#IGNORE TAGS FOR THE LOVE OF PRIMUS

[filthy-blooddrinker]

ew it learn how to draw again. dirty slut.

full is on my blue sky, link in bio.

I love them sm, I'd say don't go bald but pretty sure they already are...

[in1-nutshell]

TRANSFORMERS ONE IS OUT! Unfortunately, I couldn't watch it in theaters because work and money is a bit tight right now. I can't wait for this movie to come out in YouTube Movies to watch it. Since we both know it's obviously gonna have a sad ending, do you mind if I added a bit more sadness in this request? Orion Pax has a younger sibling that he raised named Buddy. Buddy loves both Orion Pax and D-16 as a family. Buddy is willing to bite some ankles if anybody was mean to someone Buddy cares about. Buddy is also tagging along with them in the adventures, much to Orion's dismay and dread. I heard there is gonna be a fight between them at the near ending. Buddy is horrified and scared that those two bots that Buddy considered their family is now fighting each other as enemies. Buddy begs and screams at them to stop, but Optimus and Megatron obviously won't. When Optimus and Megatron shoot each other at the same time, in a moment of panic and terror for their loved ones - Buddy jumps in between them and get hit by both of their shots accidentally that immediately offlined Buddy. They both stopped fighting in shock and grief. Buddy's death was the final straw between Optimus and Megatron's relationship. When Megatron and Optimus went in their separate ways, they both knew the war had begun. Characters: Orion Pax, D-16, Bumblebee, and Elita-one. Please and thank you!

Trying to get the TF1 fics out a bit early so we have something to read.

Hope you enjoy!

Slight mention of spoiler in the movie

Bot Buddy being Orion Pax's younger sibling

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Angst, Character death (you have been warned!), Cybertronian reader

TF1

Buddy was one of the youngest miners in the group.

They did get some special treatment from certain bots but was otherwise expected to act just like everyone else.

One bot in particular took interest in the younger bot.

Orion Pax was his name.

He saw a lot of himself in the younger bot and offered his companionship.

The younger bot quickly latched onto him faster than rust.

It didn’t take long for them to fall into a sibling dynamic.

Soon D-16 was introduced.

D-16: “So let me get this straight. You saw them and decided to be their friend and the next thing you know your siblings?” Orion: “That’s pretty much it.” D-16 shakes his helm in good humor. D-16: “Sometimes I can’t with you.” Buddy swings their arms around him and Orion. Buddy: “Get used to it D! You’re one of us now!” D-16: “As long as you’re not like this rusty bucket its fine.” Orion: “Hey!” Buddy chuckles: “Don’t worry about that D.” 2 weeks later… D-16 watching Buddy trying to drop kick Darkwing after he ‘accidentally’ knocked their energon cart. D-16: “Primus… they’re worse…” Orion pats D-16 on the back. Orion: “Yep… want to help them out?” Both mech’s wince seeing Buddy get punched in the chassis. D-16: “…Fine.”

Buddy always kept their brothers on their pedes with their antics.

Always kept them both on alert.

Buddy loved to randomly jump on their shoulders or try and pick them up.

Despite their antics, Buddy was a good miner and even managed to do something most miners couldn’t do.

Get on Elita-One’s good side.

No one knows what exactly happened between them both for Buddy to get a bit of favoritism.

Elita refuses to elaborate and Buddy likes to see bots squirm for the answer.

Buddy hands Elita a spare jetpack. Elita: “Buddy I already have a jetpack.” Buddy: “We’re going to need it.” Elita raises an optic but ignores it. Later… Elita: “… How did you know—” Buddy: “The jetpacks are old Elita. Its only a matter of time before someone falls from a faulty one.” Elita pats their helm. Elita: “When I get promoted, I might just ask to move you to be my assistant.” Buddy: “No! I don’t want any more work!” Elita: “Too late, already considering it.” Buddy: “Orion tell her to stop being mean!”

Buddy was helping Elita get used to her new role in waste management when they saw who was on the Iacon 500.

They cheered for their brothers with everyone else.

The bot let out a yelp when they saw D-16 get hurt, but quickly smiled seeing Orion try and help him to the finish line.

…Too bad Chromia won the race.

Good news, Buddy was now a couple shanix richer from the betting pool.

 While they were heading to the med bay to go see Orion and D-16, they quickly hid seeing Darkwing picking them up and leading them somewhere.

Orion and D-16 talking to B-127 when something big falls on to the conveyer belt and jumps off it. Buddy dusts themselves from the junk. Buddy turns and waves at the bots. B-127: “New friend!” Orion and D-16: “Buddy!?” They both go over to Buddy looking for any injuries. Buddy: “Hey quit it! I’m not dying!” Orion: “What are you doing here?” Buddy: “Well I was going to the med bay to congratulate you two, but Darkwing got to you first. Then I had to wait a while until the coast was clear and find out where you were sent. It’s kinda fun going through the shoot though.” D-16: “What you did was—” B-127 pushes D-16 out of the way and shakes Buddy’s servo. B-127: “Hi there! I’m B-127, or you can call me B or—” Buddy: “Wait! I can be B and you can be BB!” B-127: “Or maybe we can go by the Double B’s!” B-127 and Buddy start chatting up a storm. Orion: “What just happened?” D-16: “I don’t know but I don’t like it…”

Orion catches Buddy up on the new information on Alpha Trion.

Buddy is ready to go.

Orion and D-16 try to get them to stay, but Buddy ends up joining.

They are having a blast climbing the crates inside the train as Orion tries to get Elita.

Buddy stared long and hard at the landscape when the group reached to the surface.

Is sprinting with B-127 the moment the giant rock formations start getting closer.

Grips Orion and D-16’s servo when they all get tossed out of the train.

Their chatting and B-127’s chatting makes the other older bots consider gagging them for the remainder of the trip.

When reaching the cave of the fallen Prime’s, they gently hold D-16’s servo as they silently mourn for Megatronus Prime.

Hides behind Elita when Alpha Trion comes back online and nearly decks Orion in the face.

Cries a little bit seeing what Sentinel had done to the other Prime’s.

They deserved so much better than that fate.

Absolutely seething with D-16 when the group sees Sentinel giving the Quintesson’s THEIR hard earned energon.

Once everyone gets their T-cog’s, Buddy is the first to try and transform… unfortunately they did not get it the first time.

The group was running down the hill. Buddy’s helm gets tucked into their frame. Buddy: “I CAN’T SEE! I CAN’T SEE!” Orion starts laughing Orion: “HAHAHAHA—AAH WHERE’S MY HEAD?!”

Buddy gets a bad feeling about D-16 when he starts talking to Orion but brushes it off as stress.

They hoped they were right, especially after he admitted to wanting to terminate Sentinel.

Don’t get them wrong, they absolutely hate the bot now, but to go so far as terminate him?

It didn’t seem right.

Was the first one to get tased and wake up.

They get excited the second they see Starscream, Shockwave and Soundwave.

B-127 and Buddy both tell the other’s who the High guard were.

An excitement that quickly turns into frightened when they see D-16 beating up Starscream.

They tried to get to him, but the crowd wouldn’t let them.

Buddy looked over at Orion, both sharing the same look of worry and fear for their brother.

They end up getting captured by Arachnid with B-127 and D-16 after the explosion.

Orion is riddled with guilt the second Elita tells him that Buddy, D-16 and B-127 were captured with some of the high guard.

Thankfully, he and Elita made a plan with the remainder of the guard to help get the others and bring Sentinel to justice.

Back at Iacon…

Buddy was in between D-16 and B-127 on the ground, restrained as Sentinel prattled about having them executed.

They felt their spark stop for a second when D-16 stood up.

Arachnid had to restrain them when Sentinel started branding Megatronus’s face on D-16’s chassis.

Buddy kicks the spider in the back of one of her legs. She lets go. The younger bot then kicks Sentinel in the back of his knee joints before helm butting him. Snetinel staggers back a bit. They stood in front of D-16 with fury in their optics. Buddy: “Touch my brother again and I swear I will send you to Primus myself!” Many of the captured bots looked in surprise at the young bot protecting the fallen miner. B-127: “Buddy just stay down!” D-16 tries to stand up the second he sees Sentinel start to move to them. D-16: “Buddy get out of the way!” Buddy: “Fat chance!” Buddy tries to kick Sentinel again, but this time the Prime grabbed their pede and with a swift movement twisted it. SNAP! Buddy: “AAAAHHH—” WHAM! Sentinel punched Buddy across the face sending them skidding across the floor. D-16: “BUDDY!” He glares at Sentinel. D-16: “Stop! Your fight is with me!” Sentinel: “No, they made it personal when they helm butted me. Its time to make an example.”

Thankfully the train had just crashed into the building.

Orion hops out and helps D-16 and Buddy up.

Orion briefly thinks on punching Sentinel in the face but is quickly drowned by D-16 yelling that he was going to terminate Sentinel.

Buddy tried to tell Orion that something was wrong, but their older brother was gone, off to tell everyone the truth about what Sentinel did.

They did their best in battling the other guards with their bad pede.

The bot screamed in horror when they saw D-16 and Sentinel going off the edge.

It took them a while to get to where the fight was.

They remembered seeing D-16 holding an extremely injured Orion over the edge of a dark hole.

They didn’t remember screaming, but their voice box started glitching when they saw D-16 let go of Orion’s servo.

Elita and B-127 were by their side holding them tightly, afraid they would try and jump off the ledge to get to him.

Buddy remembered looking at D-16 giving his speech.

Their audial winced when he called himself ‘Megatron’.

They had to close their optics for a second, not believing they had seen a newer version of Orion, now calling himself Optimus Prime.

The two former brothers fought.

Megatron and Optimus were on the ground wrestling the former’s fusion cannon. They barely registered the sounds of pedes coming closer. Megatron: “Let go!” Optimus: “Never!” Suddenly the cannon went off. A scream. THUD! Both mech’s look over and see Buddy’s frame laying on the ground…so still. Optimus quickly gets off Megatron and runs to Buddy. Optimus: “Buddy!” Optimus gets to the frame. Buddy’s optics were offline and there was a smoldering hole in the middle of their chassis where their spark was supposed to be. Optimus gently cradles them. Optimus: “Buddy! Buddy please! Buddy… please… don’t…” He gently hugs the limp frame, not caring in that moment if Megatron blasted him. Megatron just stood up and stared. He wanted to scream. To yell. Megatron wanted to hug his little sibling frame and pray to Primus that this was not happening. Optimus gently places the frame down, stands up and looks at Megatron dead in the optics. Optimus: “Take the High Guard and go. You are banished from Iacon.” Megatron starts walking away but stops for a moment to take one last look at Buddy’s still frame before yelling for his troops to follow him.

There was a small funeral held for Buddy.

 Optimus made sure to hold it together in front of the others.

But Elita and B-127 caught him alone, sobbing with a picture of Buddy, Orion, and D-16, smiling, without a care in the world.

The two bots held their leader tightly as he continued to sob.

Megatron mourned for Buddy in private.

It was only right.

He cried in silence holding a picture of him, Buddy, and Orion Pax on their first day of mining.

In the safety of his habsuite, he could cry all he wanted before his Decepticon’s expected him to come out with a rally cry.

[legs-like-jelly]

Tag Teamed!

lee: Bumblebee

lers: Optimus and Megatron

(Please note that any acts of affection in this fic are PLATONIC. These are two dads and their son and will be written as such!)

also huge shoutout to @an0ma1y-th3d0ma1y !! we actually talked aboutcthis in dms and i just had to write it!

This had to be it. This was one hundred percent the WORST lee mood of Bumblebee's life. He was antsy, irritable, and overall a whole mess.

And his dads weren't making it any better.

You see, Megatron and Optimus were always the first to notice when Bee was in a lee mood. And they loved teasing him about it.

Megatron was poking at his side to seemingly "get his attention". And Optimus was giving him excessive platonic kisses on his horns. It was absolutely driving the scout up a wall. By the time the war-framed bots found him, Bee was curled up under one of their blankets. The two mechs knew what this meant.

"Oh, whats this under our blanket, Megatron?" Optimus feigned surprise, clearly being playful.

"Beats me, Optimus. Surely it couldn't be our little bee.." Megatron mused.

"Hm..We may not know, but I think the Tickle Monster might!"

Just as he said that, a pair of little yellow horns peeked out from underneath the blanket. They were accompanied by a faint giggling.

"What's this? Did the little bee poke out his horns?" Megatron teased while poking at Bumblebee's horns. The smaller mech snorted and cowered back under the blanket.

"Aww, he ran away. Guess we'll have to get him back out of there somehow!" As if on cue, Optimus wrapped his arms around Bee's middle. His digits started tracing along the seams of Bee's chassis plating. Almost instantly, Bee popped out of the blanket, hearty laughs filling the air between his two dads.

"There he is! What are you doing under there, little one?" One of the ex-Decepticon's digits scratched underneath the scouts chin.

"NOHOHOTHING-! EEEK!!" Bumblebee squealed, pedes kicking off most of the blanket.

"You're a terrible liar, little bee," Optimus hummed while lifting the scout onto his lap.

"And do you know what liars get, Bee?" Megatron followed up.

Bumblebee squirmed in Optimus's grip, already giggling his little spark out. "nnnOO DON'T!!!!"

Ignoring Bumblebee's fake pleas, Megatron locked both of the scout's legs in a headlock. With this new leverage, he began dancing his digits along the underside of Bumblebee's knees.

"HAHA-*SNRK* AHAHAHAHAHA DAHAHAAD!!!" The scout squealed out, thrashing about in Optimus's lap. The other warframe wrapped his servos around him.

"Woah there, tiger! Does it tickletickletickle that bad?" Optimus cooed while scritching behind his horns.

"NAHAHAHAHOOO IT DOHOESN'T!!!" The minibot squealed while kicking his pedes. Megatron held the flailing limbs firmly still, keeping one of the scout's legs raised while his servo kneaded at the hinges of his knees.

"You sure? I don't think something that doesn't tickle would make you giggle this much..." Megatron commented, watching their son cackle for his life.

"STAHAHAHAP SAHAYING THAT!!" Bumblebee threw his helm back, knocking against Optimus's chassis while he did. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared him for what was gonna happen next...

Smooches.

Oh Primus platonic smooches were the worst for him. He couldn't help that they made him a thousand times more flustered!! And Optimus's little kisses were the worst because he always snuck little nibbles in..

"I think these sweet little horns need some loving..mwah mwah mwah!" Optimus alternated said kisses between each horn, making Bee flap his arms and cover up his faceplate.

"THEY DOHOHOHON'T THEY DON'T!!!! SQUEAL!!!"

"Oh they don't? What about this adorable tummy? Maybe these lovely wings?" Optimus dragged his digits along said places, making Bee curl up on himself.

"DAAAHAHAHAHAAHAD!!!" The yellow mech squeaked, wings fluttering behind him. Optimus was quick to move his faceplate out of the way.

"Woops, forgot that was one of your weak spots!"

Optimus, in fact, did not forget.

The bigger bot kneaded and scritched along the scout's wings, running his digits down the edges and pinching near the top point. A fond smile appeared on his face while he watched Bee squeal.

Megatron on the other hand(or servo, whichever you prefer) was going ham on the scouts knees and ankles. He gave Optimus a look, and the both of them stopped momentarily. Bee let out a whine of disapproval.

"Why did you st-" The scout onlined his optics after a little while, the sight he saw making him freeze in place. Optimus had both of his arms up above his helm, holding Bumblebee firm. And Megatron..oh Megatron.. He had his fingers wiggling right over Bee's stomach cavity, just barely brushing the surface.

Now if there was one thing Bumblebee absolutely loathed, it was anticipation. It was the worst and always seemed to drag on for the longest time with these two.

"What's wrong, little bug? Did you want us to keep tickling you?" Megatron raised an optic ridge, a smug grin on his faceplate. Bumblebee could feel the butterflies in full force now. All he could muster was a few giggles.

"Speak now or forever hold your peace, little one," Optimus crooned. And instead of a digit, a new little tool was now worked against the crook of Bee's underarm.

A feather.

"noNONONNONONNO PLEHEHEHEASE AHANYTHING BUT THAT!" Bumblebee kicked and flailed, unintentionally arching his stomach into Megatron's wiggling fingers.

"I don't even have to do anything! You're tickling yourself, buster," The warframe teased, secretly moving his digits down to scribble at Bee's sides.

"IHIHI'M NAHAHAHAT *BEEEEEP*"

"Woah, big beep! I'm guessing that reeeeeeally tickles, huh little guy?" Megatron chuckled to himself while pinching along Bee's stomach cavity. Meanwhile, Optimus had been etching the feather's along the grooves and crevices in Bee's plating. First his armpit, then his neck, then all the way down his back and to a little crevice just beneath where his ribs would be. The small scout could barely handle it as his belly laughter filled the room.

"Gosh, you're just the cutest thing! I really could just eat you up!" Megatron cooed to him while leaning his face downwards. Bee's little laughs piqued in pitch immediately and the two bigger bots winced slightly.

"Bee, he's barely gotten to the best part yet! Primus you're such a giggly little bot today!" Optimus teased between little pecks to the scout's horns. The minibot's faceplate was now flushed entirely with pink.

"NAHAHAHAHAH STAHAHAAAAP EEEEK!!" The scout kicked his pede against the bed three times, signaling he needed a break. His dad's stopped almost immediately, their servos now rubbing out the little ghost tickles.

"You okay there, Bee?" Optimus inquired, comfortingly massaging his wings. The yellow mech's engine purred with delight.

"You were giggling up a storm there. And you know you can always tell us when you're in a mood, right?" Megatron reminded him before getting up. "I'll get you a drink. Do you want warm or cold right now?"

"Waharm plehease," Bumblebee giggled, to which Megatron nodded and walked out of the berthroom. Optimus was already wrapping Bee back in his favorite blanket.

"Comfortable, sweetbee?" The truck mech hummed to him. His servos stopped massaging the other's wings and settled for stroking his helm.

"yeah ehehe.." Bumblebee rested his helm on his carrier's* chassis, engine still purring. By the time he shut his optics, Megatron had waltzed back in with a cup of warm energon.

"Here ya go, little guy. Just as warm as you like it," The gray mech handed the mug over and Bee took a small sip. After swallowing, a big yawn came after.

"Looks like someone needs a good rest. Want us to stay here with ya?" His sire** offered, placing a soft kiss to his forehelm.

Bee paused for a second before answering. "Yeah, actually. I'd like that."

The three mechs cuddled up together, Bee sandwiched between his two parents. The lights in the room were dimmed and then Bee was out like a light.

FIN

*carrier- term used for the mech that forged the sparklings **sire- term used for the mech that transferred the fluids needed to create the sparklings

i don't feel like explaining transformers fanon maternity terms please dont ask me i've been awake since 4am writing this(it's 7am at the time of posting)- took me forever but that's one down !!! yay !!!!

As always: Please read my pinned post before sending a request!

[yume-writes]

*Gasp!* I-I can't believe enough people like my writing, thanks for tagging me and I need my tissues to cry how wonderful you guys are! (Jk Blows my nose and wipes tears).

This will be different since I decided why not take a break from the Blue Rouge Arc. (Don't worry, I'm still writing more ideas into it so be patient. ;) )

So Basically remember All those Jokes about Heavy Iron being a Megop/Opmeg Child? Well... What if He is?

Hold Your Horses just yet! Before we begin, I want to clarify that this doesn't take place for the Blue Rouge or Wedding Fiasco, not even the Vengeful Blues ship happening and Megatron isn't obsessively insane, yet.(That's the ship name of Megatron, Blue cop & Optimus for you.) Also, Jun is not experimented M.E.C.H because I don't want my Baby Boy THAT kind of trauma so this takes place in another Timeline. Remember, Cybertronians are Asexual as a species and only created by Primus by the Well of all sparks. (Excluding Fanfictions since I don't want to make you uncomfortable by the amount of Fanfics involving, a different way of being created.)

Before Primus stopped creating more sparks due to the constant rampaging war and deaths, He decided to create one last spark based on the Leaders of Two Factions, not for peace but....

.

.

.

.

.

Out of SPITE! That's right, Primus is so fragging tired of them that He Decided to create a Love Child based out of them, OUT OF SPITE! to be shamed and Humiliated! Oh just because you guys have a Divorce, that doesn't mean you got to involve everyone in it HUH!? Yeah, Primus is already TIRED that He Decided that his last Creation is a Megop/Opmeg child to Spite them!

Ironically he's also caring and pitiful about what he created that he decided to transport the sparkling away from Cybertron from the war between two factions and not let It be involved by their Parents Ideology clashing in, by a Faraway yet Familiar planet of one of their Cousins... MACHINA.

(Which I call it. "Primus' Spite Child.™", this basedly a what if, purely Based on Primus as a character if he wasn't all mysterious. Can't wait to see their reaction, peace out!).

MCB x TFP crossover

Imagine making your god so annoyed of your fighting he creates a whole love child based on you and your rival. Like, how do you react to that?!

Also they don't know about Heavy Iron at first! Primus transports them away to Machina so they would have no clue about him! The moment they find out they're shocked, how could he be their child?! They can't even do that!!! And when they find out PRIMUS HIMSELF made Heavy Iron, god how do you even react?!

Optimus has to deal with that knowledge more because Heavy Iron is with the bots at the moment. He doesn't know if he should act fatherly to him, or act like a mentor. He tries both, but Heavy Iron keeps ignoring. So Optimus is at a loss. It doesn't help that the matrix feels like it's laughing at him

Megatron has to take a minute to take the reveal in and he still doesn't fully believe it. Primus, their creator, made a child out of spite because of their fighting, how do you take that in? Megatron does like that Heavy Iron is extremely strong and keeps trying to get him to join the cons. But because of Jun and the Metal Breath it's not working

Primus is insanely even more annoyed. Even after the reveal the two are STIL FIGHTING!! He made a child in the hopes the two would stop and it did nothing!! At least Optimus Prime is trying, but still. The war has been going on for a long time, and that's from a god who has been around since the start of the universe! If he could he would put his head in his hands, he sooo tired of these two

Heavy Iron had no idea he technically has parents and he honestly wants no part in either of them, leave him alone

[talesfromlissom]

BASELINE URGES // TFA! MEGATRON X READER // NSFW/VALVEPLUG WARNING

SUMMARY - The Allspark gives Megatron a gestation chamber, which warframes are not supposed to have. He’s going to break your array at this rate. 

WARNINGS/TAGS - Valveplug, Megatron being an asshole, is it a breeding kink if 'god' told you to make babies??

“Put a sparkling into my gestation chamber or so help me, Primus,  I will throw your offlined frame out of the closest airlock.”

Silence crept between you, and your mouth opened, closed, and opened again. Your face scrunches up, hands resting at your hips while you lean forward a bit, “Yes, hello (Y/N). How have you been since I’ve been dead for the past 50 years, my sweet…loving…beautiful conjunx–” “Kiss me.” “No. Where in the pits have you been?!” You exclaim. “Everyone thought you were dead for the past 50 years, then you show up, and the first thing you tell me is that you want a damn bitlet?!” 

Megatron’s face twists, his optics narrowing as a low growl emits from his throat, “Stop being foolish. We can have a conversation about logistics later. All you need to know is that I’m back, and I want an heir.” 

“You’re such an aft.” And then you kiss him with anything but gentleness. It was rough, demanding, and Megatron wasn’t entirely sure what else, but you were also so damn angry. He could feel the hot rage dripping off of your frame as your EM field slammed against his own. It's like a thousand tiny knives, but he doesn’t care. You're shoving him into the wall, and apparently, you’re not pissed enough to say no to fragging him within half of a processor. At this point he feels as if this is more something you’re doing out of annoyance rather than actually wanting to make a damn sparkling, “Dolt, frag me already.” He mutters half-heartedly and kisses you again. 

You aren’t even surprised when Megatron wraps his legs around your waist, arms grasping at your shoulders. You yelp when he suddenly chomps down on your glossa, head wrenching back and baring your teeth, “Don’t bite me,” You snap, wagging a finger at him as if he were a child. “Be patient.” You kiss him again. “And I don’t think you’d offline me anyways; you’d miss me too much.” 

Megatron clicks his teeth at this, grinding his pelvis into your own with a toothy grin. His HUD is already alerting him of his lubrication sequence starting, his cooling fans working over maximum velocity, and a random message from Shockwave that he ignores. Your frame is hot to the touch, scalding even, and yet neither of you seems to care despite the air in the closet already starting to heat up. 

“I’d miss your array, but do not worry, dear,” He muses, leaning his head into your neck, nibbling on cables and energon lines.”I’d cut it from your corpse and put it to good use.” 

You stop your movement, staring down at him with a wrinkled faceplate. You trip over your own words, mouth opening and closing a few times before you shake your head, “There’s something seriously wrong with you.” Megatron rolls his optics before his modesty plating snaps back, valve already slick, but he doesn’t hold back the grunt when you unceremoniously shove two fingers inside of him, scissoring him open. Not that much preparation was needed; he knew you were coming long before you yourself did, “And yet you decided to become my conjunx endura, so I believe there is something seriously wrong with you, my dear–” He growls lowly when your fingers hit his interior node, face scrunching up. 

“Don’t growl at me with my digits inside of you,” You grumble, eyes narrowing to look down at his pinched expression. “I think you’re supposed to say ‘thank you’.” 

“I’ll do as I please, you pompous aft!” Megatron snaps, but he doesn’t push you off either, not that he would anyway. You hit that spot again; his back arches, and a low moan leaves his lips. “You–!” 

His claws dig into your shoulders, and you know fairly well that your fellow Decepticons will ask you many questions. Your relationship was no secret at this point, though. He squirms in your grip, especially since your digits keep hitting that spot, “You little minx,” Megatron rasps, calipers clenching down on your fingers. “You’re doing–doing that on purpose!” 

“Maybe.” You muse, feeling your armor starting to dent under how harshly his hands are grasping at you. You’ll have claw marks on your back at this rate, but you’ll wear them with pride. At least for two hours before Megatron gets embarrassed and orders you to buff your frame. “Stop squirming; how are we gonna make a sparkling if you keep squirming?” The question is mostly just you thinking out loud. Megatron is squirming because he’s enjoying it. He’s arching his back, biting down on your shoulder, plating to muffle his noises. He doesn’t bottom often, but when he does, it's always something that you save to your hard drives for…other things. Of course, you’d never tell him that. You’re sure he’d be flattered to know that you jerk off to him, but he’d probably also be pissed that you’re pleasuring yourself without him there. He’s jealous of your own hand, apparently. 

You waste no time in prepping him, pulling your digits out, which have become coated in a thin layer of pink lubricant. You wipe your fingers on your thigh, lifting Megatron’s valve above your waiting spike. It’s pulsing, pre-fluid forming at its tip while it twitches. You feel Megatron shiver when he sinks down, just an inch at first. 

His chest is heaving, a loud gasp leaving his lips when gravity takes hold. His back arches, and he can’t help it either. This is his first time in a long time. But your spike is hitting all the right places, his calipers are expanding, his HUD is lighting up, and his frame just wants more more more—

“Megatron?” You blurt out, grunting when Megatron’s hips buck, trying to take more of your length. He feels so good around your spike, so familiar and so damn warm. 

Megatron can feel the burn from so many nodes firing off at once, and he grits his teeth, hands trying to push you down while his face flushes, “Give me control,” He pants, and you can’t bite back a frown. Not this again. “I am the–the lord of the Decepticons-” Megatron grabs your jaw, yanking your head down to look him in the eyes, “You’re making me—I look like a fragging fool.” 

“Oh, for primus sake–?!” You go to say before he pushes himself off of the wall. Your back hits the floor, and Megatron doesn’t even get the chance to lift his hips up in a sorry attempt to ride you. You roll to the side. You know damn well that he’s adjusted to your spike if he’s doing this, and you waste no time to start jerking your hips. 

You don’t say anything; the closet is filled with downright lewd-sounding squelches, cooling fans, your own breaths, and the various annoyed bleats that fall from Megatron’s mouth. You can’t help but lift his legs up, knees slapping against his shoulders. You drive your spike deeper into his valve, and you can feel the seal of Megatron’s gestation chamber hitting your tip. Not that it matters; it’s getting dissolved anyway, “You wanted a sparkling, didn’t you?”

Megatron just groans, head rolling to the side while his face twists in pleasure. His cooling fans are stuttering with how hot his frame is, and he’s almost tempted to shout at you again. The pressure builds up, and when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a meek-sounding whimper. He pants, chest rising and falling, his optics screwed shut while his fingers dig into the metal floor beneath his frame. He goes to say something else, but he just moans again. 

You’re seconds from overload at this rate, and if Megatron keeps clenching down on your length, it might happen sooner rather than later. Megatron lets out a mixture of a yell and a moan, valve clenching down as his overload travels across his frame. Your hand slaps onto his mouth when you hear voices down the hallway, and his own hand grips at your arm. You’re still fucking him through it, soft, jack rabbit-like thrusts; you grit your teeth, forehead resting on his shoulder when your own overload hits. Transfluid coating Megatron’s insides, all that Megatron does is groan quietly before he shoves your hand off of his mouth. 

