m not gonna tell you.”
“You have no idea, do you.”
“Not a one.”
The creature chittered angrily, pushing at Orion’s servos.
“It looks angry,” D-16 observed.
“It’s just getting used to us. That’s all.”
Orion began stroking at the creature’s head.
“Okay Pax,” D-16 said, resigning himself to Orion’s crazy new pet, as he knew he would from the start. “C’mon then. Tell me all about it. What does it eat? Where’d you find it? And most importantly, how’re we going to keep it a secret?”
“Hey! I said HEY! YOU UP THERE! STOP PETTING ME! I’M NOT AN ANIMAL, YOU BIG DUMB IDIOT!”
The giant metal man smiled at you affectionately, opening his mouth to say something you couldn’t understand. It all sounded like scraping metal and electrical noises and you couldn’t make sense of any of it.
Ever since the Quintessons had abducted you, your life had been nothing but trouble. You were their prisoner but when they found out your planet had nothing of worth, they decided it would be better to experiment on you. The only consolation was that you could at least understand the Quintessons, who had multiple translator devices on their ship.
You were very fortunate that the Quintessons didn’t view you as a threat since they didn’t bother keeping you in any kind of high-security prison and so you managed to escape before they did anything too terrible. The worst you suffered were a few zaps from a weak cattle prod, probably testing your nervous system.
Yet, having escaped the Quintesson ship, you had landed yourself into deeper trouble. You had found yourself on a living metal planet, and though a few plants grew on the ever-transforming surface, the pocket computer you had stolen from your captors informed you they were poisonous.
Fortunately, you had thought a few things through regarding your escape. You had managed to grab a backpack, stuffing it full of provisions and interesting gadgets. The food was stored in dehydrated cubes so with proper care, it could last you months, maybe even an entire year. The backpack also contained a device to keep you warm, a cube that turned into a forcefield when thrown to the ground, and most importantly one of the translators that had allowed you to understand the Quintessons along with a few other gadgets.
However, despite your planning, things hadn’t gone very well for you. After touching down on the planet, you boarded a train that you hoped would take you to civilisation, and while it did take you to a city underground that was more beautiful and advanced than you could imagine, it was clear that the alien life-forms there had never seen an organic creature before.
The few you tried to talk to initially screamed as if you were vermin and tried to blast, stab, and crush you in succession. As you scrambled for your life, you took a kick to the back, saved by your pack which had broken your much-needed translator.
You ran and hid, keeping out of sight and soon you started feeling like the vermin the metal people viewed you as. You learned quickly to keep out of sight and made your way to where there were fewer bots, spending many quiet hours either sleeping in vents or trying to repair your translator with the limited knowledge you had.
Yet, your luck couldn’t last forever and eventually, you ran into a vent that turned out to be a transportation tunnel to and from the mines. It was there that Mr Big-Red-Idiot-Bot caught you and took you to the charging bays. At first, you thought your luck was turning around and that he was going to take you to someone who would be able to understand you since he was obviously trying to be gentle with you. Then it became clear that he just thought you were some kind of stupid animal in need of care and he adopted you as his pet.
“What are these things?” D-16 asked, gently lifting your top.
You slapped at his servo, swearing at him even though he couldn’t understand you. Orion laughed, “I don’t know, but that’s how it reacted to me too. I think they’re to keep it warm. Either way, it doesn’t like it when you touch them. Oh, and hey, check this out, it does tricks.”
Orion shoved you back into his locker where your bag was. You ran to your pack, hurriedly grabbing your broken translator and showing it to the new grey bot. You had tried repeatedly showing it to Big Red, but he didn’t get what you were trying to do and always just laughed at you.
“What’s it holding?” D-16 asked.
“Playing with some scrap metal. Isn’t that cute? It has a favourite toy! I think Minitronus might have belonged to someone else once because it has all these adorable toys in there and it can make its own fuel.”
You sighed. Clearly, the grey bot was no better than Big Red, but at least he wasn’t trying to kill you. You shook your head and began searching your pack for some tools to repair the translator. Upon seeing you grab a screwdriver, Orion took it from you.
You yelled a few more insults, demanding it back but Orion just teased you, holding it just out of reach.
“Aww does Minitronus want the toy? Do you? Do you? That’s it, reach for the toy. Grab it.” He cooed.
D-16 rolled his eyes, amused by both Orion and his new pet. He snatched the miniature ‘toy’ screwdriver from his friend, handing it back to you. “Don’t tease it, Orion.”
You nodded gratefully at D-16 and he ruffled your hair. This time, you didn’t bother insulting him since he had given you what you wanted.
The work alarm went off overhead and Orion slammed his locker shut just in time for the influx of workers to come through the shared stasis bunker on their way to work. D-16 tried to fight against the crowd to stay by the locker but Orion pulled him into the fray, muttering that it would look suspicious if he wasn’t at work on time.
“But what about- Will it be okay in there?” D-16 whispered as they headed into the lift.
“Sure,” Orion said from the corner of his mouth, trying to be quiet. “It’s been in there for days and it's been fine.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Now be quiet and act normal.”
D-16 smiled and gave a small awkward wave to a bot in front of him who was observing the pair with a raised optical ridge. Over the years, Orion had caused more than his share of trouble so D-16 was used to the scrutinising looks from others, though he always got nervous when they both had something to hide.
You sighed and rested your hands on your hips. It was awful being constantly stuffed in a locker, especially since Big Red didn’t seem to think things through. He shoved you in your new ‘home’ whenever other bots were around or when he went to the lift which you assumed meant he was working. The problem with that was that his species didn’t tire easily and could work a very long time, and with this being what you could only assume was the poorer part of the city, there were always other bots around. You had to get your translator fixed quickly, or else you would spend the rest of your life in the locker. Still, things weren’t all bad. It was warm and safe. You often used your backpack as a pillow, sleeping through the first few hours before getting back to your repair work. You had privacy and a personal collapsable service suite that pulled moisture from the air so you could drink or shower - it even took care of your waste by vaporising it; alien inventions sure were convenient. Besides, now the other bot knew about you too, and perhaps he could help you. Resignedly, you set about keeping to your normal routine and began some light repair work, too awake to rest now. You only wished you knew what you were doing and that you had even the faintest idea on how to fix alien technology; your life depended on it.
Orion and D-16 were the first up and out of the elevator, avoiding the usual crowds by skipping the last few minutes of work with a lame excuse about being called upstairs. Honestly, the pair got into so much trouble they were often called up to meetings with higher-ups for tellings-off, which Orion usually tried to talk his way out of, and so nobody so much as batted an optic when they left.
