#irony and boe
Photo
The Poplar Chihuahua!
This massive mural by Irony and Boe on the side of some flats in Popular uses a Chihuahua and its association with money, designer bags and Paris Hilton to symbolize further gentrification of East London.
#chihuahua#dog#irony and boe#street art#art#mural#urban#urban photography#documentary photography#flats#housing#gentrification#Poplar#London#England#UK
247 notes
·
View notes
Text
it actually makes me go crazy how similar Corona and Gideon are. Both playing a role they were never meant to play, then when they get the chance to finally break free and become who they want to be, they turn right back towards wanting to fit into restrictive, pre-determined roles. Like no wonder Corona is walking around with Gideon's rapier they are the SAME and it's driving me NUTS.
#the locked tomb#like the irony of corona a passionate member of boe wanting NOTHING MORE than to be judith's cav just gets me GAH#its the same as gideon. wanting nothing more than to be eaten. reduced to nothing like a good cav.#and when it dosent work SHE WANTS TO DO IT FOR JOHN#they want to become their own people but when it comes down to it they think it can only be acheived through their sacrfices to others
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Irony & Boe’s giant chihuahua
#ironyandboe#street art#urban photography#art#artwork#street photography#photo of the day#graffiti#graffittiart#london#artist#london life#photography#photoblog#chihuahua
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
um so he makes a lto of projects. agent unrealitty.
lesbian space pirate dating simualtor has been stated by GLITCH AI or in general adam snowfalke the maker of teh arg, to be a "test" of love with chosen romantic options for the cult. what cult? i dont fucking know. he gives the genres differnt names but says in asia rage quit and irony are genres of gaming and stories, and that lesbian space pirate dating simulator was meant to be one such thing.
the options according to my interview with arg staff are:
baren johnson a bisexual he him lesbian
yanderekun a butch lipstick lesbian as two spirit
ahack widow an agender or he him lesbian and or two spirit
mindy starcast the lesbian half romani half black transowmen captain
fonty a dyke
gabby: a latina who breaks the fourth wall
robin wong: a french women who moves very quickly but is voiced with a lesbain accent
enby way; a genderfluid lipstick goth
the premise is that you and your old crew went about sabotoging your new crew right after dyingg your hair and you wake up with amensia held against your will int his pg dating with cussing and no sex but an aseuxal writer, where you are held prisoner on ktichen duty, to assit the crew because pirates have honour and "we dont kill" mindy starcast was voiced by a transraical lebsian naemd kathy anderson who died in a car accident. text was native and voiced achack widow.
the crew are alien space pirates, and you teh surgate player have a unique design and outlook. in adams arg insanity its implied to be the myth of BO BOE or UMPTA. which is antive american gods of harem. basically its an etchi without the porn, its a playbale picture book draw in a toony style, where you can romance lesbians at different speeds based on arhetypes in teh suffereagte movement based off a real native ritual to find a soul mate.
many peoplea re under the impression that it is a short game cus it is coded intentionally like doki doki litereture club to have hidden content and ednings and is hard to dig through the code of but can last hours. it is meant to be a puzzle and rage quit that rewards you with a girlfriend that in achacks tribe would give you a daydream or real life one. it is like that frosty yokai that seduces neets in japan, exept each girl has something wrong with them that adds a challegne to the romance.
enbys routes all end as dark horrror. she is a vampire.
you can kill the blind native chef if you touch her beceause of your diesases.
baren is homophobic as a method of flirting with you.
mindy is a drunk.
robin moves to fast and you can bully her.
so on and so forht. eric dubetey is native american and vocies baren johnson.
youtube
youtube
youtube
youtube
youtube
youtube
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Unarmed
@annalis-e--shadowofpanem
Pan regretted the test in an instant. Once she had her second confirmation, and the first confirmation with witnesses, the Director’s private Boeing became her own personal tubular prison. Cereza and Amy, at odds only moments ago, were suddenly a united wall that kept Pan within the confines of the plane. She would not breathe fresh air or touch the ground until she was back home in Moonlight Palace. For her own good.