“A warning could have been nice,” Megatron muses. “I sincerely hope that this works. We can try–what are you doing?” 

You aren’t really surprised when you promptly pick Megatron up and he doesn’t even try to struggle. Megatron's breath was labored still, valve twitching, along with various other parts of his frame. 

“I am taking you back to your quarters. We’re going to take a bath, and then we’re going to talk,” you reply. “About the sparkling?” “About everything.” 

“No. I’m tired.” 

The second that you enter his quarters, he’s already gone into an angry ramble about some planet called Earth. You find that you hate it just as much as he does. And once that ramble is done, he demands you two interface again. And again, and again. 

By the fourth round, he can’t even move, and you’re purring into his neck for a few moments before muttering, “Did you miss me, or is this really just about having an heir?” “An heir,” He huffs, though when he turns his head away and scrunches his face up, a telltale sign that he’s lying. He doesn’t do it around anyone normally, but he’s exhausted, it seems. “Nothing else. Again.” 

“Dear, you’re going to break my spike.” 

“Okay? Get a new one. Again.” 

You just sigh but move between his thighs once more, regardless. You’re not really complaining anyway. You’ll yell at him for being his usual self later. 

WORD COUNT - 1.6K

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A/N - I have many thoughts about TFA Megatron + warframes being built without gestation chambers but the Allspark is like: LOL go make some babies and calm down loser <3, and Megatron’s just: ??????!!!!. The only victim here is your dick tho. 

[starvonnie]

Our Pink Living Room

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus Additional Tags: Sticky Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Artificial Intelligence, Angst, Androids, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25

Also on AO3

He's not your Megatron.

Rodimus gasped as his spike met with aching ceiling nodes.

This is a lie.

Blue optics met red before shuttering closed for a vent-stealing kiss.

This isn't right.

Rodimus did everything he could to ground himself in the moment. For Primus’ sake, he was more than filled with spike—Megatron's spike—but it wasn't his. 

His Megatron. 

The condemned one. The dead one. The absolutely-not-alive one that couldn't be here. Couldn't be holding him.

And yet, he was.

“I love you,” the fake whispered against his lips.

Rodimus moaned before whispering back, “I love you, too.”

But what he loved was a program. AI. Just ones and zeros strung together in just the right way, with a one-to-one scale non-sentient (well… his sentience was debatable) robot. His only solace was that whatever this near-clone did, supposedly Megatron would have done, too. So maybe Rodimus had been too much of a coward to take that leap, but at least he knew his love was horribly requited.

Rodimus regretted. He regretted so much. He wished he had been braver. He wished he'd enjoyed Megatron while he'd had him. And he wished he had fought harder at his trial. Maybe if he had said the right things…

He mentally shook his helm. Interfacing. He was fucking. He shouldn't be getting sad, he should be getting railed.

Rodimus kissed him some more. He'd wanted to kiss Megatron more than anything. While Brainstorm had assured him that this Megatron would be as close to the real thing as could be, he knew deep in his spark that Megatron's lips wouldn't have been as soft and yielding. He imagined they'd be scarred and a little rough.

He couldn't really believe this wonderful lie. He talked like Megatron. Moved like him. Sounded like him. But they never bickered. Not like they used to. He was too damn agreeable. He wanted him to mock Rodimus’ garish colour choices or raise an optic ridge at the amount of sweetener he put in his morning cube. Instead, he awoke to Megatron—or this facsimile of him—having already made his morning cube. With the exact number of sweeteners he usually added.

He tried to test him. 

“I don't actually like it this sweet,” Rodimus lied.

“No? I apologize. Tomorrow I will make it how you like it.”

And the stupid programming remembered, leaving Rodimus to suck down less-sweet energon until he corrected Megatron again.

It was always how he liked it again.

“Can you write me a poem?” Rodimus asked.

Megatron cocked his helm. “What would you like it to be about?”

Rodimus frowned. “Me, obviously.”

Megatron had nodded, stood, then immediately got to work on a datapad. Within a few minutes he'd completed a whole-ass poem, and it was good. Definitely in Megatron’s voice, too, but it still felt off.

Rodimus glanced at that very poem, sitting on the nightstand. He wondered if Megatron, had he loved him, would have actually written him poetry. He burned to know.

“You love fucking my valve, don't you?” Rodimus said between breathy moans.

“I love fucking you,” that damn AI corrected.

It always said exactly what he wanted to hear. Like it was reading his damn processor. He hated it. 

But he couldn't live without it.

Rodimus returned home from work later that day, and Megatron was waiting. Same chair. Same energon blend. Same damn day. Over and over and over.

Frowning at the fake, Rodimus did something different. He ignored him. He walked straight to the washracks and scrubbed at his plating until it felt raw. He wanted to go back to the beginning where he was just so happy for the companionship that he didn't care that this wasn't real. That it would never be real.

Still simmering beneath the surface, Rodimus went back out to the kitchen where Megatron still waited, unmoved. It was like he was waiting to start some program.

Once again, Rodimus did something different. He grabbed some engex and took a swig straight from the bottle. 

“You're drinking again?” Not-Megatron sounded concerned.

“I'm having a drink,” Rodimus corrected. “What do you care?”

“You're my conjunx.”

A flare of anger burst from Rodimus’ field. Of course, this fake never understood him in that way. “Too complicated,” Brainstorm had said when Rodimus asked about his lack of a field.

“We're not conjunx,” Rodimus said quietly.

“What? Of course we are, I lo—”

“You are not real! How could we become conjunx if i didn't initiate, huh? What could possibly put you in a bad light? You have no substance for the Act of Disclosure!”

Megatron's optics dimmed and he lowered his gaze. “Perhaps because I am not real. But I am. I am Megatron.”

“Megatron never would've let me paint the living room pink! Much less with flames around the door!”

Not-Megatron looked around, his brow creased with worry. “We can paint it another colour.”

“That's not—AARGH!” Rodimus kicked the couch. “No! You're supposed to tell me this is a hideous colour and then suggest some bland shit that's an offense to colours everywhere!”

“Maybe… beige?”

“Maybe beige? Are you serious? I lied! You'd want to paint it purple! It's always purple with you!”

Megatron stood and closed the distance between them, and Rodimus stupidly let him. “Then we can paint it purple.”

“That's not the point!” Rodimus grabbed him by the collar faring and tugged him down until they were optic-to-optic. “Fight me on it. Argue with me. We always argued!”

“Will that make you happy?”

No.

“Yes!”

Megatron frowned. “It's a hideous colour.”

Rodimus should've been embarrassed, but his horniness hit him full-throttle and he smashed his mouth against Not-Megatron’s too-pillowy lips. It wasn't long before those strong arms had whisked him away to their berthroom and Megatron was deep inside of him again, fucking him like it was his Primus-given purpose.

Except Primus had no purpose for him. Primus didn't make him. Really, he was basically just a sex robot. Which, normally, Rodimus wouldn't have a problem with, but that wasn't why he had him made.

He needed more.

The next day, while at work, he did the bare minimum and spent most of the day just thinking. He weighed the pros and cons and did some deep soul-searching to figure out what he really wanted.

His processor hurt by the end of it.

Of course, he came to the same realization he always did: he wanted Megatron. He wanted to actual mech. The one with free will who wouldn't just let him do whatever he wanted without consequence. 

What finally pushed him to do it was the realization that Megatron wouldn't want this. The dead were dead and there was no way to emulate that.

Megatron didn't resist when Rodimus told him to open his chest. Where a spark should've been was nothing more than a computer compiling and spitting out data. All it took was a few snips from wire cutters for his not-conjunx to go dark and silent.

Rodimus still cried.

[16woodsequ]

Thanks @skarabrae-stone for the tag!

Rules: Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass this onto other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

sympathy, won't you come around?

“Oh god.” Steve turns, head on a slow swivel, looking around. He knows this alleyway. He knows this street, the buildings, tall and laden with clotheslines, running from fire escape to fire escape like veins bleeding life into the city. They’re in the wrong place. They’re in the wrong time. Steve ends up in the past with Tony and they both witness Mr. Rogers' infamous temper.

This fic I got to write with @turtle-steverogers and I am so happy with it! I really like exploring comic Joseph Rogers who was abusive but there isn't a lot of fics about that out there, so it was really fun and satisfying to write this idea together.

2. Do over

"T.A.H.I.T.I. was designed to revive a fallen Avenger. That's how it got started." Or, Tony is doing his best to live his life and settle down after the whole AIM thing...and then Steve Rogers shows up at his door, as prickly and uptight as always. Beyond that though... something just seems... off with him, something Tony can't quite put his finger on. And, you know, the fact that he and SHIELD are no longer on speaking terms is kind of a red flag.

This fic took me by a storm. I wrote the whole thing in like, three days. I am still impressed by this fic, the way Steve and Tony are distant but become friends during it and the reveal of what happened to Steve. It's just all very satisfying.

3. All Too Familiar

The man in the Helicarrier is Important, so the Asset stays with him on the bank of the Potomac. Soon agents come to collect the man, and the Asset realises why he must know him. Or, Bucky, fresh from Hydra, watches the interactions between Steve and the Avengers, and comes to the logical conclusion that Steve must also be an asset like himself.

This fic was inspired by a fic by @perplexinglyparadoxialperson. In their fic Bucky thought Steve was also an asset and that was such an intriguing concept! This is another fic I wrote all at once. I just like how Bucky's assumption really drives home how alienated Steve is in this fic.

4. Out of it

Tony and Steve team up to fix the engines after an initial clash on the Helicarrier. It's going well until Tony finds Steve dissociating after his near fall out of the Helicarrier fighting Loki's goons. It isn't what he's expecting, and Tony has to confront the fact that Captain America isn't what he first thought.

I love this fic because it was really fun to write a oneshot that focused directly on one traumatizing thing for Steve. Avengers goes so fast and doesn't have time to focus on all the things that happen to him but I always think of them when I'm watching the movie!

5. The Singer

Everyone knows that the Singer is a Seeker blessed by Primus to sing songs that predict the future and guide the present. It is too bad no one can seem to unravel his meaning. Or so Megatronus has been told. He is starting to suspect some willful ignorance on the behalf of his fellow Councillors.   "What was his name again?" he asks, his optics pinned to the fiery ones in front. The councillor next to him shrugs, hardly paying the song any mind. "Starscream." Or, Megatronus finds himself entangled in the mess of corruption that is Cybertron, and finds an ally in a bitterly fierce Seeker who can only speak in song.

This fic was quite an accomplishment for me! I had this idea brewing for years. It's not uncommon for me to be inspired by music and have story ideas where characters use music to express themselves. I never thought I'd write one of them since it sounded like a hard idea to pull off, but I am so happy with this fic! Very proud of it.

Tagging @fiction-vixen @jinxquickfoot and @turtle-steverogers if you wish to join!

[birthdaycakeplate]

Hi there, hope you're doing well! Let me start by saying I love your art, your style is super cute! Your writing is also amazing, it's so well written and always a joy to read! The art and fic you made of Optimus in a polyship with Megatron, Strika and Lugnut is something I never would've thought about but it's super cute and sexy and you've got me hooked. I'd love to see more, fics or art is totally up to you!

💕Zombie LISTEN, I didn’t know which ship you like the most, so I threw my two main ships at you at once 😭😭

This is Blitzbee/Megop with the ‘Cons being accidentally very soft and making the ‘Bot boys emotional for it. I would sum this up as, ‘crack treated seriously’.

You made me so emotional with your message zombie 🥺 like what a compliment?!! Thank you, you’re so dang sweet😞

This is the longest thing I’ve made on here, so everyone *please* be prepared when you click that ‘read more’ down there. It’s 33,200+ words, so I broke it into ✨2 parts✨

💕Warnings are in the tags💕

(Canon is skewed all to slag, and is set during ??????? in the timeline.)

——- ————- ——

Terrorizing the locals was just a bonus and not necessarily Blitzwing’s end goal. The organics were easy to ignore -would be easy enough to squish, if they ever got under pede one day. Quite beneath his notice.

True, he did delight in the distant screams below, as the humans ran for cover, scattering like ants. There was a certain appeal to being the most powerful, impenetrable force around. Particularly when there was a mech like Megatron to come ‘home’ to an the end of each cycle, and be forced to remember where exactly you were on the food chain.

Thrill or not, it was all very unremarkable when there were greater things at stake than scaring a handful of blithering gnats. It wasn’t like it was some kind of chore to put the fear of Primus in the little things and anything but a challenge.

He’d hardly noticed all the times he’d flattened a car -or 12- while walking through the city at rush hour.

He hadn’t noticed when a wing tip had sliced through an office building on a fourth floor once, either.

All very commonplace for a mecha of his size and stature. All very easy to overlook.

But this time was.... different....

Leaking Energon from a lateral line in his thigh, Blitzwing was searching every dark alleyway for the little bug bot that’d gone and stung him good enough to sever it. He’d been caught off guard long enough for the minibot to bolt for cover. Of course, he wasn’t fairing much better either after a blast of ice to his center chassis.

Guerrilla tactics were somewhat of a welcome change to Bumblebee’s usual ‘strategy’ of standing around, spouting off rude nonsense, and trying to land a blow. Tamer, less destructive blows than anything Blitzwing could do to the minibot under his massive strength, of course.

Having him get a solid hit in for once and then running off to cower someplace, forcing Blitzwing to make himself a target for more competent Autobrats while he staggered about wounded, still had its own appeal -such as hunting down the dirty bug for sport and shelling him of his metal casing right then and there.

What a thing to look forward to. Perhaps he’d have the scalp of his helm mounted in his quarters.

Blitzwing pulled up the unsuspecting cars that’d been abandoned in the middle of the street, looking for an insignia. Bumblebee had at least proved smart enough not to hide in plain sight.

With no sign of the charming, little idiot Blitzwing was becoming more erratic- it would only be a matter of time before Bee emerged from the shadows to attempt another attack while Blitzwing had his back turned.

“Come out from hiding, jou little scrap!”

So he could push that flimsy frame into all sorts of interesting shapes. ‘Origami’, he’d heard it called.

An answering shriek came from somewhere below.

Far, far below.

So far below, that Blitzwing had to stop, face spinning back to blue as his processor tried to collect itself beyond mindless rage, and stooped down to one knee to better study the source of said shriek. And it definitely wasn’t Bumblebee.

An organic about the size of Sumdac’s offspring was stood there with a wet face, mouth agape, and struggling to vent inward.

A crying child. Blitzwing became immediately uninterested.

He stood again and made to continue his search when the tiny thing cried out.

“I-I-I lost my m-mom!” It wailed. Dripping all sorts of lubricant from various holes.

Blitzwing surveyed the path he’d left behind him for a glimpse of yellow lurking and waiting to make a move. There was nothing. No slimy, stupid minibots.

It wasn’t often Blitzwing scared this bot badly enough to stay hidden.

Or perhaps that blast to the chest had simply proven more fatal... He’d hate to be robbed of draining the little one’s life force himself, if he came across a corpse.

“I want my mom!” The child, who didn’t seem bothered by the tonnes of lunatic in his audience, outright sobbed, catching Blitzwing’s attention again. His voice caught and choked on the words.

“I can’t- I can’t- I can’t *f-find her*!”

His sobs distorted the words, but they were clear enough to pick out. The child’s voice high and whimpering.

The boy stood there, twisting his shirt up in his fists- a failed gestured to self-soothe.

Blitzwing then noted the creature was very pointedly looking up at *him*. Perhaps hoping to make his case that he was very much a helpless thing, and that that may somehow appeal to a sort of humanity in the alien, metal monster before him.

Illogical.

“Mom...” the child whined, hanging his head and leaking fresh globs from his opticals. He looked very close to entering some sort of tantrum. A loud one.

Blitzwing scowled at the pathetic display.

“Vell, vhere did jou last put her?” His voice, too sharp, caused the boy to flinch.

“Me?” He asked. His confusion enough to deter his panic for the moment.

“I... I’m not... I don’t ‘put’ her, um...”

It sounded like a question. Mostly because he was questioning the absurdity of an adult -what looked like an adult- asking him nonsense.

~WHIRR~

“She does not have handles for easier carrying?”

“W-What? No!” The kid said in absolute bewilderment. But the ridiculousness of the question was enough to soften the edge in his tone. And that crimson smile the giant terror wore was a surprisingly small comfort.

Tantrum avoided, Blitzwing allowed himself some crassness, as it’d seemed to have prompted the child’s natural playfulness, and stabilized his mood a bit.

“Jou don’t just tote her around from place to place, zen?”

“No!”

“Take her vith jou on field trips?”

“No!”

“Not even to ze zoo?”

“No!” The tiny organic was laughing now.

“I can see how jou lost her!”

Blitzwing trained his features back to blue and reconsidered himself. Then made his decision.

“Oh. Vell zen... Zat iz an oversight, don’t jou think?” He then bent to scoop the child up and bring him to chest level.

There was plenty of terrified shrieking yo accompany the move, but it didn’t last. Soon the boy was looking up at him with absolute awe. Marveling at the sudden position he’d found himself in- being held in the gargantuan hand of an unusually hospitable beast. One he clearly hadn’t understood the danger of, despite seeing him plenty on the emergency news stations.

“Can jou see her from up here?” Blitzwing asked, ignoring the strange gushing from his thigh wound, as well as inside his chest at the boy’s amazed, “Coooool!” upon looking out at the view.

The child looked out over the streets below, several blocks now visible, and a tiny frown began to slowly stretch his lips. Suddenly remembering why he’d been so fretful a moment ago.

“No... I don’t think... I don’t think I see her.” He sniffled and wiped at his nose with a sleeve.

He stood on his tiptoes in Blitzwing’s substantial palm, searching for a sign of his mother, but nothing came to view.

Worry was creeping over him again.

“I can’t find her.” He sniffled, whimpered. Looking close to fresh tears.

“I-I can’t find my mom!”

“Zen ve march onward.” Blitzwing quickly amended.

He held the child closer so he could move deftly through narrow, scraping buildings.

“Vhat does she look like?”

“Well, her hair is brown and curly.” The child began to recall.

“And, um, I think... she had a bright pink sweater thing on. Um...”

Blitzwing scanned the streets.

“Sveater thing?”

“It doesn’t, like, zip up?” The boy tried to explain.

“Oh, and her name is Rebecca!”

As if that could help in anyway. Blitzwing didn’t just keep the names of every organic on this pathetic dirtball planet on file.

“And I’m Jamal!” The boy shouted up at him, despite being well within audial range now.

Blitzwing’s normally good sense didn’t stop him before replying.

“Hello, Jamal.”

He had to slow his pace down to better study the crowd of confused, panicking people below for any pink sweater things attached to any women with curly brown hair.

How exhilarating his day was proving.

With no sign of this mystery woman, the child -Jamal- began to shiver. Seemingly affected by the difference in wind currents at this height all the sudden.

“Is my mom...” He trailed off out of fear of finishing the thought. But with the general chaos of the city, the distant and random screams and clanging from the two alien factions engaged in battle in the distance, he really didn’t have to.

Blitzwing’s wing struts tensed at the insinuation, and he surprised himself with how immediately he felt the need to correct that sentiment.

“Not hardly. I hear earth carriers are invincible.” Which he had, honestly. They were rumored to have eyes on the back of their heads, and a supernatural sense of knowing when their young was in danger.

The child’s mother was likely in a far more frantic state than he at the moment, searching for her little sparkling.

That gave Blitzwing an idea.

“Rebecca!” He suddenly shouted, his empty hand cupping close to his lipplates. “Rebecca!”

Getting the idea, Jamal chimed in shouting, “Mom- Mama! Mama!”

The two surely looked an outlandish pair, as they pattered between busy streets and circled around blocks, shouting at the top of their vocalizers. Blitzwing caught an optic full of Lugnut at one point in a chokehold with Bulkhead in the distance, laughing all maniacally and stupid.

The sun was reaching farther in the sky, prompting Blitzwing to hike a wing out towards his side to hold Jamal beneath it, under its shade.

They were walking closer towards the center of the battle Bumblebee had led him away from.

“Rebecca! Rebecca!”

~WHIRR~

“Rebecca, please come to ze front of ze store! Jou have a Jamal here vaiting for jouuu~”

No sooner did he make his little quip did the booming voice of his *leader* -fragging Primus- rise above the clash of metal and somebot’s glitching, robotic shriek.

Megatron of all mechs wouldn’t be particularly pleased to find him aiding a human, especially in the midst of a battle. And Blitzwing, in a moment of self reflection, wasn’t too happy to find himself aiding a human under *any* circumstance either.

He wavered, about to fit himself between two buildings and make his self-preserving escape when another voice was quickly accompanied by his commander’s.

“Watch where you step! My baby could be down there!”

“We will find your blasted mechling-“ Megatron grit out, discreetly taking better care of where he was now stepping.

“Not if you keep stomping around like that!”

“He will readily make himself known before that! You’re far too loud for him not to hear!”

As prophesied, Jamal jumped upright, twittering and bouncing precariously close to the edge of Blitzwing’s fingertips. “Mama?! That’s my mama!”

Blitzwing followed the voices -escalating in both threat and volume- to Megatron toting a woman in a closed fist -a silent promise to crush her- and seemingly searching the streets for something.

Jamal.

“My Lord?” Blitzwing yelled less than a block away. Somehow finding the courage to make his traitorous predicament known now seeing Megatron in a similarly mortifying state.

Megatron whipped his helm his way, bristling the slightest bit at having been caught, before he saw the tiny thing skipping about his palm like a flea.

“Mama!” It shouted.

“Jamal!” The woman cried.

Blitzwing felt relief wash over him at the sight of the boy’s mother. This problem *finally* out of his servos.

“Take me to him!” ‘Rebecca’ barked at her captor/rescuer, and Blitzwing answered her command on his lord’s behalf. Rushing over and bending to place Jamal back to his pedes next to where Megatron had lowered his mother.

They embraced one another in an instant, drawn together like magnets. Never having been meant to be separated in the first place.

And Blitzwing stared in abject horror at the thing he’d just done.

....A good deed...

“Vell... zis is terrible....” He mumbled at the sight of the unbridled affection below.

Megatron watched with him, humming in agreement. A painful clicking in his vocalizer when he tried to reset it.

This didn’t look good for either of their reputations as sinister, sparkless terrorizers.

Unbeknownst to them, completely beyond their normally keen eyes, two curious little bots had seen the near whole display in absolute shock.

———- ———-

It’d kept Optimus and Bumblebee up for cycles afterward.

“He was so... *nice*.” Bumblebee whispered into the quiet of another restless night. Optimus resting his chin in his palm, leaning over his berth, nodded absently. Inviting Bee to his room to practically obsess -not that they’d ever admit their secret fascinations of two war criminals was such a thing- had made Optimus considerably more lax and informal as time passed. Though, just barely.

“You should have seen his faceplates- he was even joking with the kid at one point. I *think* to make him *feel better*.” Bee sounded a little too much like he was awestruck.

Optimus gave a noncommittal noise, thinking distantly instead of his own bizarre memory of a certain, doting warlord.

“Should we like... tell the others?” Bumblebee posed then.

Besides Prowl and Ratchet being unlikely to believe them, there was really no reason to tell anyone anything.

They couldn’t suddenly go easy on the Decepticons in battle- the war builds could easily deliver swift punishment over them, if they were close enough, as it was, but then with the Autobot’s favor? Their hesitation? They’d play them all for suckers and steamroll them. It wasn’t like taking advantage of others wasn’t a delirious percentage of the Decepticon’s day to day operations.

The only motivation behind spreading the marginally good news that they possessed a spark under layers of all that tyrannical vengeance was if they were going to use it for *their own* advantage. Most likely a ceasefire of sorts. And that was-

Optimus stilled.

Well... Maybe that *could* work, actually...

Maybe.

Not usually one to take slim chances, unless the situation was dire, Optimus was up calculating the effectiveness of such a thing when he didn’t much of an incentive to offer the opposing faction to do so in the first place.

Much of his potential success depended on tapping into that bizarre, unlikely kindness in their sparks a second time. Somehow. Still unlikely. Still doomed to fail, if the teachings in the academy were accurate about war type psychology.

But as the cycle turned into dawn, and Bumblebee’s rambles began to muddle his processor with fantastical ideas of a peaceful Cybertron, Optimus found the thought more and more appealing.

The proposition was made in the morning, hoping to catch the others in a good mood and hear some more sensible opinions that weren’t sleep addled.

“Is it *worth* the effort?” Prowl instantly challenged. Bulkhead behind him stood there uselessly, looking plain shook to the core after hearing the whole story.

Prowl had a point, of course, and Optimus didn’t honestly know how to answer.

Was it? *Was it* worth it?

He supposed if it....

“Well...” Optimus sighed, processor beginning to overheat with exasperation and all the ‘what if’s he’d been cycling back and forth through all night.

“If it saves lives then... yes? I think it’s worth *trying*. I don’t expect a miracle. I just, maybe... expect... *something*?”

Something as surreal as a moment of compassion from the ‘Cons that’d risked their time and effort to satisfy the needs of two *human beings* again. A very tall order that was.

But as he considered Prowl’s words, a rare moment of optimism possessed him, and Optimus unwisely allowed himself to rely on the memory of the impossible sight he’d bore witness to that day to justify his decision.

That woman, ‘Rebecca’, had been very forthright and demanding of Megatron. Optimus had seen most of the display between keenly aimed swings of a sword, before Lugnut had come rushing him to the ground and separating him from Megatron.

When he’d next seen him, there was Rebecca. Helpless and in a dire state.

Optimus could only *imagine* what a woman scrutinizing the authority of a power junky like Megatron -who hated a pushy subordinate, much less a menial, disposable human- had done to appeal to the ruthless brute.

She’d stood there, eyes welling with tears, screaming bloody murder for ‘her baby’. Begging for help from terrified people trying to make themselves scarce.

“Please! My baby is missing! He’s just a child!” She’d screamed at Megatron, rightfully assuming another misstep of his in the direction she’d lost her child would mean ‘her baby’s’ immediate death.

Megatron ignored her easily for a time, stopping to aim his cannon at a hyper vigilant Prowl’s helm from a distance. But as her screaming turned into the wails of a wounded animal and she was near clawing at the ground, trying to shuffle through a crowd of chaos to find her helpless, innocent thing, *something* had apparently shifted within the mech.

Something...

However in the infinite universe that *that* ‘pathetic’, ‘weak’, groveling’ display had attracted the sympathy of *Megatron*, Optimus couldn’t fathom. He really couldn’t.

He didn’t even believe his own optics when he’d seen it at the time- Megatron stooping and trying to reason with the woman to recall the child’s recent permanence. What the child looked like.

Offering the oddest sort of ‘comfort’ by ensuring a child with similarly strong vocals would be capable enough of signaling his mother amongst the masses.

‘They aren’t Cybertronian’, Optimus had wanted to remind him. They couldn’t send out matching frequencies for their missing parent.

He’d wanted to take that woman and scour the city with her himself- make sure both of the helpless things remained unharmed.

Instead, he fluttered behind them some distance away in an absolute daze. Resetting his optics, trying to make sense of things. Trying to pinch himself awake from the inconceivable dream he seemed to be stuck in. Surely wasting away in a trauma induced hallucination after Lugnut’s assault.

What he was seeing just couldn’t be *real*. Especially not when the woman trying desperately to keep up with Megatron on foot had ended up in his servo, as he began to carry her to hurry things along. A rather unfriendly gesture- curling his fist around her and handling her with far less care than an Autobot would have.... Save for Ratchet...

But he’d done it all the same- Had left the frontlines of *battle* to search for a human sparkling and hadn’t wavered from his mission once in the several hours it’d taken them to find ‘Jamal’.

He kept Rebecca shaded beneath the curve of his sturdy chest plates, offered small assurances that the child had survived the city’s onslaught when the sudden, pesky tears began to flow, and became a beacon of patience when those tears never stopped.

She grew restless and angry when she seemed to remember the misery said giant warlord had caused her by endangering them all in the first place. And Megatron snarked back with harmless threats and a sharp tongue, all while searching for her child.

Shocking as it was, nothing had prepared Optimus for Blitzwing’s emergence. Carefully chauffeuring Jamal with a hint of softness in his face plates at the boy’s sudden outburst when the organics were reunited.

Two ‘Cons. Standing there in mutual silence as they observed the flittering of limbs, wrapping around one another and rocking together in an embrace.

Mother and child. Creator and sparkling.

That surely must have awakened *something* in them.

A sparkling was a millennia rare thing. A treasure, no matter what faction you came from.

Optimus felt that, coupled with the lingering image of the ‘Cons watching over the little pair, was enough to push things forward. To indeed agree that this idea of his was ‘worth the effort’, as Prowl had questioned.

