#Wanted to draw jetfire flying away

[numbbrainstrorm]

Idk what he needs a car for but you do you pookie

[tgmsunmontue]

Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide 12/?

Maverick is unknowingly surrounded by Transformers. He knows something is up though. Just not quite what it is exactly.

Bradley and Jake, having never met, are embarking on their own journeys and will have to learn to deal with the fact that they've both been adopted by Transformers.

Despite having years more experience, Maverick is no help at all.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN

TWELVE

                “I’m still technically on leave,” Jake muses, wonders if he’s expected to cut it short. Definitely a question for Admiral Kazansky when he’s less busy talking to Captain Mitchell. He wonders if he’ll ever get to the point where he’s comfortable using their callsigns like Bradley is.

                “Me too. And yet we’re both standing around in our khakis. Well. Borrowed khakis in your case.”

                “Yeah. Looking forward to getting out of them.”

                “Yeah, me too. Uh. Yeah.”

                “How about we blow this joint and go grab some food. Think Bronco is ready to leave?” Jake asks, glancing at Bradley, noticing that he must have gotten sunburnt during the day judging from his pink face. Also he’s a little impressed with himself having already shifted from calling Bronco simply Bronco, rather than the Bronco.

                “He does look pretty engaged with whatever Starscream is saying, but can’t hurt to ask. Not like we can go anywhere if he isn’t…” Bradley adds under his breath and Jake laughs.

                “I can just drive us in the truck… going to have to drive it home actually. Huh. Yeah,” Jake muses, because that’s a logistical nightmare with Jetfire in the back. Then again it’s no longer his problem, surely that was the whole purpose of this meeting was to figure that out. “Actually, I’m going to change. Got a spare set of clothes in the truck. You go and talk to Bronco…”

                Bradley nods and sets off toward them, leaving Jake to watch him walk away and he does watch, admires the view because Bradley’s legs seem long but he also seems to strut; doesn’t walk the same way as so many of the military men and women Jake knows. It’s unusual enough to draw his eye. He glances away, only to find both Admiral Kazansky and Captain Mitchell looking at him, and he flushes; hopes they can’t see from how far away they are. He turns and walks toward the truck, calls it a strategic retreat rather than running away.

…            …            …

                Bradley is glad that Bronco is more than ready to leave, his patience with dealing with Starscream clearly not infinite; also he can tell Starscream is maybe holding back from hitting Bronco. Definitely time for them to have a break from one another. He does insist on heading back to Ice’s place. If Jake is walking around in civvies he’s definitely not going to spend a second longer in uniform than he has to.

                Ice and Mav follow them; he dodges Mav’s attempts of trying to talk, mumbles about going out to get something to eat and maybe catching a movie with Jake. Hopefully that’ll mean he can put off talking to him for another day. Still needs time to process the bombshell that Bronco dropped, figure out if it changes anything other than his relationship with Mav and Ice. He takes the spare key and tells them they’ll be back in a few hours and to not wait up, which gets him some spluttering from Mav and a quietly amused look from Ice but he doesn’t care.

                They go to a diner and order burgers, Jake ordering an extra side of onion rings and a lime milkshake which Bradley wrinkles his nose over but then has to admit isn’t completely awful when Jake insists he try some. They have heaps of time to kill so they walk to the movie theater, which Bronco seems a little incensed about, however Bradley can’t stop thinking about his mom not wanting him to fly. He’s been flying for a couple of years now, his hard work and sheer stubbornness bleeding into spite to prove Maverick wrong only to find out that it’s not what has been the reason all along. And of course he cares about what his mom wanted for him, but he doesn’t know if he cares about the happiness of a dead woman over his own and living the life he wants.

                “What would you do?”

                “Uh… about what?” Jake asks, and Bradley realizes he’s been holding an entire conversation in his head as they walked in silence.

                “Shit. Sorry. Just… If you found out that your parents didn’t want you to do something and you went and did it anyway?”

                Jake chuckles then and pulls a face, shrugs a little and pushes his sunglasses up his nose.

                “Uh… I did exactly that. My parents weren’t thrilled at the idea of me joining. Were dead set against it in fact. My uncle is still blamed to this day for making me dream of flying. He’s a crop duster, but at least his career is farming adjacent.”

                “Your family are farmers?”

                “Farmers or ranchers. Apart from my uncle I’m the only one that has ever left the state for more than a vacation.”

                “Oh.”

                “Yep.”

                “And they…”

                “They’ve learnt to deal with it. It’s my life. Not theirs. They get worried, but unless you’re going to shut yourself away there’s inherent risk in day-to-day life right?”

                “Yeah, I guess so.”

                “I know so. And now we have Transformers as part of our day-to-day lives, and if that isn’t the craziest and most amazing thing…”

                “Are your parents proud of you though?”

                Jake blinks.