And to add insult to injury, O-Ren stole her bed. And she wasn’t even conscious to enjoy it. A single, minor annoyance and the luxury she could live without became an object of envy. The irony coaxed a chuckle out of Pan.
“Hey, Ishii,” she muttered. “I’m gonna be a mom.”
O-ren didn’t reply. She laid still, a grim reminder that Pan’s hopes at writing wrongs fell flat.
“I should have been there.”
Pan felt Lucky press against her shoulder, like an idea she couldn’t shake somehow made physical. “You couldn’t have known,” she said. “Weavings aren’t perfect.” She placed a hand on Pan’s shoulder, and the jasper bracelet fell around her wrist. “Not yet, anyway.”
Lucky’s words echoed like a soft voice in a vast cathedral, sending Pan’s mind down a certain path. They were, after all, her words.
Pan grabbed ahold of her phone. After a deep breath, she switched the network from her personal line to the private Shadow’s network. The device instantly flooded with hundreds of missed texts and voice message. But Pan had a singular focus, and she dialed a familiar number and pressed the device to her ear.
“Director??” Poor Deborah Marks. She sounded to so relieved.
“I’m sorry for the late hour Deborah,” Pan climbed out of her chair and faced the plane window. “I need a few favors from you.”
“Y-yes of course!” Pan could hear Debroah throwing her blankets aside, rummaging though her nightstand for a pen an pad. “Tell me what you need,” she said, clicking her pen. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“First, I’m going to write a letter that I need you to publish as a memorandum. It goes into detail about my disappearance and gives some instructions to the organization while I’m away. Second, I’m going to send you a toxicology report in the morning that I need you to forward to Ms. Upton--see if you can get a quick turnaround for any advice she might have. Just advice. I don’t wish to disturb her...or Molly. And finally, I need you to set up a direct line between myself and Cyanne, assuming she’s still quarantining herself.”
“She is.”
“Good. She has reason. For now, everything involving the artifact is off limits. Quarantine the artifact and anyone else who may have come in contact with it.”
“If I recall, it’s just Cyanne, ma’am. She’s the only one that has broken protocol.”
“Don’t tell her.” Bowen clung to her mother’s arm. “It’s not time yet. If you tell her now, you’ll never get ahead of this,” She window showed her images of the stone, incinerated. Kingdoms crushing one another. Cyanne dying in the cold of the Pillbox, bleeding onto an improvised stone weapon...
Molly, abandoning Pan.
...Stillbirth.
A Weaving in a brilliant flash of images.
Bowen released Pan’s arm and stepped back. “I know there’s alot happening right now, but please. You have to trust me. There’s more to lose than just me and Lucky.”
Pan shuttered. The bracelet around her wrist felt cold and prickly against her skin. A bead of sweat fell from her brow and struck one of the bright red pebbles.
“Are you certain?” Pan spoke back into phone.
“We have every assurance from her team that Cyanne was the only one who made improper contact with the artifact.”
Pan nodded. “Good. Let’s keep it that way. Set up that direct line, first thing in the morning.”
“Yes ma’am.”
A sigh of relief flew from Bowen’s lips.
Pan continued. “When all that is done, try to call me. I don’t know the extend of our communications disruptions, but now that the phone is on the open network, you shouldn’t have any problem getting in touch.”
“About that--the informant, Amber, has confessed to the network breach a couple months ago, but maintains her innocence in regards to the ongoing outages. She says she’s looking into it, but there are a few who are convinced that hunting her down is the right move to make.
“They have no proof,” Pan shook her head. “If anyone acts without my say so, send an operative to intercept and take Amber into protective custody.”
“Amber still wont disclose her location. She could be anywhere in Taiwan.”
“She’ll tell us if she needs to.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Thank you, Deborah. Go back to sleep. You have a big day ahead of you.”
Pan hung up. She looked up to find Bowen and Lucky had gone again. Once again, her hand found itself on her stomach.
Still flat. But somehow, full.
Minami watched Go go leave the apartment and sat there in the silence for a long while after the elevator had closed behind her strange new acquaintance. She’d been aware of O-ren’s status within the underworld. She had seen violence. But this felt different, expansive. On the way out of the apartment she paused by the bedroom door. The bed still held the mold, the memory of both of them. She prayed, maybe it was nearly over.