What kind of Autobot could just ignore such a thing?

——- —— ————-

Megatron didn’t know what to make of the absurd spectacle, other than it was possibly the greatest assault on him and his forces he’d ever been met with. Greater than the Magnus rounding them up during the DRA in an attempt to exterminate their masses.

“I think you can see reason here, Megatron.” Optimus spoke with all the confidence of someone thinking rationally, and not insane enough to call a criminal warlord to trial.

“All I’m asking for is your cooperation.”

Which was as insulting as asking him to do tricks for him.

“*You*,” a lowly, little Prime- “Are asking *me*,” the leader of an entire faction- “To give up my cause.”

That was the fist of it anyway. No matter how he spun it....

This much too young, much too.... optimistic.... *fool*.

Incapable of understanding the physical impossibility of agreeing to *anything* even slightly ‘reasonable of their factions’, if it meant conceding to the will of an Autobot. Who cared who benefited? It only equated to a war frame being asked to go belly up and ‘behave themselves’ for their ‘tiny masters’.

And even if he was exaggerating or being a bit preemptive, he most definitely actually was not.

No. Megatron didn’t think so.

“You are in no position to ask a thing of me, Autobot. You are in no *position* at all.”

Optimus relatively agreed with this. He wasn’t important enough to be speaking to a faction leader about a truce of any sort. He wasn’t even a figure head- he was a captain of a maintenance crew, and one that could often hardly be bothered to heed his orders, despite their great respect for him.

Optimus swallowed, Megatron tracking the movement even from this distance. He was making the fool nervous- Good.

How dare he make such a pompous, arrogant, egotistical-

“I- I believe you’re capable of compassion.”

Weeeeiird the Autobot had taken *that* stance, but Megatron was too gobsmacked to beat him into making sense at the moment. So, he just stood there with audials at full volume to be sure he next heard him right, with patience fluctuating.

At least the Prime’s fellow Autobots looked of mind enough to seem concerned with his word choice, too. Optimus couldn’t turn back now, only press on.

And press on he did with a horrible, even worse accusation.

“You showed a certain amount of... ah, care when you... assisted those humans.”

Oh, so that’s what this was about. He’d seen that unfortunate error in judgement, had he? No matter. This puny bot hardly amounted to more than a stubborn thorn in his side. Megatron would undo any further misconceptions he might have about his cold, blistering spark by alighting the nearest medical center in a tower of flames. Really set the record straight.

“I believe moments of kindness should always be acknowledged.” The Prime continued to run his mouth.

“And rewarded?” Megatron snarled, unable to help himself. Tone clearly unbelieving. This *was* insane, after all.

So much so, that he felt the compelling urge to turn his wide optics towards a very pale, obviously flustered Blitzwing to try and share in the burden of his pure disbelief.

Optimus could recognize the disgust the Decepticon felt having interpreted his words as patronizing and condescending. To a ‘Con, kindness surely would seem as such. What a pity.

Even so, Optimus began to think of how he could make amends. He could admit now that he’d been maybe hoping too much for something magical to happen in all his excitement- which was the first time he’d done anything so whimsical in eons, daydreaming included, and he quickly chastised himself for it. He’d lost his optimism long ago from the many hard lessons life had routinely taught him.

Megatron turned his piercing gaze on him then, all fire and vitriol.

“If I wish to cease the hysterical, endless bellowing of one creature too incompetent to watch their young, so that I might aim my canon unhindered at your witless underlings, that is my Prerogative, *little Autobot*! And *you* will do well not to turn attention to anything less insignificant than the extinguishing of your loved ones’ sparks!”

Wow, ok. Optimus had struck a nerve and delivered them all a death wish.

Some self sacrificing might be his only saving grace here- Actually, leaving right now and calling this a very badly failed experiment was probably the best thing to do-

“It was sweet.” Bumblebee, who’d been under strict orders *not* to speak, then said. Much too firmly, much too loudly, much too certainly. Much too unbothered by how inappropriate it was.

All optics locked like heat seekers on the minibot, but he only had his sights set on Blitzwing. Blitzwing who flicked his wings, his face spinning several times over before finally settling on blue again. A look of plain horror in his features. Then his optics averted as the ground became all too interesting -though not interesting enough to keep him from questioning his entire existence, or why it’d been the focus of the minibot’s just now.

It was a pitiful display of ‘Con-ness, and Megatron was about ready to pull off a wing and beat him back into a figure of dominance in front of their enemy forces with it.

Lugnut, who went from terribly confused to mortified at the news, stood there open servoed and gawking between the Lieutenant and his High Commander. Megatron pressed finger pads to his temples.

Wonderful.

This whole thing had surely become the greatest, most embarrassing blunder in the entirety of Autobot and Decepticon history.

To whatever was left of the neutrals in the galaxy, this whole thing would read like something out of organic adolescent literature -Where the lead girl going through an emotional crisis would call out the moody, bad boy for having a soft streak. And his moment of self reflection and kindness would come off as charming and redeeming. Not to Decepticons, it wouldn’t -In this book, such a thing ended with the ‘bad boy’ snatching away the spinal strut of the accusing Autobot and disposing of it.

Optimus, correctly, knew an embarrassed ‘Con was a self conscious one, and one likely to cover their insecurity up by crushing down the source of it.

Blitzwing seemed to choose that moment to come back to himself and refute Bumblebee’s claims of their misperceived altruism, and that it was ‘sweet’.

~WHIRR~

“Ze only thing sveeter vould be ze taste of jour Energon, spilling from jour throat! I vill twist jour head right off jour shoulders, Bug Bot!”

Bumblebee didn’t even flinch. If anything, he looked more determined.

“You can decapitate me, but the memory file will always right here!” Bee promised, poking a finger against his helm at his brain module- making a far greater affront to Blitzwing’s person than the threat of being beheaded ever was.

It earned shocked, awkward silence from everyone -everyone except an increasingly steadfast Optimus. But especially the flushing triple changer whose face had finally settled back to blue. His least erratic headspace, though undoubtedly his most conniving.

Truly, Optimus hated how intimate this had weirdly become, if only because the Decepticons were the ones who had taken it in this direction. They did a good thing, it deserved acknowledging- at least because it bred the potential for peace. Even the temporary kind.

But then that had to be twisted into some outrageous personal offense on their characters. As if slogging through the wreckage they regularly left of the city wasn’t a far worse offense to Optimus and his kin for the blatant and intentional disrespect. They’d earned their titles as bombarding thugs, and somehow proving themselves of having healthy morals made for a worse reputation in their book.

Bumblebee stood with fists clenched, completely determined to see this through. If he had to say the hard things for everyone’s sake, which would likely result in the humiliation of a bunch of destructive war frames 4 to 6 times their sizes, then he would. Whether it ended with his untimely deaths via crushing and dismemberment or not.

He was going to tell it like it was, slaggit!

Blitzwing hadn’t had to shelter Jamal in the shade of his wing. He hadn’t had to search the city for one useless organic. He hadn’t had to waste all that time while he was leaking from his wounds and making himself a greater target for a successful ambush. He hadn’t had to be gentle. He hadn’t had to comfort the child or try to make him laugh. He hadn’t had to raise him above his helm when he fitted between tight spaces with his massive frame to avoid the child becoming claustrophobic.

Blitzwing hadn’t had to do anything, but be his natural, chaotic self and revel in a forlorn little boy’s terror and misery. And he hadn’t done that, either.

Bumblebee felt his purpose anew. A wave of courage reached him then- the smallest amongst his peers and enemies, yet with possibly the loudest voice.

“You were really fragging nice for, like, *no reason*! You’re telling me we can’t *try* to work something out?! You’re all clearly capable of listening!”

Bumblebee was trying to capitalize off of what Optimus had opened with. ‘You and your kin are sensible bots, Megatron.’ 

Which that was actually a little questionable, but if it wasn’t actually *true*, Megatron wouldn’t have known when to accept good advice and come to this sudden arrangement to meet in person without his guns blazing and swords swinging in the first place.

So there was that at least...

And there’d been no counter attacks thus far into this painful blight, or any secret ambushes waiting. He hoped... which made Bee wonder what Optimus had said exactly to get the leader of deceptive, deceiving, untrustworthy ruffians to come peacefully into this rendezvous in the first place. He’d have to ask him when they inevitably vented about this later in the privacy of his room.

Optimus had always been suspiciously quiet about his thoughts on Megatron as a mech and his peculiar kindness during their little midnight get togethers....

But enough of that. Blitzwing was three shades darker than Bumblebee had ever seen him, and even less, had thought him capable of.

“I mean, *I* want to work this out!” He continued on boldly, as no one of sound mind thought to stop him.

“I’m ready to make a change!”

“Obviously, little fool. It is for *your* benefit!” Megatron barked, finally finding his voice.

Bumblebee didn’t take the bait.

“No, screw that! I’d just like to actually see you guys being cool for once!” Which was as close as he could get to saying, ‘I’d like to be friends’, since Bee wasn’t the ‘friendship is magic and beautiful’ type, and he wasn’t particularly starved for friendships.

It was just that the actual idea that they could potentially coexist on this terrible planet without running at each other with stingers and cannons raised at every encounter was more appealing to him than anything right now.

And maybe.... Yes. Yes, having a ‘Con for a friend did sound appealing, too. The first instance of such a thing in the records of their heavily doctored history books? Frag yeah!

And friends with Blitzwing? It was surreal, impossible sounding. Bee would never dispute that.

He could only attest to how much it’d burn him if the obvious potential for something good to finally happen since his wayward academy days -after an entire lifecycle of enduring problem authority figures who’d easily dismissed his own potential- just standing right here in front of him, both in person and in perfect memory banks, went to waste.

For it to all slip away from them just like that, regardless of how close they were or weren’t to making a real step towards change... The first possible ceasefire in their history- the first possible recording of Decepticon hospitality maybe! He certainly hadn’t heard anything of it before.

He couldn’t let it go.

And all Bumblebee could do was thank Optimus, despite his flaws and insecurities and endless worries, for thinking it worthwhile to extend a kindness of his own to the admittedly most undeserving of mechs.

Now this Optimus was the one he could follow. Bumblebee made a mental note to be more responsive to his comms when Optimus called, and be attentive to his leader’s requests of him. No matter how boring they’d undoubtedly be -like monitor duty. Optimus clearly meant well.

Bumblebee looked from Optimus, unaware he’d been staring at the blue mech, to Megatron. Hoping to find some kind of positive feedback.

What he got was beyond surprising.

A destroyer of worlds looking suspiciously calm all at once.

“If you truly expect us to end hostilities between our factions for the remainder of our time on this putrid planet, you are asking for the truly impossible. We have an agenda and a schedule to keep.” Megatron looked like he was making to reach for his sword before his servos then settled on his hips. Chin jutting up in defiance. And then-

“Regardless, I will consider it.... It’s unlikely to be considered seriously, however.”

“Fine.” Optimus said before Bee could embarrass them all anymore and undo this tremendous, *tremendous* -and vague- progress.

“Take all the time you need- so long as you don’t forfeit this agreement by endangering us or the locals in anyway.”

Megatron had already turned his back to them, ready to take flight. He stopped to throw a deeply insulted look over his shoulder.

“It isn’t an ‘agreement’, Autobot. You haven’t promised us anything in return.”

“We promise not to intervene in your world domination, so long as it doesn’t harm anyone.” Optimus smiled the slightest bit. Clearly being a cheeky afthole on purpose.

Bumblebee wanted to ask how that was somehow better than any annoying thing he’d just had the gull to say, but the ‘Cons were gone with the concept of a possible truce in the making, and Optimus so rarely smiled like *that* that Bee couldn’t think to badger him.

In the pleasant silence that followed -a silence born of pride and relief that’d they’d managed their first ever negotiation and survived- Ratchet was the first to speak.

“What the entire hell, you two?”

And Prowl agreed.

———- ———— —————

“Zey vant us to avoid ze humans.” Blitzwing stood there in confused shock, stating the obvious because of it.

Back in the safety of their lair, Megatron felt more freedom to cycle between mustering up his absolute outrage and allowing it to dwindle into careful consideration. He didn’t stay either angry or placative for long, twisting between the two so furiously, he was soon at the point that the feelings were indistinguishable, and he was closely approaching a sort of agreeableness born purely from stubbornness.

Stubbornness, of all things, that he might prove himself as capable as ever of standing tall and unmovable against the most impossible, unlikely insanity Primus might throw his way. 

This...whatever this was..... was a different sort of challenge, though- not one he felt compelled to bend to. He had plans to conquer the universe after all, and with ambitions like that, it left little room if any to entertain the idea of peace for the sake of peace for even a short amount of time.

Why should he bother? The Autobots weren’t worth a truce- this starry eyed Prime wasn’t worth one. Never mind that he had been the first Autobot in Megatron’s long lifecycle to offer his respect enough to negotiate this -as impossibly unrealistic as it was, or as ridiculous as he’d been to do so.

Never mind, either, that a Prime at least had much greater authority to consult the Magnus about the real possibility of an official truce, should things go accordingly.

...Or that this particular Prime had attempted to make peace with him rather than incite more mindless violence without a thought to Megatron’s conscious capabilities -Think him little more than a primitive killing machine.

Still, Megatron didn’t want peace this way- he didn’t want peace at all.

He wanted victory. He wanted to *win* the war, not talk his way out of it. Not bow to his audacious oppressors. Especially one barely onlined a thousand stellar cycles ago.

He turned towards a blushing Blitzwing, no doubt recalling the events of that living nightmare and the utter embarrassment he’d suffered just hours ago. Stood there drowning in his own creeping horror.

Strika could never hear about this. Not that any of them would be eager to tell another Decepticon soul, of course.

“Fine.” Optimus said before Bee could embarrass them all anymore and undo this tremendous, *tremendous* -and vague- progress.

“Take all the time you need- so long as you don’t forfeit this agreement by endangering us or the locals in anyway.”

Megatron had already turned his back to them, ready to take flight. He stopped to throw a deeply insulted look over his shoulder.

“It isn’t an ‘agreement’, Autobot. You haven’t promised us anything in return.”

“We promise not to intervene in your world domination, so long as it doesn’t harm anyone.” Optimus smiled the slightest bit. Clearly being a cheeky afthole on purpose.

Bumblebee wanted to ask how that was somehow better than any annoying thing he’d just had the gull to say, but the ‘Cons were gone with the concept of a possible truce in the making, and Optimus so rarely smiled like *that* that Bee couldn’t think to badger him.

In the pleasant silence that followed -a silence born of pride and relief that’d they’d managed their first ever negotiation and survived- Ratchet was the first to speak.

“What the entire hell, you two?”

And Prowl agreed.

———- ———— —————

“Zey vant us to avoid ze humans.” Blitzwing stood there in confused shock, stating the obvious because of it.

Back in the safety of their lair, Megatron felt more freedom to cycle between mustering up his absolute outrage and allowing it to dwindle into careful consideration. He didn’t stay either angry or placative for long, twisting between the two so furiously, he was soon at the point that the feelings were indistinguishable, and he was closely approaching a sort of agreeableness born purely from stubbornness.

Stubbornness, of all things, that he might prove himself as capable as ever of standing tall and unmovable against the most impossible, unlikely insanity Primus might throw his way. 

This...whatever this was..... was a different sort of challenge, though- not one he felt compelled to bend to. He had plans to conquer the universe after all, and with ambitions like that, it left little room if any to entertain the idea of peace for the sake of peace for even a short amount of time.

Why should he bother? The Autobots weren’t worth a truce- this starry eyed Prime wasn’t worth one. Never mind that he had been the first Autobot in Megatron’s long lifecycle to offer his respect enough to negotiate this -as impossibly unrealistic as it was, or as ridiculous as he’d been to do so.

Never mind, either, that a Prime at least had much greater authority to consult the Magnus about the real possibility of an official truce, should things go accordingly.

...Or that this particular Prime had attempted to make peace with him rather than incite more mindless violence without a thought to Megatron’s conscious capabilities -Think him little more than a primitive killing machine.

Still, Megatron didn’t want peace this way- he didn’t want peace at all.

He wanted victory. He wanted to *win* the war, not talk his way out of it. Not bow to his audacious oppressors. Especially one barely onlined a thousand stellar cycles ago.

He turned towards a blushing Blitzwing, no doubt recalling the events of that living nightmare and the utter embarrassment he’d suffered just hours ago. Stood there drowning in his own creeping horror.

Strika could never hear about this. Not that any of them would be eager to tell another Decepticon soul, of course.

“We will play along.” He said at last.

“We will convince these self-important zealots that we are willing to pursue peace within our factions, only to strike when the time is right.”

Blitzwing seemed to be lost to himself- unnervingly set on a single blue face. Lugnut at his side raised his servos in an ‘All hail our glorious leader!’. Not assuming to question his greatness, even when it was well within questioning.

Where was Starscream when you needed her?

——- ———— ——- -

Evidently, Starscream was around just inconveniently enough to ruin much of Megatron’s plan.

Starscream was anything but a team player, and when she’d caught wind of a truce, of Megatron’s presumed compliance, Megatron was suddenly pressed with the issue of whether or not to let her in on his little conniving plan, in fear she may undo all his potential work in an effort to expose and eliminate him, or if he should allow her to believe a bit of it and go on a rampage telling every possible Decepticon comm frequency within range about their exuberant leader’s sudden bout of madness.

“I told you all he was going senile, but you didn’t listen to meee~ Did youuu?” She’d mock. She’d flutter her wings and puff out her chest plates, striking a pose similar to the one she’d assume during her imaginary inauguration as the new Decepticon leader.

Thinking about it was boiling the Energon in Megatron’s fuel lines.

No matter how he played this, he was losing his respect somewhere. He supposed upon further contemplation that it’d be easier to win his legion’s faith in him far easier than it’d be to come across this sort of precious opportunity again. There wouldn’t be another extension of kindness on an Autobot’s end for the rest of history after this, and it was a wonderful thing to take advantage of.

“So it’s *true* then?!” Starscream screeched, voice ringing through every twisting tunnel inside the cavern. Megatron felt his optic twitch.

“You’ve gone and made *friends* with the cushy little Autobots?!”

Starscream then tucked a claw under her chin and seemed to reconsider this. As Megatron had initially -and unsurprisingly- imagined, a wicked grin began to stretch her sneering lips.

“Why Megatron~ Won’t your loyal followers be *thrilled* to hear the good news... A new golden age on the horizon for Cybertronians everywhere. Even the ones who’ve been *banished* from their home world.”

Lugnut made to defend Megatron’s honor and correct the punishable offense that was assuming their grand leader’s compromise to the Autobot cause when the ex-gladiator promptly silenced him.

“Am I to assume that you will be the one to deliver this good news?” It couldn’t hurt to look vulnerable in front of Starscream when it was to lower the air headed seeker’s guard. It’d worked every other time.

“Why *yes*, it’d be my honor in fact! My ‘Dear Leader’~”

Not that Megatron had actually needed that confirmation. It was good to get a general sense of the basis of what false accusations would come against him though -and quite soon, he imagined.

He supposed damage control wouldn’t be too impossible a thing to maneuver if the transgressions his lot would perceive were as unlikely -and possibly even dismissible, coming from Starscream- as his defection to the Autobots.

Those who’d even believe it to be true would be doubly ingratiated to him when his plans inevitably succeeded. Renewing their faith and encouraging them to grovel for forgiveness- remembering then who they owed trust and loyalty to.

Starscream cackled like a hag and fluttered off, taking her sweet time on the way out. Certain Megatron was beyond all his cognitive functions at this point and wouldn’t chase after her.

Megatron watched her go, distantly hoping something as preposterous as her catching her broad shoulders between the rock clusters in her leisurely escape would happen to entertain his processor from the mounting stress of having his hard earned reputation soon sullied. No matter how temporary that relief would be.

——- ———— ———

He was forced to put everything into motion immediately after that. Luckily, the Autobot Prime didn’t have any reservations with this- nor any added stipulations. Just ‘keep the human populace out of harm’s way’.

Of course, that being exactly what Optimus had asked for was in itself the most audacious request anyone had ever made of him. And Starscream had once asked to have his throne for the duration of her report upon returning from the outer sector because ‘her thrusters hurt’.

This unlawfully sassy firetruck was essentially asking that he give up all his rampages and aerial strikes -and the fated Cybertronian battle as a whole- as there was practically nowhere they could go and nothing they could do about their efforts to undo the Autobot forces that didn’t directly disturb the lives of the humans infesting this gritty globe.

When he’d used the term ‘audacious’ every time before, he’d really meant ‘boundless, unlimited, unequivocal entitlement’. Even worse than Straxxus and Starscream.

The Prime thought he was being smart by working around that one ‘simple’ demand -leave the fauna and humans alone. As if it was a small request and entirely reasonable. It left Megatron powerless to do *anything* and rendered his efforts in every personal goal of his useless.

Which led him to wonder if Optimus was *actually* seriously expecting him to agree to that. Really, honestly, truly.

How stupid could he be? How blindingly hopeful?

“This is, er, surprising, I’ll admit...” The Prime murmured, having the unfortunate lack of awareness that Megatron wasn’t being any bit genuine enough to be flustered by this, too.

So young...

It’d be endearingly naive, if Megatron wasn’t easily reminded of the absolute absurdity of the whole thing -including his own contribution of such with this little plan of his that’d better prove beneficial- weighing at the forefront of his processor.

Really, even after his success, this would haunt him for vorns to come. He’d never been so foolish to waste time on such a speck of a sparkbeat before.

“I suppose, um, we should get started.” Optimus murmured

That perked Megatron’s attention, wondering what was more was to come now that’d he’d falsely agreed to this.

“And you are referring to...?”

“Hm?” Optimus blinked up at him then.

“Oh. Further negotiations.” He explained.

Megatron had to tamp down his honest confusion at that. Firstly, how important did this self-righteous Prime think he was? ‘Further negotiations’? Did Ultra Magnus -the old, fragger- even know about this? He couldn’t have, or else the matter of this entire operation would be thrust over to the appropriate authorities and squashed within moments. Did Optimus think himself a revolutionary?

Secondly-

“You said there would be no further stipulations.”

“There’s not.” Optimus affirmed. “But this is a historical moment for our people.” Optimus sounded like he actually believed that. Like he actually believed any of this...

“And this will require a delicate approach. I need to be certain you are being genuine, and that you intend to take this seriously.”

Well, Optimus was smarter than Megatron was giving him credit for, he guessed. He supposed he should know somewhat better by now. The Prime had proved a worthy adversary a couple times now, if he was being... never mind. He’d rather ignore any credibility this little mech might have.

Optimus continued obliviously.

“In order to ensure that, we need to discuss the needs of you and your comrades for the short term, and what you’ll need going forward to transition into peace time. Your people obviously have different needs than our own, how can we make them comfortable amongst civilian frames?”

Oh. Oh, he *was* serious.

Legitimately serious.

Oh, how utterly adorable~

Megatron could hardly contain a grin.

It was interesting the Autobot had chosen to address the needs of the imposing faction before the doubtlessly disrespectful conditions of his own people first. Conditions like ‘flight frame restrictions’ and ‘requirements for tank types to keep their hefty frames off the main roads’. 

And there was such a sincerity in those bright blue optics that Megatron thought he might laugh right in the young mech’s face and ruin this moment of welcome insanity. He somehow refrained. Somehow.

“Please proceed, Autobot~” Megatron purred, like an incorrigible bastard. Optimus didn’t seemed too disturbed by this, and certainly not enough to dissuade him from lifting his chin and looking him dead in the optics.

“I’m aware that agenda you spoke of before includes heavily conflicting ideas with our own.” Which was an unusually nice way to put it- unusual for the rather blunt Prime. He normally had no qualms being upfront with others. He did say this was all very delicate, so blissfully ignorant to the reality. How disappointed he’d be.

Megatron truly struggled to believe him so naive. Maybe he truly *did* know better and simply hoped to change Megatron’s mind with his authenticity. He could certainly try.

“I ask that you try to push those ill intentions aside for now.”

“You want me to stop planning to overtake our rightful place on the very planet we were given life and then pushed away from, along with any thread of worth we were left to claim for ourselves when your leaders assured you all we were undeserving of it. You want me to pretend to forget all of that for the time being and demonstrate some level of generosity for *your* benefit? You, who serves these leaders. Maybe pretend  I’m not attempting the overthrow of an entire government and its people, too? Is that right?”

To his credit, the smaller mech didn’t budge. 

“Your crimes will have consequences one way or another. That’s unfortunately what’s right for everyone.”

“Oh?”

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to be written out of a future on Cybertron- or your kin. I wouldn’t allow that.”

Well, this was reaching a god complex of some kind, surely. Megatron smiled down with wide optics, embracing the madness of it all. It was for the cause, he reminded himself. If nothing else, it was slagging entertaining.

Though maybe Starscream was right to call him mad.

Megatron pressed him.

“*You* wouldn’t allow it, hm?”

“No, I would not.” Optimus said seriously. Radiant, standing proud, optics turning bright and irritated. Good. What fun for Megatron.

Just to twist a bit, Megatron decided to prick a claw into the little bot’s processor.

“Oh, the Magnus must be *so* pleased with your work here, little one~ He must think you a hero.”

At that, Optimus went eerily quiet.

Ha! Just as Megatron had thought.

“Whatever Ultra Magnus’ feelings may be, you are Cybertronian, and you deserve your citizenship, should you accept a ceasefire.”

Megatron stopped smiling.

“And I’m sure you would agree,” Optimus’ finials twitched with the effort not to droop.

“That Ultra Magnus can be inflexible at times, and often unreachable.” Especially when it was Optimus who was doing the reaching.

The little mech was struggling all at once to meet the other’s gaze.

Megatron subconsciously leaned into him. Surely making a terrifying spectacle of them both to their ever watchful followers gathered at a distance in the event of an altercation. But his razor sharp claws remained carefully at his sides and easy to spot.

“That’s why I’m trying to ensure that this arrangement won’t be immediately turned away when I inform him. I’m taking quite a risk involving my team as it is.”

“So, perhaps, this isn’t worth the risk.” Megatron said, echoing Prowl’s consistent advice on the matter.

Optimus took it in stride, choosing not to let fear, and doubt, and inexperience decide for him how brave he could be when it was clearly needed of him. Or keep Megatron from taking the easy way out of this. Change would require constant effort on both their parts.

This was a once in a lifecycle opportunity.

And while really anyone else would be better suited for this position -Prowl with his unbothered confidence, Bumblebee with his strong sense of spark to lead him, Bulkhead with his compassion and understanding, Racthet with his logic and practicality, and even Sari with her determination- Optimus was going to try to make this work. Because he’d gotten them all into this and he was going to at least put himself at blame when it all went up in fire. The fire of their sparkless shells, most likely.

He looked to Megatron, optics speaking of anything but certainty or that idea the warlord had had of self righteousness, and said simply,

“It’s worth it.”

——- ——- ———-

Megatron hadn’t said when exactly they were going to ‘strike’ the Autobots down, but upon the third ‘negotiation’, Blitzwing was starting to wonder if they were in this for the long haul. What a heist this would be when it was all over.

Megatron’s earlier display of his outstanding patience being held captive on a foreign planet without use of his own body was proof of his ability to endure and resist- it certainly nothing to scoff at. He could wait as long as necessary for the perfect moment to strike.

He hadn’t led an army with such masterful precision and skill for millennia by fluke.

Truly, his confidence in himself was a live and dangerous thing, and it spawned many acts of the greatness you’d find in the honorable Decepticon literature of their leader. But upon their return to base from the fourth negotiation, there was a stifling, unsettled air about the mech. Primus only knew what abhorrent things the Autobot Prime was attempting to demand of them.

Under Lugnut’s curious prodding, Megatron shut him down with a very strict, “Confidential”.

Which that made zero sense at all.

They were plotting to overthrow them eventually, weren’t they? The details certainly didn’t matter -So why protect them?

What Megatron chose to keep private was his business, and the rest of them would do well not to disrupt his thin tolerance for the questioning of his authority. But Megatron also had never had a reason to lie to any of them about their plans to dominate and destroy- Starscream was the only bot that deserved and regularly earned his deception. Something he didn’t turn on his own people much if ever these days. Not with the stagnant state of things after the war.

Blitzwing tried not to dwell on it, which was easy enough when he was forced every few days to come and stand on guard with a bunch of Autobot lackeys, soaking up any free processor power he might have to feel conspiratorial. One such Autobot consisting of that dreadful bug bot...

He always stood much too close. Always talked for damn near the entire affair.

An abysmal affair at that- the lot of them wasting away in either wind or rain or the blistering sun. Forced to get along for the time being.

Unlikely, so long as Bumblebee and Prowl existed within the same space as each other, arguing about nature and technology -*of all things*- while their very reality was crumbling around them. And clearly this was a frequent discussion of their’s.

Blitzwing hadn’t met a mech such as Prowl so infatuated with the organic matter in the universe. Even Blackarchnia, half organic, was looking to rid herself of the affliction.