                “Yeah. Yeah of course they’re proud of me. They want me to be happy. Of course they wish I could be happy living within a few clicks of home, but that was never going to be me…”

                “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

                “I always am…”

                Bradley rolls his eyes, which Jake catches and laughs at, bumping his shoulder on purpose as they walk.

…            …            …

                Jake stares at the selection of movies, knows what he wants to go and see, but Bradley hasn’t even looked at the poster he doesn’t think. Instead he’s looking at the brightly colored poster featuring dozens if not hundreds of balloons.

                “A kids movie? Really? I was thinking the Star Trek or Fast and Terminator?”

                “Spaceships blowing up or robots killing people… both a little too close to home. I want… something happy. It’s a kid’s movie, guaranteed happy ending right?”

                Jake looks at the movie posters again, wonders how suggesting Angels and Demons would go over. Huh. Actually maybe a kids movie is a good idea.

                “Fine. But maybe Night at the Museum? I enjoyed the first movie…”

                “We can do both. I don’t want to go back and have to talk to Maverick.”

                “Oh. Okay. Sure. We can do two movies…”

                “Thanks. Not ready to hash it over with him yet…”

                “But you’re okay talking to a complete stranger?” Jake asks as they approach the ticket booth.

                “Yeah, you’re not emotionally invested. Maverick and Ice are… well, they’re the only family I have. And as I said, I haven’t really spoken to them in eight years. It feels… awkward.”

                “Oooh,” Jake says. “Right. Got you. I can help run interference if you like? I’ve had plenty of practice.”

                Bradley laughs at that, but doesn’t ask him what with, instead buys two tickets and tells Jake he can grab snacks. He bites back the comment about Bradley already being one, because friends. That’s what he’s aiming for here. Like Javy. Another bro. Right. He can manage that, is going to have to because they’re going to be working together for the foreseeable future and he’s not going to fuck up his career before it’s even started.

…            …            …

                Jake talks during the trailers and Bradley hopes like hell he’s not they type of person that talks through the entire movie, will reach over and cover his mouth with his hand if he has to.

                “Okay… that kind of looks funny. Do you think Admiral Kazansky is a fan of all the ice-themed movies that have been coming out? That’s the third one right?”

                “I don’t know. You can ask him.”

                Fortunately when the movie starts proper Jake falls quiet, which makes him relieved. Then he wonders what the hell kind of kids’ movie this is, tears prickling at his eyes and for fucks sake, he wanted a movie that was going to be happy and lighthearted and now he’s crying. Just has to hope Jake doesn’t notice. Of course that’s when Jake talks, but he’s sniffing and it makes Bradley feel better.

                “Fucking hell, I don’t remember kids’ movies packing such emotional gut punches when I was a kid…”

                Bradley hums in agreement, doesn’t want to actually encourage the talking. Fortunately the movie does actually become funnier, although Jake’s under-the-breath comments about a flying house being next on the Navy’s list of aircraft to acquire forces Bradley to hide a bark of laughter. It’s a better movie than he was expecting, although it’s also not the happy and funny movie he was after, it is too much of an emotional rollercoaster to make him feel settled. As he watches Carl watch his house drift away he swallows against the tightness in his throat and thinks about his own dream of flying, and how giving it up because of anyone is ridiculous. Fucking hell, he was not expecting to become so reflective after seeing a kids’ movie.

                They file out of the theatre with the other movie goers, Jake insists on getting the tickets for the next movie, both of them using the bathroom and getting more popcorn. This time he’s prepared for Jake’s chatter during the trailers, and he’s less annoyed now, knowing it’ll stop once the movie starts. He lets Bradley know which movies he wants to go and see, and when there’s a trailer for a romcom featuring Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds he hears Jake hum and he grins into the darkness. The second movie is definitely funnier and less emotionally charged than the first, which is a relief.

…            …            …

                “Well, it’s past eleven. You think we’ve stayed out late enough for you to avoid talking to everyone?” Jake asks as they head outside, wonders what Bradley is doing as he looks up and down the street.

                “How the fuck did we see two movies that both featured flying in them so heavily?”

                “The first movie was called Up, that should have been a clue. Also that movie should come with a fucking warning. And wait, where are you going? We parked that way.”

                “Yeah. That way if your ride can’t just move itself whenever it wants. He’s just down there,” Bradley says, pointing. Sure enough Jake can now see Bronco sitting about five cars away, and now it’s clear Bradley knew exactly what he was looking for.

                “Holy shit that’s useful. Bet you’ve never had a parking ticket.”

                “Huh… no. I haven’t. I’ve always…”

                “Let me guess. Little goody-two-shoes, always following the rules…”

                “Yeah. Can’t really risk bringing negative attention to myself.”

                “Fair,” Jake concedes, because as much as he might poke fun, he’s very much the same, his years at USNA drilling that into him, along with DADT making him cautious. The fact that Bradley knows, and Admiral Kazansky and likely Captain Mitchell… and Jake feels fine with them all knowing tells him he’s come a decent way from his fear and shame of his teen years. Not that he can do anything about it with DADT in effect, however knowing that others have managed to have long and meaningful relationships under DADT make him more hopeful at least.