Upon getting up to their quarters, Orion and D-16 were both relieved to see that the rotation team had already filed out, presumably having taken one of the other lifts to a different mine. Orion ran to his locker and hurled it open.
“Aww, look,” He pulled D-16 close to get a good look at you. “Minitronus is recharging. Hey, do you think it’s dreaming of us? Pets do that, right? Dream of their owners?”
“I mean, if Minitronus is thinking of me, that’s a dream. If it’s you, it’s a nightmare.”
Orion elbowed D-16 in the chassis then reached in to grab you.
D-16 pulled him back, “Whoa hey, don’t wake it.”
“We have to. It’s time for walkies and this is the only time we can get out of here quietly before the others catch up.”
Reluctantly, D-16 let Orion go.
You jolted awake, terrified until you remembered where you were and that you were now the ‘pet’ of an advanced alien. You settled groggily in his arms, wondering what he was going to do with you now.
He proffered you some words that sounded like two lawnmowers smashing together, but by his expression, you could tell he was happy. Then he jostled you, miming something you couldn’t understand until it was too late.
You scowled at Big Red with your arms folded, too insulted to even try yelling as he tugged you along an empty alley on your new wire lead.
This was a new low.
“I don’t think Minitronus likes walkies,” D-16 commented as you dug your heels into the floor, trying to hold your ground.
“Nonsense,” Orion said, trying to be gentle as he pulled at your lead, making you stumble forward, “It’s just not used to it yet.”
D-16 patted his thighs, “C’mon Minitronus. That’s it. Here Minitronus. Minitronus.”
After a few more attempts, you realised that the gentle electrical hum Grey kept repeating must be his name for you. Huh… Well, at least the repetition meant they had a stable language.
You listened again and tried to mimic the sound, making both bots pause to look at you.
“Did it just…?” D-16 asked, pointing at you.
You mimicked the sound again.
“It did,” Orion agreed. He ran over to pick you up, spinning you in his arms, “Who’s a smart Minitronus, huh? Yes, you. You are!”
Although your mimicry had been good, it wasn’t quite enough to convince them that you were sentient. Rather, they were looking at you like a parrot who had picked up a new phrase. Instead of repeating your name, you had managed a babyish mumbling somewhere close, that sounded more like Mini–Tron.”
D-16 beamed and petted your head, quickly coming to love his new pet. Orion was right, it was smart and cute.
“That’s so cool, I wonder if we can teach it more words.”
“I’m definitely teaching it swears,” Orion laughed.
Eventually, the pair headed back to the underground, with Orion heading in first, making sure everyone was recharging, before signalling for D-16 to follow with you.
“Oh, c’mon, don’t put me back in the locker,” You whined as you were placed on the top shelf.
“Oh no, don’t cry,” D-16 begged, listening to you pitchy chittering. He held a digit to his lips, shushing.
“You two will be gone for ages, what between sleeping and working, and it’s dark in there,” You continued, even though he couldn’t understand you.
You only stopped talking when he held you against his chassis, petting your head. You sighed in understanding. He was trying to keep you safe; this was all for your own good.
‘Okay,’ You thought, feeling strangely comforted by Grey’s actions. ‘If this is how it has to be for now… Okay.’
Orion gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to D-16, glad that he had managed to keep your mewls under control.
“Goodnight, Minitronus,” Orion whispered before shutting the door.
“We love you,” D-16 added.
You shook your head after the door shut; life was going to be interesting with those two.
“PAX!” Elita-One shouted, jetpacking up the empty elevator shaft to catch up with Orion and D-16 who had stolen away from work early for the third time that week.
Orion held you behind his back, hiding you just in time before Elita got in his face.
“Captain, what a surprise!” Orion grinned cheekily, already trying to smooth-talk his way out of the situation. “Me and D-16 were just saying what a great and wonderful leader you-”
“Can it, Pax!” Elita glowered. “I’ve had just about enough of you. It’s bad enough that you’re a troublemaker but now, you’re dragging D-16 down with you and- what’s behind your back?”
“My back? Nothing at all,” Orion shoved you into D-16’s open arms, and he in turn hid you behind his leg, trusting that you wouldn’t run away if he wasn’t holding you.
Elita grabbed hold of Orion, slamming him into the lockers, her eyes narrowing when she didn’t see anything worth hiding. She glared at D-16 who held up his servos in a shrug, gesturing to Pax who was already babbling about how strong she was and how no other Captain had had the strength to throw him so hard.
While Pax created a distraction and Elita-One continued her tirade against him, D-16 shuffled backwards, sneaking you out for your daily walk.
You had grown used to the routine now, learning the building’s alarms that marked the beginning or end of a shift. When it was coming time for Orion or D-16 to take you out, you always hitched on your backpack, just in case you needed anything, though you had long since learned not to work on your translator in front of Big Red, since he kept assuming it was a toy and continually threw it for you to fetch. Honestly, he was doing even more damage to the already broken machine, and it stressed you out constantly whenever you were forced to catch it before it hit the ground.
When you and Grey were alone, you always did repair work at the end of a walk, since he would take you somewhere quiet to rest for a while.
You had been living with the pair for just over two months now and in that time a few things of note had happened.
First, they had entrusted knowledge of you to a few of the others in their ‘platoon’ or whatever the group they worked in was called. This had happened after an incident wherein you had escaped your locker to explore and a silver and blue bot with a passion for dance stumbled into you and squealed. Big Red, and Grey hurried to your rescue and had to explain their ‘pet’ to him.
This led to you being the worst kept secret in the mining facility, though it was bound to happen eventually with so many bots living in close quarters. However, all the mining bots found you sweet enough and they all had a code of honour that meant they kept you secret from anyone with authority like Elita-One or any of the other captains.
Yet, while everyone knew about you and you were generally allowed out of the locker most of the time, it was still only Orion or D-16 who took you out, and they still tried to get out of work a tad early to check on you.
One of the other changes in your life was the delivery of a big bundle of wires as ‘toys.’ That was another word you had learned to mimic since Orion kept bringing you play-things and repeating the Cybertronian equivalent.
This happened after you kept picking up pieces of scrap wire on walks, taking them with you so you could use them in your repair work. At first, Orion and D-16 took them off you, afraid you would hurt yourself somehow, but when you kept collecting them and fought hard to keep the few you had, they assumed it must be a normal nesting behaviour and brought you a great deal more than you needed.