“You would be happier if this planet was completely technological in makeup- if nature had never existed here.” Prowl ‘observed’.

Bumblebee scoffed- as if having come loaded on a camping trip with computerized junk in his chassis once didn’t prove just how deeply his disrespect for nature ran.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying!”

“Hmph. What a boring existence that would be-“

“*We* are made of technology, you half processored-“

“If the universe was devoid of this organic phenomenon on every planet, in every star system-“

“Do you believe in the Big Bang theory, Prowl?” Bee side blinded-on purpose- using a term he’d heard Sari only ever use once for study purposes and with only half the context for what it actually was.

Prowl knew a Bumblebee-setup when he heard one, and he wasn’t about to do battle with Bee’s straw man.

“I’m not familiar with it -Or how it *correlates*.”

“Basically these giant rocks crashed together 13 billion something years ago, and it sparked the entire universe into being!” Bumblebee looked ready to pull him into some kind of nonsensical ‘gotcha moment’.

“I don’t think that’s right, firstly. And I don’t understand how that correlates, still.”

“Just answer the question, Prowl! Do you believe in it?” Bumblebee rambled, refusing to make sense of things first. A mech of immediate satisfaction, and wishing mostly to hear that he was right about Primus knew what.

“I mean Cybertron is supposedly 10 billion years old, so that lines up with the timeline.”

“It does not.” Blitzwing huffed, unable to stay uninvolved in their madness. The Radom slice of himself, buried in the back of his subconscious, was itching to scream into the insanity presenting itself. He just couldn’t waste an opportunity...

Miraculously, Blitzwing didn’t give in to that side of his processor, only endeavoring to scratch that itch well enough to silence the urges.

“Zere is debate about the planet’z existence before zis, but ve know for certain zhat ze Allspark was a permanent fixture before time even began”

“Y’all are giving me a crisis.” Bulkhead mumbled mostly to himself, having sat through plenty of Prowl and Bee’s bickering to his breaking point before. But there was a genuine tremor of something like fear in his voice.

Blitzwing thought it was certainly odd to meet a bot who was squeamish about an existential subject. They were a practical people about such matters like life and death- for the most part. Even Starscream had seemed relatively unbothered by living on without a spark to bring into the afterlife. If perhaps she would simply cease to exist without one at some point.

Bulkhead, apparently, was less content with this topic.

Lugnut, who was watching Prime outright bark at Megatron like a yappy, little lap dog, his master answering with a laugh of shocked amusement, tuned into their squabbling just in time to hear of Bulkhead’s peculiar discomfort.

“I understand your despair, Large One.” He  turned to him and placed a servo to his chest. 

“I cannot imagine my life without Lord Megatron in it again! An uncertain existence is a terrifying thing!” And everything without Megatron’s guidance meant uncertainty to him. Blitzwing had seen how he’d faired the single time he thought his master actually dead.

“You’re one to be throwing ‘Large One’ around like that.” Bumblebee grumbled.

Bulkhead seemed rather thankful for the massive menace throwing his two cents in all the same.

In a strange sort of camaraderie, Bulkhead felt compelled to expand upon that.

“How did you meet Megatron?”

He wasn’t sure they’d had enough neutral interaction to actually receive a civil response from the bomber plane, but Lugnut was clearly thrilled to have the chance to enlighten them all about Megatron in any capacity. There certainly wasn’t anything about this in the Autobot’s military profile of him.

“Over 6 million years ago, I had the grand and marvelous pleasure of first meeting Lord Megatron in the gladiatorial arena, and I was promptly acquainted with the depths of my ineptitude! He ‘wiped the floor with me’, as the organics say!”

Bumblebee -leaning against Prowl, who was sitting against a tree- bolted upright.

“Whoa, whoa- wait! How *old* is Megatron?!” He squeaked when he’d put it all together. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had lessons on this in the academy. Megatron was a popular subject. The most popular subject probably.

Prowl waited patiently for Lugnut to rock his educationally delinquent world.

“It does not matter! Lord Megatron believes his life only truly began when he found his cause, leading the Decepticons! 14 million years ago!” Lugnut bellowed, eager to sing praises of his master and doing so entirely too loudly. It earned the attention of their respective leaders from afar- finials pricked high on the Prime’s helm. 

Optimus didn’t know what that was about, but the outburst served as some kind of reminder, as those finials then dipped low, as he regarded the towering figure before him once more. A mech roaming the plane of existence for far longer than he maybe ever would, if these negotiations ended violently.

Megatron, however, just looked perfectly annoyed.

“You seem to be in love with the guy.” Bulkhead said then, and it was so far removed from him to make a joke in a time as tense as a faction wide peace treaty, one ready to end in bloodshed the second one of them got too friendly and crossed a line. A peace treaty that was teetering on the edge of a total collapse, as the other Autobots were half convinced the ‘Cons were taking Optimus for a joy ride.

All of them except Bumblebee.

“Jesus!” He squealed, when he successfully reset his vocalizer. “Frag! You bots are *ancient*!”

“And you thought I was old.” Ratchet grumbled. Servos crossed, as far removed from their chaos as possible, as they stood there waiting.

If they could only do this somewhere more comfortable with someplace to sit....

“You *are* old.” Bumblebee assured him. “Why aren’t *they* falling apart like you are?”

“I *am* in love with him!” Lugnut then shouted in response to Bulkhead, choosing to say so much too loudly once more. This time Megatron hid his face in his hands.

Blitzwing excused himself from whatever *this* conversation was to stalk about the edge of the invisible line the two faction leaders had drawn, in an attempt to keep some privacy to these negotiations. Optimus surely assuming Megatron would be more open to talking that way.

This Prime hadn’t accounted for Megatron’s magnificent crassness when it came to speaking his truth, then. After the words ‘brainless floozy’ had once left his vocalizer without even the excuse of being overcharged, Blitzwing knew he wasn’t worried about his brash etiquette in public, and that he himself would never have to censor his tongue around the mech.

Regardless, Blitzwing kept his appropriate distance and remained quiet. He only needed a moment away from all the noise, finding himself frequently overwhelmed by such. The struggle to remain cordial in a time where it was necessary a constant battle.

When the voices in his head became too loud, it was easy to direct his frustration on another equally frustrated being- like any other Decepticon at arms length. This pretend peace treaty left him grasping at straws as it was -despite the art of deception frequently requiring the uncouth and undesirable in any strategy his sort devised- and it was becoming a challenge to keep a grip on his sanity in order to appear collected and patient.

An effort at the best of times.

Naturally, Bumblebee chose that moment to come over and make it worse- had the audacity to roll up on the heel of his wheels and look bored with everything.

“Dude, I get it. Those guys are so annoying.” The minibot said, waving a servo back at the others in the purest lack of self awareness to ever exist.

“*Oh, do jou*?” Blitzwing ground out, honestly baffled. He should just turn away right now before he reached the point of no return and flattened the little scrap.

He had enough reason to as it was for outing him before. In front of *everybody*... Like he wasn’t haunted with the inescapable reality of his actions in the dead of the night cycle.

Lugnut naturally overlooked their glorious leader’s involvement in the whole debacle, but *Blitzwing*? Oh, no. He had to suffer some serious mockery over his comm link for his pathetic display. As if he wasn’t disappointed with himself enough already.

Bumblebee either didn’t care about how totally pissed off he was making the giant, or his obliviousness was astonishing.

“Yeah, I totally do! Here,” He said, reaching into his sub space which jingled ominously with the sound of far too much junk for one little chassis to hold safely. If Blitzwing stepped on him, would he pierce his stabilizer on something sharp that shouldn’t be in anyone’s sub space, let alone a compact model? Did he have woofers in there?

Bumblebee pulled out a handheld device and turned it on one servoed, his other kept digging. Blitzwing was equal parts impressed and disgusted.

“This is what I do when the chaos gets to be too much.” The bug said, handing him the device -a game console. Likely the one Blitzwing had caught him playing around on many times before when he was supposed to be patrolling the streets.

“Iz zere ever zuch a time for jou, jou little pot stirrer?” Blitzwing snapped, unable to keep up the pleasantries with his broken peace of mind. If he had to stand here and play buddy-buddy with the source of his greatest humiliation yet -worse than sleeping through a mandatory aerial strike before he’d even earned a designation for himself- he might break his beloved game device over the point of those horns.

“Slag, yeah, definitely- Bossbot is the greatest mech I know, and I’m not just sayin’ that. But he is the tensest, most boring, most painfully stoic fragger in the universe. Getting him to smile is a chore, and I’m the funny guy around here.”

Bumblebee reached over and did something with the device, and the screen flickered on, making sure to mute the volume. This was supposed to be a serious occasion and all.

“Zen leave him in peace and don’t bother him.”

“Nah, I can’t do that.” Bee said seriously.

“I care about him way too much to see him waste away into whatever’s wrong with Ratchet.”

Blitzwing snorted, unfortunately very amused by all this. He allowed the minibot to fiddle with the thing in his hands and stand much too close to him. Like he always did.

“The goal is to collect spraycans and deface the city with ‘em.” Bumblebee instructed when an avatar appeared on screen. Blitzwing was quietly delighted by that objective and decided he could indulge the little fool this. It wasn’t a terrible way to whittle the time.

Until the bot started talking again -just as Blitzwing mastered the controls, of course.

“You missed a whole row of them!” He whined.

Blitzwing was infinitely less invested in doing well at this than him, but his already flaring temper made it hard not to take offense.

“Zis is just a game, jou know.”

“That you bite at.”

“I’m sure jou can do better, and zat iz good enough reason for me not to take zis seriously. Anyzing jou might have accomplished can’t pozzibly be vorth celebrating.”

“You would do so well in Fortnight.” Bumblebee said with a distant look in his optic.

“I’ll have you verbally destroy all the raging neckbeards on there. It’s mostly a children’s game, though, so spare the kiddos.”

“What are jou even saying?”

“Hit X! Brake this window for 15 points!” Bee shouted, by some divine intervention not attracting Megatron’s wrath to them with it.

Blitzwing did as told, maneuvering the joycons as best as he could with the immense difference in the size of their servos.

“Vhat do ze points do, exactly?”

“Oh! I’m saving them up for the ninja costume. Uh.... Don’t tell Prowl. Don’t want him thinking he’s cool, ya know?”

Blitzwing wondered for just a moment if he was actually having fun doing this. In the comfortable small talk that followed, he was able to forget this little creature beside him was his enemy and that he was stuck in the hot sun pretending to be a peaceful ‘Bot lover for an undefined amount of time. No doubt a laughing stock with a pretty, red target on his helm from whatever ‘Cons out roaming the wild had gotten an audial full from Starscream. It was admittedly hard to recharge with the thought of thousands of other Decepticons thinking he’d defected, even though it was perfectly likely, too, no one would even believe what Starscream had to say. Whoever she’d reached in her travels.

“Are you gonna start playing this when we come out here?” Bumblebee asked, possibly sounding a smidge too hopeful the other might say yes.

At Blitzwing’s curious look, Bee corrected himself.

“Tryin’ to figure out if I can just keep your points or if I have to make you an account, too.”

“I don’t vant ze points- or an account.”

“Ok, good-“

~WHIRR~

“Unlez zere iz a bird costume!”

Bumblebee made a strangled noise.

“A what?!”

He nearly swatted the things out of Blitzwing’s grip with how quickly he turned on him.

~WHIRR~

“Like a bird.” Blitzwing continued, unfazed.

“Wh-why...? That? I don’t...”

Blitzwing shrugged.

“I vant ze vings.” He said simply.

“Like mine.” And flicked his wing struts out to illustrate.

Bee looked him over. Probably thinking much too hard about the significance of this strange moment.

He failed to keep the mocking from his voice when he said, “Well, I mean. Hm. There is an *angel* costume you could wear.”

Blitzwing considered. This little avatar Bumblebee had made, scooting around on speed skates and stealing spray cans, breaking public property, then wearing an angel costume. And the wings...

Good enough.

“Ja, ja, I’ll take it.” Blitzwing nodded enthusiastically.

Bee, despite the loss of his months worth of accumulated points, smiled. Happier than he thought he’d be to forfeit them in order for Blitzwing to get those stupid wings.

“Ok, dude. They’re gold and stuff, too, so they’re actually pretty cool.”

——— ————- ———-

Megatron knew he’d receive word one way or another -whether via assassination attempt or comm link- when the others had heard about this giant misunderstanding. This excruciating, preposterous misunderstanding that Megatron was *truly* slated to change his ways for the Autobot cause, only made worse by the Prime’s genuine concern for their future coupling as a people, all with movements for equal rights pushed more aggressively upon each ‘negotiation’.

Megatron had decided after that tremor in Optimus’ vocalizer when he’d tried to assure Megatron, as much as himself, that they could teach the civilian builds to trust in their core that they were all sentient beings with sparks deserving of nurture and acceptance that it was time to strike. It was time to end this.

This was becoming painful, and it shouldn’t be.

It should only be a fun little game for him of how far he could push this stuck up stick in the mud before the Prime either denied his autonomy out of frustration, as most were keen to do, or labeled him a classless brute beyond reasoning and earned himself a severed limb.

It never came to that, though, no matter how much Megatron pushed, and no matter how much Optimus pushed back. The disrespect or even the fundamental mistreatment associated with the Cybertron elite never came. He never thought to back out of this attempt at a ‘future together’. 

Optimus never even felt those unfavorable ways about him in secret, probably...

Maybe.

That was hard to consider- it felt foolish to, almost like Megatron was hoping it true. But it seemed eerily likely. 

Megatron had had enough- this game had lost its appeal.

Eager to end it, he prepared to deliver some amazing plan to his underlings that didn’t give away how much of a waste of their time this had all been, now that he was unwilling to go through with it. And then, like Primus was real and spiteful as the day Megatron had first onlined his optics, waiting for this exact moment to deliver swift justice upon him, Megatron finally received word of the deeply terrifying consequence from his people for his actions.

Without a sub space communicator to reach anywhere far enough to contact his forces, it was all very horrifying that it was Cyclonus who was the first to contact him *in person*. Having apparently traveled at break neck speed all the way from the Magnokor Asteroids through mysterious means to reach him. Unlikely, and exaggerated, but he was here wasn’t he?

He was here...

Oh, Spark....

Megatron almost faltered right there at the sight of him slicing through wind currents, his metal frame still scorching upon his impact with the Earth’s mesosphere. He stopped just shy of the ground, projecting the sort of deranged panic with his abrupt landing and transformation into bipedal mode that only he could.

Megatron steeled himself for a madness rivaling Blitzwing’s.

“Lord Megatron! Lord Megatron! I came as quickly as I could!”

“Are there others close by?” Megatron asked. He would like to know how many times over he’d have to explain himself if there were. And how many mechs might be aiming something at his spark chamber right now.

“I operate alone!”

Typical. That was one less thing, though, he suppo-

“Team Athena.” Megatron whispered hoarsely. If Cyclonus had heard the horrible news, Strika had, too.

*Strika*. *Not*... *Strika*...

She wouldn’t let him hear the end of this extravagant screw up. Also typical that Cyclonus had left her and the rest to come bother Megatron while he could have him all to himself. If only Cyclonus’ interest in him was something as definable as blind loyalty like Lugnut’s.

“Commander Strika is making the appropriate accommodations.” Cyclonus said then, as Megatron must have said something of her out loud. He could hardly be bothered by looking out of sorts in front of his soldiers, though, when the words at once began to form a truer and darker meaning.

‘Accommodations’?

*Strika* of all his faithful kin was about to revolt against him? And she’d believed so *easily* what only Starscream could have shown her of their ‘conversation’.

So Cyclonus had come here to side with his leader and forewarn of her treachery?

Megatron had heard of greater betrayals in his time as a leader. He’d only served lifetimes of it through Starscream. Who else, but Starscream....

Cyclonus was still rambling about something he realized.

“All rebel forces that would act independently are being closely monitored and are under strict orders. Though I can assure you myself, my Lord, they shall *not* challenge your great vision! Commander Strika will see to it herself if she must!”

Megatron then shut his hanging jaw hinge and stared.

“I wouldn’t speak for the blithering masses- ‘Commander’ Starscream, for example. But I have complete confidence that they are as grateful to follow you as I! Your loyal Cyclonus!” Who was suddenly proving his loyalty far more blind than Megatron’d imagined.

Inevitably, Lugnut would have some mild questions about this, and Blitzwing would begin to have his doubts in him. But Megatron could handle two Decepticons versus an entire army who were- *apparently*- ready to accept whatever insanity he’d created for them all.

That was what Cyclonus was telling him in this instant, yes? That the idea of a truce was somehow believable and even worth attempting?

That’s what Optimus had been trying to tell him. 

“....What sort of accommodations is Strika making?”

——— ————-

Optimus felt lighter. Another negotiation under way and Megatron had approached it with far more sincerity then all the ones previous. Meaning they were making progress.

Was it possible Megatron was playing them all for senseless little fools? Optimus would have needed extensive convincing from Primus himself to believe otherwise.

He hoped beyond all his years, full of doubt and little faith in even the most tangible ambitions he’d once had, that he could reach a mech of such horrors as Megatron somehow- if only because he’d witnessed for himself that the mech was capable of some level of benevolence. But this hope he held a bit too closely to his spark -the first hope he’d had for anything since the loss of Elita- was bordering something like delusion.

He knew this. The realist in him knew this.

But that hadn’t squashed the stupid nagging optimism he’d been named after from blossoming in his chest. This optimism, the curse that it was, he’d long since abandoned. Or maybe it had abandoned him.

As they came to meet at an odd hour much later than their usual meetings, beside a riverbank miles outside the city, Optimus was just lucid enough coming out of another sleepless stasis to push his random giddiness at having been contacted aside.

This could be an attack- it was the first time Megatron had ever reached out to *him* for anything since they’d started all this.

He kept that thought in mind when he found the other waiting for him in an almost serene state, stood by the river’s edge, servos crossed. Watching the flow of water, basking in the moonlight. His back fully turned to a very obvious threat. Optimus liked to think himself one, at least...

They’d brought their respective colleagues. If only because Megatron couldn’t shake Lugnut for anything now that he had him, and Blitzwing was oddly competent in handling Optimus’ crew. Ratchet didn’t waste anytime complaining about the hour all the same.

Optimus thought it another small victory that Blitzwing readily agreed with him and assumed their places at a distance, rather than feeding in to any snide comments they’d send each other in the beginning.

Optimus approached the foreboding figure by the bank- reminded vaguely of a jungle cat from one of Prowl’s documentaries when his hips shifted their weight, moving fluidly like the swish of a large tail.

Optimus hadn’t thought about the fullness in his frame before beyond his larger mass. About the additional plates and cords it took to move a mech of such bulk. What kind of power the seams interlocking those weighty plates were capable of to function as effortlessly as those of a gentler frame.

And he continued not to think about that, as he came to a stop behind him.

When Megatron didn’t answer, he bristled at the thought that this might be one of his little power trips by ignoring the Prime. Then he spoke to him with an edge in his voice that Optimus had never had the privilege of hearing before.

It sounded distant and casual- like he was musing with an old friend.

“Much has changed since we began these senseless negotiations.”

Optimus did bristle then, finials sharp.

“They *aren’t* senseless.”

They’d already proven in about 6 of these meetings, depending on if you counted the first proposition, that they were absolutely capable of behaving themselves -cultural and ideological differences, and all.

Megatron sighed, but his tone hadn’t changed.

“You can promise me nothing. For all your efforts, this amounts to little more than a lot of cheap talk.”

Optimus felt vulnerable in that way he’d found that only Megatron could make him feel. When Sentinel reminded him of his value to Autobot society as a defunct and irrelevant piece of it, it was easy enough to ignore. Sentinel was just as incompetent. What good was a Prime that rolled happily in corruption?

When Megatron did it, Optimus could only accept that a capable, experienced general of an entire people knew what he was talking about- Had had to root out the frayed ends of their chain of command and done away with the useless, straggling bits of it himself. Regardless of how violent their actions could be.

Optimus was there, at that straggly bottom.

He’d be the one Megatron would toss away into repair crew duties -if he didn’t kill him. The major flaw of their people, acting frequently in absolutes.

Only.... Ultra Magnus did a lot of that, too.

It was the other way around, he supposed. Meant to be for the good of all, and what was best for Cybertron. It still left many bots damaged and forgotten.

Optimus wouldn’t say he was one of them.... Exactly.

Then Megatron turned, and when he spoke, that edge to his voice that never quite reached whatever emotion it faintly projected struck Optimus deeply, and reminded him painfully without even intending to of his place.

“I will not settle these matters with anyone who can not promise me change. If that person is not you, I am not interested.”

Which sounded also *vaguely* like a compliment. Maybe. Or maybe Optimus was reading to far into it. When Megatron was actually offering those, they usually doubled as insult.

“You just said much has changed.” Optimus tried. That had been his exact phrasing.

Megatron looked to be considering his words extremely carefully then. Likely filtering much of what he wanted Optimus to hear.

“My people have taken some surprising liberties.” He agreed.

Optimus perked. Fear and excitement mingling together.

Megatron continued.

“However, with nothing to ensure these great ideas you have for their future,” the mention of Optimus personally constructing the futures of a people did sound like he was taking liberties.

He flushed.

“Then I must put a stop to it. I cannot allow this to go any further.”

“W-What kind of changes?” Optimus pressed. His spark was beating so hard that his throat felt tight from the Energon pumping through the lines.

‘Change’ could mean anything- but Megatron putting an end to changes that endangered the lives of Autobots everywhere was unlikely.

So, ‘good’ changes then. He wanted to stop something good -for the *Autobots*- from happening, and Optimus couldn’t even process fully that anything positive was actually coming from these negotiations well enough to imagine what kinds of changes those could be. Only that he had to stop Megatron from stopping their progress. No matter how small.

“It is irrelevant.” Megatron said firmly.

“Because you want everything to stop now- Tell me what your kin are doing. We can talk about this-“

Megatron rolled his optics. The most patience he’d ever had for Optimus after he’d clearly struck a nerve. In this case, it was likely him demanding answers of him that would ultimately sacrifice his authority and admit that Optimus was in any way important enough to weigh his opinion on it.

Which they both knew wasn’t true.

“Autobot-“

“My *name* is Optimus Prime.”

“There is nothing more you can do for me. You made an admirable effort for a cause you believe in- I commend you for this. But it’s time we move on. These means are ineffective, and I won’t waste my time further.”

“So, this is over?” Optimus *tried* not to immediately encrypt this into another section of failures he kept on file by instinct.

He gestured towards their respective cohorts having a not so respective conversation about Blitzwing’s vastly developing video game skills, as Bee defended being bested on his high score. It involved the use of many inappropriate hand gestures.

“What will we tell them?” He asked bravely. Or stupidly. They both knew Megatron hadn’t a concern in the entire universe for their thoughts on the matter.

Optimus tried, though.

“The truth.” The bigger mech shrugged.

“The reality is quite simple.”

Optimus didn’t comment on how nice it was seeing everyone in one place, free of violence. Of course that’d appeal to a cushy, little civil frame.

“So now we go back to fighting and just forget everything we’ve accomplished here?” Optimus knew he was dangerously close to sounding plain petulant, and less suited for strategic truce talks.

“What have we accomplished Autobot?”

“Whatever your people are doing, it’s something good! It’s something we can stand behind and build upon, I’m sure of it!” Optimus tried not to sound desperate.

Megatron didn’t look nearly as heated by all this.

“You’ve no idea what they have planned.”

And Optimus wasn’t dumb enough to ask twice. Instead, he took a moment to calm himself and level his straining vents to work at an appropriate speed. It wouldn’t do to hyperventilate because of a shouting match, and come away from this looking like an upset sparkling. Especially because that would mean admitting he’d allowed his hope to consume him and all his rational thought.

This was indeed over, and he would be feeding into that childish optimism again, if he tried to negotiate any further.

He took one last look at Lugnut nodding enthusiastically to whatever Bulkhead was saying and said goodbye to the image of their factions dallying quietly away together until their leaders had finished. This would be the last time, and he’d been ridiculous to think a future like this was achievable with people like Megatron and Ultra Magnus in power of saying otherwise.

“Alright.” Optimus swallowed. It was an effort to.

“Is it too much to ask that we walk away in one piece now?”

Megatron thought killing them all right here and now would make this final exchange and the disappointment he’d be leaving behind in them all much easier. But that would be a great disrespect to Optimus’ work here, and he’d been the only Autobot Megatron could admit he’d had the pleasure of taking seriously.

The only one possibly... definitely worthy of his respect.

“It is not.” He agreed, and he watched Optimus leave with a stiffness in his backstrut that looked nearly painful.

———- ——————

He didn’t think it’d come to this. For Strika to act so absurdly, one of his most sensible commanders and perhaps, honestly, his most trusted. For his ridiculous little plan to spiral so madly out of control. For the Autobots’ and that audacious little Prime to turn something sickening in his chassis when they left that night.

He didn’t expect for it bother him...

Optimus had been an enormous fool, but, unfortunately, a virtuous one. A visionary, even if he didn’t know it, and a fine diplomat.

Ultra Magnus had better be proud of him and more protective of him in the future. Though Megatron knew all too well that was unlikely the case.

He sent Cyclonus away to send word to Strika, whenever it’d reach her, to lift the bans on taking Autobot captives and every other horrible thing she’d done to lessen the destruction of Autobot forces, and to stand by for further instruction.

He didn’t expect to see Cyclonus again after that, but when he did, he was carrying an urgent message from Strika with him, looking beyond exhausted from everything he’d just put his frame through for the last couple weeks, flying until his engines rattled even when he was stationary.

Megatron took it and clicked it on to read ‘Play stupid games, win stupid prizes’ written boldly enough for his pitiful vision to see from space. All in all, Strika seemed rather unbothered by everything that’d transpired this past month.

It was then Megatron realized those orders she’d issued to evacuate Autobot territory, and release captives mostly unharmed, and abstain from pillaging their much need resources, *weren’t* because freedom for all and a world where their people thrived in togetherness had appealed to her. Had moved her to the core or even licked the smallest flame within her spark to seek peace. Of course, not.

Strika’s job wasn’t to fall over herself doting on her master, or turning a blind optic to his shortcomings to save face. Or remaining silent in fear she might say enough blasphemy in one breath offering him council to get herself shunned to the ‘Megazarak table’.

It was to highlight his stupidity when he was exercising it.

She’d done so excruciatingly... and yes, this was definitely her most blasphemous, disrespectful display of doing so, yet.

Megatron felt thoroughly reprimanded. He’d give her a raise for being the first mecha alive to humble him.

Feeling petty, he sent Cyclonus away for good this time with a message of his own.

‘Wasting resources and presuming to undermine me publicly was a greater mistake than the one I made. Starscream is to be brought to me alive for her torture and execution.’

“That is not for your optics.” He warned Cyclonus, and sent him on his weary way. Worried he might fall right out of the sky seconds after lift off.

It was time to get his hands on that subspace communicator and resume those tenacious plans of world domination. He was suddenly reminded of those weird, disproportionate cartoon mice Blitzwing watched sometimes at the thought.

Unfortunately, setting those plans into motion meant dismissing every rule Optimus had tried to set into motion for him since their negotiations had begun. It’d mean running into him and his odd little crew, coming face to face with the Prime and brazenly announcing he was back to pursuing grinding them all into iron filings.

He reminded himself that that was only the logical conclusion to the unfortunate end of things, and that this would not affect him.

Only inconvenience him.

——— —————

Optimus knew with the nonexistent truce off, the people of Earth would be a target again. How would Megatron get anything done without enacting a hefty does of chaos and genocide? And how would he do either without risking the lives of innocent, easily squashed organics?

Optimus thought bitterly of Rebecca and Jamal.

Remembering the past was a waste of his energy. What had happened must have been some random blip in their coding. That marginally explained why both Blitzwing and Megatron were affected at once.

Except, it actually didn’t explain anything.

They’d had enough time to fall back into a somewhat normal routine since their parting on such abhorrent terms. Failure still a bitter taste on the tip of his glossa.

Optimus couldn’t help but actually admit to Bumblebee that he felt stupid for thinking things could be different for so long. Rather that he’d *hoped*, and that was a more punishable offense than going behind the Magnus himself to arrange all these peace talks ever could be.

Bumblebee had taken to moping around his room with him when the others were asleep. A mutual disappointment of the events that’d turned the tides in their favor for such a short time being lost to the winds now. A little taste of victory- hardly even that- but the memory of the lot of them coexisting in quiet and having legitimate conversations with each other was still fresh in their processors. Bumblebee unwilling to let it go, and Optimus unable to forgive himself he’d lost them such a irreplaceable gift.

“It would have been so fraggin’ nice not to have to fight each other all the time.” Bee sighed.

“Well, that goal was unrealistic anyway. There will always be those that oppose change like that.” Optimus stared miserably at his hands in his lap.