Within three hours Go go was on a flight, it would take eleven hours to touch down in Texas, most of which she slept through with the military ability of a person who understands exhaustion and energy conservation.
When she emerged from the plane it was like stepping into a wall of heat compared with the weather last night in Tokyo. She picked up a new set of clothes, black jeans and a fitted jacket and hired a bike.
She was still running on that old instinct, a single minded, goal driven approach. But the undercurrent was different now. Speeding away from the airport she finally made a decision about her destination; the only two vipers in this part of the world were Elle and Budd, and it was unlikely O-ren would have pursued Budd first. Much like Vernita he’d been disengaged from the group for years. Fortunately, Elle had never made any habit of hiding her whereabouts.
Approaching the estate from the rear she pulled up about about a half mile away, locking the bike to a railing in a little neighborhood of pop up mansions. It was noon, and a man out mowing his sprinkler fed lawn gave the Japanese woman a look of curiosity as she pulled off her bike helmet, smiled politely at him, and vanished between the houses.
The back wall of the estate was ten feet tall but Go go landed almost silently on her boots, stalking easily around the periphery and watching for any sound, any movement. Nothing. The patio door at the rear was unlocked and a distant sound drifted out from somewhere within the house. The former bodyguard listened intently. No voices, no footsteps. She moved toward it.
Reaching the door of the lounge Go go Yubari finally stopped in her tracks. The record kept turning. The floor was a pool of water and blood, fragments of broken tea cup and teapot scattered about.
And Bill. He was dead. Go go felt her breath catch in her throat. O-ren had done it. He looked so inert laying there. It was hard to envisage him as the legend his reputation demanded. It had always been a lie.
Go go lifted the record arm with a screech and silence fell in the house. Her eyes swept forensically over the scene. On a cursory inspection Bill looked to have been dead for maybe a day, give or take a number of hours. Long enough for Elle to return to her house to find him, but Elle wasn't here...neither was O-ren. She caught sight of the shirasaya laying in the pool of spilled tea, but did not pick it up; her gaze followed a drag trail of dried tea and blood that led out into the hall, and then stopped. Someone had been picked up.
Someone else was involved, and it wasn't a long list of suspects anymore.
The sharp ring of an antique telephone made Go go start. It was on a table in the lobby. She picked it up and pressed the receiver to her ear. The man on the other end began speaking immediately;
“Elle, I know you don't fuckin’ like me but I need to tell you-”
“Hello, Budd.” Go go responded, her Japanese accent making him fall wordless.
“Who...Who the hell is that?”
For just a moment Go go’s tone fell into that deadly cadence it might have had a few years before.
“I’m someone who’s going to give you one, one... chance to walk away from all of this. And I’ll do you a favour and tell you now; you should really take it...”
1 note
·
View note
Photo
A very happy Caturday!! 🐱 (by British Irony & Placee Boe for UpFest 2017 in Bristol, England #placeeboe #irony #upfest #bristolstreetart #streetart #lamolinastreetart 📷 by @perecanals via bit.ly/37NUkGx) (bij Bristol, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cc_CxJgLXQi/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
I feel like even with the abundance of discussion about why the carbon fiber sub was a bad idea, it still has not been sufficiently mentioned that like
the whole point of carbon fiber is to be strong in the wrong direction? like. the reason you would get carbon fiber from boeing is sort of fundamentally because it is strong in the direction that is good when your vehicle goes up in the sky where the air is thinner. this is, notably, the opposite of the direction that you need to go to get to the wreck of the titanic
yeah yeah it's more complicated than this obviously; tensile strength is still important in a structure that will primarily undergo compression, and a woven material will resist deformation via tension loads on the woven fibers, I'm pretty sure. if you told me that the physics and practical and cost considerations would up adding up to make some particular carbon composite weave the optimal material for a sub application, I would believe you
but like. I do feel like some irony is being left on the table here. even before before anyone gets to the potential quality issues of the material and the construction it was used in reported via various third party sources... this was a vehicle designed to go down. made out of a material that was designed to go up.