You were delighted with the gifts and hugged both bots for it. Then, after saving the few you needed for your translator, you weaved the extra wires into a new over-shirt. It was uncomfortable, but quite practical since your jumper was wearing away and you needed a new one to keep decent when you were washing your actual shirt.
Another problem to occur was your hair. In your time with the bots, it had grown very long, and much to your bemusement, Orion had tried cutting it. The whole thing had gone disastrously, and you suddenly understood those dogs that got terrible haircuts because they tried to escape their groomers; you could only be thankful that the bald patch was beginning to grow back.
The final change was Grey’s idea. He felt confident that you were well trained since you now responded to your name, paying attention when you were called through the miners’ hab-suite. Because of your actions, he often let you off-lead, which you were immensely grateful for. He rarely put the lead back on you unless he thought something was unsafe, so whenever it went on now, you clambered onto his shoulder, trusting that he would take you home and away from danger quickly.
It wasn’t a perfect life, but things were slowly improving. You could only hope that your lucky streak didn’t break and that you would be able to communicate your needs fully before the year was up.
D-16 sighed, sitting on the side of a tall building overlooking the city with you in his lap. You were content to let him pet you while you toyed with your translator. You went in an almost trance-like state whenever you tinkered with it now, honestly not expecting anything to come of it but needing to work all the same.
He continued speaking in his gentle, rhythmic noises and you hummed as if you understood, pressing a wire down with the flat of your screwdriver.
“- and that’s why I know what we’re doing is important. Even Sentinel says so. Us miners, we’re keeping Cybertron alive,” D-16 said proudly.
“Who’s Sentinel?” You asked absentmindedly.
D-16 screamed, accidentally throwing you off his lap.
“Hey, be careful!” You scolded. “You could have dropped me over the edge.”
You picked up your translator and brushed yourself off.
“Minitronus, you’re talking!” D-16 accused.
“Yeah, well so…are… Oh my God, I did it!” You breathed. Then you punched the air excitedly, “I DID IT!”
“WHAT IS GOING ON? HOW ARE YOU TALKING?!”
“I fixed my translator,” You squealed ecstatically, waving it in front of D-16.
“Your- Your toy?”
“Yeah,” You nodded, practically bouncing on the spot.
“This is impossible. You- You’re our pet!”
“No. Not a pet. Not anymore. I’m (Y/N). Okay, (Y/N),” You repeated your name slowly, trying to get it through to Grey who still looked panicked.
“Primus, this is insane.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“You’ve got to explain everything to me, right now.”
“Okay, sit down,” You patted the ledge.
D-16 did so, and you jumped back into his lap.
“What’re you doing? You can’t sit there now. You’re not an animal.”
“Hey,” You pushed against his servo, staying stubbornly in place, “I’m not going back on that ledge, I could fall.” “Fine,” D-16 relented. He went to pet your head again then stopped himself, keeping his servos stiffly by his sides. “As long as you explain yourself, you can sit wherever you want.”
Having told D-16 everything and had him explain a few things in return, things thankfully changed. Initially, things between you and all of the mining bots were awkward, with haunted comments from some of the bots like, ‘It saw me in the wash racks,’ or ‘I can’t believe I tried to rub its belly… No wonder it slapped me. Oh. Oh no.’
Once everyone got used to the idea, your life improved. You were still kept secret since none of the miners knew how the higher-ups would react to an alien species, but with some ingenuity and a few favours exchanged for information about your species and planet, they all came together to transform your locker into a proper living space, complete with all the amenities they could manage to scrape together. They even began forming a plan to try and have you off-planet and en-route somewhere you could survive before your supplies would run out.
After D-16 and Orion were over the weirdness, you still had them take you on your daily excursions, sans the lead since you were no longer their pet. Orion managed to laugh about the whole thing, but D-16 grew to be even more strained around you. However, you didn’t get to ask him about it till you were next alone with him, which was a long time afterwards.
“So… Do you hate me now?” You asked him one day while he walked a few paces ahead of you, keeping an eye out for anyone who he would need to hide you from.
“What?” D-16 sputtered. “I- I don’t-”
“It’s okay,” You smiled easily. “It’s a strange situation.”
D-16 felt his insides squeeze. He had held onto you while you slept. At the time, he thought you were cute. Now though… You were still cute when you slept, but it was a different kind of cute – Softer, somehow.
“I told you everything,” He sighed, defeatedly. “My life, my dreams, my fears.” He shook his head, continuing mournfully, “And you didn’t understand any of it.”
“Not true,” You contradicted, running to stand in front of him.
He watched you warily.
“I might not have known what you were saying, but I did understand you. Your tone, expressions, the sound of your voice. I understood more than you think.”
D-16’s spark pulsed.
“Let’s go home,” He said quickly, turning on his heel and walking away from you.
The two of you had to go where you wouldn’t be alone or things would change again.
D-16 was falling in love with you and he couldn’t let that happen. There were too many unknowns and he had his planet to think about. He was a miner – the life force of his planet. That’s what Sentinel Prime always said, and work came first.
Besides, you weren’t going to be on Cybertron forever. You couldn’t be. Once your supplies ran out, that would be it for you.
D-16 couldn’t get attached. It wasn’t like you were a pet anymore. You didn’t belong to him, even if he wanted you to.
You ran through the destruction of Iacon City, terrified by everything that was happening. Honestly, you had missed most of the events leading up to it, having been stuck in Sentinel’s tower, but you had seen the so-called Prime torture and brand D-16.
Afterwards, you tried to find him or Orion, but you were small and Iacon was big and the city was collapsing around you.
You screamed as you were grabbed seemingly from nowhere and looked up to see D-16, though he looked slightly different thanks to the new infusion of Megatronus’ T-Cog which you hadn’t seen him take from Sentinel’s corpse. Also, there was one other change – his angry red optics, which bore into you.
“D-16,” You shouted, “What’s going on? Where’s Orion?”
“Orion is dead,” He growled. Though he had made a promise that nobody else would be deceived, you needed to hear that lest you side with Orion over him. Besides, it wasn’t a lie. Orion was dead – Dead, and replaced by Optimus Prime. “And my name is Megatron.”
“Orion- Orion’s dead,” You repeated, too shell-shocked to even cry at the moment.
“Yes,” Megatron glossed over your emotions, far too focused on his rage as he transformed around you, keeping you safe inside his alt-mode. “And we’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?”
“To war!”
Yet, even as Megatron burned with hatred and his desire to bring down the corruption that fuelled his planet, he was already reading the intel sent by the disgraced High Guard, informing him of several nearby planets where you would be able to get the organic fuel you required to stay online.
