i am weak for cheerful idiots

i write. Headcanons, fanfics, AUs, lots of it. Mostly for Transformers, because apparently my filthy little gremlin brain doesn’t want anything else. Send me your headcanon and your asks, because I WILL ramble if given even the slightest opportunity.

[jymic]

Another piece for TF Big Bang!!

It was really fun working with @silkling and @tackytacs !!!! Definitely joining next year

Make sure you read the fic here!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[silkling]

Here’s Jymic’s other piece! Honestly I love both of the art pieces they did so much, they’re so cute!

[jymic]

First Piece for my first TF Big Bang!!!

Y’all should read the wonder fic by @silkling

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

GO GO GO GO!!!

[silkling]

Hey all! I took part in the TF Big Bang again this year! Jymic was one of the incredible authors I was paired with, and this is the first piece they made for my fic! You should totally go check them out!

[silkling]

Transformers Big Bang 2025

Hi friends! I know it’s been a while, but today I’m here to share my newest project! Here’s a preview for my entry to this year’s Big Bang! I partnered with the two fantastic artists @tackytacs and @jymic!

Now without further ado, I present to you, the preview for my fic this year and the wonderful art that goes with it! Sometime next week, keep an eye out for…

On a Sunbeam

And here's a preview of the amazing art!

[silkling]

Bad Novel Idea

A post- apocalypse fantasy where just before the story starts, the protagonist (dubbed Protag for convenience) gets into a really bad road accident and is unconscious for about 4 days. When they wake up, their house is fine but something is wrong.

Their cat is missing.

Which is a problem because their cat is an indoor cat.

So they step outside to go see if the neighbor knows what happened to their cat. Who knows, maybe the nice old man took in their kitty while they were unconscious.

Except the nice old man is dead and the village is in a rough state.

Protag soon learns from the people trying to rebuild that while they were unconscious, the end of the world happened.

Whatever, they don’t care about that right now. They can panic bout the apocalypse after they find their cat. So they return home, and start to see if they can find a trail. Luckily, they have a handy dandy homing beacon: a magical catnip toy they paid good money to be enchanted, infused with their cat’s essence to track him if he ever got lost.

So they sets out with a travel pack, a walking staff for their bad leg, and the catnip toy to track down their cat’s essence. Their travels lead them to new villages, each one only able to share news about the end of the world.

Also, in a little roadside inn along the way, a little girl tugs on their cloak. When they look down, she is staring at them. Her eyes are just a little too big, and she is blinking just a little too rarely, and a little too slowly.

“The one of three steps walked the path of the mad ruler’s trial, and was imprisoned in the plain between the worlds when the usurpers failed.” she says, her voice a little wispy.

Protag has no idea what the fuck the child is saying. The child is tugged away by her frazzled mother. “Dammit Rebecca, not again.” Her mother complains.

Whatever. Protag doesn’t care. They just want to find their fucking cat already, dammit.

Except a few months into their journey, in the first major city they come to, they hear rumors that just before the apocalypse happened, a party with a wizard, a warrior, and a three legged fluffy black cat (who seemed to be missing an ear to boot) were seen with the two human members talking about fixing the broken system.

Now, it seems, Protag’s cat may have had something to do with the end of the world.

God fucking dammit.

Why the two assholes kidnapped their cat, they do not know. But they will make them both pay for any vet bills that may incur.

Now their mission is somewhat changed. Since the apocalypse is apparently related to what happened to their cat, Protag now has to find out what the deal is with the end of the world.

Except, to their absolute frustration, no one person has the same story.

One person tells them that from the epicenter of the capital, the sky fell and flattened and crushed everything and everyone that had evil in their heart.

Another says that an earthquake started from the royal palace and shook down the buildings, while a raging tempest that blew in from the tallest mountain killed thousands.

A third insists that at the hands of the gods at the mountains heart, the world split into multiple realities for only a moment, but in that moment everything that was not shared between the realities was torn to its atomic parts.

Protag gets more infuriated with every story, until they realize something. While not every story was the same, many had shared elements. So they begin to piece things together to find the truth, using the shared details of the differing accounts to come to what was the most likely truth.

This leads them to the capital, where their furious questions about their cat draw the attention of the royal advisor. She finds them and tells them about the adventuring party, how they came to the old king, and how no one knows exactly what happened but when everything was over, only the king, the golden-eyed warrior, and Protag’s cat left for the tallest mountain.

The advisor believes that the king, who was old and dying, was taking the warrior to take the Trial of the Crown, a trial where the king would bring their successor to the mountain to enter the realm of gods, because only the gods could choose a king, who would act as both conduit and the shield between the plain of the mortals and the plain of the divine.

The advisor does not know why Protag’s cat was brought along, but suggests they go to the mountain to see if they can find him.