1 note
·
View note
Text
‘We’ve literally run out of human beings’: Robots rise in wake of pandemic and labor shortages
‘We’ve literally run out of human beings’: Robots rise in wake of pandemic and labor shortages
Agility Robotics makes robots that can work alongside humans in warehouses. (Agility Robotics Photo)
PITTSBURGH — Looking out the window of the Boeing 737 this week after landing at Pittsburgh International Airport, gateway to one of the world’s top robotics hubs, it was hard not to see irony in an otherwise ordinary scene: two workers struggling to
View On WordPress
0 notes
Photo
Another view of the Poplar Chihuahua mural
#chihuahua#dog#mural#irony and boe#street art#art#urban#urban photography#documentary photography#photographers on tumblr#flats#housing#social#Poplar#London#England#UK
122 notes
·
View notes
Text
Thinking about the fact that I would get which and witch mixed up until I was 10. So everything I would write would be confusingly spooky
Also the only reason I don’t do that now is I forgot how to spell witch… I promise I’m smart! I just can’t spell that’s all
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Nvm fuck Boe im gunna think abt AU Bruuno n Shiloh
#au where Bruuno takes Boe's place#which has irony in there w Jules but i digrezs#is that just an excuse for Bruuno to wear a fancy hat? yes.#:)#i have SO MANY AUS!!!#WANNA TALK ABT ALL OF EM!!!!!#chow.txt#bruuno#shiloh#god....... ((screams))#im gunna go yell @ corpse if theyre awake
0 notes
Text
Ok, so I've been seeing an unfortunate number of people repeating media driven narratives about the withdrawal from the Middle East, and I have a lot of questions for them. So let's go:
Why do the last thirty days and thirteen lives matter more than the roughly 6,294 (2,448 service members and 3,846 contractors) lost in this conflict? Why do they matter more than the 65,000+ dead Afghan military and police that we trained to protect the Afghan government that we created? Why do they matter more than the 47,000 civilian deaths (that we know of)? Understand that I too believe that every life lost is a tragedy, and that I wish as much as anyone that these last few could have been avoided. But ask yourself: had we spent however many more years engaged, would we not have reached that grim toll?
Now, on to cost, why is it ok that we debt-financed no fewer than 2 TRILLION dollars, costing upwards of 8-10 trillion dollars after interest on a war that the United States Congress never voted to wage? And since I know that it's hard to comprehend that kind of number, I want you to understand what a trillion dollars is. A million dollars is a lot of money, yes? A trillion dollars is 1,000,000². SQUARED. Now multiply that by eight to ten to comprehend the financial burden of a war that was never voted upon. Consider what that has cost us in potential good that could have been done at home. And let us not forget the enormous number of veterans created by these conflicts, for whom we provide inadequate care and who suffer extremely high rates of suicide and homelessness despite the continued hundreds of billions we dump into our "defense" spending EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. I personally believe that we should not create veterans when we are unwilling to care for the ones we have.
And what was it all for? To enter Afghanistan, kill Bin-Laden, and cut the head off of Al-Qaeda? Bin-Laden was killed in 2011. Why did it not end then? Why did we invade Iraq? If the important thing was defeating the Taliban, why was it the 2001 attacks that created the war rather than their 1996 takeover? Why is it important to us that Afghanistan has a democratically elected secular government when we not only abide, but support nations like Saudi Arabia and sell them weapons with which they wage their own inhumane wars where civilians pay the greatest price? If you cannot see the irony, you are willfully blind.
Stop pretending that this withdrawal somehow hurt the dignity of the United States or our service members. The fact that we spent twenty years fighting wars whose primary benefactors were ALWAYS corporations is our shame. We were warned of the potential power of a military-industrial complex decades ago by Eisenhower. We did not listen, and we paid the price in blood, money, and dignity. Pulling out later would have only cost more, and it's shameful how many people are unwilling to admit that. Mind who you listen to, and look for lobbying and sponsorship by companies like Raytheon, Lockheed Martin, and Boeing. You'll find the stink of their money all over those who act like somehow these last 30 days mean that you shouldn't remember the last 7,300.