                “Useful to have though…” Jake adds as he slides into the passenger side and Bradley grins.

                “You have no idea. Bronco here is the best, has let me get away with forgetting my keys, never putting in gas… drives while I sleep.”

                “Huh. That’s pretty amazing.”

                “I'm amazing; I'm incredible. I'm a miracle, a dream come true. I'm marvelous; I'm beautiful,” sings a voice from the radio suddenly and Jake startles a little.

                “And so humble with it too…” Bradley says with a laugh, patting the dash and Jake laughs, a little nervously, having forgotten that Bronco was… there as well.

                “That how you guys communicate?”

                “When he’s not transformed. I never saw him transformed until the same time you did… But yeah. Song lyrics have been our communication method all these years.”

                “That’s so fucking cool… wild huh?”

                “Yeah. Pretty wild.”

…            …            …

                They get back to Admiral Kazansky’s house, and like Bradley had been hoping for all the lights are off. Bradley opens the garage door and Bronco parks up before shifting to bump against Dustdrift, who almost goes flying given their size differential. They say goodnight and Jake is starting to feel the events of the day catching up with him, and tomorrow he will figure out what the logistics are for getting Jetfire to Fallon, his families horse truck back to Texas, and then how he’s going to spend the rest of his leave and then how he’s going to get to Fallon himself.

                “Uh… did you want to share again or go use the other guest room?”

                Jake blinks at the out-of-the-blue question, wonders if he can use the same reason, about not wanting to dirty up more linen than necessary. Except he feels that maybe he could share with Bradley that he sleeps better with other people around, except he’s also trying to lay mental boundaries around being friends.

                “Too quiet right?” Bradley asks and Jake lets out a breath of relief that he’s said it.

                “Yeah. Exactly.”

                “It’s all good. I’m used to sharing.”

                “Oh. Uh. Won’t they mind?”

                “Huh?”

                “You’re uh… boyfriend? Girlfriend? Person you usually share with?” Jake asks, because that’s how he’s taking that statement; and seriously, if Bradley has someone then it’ll make Jake’s life easier putting some boundaries in place.

                “Oh! No. No. I mean… I’m used to sharing space too. I share a bed with my best friend sometimes, but she’d have my balls if I ever referred to her as… well… anything. I think sometimes she even denies knowing me, let alone being my friend.”

                Jake laughs, because he’s sure that Javy sometimes does the same.

                “Cool. I’m just going to have a shower. You want the bathroom first?”

                “Nah, it’s all good. I’ll go down the hall and brush my teeth.”

                When Jake comes out of the shower Bradley is curled up fast asleep, despite all the lights still being on. He takes the opportunity to just look his fill before shaking his head and turning off the lights.

THIRTEEN

[daiourage]

Other Prime AU Sketch Dump (#2 ⇨ Beta Designs (Seekers + α))

[Rest of my AU here!]

(⚠️If at any point some lines look unnaturally wobbly or uncanny, it's because I've used an editing tool to remove drawings that might be distracting! ...Which is also why there's a lot of empty space;;;⚠️)

I drew the Seekers more than the others haha~~~

I think it's because I'm in STEM and I'm finding myself attached to the science bots... I'm going to be honest, Thundercracker and Shockwave are getting me through my wireless communications class rn;;; I'm gonna be giving away tmi about myself but I love mathematics I'm just not good at it, and I'd be lying if I said thinking about Thundercracker during class is not pulling me through it (might make him say some things regarding what I've learned in class) LMAO I love college /gen;;; thank you bless @mechncheese for grabbing some screenshots where T.C.'s a science nerd!! apologies for the tag but i am a student and i must cite my sources

Also hey, since this is when it was very ONE-heavy in terms of designs, here's a cogless Sentinel;;; I'm redesigning everything about this man but take this accursed husk while you're at it!! ...please. i don't want him in my house anymore. Oh yeah, he’s “The Fallen” in this AU.

Also also, I'm keeping the designs for the Seekers pretty close to how they look in this growing-pains phase of their designs, but I'm just changing them up a bit so they look less ONE-y. In case my handwriting is hard to read, though: Thundercracker is based off of a peregrine, and Skywarp is based off of a northern flying squirrel!! Will explain them further in and official post later down the line, but the majority of the info are in the scans (if y'all can read them 😭).