Oh, and she also asks them to bring back the king, whichever of the men it is, who has apparently been missing since the apocalypse.

Protag does not care, and sets off for the mountain. There, they find a decrepit old man with golden eyes. Protag realizes very quickly that this is the warrior, and threatens ungodly things if he does not tell them why the fuck happened to their fucking cat.

The warrior, tearfully, spills everything.

He and the wizard were twins, and one day his twin learned that the king was corrupt, and using his power to somehow extend his reign. So they set off to commit an assassination. Protag is not impressed. In fact, they are very annoyed with how poorly thought out this plan was. Especially when they learn that it was the two idiots who caused the accident that left them unconscious in the first place, and somehow in the process their cat got into the twins’ cart. By the time the two realized it, it was too late to turn back, so they decided to return the cat after their mission was complete.

But everything went wrong. When they confronted the king, the old man killed the wizard and dragged the warrior and cat to the mountain, where he proceeded to further drag them through a rift in reality.

The warrior doesn’t know what happened, only that the king started chanting, and then the cat launched himself at his at his face and the warrior was launched from the strange plain, now old and decrepit himself. And in the process of being launched from the strange rift, a wave of magic blew out and causes the end of the world through massive storms and earthquakes, and a temporary loss of the sun itself.

All he had from the experience was a strange glowing gemstone, which he gives to Protag.

Protag, after cursing out the idiot in every language they know, ascends the mountain. There, the gemstone leads them to a rock wall with in indent, in which they place the gemstone.

Suddenly Protag is in a giant white void, and their cat is lying unconscious at their feet.

Before they can get worried, someone calls out, and they look up to see an old man with an ugly sneer glaring. His face is very scratched up

“What the fuck did you do to my cat?” They demand.

The old man launches into a rant that Protag only half listens to, too worried with checking their cat.

The old man is, apparently, the king, and as it turns out the Trial of the Crown was a farce. There are no gods, the king is just an all powerful warlock who has been the king for the past 500 years. He has done this by, every time his body grows old, he chooses a young, for “successor”, and brings them to the mountain where earth meets sky, and transplants his soul into the new body, then returns to rule again.

This time, when he killed the wizard and took the warrior to be his new body, things went wrong when Protag’s cat interrupted the ritual, messing up the magic to fling the warrior from this plain in between realities, and leaving them both stuck here. The only way out now is for a new king to rise, so the old man will settle for Protag’s body.

Protag flings the old catnip toy at the old man’s face, then while he’s distracted/stunned, bludgeons him over the head with their walking staff. Unfortunately for the old king, he is frail enough that a good few whacks do him in.

Protag returns to their cat, and as they pick him up, the alternate plain fades and their cot wakes up to purr and start cuddling.

Finally, Protag can go home.

All they want now is to return to their life as a hermit in their village, and they finally can because they finally found Gerald.

They descend the mountain, and there is a crowd waiting for them.

Apparently, the old warrior went to tell people the savior of the world would come down the mountain.

So now there is a crowd.

The crowd parts, and a little girl with an unsettling stare smiles at them serenely.

“The mad false king is dead, and the new monarch rises.” Rebecca says, her voice dreamy.

That seems enough for the crowd, because before they can process anything, Protag is swept to the palace and installed as the new king.

In the wake of the chaos, Protag can only sit in stunned silence on the throne, Gerald purring in their lap like the dumb idiot he is, and curse everything.

All they wanted to do was find their fucking cat, and instead somehow they reignited hope after the apocalypse and became a monarch in the process.

Gerald, meanwhile, is just happy the weird ordeal is over and he’s back with Protag.

At least one of them is happy.

[silkling]

I have news! :D

The next chapter of “Watermarked by your Ancestry” is here!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41012484/chapters/163833580

Sorry it took so long for me to get it out y’all. I realized partway through this chapter that the plans I was thinking of at the time would amount to a rewrite of Prime just with Jazz and Prowl there, and that wasn’t what I wanted. So I had to step back and reconfigure….well, everything.

Anyway, the author’s notes in this chapter go a little more into the behind the scenes of stuff, so I recommend you check it out!

And if you haven’t read this already, give it a shot! You may like it! It’s TFP JazzProwl with Smokescreen as their sparkling.

And one more thing. I’d like to give a super big extra thanks to @xenahikari-adonis, who posted a lovely little sketch today of a scene from the fic. I saw it and had a big bolt of inspiration to wrap up the chapter I had in my WIPs! So big thanks! This one’s for you! ;P

Also I might add this chapter to Tumblr as its own post later but for now I’ll leave it like this.

[silkling]

The Last Race - 2

He came back to himself when something slammed into his helm and sent him sprawling to the ground.

When he finally was able to get his optic to boot up, he was greeted with a mech sneering down at him. 