20 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Streetart: Animal Murals by Irony & Boe in the Streets of London
1 note
·
View note
Note
Ref anon: I hope you can get help for that pain. Maybe a nerve is pinched? I'm really not sure about my future. I have a lot of hobbies but just work a shit customer service job. Getting motivation to do drawing at all is difficult let alone animate. Which is a great mental state to be in when my only plan for my whole life since childhood was animation. 🤷♀️
its tendonitis and im pretty sure the only way to get rid of it is to take a break from working which is obviously not possible so just gonna ignore it till i die i guess \o/
so yeah you struck a cord with me, this got long...
i cant help with motivation, i have too much of it. i lived with my grandparents for a year while grandpa was sick, and it was the first time they'd ever really seen me /work/ and even they were shocked. it really is constant - if i have twenty minutes and im not using it to draw its wasted time, you know? my first roommate here in LA was concerned too - she kept trying to get me to stop working and go out and back then my excuse was i didnt have a job and no money for going out, but really im just like that all the time. i try to balance it with seeing friends and social media and everyday shit like eating food, but its hard, my favorite people are the ones who will just sit and work with me lol! (or going out and working in places im not alone and quiet). i guess what im saying is...if its really your passion, is it not there all the time? i only ask because it took me a long time to realize that although i loved to analyze animation and watch it - the way i process art doesnt quite have what it takes to do that. we all love the end product, but just because the animation part is the most front facing part...doesn't mean that's necessarily where your actual passion might lie...if that makes sense? there's SO MUCH to do in the animation industry, its crazy. for me, i finally realized that all my obsessive energy revolved around character and especially faces, and i just started focusing on that. i would much rather be concepting a wide variety of characters than spending a whole year animating about one minute of a two hour movie.
that said there's also the sad reality that some people have had doors open more easily than others. i feel you about being stuck in a retail job you feel wasted in :( im sorry you are in that position. i hope you are able to make a change, but i understand just how fucking /trapped/ that can be. watching life slip by into nothingness while the tiny snatches of meaning only happen during off hours and scraped together seconds of free time. one of the biggest ironies though is that this is how a lot of original animators felt about dsn*y. i mentioned that on my road trip i stayed with the son of an animator who worked on snow wh*te - he wasnt one of the 9 old men but he was their contemporary and friend, and the animator took the job just to make money off his art. animation just wasnt his full passion and he eventually quit, moved up north, and started experimenting with helicopters and boe*ng lol.
and in reverse of that, as i grew up with a father and a grandfather who worked for boe*ng and the US space program, ALL my open doors were flight and space related - my cousin currently works for N A S A and my other cousin for boe*ng - they took the doors but i didnt want anything to do with it. it took years for my grandpa to finally come to terms with the fact that my passion for art was as strong as his passion for airplanes. he grew up a farm boy daydreaming about flying, and had to take a circuitous route to finally get there - army, college, mechanical engineering, finally rockets. he gave my dad and me all the chances grandpa would have wanted as a kid - my dad took them - i didnt want any of it. i would much rather have had those chances that the animator got.
and then of course there are the institutionalized gates - barriers against entry for women, minorities, LGBQT, people without money...its a LOT to fight against. which is of course why we celebrate the exceptional people who DO break through those barriers and succeed despite it all. but it can be demoralizing to be on the other side of those barriers. demoralizing is too soft a word. i dont think there is a word for how much it can hurt.
some wisdom that might help: randy pa*usch's last lecture - he is a white male who definitely does not understand the race/sex 'walls', but he makes good points, and also he came at the animation industry sideways for very similar reasons - through education and research rather than the traditional job promotion route. and then someone closer to my own age/time: justin scar*ed - i dont mean his road trip videos, i mean the old vlogs from 3-6 years ago when he was 31 divorced and depressed and realizing he had to release himself from his own pressure of his music career. his quest for positivity is an interesting concept, and i sympathized with that feeling of your life taking a direction you didnt chase after but somehow ends up being the thing you were actually looking for the entire time. if you want a success story there’s always my favorite: steve aok*. he went against everything that was set up for him in life and still made it work ^_^ (of course of these three, guess who also grew up the rich kid lol). or norman re*dus who quite literally accidentally became a model and successful actor. im paraphrasing this horribly, but my impression was that as a teenager he was selling shitty cat paintings on the streets of paris - which sounds romantic but miserable at the same time - and then followed a girl to california, got a crappy job in a motorcycle shop, went to a party and yelled at some people from a balcony, landed his first stage role...and eventually created the character of daryl and finally got the chance to have his genius really shine. (sometimes i wonder though, if it was frustrating to end up being famous for acting rather than art which was arguably his true passion?)