Megatron had lost everything. He was not about to lose his beloved pet too. You were his, and you always would be.
A/N - Hey, I worked really hard on this so please comment, or at the very least reblog. Likes aren't enough anymore guys, they just aren't.
GN!Reader as a teacher who doesnt get paid enough for this.
CW: just a bunch of weird kids wanting to marry their teacher, keep scrolling
Sunny Day Jack.
the golden child, the angel of the classroom, he is a little devil in disguise, getting his classmates into trouble so that his teacher thinks he is the best
he looks like a mini teacher, he teaches colors to his classmates and shares everything (except the teacher)
uses guilt to convince his teacher, but with that little face and red cheeks, who wouldn't fall for it?
a very intelligent child but he is selfish, he learned to steal cookies from the kitchen and has not told anyone
he gives part of his lunch to his teacher, he likes to eat and sit next to him, he is the child who gives bouquets of flowers picked from the playground (MC already scolded him so he should look for other places to get flowers)
MC doesn't usually scold him often since he manipulates and makes kicked puppy eyes to get his way, a mini bastard
John Doe.
probably autistic and socially anxious child, very attached to MC, they must always accompany him to go to the bathroom, he eats in the classroom during recess time while MC teacher accompanies him
this is the child you have to make sure doesn't go through the trash or eat the crayons
he is actually a very sweet boy, MC usually combs his hair before school so it doesn't bother him, for some reason Doe always has it tangled and dirty
he can't count to 10 with his hands, poor thing
cat-like affection, gives insects or interesting things he found on the playground to his teacher
when the children play house, he is the mascot
Alan Orion.
boy obsessed with outer space, his lunch box and clothes are full of planets and stars
wants to impress MC with his knowledge about space, he usually tells them facts about galaxies and constellations during classes
MC of course would notice certain marks on Alan's little body, he would feel protective of the child (llamen al dif)
he steals things from his classmates, he was already scolded several times by MC
animal lover, once brought a moth he found on the playground into the classroom and Doe ate it, he cried for thirty minutes while MC comforted him
when he plays with puppets he pretends that one puppet is him and the other is MC, usually his games are of them getting married and living in the forest
Peter Dunbar.
a very sociable child simply because he is indifferent to all other people other than MC, he enjoys causing mischief to his classmates who play with MC
MC has to make sure Peter doesn't bite his fingers or scratch his face, a habit he has while concentrating
Peter looks like a bald rat when it's very hot weather, which MC finds funny, but they still puts sunscreen on him so the boy doesn't get sun-burned
even though there are many things that Peter doesn't like, like swimming, fruits or singing, he would do it for MC, adding the biggest embarrassment of his life by doing group dance with his classmates but happy to see his favorite teacher smiling
he would bring sweet lunches to share with his teacher, lying by saying that it is too much and he can't eat it all by himself (Peter loves sweet lunches but he loves his teacher more)
probably draws him and MC on the board with lots of hearts around them, causing the other kids in the classroom to start crying because they want to be the only ones for MC
Ren.
a cutie with his teacher, a bastard with everyone else, he knows how to maintain that image very well to fool MC
he sneaks into the staff room to see you, very attentive, isn't he? sometimes he leaves small gifts on your table
fights with Peter every time he tries to get him in trouble with the teacher, he must maintain his good boy reputation for you to love him!
the last time a girl confessed to him, Ren pushed her into the mud of the playground and made her cry, unfortunately the girl told MC and Ren also cried, not because of the scolding but because he didn't want MC to think that he was bad
once he saw you outside of class time, you were at the supermarket and he panicked because he had fake tattoos that he put on (they came in the packaging of the gum he ate)
MC would come to think that Ren lives in a super religious way since he always draws angels. Ren doesn't draw angels, he draws an angel (you)
Mycheal.
another little manipulator but this one cries every time he tricks MC and gets hugs illicitly (little baby)
he is a very hardworking child in class when it is time to do manual work, he likes to make small paper flowers for his teacher
the baby gets very sad every time he is left out of school projects, he doesn't know why no one seems to like him. surprisingly, he managed to get along fairly well with John Doe until he noticed his interest in MC
usually wraps his tail around MC's leg whenever he feels nervous or sick, that has been an indicator for MC to lull the child
kid who is a cotton candy fan, Peter pushed him while they were playing on the playground and his candy fell to the ground (he cried for 40 minutes)
kitten boy starts purring when MC praises his work
Keith and Tenebris.
as for them, I decided that they were twins in this AU (tenebris still has his blue skin and strange smile), they don't seem to get along very well and have a marked rivalry because they both want MC for themselves
Keith usually hates being in the classroom because his classmates are very noisy, MC has tried to help him with the overstimulation so that it is not an uncomfortable experience, since then Keith loves going to kindergarten
Tenebris does not get along with most of his classmates (if not all), he came close to befriending John Doe and Mycheal because they know what it's like to be treated differently because of how they look, but Doe scared him off by showing him a pair of beetles he found on the playground and Mycheal…well, just by being a liar
Keith is a very dedicated child, he likes to take care of the flowers in the playground with the help of MC, his teacher usually reads books about facts about flowers and apparently Keith is one of the few who pays attention (he cries every time that Jack plucks flowers from the garden to give them to MC)
Tenebris uses a toy guitar from the classroom to serenade his favorite teacher, that always kills MC with cuteness (Tenebris gets angry because it's not a real guitar)
when there are school trips, Keith always takes his teacher's hand and tries to pull them to see everything he finds interesting with them, whether it's a flower or a heart-shaped cloud
Tenebris always takes advantage when playing with swords with his classmates to satisfy his violent need to hurt everyone who likes MC, the game ends up turning into a real battle and Tenebris is scolded
Solivan Brugmansia.
at first glance, MC thought that the boy was always upset and didn't like him being around, but Sol just doesn't know what to do like when he's around his favorite teacher
the quiet child in the classroom, prefers to do his work alone, always takes the opportunity to draw MC with chalk on the playground
the boy is obviously obsessed (and not in a fun way) with his teacher, his parents came to the classroom angry because Sol had his sketchbooks full of sketches of you
you are the only person he allows to hold his stuffed animal, he leaves it with you whenever he goes to the bathroom and asks you to play with it, you don't think it's strange that Sol has a stuffed horse, children have strange toys all the time
Sol is clearly a target for bullying, you know it, you see it, so you have to constantly check that he is not hurt (Peter put gum in his hair once and he cried a lot)
SURPRISINGLY, he is one of the few children who has REAL friends, he has Hyugo, a classmate from another class, Hyugo knows about his crush on MC and is not very secretive, Sol has to cover his mouth or push him to the sandbox to make him shut up
Damon.