“Get the frag out of the streets, mono.” the bot spat at him.

Blurr found himself flinching back from the insult. “I-I-” he sputtered, but cut himself off immediately. He didn’t know what he would say.

“I didn’t ask for your input.” the mech hissed.

“Just call the enforcers! They’ll get the scrapheap out of here and back to where he belongs.” Another voice called out impatiently. 

It made him flinch, and when he looked around he finally realized he'd entered the city proper. He must have been wandering the streets after he’d fled the junkyard. The only question was what city he was actually in, since he didn't recognize anything around him. But right now he was on the ground, surrounded by angry, bristling mechs who looked at him in disgust. 

Wait. Enforcers.The thought sent cold panic racing through his lines. He couldn’t let them get to him. He didn’t know what they’d do, but he didn’t want to find out. He stumbled to his pedes, looking desperately for a break in the crowd. 

He spotted a gap leading towards an alley and stumbled for it, the mechs hurrying to part so he wouldn't touch them. He heard a scoff behind him as he stumbled into the alley, collapsing at the end with a gasp. 

Primus, but walking with his new legs was so hard. How would he ever run with them?

Could he even run with them?

He could still hear the hissing of the crowd behind him, one or two mechs grumbling about having called the Enforcers to “clean up the scrap”. He flinched, trying to force himself up.

He didn’t understand. Why were they looking at him like that, treating him like that? He may not be recognizable, but he was still a mech! 

Right?

Except, he wasn’t. Not to them. The realization struck him with a sickening lurch, making him sway. 

A soft voice shocked him out of his downward spiral. “Hey. Are you okay?” 

He shuddered, blinking and looking up at the owner of the voice. It was a mech, with black plating. They–he, their EM field indicated– had green arms and thighs, and a green faceplate. Distantly, Blurr noticed the scuffs and scrapes, the dirt and dents. He blinked again, meeting his gaze. His blue optics were kind, as he held a servo out to him.

“Come on now. Let’s get out of here before the Enforcers show, alright? You’re new to all this, aren't you? I can take you somewhere safe.” he told him gently.

He shook, but a raised voice from the mouth of the alley made him flinch. He raised a servo–claw–to take the mech’s offer, but stopped. Claws. He had…claws, now. Sharp, pointed.

The mech’s expression turned to one of understanding and he hummed. “Okay. I’m just going to take your wrist, okay?” He warned him.

He appreciated it. He felt the servo wrap around his wrist, and the mech tugged him up and took his weight, then led him off into the alleys and shadows.

Behind them, the distant sound of Enforcer sirens drew nearer. By the time the officers arrived, Blurr was gone into the depths of the Dead End.

—-----

The stranger pulled him through alleys and side streets, eventually coming to a stop in front of a broken down, abandoned building. “Here we are!” He turned and smiled at him. “Come on in. Let’s get you fuelled up.” He encouraged gently, leading the way in. 

Blurr followed slowly, looking around. This place was..wholly unimpressive. Rusted and falling apart, holes in the ceiling and the walls partially collapsed. But at the very back of the building, the stranger led him to a room that was almost entirely intact, if not dirty and in disrepair.

And gathered around a small fire were three other mechs. They looked up when the stranger entered, grinning widely, only to blink in confusion when they saw Blurr.

“Hey mechs! I brought along a guest. He was at the edge of Dead End. Almost got caught by Enforcers. Figured it’d be a decent thing to lend him a servo. I think he’s new to all this.” the stranger told the new mechs.

He saw an understanding dawn on them, and the one he recognized as a speedster frame, with white and gray armor and optics shining red, nodded.

”Sure. Us casteless trash gotta stick together, right?” the speedster said with a sardonic grin.

“Drift.” the first stranger scolded. “We aren’t trash. Just because we don’t have proper functions doesn’t mean we don’t have worth.”

So, he’d been right. He had guessed, from the mech's appearance and the state of this place, but the words were confirmation that this was a crew of street mechs. 

The speedster, Drift, just huffed and rolled his optics.

The first stranger jolted, then shot him an apologetic look, taking his wrist again and leading him to the fire. “Here. Sit. Rest. You look like you need it.” He sat beside him, then perked up and chuckled. “Oh! I never introduced myself!” he turned to them and grinned. “I’m Gasket. The white idiot over there is Drift.” he nodded at the speedster. “Over there are the twins, Runabout and Runamuck.” At their names, each mech nodded as they were introduced.

Finally, Gasket turned back to him. “What about you, stranger? What’s your name?”

And Blurr...froze. He was Blurr. 

RIght?

But...was he really Blurr, anymore? He didn't have his voice, or his face, or his servos, or his legs. He didn’t even know if he could still run like he used to.

Was he really still Blurr if he couldn't run?