“We can’t make everybody happy all of the time.”

Bee scowled at him from across his berth, his chin propped up on one servo.

“That’s some advice you should live by.”

Optimus’ finials twitched. That wouldn’t particularly sound like an accusation, if not for the face the minibot was making at him.

“Care to expand on that?” Optimus asked slowly. A few octaves too low for friendly.

That was one hell of an invitation for a boisterous, unrepentant Bumblebee when he felt he had something he needed to say.

He did seem to stop a moment and consider his words before Primus possessed him with the same foolish courage he’d needed to out a couple of ‘Cons for their soft-sparked squishy moment all those cycles ago.

“I mean.... All due respect, Boss, you aren’t known for your strong backstrut.”

Actually, that was the opposite of ‘all due respect’, and Optimus wasn’t dumb enough to roll over and take it for maturity’s sake and prove him right.

“You’re out of line, Bumblebee.”

The minibot gestured helplessly around him.

“Were you in line when you tried to negotiate peace talks with the fraggin’ Pit Spawn himself?!”

Which was hypocritical when he’d *obviously* encouraged it -had even suggested it. And he’d completely supported Optimus’ choice to do so, too.

But he had a point to make here.

They were both rule breakers, and Prime wasn’t as straight laced as he tried to make himself out to be.

Trying to fit himself into the mold of a good, little, mindless cog in that ever churning machine -Bless him.

Optimus stood and rounded the berth on him. His size admittedly terrifying when his engine was rumbling like that.

“What *exactly* do you want to say to me?”

Bumblebee was only just brave enough to pretend he was more angry than disappointed by everything they- he- had just lost and was misdirecting it on the only other mech who’d been just as hopeful.

“You should stick up for yourself more.” He said plainly. But it was the challenging glint in his brazen stare that spoke of the true viscousness in his words. The kind of look Sentinel often turned his way.

Optimus used all of his patience as a leader, and the nagging responsibility he had to look out for his crew, to train his features into something reprimanding rather than the uncomfortable dread pricking beneath his plating. 

“You think that would have won the Decepticons over? You think I wasn’t confident enough in my convictions?”

Bee knew he should have stopped there, even as he was opening his mouth.

“I definitely don’t think you should have *walked away*.”

Which how could he make that call? He knew he was speaking mostly senselessly with the sole goal of landing a driving punch somewhere on the other. But he’d wanted it so bad at the time, much more than he’d realized he had, that he likely would have stayed and pushed the futile issue if it had been him in Optimus’ place. Which was why he *wasn’t* in his place.

“Out.” Optimus said coldly. The bill of his helmet was tipped down so he couldn’t meet the other’s optics.

Bumblebee was just upset enough to let anger keep him from apologizing and assuring Optimus he was everything he could hope for in a leader and more.

‘More’ definitely including the safe place he’d made just for Bumblebee to come vent about a nefarious war frame without repercussion. Now he’d just have to pretend like none of that mattered to him anymore, as well as Optimus’ peace of mind....

————————-

Sari was plenty ruffled to learn much, much too late that her friends had purposely not included her in this whirlwind slag storm. Surprisingly, she was  more forgiving about what exactly that whirlwind slag storm had actually consisted of.

Trying to level with Megatron and his crew sounded like a genuine enough endeavor, and she couldn’t fault them too much for reaching towards a future without having to kick ‘Con butt every time they wanted to catch a drive-in movie.

“I could have told you that making friends with ‘Cons would end terribly.”

“Youuu aren’t old enough to have an opinion on anything.” Ratchet insisted.

Sari sat on a spare tire in the medbay, kicking her feet and trying her hardest to blend in with the background while Bumblebee got his tune up and Ratchet fussed at him. She was picking up bits and pieces of this incredible slag show, and Sari had finally gotten enough to, indeed, form that opinion of her’s. At least on the matter of Blitzwing- since he’d only come up about 12 times.

“Jeez, Bumblebee.” Sari said thoughtfully.

“You sound like you’ve got a crush on the guy.” Then proceeded to snicker at her friends immediate outrage.

“I- I- W-WHAT?!”

“Ha!” Ratchet snorted. Probably thinking much the same, now that she’d said it.

Bumblebee pushed off the slab, shoulder joint still loose, and looked ready to run out of there at any moment in both fear and betrayal. Clearly Sari had hit a little too close to home there.

Of course, he’d never admit something like that -if her half hearted jest was any bit true. Surprising as that’d be.

So, Sari spent that afternoon poking Prowl and Bulkhead for answers. Neither seemed entirely convinced a mech like Bumblebee could fall for a ‘Con in any capacity. Platonic or other.

Bumblebee was a easy to offend and anything but patient. Both attributes would be tested heavily in a cross class relationship. More importantly, they were enemies, and Bumblebee couldn’t be sparked into rolling over for any mecha standing against the Autobot way.

Unless that ‘Con could prove reasonable and daringly handsome, Sari was willing to bet. Not that she knew much about Bee’s romantic interests beyond her own assumption.

Sari didn’t think Blitzwing proved to be either- but he did have those strong servos Bee always yapped about when he ogled the fighters ‘in secret’ on her Mortal Conquest game. She’d bet Blitzwing would absently rip the spines clean out of his victims the way Bee liked those fighters to do, too...

“They did play on the Game Box together for a while. Whenever there was time. But I think that’s as close as they actually got to being friendly.” Bulkhead mused to himself.

“He hasn’t explicitly expressed an interest in Blitzwing to me.” Prowl agreed. As if he was the authority figure on all of Bumblebee’s controversial and embarrassing secrets. Which, fair....

Why *would* Bumblebee tell him, though? Wanting to be best buds, and a little extra, with a ‘Con wasn’t something an Autobot would advertise.

When Optimus eventually slunk through the base at an unusually late hour with audial fins low, Sari thought she might as well question their fearless, somewhat all knowing leader about Bee’s latest erratic behavior.

It was not a pleasant talk and only left her with new questions about the insane, sane-less, insanity she’d missed out on more than anything.

“Bumblebee was hoping for a miracle, I suppose. We should all have aspirations-“ Optimus sounded quite pragmatic about the whole thing. But then-

“Unless they cloud your processor to the point of poor judgement.”

Sari felt awkward- smart enough to know she was getting herself involved in something personal by the prickly edge in his tone. Not smart enough that her love for her two dear friends going through a rough patch would keep her at arms length of it, though.

Only just smart enough not to tell Optimus Prime that her best friend might have a crush on a ‘Con. Or remind him of that fact, if he was already aware.

“I can’t blame him.” Sari shrugged.

“I’d like for all of us to be friends, too. Imagine if there were even more giant friendly robots around here! That’d be awesome!”

Optimus looked surprisingly upset all at once by that, but he didn’t let it show in his voice. Sari was an innocent in all this.

“Yeah, it would be. But to tell the truth, I don’t see much point in entertaining that kind of thinking anymore.”

“Well, aspirations and all. You can’t set goals for yourself without envisioning it first.” Sari used his words against him in a fairly good point.

At least good enough to make Optimus look guilty about his harshness.

Not good enough to pass an opportunity to lecture his young companion.

“If your vision is only ever an optimistic one, you’re just preparing yourself to be disappointed when reality settles. It’s called overindulging.”

“Someone just told you that so you wouldn’t chase your dreams.” Sari countered, ‘cause that was *exactly* what that sounded like.

Optimus grimaced, remembering that he had been the one to tell himself that. Still...

“Why aren’t you this articulate when you’re explaining ‘me me’ culture to me?” Optimus diverted.

Sari mirrored his frown.

“I think you’re probably too young to be saying that wrong...”

“Oh. Well, just try to believe me when I say that we- that *I* overshot my expectations for Megatron having some sensibility in his one track processor.”

“I would have, too, I bet. I get my hopes up all the time.” Sari agreed. Hoping right then that she could put a smile on her most stress laden friend’s face.

This, again, seemed to be one of the worst things he could hear at the moment.

Optimus gave a nod, optics averted, and excused himself back the way he came- towards his room. Not a good sign.

————- ——————-

Blitzwing was a ball of nerves.

“Professor Sumdac is the expert in this field and, luckily, in relatively large supply of the resources we’ll need. The less attainable ones will be dealt with as the issue arises- For now, we collect our new compatriot and set to work. It’s time I paid my dear friend and the hellish prison he’d held me captive in a visit.”

Blitzwing knew retrieving an organic, even one the Autobots prized, would only be as difficult as a physical fight, some bloodshed, and the Decepticon’s most likely victory. That happened to be the case a good chunk of the time- he definitely owed credit where credit was due, though, concerning these wily, steadfast little bots. They could hold their own plenty well enough.

What bothered him about this simple task of ‘collecting’ their human hostage wasn’t anything to do with the genuine lack of effort he was willing to put into a fight like this after feeling dreadfully unlike him self these past cycles.

It was, of course, about *who* he would be fighting. It was just a niggle at the back of his processor, just a pinch of nerves. It wasn’t overwhelming his logical outlook of things in that they had no choice *but* to return to fighting.

Of course, they did. He welcomed it even. Anything to rid himself of his nauseating unease.

The fact that Megatron had made it clear he would be leading this mission was another trouble, though. His leader’s intent likely to make a point for when they came face to face with Optimus Prime once more.

That point being, ‘We are enemies from here on’.

And Blitzwing was stumped as to why that left such a terrible taste in his intake.

Like all things that threatened to twist the logic in his good sense, Blitzwing pushed at the thoughts to keep them as far from his processor for as long as he could until they could be overwhelmed by the more important matters he had to attend to.

That only lasted until they reached Sumdac’s tower, as a zap fluttered up his spinalstrut at the sight of a familiar yellow figure below.

They landed and, being met with a surprising lack of a response, made themselves known. Landing within perfect firing distance.

Blitzwing felt numb. His optics trained on a point in the distance and stared- anywhere else, but on....

He only caught a glimpse out of his optic of Bumblebee in a similarly uncomfortable state.

Megatron was naturally the first to speak. The same old haughty tone, as if they’d never wasted cycles away together in mutual ceasefire.

“Stand aside Autobot, and we will have no reason to fight you.”

But they definitely would.

Indeed, that had certainly made good on that imperative message if their presence here hadn’t- They weren’t ‘neutral’ anymore. Never had been.

Blitzwing looked then to asses the battle field. Optimus was of course there, a leader who played as frequent a part in his subordinates’ endeavors as Megatron. Prowl was beside him, looking unusually put upon by something. Probably the ‘Cons becoming a factor of their immediate survival. Bulkhead stood between him and Bumblebee.

The smallest bot stood there, grinding his denta hard enough to hear from where Blitzwing was.

His fists were clenched hard, vents hitching.

When Blitzwing turned to look him over once more, Optimus proved to be in much of a similar condition. Though he seemed reasonably more in control of his obvious outrage, as any leader should. Finials lowered dangerously, eyes narrow, and suspiciously quiet.

Ratchet was nowhere to be found, and as there was clearly some kind of drama unfolding painfully before his very optics, Blitzwing noted that it would be true to form that Ratchet would try and avoid it.

Whatever they were doing outside the tower looking ready to eviscerate each other, who could possibly say. The ‘Cons dropping by to no doubt inflict widespread terror had been unaccounted for, and left them in an even more compromised state.

They were wildly unprepared for a fight and this move Megatron had made to announce his intentions plainly and truthfully going forward had proved to be the most effective -and unintentional- stealth attack they’d actually imposed upon them. Nothing short of cloaking their signatures could be as powerful.

Emotionally tangled civilian types proved especially easy to eliminate.

But these bots had never been the ordinary sort, he’d found.

Optimus hadn’t torn his optics away from Bumblebee and vice versa, leaving Prowl and Bulkhead to do an evaluation on what they were in danger of themselves. It was the most careless display Optimus Prime had ever made, as their primary protector.

Megatron wasn’t ridiculous enough to think Optimus so incompetent he likely made a habit of such behavior. Immediately, Blitzwing was sharing the same strange concern as his commander was in the twinge of his field- that something was off about this.

The little organic, Sari, chose that moment to make herself known from behind Bumblebee then- completely obscured by his frame previously.

“Uh, guys can this maybe *wait*?!” She said, flapping her arms and making the most honest show of a creature fully aware of the magnitude of being on the receiving end of Megatron’s wrath.

Her panic wasn’t quite enough to break whatever spell had possessed the two glaring mechs, however. Bulkhead attempted to break optic contact again, looking between his friends and their impending doom a few yards away, but Bee was happy to move whichever way around him and assert himself in this peculiar standoff, while Optimus might as well have been baring a pair of fangs at the other, and likely was just barely repressing such an urge.

If this had been a ‘Con issue, they would already be rolling through the refuse, punching each other.

Blitzwing looked to his fearless leader for answers then and found a mech with a rapidly decreasing mood over whatever they’d just walked in on.

“Autobot,” He was addressing Optimus again.

“I’m taking Professor Sumdac to use as I see fit. Do not stand against me, and I will return your mercy.”

“Guys! They’re trying to take my dad!” Sari squeaked. Fearful of how helpless her position was in all this. They weren’t listening, and the promise of human extinction was likely on the rise, if they didn’t act soon.

As Sari had correctly feared, having watched the brutal escalation of this argument unfold, this did nothing to dissolve the suffocating tension surrounding them. The promise of Megatron moving into attack, however, seemed to shock their systems into action.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of action any of them needed right now.

More arguing.

“Megatron wouldn’t be alive to take the Professor, if he hadn’t helped him back to function in the first place.”

The other ‘Bots visibly flinched.

“Optimus! How can you say that?!” Sari cried hysterically. She looked between the four of them -her four supposed ‘friends’- then up at the three ‘Cons, no doubt leaving her a grand impression of what she’d be seeing in her nightmares for years to come.

Megatron stared back, soaking in the bewildering sight, at a loss for words. Likely a first for him.

“Way to lay blame, Prime.” Bumblebee *hissed*, and Blitzwing had never heard him speak like that to anyone before. With them recently becoming more acquainted with each other in an effort to form their future bonds, it felt distinctly personal, and he was surprised to find himself feeling uncomfortable. Even if it wasn’t directed at him.

Bumblebee wasn’t finished, though.

“That was a mistake, and we all know it! But since we’re pointing fingers,” The minibot then pointed at the petulant little pout Optimus was sporting from around Bulkhead’s side.

“Megatron wouldn’t even be here to take him for pit-knows-what, if *you* had been more assertive about the truce!”

“Untrue.” Megatron found himself speaking on the other’s behalf. Mostly spurned to take a side by his inherent desire to see order amongst rank. Perhaps impulse more than anything.

“The success of a peaceful truce between our factions was out of your leader’s hands from the start. He could no more promise the glimmer of hope in your spark such a thing than his own.”

Optimus finally looked away. An unbearable vulnerableness overtaking him.

Megatron spared him a single glance, speaking with conviction. Unused to such a show of submission from the Prime.

“He had far too great ambitions -Though you cannot fault him this. I think them quite admirable.”

Bumblebee looked a little hopeless then.

“I... It’s just...”

“You must possess the same ridiculous ambitions yourself, for what good you think you’ll do questioning your leader in this manner.”

It wasn’t a fair fight with Optimus in Megatron’s favor, but Blitzwing wasn’t dumb enough to inject himself into all this. Yet.

He may have never questioned his own leader, but he would have gladly done so, if he’d had had the privilege Bee did of surviving it.

Absolutely nothing had come of Megatron’s ‘plans’ to gain their trust and then turn it against them. Absolutely nothing had come of wasting away in the abhorrent weather on this planet, playing goodie goodie with a bunch of outspoken, annoying, overly friendly Autobots. Desecrating his name for it.

And worse than all of that still -worse than worrying over the incredible waste this had all been, and *still* was, throwing himself into an overly complicated Autobot ‘travesty’ of the mollycoddling kind, that he was *unfortunately* finding himself *invested* in- was that Bumblebee looked dangerously close to crying....

Blitzwing would question Megatron for letting it go on for so long and getting the little one’s hopes up so high.

All of the little ones.

These civilians were far more sensitive about these things- obviously. A ‘Con wouldn’t have wasted time smashing each other through the dirt the moment someone challenged their person. They wouldn’t have bothered with anything short of their offender surviving the brink of death to agree to have a chat after about their disrespectfulness.

He should have passively reminded Megatron a delicate touch would do the most good for this lot. The difference between their class types was often extreme.

And, no, he wasn’t being overly protective of a largely independent, very capable class of Cybertronians just because one of them, the only one that mattered so much to him apparently, proved to be quite sensitive to insults and tethered to his insecurities at times. That was definitely unrelated.

Megatron had been too harsh, was all.

Bumblebee might have been just bold enough -and emotionally compromised enough- to turn his anger on Megatron then, and then Blitzwing thought he really would have to intervene to keep him in one piece. But then the little bot gestured uselessly at what an utter mess this all was, his chest puffed up, holding in a whimper, and set his teary optics on Optimus again.

“It could have been different.”  His vocalizer abruptly cut off at the end, but the message was clear. He was upset to the point of tears.

In front of a bunch of *Decepticons*. In front of the *Leader* of the Decepticons. In front of *Blitzwing*.

All horrified sets of optics looked on- even Optimus, whose outrage had melted away with the last vestiges of his energy, maybe even his will to exist at the moment, and looking to be a shell of himself. Totally hollowed out inside. Distantly aware this all needed to come to the surface one way or another, and Bumblebee was going to be a tiny little wreck for it afterwards.

Optimus decided in that moment that his own despair could take a back seat.

“You always back out when it matters.” Bee murmured, lacking the powerful heat that’d been in his glare.

“That’s not true, Bumblebee.” Bulkhead said with a soothing edge to his voice. Of course, he understood what he was going through. He’d been on the receiving end of Optimus’ wrath plenty before, and knew he’d see more of it in the future. Their leader prone to snapping before bending when things became heated. And still-

“Optimus was brave enough to give this whole thing a try. Remember?”

“There was no way to guarantee it would work.” Prowl agreed.

Their teammates keeping calm enough to remind them of the facts should have been enough to bring them back to themselves. But Optimus was as easily turned a martyr as ever, even when it was the least sensible time to allow guilt to fog his processor.

“I think the reality is that I was ‘stupid’ enough to give this a try.” He supplemented. A distant ache in his chest- and processor. Both for two entirely different reasons.

Megatron might have felt a fuse blow in irritation.

Lugnut, who’d been forgotten to even have existed at the moment, stepped forward at Megatron’s side. His servo raised, retracting inward to be replaced with the dreaded, horrific POKE. Blitzwing’s wings flexed with the effort not to retreat to the skies.

“Gah! Since you blithering fools will not cease your *bickering* and *move*, I will do it for you!”

Blitzwing’s body didn’t even have a chance to subconsciously move towards Bee to shield him before Megatron was holding up a hand to stop the big brute.

“Silence, Lugnut. This isn’t a matter of strength of arm.”

Obviously -and the romantic in him just barely avoided calling it ‘a matter of spark’, and thank frag.

Prowl watched the trio curiously, hyper aware of their every little twitch. Condensation heavy on his frame from trying to keep a calm visage, while his team was in disarray.

Megatron took another step closer, successfully avoiding looking like a threat under the ninja bot’s intensive gaze, and offered himself to Bumblebee’s full attention.

“Minibot, you should direct your grievances unto me. I am the one who denied your leader’s proposition. Now, what are your qualms?”

Bumblebee just sniffed at him, realizing that would be entirely useless. He couldn’t hope to win a dispute with Megatron for anything. More importantly, Megatron wouldn’t care to give him either truthful answers or serious ones.

He was a *Decepticon* after all. *The* Decepticon.

Instead, he gave a vague, “He just gives in....” as his defeated answer. The only information he was willing to share, and completely indecipherable in meaning for Megatron, who’d only ever known a mech willing to bite his head off over imaginary equal rights.

Bumblebee vividly recalled the choice words Optimus had had for them all after Megatron’s uprising from Sumdac Tower -crushed under the immeasurable stress of leading a repair team, an insubordinate one, he’d explicitly reminded them, against the current greatest threat to their species and the universe. And the way he’d spoken to them when he’d finally succumbed to that pressure- a way Bumblebee would have never turned against his teammates. His friends. People who hadn’t signed up to be stuck on an unmarked planet, expected to protect life as they knew it from extinction.

Remembering, too, the conversations with Sentinel on the vidcoms. The way Optimus almost predictably caved when the bigger bot became aggressive. Which was practically immediately. The way he’d allow Sentinel to get away with talking to *them* next.

But he didn’t say any of that, of course. It sounded childish to have bothered him so terribly when he knew well and good he was in no shortage of faults himself. Like pinning too much expectation on Optimus to succeed in a multi-faction campaign had been -all while he was supposed to wait quietly on the sidelines and rejoice in the easy victory he’d been secured.

He couldn’t help feeling that unsavory way about his minimal efforts when it was so easy to get confused about the horrible way this wonderful prospect of change had ended. But channeling it into the bruising of Optimus’ dwindling ego wasn’t the way.

Megatron couldn’t hope to know anything about Optimus Prime’s private life with his comrades. He could only bare witness to the deeply stricken, spark guilty mech he was seeing before him now and decide solely upon that alone that he would like to put an end to this pointless blaming *immediately*.

Frailty did not suit this mech.

“I have determined peace between our factions to be insufficient in fueling our objectives as a people- and not you, or your leaders, or anyone else, could have changed my mind.” Megatron grit out through clenched denta. Shockingly affected by the little bot’s blatant disrespect.

“With this in mind, I will say that if anyone *could have* succeeded in turning my opinion, it would absolutely have been your steadfast Prime.”

Steadfast. The very opposite of what Bee had been saying about him being so easily broken.

“But he couldn’t, could he?” Bumblebee snarked, reaching into the shallowest part of his spark to deliver the hateful comment unto his utterly stricken leader, standing there with finials low and optics unseeing. Accepting it.

Blitzwing stepped forward when Megatron did then. Hoping his instinctive urge to protect the tiny bot from another ‘Con’s attentions would be overlooked at the moment by Megatron’s own peculiarly strong urge to do so for Optimus.

Not entirely so, to Blitzwing’s pure mortification, as Megatron turned a snarling show of teeth upon him for assuming to assist his chosen object’s assailant.

Blitzwing wondered if the other civilian frames all caught up in this were aware of the Con’s unfortunate coding making choices beyond their processors for them. Acting entirely on a deep rooted instinct that went beyond even simple programming. Humiliating, if so.

Lugnut obviously did, and he could only watch on *helplessly confused*, seeing his master acting in such a state. Perhaps even coming to terms at last that his blind loyalty might need its first reevaluation.

“You have become entirely too invested in this fantasy of your own making.” Megatron said to Bumblebee, a warning clear in his tone. His optics flittered over to Blitzwing then -the assailant’s impromptu guardian- causing the other’s vents to stall out.

To his own amazement, he found himself standing unflinching beneath that molten hot glare, appearing as a beckon for the defenseless minibot. Megatron could applaud him that at least.

The little yellow hellion sniffled, fresh tears of frustration prickling his optics, but refusing to let them fall.

“Th-That’s not true! He wanted it as bad as I did!”

Optimus miraculously found his voice at that.

“*Bumblebee*!” He hissed, but a warm blush on his cheekplates dampened the effect.

Bumblebee ignored him.

“He won’t admit it, but he did! I’m not the only crazy one here!”

And this was all very much crazy.

Blitzwing acknowledged that applied to him just as well, and Megatron, for being equally as disconnected from reality in defending a pretty, blue and red doormat more or less. The two of them attempting to secure these distressed little mechs from their fussing and rebuild the crucial bond civilian types kept preserved.

It was the oddest, most demoralizing urge to see that through, but neither seemed in a state to rectify their primitive coding.

Or admit this had stopped being an issue of mindless coding the moment they had begun to respect their counterparts and find them worthy of protecting in the first place.

At some point during those silly ‘negotiations’ that’d left much to be desired, these lively, colorful little idiots had started to look more and more like a welcome addition to suffer the tyranny of a war build’s naturally possessive behavior -Their only defense against such being their unlikelihood to become attached to most things that didn’t extensively benefit them to do so.... Which especially included fragile little Autobots.

Of course, they hadn’t known the little fools had managed to sink their claws into them *somehow*, until they were being forced to acknowledge it. Forced to consider their very existence, as they stood there defending them and their bickering.

There was a moment of awkward tension where the little bots stared at one another with nothing but hurt and fury in their optics. Bumblebee just at the cusp of shaking apart under all his pent up stress. But then Optimus caved, as hard as Bumblebee claimed he would, seemingly coming to terms with his own reality of the events that’d transpired over the last few weeks and how right Bumblebee was- at least, how Optimus thought he might be in a moment of his nonexistent self-esteem managing to plummet further.

“I know this all blew up in our faceplates... I know this opportunity was wasted because of me...” He murmured.

Megatron was deeply disgusted by this proclamation, but he didn’t get a chance to say how that was precisely the stupidest thing he’d ever heard- even knowing several Decepticons who’d willingly chosen to remain illiterate to this day, Optimus’ ‘confession’ had easily exceeded in stupidity.

Before he could snap an iota of sense in the otherwise sensible mech, the ridiculous little firetruck went on confirming his subordinate’s ill regards.

“I wish that I’d done this right when I’d had the chance to.... But I can’t change the past.”

“How could you have done this any differently?” Megatron didn’t even hide the bewilderment in his vocalizer -wondering what portal he’d stepped through when they’d landed where his words as the crowning war lord with the upmost priority in the ranks of Decepticons and Autobots alike were excused and ignored within seconds of uttering them.

He’d very clearly stated that this was out of the Autobot’s servos. Everyone had heard him -unless he’d been speaking Vosian without his knowing.

Optimus rubbed at his tired optics.

“If I’d had never gotten expelled in the first place, I’d be making a difference right now... I’d be more important to the cause, and Ultra Magnus might listen to me if I told him about my ideas for a truce.”

Optimus tried to shy away when Prowl made to reach for him, but the truth was that his palm on his shoulder plate was the tiniest bit grounding, and Optimus needed whatever help he could get in keeping his optics dry.

“I had to solidify my efforts somehow.... He wouldn’t have listened to me otherwise.”

Not for the first time, Optimus was reminded that he wasn’t helping his people here- essentially exiled on earth and running his mouth at Decepticon warlords like it was a sport. Why else had he thought he could take this monumental task on himself? He hadn’t really believed he could make a difference with a track record like his, had he?

For the bots he could make a difference for -his team- he was doing nothing more than endangering them all with this arrogant pursuit. It didn’t matter what Bee had encouraged, or even Sari, now that she knew. They were under his lead, following his orders. He had authority over them... They had to do what he said, as much as Jazz had to listen Sentinel.

“What would you have me do?” Megatron asked then, feeling like his processor had been bled dry of logic altogether.

“Abandon the people who expect me to bring them justice? Abandon our cause? I couldn’t do that- no matter what you hoped to accomplish, it would never come to be, little Autobot.”

Megatron stilled, considering very carefully the wisdom he wished to bestow upon the mech stood anxious and uncertain behind him. His own struts stiff and uncomfortable -unsure if he was willing to accept how fantastically things had derailed under his own supervision.

And then he turned to face Optimus, stooping the tiniest bit to be more at his level, and said firmly.

“You can’t hold yourself accountable for the misgivings of others.”

And if Optimus was as willing as he’d seen thus far to do ‘right’ by other bots, he really shouldn’t.

“You deserve the utmost respect for your efforts, especially from yourself.”

Megatron had a fleeting moment of unadulterated horror to think how compromised his logic had become to offer *comfort* of all things to his little nemesis. But then the smaller mech turned another shade darker, and he couldn’t remember why he actually hadn’t done so *sooner*.

Optimus bit into his bottom lip, looking up at the taller mech. Starkly aware he shouldn’t be looking at him in anyway that didn’t draw him as a giant target to slice his axe through. Optimus tried for all of a klik to muster his once boundless hatred for this mech before the true meaning of his words touched him deep in the most neglected part of Optimus’ conscious. The part of it he tried to convince himself didn’t desperately need approval and validation.

Meanwhile, Blitzwing took the blessed lull in their energy fields to look over at Bumblebee and find him finally seeming to soften with the want to apologize. To reach out with kindness to his leader and make right what they’d said to each other.

“You can’t let other’s affect you so when you’re a leader...” Megatron continued, utterly compelled to.

“They will have their doubts in you, but you will show them through action of your own that you deserve their trust and their respect. If they do not offer you either, it isn’t your responsibility to be burdened by their ideas of you.” Because they were all fools if they didn’t, and Megatron couldn’t be convinced otherwise.

He looked at those hopeful, blue eyes searching into him.

Those eyes so blue in more than me way.

Megatron sighed.

“But, you’re so young...”

It was unlikely Optimus could ignore the cutting words of anyone who might seek to knock him off his pedes.

Something plagued this mech. Something troubled him too terribly to instill much faith within himself, and that was about the biggest blight on all of Cybertron and the Allspark Megatron had ever known.