As a bonus, the Trine + Jetfire are based off of the symbols in a trump card deck 🥂

Also (x3), I want Ratchet and Thundercracker to be friends. That is all (totally not a reference to Thundercracker being the only one of the trio to not get decked by Ratchet /s). Both are old men with severe issues regarding them repressing their feelings for so long, and now Ratchet's exploding every 5 minutes while Thundercracker's almost hollow. Of course I'd make them friends, they need it--//shot

↑↑↑I'm going to be so honest I want them to be more than best friends but not as intimate as lovers;;; like I want them to have such a strange but close relationship it feels weird to see them apart but embarrassing when near them. Old men be damned they deserve some nuance and a slightly confusing relationship as a treat!! Like, not even THEY know what they are... which frustrates them both further;;; also their fights/arguments are probably really bad…

[problematicbots]

Winged Sentinel au: Act 2

Warning: to any new readers , This is a sequel of my AU where Sentinel Prime updated himself into a jet so he could teach the Jetfire and Jetstorm how to fly properly during the events of the rise of Safeguard aka after season two of TFA so I would highly recommend reading the full original story here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/381680025?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&

Once this sequel is done I plan to post the full story on Wattpad too. Also my OCS who were originally fankids play a different role than they usually do in this

Snippet 1: Time Skip

Two years have passed since Sentinel's speech and Cybertron has changed a lot since the introduction of the Aerialbots unit. On the now wide streets of Iacon with now towering buildings there were seekers in the skies helping grounded bots, grounded bots dating seekers, and vice versa. Many see this as a new golden age of Cybertron, with neutral bots now joining the Autobot due to change with dreams of soaring to great highs, while others look on in disgust with vile hopes that this will all be crushed and burned into ashes soon.

Alpha Trion was one of these others who wished to see the downfall of the aerialbots and despised Sentinel’s assisting that Alpha Trion should stay in the garbage chute or at least be thrown in a cell for nearly endangering the twins: Ultra Magnus and the council seemly wanting to get on Sentinel's nerves let the old mech off scout free with Ironhide as his parole officer.

Sentinel couldn't believe the audacity of Ultra Magnus and the council to let an attempted murder still wander on the grounds of the Fortress Maximus with the worst part being that the only one who voted against the parole was Wheeljack.

Sentinel swore to the all spark if he were Mangus he would make sure Jetfire and Jetstorm get the justice they deserve by throwing the old mech into the deepest part of Knon where he belongs.

Speaking of Sentinel Prime: he was inside his quarters sitting in front of a mirror with his servos on a table seemingly preparing for something as he put ornamental orange epaulets on his shoulders and an orange military beret on his helm.

A minute later he picked up an Autobot badge that was the shape of a phoenix on the table that he quickly tucked away in his glove compartment.

On this table, there were many framed photos, one of these framed photos was Jetstorm's “us” drawing, and the rest were regular photos of himself with the twins hanging out in various places, although there were a few that had him with Jazz and Blurr or with the Aerial bots.

Sentinel, for a moment, just stared at the photos with a soft smile across their faceplate before getting up to leave his quarters.

Outside of his quarters, Sentinel encountered Jefire and Jetstorm, who were wearing the same outfit as him, but in white instead of orange. The twins appeared to be arguing about something, but they fell silent as soon as they noticed Sentinel. Jetstorm quickly hid what looked like a drawing in his glove compartment before the Prime could see it.

It’s obvious from their faceplates that the twins have matured over the past two years. They are no longer the small students they once were; now, they have both grown taller than Sentinel himself. They are currently mentoring the Aerial bots alongside Sentinel, with Jetfire serving as the combat instructor and Jetstorm as the defense instructor.

“Are you two ready?” asked Sentinel, putting his arms around Jetfire and Jetstorm’s shoulders affectionately.

In the past, Sentinel would probably never do this towards the twins, especially in the middle of a hallway where others could see him be openly affectionate, but things have changed, and he has changed a lot, whether he realized this or not.

However, there was still one part of him that stayed the same: thinking about Elita One. He was still not over losing her since her memory still haunts his hard drive every day, and he wondered if she was still around today and if she would be proud of him.

“As we ever be” smiled Jetstorm with a deeper voice as he crossed his arms proudly

“Let's get this party started!“ added Jefire, pumping his fists in the air in excitement.

“Hey remember you two the party takes place after the graduation not before “lightly teased Sentinel “Now let's get this show on the road”

The three walked down the hallway towards the training grounds; however, during the walk, Sentinel spotted Alpha Trion in the corner, mopping the floor with Ironhide supervising him.

Sentinel gave the old mech a death glare with Alpha Trion staring back at Prime with the same burning hatred in his optics.

“I am watching you” muttered Sentinel over to Alpha Trion before exiting toward the training grounds with Jetfire and Jetstorm by his side.

The Training Grounds, just like the rest of Cybertron, had changed too; there were now many new training courses, with the most notable ones being one for air combat and the one for defense. At the very edge of the training ground, there was a temporary stage with an aisle of chairs in front of it that was filled with taking Cybertronians that Sentinel recognized including Jazz and Blurr who were sitting up at the front

Sentinel and the twins got on the stage, gesturing for the crowd to lower their voices, which they followed.