(He was. He was Blurr. He was Blurr. He…He was Blur. HewasBlurrHewasBlurrHewasBlurr.)

He had to be Blurr…didn't he?

Was he really Blurr, could he be Blurr, when he’d lost everything that made him, him?

He was taking too long to answer.

“I-” he choked. 

Gasket’s expression softened. “Hey. it’s okay if you don’t remember.” he said gently.

“I do!” he blurted out. “I do remember! But-But, I-!” he couldn’t finish. 

Primus

Was that really his voice now? It was so...toneless. Cold. It lacked all his usual intonation and emphasis. It was just…monotone, in a way he hadn't expected. But then, it made sense. It was hard to emote properly without things like lips and a glossa and denta. He couldn't speak with his distinct flair and intonation without them.

He choked. “My-My voice!” Even now, in distress and panic, his voice was almost bland.

Gasket’s expression was sympathetic. “Hey, Hey. It's okay. It’s okay if you don’t want to give us your old name. I’ll just…call you Blue for now, okay?” At his shaky nod, Gasket continued.”And it’s okay if your voice is different. That’s pretty standard for Emps.” he smiled kindly. “Just practice. Work at it some, and you can get back to how it was before, yeah?”

Just...practice. He could do that.

And…Emps. That had to be short for…for…

Primus, he couldn’t even think of the word in his own processor.

“Okay.” he whispered instead.

Gasket smiled warmly. “Great!” he nodded in satisfaction. “So, Blue. How about we get some fuel into you? We may not have a lot of energon, but we’ve got enough to share.”

He felt his spark constrict. These mechs…they had so little. So, so precious little. Their frames carried textbook signs of malnourishment, so much so that even he could recognize it. And yet, even then, they were willing to share what little they had with him, a stranger. It was a kindness that made his spark ache. 

“Okay.” he said, sagging, because what else could he do but accept? “Thank you.” .

Gasket smiled warmly, nodding. One of the twins, Runabout, turned and dug energon cubes out of a crate that had been hidden under a tarp. He found himself staring. It wasn't like any energon he’d ever seen. The fuel, rather than being a bright, smooth, fluid pink, was dull, thick, gritty, and colored a sort of muddy magenta. The cubes were also half-full, the energon inside sloshing as Runabout handed one to each of them.

Runabout passed two of the cubes to Gasket, who nodded his thanks and set one down. The other, he opened and held out to Blurr. “Here.” he said with a warm smile. 

He stared at the offered cube, one tiny part of him simultaneously grateful and ashamed that the mech had opened it for him. He reached for the cube with both servos, using his pincer-claws to grasp onto it. As he lifted it out of Gasket’s servos, his own shook, the liquid inside sloshing around. 

He brought it up to his helm, only to freeze. He didn’t have a mouth anymore. How would he fuel? In his panic, his grip slipped, and the cube tumbled from his claws. The energon inside splashed over the fire, making it flare briefly before it died down and crackled fainty.

Everyone stopped and stared, and Blurr curled in on himself. “I'm sorry.” he choked out. “I-I couldn’t grip it, and-and I don't know where my fuel intake is.” he said frantically.

Drift blinked, and then his expression twisted to one of sympathy. “Frag. So you're, like, new-new to all of this.” 

Blurr felt himself shudder. “I woke up in the junkyard around-” he tried to think. He’d lost time, but he had vague memory of Hadeen’s position. “Around mid-orn, I think.”

“Smelt me.” Drift cursed, shaking his helm and wincing.

Blurr viciously agreed with that sentiment.

A soft noise from Gasket made him look over. “Hey, Blue?” he said gently. “How about I give you mine, okay? And maybe I can feed it to you. Just for now. Until you get a hang of your servos. I can also help you find your fuel intake. I’ve met Emps before, I have an idea where to look.”

He stared at the mech, a part of him wanting to reject the offer, but could he afford to?

“Are you sure? It’s…it’s your fuel.”

Gasket smiled warmly. “I’m sure. You need it more than I do right now.”

After a moment, Blurr nodded. Gasket lifted his servos, reaching towards his helm. Blurr felt himself flinch away. The other mech slowed, shooting him a soft, almost sad smile. “May I?”

He swallowed the thickness in his throat and nodded. Gasket moved forward again, servos coming into contact with his helm. The contact felt…strange. Almost wrong. Gasket moved his servos slowly, until he reached under his chin and his servo and brushed something that made him perk up.

“Here we are!” Close to the base of his helm, where it joined his neck, Gasket’s fingers pressed over…something. “There’s a small panel here. Can you feel it? Try to open it. Some Emps have a retractable proboscis.”

He frowned, giving a dubious hum. He quickly cycled through his internal commands, landing on one that seemed promising. He activated it, and felt the panel gasket had indicated open. 