Optimus, genuine, selfless, thoughtful, uncertain, absurdly hopeful Optimus should never had been abandoned to feel so unsure of himself or his incredible talent. His compassion, his gentle nature, his ability to spread good will- or at least his desire to try.

Nobody had ever told him otherwise, had they? Not the right people- not the people who could have made the biggest impact on him. Shaped him as a soldier, given him time and care to grow. Those people had most likely even done the opposite.

Buried him further where the light of his own hope could no longer reach him. Promise him his worth was destitute.

Megatron felt incredibly troubled to know this mech all at once.

“Uh... Um, hey....” Sari began, coming out from around Bumblebee to stare wide eyed at the telenovela worthy chaos before her.

“Uh. What do you guys want with my dad?”

“Ve need him to make us a subspace communicator to contact Lord Megatron’s forces.”

Blitzwing answered truthfully. Either way, they’d all be coming away from this deeply scarred and with a magnitude of trust issues. Where was the harm in admitting to attempted kidnapping?

Bulkhead perked then, seizing the opportunity to continue this without violence.

“Well... Maybe we can work something out?”

Megatron felt himself age a few thousand years.

———— ————

Of course, the little scraps had lost contact with the Steelhaven since crashing on this insipid planet, and there was nothing they could ‘work out’ regarding Megatron’s need for a communication source. Nothing they could do more than the lot of them walking  quietly away from this, so everyone could cool down and come back to their senses. All expecting Megatron to simply leave empty handed of one organic, reverse engineer.

What part of ‘No Truce, Only Enemies’ did they not understand? Now Bulkhead was trying to make empty compromises?

What hope had he that Optimus, Megatron’s only fond acquaintance of this incorrigible lot, narrowly didn’t?

Exactly none, that’s what.

“I have asked generously that you stand down.” Megatron snarled.

“I will not repeat myself.”

And then, when they inevitably refused now that he’d talked them out of their senselessness, there’d be nothing left to do but fight.

And that was all there was to it, it seemed.

Optimus nodded, resigned to the inevitable, and began reaching for his axe- battle mask forgotten in his half sparked desire to lead a defense. Maybe he was actually expecting to be bested quickly in his subpar state, so they might return to their base, and Optimus could retreat into himself for a few moments just to process this ungodly embarrassment before constructing an outline of Sumdac’s rescue. Essentially expecting defeat.

It was, without a doubt, the most pitiful display Megatron had ever seen, and so unlike the Prime he’d come to know in every conceivable way.

Distantly, so very distantly and obscurely and almost impossibly, Megatron couldn’t help but wonder if a loss like this having such an impact on his seemingly unshakable rival might be because there was more at stake than the loss of one unlikely truce. Something beyond his struggle to outlive the failures of his past and his abysmal sense of self.

Perhaps perceiving some great loss in the ‘loss’ of Megatron.

Like, perhaps, he’d wanted his camaraderie? Like he’d wanted more time to speak candidly with another mech, when the option was so rare. Like he’d wanted his company in some familiar capacity. That he’d wanted something.... else...?

Megatron shunned the thought. Thinking like that was gravely beneath Optimus’ deserving. He was to be respected- especially since he wouldn’t respect himself...

But a fight was the only logical course of action here on, as neither faction could simply surrender.

Bumblebee followed Optimus’ lead and readied his stingers while Sari took cover. The other Autobots preparing themselves, coming out the other end of the emotional minefield they’d marginally survived to embrace battle. However successful they imagined they’d be in such a debauched state. Brave little bots, as they ever were.

Megatron looked at an exhausted Optimus and knew he’d have to fight this mech then. There truly was nothing left for them beyond a mutual agreement to disagree. Bizarre as it was that Megatron was having trouble justifying beating a mech in such a shaken state, despite him being a thorn in his eye since his reawakening on this planet, Megatron knew it was the only path for them.

Perhaps their destiny, even. Megatron was just romantic enough to believe so.

Across from him, Blitzwing looked woefully unwilling to do fighting of any sort. Fanning his wing the tiniest bit to shield the minibot. Megatron could deal with such insubordination later.

This moment right now was his calling- his time to take up arms once more for his people. The past was the past, the ‘peace’, real or not, was over.

Lugnut took all of one step forward with servo raised and POKE ready before Megatron was quickly throwing out a hand to catch him by the forearm and promptly put a stop to that.

“Hold all fire!”

Bumblebee pointedly did not lower his stingers. But as they were raised towards Megatron’s helm and Megatron’s alone, he didn’t imagine Blitzwing would be too upset about his eagerenss to take a shot at one of them.

Megatron found the threat seriously lacking.

“Prime,” He snapped, quickly turning his attention on the Autobot who’s finials twitched. Sensing... something.

A strong intuition, this one.

“There is no need for us to spill each other’s Energon.” Megatron tried one final time. Terrified that he was about to do something awful. Something even worse than slaughtering this tiny mech. Something like letting him *live*.

“You can prove yourself a competent leader now, and stand down!”

“I can’t let you take professor Sumdac, Megatron.” Optimus said in what was left of his authoritative tone since having a crisis in front of everyone and Primus. He looked in no such state to back that claim, but-

“I *won’t* let him go without a fight.”

Optimus could realistically accept what that meant for them then, and raised his axe to his chest. Prepared.

It was only a blip in the next nanosecond that Megatron perfectly recalled Strika’s message to him about ‘playing stupid games’ and the consequence of such, to remembering pivotal moments in the millennia he’d spent leading an army through war. Remembering what he’d had to sacrifice to earn his stature and rank.

It took marginally less time than that even to ruin everything he’d ever worked for.

“We shall attempt this truce of yours once more!”

Not that it was ‘Optimus’ truce’, and not that it didn’t cater heavily towards the justice of war frames. But Megatron wasn’t willing at the moment to take responsibility for that, too, on top of his single handed destruction of the Decepticon empire just now.

Optimus blinked like he hadn’t heard him. Maybe he hadn’t.

“We’ll try one final time.” Megatron reaffirmed. His vocalizer feeling stretched thin.

“Ultra Magnus must have a hand in securing our progress, however.”

Optimus, like everyone else within audial range, needed several kliks to process that. He spluttered and clenched his axe towards his chest, like he was desperate for something to hold on to. Something to put between himself and Megatron’s impossible promise. One he surely couldn’t mean.

Bumblebee flapped uselessly behind the triple changer.

Blitzwing was forced to recalibrate his gyroscope. Feeling as though gravity had just dissipated from the atmosphere and the earth was shifting beneath him, because this was definitely not part of some plan anymore....

Bee’s strangled squeal from his side grounded him immediately.

This.... this *was* real, Megatron had definitely just said that. Possibly without an ounce of the appropriate consideration it honestly demanded. 

Starscream was right that their leader was no longer fit to be such, and Blitzwing was hard pressed to find a fault in that.

Megatron, to his credit, gave a valiant effort to seem indifferent to the little Prime’s equally ill suppressed glee and barreled on before he could drown in the severity of his tremendous regret.

“Though the fact pains me greatly, Ultra Magnus is the only mech that can incorporate these changes you’re pushing for. He must have a hand in these negotiations.”

Optimus tried to argue that those changes ‘he was pushing for’ were all strictly in Megatron’s interest in that he receive equality and the rights of all Cybertronians who were willing to do good. Not that Megatron was of course. Yet... If ever...

But neutrality and peace was an indirect, indisputable good. Wasn’t it?

Optimus, processor spinning a mile a minute, could hardly think otherwise.

He was shaking, cycling through unspoken emotions, some entirely new to him. Excitement muddling the words he longed to say. Megatron watched with a carefully blank face, hoping his spark doing strange leaps in his battle warn chassis weren’t detectable through that immaculate intuition alone, and, finally, the dearly important words stuck in Optimus’ throat stumbled out.

“Wh-what if... I don’t think Ultra Magnus will take a liking to this suggestion, I.... Wh-What happens then?”

Megatron very sensibly did not admit that he was well aware that Magnus’ involvement was a great unlikelihood when he’d agreed to a second truce in the first place. He was still coming to terms with the fact that he was mysteriously invested in seeing Optimus at ease for once- eager and motivated, like he’d been during negotiations -when he thought he was being helpful.

Megatron did not pity his efforts, nor belittle them. But he did, in truth, find them endearing- in a soft sparked, blue eyed -literally, too- bot trying to find some good in the world sort of way. This young, sweet thing.

Megatron scowled.

As far as Ultra Magnus went, while preserving some of his reputation as a sparkless, conniving war lord, well...

“He may very well not come around, but I offer you this opportunity all the same. It’s your choice whether you take it-“

Then he stopped, acknowledging the unholy level of responsibility even that would place onto Optimus, *again*, and quickly back-peddled.

“And we will consider other alternatives from there. I strongly advise his involvement and hopefully some degree of compliance.”

Optimus was beyond thrilled, but all he could muster to show for it was a ridiculous -adorable- gaping mouth that opened and shut several times over in his loss for both words and processing power.

Megatron couldn’t remain prideful in his half baked, overly confident decision for long. Optimus’ finials subconsciously lowering as he bit at his lip and studied the ground in a fierce battle to fight the smile from his face knocked the hot air right out of Megatron’s vents. He covered it up well enough by looking daringly at the other Autobots to challenge him.

No one did of course. The shocked silence spoke of no such protests, and the faces full of awe -some being his own soldiers’- stared back in wonder. ‘Wonder’, or utter disbelief.

So it was to be, apparently, that Megatron would be making a fool of himself once more. For a depressed, foolish Autobot’s benefit of all things. 

Only....there was one enormous issue lying plainly before them that they hadn’t thoroughly considered....

The watery smile slipped from Optimus’ faceplates as he looked up at him in dawning horror. 

“Well, I... I *would* tell Ultra Magnus, if I... if I could reach him. I-I *will* tell him, just... as soon as I’m able. Ah... I...”

Megatron turned his paling face away from the gathering mecha.

That meant he’d have to play nice in the meantime. For however long that would be -Because he’d already sold himself to this preposterous, humiliating arrangement, and it was definitely only because of that, and not because of Optimus lighting up like starlight.

“We’ll have Professor Sumdac start to work on that communicator then...” He said at last. Realizing that was about the only thing they could do.

“And until then?” Prowl was smart enough to ask- While Optimus was unfortunately succumbing to that hopefulness he fought so hard against from consuming him and dared not voice such concerns.

His optimism did seem to have a way of defining much of his processing. Megatron was distraught to find that little bit endearing, too.

“Until then... we will... enact a ceasefire between our.... factions.” That was almost painful to say.

He could push it aside well enough to admire the way Optimus seemed dumbstruck, torn between awe and graciousness and worry -and that darling, blossoming hope.

He was already rushing to continue where they’d left off.

“Those changes you talked about that your people have been-“ But Megatron would rather not speak of that in front of the others.

“We will discuss those matters in our next negotiation.” He said plainly, with a palm held out to quiet him. The promise of negotiations resuming was enough to quiet him. But not pacify him.

Optimus looked like someone’d set off a fire works show in his chassis. He turned soft blue optics away to rejoice quietly with himself, smile wide and vibrant, while the others voiced their opinions at one another.

“Sweet!” Bumblebee was the first to speak, pumping his fist in the air and coming forward to backslap an unmoving Blitzwing.

“We can play more Jet Grinder now! I can get my high score back!”

Blitzwing scoffed with all the superiority a mech that’d delivered the smack down upon a noob-ish fool like Bumblebee could.

“Don’t bet on it, Bug- unless jou are betting jour points.”

Bumblebee made a rude gesture he’d picked up from the locals.

“No way! You’re gonna cry so hard when I get my initials in gold letters back at the top of the score board! Sucks for you~”

Blitzwing flicked his wings in irritation, so as not to express the fact that he could hardly contain himself at the moment.

Sari, who’d been too overwhelmed by whatever she was witnessing in both the mech of horrible legend and the normally stoic, unexcitable Optimus, looking a little too invested in one another, excused herself from the whole mess entirely to go inform her father inside the tower that they would not be coming in to check out that super-amazing-latest invention they’d came here for anymore.

Also that’d he’d almost been captured and exhausted of all his resources by the Decepticons before Megatron surprisingly wussed out for some reason. Well, not for some reason... But she wasn’t willing to give life to the fact that it’d been because she’d seen similar behavior in those lovey-dovey romance movies.

For the sake of everyone, nobody needed to openly acknowledge what was happening between them there. She was fully convinced Optimus was oblivious to that poorly disguised soft look in Megatron’s optic, anyway, so he wasn’t to blame.

Prowl took the next opportunity to remind Optimus that they were treading very deadly waters now. As if he needed the reminder.

Maybe a little bit....

He wasn’t looking as cowed and serious as he should be at the moment, staring up at Megatron in wide eyed wonder.

————- ———————

“I *was* out of line. You were right.” Bumblebee mumbled against Optimus’ side sometime later that night.

However short lived this giant victory and the impossible high it’d given them was, they intended to savor it. Make even poorer decisions than spilling their sparks in front of a bunch of war mechs they’d hardly gotten to know in any civilized way in the quiet of their rooms. Together, preferably.

That meant apologizing.

Bee stared at the wall, finding it easier to speak his truth without having to look at the other.

“You shouldn’t have said that slag about Professor Sumdac, though.”

Optimus tensed against him.

“Yeah... that was awful. I shouldn’t of... I need to apologize to Sari.”

“Later.” Bee hummed, too tired to leave Optimus’ room to seek out his own berth. He nestled closer to his side instead.

This moment wasn’t terribly common, but was frequent enough to be labeled as one of those soft civilian luxuries that Bumblebee found deeply depressing Blitzwing said war types abstained from. He’d die without Prowl to cuddle and pester at awful hours of the night cycle after playing a really scary level on Cutter.

“I’m not done talking about how awesome what happened was....” Then added thoughtfully.

“...Or apologizing.”

“No more.” Optimus assured him, nudging against him, attempting to reserve himself from pushing too strongly.

Bumblebee didn’t let him retreat into himself, though, in his latest bout of guilt.

“Ok, ok. But you do know that I care about you, right?”

“I care about you, too. You gave me the courage to give the truce a try, despite all the odds against us. You just seemed so sure.”

‘And you listened?’ Bee wanted to laugh, but when hadn’t Optimus listened to his teammates making a serious suggestion? He couldn’t always put them into action, but he did do his best to listen.

So instead, Bumblebee teased him.

“Oh? I did? Am I your muse, Bossbot?” Bee batted his lids, and Optimus snorted. Feeling emboldened by the other’s goofiness to nuzzle his little helm under his chin with a blue servo.

“When you’re happy, it’s hard not to find inspiration.” He murmured, clearly struggling with such openness.

Bee felt uncomfortably warm, but allowed himself to bask in the wonderful intimacy  this simple bonding with his cohort instilled. Feeling a familiar security in his spark under his leader’s protection.

“That’s an oof for me.” He muttered anyway.

Optimus perked.

“Is that...? That’s me-me culture stuff, right?”

“Oh, God, no. Prime, please don’t grow up to be like Ratchet.”

Optimus scowled over the top of Bee’s helm.

“Ratchet doesn’t tease me during bonding.”

“He doesn’t gush with you over tall, dark, and terrifying war machines, either.”

Optimus jolted, optics going wide. Too scared to pull away and broadcast his horror at having been caught. It was a little too true, regardless of how blatant a jab and lacking in substance it was *meant* to be.

Instead, they sat their silently, leaning against eachother and into the berth slab behind them. Pretending that neither one of them actually felt that way.

———————————-

End Part 1

I just want a computer, so I can make italics easier. These * hurt my eyes

[csilis]

Here I am once again promoting my fanfic! This time I can offer review exchanges too as I ran out of fics and can't find anything nowadays. So if you're interested just give me a pm!

Road to redemption

Chapters: 21/?

Fandoms: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Megatron (Transformers)/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Megatron, Original Female Character, Original Male Character, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee

Additional Tags: no beta we die like cliffjumper, i wanted a redemption fanfic so i wrote one, did i mention i suck at english grammar?, Xenophilia, if im not mistaken, Slow Burn, i guess?, stuck in a different body, Human Megatron - Freeform, Alien/Human Relationships, Redemption, Robot/Human Relationships, anger issues, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Episode: s03e13 Deadlock (Transformers Prime), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Human/Transformer Relationships (Transformers), Megatron talks about his feelings, Reconciliation, Ice Skating, Megatron & Elisabeth & their sexual tension, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love

Summonary:

Megatron thought his fate was to rule over Cybertron as he meant to be from the beginning.

Now he is ripped from everything he used to know (thanks to a certain scout) as he's stuck in a human body that belonged to someone else. Starting again from the bottom, he is determined to reverse whatever happened, no matter the price.

But Primus may have even more surprises in store. Starting with the stubborn human female, Elisabeth Osborne, who makes him question everything he believed in.

Snippet (just to be really fancy):

“It was. I still miss him these days and think about how I failed him. I should have warned him instead of arguing and ignoring his feelings.” Because that’s what he really felt. Failure followed him like a shadow; always there to remind him what they said to them in the mines.

“You will never be bigger than the shadow you cast.” And since in the dark they didn’t have shadows, it only fitted them. They will never be bigger than nobody’s. But he wished to be, fought to be bigger.

“I know what you feel as I failed Merlin. I should have never left him” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But you cannot change some things. You can only accept the consequences.”

“After he died, no one asked me how I felt. How much it pained me to lose him” he said looking away, into the distance, while a knot formed in his throat. “You are the first one to be ever interested in me, not the ideals I hold.”

“I think it’s because you let me see more than your ideals. You let me see the person behind the façade.”

[erimeows]

Crush

Bumblebee never imagined a world in which he’d be obsessed with Sentinel Prime, but there he was, staring longingly at the Elite Guard member’s back as him and his team watched fireworks together. Luckily for him, Jazz had convinced Sentinel to tag along.

The yellow Autobot sat there, half-engaged with the conversation Bulkhead was trying to have with him. He hated that he was missing out on the fireworks, but something about watching Sentinel seemed to captivate him more.

A cocksure smile on beautiful lips which released an even more beautiful midnight laugh into the air, earning a laugh back from Optimus Prime, who was sitting by the larger bot’s side on the rooftop they were all currently on.

Jazz and Prowl were walking around the rooftop, talking and pointing out the fireworks they liked, while Ratchet (who was completely sober) laid in a corner with Sari sitting next to him and stared at the sky silently. Bulkhead had been by Bumblebee’s side the whole night, which he appreciated, but still... He couldn’t help but be upset, just watching them.

His fixation with Sentinel had gotten bad since the Prime had come to earth, to the point that he had memorized the outline of those rough lips and burned the scent of the older bot into the back of his processor.

But no, it wasn’t because he had a crush on Sentinel Prime, his former sergeant, like everyone teased him for.

Instead, it was because of how in love he was with Optimus Prime, one of his closest friends and the leader of his repair-team-turned-squad-unit.

And it hurt. Primus, it hurt.

It hurt to watch Sentinel have what he wanted so easily, to use that magic touch of his as he tossed an arm over Optimus’s shoulders and chatted away with him like the old friend that he was despite all of the fucked up shit he had done to the younger Prime.

It hurt to watch Optimus turn to face the blue and gold bot and laugh, those plump lips curved into one of the only true and genuine smiles Bee had ever seen from him, the tension between the two rivals melted by the oil they’d all consumed and replaced with their blatantly obvious feelings for each other, those of which had always been there. It was almost like they were destined to be, two main characters in some sort of love story, while Bumblebee was a supporting character meant to push Optimus in that direction.

But, no. He was selfish, and he would never do such a thing, even if it meant seeing Optimus- because Primus be damned, he could make Optimus just as happy as Sentinel could if not happier, couldn’t he? He was selfish and greedy and wanted Optimus to himself, so he did what he could, and if that meant making everyone think he was in love with Sentinel Prime with the way he gawked at him, he was fine with that- because Optimus was too selfless to go after Sentinel if he thought Bee was interested, anyway. 

That wasn’t his intention when he started watching Sentinel, initially. He’d just been trying to absorb whatever the hell it was about the large bot that Optimus loved so much, and everyone had misconstrued it, but it had worked out for him.

Or so he thought. Look at him now, though, ignoring his best friend in favor of staring at Sentinel and Optimus, neither of whom were even batting an optic in his direction. 

And this was how his new year was starting, him wishing he had some semblance of whatever Sentinel Prime had that made Optimus fall so hard for him; confidence, strength, sharp optics, wit, bravery, or maybe it was something else like how Sentinel’s audials twitched when he was nervous, how his face plates burned red when he lied, or how good he was in the berth.

The thought brought him no peace, and it brought him no rest. He heard Sentinel sneaking into Optimus’s room at night quite frequently, and though he never knew what happened in there, the thought of Sentinel and Optimus intertwined underneath the younger Prime’s berthsheets, whispering sweet and filthy things alike in each other’s audials, kept him awake and anguished.

Bumblebee felt himself frown at that, lips pulled tight and mouth tasting bitter. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so negative, but when it came to his feelings for Optimus, he couldn’t help it. It was all wrong; how immature, how deceitful, how angry he was acting about the whole predicament, but he figured that’s what love did to a mech when it was at its worst.

“Bee? Buddy?”

When he snapped out of his trance, Bumblebee looked up to see that Bulkhead was dangling one large servo in front of his optics, clearly trying to catch his attention. The pang of guilt that always came at times like this manifested in the yellow bot’s spark rather quickly, sinking to the bottom of his stomach like tar in a way that made him feel sick. He knew he was neglecting his other relationships while being caught up with Optimus and Sentinel, and Bulkhead had always been there for him... Why couldn’t he just be one of those mechs who fell in love with their best friend?

No, that was a cruel thought. Bulkhead deserved someone who cherished and adored him, he was too good for Bumblebee, as was Optimus.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been out of it all night, and you seem sad... You have too much oil?” Bulkhead’s servo was on his shoulder plating, and for a second, Bumblebee struggled to speak. His optics landed on the bright fireworks above them, pink and purple and white and vibrant. Bulkhead was focused on him, Ratchet was pointing out planets to Sari, Jazz and Prowl were as in love as they always were, and Sentinel Prime and Optimus Prime...

Well, he couldn’t handle it. Maybe it had something to do with the oil he’d nervously been drinking to settle his nerves, or maybe he was just at a boiling point, but before he could think about what he was doing, he was standing up on his stabilizing servos with shaky knees. He must’ve looked bad, because within seconds, everyone’s optics (or, in Sari’s case, eyes) were landing on him.

“I- I think so, um... I’m gonna leave,” Bumblebee stuttered, voice cracking. Optimus was the first to object, standing from his spot on the edge of the roof. No matter how hard Bumblebee tried, he couldn’t seem to ignore the servo of Sentinel’s that was resting on Optimus’s back. 

“Bee shouldn’t someone walk you back if you’re not feeling well?” Optimus approached him, but the smaller bot, unable to handle the emotional turmoil that was taking him over, found himself stumbling away before he could even process the consequences his actions might’ve had. “Where are you- hey, Bumblebee, wait up!”

“Let him go, Optimus,” Sentinel stopped him, because of course he did, and with that, Bumblebee was racing back down to the inside of their base from the stairwell on the rooftop and into his room.

When he reached it, he shut the door behind him and flopped down onto his bed with a frustrated shout.

He wanted to recharge, but his processor was too clouded with his conflicted thoughts to allow him to do so. The celebration on the floor above him slowly died down, the fireworks growing quiet and the sounds of berthroom doors opening and closing as everyone went to bed over the span of the next hour.

Optimus was probably already asleep, too.

Angry at himself, he started to rant, even if no one was around to hear him out.

“Ugh, why am I like this... I could’ve just put up with it like I always do, but no, I just had to go and make a scene in front of him, and now no one’s going to let me live it down, and they’re all going to assume I’m jealous of him for hugging on Sentinel when it’s not-”

His self-deprecating rambling was cut off by a knock at his door; knock, knock, knock. Three soft, polite, in rhythm taps that Bumblebee quickly recognized as his leader’s, followed by said leader’s deep voice ringing through the wall.

“Bumblebee? Are you awake? Sorry to disturb, but I wanted to see you. Could you come open the door?”

“Bossbot?” The Autobot perked up, and though he had fully intended to lay in bed sulking and ignoring everyone who came to check on him, the sound of Optimus’s voice had him rushing to open his berthroom door. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you since you seemed to be so out of it when you left, but you seem to be doing alright, thank goodness,” The Prime gave him that smile, the one of relief that made Bumblebee’s spark leap because of just how beautiful it was. “I should probably leave instead of pressing the matter, but... I thought I saw you staring at Sentinel and I, and I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t misjudge what was happening.”

His spark fucking dropped. While whatever his obsession with Sentinel happened to be was obvious to bots like Prowl, Ratchet, and Bulkhead who teased him for it, he had hoped that Optimus would never bring it up. It was a conflict he wasn’t ready for, and if he could, he would play it off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bumblebee tilted his helm, wondering if he had been that obvious while watching them on the rooftop earlier that night.

“May I come in?” 

Optimus being Optimus, he didn’t get right to it, which made the anxiety building up in Bee’s chest ten times worse. But alas, he could never say no to his boss, so he stepped aside to allow the Prime inside.

“O-Of course!”

With that, he shut the door behind them.

The two sat next to each other on Bumblebee’s berth, the lights still off, which meant that the only thing keeping the room lit was the beams that poured through the window from the moon and the fireworks. Optimus’s face was gorgeous in that moment, full of something that Bee could only perceive as longing and regret and love if he didn’t know any better, sharp features highlighted by the moonlight that shone over them.

“I’m not sure what you think my relationship with Sentinel is, but it’s nothing more than enemies at our worst and sparklinghood friends at our best. Our relationship is very long and very complicated, but we’ve always been more like brothers than anything, and as much as you deny it, I know you’re in love with him... I pay attention to how you look at us, when the two of us are together, and how you perceive him. I just want to reassure you that I would never steal him away from you, Bumblebee. I love you too much to do that to you- even if I can’t have you, and even if it’s with someone else, I want you to be happy.”

“W-What?” The younger of the two spat, optics going wide. Optimus being the type he was, he cringed at what he’d said and scooted to the edge of the berth, not even able to look at Bumblebee after the impromptu confession.

“Ah, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that, but-” The red and blue bot stood up and held his helm in one servo. He groaned while Bumblebee couldn’t even process what was going on. Had he imagined the whole relationship between Sentinel and Optimus that he thought was there? Was this actually happening? Did Optimus love him back, and was he going to get the happy ending he’d always wanted? “Well, I suppose the truth is out, then... The oil seems to have gotten to the both of us. I’ll leave-”

“No, are you insane!?” Bumblebee exclaimed with a laugh and moved closer to the Prime so he could grab his arm with both servos and drag him back down onto the bed. Begrudgingly, Optimus sat back down, and Bumblebee closed the gap between them.

“Huh?”

“It’s- It’s you, Prime! It’s always been you and it always will be, you know?” Bumblebee’s words were rushed, stumbling over each other and dripping with excitement. The tension in Optimus’s shoulders seemed to release as his face was dyed bright red with a heavy blush- perhaps from the embarrassment that came with the same realization Bumblebee was having. “I was never in love with Sentinel; he’s a selfish, inconsiderate glitch who’s always treated you like you’re scrap metal! You’re brave, you’re kind, you’re always there for me when I need it, and I just... I love you so much, and-”

“Oh, beautiful, c’mere,” Optimus broke and pulled Bumblebee into him, strong arms wrapping around the yellow bot’s frame and pulling him into his lap. Bumblebee melted into the touch and buried his face in Optimus’s chest plates. “I’m sorry it took us this long.”

“Me, too.”

There was a moment of silence, but it was broken by Optimus, who spoke with an uncharacteristically teasing tone and an equally teasing smirk gracing his plump lips.

“How long ‘ve you been crushing on me, then?” The words were a bit slurred in a way that made Bumblebee hyperaware of just how buzzed they still were from the oil.

“...Too long,” He spat and quickly stared down at the ground like it had become the most interesting thing in the universe. “I don’t want to admit how long level long.”

“Ah, I see... Looks like I owe Sentinel some money after all,” Optimus laughed, earning a playful slap on his arm from Bumblebee in return.

“Wh- You guys bet on which one of you I had a crush on!? I need to hear about this!”

“Okay, so it started when...”

And, as Optimus started to tell his story, an arm still lovingly wrapped around Bumblebee’s small frame, he sighed in relief. 

Surely, after this, no one would think he had a crush on Sentinel Prime.

[darksidekelz]

Last 20

Credit to @writingwife-83

Thanks for tagging me, @hanuko​

Guidelines: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20,  just list them all.) Choose your favourite opening line, tag some friends!

I may have skipped a few of the more … content warn-y ones.