“Aerialbots, Elite Guards and others", announced Sentinel Prime over a podium. "Today we are all here today to witness a bot going from a trainee to soaring into the ranks as an intelligence officer, “

Jazz watched Sentinel continue his speech with a spark of pride, but there was an underline of regret: he couldn't believe he, at one point, wanted to get rid of Project Vedette and Project Safeguard when they did so much good for Cybertron. Sure, everything was fine now, but Jazz couldn't help but still feel selfish for his actions, and he still wanted to make up for everything.

While drowning in his regret, Jazz didn't notice that Blurr was looking sick a bit the minute as the blue speeder clutched his chestplate

“ And with that In mind: First Rate come up here and collect your badge “ announced Sentinel

The crowd clapped as First Rate got up from her seat with the loudest cheers coming from a pair of twins named Bebop and Punkrock.

“Punkrock look at her, she's killing it like a superstar” Squealed Bebop barely able to stay still in his seat.

“I- I just hope nothing goes wrong, Bebop,” replied Punkrock in anxiousness, fidgeting his servos together. “She's our friend, and I don't want her big day to be ruined.”

“hey, she got this, and you know it,” comforted Bebop, playfully punching his brother's arm.

“Y-yeah, she got this,” uttered Punkrock nervously, watching First Rate approach the stage

First Rate got on top of the stage and approached Sentinel Prime with a stoic look across her faceplate although there was a clear underline of nervousness as she watched Sentinel pull out the badge from his glove compartment and attach it to her chestplate.

“Welcome to Aerialbots First Rate and remember to soar to great heights” spoked Sentinel saluting First Rate.

“Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll do well,” saluted First Rate.

Soon everyone got up from their seats to salute First Rate however Blurr got up too fast and to everybody's horror the blue speeder began throwing up blood on the ground causing many to scream in terror.

“Blurr! “ shouted Jazz, Sentinel, Jetfire, and Jetstorm at the same time while Blurr with his body twitching all place suddenly fainted

Jazz quickly caught Blurr before his body could hit the ground while Sentinel, Jetfire, and Jetstorm jumped off the stage ordering everyone to clear out of the way for the medics which happened to be Punkrock and Bebop who quickly went to work to stabilize Blurr’s condition while Jazz gently places him in the ground so the medics could properly do their work.

“How is he?” asked Sentinel kneeling next to Blurr with Jefire and Jetstorm as they watched the medics at work

“Online but unconscious and highly unstable “ sighed Punkrock scanning Blurr’s spark with a scanner while Jazz held his still twitching body down and Bebop cleaned off the blood from his mouth

“his inners are collapsing within themselves, he needs to be taken to an infirmary for surgery immediately otherwise he’ll be offline soon “ continued Punkrock picking up Blurr with Bebop

Sentinel's hard drive Immediately flash to Elita One’s horrified face when she fell to her doom: he failed to save one Autobot; he wasn't going to fail to save another one, not this time.

“Then let him out of here; Aerial bots open every door towards the infirmary and clear out the area for any passerby,” ordered Sentinel.

The aerial bots quickly obeyed Sentinel’s commands, opening every door inside Fortress Maximus as Bebop and Punkrock passed by, carrying Blurr. Sentinel and the rest of The Elite Guard followed behind until First Rate reached the infirmary’s doors to open them up for Blurr. Once inside, the twin medics signaled for First Rate to close the doors behind them.

The only thing that Sentinel, Jazz, Jetfire, and Jetstorm could do now was to stand outside of the infirmary anxiously and wait for any results.

“So, what do you think is going on with him“ asked Jazz, leaning against the wall with crossed arms.

“Scrap, if I know, it's probably from him being, you know, brings turn into…a huh cube, “ replied Sentinel, sitting down on the floor and pressing his wings against the wall.

Jazz raised his non-existent eyebrow at Sentinel: it didn't matter how many times the prime told him about the whole cude accident it was still weird to hear each time.

“You know you are saying that every time doesn't make it less weird, “ sadly chuckled Jazz a bit. “I mean, I can't even imagine an Autobot in the shape of a cube.”

Sentinel Prime sighed a bit, sitting down next to Jazz, leaning his helm against the wall, and the Jettwins sat down right beside them.

As time passed by each minute Sentinel’s spark raced as this reminded him of his nightmare of Elita falling to her death and him unable to do anything about it. He tried his best to remain tough however his optics told a different story: one of pure fear.

“Trust me, I know, “ breathed Sentinel heavily. “But that's what happened and who knows if..if he going to survive “

Jazz noticed the fear in Sentinel's optics and put a comforting servo on his shoulder to calm him down while Jetfire and Jetstorm watched while whispering to each other seemingly arguing about their previous conversation.

“We’ll get through this. I promise, SP,” sighed Jazz, wrapping his arm around Sentinel's shoulder.

Sentinel didn't say anything; he just sighed again before resting his helm against Jazz's shoulder which caught Jazz a bit off guard with a tiny blush across his faceplate; however, he let it play out even though he felt like he didn't deserve it.