The mech peered at it, then sighed. “No proboscis, unfortunately.” He leaned back to meet Blurr’s gaze. “Are you okay with me pouring some energon in your intake? We can look for some sort of straw or tubing tomorrow.”

Blurr thought for a second, then gave a stiff nod. He was hungry. Hungry and too ashamed of wasting his first cube to insist on pride.

Gasket gave him that sad smile again. He reached for the other cube, opening it, then lifting it with one servo and using the other to gently tip his helm back. “Easy…” he soothed gently as the blue mech shook. He lifted the cube, then gently poured the fuel into the intake port. 

Blurr, to his own relief, found he had enough control to be able to swallow on his own. When the cube was emptied, Gasket set the cube down and the (former) racer shut the small panel and shuddered despite himself.

All four of the other mechs sent him sympathetic looks.

“Blue.” Gasket urged.

Blurr looked at him.

“Why don’t you stay with us a while? At least until you get your footing.” 

He glanced around, not seeing any disagreement from the others. After a moment, he swallowed and nodded, stark relief making him sag. 

“Yes. Please. Thank you.” he croaked.

Gasket hummed and patted his shoulder. “Good. We’re happy to have you, Blue. And if you decide to stick around permanently, you’re welcome to.” he smiled warmly. “Get some recharge, yeah? We’ll show you the ropes tomorrow.”

Blurr found himself nodding, the exhaustion of the day starting to drag him down now that most of the panic had faded to something duller. He settled down as comfortable as he could, optic flickering off, and soon found himself falling into recharge. 

Above him, the small crew talked in hushed whispers, planning the days to come.

And outside the borders of Dead End, the media broadcasts all ran the same story, all of them asking the same question:

"WHERE IS BLURR?"

———————————————————————————————————

So guess who got smacked over the head with more inspiration? I did! Which means you all get more of the empurata Blurr story! And more good news! I have a third (and final) chapter on the way. It'll come out in the coming days so long as real life does't slap me too hard. Also, please note this isn't beta read. If there's any glaring issues I'll catch them and correct them in a day or two but I wanted to post it in the meantime.

Anywho, please let me know what y'all think! Feedback is very motivating lmao. Until next time, folks!

[silkling]

The Last Race

Y’all ever have a sudden thought about the robots in the middle of a class about imperialism? Cause I did. Specifically in relation to Functionism. So I made a little drabble. Have fun with it. :)

———————————————————————————————————

He lost.

He lost.

He lost.

The biggest race of the deca-vorn, and Blurr had lost.

There was chaos around him as the victor cheered. Media drones buzzed around.

One of them paused to snap a picture of his frozen frame. 

His processor was lagging, dragging along with the speed of broken down transport. He felt distant. Not present in his own frame. Like he was observing the proceedings from outside of himself.

A frame bumped into him, sending him stumbling.

He dragged his processor back to himself, optics overbright with shock and stress, disbelief making his spark tight in his chest. The other racers were gathered around the vicor, cheering and congratulating him.

He couldn’t bring himself to join them.

Dread made his spark spasm with pain, and suddenly he couldn’t vent. 

He wheezed, and then he was turning, stumbling, running out of the arena and away, away, away.

He hadn’t even placed on the podium.

It had been the most important race of his life.

And Blurr and lost.

(And he was lost. Lost in his own processor, swept up in the panic and disbelief. So lost that he didn’t notice when the stranger on the rooftop lined up a rifle and took the shot. He just felt the sting of impact, and then he was lost to the darkness)

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

When he came to, he ached. 

His helm was in agony, as were his servos and legs. 

He shifted, and the movement caused a clattering of metal around and under him,. He onlined his optics when something hit him on the helm. Except…

Something was wrong with his vision. It was…different. 

Why was his periphery smaller?

He lifted a servo, to rub away the lingering static, unsure what was going on. Last he remembered, he’d been running. Had he crashed from the stress? It would explain why he felt strange.

And then his servo entered his field of vision.

It wasn't a servo anymore. 

It was a claw.

His energon turned to ice in his lines, spark starting to pulse a turborabbit’s pace.

He lifted his other servo, hope aching in his chest, unsure what he was hoping for. 

He was met with another claw. 

He jolted upright, and something fell from his chest to his lap. He looked down, vision fritzing with shock and panic.

A datapad.

What?

He tried to pick it up, but he couldn’t get a grip.

After several minutes of struggle, his ventilations coming in faster gasps with every failure, he finally just nudged it face up in his lap and tapped a claw on the power button to turn it on.

A letter greeted him.

Blurr,

I am disappointed. I invested a lot in your victory today. You were supposed to succeed. You cost me with your loss. I do not abide by failures, and I have no need for a washout of a racer. Let your current state be a lesson as to what becomes of those who cost me.