i hope any of this helps, i am pretty exhausted lately so apologies if my sentences are incomprehensible in some parts. and you know, my DMs on here are open if you want to talk more specifically off anon <3
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Driftrod Day! Gideon the Ninth AU
This is a snippet of an AU in the world of the Locked Tomb books. There are major spoilers for Gideon the Ninth and minor spoilers for Harrow the Ninth in this; feel free to revisit this ficlet after you’ve read the books which are super good.
I’ve taken some heavy liberties with the setting for cavalier/necromancer driftrod reasons.
“We’ve found you a partner,” Springer says as Hot Rod walks into his office.
Hot Rod isn’t surprised. No one’s supposed to know that a Second House cav, a Sixth House cav, and a Third House dignitary with no battle skills to speak of were, more or less willingly, recovered from Canaan House and supposedly recruited, but everyone knows anyway. Most of the base doesn’t like this plan - of course survivors of whatever Lyctor-murderfest was going on there would join up when they don’t have anywhere else to go, and of course they’re going to ditch BoE the second they see a way home.
BoE needs them, though. Or at least, Hot Rod does. Everyone knows that he wouldn’t last ten minutes on a battlefield without someone watching his back, and no one trains for that job in BoE. House necromancers, the only necromancers out here, have to be paired with House cavaliers.
He’d assumed that Arcee would be his cavalier forever when they’d first been matched after Hot Rod arrived, but she and her wife have a baby now and Hot Rod’s been all but grounded ever since she quit going out in the field. They would send him out alone if there was an emergency, of course. Hot Rod suspects he’s only alive because there hasn’t been an emergency.
Arcee had been hoping he’d quit too, he thinks. She’d understood his drive to fight, but she’d also seen the way they look at him - like he’s a weapon, like he’s a thing. She’d probably thought that if he walked away, he could find family again like she had.
But he’s still alive for one reason only, and that’s to fight back. His only skill to speak of is destruction, and even though it makes him monstrous in BoE’s eyes, they’re willing to send him on missions because no one else here can do what he does. He could do without them being just as willing to laugh at him for the way he passes out if he doesn’t have dirt to siphon thanergy from as they leave a planet and the disciplinary marks he gets for having to sleep through most of his first forty-eight hours on any space station, but none of that is enough to make him give up.
“Which one is it?” Hot Rod asks. Surely Springer knows that he knows about the recruits - he’s at least as tapped into the gossip as Hot Rod.
“His name is Deadlock,” says Springer.
That’s quite possibly the least Sixth House name Hot Rod has ever heard, so Second House it is. Dread curdles in his gut. He’d heard that the Second House cav had only stopped fighting back when he’d been stabbed and nearly killed. He’s probably a soldier, and more likely than the rest to still be loyal to the Houses. How is he going to react to Hot Rod, who betrayed them so explosively?
But he can’t say any of that to Springer. Whatever goes wrong is certainly no more than he deserves. “Understood.”
**
“I’m Rodimus. It looks like we’re going to be working together,” Rodimus says, forcing a smile. He’d been considering the switch for years, with the way his old name sometimes feels like a secure thread connecting him to his past but more and more often like the weight of it yoked over his shoulders. He’d submitted the official name change request as soon as he’d left Springer’s office and sent a memo to his closest associates, of which there aren’t many. The name change isn’t guaranteed to keep Deadlock from figuring out who he is, but it’s certainly worth trying.
Deadlock looks like he’s around Rodimus’s age, wary and obviously still injured as he looks at him from across the table. There’s a stretch of silence before he speaks, and Rodimus braces himself for Deadlock to have figured out his secret already.