puppy love, usually chases other children on all fours and licks snot from his own nose
barks every time someone gets too close to MC but in the end the scolding is always worth it since MC teacher strokes his head when he doesn't promise it won't happen again (it will happen again)
he will believe anything you tell him, he is quite gullible with the things that MC says, if his teacher tells him that he can't dig holes in the playground because giant insects will come out of there that will eat everyone, Damon believes it
sweet tooth, loves chocolate, MC has to be careful with what his students eat, Damon often hides chocolate bars in his pockets and that always ends in MC confiscating the chocolates
Damon has a friend in another class who he calls DG, he is his best friend and again Damon is one of the few kids with real friends in your class, DG knows that Damon likes you but unlike Hyugo he is more secretive
when there are school dances, Damon gives his all, always trying hard, not only because he loves to dance but he also loves when his favorite teacher applauds and praises him
Hey there! Yeah you! You wanna request "X reader"s of your f/o?
Well you've come to the right place! <3
First, the rules:
Nsfw is allowed here, and as such, I check the bios and pinned posts of anyone who interacts with that content. If I see that you are ageless, or a minor, you will be blocked.
No child readers or inkling/octoling readers. It makes me extremely uncomfortable and the inklings/octolings are heavily kid coded so I just don't feel comfortable writing those either.
Please keep the requests general. (I.E. sick reader, pop star reader, tired reader, etc.) This gives me room to breathe. If your request has something specific, like a chronic ailment, please leave a small description of what that is with your request. I will try my best to fulfill your request with as much respect as I can.
Please no ocs. These are solely "x reader" prompts.
I will only allow AUs if the creator of said AU is okay with people doing so. Or if the creator of the AU themselves comes to ask for it. I do not want to make anyone uncomfortable.
I have the right to decline any prompt. Writing is a hobby of mine, one that took me a long time to finally come back to without bad memories tainting it. Please, don't ruin this for me.
I will take song inspired requests, as long as the lyrics are not attacking groups of people (except pedos. We hate pedos in this house) or using slurs.
Feel free to introduce me to your F/os! Who knows, I might end up writing for them!
Who I'll write for:
Mr. Puzzles & Mr. Wpnz (SMG4)
Oracle & Prophet (Vintage 8 analog horror universe)
The Doctor/Harley Sawyer (Poppy Playtime) [POST EXPERIMENT ONLY]
Cancer Lord (Rage vs. Cancer)
Banban (Garten of Banban)
RGB (The Property of Hate)
Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Uriel (Angel Engine)
CRT (Please Stay Tuned)
Henry Hotline (Finding Frankie) [Both Toon and Monster versions]
John Doe (John Doe game)
Tomie (Junji Ito)
AM (I have no mouth and I must scream)
Lolzhax (Freddy in Space 2)
Edgar (Electric Dreams 1984)
P.AI.nter & Sebastian Solace (Pressure) [Post Experiment Sebastian only]
King Dice (Cuphead)
P03, Grimora, Magnificus, Leshy (Inscryption)
Mr. Cannibal (My Cannibal Puzzles Au)
Mr. Serpent (Me and @sneklover 's Serpentine Puzzles Au)
Admin .T. Irving (The Hex)
PAL (Playtime with percy) [Tamagotchi form only]
Kinito (Kinitopet)
TAU (2018)
Burning Spice cookie, Shadow Milk cookie, Elder Faerie cookie, Licorice cookie, Red velvet cookie, dark cacao cookie, dark choco cookie, capsaicin cookie, butter roll cookie, and Royal margarine cookie (Cookie run kingdom)
The Engineer/The Machine (Amnesia: A machine for pigs)
Sundrop & Moondrop (FNAF)
Mafioso and his goons, Gasharpoon, John Doe, 007n7, Twotime, Guest 1337, Elliott, Builderman, Shedletsky, Chance, Noob, Telemon, Hacklord Shedletsky, 1x, Zance, Zelliot, 994u4, Toon John Doe(Forsaken)
Poob, Pest, Manniquin Mark, Infected/Kasper, Null, Vinny, and SquibbleDib (Regretevator)
Devesto, Pursuer, Mequot, Artful (Die of Death)
Dued1, 007N7, Shedletsky/Telemon, Builderman, Roblox, John Doe, 1x (Roblox Lore) [AVATAR ONLY. MY WRITING DOES NOT HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE REAL LIFE PEOPLE WHO OWN/OPERATE THESE ACCOUNTS. PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME AS SUCH AS THESE WILL BE HIGHLY FICTIONALIZED VERSIONS]
Deer cultists/Cultist King (99 nights in the forest)
Rodger, Dyle Timesly, and Soulvester (Dandy's World)
I ONLY SENT YOU SIMPING AND BRAINROT SCENARIOS TILL NOW SO HERE I COME WITH AN ANGSTY ONE
what if ever since mc came into twisted wonderland they’ve been slowly absorbing magic ? like their body started to adapt themselves to the logic of these worlds and its just accumulate inside of them
so they’re absorbing magic but the problem is they also absorbs the blot and since they don’t have anything to clear it it just stays stagnant .
life goes on grim’s overblot is over , but then mc fainted .
well i mean who wouldn’t be tired after such battle ? multiple persons have been injured so that isn’t really that worrying right ?
well mc isn’t waking up
one day , one week , and still no sign of mc waking up .
everyone is desperate for them to wake up but nothing works . none of the potions crewel and vil worked , sam’s friends on the other side don’t have any solution , and no matter how many dark spells lilia knows it surely doesn’t help him in any ways. heck crowley even put aside his pride and asked help from rsa’s headmaster
but one day they did wake up , but something wrong . their once bright eyes were replaced by lifeless orbs , as if all the light had been sucked from them .
grim has never so guilty in his life but tried to look on the brighter side of things ! he tell them about how ace and deuce are still as stupid as ever , how riddle went off on floyd again or the way epel mocks vil behind his back when his lessons are too harsh !
but even as he looks so happy , he can’t help but feel this immense void in his heart
“hey henchmen ... when are you coming back ?”
they don’t respond when you talk to them , when you touch them , they just stare into the void .
Anon..... oh, anon..... WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO MY HEART ?!?!?! 😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔
I can tolerate and soak up that good angst of the boys feeling guilty for something that happened to MC......BUT GRIM?!?!?! MY HEART, DID YOU HEAR IT SHATTER?!?!?! 😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔
THIS IS ANGST SO MUCH ANGST
[Anon's explanation about MC's state]
-- -- --
MC is like doll now, only breathing and staring into the void. Sometimes, they follow a request or order given by someone.