1. Living in a Lightless World (TFP) -  The scenario was a familiar one.  A hard, unyielding table beneath him, the sickening sound of Autobot voices drifting in the surrounding space, powerful restraints around his wrists, his chest – cables deactivated, as well as his audio transmitters.  Soundwave was helpless, again at the Autobots’ mercy.  But this time, he didn’t care.

2. I Know What You Did (G1) -  Praxus was a surprisingly good city for business.  Sure, it had always carried the image of pristine totalitarianism – the home of the Enforcers, of the most uptight mechs on the face of Cybertron.  And yes, everyone had laughed when Swindle had voiced his intentions to open shop there.  'No one will buy from you.’  'You’ll be arrested in a week.’  Well, the laugh was on them!

3. All My Decepticons (Transformers) -  Our show begins in a lovely little suburban neighborhood.  The sky is clear, and a slight breeze rustles the leaves in the trees.  We zoom in on a house, picturesque and welcoming, like something out of The Brady Bunch, only, instead of being scaled to humans, it is scaled to giant robots.  Why?  Because how else are the giant robot inhabitants going to fit inside?

4. Call Me Master (TFP) - It hurt to see him like this.  Soundwave had always come across as untouchable - like a benevolent deity who had, through some miracle of fate, chosen to grace Megatron with his undying loyalty and devotion.  

5. Hope for the Hopeless (TFA) -  A flash of metal, a distorted scream, the biting sting of claws in his plating.  Deadlock was fighting for his life, and nothing else mattered. 

6. Fear Itself (Red vs Blue) -  Felix had been expecting a little more fanfare when he’d stepped through the gate - a small army of people he’d wronged in his life, for starters.  That useless pirate had claimed to have been confronted by his own victims when he’d been shoved through earlier. Judging by the whistling abyss that greeted him, however, the gate had something different in store this time.

7. A Single Thread (G1) -  It had been a long and arduous road, but finally, Swindle’s work was starting to pay off.  He smiled at the message he held in his hands:

8. Sentinel Prime and the Quest for Booty (TFA) -  Sentinel Prime was kind of a big deal.  He led the Elite Guard, second in power only to the Magnus himself.  His presence inspired awe amongst the peons beneath him.  He was handsome, powerful, a master of strategy, and a beacon of charisma.  There was not a bot alive that came close to rivaling his glory.  And yet, he had one small problem.

9. Mercy for the Damned (MTMTE) - Primus, spare my spark. 

Pain came first – the pain of his body being systematically torn to shreds from the inside out, through a means and manner that defied the laws of nature.  

10. Dodgeball (Beast Wars) -  Megatron loved being the center of attention.  He loved watching the time tick down on the big clock 9, 8, 7, counting the seconds to their victory.  It was close enough to taste, intoxicating.  He could see Optimus, several yards ahead of him, wide open.  This was his time to shine, the moment that would go down in history.  There was no time to savor it.  It was do or die.

Megatron threw the ball.

11. Shall We Dance? (G1) -  It had been a year, now, since Cybertron last witnessed bloodshed.  After eons of fighting, anyone would be ready to call it quits, even Galvatron, it seemed.  In the aftermath of the hate plague, and the subsequent return of Optimus Prime, a peace treaty had been hastily drafted, and much to the surprise of everyone involved, it had been obeyed. 

12. Remembering Altihex (G1) -  There had been no battle for Altihex - no blaze of glory, no honorable sacrifices, no heroic speeches to go down in the history books - it was just gone, taken in the night as its citizens slept in their beds, blissfully unaware of their own impending demise.       

13. Reaching for the Sun (G1) - “It’s not enough.”  

With tense shoulders and narrowed optics, Onslaught sifted through the mass of information that Blast Off had handed him, divided between five different data pads, all confirming his every fear.  

14. Exceeds Expectations (IDW 1) - “Were you able to find it?” Perceptor glanced up from his data pad, cold blue eyes scrutinizing Prowl, trying to uncover his every uncouth motivation and secret.  As smart as Perceptor was, he was hopelessly outmatched in this respect.

15. Irresponsible Infatuation (IDW 1) -  Prowl was a sensible mech, sometimes the only sensible mech, a fact which he was all too aware of.  He could scheme with the best of them, plan for every contingency, and he wasn’t afraid to let his spark interfere with what needed to be done for victory.  

16. Living in a Box (G1) -  Okay.  This ain’t so bad.  I mean, I’m absent one body – I can’t see or hear, feel or taste or touch or smell.  It’s like my worst nightmare come to life, and y’know?  Can’t say what I was ever scared for.  

17. I’ll Follow You Forever (TFP) -  Step left, stoop low, lean away, cross-counter, go for the throat.  Soundwave’s opponent wasn’t a big mech, but he was broad, heavy, and well-armored – though the last wasn’t uncommon for a gladiator.  The ring wasn’t kind to fragile mechs – even Soundwave had piled on the armor as soon as he could afford it.  But even so, the extra protection didn’t change the fact that his light build was ill-suited for his chosen profession.  

18. Sacrifice (Armada) - The job was a means to an end. That was what Sideways told himself day after day.  When he woke up in the morning, dreading the upcoming drudgery, working his poor frame to the core, ungrateful customers – the creepers, the swindlers, the complainers.  And likewise, before the fell into a deep recharge at night, broken both body and soul.  

19. Maybe Tomorrow Will Be Better (MTMTE) - Some days were worse than others.

Drift wasn’t a happy mech; he wasn’t exactly unique in that regard.  Most mechs had baggage – four million years of war would do that.  Drift knew this.  But that did exactly nothing to make him feel better.

20. Guilty Conscience (IDW 1)-  Wing had always had a little rebellious streak.  It had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count.  And yet, though it condemned him on a weekly basis, it was also his second most valuable trait, after his compassion.  

I sure did forget I’d written some of these. Bummed I didn’t make it far enough back to get any of my big Shockblurr stuff up here, ‘cuz I still really like those ones. Also, I like the lone non-TF fic sitting in there (we ignore the OW one).

Feel free to do this if you want. I am too anxious a bean to tag.

[petitelepus]

Take it, Break it, Fix it, Repeat it, Part 1

Okay, this story is like 2 years old, but thanks to certain someone amazing I got a passion to try and continue it.

You and Blurr are agents together working to capture evil Decepticons. Two of you make a great team, tagging along and enjoying each others company. So much even that you two end up as lovers. Blurr wants to take you with him to see stars and his home planet once you two have escaped these damn Decepticons and reported back to your Officer Longarm Prime. What could possibly go wrong?

Where were you? Everything hurt and you couldn’t see or move your arms or legs. Were you in an accident? You couldn’t remember…

”Wake up! Oh Primus, please, please please don’t be dead…! I need you to wake up..! Please…!”

That voice? It was so fearful it was nearly hysterical… But you knew that voice. The fast pace of the speech and the constant urgency…! You recognized it as your alien robot lover. You forced your eyes open with pure willpower and saw the dark ceiling that greeted you.

You were so dazed, dark spots dancing in your blurry vision. You blinked, trying to shoo those darn spots away. Slowly, your head lolled from side to side as you looked what was bidding you.

You were strapped to a metallic table, your arms and legs bound to table with leather cuffs. You tried to lift your hand, but the cuff held like steel, only letting you raise it a couple of inches. Then you saw something blue from the corner of your eye and turned to look.

”Blurr…!” You gasped, your voice raspy after some time spent being unconscious. He was on his knees on the floor, his servos bound together by stasis cuffs, used by Elite Guards to restrain criminals. As soon as he heard your voice his helm whipped up and his bright blue optics widened in joy to see you moving.

He called your name in relief when he noticed you moving and tried get up to run to you, only to be yanked back by a strong chain that tied him to the floor. He managed to keep his footing, but your heart was nearly shattered by the broken look on his face for not making it to you when you needed him. So he took one step of time towards you until his chain wouldn’t let him come any closer.

”Hey, sweetie…” He whispered, barely keeping his habit of speaking quickly in check. He knew you needed to take it slowly now. ”Sweetspark, oil bunny, energon heart…! Are you alright? You aren’t hurt anywhere…?”

You groaned slowly and shook your head. ”No… I’m just sore… What happened?”

”You don’t remember…?”

You shook your head, winching a little at the jolt of pain in your neck. You couldn’t read what Blurr was feeling, but it was close to sadness and relief. ”We went together to report our discovery of Decepticon Spy that had penetrated into Cybertronian Elite Guards… When sir Longarm Prime attacked us and-”

”-You saved me…” You finished for him. The pieces of started to come together. You and Blurr were in a hurry, but you didn’t fail to salute your officer like good agents did. When you had brought it to his knowledge that you two had managed to get a voice sample of traitor Decepticon, Sir Longarm Prime had transformed into an enormous tank and shot at you two.

Tears sprang to your eyes. Blurr was fast, but you could have seen it coming. He did and instead of running to safety he had rushed to you and taken hit for you. You looked at him and saw how his armor was dented in some places, there was a sharp piece of his helm missing, his paint had been burnt off from some places and he looked like he had gone through hell.

You automatically tried to raise your hand to wipe the tears from your eyes, but the leather cuff held you in your place. Instead, you just let the tears drop and roll down your cheeks. Blurr immediately panicked. ”Are you alright, what’s wrong, please tell me, I'll make it better...!”

”It’s nothing…!” You sniffled. ”You could have saved yourself and warned others, but you saved me instead…! I feel so useless…!”

The chains rattled as Blurr tried to get as close to you as possible, twisting so his back was to you, but he was able to stretch his arms and look at you over his shoulder. ”No No no NO no NO NO NO! I would always save you, NO matter what, always! I’m fast, I was able to save you, I’ll keep protecting you until the end until we are saved and after that!”

You sobbed, a new wave of tears emerging. ”W- why did Sir Longarm Prime attack us…?”

”Not Longarm Prime.” Came a new, no, a familiar voice. You recognized that voice. You and Blurr had together reported to him everything you ever discovered or did something for Autobots’ sake. But the mech you saw wasn’t the Prime you both served and honored.

A giant Transformer with a purple paint job, enormous hands with three sharp claws on each hand, face as dark as a black hole and one lonely red optic gleamed at you and Blurr from the other side of your cell’s bars.

”Decepticon Shockwave! Where are we!?” Blurr demanded an answer bravely. Shockwave didn’t reply immediately, first, he got himself a keycard and unlocked your cell’s door. ”You’re both at an old abandoned underground brig. This place was abandoned and forgotten during the war when Decepticons bombed and raided all the energon sources. Only me and a handful of us know about this place.”

No one knew about this place? By us, he must have meant other Desepticons. You glanced at Blurr, tears forming again. Wouldn’t you be able to get out of here? What was going to happen to you? Was he going to torture you two for information or just keep you locked up in here until everyone stopped asking after you?

”I must thank you, agent Blurr. You brought me a perfect sample of this organic species that reside on Earth. You did a good job.” Shockwave said as he stepped inside the cell. He left the door open. You glanced at your lover. If he could get out of that chain he could have a chance to escape. God, you hoped that he could somehow get out of that chain…!

”Deception Shockwave, I insist, NO, I demand you let the human go! She has nothing to do with our war! In fact, she has nothing to do with either you or me! She hasn’t done harm to either one of us so therefore she is innocent and free to leave without you trying to assault her!” Blurr was talking so quickly, he was so agitated and angry.

”Now that’s where you are wrong agent Blurr. She is the reason why you’re both still alive and not dead.”

”W- why…?” You whimpered, afraid to speak, but you couldn’t help yourself. ”Why me…? I- I don’t know anything…!”

”Wrong yet again. You organics are rather simple-minded and that wasn’t a compliment.” Shockwave walked closer and looked at Blurr. ”The moment that fool Sentinel allowed her to help you, agent Blurr, you Autobots had doomed her."

”B- but you approved my application to let her help us yourself!” Blurr called out in confusion before he froze. You watched in terror as his optics widened and coolant started to appear on the corner of his optic as the realization hit him. ”You tricked me! You wanted me to bring her here all along! You were the one who talked Sentinel over to approve her application!”

”Sentinel is an arduous disappointment, letting his foolish pride take the control of himself. He wants to be a Magnus so badly he will happily deceive fellow Autobots, head his helm first into the battle and doesn’t plan anything.” The Decepticon scoffed so hard that you could almost see how he looked beside not having a face.

”Sentinel despises organics. Humans. I find them intriguing. I’ve dedicated my whole existence for our Lord Megatron and a moment ago while you two were still unconscious he granted me my one selfish wish.” Shockwave looked at you and you shivered as his optic zoomed in on you. ”You.”

”No…! You wouldn’t!” You weren’t sure if it was you or Blurr who yelled, maybe you two yelled together.

”Yes. I have always been intrigued by other life forms. I have harvested viruses and massive weapons destruction… But having a real pet for the first time is just too appealing for me to pass.” Shockwave walked up to you and you shivered under his red optic, freezing on your place.

”A human femme that I get to analyze and observe. I find this subject most interesting. I want to know everything about your kind and then…!” He raised his servo towards you and you flinched and covered your eyes in fear. To your lesser fear he just moved your hair out of your face with his sharp claw. ”I will take you apart and to your limits…!”

”Y- you can’t! I’m not a guinea pig or a dead frog ready to be sliced open! Y- you can’t do it…!” Your voice broke down as tears rose to your eyes in pure terror of what the maniac war criminal before you had planned for you. Blurr saw your distress and glared at the menacing purple mech, pulling against his rattling chains. ”Shockwave, I demand you to let her go! You’re scaring her with that nonsense!”

”Don’t worry, I won’t open her up just yet. As much as I would love to experience human organs first hand, that has to wait. I have some tests I want to run through her first.” Shockwave confirmed your worst fears real and you choked on your sobs.

Could this really be Sir Longarm Prime who you two had looked up to all the time? Was it all fake? Those kind smiles, a nod of approvals and praises when you both did something better than expected? You couldn’t think about it without bursting to new tears.

The cruel Decepticon ignored your cries and turned to look at Blurr. ”As what comes to you agent Blurr… You brought me human, but now your services are no longer needed.”

It all happened so quickly. You screamed as Shockwave made his way to your lover. Blurr backed away as far as the chain would let him and when he was on Decepticon’s reach, he ran around him faster than your or anyone's eyes could see. You knew he wasn’t going to let himself be taken away from you.

Shockwave somehow tutted at him, bent down and with a flick of his servo broke the chain off from the ring on the ground and he yanked hard. Blurr fell head first on the ground, the hit stunning him and you cried out his name, fearing for his safety. The larger mech pulled the chain with both if his servos, cruelly dragging the blue speedster across the hard cold ground, his leftover paint job leaving streaks on the ground.

”No! Let him go, don’t touch him! Please, please don’t hurt him!” You screamed as Shockwave picked up your lover over his arm and walked to the cell’s door. Blurr shouted and kicked, but he was no match for the bigger mech.

You cried after them as the cell’s door was slammed shut and you were left alone to battle against your restrains. You screamed and screamed, your voice echoing in the vast empty prison halls until your voice gave out. You fell limply on the table, exhausted by all the things you had to take in in such a short while sucking your strength. You started crying and praying for all the Gods you knew and Primus.

Please, please, let someone come to us…! Please don’t let us die here…! Please don’t let my Blurr die…!

[weaveroftruth]

Love Style: Jade Kenor

(Screenshot by @velarishiku)

You agreed most often with statements pointing to a unselfish relationship style.

When you are in a relationship, you tend to be a giver. That means that your needs often come second to your partner’s, and you tend to assume the best of them and their actions. Your relationships are marked by nurturing, kindness and sacrifice.

After that, your opinions most strongly suggest a best friendsrelationship style.

You tend to take your time to realize you are in love, because when your relationship style is best friends, caring and working together over time is what helps builds the bonds in your relationship. Your relationships are marked by feelings of deep affection.

Quiz

Tagged by: @chammakchallo-o

Tagging: @clouded-vxle @tales-of-wanderer-sal @valiant-flower-kamelia @gaggle-of-dorks-ffxiv @holyja @idanwyn @jurien-ashur @kha-merc-ffxiv @nocturnedreaming @whiterosekitsune @casimirlebeau @desertwildcatte @primus-medicus @fey-illumination (If you’ve been tagged before, feel free to ignore!)

[roseymoseyberry]

Juxtapositional Affection (gift fic)

Happy new year, y’all! Starting it off with a @secretsolenoid​ for Libby! Honestly all their prompts were *chef kiss* but I couldn’t help being drawn to their Rodimus/Thunderclash one asking for “Roddy finally getting some love and appreciation because LL 25 made me sad”

Because listen. I’ve wanted to write these boys for a while. And LL 25 also made me sad and I’m always ready to write fix-it fic for it at the drop of a hat.

So to you, Libby, you wonderful brilliant mind you. I hope you like it!!

Franchise: TFIDW/MTMTE/LL

Ship: Rodimus/Thunderclash

Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for some references to interface (but it doesn’t happen in the fic), swearing, and some drinking of robot alcohol. Other warnings/relevant tags include Lost Light 25 spoilers and hurt/comfort (heavy on the comfort)

Link to read it over on AO3!

Summary:

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“What? That I could manage to under and oversell myself? Because I assure you it’s very possible.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to oversell yourself, Rodimus. You’re incredible.”

“May I join you?”

Rodimus’s helm shot up from where it had dipped while lost in his thoughts, vision blurry for a second before his optics found focus. He already knew who he was looking at even before they had though. To say that Thunderclash’s color choices were distinctive was, by Rodimus’s estimate, an understatement.

Suited his name at least.

Rodimus snorted, amused by his own thought.

“Would be rude of me to say no at this point, wouldn’t it?” Rodimus said dismissively as he turned back to his untouched drink on the bar.

Thunderclash didn’t jump at the opening. He didn’t move much at all in fact, still just standing there.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Can’t be worse company than drinking alone.”

“Nevertheless, it wasn’t my intension to--”

Rodimus pinched the bridge of his nose and ex-vented tiredly before cutting Thunderclash off, saying, “Just sit down. Or don’t. I really don’t care.”

A lie, judging by the small kernel of elation that bloomed in his chest when Thunderclash pulled the stool next to him out to sit on, but Thunderclash didn’t need to know that. Frankly, nobody needed to know how lonely Rodimus had become that he was happy to be with Thunderclash of all mechs.

Rodimus tipped his helm back and emptied his drink in one go to chase the thought away. It burned, but he didn’t mind so much by the time he was finished and slammed the cube down with a clatter.

Thunderclash was watching him with bright optics and a small little frown pulling at his full lips.

Instead of voicing concern though, he wisely asked a more general, “How have you been, Rodimus?”

Rodimus shrugged, fiddling with his now empty cube with one servo while he braced his cheek on the other.

“Oh, you know. Taking a break from divine quests to do some soul searching, and when that becomes too mind-numbingly depressing I take breaks by helping with Megatron’s trial, which is just a barrel of fun. So, you know. Fine. You?”

Rodimus had expected the frown to deepen; to receive an earful of overly sympathetic prattle; to have pity roll over him like the worst kind of flood.

But, instead, Thunderclash huffed with understanding.

“Just about the same, though without the trial. Instead I’ve used my soul-searching breaks to plan a way out of it altogether since I’m not sure I can take much more.”

Rodimus blinked before lifting his helm off his servo, asking, “A plan? You find another map in another Matrix or something?”

It was a joke, but Rodimus knew he sounded more hopeful than he had intended.

But Thunderclash shook his helm.

“No, nothing so divine as that. Just a ship and contacts who would be able to connect me with jobs that need doing.”

Rodimus put the cube down and turned on his stool to face Thunderclash. His knees brushed against the other mech’s thigh, but Rodimus paid it little mind as he said, “Wait, wait, wait. You’re planning on become some sort of spacefaring errand boy?”

Thunderclash actually looked a bit abashed as he confirmed, “I wouldn’t put it that way, but I suppose so. At least until something more substantial comes along.” It was only when Thunderclash lifted his cube to his lips, no doubt looking for a chance to better gather his thoughts, that Rodimus happened to notice it.

Thunderclash’s cube was already rather small – a cocktail of some sort – but in Thunderclash’s large hand it was nearly comical.

Apparently comical enough that Rodimus caught himself snickering tipsily. When Thunderclash looked back at him, frowning, Rodimus realized how it must have come across, and stammered, “No, that’s not – it’s not the errand boy thing. It’s your servos and how small the cube looks in ‘em. It just struck me as funny, and ho boy, the timing of noticing that could not have been worse, huh?”

Thunderclash blinked at him again before, softly and warmly, chuckling as he lifted his servo.

“I suppose I do look rather silly, don’t I?”

“Very. Also, that cube looks way too small in your servo,” Rodimus quipped, and when that just got another startled chuckle, he added, “Also, I’m overcharged so you really can’t hold anything I’m saying against me anyway.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” Thunderclash replied, lifting the drink to sip from again.

Maybe it was the engex settling in, but Rodimus’s frame eased a little bit, his spark warming with the surprisingly pleasant company.

Yeah, it had to be the engex.

It definitely wasn’t the very idea that maybe he and Thunderclash had something in common.

“So. Spacefaring errand boy. You think that gig is gonna be enough to keep your mind off the horror that is soul searching?” Rodimus asked.

Thunderclash didn’t reply right away. He tilted his helm a bit as he put his cube down, the lines of his face straightening as he gave it serious thought.

And alright. Yes. He was handsome.

“I don’t know for certain that it will be,” Thunderclash admitted as he peered down at his drink, “but, for as painful as it can be, the soul searching did reveal some things.”

“Yeah? What did that particular torture session manage to pull out?”

Thunderclash’s lips curled just enough to be considered a smile, though to call it a happy expression was a stretch. “I realized that yes, certainly, I would prefer to have a more important goal than simply running errands. I feel more at ease when I know my task is meaningful and true. But more than that, I think…” Thunderclash trailed off for a moment, optics glancing at Rodimus briefly before returning to his cube, the smile slipping away. “I think that’s all that those things gave me. If I’m following Primus, or the Autobot cause, or moral obligation, there is reassurance that I’m doing good. There’s no room for my own doubts.”

Rodimus swore his spark was choking him.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I suspect that the grandiosity of the goals has never been truly why I enjoyed my quests. Rather, the journey and the ones I shared it with – that, above anything else, is truly what I loved.”

There was silence then – well, as silent as a half-filled bar could be considering the din of conversation and laughter that drifted around them. But none of it could truly penetrate the tension that hung between them.

And then Thunderclash huffed an ex-vent, apologetic as he said, “I hadn’t meant to get so serious.”

“No, no, that’s--” Rodimus closed his mouth, swallowed, and then reached up to rub the back of his neck as he said, “I get it. I—yeah. I get it. I really get it.”

Thunderclash finally looked up, their optics meeting, and—

And he smiled.

“I had hoped you might understand.”

And Rodimus laughed, short and genuine, shaking his helm as he spun in his seat back towards the bar.

“What?”

Rodimus looked back at Thunderclash sidelong as he lifted his servo, waving down the bartender. If his night was going to involve spiraling down a drain of commiseration with Thunderclash about getting planet bound while simultaneously trying to ignore how Thunderclash was actually relatable and consequently suddenly so much more attractive, then he was going to need another drink. “What ‘what’?”

“What do you find so funny about that?”

“I told you. I’m overcharged. Can’t be held accountable for what I say or any inappropriate laughing.”

“I can still ask why though, can’t I?”

Rodimus shrugged as his attention was halved between Thunderclash and the bartender down the line. “Another of the same,” he asked, and the bartender nodded in understanding. But then their optics drifted to Rodimus’s drinking partner, going wide and bright, and the bartender scrambled for the drink wall.

“You can, I guess,” Rodimus finally said as he turned back to Thunderclash. “Maybe I find the idea that a big fancy hero like you would want to relate with somebody like me to be funny.”

The space between Thunderclash’s optics furrowed as he frowned.

“What?”

Rodimus gestured with a thumb towards the bartender over his shoulder. “Take stuff like that. I’ve been here all night, no biggie, but right now? I can promise you that bartender is coming back with a free drink and it’s for you because one look and they’re swooning.”

Rodimus wasn’t sure exactly what he had thought Thunderclash’s response to that would be. But flustered hadn’t been it.

“No. No. That’s not true--”

Rodimus’s cube hit the bar along with a little cube just like the one Thunderclash already held in his servo, served with a wide, spellbound smile.

Rodimus smirked in victory as Thunderclash looked between him and the bartender, thanking them before forcing shanix into their servo for the drink. He looked, of all things, slightly miserable. When finally the bartender was gone, Thunderclash frowned.

“Fine. I’ll admit there is a…” Thunderclash paused as he seemed to consider his words before finally saying, “An unwarranted hero worship that follows me around. But I think you sell yourself far too short, Rodimus.”

“Only when I’m not overselling myself,” Rodimus replied before sipping at his drink.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“What? That I could manage to under and oversell myself? Because I assure you it’s very possible.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to oversell yourself, Rodimus. You’re incredible.”

Rodimus nearly choked on his own oral lubricant. Thunderclash had sounded so genuine, and now looking at him, Thunderclash looked at him so genuinely.

Rodimus blinked, aware that his face was showcasing his surprise for the whole room to see.

“You’re serious.”

“Very.”

“I swear I’m not fishing for compliments, I just really need you to explain yourself. Immediately.”

Where Thunderclash had looked so torn about being doted upon, now he lit up like a new born star, optics bright and back straightening.

“Rodimus, you’re a Prime. You are literally so pure of spark that the Matrix accepted you wholly to make you a Prime. That alone should be proof enough that you’re an incredible mech.”

“That’s—that’s so not how it works. And besides, you’ve had the Matrix too.”

“As a carrier and a carrier alone,” Thunderclash was quick to argue, servo lifting to his chest. “It was certainly an honor to be entrusted with protecting such a holy relic, but I was a vessel for the Matrix and nothing more. I never communed with Primus like you have.”

Rodimus shifted on his stool, spark warming where it squirmed in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was from remembering how wonderful it had been communing with the Matrix, or if it was the sheer reverence with which Thunderclash looked at him.

“You could have if you’d wanted.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” Thunderclash said with a casual shake of his helm, sounding almost amused, as if Rodimus had made a joke.

Rodimus’s jaw dropped as he stared at Thunderclash’s face, realizing aloud, “Holy frag. This whole humble shtick of yours is actually real.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“What you are is neurotic and honestly? It’s kind of a relief,” Rodimus said, laughing in disbelief and shaking his head. Before Thunderclash could disagree though, Rodimus plowed ahead, saying, “But alright, fine, I’ll give you your Prime worship moment. That’s an easy pull though, so you’re gonna have to dig deeper than that if you want to convince me.”

“You say that like it’s a challenge,” Thunderclash replied, smiling warmly, sweetly, adoringly. He lifted one of his big servos, lifting a finger with each point as he started, “You’re endlessly brave, charismatic enough that your mere presence crushes personality ticks, strong enough to make hard decisions others would wilt under, determined and driven as hell--”

“Ok, ok, that’s enough--”

“—You’re a talented orator with so much earnestness to your speeches that you move mechs to do the impossible, you’re absolutely stunning to behold, your ability to withstand such high temperatures makes me very suspicious you must be an outlier of some sort--”

“Enough!” Rodimus insisted, shoving at Thunderclash’s shoulder even as he laughed, less from humor and more from the bubbling heat suffusing his frame from his spark outward, flattered and appreciated and flustered in turn. He was pretty sure if he let Thunderclash get any further, he would burst into flames right there in the middle of the bar. “You’re so embarrassing. And—did you just say that I’m hot?”

Thunderclash blinked, mouth closing and opening again, before he started, “I just pointed out that you’re able to withstand hot temperatures--”

“Before that.”

“You’re a talented orator--”

“Nuh uh, you’re not getting out of this one,” Rodimus insisted, grinning as he leaned sideways and elbowed Thunderclash. “Come on, let me savor it. It’s not every day The Thunderclash says you’re easy on the optics.”

Thunderclash’s gaze strayed from Rodimus’s face to where his servos fiddled with the small cube in their grasp.

“Very easy on the optics,” he finally confirmed as he glanced back at Rodimus again briefly. And Rodimus swore there was a small smile curling at the corner of Thunderclash’s lips.

It was a very cute smile.

Rodimus felt something flutter within him and the heat of his frame started to creep up his cheeks.

“Why, Captain Thunderclash, did you come over here with the intension of taking me home with you?” Rodimus asked, voice full of teasing demureness.

Thunderclash’s optics went wide, flaring as his servos clenched tight, completely encasing the cube within them as every inch of his frame screamed backtracking.

“No, that was not my intention.”

“Really? Because you look pretty nervous there, buddy,” Rodimus pushed, leaning closer so his shoulder pressed to Thunderclash’s arm, his knee grazing Thunderclash’s thigh. His optics were fully focused on his drinking partner now, intent on finding the actual answer to his question.

Thunderclash swallowed heavily before saying, “My personal affections, be they as they may, were not the reason I came here tonight.”

Rodimus stilled, his processor stalling on what was, essentially, an admittance wrapped up in a mystery.