Jetfire and Jetstorm, on the other hand, were still arguing with each other in whispers so Jazz or Sentinel wouldn't hear them. “You know you eventually have to show him what you made; he’s going to love it,” whispered Jetfire over to Jetstorm.

“You don't know that, and he might not even want to be..well, you know… it's going be embarrassing “ groaned Jetstorm rolling his optics.

“or it could be awesome, just like that last drawing you made him,” encouraged Jetfire.

“Well, that last drawing didn't exactly have me directly call him our sire, “groaned Jetstorm defensively. “Look, I just can't show him this, at least not now.. “

“Well you can show him when you're ready“ replied Jetfire patting his brother's shoulder to encourage and comfort him

“Yeah..when I'm ready, “ sighted Jetstorm, placing his servo gently on his glove compartment.

After what felt like a million cycles had passed despite it only being two hours, Punkrock and Bebop finally exited the infirmary with First Rate moving out of the way to make room for them.

However, the medic twins have downcast looks on their faceplates when they leave the Infirmary, with Punkrock seemingly holding back tears. Sentinel, Jazz, Jetfire, and Jetstorm didn't like the look of this at all as they quickly got up on their feet to check on what exactly was going on.

“He’s online and conscious .. however, there's an unfortunate side effect due to the many surgeries we have to perform on him “ announced Punkrock holding a datapad with shaky servos while Bebop tried to comfort him by giving a shoulder pat

“What is this unfortunate side effect?” asked Sentinel almost hesitantly as his optics widened

Punkrock gulped for a bit seemingly unable to answer for a bit as his servos became more sharky however his brother told him to take his time which immediately calmed him down a bit as he managed to speak again.

“Blurr has lost his speed “ finally coked out Punkrock “and so far we haven't found a way to bring it back “

Sentinel, Jazz Jetfire, and Jetstorm, along with First Rate, all look on in absolute horror at the news: this was the first time in history an Autobot lost their ability without going offline first. This was devastating; Autobot and even Decepticon society were mostly built around certain abilities that a bot was forged with from the moment they first came online as sparkling. How could a bot without an ability live in a universe that was built upon certain abilities?

“C-can we see him? “ asked Jazz with guilt in his spark to what to Blurr.

Sure it wasn't his fault yet Jazz couldn't help but for like that it should have been him in that Infirmary, not Blurr after all he was the one who used to have a somewhat negative opinion of flying Autobots and did nothing at all until the last second Unlike Blurr who was nothing other than helpful towards Sentinel despise the prime’s winged form.

“Of course “ sighed Punkrock ushering the four mechs inside the Infirmary towards one of the urgent care rooms

Once inside the urgent care rooms, they spotted Blurr sitting backside on a bed, kicking his legs, seemingly trying to get himself to run fast; however, his movements were unsettlingly slow as a snail.

“Come on.. come on..work” muttered Blurr to himself with his voice choking in desperation trying to go faster however each result was the same

“Blurr, hey man are you ok ?” muttered Jazz, catching the Blue Speeder’s attention immediately.

Blurr turned around over to the four elite guard members behind him, revealing his angry yet saddened faceplate, which now had an eyepatch across it covering one of his servos, and his lower chest plate was wrapped in elastic bandages.

“I-I can't believe he took this from me; it was one thing faking being my friend. It was one thing crushing me to death when I thought I could trust him, but this is another thing... He took away my identity..” stuttered Blurr, still mostly talking to himself as his voice constantly shifted between a vengeful rage and lullaby of sallow. “How can I even call myself Blurr if I can't even do that one thing that I was named for”

This strikes a core with Sentinel. After all, his name meant protection on Cybertron, and yet he failed to do the one thing that he was named after, which was to protect his allies from danger, especially Elita One.

“ huh Y- you know Blurr I know a certain mech who held a name that doesn't exactly fit him either and sometimes he wonders why he was given this name “ stuttered Sentinel sitting next to Blurr

Sentinel wasn't exactly that good at comforting other mechs at least with words that were always an Elita thing so he immediately thought of what she would say and what she would do along with using his experience with his issues with his own name.

“but then well..he sorta looks around to see his…allies that he.. made and saw that.. huh.. maybe there more to life than you know just the name that you were given “ gurgled Sentinel clearly having idea zero what he doing but is at least he trying.

To Sentinel's complete surprise, his words seemed to hit a core with Blurr as the blue speeder warped his arms the prime in a tearful hug, although the rage was still there.

For a moment, Sentinel was completely out of the loop at what to do, staring up at Jazz for advice with the white mech simply telling him to hug Blurr back, which he followed, although it was a bit uneasy at first since he was being careful not to touch any of the bandages on him.

“I really need to hear that, you know, since honestly, aside from wanting to punch..you know who in the faceplate. I don't really know what else to do now “ sobbed Blurr

Jazz and Sentinel immediately knew that Blurr was talking about Shockwave; neither of them really blamed Blurr for wanting to beat up Shockwave for doing this to him; however, at the same, had just woke up from surgery, and there was no way he had the the the strength to walk.