Heartslabyul's tea parties aren't as merry as they used to be. MC just sits there, staring at their cup, occasionally taking sips when Riddle suggests them to try the warm drink. Ace and Deuce can't even crack a smile in the Prefect's presence, not when they're a hollow husk of their sassy self. Cater and Trey feel uncomfortable crossing stares with MC, they rarely look up from their cup or slice of tart. Deuce, more often than not, finds himself crying at night after the parties
Riddle is trying his best every night, searching through his mother's old books back home for a possible remedy... The pages are wrinkled from the many tears he's shed while reading, heart aching for their friend.
--
Ruggie feels his chores heavier than ever. It's because MC is no longer coming to lend a hand as they used to. The bags under his eyes became more prominent with how late he stays up, looking up at the ceiling as he keeps mourning for MC's lost soul.
Jack is seen more often in his wolf form, howling at the moon... Anything to shed his tears and scream his sorrow out in a less noticeable way. He often struts over to MC while they're sitting outside Ramshackle, and pushes his furry head into their lap and hands, wishing HOPING to one day feel their delicate hands pet him again.
Everyone can see how Leona secludes himself to his room, people have begun comparing him to Idia.... But, unlike what they think, he's not sleeping. On the contrary, he's staying awake, tearing through many books from his homeland about occult magic and resurrection. After all, only someone with enough money would be able to buy such forbidden knowledge.
He won't let his herbivore live on like this, not if his country knows a way to bring them back.
--
Azul could feel himself thread the edge of insanity. Would it kill him to go through a second overblot? ....would that be better than living on without MC's company?
He will search far and wide through all of Wonderland's oceans and lakes, lagoons and swamps, for a Unique Magic holder than can revert back the blot... or time.... He will give his everything away in a contract to have such magic as his
Jade and Floyd can see the deep cracks in Azul, he's turning into an unfit leader.... It would be best for them to take his role
But they don't want to, for their hearts are cracked like his
Floyd is easier to go on rampages, and Jade is so indifferent to the word outside of his hobbies. If it weren't for their collective love for MC, Floyd would have tried hurting them to see if that wakes MC up.
They never felt so empty and unamused
--
Kalim's heart physical aches whenever he sees Grim and MC. He's tried, tried all he could
Singing, dancing, playing music, throwing million parties, hugging them, whispering how much he loves them right on their ear... but nothing
He may not be the smartest, but the white haired boy is perseverant and eager to learn: he spends his days in the alchemy room along with Vil and Crewel, researching the poison that is a magician's blot
Jamil never felt so useless, mind clouded with many "if only" scenarios that make him blame himself for MC's situation
If only he hadn't overblotted, if only he hadn't sent them flying off to the ends of the earth, if only he had noticed the poison clinging to their soul sooner.... If only....
Why didn't he realize the blot developing in their body? It was only natural, after spending so much time in Twisted Wonderland without any buffer for the magical energy on this place
If only he could take their place...
--
Vil never left the alchemy room or Pomefiore's underground laboratory. He spent every day researching how to revert MC's ailments
He only ever left the labs to go into Ramshackle and help the Prefect prepare for the day. Whenever he got to putting on their makeup, Vil can't help but cry at how hollow and dull they look, when they used to be such a warm and radiant soul
Rook was on the same boat, taking his science club duties more serious than ever. He would search in every single ecosystem for any plant, mushroom, hunt down any animal, organ that was needed for even the slightest help for MC
And Epel.... All he could do was scream and punch his pillow, cursing fate and how sick the world is. What did an innocent, magicless person from another world do to deserve this?!
He will often go sit besides MC and carve apples for them, of their favorite flower, their zodiac sign, their favorite animal, and those carvings they loved most of his
...but the fruits will always rot, just like their once beautiful soul
--
Idia, who was already barely seen outside, hides deeper in his room
The internet is a place full of information, knowledge... Forbidden knowledge
The shut-in and his little brother are always monitoring EVERY SINGLE portal on the internet, be it on the surface or deep DEEP down in the depths
But what tortures him the most.... Is his very own room
This is the place he mad many memories with MC in, every corner of his room echoes with their laughter and gentle voice
Like a ghost haunting him from now until forever
Ortho is left to wonder how fickle a human's soul is, their body so fragile
But was this really in their fate? Or was it an unexpected outcome not even destiny could foretell?
"I miss you... I want to play more. Wake up soon, [Name][Surname]-san" A strange wavering in his voice was heard, followed by a knot in his throat.
--
Diasomia dorm is always under a storm cloud, green lightning striking the ground surrounding it
Fae have magic beyond a simple human's comprehension, even more so dark fae
There MUST be someone in Valley of Thorns that will heed the Prince's call for aid
"The story of old..." Malleus muttered one night, snapping even the sleep-prone knight into attention. "Calls... for True Love's kiss, after the princess was cursed."
Lilia can feel his heart ache for the young dragon.
"These are very different situations, Malleus."
Yet the bat utters no words
Sebek understands what his precious Lord is getting to.
"I shall ask Grim to leave the door open tomorrow night."
Silver nodded along his fellow guard, "If there is anything we can procure, do not hesitate on asking for it, Malleus-sama"
Vanrouge sighed, "It doesn't hurt to try."
"Steady heart, goal clear in mind. Do not waver in your actions, my Prince, hesitation never helps when working with curses."
The disheveled royal finally straightened up, eyes red and puffy from how long he's cried and how little he sleeps. "Sebek, go to Ramshackle. We must try it out... now"
--
Grim dealt with the worst blow
It unsettled him to live with such a different MC. Even the Ghosts were unsettled and hurting from what happened to their friend.
"But I will keep sleeping on your chest, ye hear?! As long as I keep hearing your heartbeat, I will guide you back with my warmth and my blue flames! Just.... just make sure to follow my path, yes?"
"[Name]... we miss you so much... don't leave yet, not yet, not like this..."
"Follow my flames, like I always followed your light... Please?"
-- -- --
My heart was shattered right as I was all happy and giggly about Disney savvy MC stuff.... B O Y, WAS I NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT
SYNOPSIS: The Ramshackle prefect has a reputation for frequently encountering fatal magical mishaps. And when a magical accident involving Crowley almost kills them, Crewel resolves to take matters into his own hands. But it appears that his impulsive decisions cause the prefect to reach their limit and go off the rails.