Senator Proteus

He stared at the words, uncomprehending

This didn’t make sense.

He didn’t understand. 

Blurr shifted, shoving the datapad aside. It had to be a joke.

(He ignored how his current state said that this was very much real.)

This was wrong. All wrong. He had to find help. He could fix this.

Finally, he looked around. If he could figure out where he was, he could figure out where he needed to go.

Mountains of metal met his gaze. In the distance, he saw the tell-tale glow of a smelter. 

Oh.

This was a junkyard.

He shook, shaking his helm in denial. 

“No.” he croaked.

He flinched.

(Even his voice was different. Not as smooth as it had been. Raspier. How much had they taken from him?)

“No.” he repeated the denial, shifting and trying to stand. 

His legs weren’t  bending right. When he looked down, he didn’t recognize what he was looking at. His legs looked wrong. His knee bent the right way, but there was another joint now. Or was it that they’d made his shins shorter?

Primus. 

They’d taken his legs.

He gasped painfully, and finally he forced himself up. His pedes were different too. Thinner. Maybe segmented? 

He tried to get his balance but he wavered, then tipped forwards as the metal scraps under his pedes shifted. He caught himself on his knees and servos (not claws, they couldn’t be claws).

He wheezed, shaking, and finally forced himself up again, going slower. 

He took everything slower, even as his spark screamed for speed.

Finally, he made it out of the junkyard, and collapsed again at the edge of the sea of scrap metal. 

This couldn’t be happening. It had to be some sick, twisted recharge flux.

A glint caught his periphery. He looked over, spotting a cracked, dull mirror, its gleaming finish long since worn away but its surface still reflective enough to give him a look at himself.

It made him shake.

It should have been obvious, given what had been done to his servos and legs and voice, and yet, it still made him sick. 

Somehow, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to think, to dwell, on the possibility.

He stared into the mirror, every vain hope fizzling out as his spark thrummed agonizingly in his chest.

A single, bright blue optic stared back at him.

[silkling]

The Last Race

Y’all ever have a sudden thought about the robots in the middle of a class about imperialism? Cause I did. Specifically in relation to Functionism. So I made a little drabble. Have fun with it. :)

———————————————————————————————————

He lost.

He lost.

He lost.

The biggest race of the deca-vorn, and Blurr had lost.

There was chaos around him as the victor cheered. Media drones buzzed around.

One of them paused to snap a picture of his frozen frame. 

His processor was lagging, dragging along with the speed of broken down transport. He felt distant. Not present in his own frame. Like he was observing the proceedings from outside of himself.

A frame bumped into him, sending him stumbling.

He dragged his processor back to himself, optics overbright with shock and stress, disbelief making his spark tight in his chest. The other racers were gathered around the vicor, cheering and congratulating him.

He couldn’t bring himself to join them.

Dread made his spark spasm with pain, and suddenly he couldn’t vent. 

He wheezed, and then he was turning, stumbling, running out of the arena and away, away, away.

He hadn’t even placed on the podium.

It had been the most important race of his life.

And Blurr and lost.

(And he was lost. Lost in his own processor, swept up in the panic and disbelief. So lost that he didn’t notice when the stranger on the rooftop lined up a rifle and took the shot. He just felt the sting of impact, and then he was lost to the darkness)

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

When he came to, he ached. 

His helm was in agony, as were his servos and legs. 

He shifted, and the movement caused a clattering of metal around and under him,. He onlined his optics when something hit him on the helm. Except…

Something was wrong with his vision. It was…different. 

Why was his periphery smaller?

He lifted a servo, to rub away the lingering static, unsure what was going on. Last he remembered, he’d been running. Had he crashed from the stress? It would explain why he felt strange.

And then his servo entered his field of vision.

It wasn't a servo anymore. 

It was a claw.

His energon turned to ice in his lines, spark starting to pulse a turborabbit’s pace.

He lifted his other servo, hope aching in his chest, unsure what he was hoping for. 

He was met with another claw. 

He jolted upright, and something fell from his chest to his lap. He looked down, vision fritzing with shock and panic.

A datapad.

What?

He tried to pick it up, but he couldn’t get a grip.

After several minutes of struggle, his ventilations coming in faster gasps with every failure, he finally just nudged it face up in his lap and tapped a claw on the power button to turn it on.

A letter greeted him.

Blurr,

I am disappointed. I invested a lot in your victory today. You were supposed to succeed. You cost me with your loss. I do not abide by failures, and I have no need for a washout of a racer. Let your current state be a lesson as to what becomes of those who cost me.

Senator Proteus

He stared at the words, uncomprehending

This didn’t make sense.

He didn’t understand. 

Blurr shifted, shoving the datapad aside. It had to be a joke.

(He ignored how his current state said that this was very much real.)