“Wait you’re seriously not going to confront Shockwave scolded Sentinel pulling away from Blurr almost shocked ‘you just woke up from surgery”

“Yeah, I'm with SP on this one, man; you need to rest, “ added Jazz, crossing his arms.

“Look, guys, I get it, but I don't think I can ever rest without him knowing how much he hurt me since, as much I hate to admit it, there is a part of me that sees him as a friend, “ explained Blurr. “And I want to cut off that part for good, I promise It will be quick just.. please let me talk to him at least for a minute and then I’ll rest”

Sentinel and Jaz started at each both having a feeling that this was going to end poorly since nothing good came from an injured Blurr talking to Shockwave however Jazz wanted to give Blurr a sense of closure.

“huh about this you rest today and talk to..well you who to tomorrow, deal?” gulped Jazz.

Sentinel couldn't believe the words coming out of Jazz's faceplate. There was no way in the all spark that Blurr could be fully healed tomorrow. He may not be a medic but even his optics could tell that it is going to take a while for Blurr to recover.

“Why are you encouraging him” whispered Sentinel almost in a snarl as he got up from the bed and walked over to the white mech

“He’s needed closure, SP, and I don't think he is going to stop until he gets it,” whispered Jazz. “Just look at his optics and tell me if that is a mech that is going to rest without getting what he wants”.

Sentinel looked over at Blurr's optics which were filled with sadness and yet undying determination that was more powerful than a speeding locomotive. Damn it, he hates it when Jazz is right.

“Ugh, I hate it when you're right,” groaned Sentinel, rolling his optics, “But we are only doing this with the medic's permission; I don't want another bleeding Autobot on my servos.”

“Yeah I don't want that either Sp” sighed Jazz “None of us do”

Jazz took a minute to breathe before asking Bebop and Punkrock if Blurr could go out tomorrow at least for a little while since giving Blurr that closure that he needed was the least Jazz felt he could do to make things better even if he could never make himself felt better.

________________________________________

Shockwave sat down in his cell looking down at the amulet that Blurr gave him. Despite everything that had happened, he couldn't bring himself to throw it away, even hiding it when a guard came to check on him. It was strange he let the guards take away all his weapons without any fuse but this one amulet was the thing he chose to defend.

This wasn't typical Decepticon behavior and he knew it since usually, large weapons, collecting information for their cause, and having the largest body count hold vulnerable than anything sentimental at least according to Lord Megatron yet now Shockwave is beginning to question everything that he learned considering he seen how effective the Autobots are when they don't backstab each other constantly and keep their alliances despise that ally logically no longer being useful however this somehow always work in the Autobot favor and want to know why.

“Let me guess, still looking at that amulet that your Autobot boyfriend gave to you,” mocked Starscream in the cell next to him.

Shockwave groaned and rolled his single optic at Starscream’s annoying comment; he couldn't believe he was stuck next to the traitorous Decepticon that never knew how to keep his glossa shut. This was another thing Shockwave began to question: Why did Megatron keep this nuance around despite Starscream clearly having intentions to betray Megatron?

The Lord chose to ignore all the warnings that Shockwave gave him in favor of letting Starscream go with him into Autobot territory and look how that ended: for a while Megatron was presumed dead for years until he somehow managed to contact the rest of the Decepticon confirming that he was alive, sure it was relief but Shockwave was sure if Starscream never came with Megatron this would of never happen in this first place.

“I believe in Autobots culture; this would be called a symbol of what they call .. “friendship”.. It has little to do with romance, but you wouldn't know that condensing your history with your allies, “shot back Shockwave coldly.

Starscream laughed mocky at Shockwave’s words, for all this talk of “friendship” is making him sound like an Autobot, not the cold calculating Decepticoncon that he once knew.

“Friendship, wow, you really have gone soft on us; we both know there is no worth in sentimentality,” chuckled Starscream mocky. “It illogical”

Usually, Shockwave’s logical mind would agree with Starscream on this despite his negative opinion of him. However, he saw firsthand from the Autobot how effective sentimental relationships are, and perhaps there was some logic behind it that he was going to try to figure out.

“Then How come the Autobots keep winning every time against us even before Omega supreme? Questioned Shockwave. “How come they are way more effective despite all having different mindsets?”

Starscream tried to answer Shockwave’s question but he was cut off immediately by the one optic con ramblings.

“They have something that we don't..they call it a “community “ it is what I can only describe as a machine that has different gears that can work perfectly by itself yet choose to benefit the another without almost no gain and this causes the machine to somehow get stronger in the progress “ sighed Shockwave trying to explain the concept of friendship In a logically way. “Perhaps if we used this ourselves, we could get stronger too. “

Starscream once again laughed at Shockwave's faceplate not believing that the most logical Decepticon was suggesting that they used “friendship” to win.