⊹ [ cw ] — heavy warnings, please read before you proceed. arguments with father, self-depricating thoughts, mentions of blood, protective parent, thoughts of offing self (only once), overblot mc!, miscommunication w friends, crying, physical fights ◞
⊹ [ tags ] — angst! gender neutral reader, crewel really embodies the 'cruel' in 'cruella', ace gets mad at you :(, deuce tries to comfort you through it all, crowley feels guilt (wow), crewel is vry vry angry and punches crowley, crewel has a mother gothel moment<3◞
⊹ [ w.c ] — 2.5k+◞ | 🦇masterlist◞
YOUR VISION WAS NOTHING, but a myriad of colorful blurs and shapes. Muffled voices spoke to you, but everything was practically just incomprehensible, panicked babbling. The heavy pressure of metal was pressed up against your windpipe, restraining your breath as it wound tighter and tighter. Though, a few seconds later, it vanished as if it had never existed, bursting into bright magical sparks.
The gush and pool of blood surrounds your dirtied, tangled mess of hair, a dark scarlet seeping into the knotted strands. Kneeling before your body, Crowley felt his heart skid to a stop. The sight of your fatigued form writhing around the ground tore at his chest, claws of guilt digging in deep and dragging across thick tissue.
"Prefect…Can you hear me?" The crow murmurs, clawed hands pressing against the side of your pounding head as he guides it to rest atop his lap. Vibrant blooms of red stain the dark fabric of his pants, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Dad…it hurts s'much." You slur in hushed tones, your eyes wringing shut from the pain. That was enough for Crowley to put his arms around you.
He shielded your body with his torso, hands clawing at your back as he wracks his mind of what to do next. Hastily turning round, he shifts his gaze to the surrounding students, all of them looking equally mortified.
"What are you standing around there for?! Call the nurse!"
"Y-Yes, sir!"
Drip. Drip
The pungent smell of alcohol and medication fill your senses as you groggily blink awake.
The familiar creaky wood of Ramshackle's ceiling greets you as you pull yourself from dreamland. Looking over both sides of your bed, you smile once you see both Deuce and Ace seated on a nearby couch. Both of them were quick to jump up and approach you, fussing over your bedridden form.
"Thank Sevens." Deuce murmurs, tenderly combing your damp hair back. You roll your head to the side to face him, but wince at the sudden throb of pain in your spine. Ace darts over and hushes you, gently repositioning your head to face front once more, making sure your neck was supported by a pillow. "Hey…It'd be great if you don't move so much…"
“Right. Makes sense. 'Nways…how bad was my injury?” You mutter, your recollections of the past event still foggy. All you could remember was that Crowley had fired a spell, and you somehow got into the crossfire.
“Fucking horrible.” Ace scoffs, looking at you sternly.
"Yeah, take it easy for a bit. The injury was…pretty serious. It was a miracle that the spell missed your head by a thread…" Deuce murmurs as he presses a gentle hand on your bandaged forehead.
Strands of blueberry hair fall loosely at the sides of his face as he stares down at you with worry. "You were out for three days."
"Ah…well—you know, me and my dumb non-magical ass. Always getting into trouble," you giggle, a cheery grin stretching over your cracked lips. Though it rapidly drops when you realize your two friends aren't laughing with you.
Ace shifts his gaze to the floor, hands clasped into a fist. "You're not dumb, prefect…"
"Well—I kinda am," You snort, tugging the blanket closer to your chilly form. "I really have to stop being around the old man's magic shows."
Unconvinced, Ace only shakes his head and scoffs at your jokes. The ginger reclines back into his chair, hands vigorously tugging and pulling at his hair. "You aren't. The real issue here is that deadbeat crow. I mean...hasn't he learnt anythin' from last time? What kind of idiot treats his child—"
"It wasn't his fault, Ace." Pushing yourself off the bed, you immediately interrupt him, voice stern as you rush to defend Crowley. "He didn't mean it. I got in the path of his magic. And—I'm pretty sure he's already beating himself up over this."
Sinking back into the bed, you clasp both your hands together. "It wasn't his fault. Sure, he's reckless and all but…but he's still my dad."
Silence washes over your room.
Ace was visibly frustrated, the blunt tips of his nails dug deep into his skin, nearly piercing past skin. With a final scoff, he stands from his chair and quietly excuses himself from the room.
The door slams shut with a blaring bang as both you and Deuce were left alone.
Sighing, the freshman takes your trembling hand in his, clasping it tight as his body temperature warms the cool skin. He draws your right arm up to press your palm against his cheek, eyes looking deep into yours.
"Professor Crewel is pissed," Deuce whispers as you trace gentle circles on his skin. A pair of shaky cyan eyes meets your concerned ones. "He was planning to—"
Deuce's mouth parted open and close and yet he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. You cast a questioning glance his way, but Deuce shakes his head, disregarding your questions.
"…nothing."
Surprise washes over you as you stare down at Deuce's hunched over form. It…wasn't like your friends to be so dismissive.
You, Ace, and Deuce had always been good friends. Sure you had your differences but you always communicated openly with one another. Nobody has ever been this...secretive.
Just…what was happening?
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sickening crack of a bone echoes through the faculty room as the rough knuckle of Crewel's fist connects with Crowley's face. The headmaster reels, mask flying off as his hands fly to his bloodied nose.
Everyone in the vicinity quieted as the only noise heard was the potionology professor's labored breathing.
Then, without hesitation, Crewel surges forward. Loud commotion and screaming could be heard in the meeting room as everyone quickly circles around the two. A couple of hands seize Crewel by the arms, but the professor only grows more agitated, attempting to fight past the herd.
"Let me go!" Crewel roars, tugging his arm free as he attempts to swing a fist at the headmaster. "Dire! This is your fucking fault!"
"Divus! Calm yourself!" Trein scolds, arms locked tight around the man's torso. A few more pairs of hands restrain the professor as he is forcibly pushed down onto a couch.
His face was the epitome of unrepressed rage: With his cheeks drawn back in a deep sneer, eyes bloodshot red, and hair a knotted mess.
Trein stands before the younger man, looking down at him with disgust. "Have you no shame? What will the prefect think once they hear of this?"
Across the room, Crowley spits out a little blood, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. For the last three days, the crow has been suppressing all of its emotions; however, all of a sudden, he is overcome with an unfettered and unhindered flood of shame and rage.
When the headmaster finally turned around, he fixed Crewel with an expression so scathing that the potionology professor felt compelled to charge at him again.
Once, coldly, sharply, and bitterly, Crowley laughed. "It's my fault, you say? You think I don't know that?"