This was wrong. All wrong. He had to find help. He could fix this.

Finally, he looked around. If he could figure out where he was, he could figure out where he needed to go.

Mountains of metal met his gaze. In the distance, he saw the tell-tale glow of a smelter. 

Oh.

This was a junkyard.

He shook, shaking his helm in denial. 

“No.” he croaked.

He flinched.

(Even his voice was different. Not as smooth as it had been. Raspier. How much had they taken from him?)

“No.” he repeated the denial, shifting and trying to stand. 

His legs weren’t  bending right. When he looked down, he didn’t recognize what he was looking at. His legs looked wrong. His knee bent the right way, but there was another joint now. Or was it that they’d made his shins shorter?

Primus. 

They’d taken his legs.

He gasped painfully, and finally he forced himself up. His pedes were different too. Thinner. Maybe segmented? 

He tried to get his balance but he wavered, then tipped forwards as the metal scraps under his pedes shifted. He caught himself on his knees and servos (not claws, they couldn’t be claws).

He wheezed, shaking, and finally forced himself up again, going slower. 

He took everything slower, even as his spark screamed for speed.

Finally, he made it out of the junkyard, and collapsed again at the edge of the sea of scrap metal. 

This couldn’t be happening. It had to be some sick, twisted recharge flux.

A glint caught his periphery. He looked over, spotting a cracked, dull mirror, its gleaming finish long since worn away but its surface still reflective enough to give him a look at himself.

It made him shake.

It should have been obvious, given what had been done to his servos and legs and voice, and yet, it still made him sick. 

Somehow, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to think, to dwell, on the possibility.

He stared into the mirror, every vain hope fizzling out as his spark thrummed agonizingly in his chest.

A single, bright blue optic stared back at him.

[chocolateisbrainfood]

Transformers Reverse MiniBang 2024

I participated in the Transformers Reverse MiniBang 2024 / @tf-bigbang, with my initial intent as an artist. I wanted to try a bang for the first time in my life and test how much my art has improved over the last year or so. I'm still new to it, but this was such an amaaaaazing experience. Amazing people, so supportive and funny and kind and it revitalized pose creativity in me I hadn't felt in years. I am endlessly grateful for everyone I met and everything I learned. THANK YOU EVERYONE.

I was paired with the amazing writer @silkling/Wolvesowl for this and we got to do some very silly and fun romantic and found family pieces (literally found haha). So here are the pieces for their work "Everything Stays."

cw: canon typical injuries, spilled energon, mild background violence

Cover Page

Main Piece

Enjoy the bombastic 1980s action movie reunion of the Hero and his Love Interest while the big battle goes on and the world is burning around them. Which one of them is the hero? Yes.

My entire idea for this whole reverse bang was "I want to do a gooey, romantic reunion to the backdrop of a Whitney Houston soundtrack at the most inappropriate time." Everything came from that and @silkling picked up what I was dropping and ran with it.

Bonus Piece

Ya didn't think I was gonna leave out Sunny and Sides right? Also I ended up using a different style for each piece of this, but ya know what it's working for me. I enjoyed it a lot.

With a bonus little gif for the bonus piece:

I hope you enjoyed this art and please go check out the fic "Everything Stays" that goes with it. My writer did an awesome job and their work is so silly and funny, I adore it.

[silkling]

I wrote the fic that accompanies this art! I already made a post about it, but in case you didn’t see that one you can find the fic here! @chocolateisbrainfood did a great job on the art and it was a blast to work with them and bring their sketches to life in my fic!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[silkling]

TFRB 2024 - Everything Stays

Ahhh, it’s here y’all! My fic for this year’s @tf-bigbang! The first two chapters are up, and I’ll upload the rest in the coming days! But without further ado, I present:

Everything Stays, a JazzOP found family adventure featuring sparklings, concussions, sappy romance, and a very campy and fluffy vibe.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Also, there’s ART! The illustrations in this fic were drawn by the very talented @chocolateisbrainfood. You can find the post they put up with all the illustrations HERE. (Mind, the last two illustrations have some minor spoilers for the chapters that haven’t yet posted, but it’s nothing that the fic tags haven’t already told you.)

P.S. In the next couple weeks, maybe towards the end of summer, I’ll probably start locking all my fics. This is due to the whole thing going on now with people scraping fics for AI. I do not want my fics to be used in AI, so I’ll lock them eventually to act as an extra security measure. For now I’ll leave them open for anyone without an ao3 account, but if you don’t have one you should probably look into getting one. I know a lot of authors are also locking their fics.

[silkling]

News!

Hello, friends! I bring my preview for the Transformers Reverse Big Bang! My incredible artist partner was @chocolateisbrainfood. It was a super fun project to write, and I think ya’ll’ll like it.

You can find their post with their art preview HERE.