“I’m Drift,” he says, finally. Rodimus takes note of the change, hopes it was the reason for the pause instead of anything to do with Rodimus.
It feels like it means something, that he’s chosen to change his name now. It feels like it means he won’t kill Rodimus in his sleep, at least.
**
Rodimus and Drift are largely left alone to train together; no one in BoE wants to supervise a partnership that goes against everything they stand for, even though they’re willing to keep whatever necros and cavs they get their hands on for their undeniable effectiveness. Springer is the closest thing to a real supporter, but even he insists on just letting them train how they like, with the polite excuse that he has nothing to contribute. Rodimus tries to keep himself from feeling slighted or abandoned and it never really works.
It slips his mind easily enough when his and Drift’s shuttle lands on a quiet corner of one of BoE’s sanctuary planets, and he has thanergy at his fingertips for the first time in months.
There are no humans buried nearby, so Rodimus is limited to the corpses of small animals. It’s plenty of thanergy to channel into a region far from the shuttle and free of live animals and tweak it into a massive fireball that sends flames and smoke high into the air.
Drift steps up beside him, one hand on his sheathed rapier. “Wow. That was just...wow.”
Rodimus glances at him, looking for irony or a flat-out lie, but he’s still staring at the blacked dirt where the fireball was, eyes wide in seemingly genuine awe. “You were Cohort, right? Haven’t you seen a Fourth House necro work before?”
Drift looks at Rodimus, in that intense way he has that makes Rodimus want to take a step back. “I only joined a few years ago,” he says. What he doesn’t say, after all the Fourth House necromancers died, sits thick in the air between them.
“Right.” It makes sense, now that Rodimus thinks about it. Most houses don’t start shipping adepts into the field until they’ve turned 18. And after...well, after Rodimus, technically, the Fourth House hadn't had anyone left to spare.
He wonders who Fourth House sent to the First at the Emperor’s call. He hopes it wasn’t Flamewar, but he doesn’t bother to hope very hard.
Drift is still looking at him, and when he notices again he does take a step away, shaking his head and clapping his hands. “Okay. Training. I have complete control over the blast radius, but that only helps me avoid hitting you if I know where you are,” he says. “My last cav and I worked a lot on positioning for different types of fights. I can walk you through what we did, and we’ll adapt what we need to.”
“Your last cav...” Drift trails off instead of finishing his question, but it’s obvious what he wants to ask.
“She’s alive! She’s fine, she just has a family now and wanted to retire from active duty.”
“Oh.” Drift tries to smile, but it’s thin and troubled.
“You were paired with a necro before you were picked up, right?”
Drift’s smile disappears. He nods.
Rodimus waits. They’re going to have to talk about it if they’re going to work together at all, so it might as well be now, when the loss isn’t a schism between them yet.
“His name was Wing,” Drift says, sounding...unlike himself. Angry, bitter. More like Rodimus had expected Deadlock to sound, before they’d actually been introduced. “He died at Canaan House.”
“I’m sorry,” Rodimus said.
Drift smiles at him, softer and more real this time, then looks off into the distance. “I know who you are, you know,” he says. “There’s only been one Fourth House defector in decades.”
Rodimus’s whole body tenses. “Who am I, then?” he asks.
Drift smiles again. “You’re Rodimus. My necromancer.”
#hotlock week#driftrod#this au is like...hotlock-adjacent driftrod in that they're both sort of feeling out new identities right now#i do have more planned for this!#but. nanowrimo.#i have a whole idea for what happened at Fourth House but it's MAJOR canon divergence from the books so we'll see if that works#the other recruits are perceptor and thundercracker#because perceptor has major 'sword dude from the library planet' energy actually#and of course brainstorm would refuse to die and instead [redacted for htn spoilers]#and naturally starscream is ianthe
15 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
elmseekho
Elmseekho
esthetiquedutapis
Tapis, tapis, mon beau tapis, toi qui es...
nejibaby
mai writes, sometimes
lavida-delaluna
.x.Music feeds my soul.x.
ride4boom
Saurabh Dhiman