"Oh please—Dire. I couldn't care less about what you think." Crewel seethes, venom practically dripping from his lips. The alchemy professor strides forward, heels clicking against the floor as he grabs Crowley by the collar.
"You're a failure of a father. All you've ever brought their way is danger." The professor cackles kicking the crow's skin.
Digging deep into his red handbag, Crewel snatches out papers and jams it into Crowley's chest. The crow unravels the creased pages to read the text on the document, eyes ripping wide open as he realizes what it was.
"You…can't possibly." The headmaster sputters, hands shaking as he reads the texts again and again.
"Oh, but I can." Crewel sneers, taking pleasure in the look of fear Crowley sends his way. He snaps around, coat billowing up behind him as he briskly walks towards the entryway. "I expect those papers to be signed by tonight."
Before walking out of the room, Crewel spares the headmaster one final glance. "The prefect departs this Monday."
Days after the event were all followed by violent storms that appeared to go on forever. Every night and day, the rain endlessly poured down from the bitter grey skies and roars of thunder echoed through the dewy clouds. Some days, it was nearly impossible to go to school.
It was almost as though Mother Nature herself was upset.
Just like how everyone was.
Crowley and your other friends shunned you like you had the plague. Even bright Kalim greeted you with a deep frown, a flimsy excuse slipping off his lips as he ran away. Only Deuce stayed by your side through it all.
The blueberry had told you everything was alright—that everything was normal and fine— but you couldn't help but be skeptical.
So when Crewel came to visit, you welcomed him right in. Eager to hear what he has to say.
The clatter and click of your father's heeled boots echoed through the walls of the dormitory as he examined the premises, comparing it to his own much more lavish flat back home in the city.
Finally, after an excruciating 5 minutes. his gaze flitted over to your bedridden form.
And the words he utters out next shatter your entire being.
"I'm withdrawing you from NRC."
What.
The glass clasped in your bandaged hands slips from your grip, smashing onto the oak wood of Ramshackle's flooring. You raise your mortified gaze to scowl at your professor, jaw dropped open in shock.
"What?" you breathlessly utter. "What do you mean?!"
"I'm transferring you to another school." Crewel replies, pushing himself off the fireplace and slipping his thick fur coat off his shoulders. The scant light emitted by the candles atop your study table did nothing to help you navigate his form as he strode around your bedroom.
"Now. You might be asking why? For one, look at the…accommodations Dire provided you with."
Crewel kicks a piece of splintered bark aside while making a gesture towards the disorder and wreckage all around you.
In the evenings, you had to use candles because the ceiling lights seldom ever functioned. The flooring had so many tears and holes that they were virtually falling apart. On occasion, you could even see the scuffle of rats beneath. The roof leaked, horribly; You had no money to fix it so you placed a bucket below instead. The front door was broken, barely hanging on its hinges, evidence of all the times your friends visited and never bothered to knock.
All of these problems and so many more were present, but this dorm was with you since the very start. It provided you with a roof over your head…it helped you survive.
"So what?" You retort, leaning back into your bed and sinking deep into the scratchy yet familiar pillows. "I don't mind it!"
"A foolish decision." Crewel sneers, running a hand into his hair. "Your accommodations aren't the only problem. Your self-destructive habits endanger you as well!"
There it was.
Groaning, you wring your hands through your hair, tangling it up. "When are you gonna stop saying that I'm self-destructive!?"
"When you start acting like somebody that actually cares about their life!" Crewel barks out, hands grasping your shoulders. The sudden increase in volume makes you recoil, but you were stubborn and refused to give in just yet.
"But I do care about my life!" You sputter out. "Why can't you just—"
"Remember what happened when Rosehearts overblotted?" He reminds you, "You charged towards a bloodthirsty tyrant with no protection, no magic, and no plan." Crewel then crosses his arms over his chest, addressing you with a pointed glare. "And you have the nerve to tell me you're not self destructive?"
"Riddle is not a tyrant!" Crying out, you slam your hand against your bedsheets, face twisting into an unsightly sneer. "I was trying to save my friend!"
Crewel gets right in your face, returning the expression of anger you sent his way. "Those friends of yours only care about you when you're useful!" he thundered, jabbing a finger into your chest.
That comment immediately silenced you.
Your hand was clasped over your mouth, jaw dropped wide open in disbelief as a sharp gasp escapes your dry throat.
A poisonous and dangerously harmful feeling gripped at whatever remnant the professor had of a heart. It colored his thoughts with regret as he began to feel a twinge of guilt, the weight of words sinking in.
There was a deep sigh of resignation from Crewel before he put a hand on your shoulder and looked you deep in the eyes, voice lowering to a softer lilt. "Why is it that every other person in that dorm had the sense to run away from the blots, but you didn't?"
Kneeling down, your father gazed at you with such vulnerability in his eyes as he murmurs, "Do you know how terrified I was every time I'd get the same message from Dire that you were out fighting overblots again? Putting your life at risk for those rabid dogs?"
The recognition of your destructive habits hit you like a splash of ice cold water. With a guilty and uncomfortable grimace on your face, you averted your attention to the floor. "I just wanted to help."
Slowly rising to his feet again, Crewel casts a deep frown your way. "I know you do, but you're careless with your life and if you're not careful…one of these days, you're gonna die."
"I will not hear anymore disagreements about this, do you hear? I've allowed you to run rampant around these past few months. You will so as I say and I'll have you transferred by the end of this week." He says simply, dropping a pristine sheet of paper clasped in a clipboard before you. Your dull eyes flicker across the title as you grudgingly reach for the pen he offers you.
TRANSFER APPLICATION.
That blank line at the end of the page is swiftly covered by your shaky red signature and Crewel is powerless to stop the relieved sigh that heaves past his lips.
A surge of victory, certainty, and an intense sense of relief overpowers the tangled and conflicting sentiments of guilt that were swimming through his chest.
You were safe, that's all that matters.
With a grieving heart, you nudge the pen and page back to your father dismissively, placing them both atop the bed. Crewel re-rolled the page and tucked it back into his handbag along with the pen.
The professor raises a hand to gently pat your shoulders as he bends down, pressing a kiss atop your head. "Father knows best."
As Crewel quietly takes his leave, he is none the wiser to the formation of impure, tainted tar-like blot dripping from your tears. Curling in yourself, you tuck your head into your knees, a broken sob spilling from your lips.
A sick and twisted feeling arises in your heart as you replay the argument you had with Crewel, and you start to wish that maybe, just maybe, Crowley's spell had succeeded in striking you.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Oi…Henchhuman?"
Drip.
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