Now, on to the show! Here’s the preview of my fic, Everything Stays, featuring JazzOP, hijinks and hilarity, lots of found family, and a couple concussions.

—————————————-

[silkling]

Hello! I'm a fanfiction author from China, I'm inspired by your of moments in life series, and written my own work Migratory Birds, a scenario where Doc Greene saves a dying Skyquake and brings him to Griffin Rock. Dreadwing eventually finds him, allowing the Seeker twins to embark on a new life with the Rescue Bots on Griffin Rock.I don't mean to copy your work, just show sharing interests and Admiring your work. if you mind it, I would delete it from AO3. here's my worklink of English translaton version : https://archiveofourown.org/works/55500265. thanks for your time and patience, wish you unlimited creativity and a happy life!

Please don’t apologize! Honestly, I’m honored you were so inspired by my work! The joy of the fanfic community is the fact that it thrived best when creativity flows freely, so please, keep writing! I do t consider this type of thing to be copying anyway, so there’s no reason to delete!

It’s awesome whenever someone does something inspired by my fics, whether it’s art or another fic, or really anything! It makes me super happy yo know that the stuff I’m writing has that sort of influence on people!

Thank you so much for reaching out, it absolutely made my day to hear about your project! I sincerely hope you have a good time writing it!

[silkling]

≫ ─────────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ─────────── ≪

Rest easy, brightspark

Your work is done

Come now, brightspark

Your peace is won

You've given much

For that,

I grieve

But it time now,

My dear

To leave

You need not be strong enough

To carry the world

Not anymore

Your burden passes on

As those you've left behind

Greet a new dawn

I am sorry, brightspark

For what my blessing brought you

I am sorry, brightspark

That you cannot see your promise through

But it is time, my brightspark

To move on

Rest easy, dear brightspark

Your work is done

Come now, little brightspark

The war is won

≫ ─────────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ─────────── ≪

[silkling]

Not to be that person, but you've been quiet and haven't posted anything here or ao3 for some time now, is everything alright?

Hi! Don't worry, you're not being "that person"! I'm sorry to have worried you! I've just been really busy with university! This semester has been especially busy for me! But the good news is that I am working on some updates! "Of Finding Family" is my current project, and I'm struggling with how to make the thing I want to happen actually happen. But! I have the outline of the rest of the story mapped out, it's just figuring out the fiddly bits of how to get from point A to point B, so to speak. After "Of Finding Family", I'm hoping that the inspiration from that will carry me to "Watermarked by Your Ancestry"! I hit a major roadblock with that project just after I last updated and have been struggling since, but my hope is that the success of finishing "Of Finding Family" will give me the boost I need to get over that particular hurdle.

As for Tumblr....yeah. I stopped posting my fics here because they never get much engagement. Now don't get me wrong, I don't write just for the engagement of the audience, but that interaction with readers is what motivates me to actually post, y'know? Sure, I daydream the ideas and write them for fun mostly for myself, but when I post them it's a lot of work to take it from messy daydream brain-vomited onto a page, to the actual finished product. And the interaction and feedback from my audience is what makes me want to put in that extra effort. I get a lot more of that on Ao3 (And I promise, even if I don't respond to most comments out of me just straight up overthinking myself into stress, every single one makes me super happy)

To that effect, I've honestly been considering just. Shifting the focus of my Tumblr. Maybe using it to post general TF thoughts, headcanons, blot bunnies, theories, fic updates....that sort of thing. But idk. Just a thing for me to consider.

Also, more good news I've joined this year's Reverse Mini Bang, and if this year is anything like last year's Big Bang, I'll probably overshoot the minimun word requirement again. So, that's one more big(ish) project you can look forward to! (Even if the posting period is a bit of a ways off)

All in all, I have a handful of projects planned! I will do my best to update "Of Finding Family" soon, but I can't promise anything. At the very least, I'll have a lot more free time as summer hits, so at least there's that.

And finally...I want to say thank you. Real life's been keeping me busy, but I felt like I had to respond to your message. It's honestly super touching to know that people like me and what I do enough to notice that I disappeared for a little. So...thank you. :D

[silkling]

Hey. Psspsspss.

New chapter of “Of Finding Family and Coming Home” is up. It’s a big one! The much awaited reunion has occurred! (Well one of them anyway.)

Anyway. Here it is! Enjoy!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[silkling]

Thinking of signing up for the reverse mini-bang this year. Should be fun! I enjoyed the Big Bang last year so it could be worth it. And this year I have more free time too… hmmm. Decisions, decisions. Ah well. I’ll make up my mind eventually.

[silkling]

Guess what y’all!

New part of “Of Moments in Life” is out!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

And this is the big moment I’ve been fighting with for ages! Hope y’all like it! Please let me know what you think!