And really, what did it say about him that Rodimus chose to follow the mystery instead of trying to come to terms with what Thunderclash’s ‘affections’ might entail?

“Then why did you?”

That actually made Thunderclash look even more nervous. After a moment of returning Rodimus’s gaze, he lifted the half-drunk cube in his servos and downed it in one large swallow. The cube was placed down much more gently than Rodimus’s had been, and then the second waiting cube was lifted and downed in two gulps.

Rodimus realized his optics must have gone wide and his jaw dropped from surprise.

Thunderclash’s optics were blazing with either engex or determination as he turned to face Rodimus fully.

“I want to ask you to join my ship.”

Rodimus blinked and his mouth moved soundlessly until he managed a weak, “What?”

“As my co-captain,” Thunderclash continued, his expression torn between hope and fear. “Whatever issues I may have had with who shared that position with you previously aside, it seems like a system I would like to try myself, and I would be honored if you joined me.”

“That’s…” Rodimus began before just as quickly he trailed off, not sure where to even begin. His processor whirled madly to understand while his spark throbbed in his chest hard enough it nearly hurt.

It seemed impossible.

It had to be impossible.

“That’s nice,” Rodimus started, forcing casual amusement into his tone as he tore his optics from Thunderclash’s to look at his drink, “But if you had wanted to frag, you really didn’t have to come up with this whole charade. The compliments were plenty enough to convince me.”

Thunderclash didn’t respond right away and Rodimus didn’t dare look at him. Every second that passed further cemented for Rodimus that that’s all this had been, an elaborate come on, nothing more--

“I do have feelings for you, Rodimus. To try to say otherwise would be a lie and that’s the last thing I intend to--”

Rodimus released his drink so he could drop his face into his servos, ex-venting exasperatedly as he interrupted, “Please don’t say it like that. You can just say you want to frag. Interface. Whatever.”

“But that’s not true,” Thunderclash insisted. “There is more to it than mere physical attraction.”

“Great. You wanna frag with feelings. And you know what?” Rodimus straightened up again, pinning Thunderclash with a pointed look, “Fine. Drop all this slag about ships and errands and being fragging co-captains. Just admit you’re picking me up and I’m all yours for the night. Deal?”

It didn’t work though.

If anything, Thunderclash’s frown deepened, his optics sad and frustrated and determined.

“I’m not fragging you tonight, Rodimus.”

Rodimus hated how the stern tone mixed with hearing Thunderclash curse actually had the very unintended effect of warming Rodimus’s systems. He really wouldn’t have minded at that point if they did frag. Found some dark corner and just felt something.

“You could. I’m saying yes.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Yeah, but what you say you’re asking is insane. And I know I called you neurotic earlier, but this is too much, even for you.”

Thunderclash’s mouth was a tight line, his gaze intense and calculating.

When he pushed his stool back and offered his servo, Rodimus assumed he had won, until Thunderclash said, “Come with me to the ship. See it for yourself.”

Rodimus looked down at the offered servo, so large that he realized his would probably look just as silly in it as the cube had.

It would look out of place.

But the large servo was warm and welcoming under Rodimus’s palm.

Thunderclash had insisted they walk instead of drive, citing their inebriation, and no amount of arguing would get him to shift into his alt mode. So finally Rodimus had settled for walking next to him.

It was late, but an early late – any mechs who didn’t have plans to be out for the night would be at home already, and any mech who did plan to be out wouldn’t be leaving to go home for hours yet. Besides the occasional group moving from one bar to another, Rodimus and Thunderclash were alone as they made their way across the neighborhoods.

And once Rodimus stopped questioning Thunderclash’s intentions, conversation became pleasant again. They talked about their shared acquaintances and friends, about travelling in space and the various shenanigans they had each gotten up to in those good old days, about how different Cybertron was, how difficult it was to find a place in it all.

Rodimus had almost been surprised when an actual ship appeared in front of them.

“It doesn’t have a name yet,” Thunderclash said as he palmed a panel beside the entrance. “I tend to overthink things like that and get wordy, so I hope you’ll do the honors.”

Rodimus snorted, still a bit tipsy as he looked up at the ship.

“So we’re really still acting like I’m going to be in there any longer than it takes to frag my processor out?”

Thunderclash sighed but didn’t bother to comment as he stepped back to gesture Rodimus go inside.

It was no Lost Light – or Vis Vitalis for that matter – but the ship was in, well, shipshape. New as far as Rodimus could see. If it wasn’t, it had been repaired and cleaned so thoroughly that it might as well have been. Approximately half the size of the Lost Light but it didn’t feel at all claustrophobic.

It was nice.

It looked like opportunity.

“Tell me you didn’t pay money for this old junker,” Rodimus teased despite himself. Even if Thunderclash couldn’t see through his sarcasm by now, the way that Rodimus looked around with wide optics as he let his digit tips trail along the wall no doubt would have.

Thunderclash was beaming from cheek to cheek when Rodimus happened to look back at him.

“It’s nice to be back on a ship again, isn’t it?”

“The only way it could be better is if you’d had the artificial gravity activated,” Rodimus admitted as he made his own way down the hallway, directionless but still quite sure he could find the bridge with quick, long strides. Every fiber of his being insisted he had to find the bridge immediately. “I don’t care how many smartaft scientists try to tell me it’s impossible to feel a difference. You so can.”

“It feels less… restrictive.”

Rodimus whipped around in the middle of the hallway, unperturbed when Thunderclash nearly walked into him, too busy grinning as he pointed up at Thunderclash.

“Yes! That’s it exactly! Primus, it’s like you’re in my fragging head,” Rodimus said before laughing and spinning on his heels again. “While you’re in there, mind telling me where the damn bridge is? I have to see that bridge.”

“You’re heading the right way. Just turn left at the fork,” Thunderclash explained as his heavy pedesteps thudded behind Rodimus again. He sounded nearly as excited as Rodimus did.

And then, finally, there it was.

Clean, spotless even, with consoles aplenty and cushioned chairs at each. Three large dark panes of glass dominated the entirety of the front half of the room, darkened by the shutters drawn across them while the ship was docked. But out in space—

Rodimus hadn’t realized he was moving until he was stood at the main console, digits light against the edges, resting where they would have were this his Lost Light. But his optics were wholly enchanted by the shuttered windows.

Because out in space those very windows would be filled with hundreds upon thousands upon millions of stars and planets and nebulae and galaxies, all glittering with their brilliant light, setting the the vast vacuum of space ablaze with their siren call.

And his spark felt full to bursting with the desperate longing to answer them.

“Do you like it?”

Rodimus managed to tear his gaze away to glance over his shoulder. Thunderclash stood to the side and just behind him, servos tucked behind the small of his back, watching him with optics bright with anticipation.

And Rodimus’s could feel his intake constrict with emotion.

“It’s beautiful.”

Thunderclash’s face lit up bright enough it could have been a glittering star all its own.

“It could be yours. Ours.”

And Rodimus swore his spark was going supernova.

“Holy frag. You’re actually serious.”

Thunderclash stepped up to his side and reached out his palm to the console. Immediately the computer whirred to life and the screen blinked on, welcoming Captain Thunderclash before starting to run diagnostics and spit out reports on the ship’s current status.

Not once did Thunderclash look away from Rodimus.

“I’ve already altered the program to accept a second captain. I’ll register you in the computer right now if that’s what you wish.”

Rodimus looked down at the console and Thunderclash’s large servo still pressed against it. His would look so small in comparison, but the console would accept him nonetheless. The ship would accept him.

His digits twitched where they just skimmed the edges.

“Why?” Rodimus finally asked, doubt and fear sparking into nameless frustration as he turned back to Thunderclash. “This ship is yours. Mechs will trip over themselves to join Thunderclash’s crew. In no time at all you could be off this planet and out there--” Rodimus gestured out towards the windows, out at the view they would have when the ship was where it belonged, “—and it would be all yours. The ship and the crew and the journey, all yours. Why would you want to share that with a disaster like me? Why would you want to tell anyone you share a ship with Rodimus Prime?”

But Thunderclash didn’t crumple this time. Yes, there was sorrow that marred the curve of his lips, but his optics were stern and his servo fisted against the screen.

“Because you’re incredible, Rodimus,” Thunderclash insisted, as if there was no room for argument.

And Rodimus didn’t know what else to do but lash out, snapping, “Oh, shut up,” because he couldn’t have this, didn’t deserve this. “You don’t know anything about me.”

When Rodimus tried to move his servos away from the console, to storm out, to leave this beautiful ship in Thunderclash’s big sure servos, one of those very servos darted from its place on the console to grasp his wrist.

“I know that life has been cruel to you,” Thunderclash blurted out. There was a simmering anger behind his words, but it wasn’t at Rodimus, not with the sad slant as of his features. It wouldn’t have taken much to slip from his grasp. “I can’t even begin to understand what it’s like to be you, Rodimus. But I can look at the facts, follow the sequence of events in your life, and see that you’ve been dealt a harsh life with impossible choices. No one would blame a mech for being crushed under the weight of any one of the burdens given to you, and yet  you’ve endured them all and you’re still here, and you’re still full of a youthfulness and drive that the rest of us have long lost, and that’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

Rodimus realized he should do something. Talk, or move, or something. But he was frozen to the spot, processor and spark stalling.

Thunderclash’s servo was so warm where it carefully cradled his wrist, and it was the only anchor Rodimus could find to keep him in the moment.

“How – how do you know?” When Thunderclash just made a soft inquiring noise, Rodimus managed to clarify, “My life. How would you know it was—was--?”

“I’ve admired you for quite a while, Rodimus,” Thunderclash interrupted, his servo squeezing in what might have been comfort. If Rodimus didn’t know better, he’d say that Thunderclash almost looked a little embarrassed. “I’ve—well. I guess you could say I’ve been a—an admirer since I first heard about you during the war.”

Rodimus stared at him.

And then, from somewhere deep down, Rodimus burst into laughter.

“Wait, you’re a fan? Are you fragging kidding me?” Rodimus asked, shaking his helm in disbelief.

And Thunderclash did continue to look more bashful -- and that alone was insane, that Thunderclash was bashful about him – but still he confirmed, “That would be a way to put it, I suppose.”

“You’re crazy. This is crazy. You’re Thunderclash. People keep signed and framed photos of you! The Big War Hero Thunderclash cannot, in any conceivable universe or timeline, be a fan of me. And I’m kind of an expert since I’ve been to a few so you can take my word on that.”

Thunderclash didn’t look the least bit convinced. In fact, he simply shrugged.

“I doubt that very much since it was only timing and circumstance that gave me my fame,” Thunderclash said, as if it were nothing. As if he wasn’t dismissing all the fanfare and hero worship that surrounded him as nothing but luck. “I had a long time to work through the mistakes of youth before the war was even on the horizon, and then my failures in war were accommodated because they were surrounded by similar one and thus lost in most mechs’ memories. I never had the sort of impossible decisions handed to me that you had, and so early in your life too.”

Emotion was back in Rodimus’s intake with a vengeance, threatening to choke him.

“You’re crazy.”

And Thunderclash simply smiled.

“I have little doubt that in different circumstance you could have easily surpassed my fame by megamiles. And in my opinion, you should have. You deserve it, not me.”

Thunderclash’s servo had relaxed enough around Rodimus’s wrist that the heel of his palm covered the back of Rodimus’s and his smallest digit brushed the heel of Rodimus’s palm. It was nothing for Rodimus to close his digits around that digit like a lifeline.

“I’ve done awful things.”

“We all have, Rodimus.”

“No, not just – not just fighting and killing. I mean—Nyon—”

Thunderclash’s grip tightened, squeezing comfortingly.

“An impossible decision with no right answer. Anyone who tries to guess what they might have done is full of slag.”

Rodimus was pretty sure his choked laugh sounded a little too much like a sob as he said, “Wow, first frag, now slag? Who knew Mister Big Hero had such a filthy mouth.”

Thunderclash’s chest was warm where Rodimus’s forehelm thudded against it and it didn’t move away which was a good sign. The way Thunderclash’s servo slowly and hesitantly moved from Rodimus’s wrist to his elbow was even better.

“So. You really don’t lie, huh?”

“I don’t make it a habit, no.”

“So you really want me to co-captain this ship with you.”

“I do.”

“And it’s not just because you’re disgustingly in love with me.”

Thunderclash’s spark throbbed hard enough for Rodimus to feel echoing through his chest and it brought a wobbly smile to his face.

“Gross. I can’t believe you’re in love with me. That’s so embarrassing.”

“I didn’t say that was true!”

“You give good hugs, Thunderclash?”

There was a beat, silence save for the softest whisper of a buzz from the ship computer.

Then Rodimus was pulled in close to Thunderclash by powerful arms and those huge servos wrapped around his back and his shoulder. Rodimus was tucked in to the angles and planes of Thunderclash’s frame, held tightly and warmly, and that hold only tightened when Rodimus slipped his own arms around Thunderclash to grasp at his back.

Thunderclash didn’t say a word about the slight tremors that raced through Rodimus as, slowly but surely, the emotions that had a vice grip around his spark melted away.

And even then, Rodimus lingered, basking in the gladly given affection.

“So?” Thunderclash murmured, gentle even as his voice hinted at teasing. “Your verdict?”

Rodimus shifted the barest amount possible to allow him to look up at Thunderclash. The larger mech’s back was bent so he was curved the slightest big over Rodimus.

“Not bad. I’m sure you’ll get it with some more practice.”

Thunderclash’s chest rumbled when he chuckled and Rodimus decided he really liked that.

“Now, I’m not a vain mech, but I know this is one area where I am actually rather talented, so I think you may be lying,” Thunderclash said.

Rodimus snorted in turn, but he relented, “Fine, fine, you win.”

And the resulting gorgeous slant of Thunderclash’s mouth when it was Rodimus he was smiling at was breathtaking.

It made him want to kiss Thunderclash stupid.

So Rodimus pushed up onto the tips of his pedes and did just that.

Thunderclash’s ventilations came to a sputtering stop. When Rodimus pulled back, Thunderclash’s optics were still wide open and overbright, his mouth slightly agape.

“I accept,” Rodimus said, and Thunderclash blinked stupidly at him.

“Accept?”

“The ship. Co-captaining. Keep up, won’t you?” Rodimus teased as he stepped back and out of the cradle of Thunderclash’s arms. “As far as that crush of yours goes, you still got some work ahead of you, buddy. I’m not an easy prize to win.”

Thunderclash still looked shell-shocked as he managed, “No, I… I suppose not.”

Since the console was still logged in on Thunderclash’s account, it was easy for Rodimus to tap at the screen to bring up the crew list. As promised, there was a second, empty slot for Captain, so Rodimus typed in his own name and pressed his servo to the screen.

And just like that, the ship accepted him and hummed nearly inaudibly as it began to build his account.

“So,” Thunderclash started, and Rodimus turned back to him to find that at least some of the mech’s senses had come back to him. In fact, there was the slightest of curls to his dumb beautiful mouth as he continued, “No fragging tonight?”

Rodimus laughed hard enough that his vents wheezed.

“Primus, Thunderclash, give it a break and stop hounding me for my spike for a second, would you?!” Rodimus said with what had to be the dumbest grin on his face as he grabbed Thunderclash by the servo and tugged him back towards the door leaving the bridge. “That said though, I do need to see those captain quarters of yours. If I’m moving in, I have to know ahead of time if I’m commandeering them or if we’re gonna have to remodel a couple other rooms to make my captain suite.”

“Oh?” Thunderclash asked, easily falling into step behind Rodimus.

And maybe Rodimus’s servo was small in Thunderclash’s, but it still fit just perfectly.

[updatesatbase]

Rules

-No Godmod

-NSFW if written will be under read-more

-Mun =/= Muse

-Do not reblog threads that don't involve you

-Please do not reply to a thread you are not part off.(Mun is terrible at threads including multiply people) But not serious crack/silly threads is fine.

-Don't copy my Starscream HC -For the love of Primus do not scroll down my blog and mass like multiply post in the span of seconds. It swarms up my notifications.

-Triggers will be tagged trigger tw

-OC please have an info page/ will NOT RP with OC inserts.

-Do not guilt or pressure me into stuff (you will be ignored/blocked)

-I do not own you a reply and you do not own me a reply.

-It's okay to drop threads, we can always start something new

Shipping

-More willing to do shipping with Canon muses Mun knows.

-Willing to discuss things with muses who claims sparklings.

-Anything you try too force will be ignored.

-Will NOT do Human/Cybertronian. This is not open for debate.

[starvonnie]

The Scavengers Save Christmas (After Accidentally Destroying It)

@4theroyalty (I can’t seem to tag you for some reason?) I was your @tformers-secret-santa!  I wrote you a little Scavengers Christmas fic.  This was my first time writing any of them and I had a lot of fun.  I hope you like it!

Krok groaned as he picked himself up off the floor.  “What the hell, Misfire!”

“Why’re you blaming me?  Crankcase’s the one piloting!”

“Oh, yes, because I’m sure he had complete control when you yanked the wheel from his hands!”

“If he had just landed like I’d asked him to, then we wouldn’t be in this situation, now would we?” He crossed his arms haughtily.

Krok helped Crankcase to disentangle himself from the wheel and the dashboard.  “Pretty sure, ‘Ooohh pretty light’ does not equate to, ‘Hey, Crankcase, can we land here and look around?  It looks interesting.’”  He glared at Misfire who waved him off.

“We’re all alive.  No harm done.”

“Or we’ll know once we check on Spinister, Fulcrum, and Grimlock.  Remember them?  Usually we include them in that ‘we.’”

Misfire waved him off again. “Fulcrum survived not-exploding. Spinister… I’m sure he’s fine.  And Grimlock’s a dinobot.  He can take it.”

With a growling sigh Krok made his way to the back of the ship where the rest of the Scavengers had powered down.  Had, in its past tense, being the most important part of that sentence.  While he was gone Crankcase just gave Misfire the same scowl he always did.

“I’m gonna go check on the thing we hit,” Misfire said.  “Think we might find some energon here?”

Crankcase didn’t move. Either because he was mad, or facial paralysis had him again.

Misfire gave him a thumbs up and a wink and went on his way.

Outside the ship, he followed the trail of carnage back to the huge hole they’d left in a building. Quaint little thing.  Made of this “wood” the humans liked.  There were some bits of metal among the destruction, but that could have come from their ship.  The rest of the wreckage was brightly coloured and much of it was on fire.

He was moments from shrugging and turning around, when he heard someone groan.  Just to the side of the scar in the ground lay a very large human dressed head-to-toe in red.  With more hair on a single human head than Misfire had ever seen.  His leg stuck out at an angle that Misfire had learned was not right for a human.

“Oh, frag.  Krok’s not gonna like this.”  Clearing his throat, he said, “Hey, buddy, you alright there?”

The man shielded himself as best he could.  “Please don’t hurt me.  I’m just trying to deliver toys to the children!”

“You’ll be okay. Humans are resilient, right?”  Oh, god, please tell me I’ve got my species right.

He just groaned once more, took one look at his leg and passed out.  Misfire considered poking him to make sure he was just unconscious and hadn’t, y’know, died, but Krok came running up to him, shouting, “What the frag did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! He was like this when I got here, I swear!”

“You crashed the ship, the ship hit him, therefore you did it,” Krok argued.

“Don’t you ‘therefore’ me!”

Krok gave a growling sigh and face-palmed.  “Okay, let’s see if there’s anyone around to help him.  And thanks to someone, we’ll need parts to repair our ship.”

Misfire pouted and crossed his arms, but followed Krok to the building they didn’t destroy, the rest of the Scavengers catching up with them. As they approached it, they found a whole village beyond that, but this building was by far the biggest and looked like the only one with a door big enough for them to get through.  Whether or not it was locked didn’t really matter, because it opened.  The scene before them found a bunch of tiny creatures working away on an assembly line.

Misfire gasped.  “The humans… they’re even tinier!”

And with their shrunken bodies, came their higher-pitched voices, screaming as they scrambled.  A few ran into their feet and managed to knock themselves out.  The more cowardly ones ran out the back door while a brave one stopped a handful of them and convinced them to hold their ground.

“Hey, uh, take me to your leader?” Misfire said.

“Maybe start with ‘we come in peace,’” Krok suggested.

Fulcrum cleared his throat. “Pretty sure ‘bodily injury’ and ‘peace’ don’t go hand in hand.”

“Who are you and what do you want?” one of the humans—was it a human?—spoke up.

“We kinda crashed our ship, but y’know, no biggie.”  Misfire shrugged.  “We’ll just need energon and then we’ll be on our way.”

“We also,” Krok shoved Misfire out of the way after giving him a look, “unfortunately, hit someone when we crashed our ship.  He’s alive but his leg is damaged.”

Ignoring Krok’s please, for the love of Primus, shut up, looks, Misfire chimed in, “Yeah, big red guy. Lots of hair.  So much hair.  He’s gotta, like, shave or something.”

“YOU BROKE SANTA’S LEG?!”  Somehow, this tiny little thing managed to make such a big noise.

“Is that his name?”

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” another fretted.  “Who’s going to deliver the presents?”

“Presents, you say?”  Misfire lifted an interested optic ridge.

“Not now, Misfire!” Krok hissed, shoving him back.  He knelt down and asked, “What is all this?  Why is this ‘Santa’ so important?”

“It’s Christmas,” a shy voice spoke up.  “Santa delivers presents all over the world to all the good children.”

“Guess that leaves us out,” Crankcase said.

“What are we going to do?” This worry brought the other creatures out of the woodwork.  Wherever they had run to was clearly close enough to eavesdrop.

Misfire, ever unable to shut up, said, “I’m sure we can do whatever it is he does.  He’s human so we should be able to get it done in no time.”

Krok face-palmed while all the little creatures’ faces lit up.  

“You will?” the first and most confident of them said.

“Well, uh, we would, but we need our ship repaired first,” Krok said.  He was going to go on and apologize and then try to put this whole weird scene behind them, but it got even weirder when, in almost perfect unison, every one of these tiny things pulled some sort of tool out of their pocket.

“So, where’s the ship?”

 Every Scavenger, or at least every Scavenger with a mouth, had it hanging open as they watched them work. Whatever they were, they certainly weren’t humans.  Humans took years to even comprehend Cybertronian technology, and here these things were, not only understanding it in mere minutes, but fixing it in even less time.  They didn’t even notice the ones walking over to them until they were speaking.

“So, here’s Santa’s route map, and the Naughty and Nice list—very important.  He checks it twice, and since there are five of you, you shouldn’t have any problems so—”

“Hold up.”  Misfire shook his helm.  The words came too fast for even him.  “What the frag are you?  Humans can’t do that.”

The one holding the stack of parchment shrugged.  “We’re elves. Building, and fixing, things is what we do.”

“Okay.  Cool.  Elves. Things that definitely exist outside of my weird dreamscape.”

The head elf rolled his eyes. “Anyways, here’s the list.  Nice children get presents, naughty children get coal in their stockings, you get the gist.”

“Yeah, sure we do,” Misfire said as he accepted the tiny lists and charts, fully convinced that he’d wake up from this in any moment.

Krok took them from him a moment later.  He squinted at the list, carefully unfolding it so he didn’t tear it.  “This is so many children.  How long do we have?”

“One night.”

“All in one night?”  Spinister looked alarmed.

Misfire shrugged.  “This Santa guy must be, like, a Velocitronian or something.”

“If we’re going to do this, we have to leave now and stop questioning the logistics behind it.”  Krok took a deep ventilation.  “Okay. Let’s go.  And everyone make sure to blame Misfire for roping us into this.”

They all groaned and shot Misfire angry looks.  Though, Crankcase didn’t look any different.

“We wouldn’t even be here if Crankcase hadn’t crashed the ship!”

Krok shouted, “You crashed the—argh!  Let’s just go.”

 With the help of five giant robots with their ten giant hands, the elves had them move Santa’s giant sack (stop snickering, Misfire) from the debris of the sleigh and onto their ship. They were set to go now, and the reindeer all sighed with relief at getting their one night of work off.

“Try not to crash it this time, okay Crankcase?”

Crankcase didn’t respond to Misfire’s comment, but his grump got just a little grumpier.

“Alright, let’s do this!” Misfire pulled a tiny little hat out of his subspace and finagled it onto one of his helm spikes.  To his credit, it only ripped a little bit.

“Please don’t tell me you stole that,” Krok said.

“Someone has to be Santa,” Misfire pointed out.  “And I don’t think his suit is my size.”

“Why do you get to be Santa?”  Spinister crossed his arms.

“Duh.”  Misfire pointed to the tiny red point.  “I’m wearing the hat.”

“I could wear the hat!” Spinister argued.  Misfire danced out of the way when he lunged for it.

He grinned.  “Don’t worry, I got you these!”  He put an elf hat on each of his chevron points as he turned around.  “I got more, but, uh, I don’t think any of them will—oh!  Maybe Crankcase!”  Tiny green hats in hand, he dashed over to the pilot’s chair and placed one on a spike of his brain module.  Crankcase whipped around at the touch, and the hat fluttered down into his cranial cavity.

“Nice going, Misfire.”  Krok rolled his optics.

“Uh…”

“That elf’s not getting their hat back,” Spinister added uselessly.

Crankcase sighed. “It’s not the first thing I’ve gotten stuck in there.  Now can we get going?  Or do we need to argue who gets to be which human for another hour?”

“But he gets to be the human!” Spinister argued.  “I’m just an elf!”

“Please just take off,” Krok said, at his wit’s end.

Finally on their way, the Scavengers got to work on the Naughty and Nice list, sorting out the gifts for the nice ones and making nice little piles of coal for the not-so-nice ones.

“Is giving them a source of fuel really a punishment?” Krok mused allowed.

“Isn’t coal, like, shitty fuel?” Misfire said.  “Anyways, it’s all about the gifts.  Which is why I had the elves whip me up one of these!”  He pulled a gun nearly the size of his arm out from a container on the side of the ship. “It’ll shoot the gifts right into their homes.”

“Shoot them?”  Fulcrum looked at it incredulously.  

“Santa might be able to squeeze his fat butt down chimneys, but I know we can’t.  Gonna shoot them right through their windows.  But don’t worry.  I made some modifications.”

“Every time you tell me not to worry I worry more,” Fulcrum said.  “And what if they don’t have any windows open?”

Misfire smiled.

“And there’s the second sign of the apocalypse.”  Fulcrum turned and made his way to the door.  “I’m out.  Let me know when we leave this fleshy planet.”

All the stockings were hung by the chimney with care, until Misfire’s GiftGun™ launched the presents into the humans’ homes (open window or no) and all but obliterated them along with the gifts. The children who’d asked for teddy bears might awake to a decent Christmas, but every Tom and Susie who asked for an iPad might be… a little disappointed.

“Woo hoo!” Misfire cheered. “I’m really digging this Santa gig. Think they’ll hire me full-time?”

“If they value their image?” Krok said.  “No.”

While their ship was built for supersonic flight, it couldn’t do so over such short distances, so Christmas came on the 26th for some.  Or 4 pm on Christmas day.  None of them would forget the looks on the human’s faces when a bunch of giant alien robots showed up and shot presents into their home.

On time or not, they finished their route, and they say that the Scavenger’s sparks grew three sizes that night.  Of course, this was the humans saying this, and they clearly knew nothing about Cybertronian biology, because if their sparks grew three sizes they would die. And what did the size of their spark have to do with delivering gifts anyways?

The elves thanked them for saving Christmas, and they thanked them, in turn, for repairing their ship, and then they were on their way.  Somewhere with creatures with fewer pores, per Fulcrum’s request.

“Humans are weird,” Misfire remarked.

“And gross,” Fulcrum added.

“And their so-called ‘milk?’ Terrible.  My tanks been upset all day.”

Fulcrum sighed.  “Misfire, you didn’t.”

“What?  I was Santa for the day I had to do it by the book.”

“How much did you drink?”

Misfire shrugged.  “I lost count, but their glasses are like, tiny, so probably not that much?”

The door opened and Krok walked in, but he stopped before he got far.  “Misfire, what are you doing?  And Fulcrum, why are you letting him do it?”

Fulcrum half-shrugged. “I mean, Grimlock’s not objecting.”

Misfire got down from the step ladder and took a few steps back to admire his work.  He’d covered the dinobot in all the Christmas decorations he’d stolen.  “Borrowed,” he would argue.

“And he looks so pretty now,” Misfire said.

Krok shook his helm, exasperated.  “He’s just going to—"

Grimlock transformed and every carefully placed strand of lights and tinsel tore in a sparking or shimmery mess.  Ornaments of all shapes and sizes rained down and shattered, leaving a shiny ring around the dinobot’s pedes.  A few strands and ornaments clung onto seams for dear life.  They jingled as Grimlock tried to shake them off, succeeding with a few more.

Krok smugly crossed his arms. “—do that.”

“Grimlock!”  Misfire put his hands on his head.  “You ruined Christmas!”