“Ha, you really are an Autobot, aren't you? You might have taken off the Decepticon logo while you were at it, “ laughed Starscream louder.

How dare Starscream say that to him? Sure, Shockwave was questioning a few things, but that didn't mean he wasn't a Decepticon less than everyone else.

“I’m not an Autobot; I'm just suggesting we use different tactics to win,” growled Shockwave.

“Then why do you choose to keep that amulet?” pointed out Starscream. ”What is the logic behind that?”.

This stunned Shockwave into silence as try to apply logic to his decision to keep the amulet; however, he was unable to come up with an answer, and for the first time, he genuinely didn't know the logic behind his choice.

The silence from Shockwave gave Starscream a wide smirk across his faceplate knowing that he won this argument.

Suddenly, without any warning and to Shockwave's horror, Blurr entered the prison room, exiting the elevator with the rest of the elite guard by his side, excluding Ultra Magnus.

Blurr approaches Shockwave's cell slowly making the Decepticon spark beat quickly since the last thing he wanted right now was to see Blurr’s faceplate.

“Long- I mean Shockwave.. you used me to get the information you want, make think that we were friends, and destroy my speed, “ spoked Blurr bitterly, “so I have one thing left to say to you”.

The room filled into complete silence as everyone waited for what Blurr was going to say next.

“I know you were a spy but..did our friendship at one point ever matter to you?

“ questioned Blurr “I need to know”

Shockwave didn't know how to answer that question because, at first, he did use Blurr for information However, the time spent together did make him feel some kind of connection that may be the reason why he chose to keep the amulet. Shockwave didn't know what to do, so he stayed silent, hiding the amulet from Blurr's sight, knowing that he would prove Starscream right if he gave it the blue speeder, and he didn't want to give Starscream that satisfaction.

“I guess that answers it doesn't it, our friendship meant nothing to you” hissed Blurr with a clearly broken spark “Come on guys let's get out of here “

Those words stabbed right through Shockwave's spark, as much as he hated to admit it, as he watched Blurr leave the room with the rest of the elite guard.

“Blurr, wait,” yelped Shockwave, reaching out for the blue speeder; however, it was far too late: the doors to the elevator's door closed behind Blurr, and the elevator ascended upwards, leaving Shockwave alone with Starscream once again.

“I guess you two are done now” mocked Starscream, completely enjoying this whole situation.

“I supposed we are,” replied Shockwave in defeat, covering his single optics with both servos, trying his best to hold back from showing any weaknesses, especially in front of Starscream, yet a tiny tear dropped from his faceplate.

______________________________________

Jazz, Sentinel, Blurr, Jetfire, and Jetstorm stand in the ascending elevator silently. None of them don't know what to say after the whole confrontation with Shockwave; however, Jazz knew at that moment that he needed to check on the Blurr speeder.

“Hey Blurr, are you ok, man? “ asked Jazz, placing a servo on Blurr's shoulder.

“Yeah it's just that you know it isn't easy cutting off friendships even if they are you know fake” sighed Blurr “but I’m glad that I did, I finally got that weight off my shoulders”

This talk about cutting off certain relationships made Sentinel wonder about his current situation with Optimus as he watched Blurr and Jazz continue to talk to each other.

Sure Optimus got on his nerves, constantly got in the way and he wasn't still over what happened to Elita One and yet he can't really imagine completely cutting the other prime out of his life as strange as that may sound but Ultra Magnus telling him that he should have been sent to earth instead of Optimus and his short experience as a maintenance bot make him think about some things over these past two years even if he is still unsure.

Before Sentinel could think about Optimus anymore the doors to the elevators open revealing Cliffjumper on the other side holding a datapad

“Sentinel and Jazz, Ultra Magnus would like to speech both of you: it's about the Wasp situation “spoke up Cliffjumper.

Sentinel and Jazz turn their helm to each other, knowing that they are about to be sent to earth soon: some things can never really change, can they?

[chaosdancer12]

I'm a Transformers Fan, and I was writing a chapter for a story that I'm working on, when I had the idea to try and draw the face of one of my characters.

This then evolved to me trying to draw the helm too, something that I do struggle with, whenever I try to draw Transformers.

However, this time, I'm actually quite proud of the final result.

This is just concept art, at the moment, but this is my character Nightflower, a Telepathic Seeker/Flyer mix.

Her left helm fin is shorter than her right helm fin, and while I originally didn't want to give her some kind of crown, it just happened... The spots on her face are small metal indents that are like freckles... They should be fixable, but after going so long without them being treated, when they showed up, shortly after she came into the world, they're kinda permanent now...

She's generally shy, and prefers reading over talking and socialising, having been born into a family that wasn't good to her... This resulted in her failing to develop socially, and as a result of this, she doesn't know how to find a Trine, so she doesn't have one when she's old enough to be part of a Trine.

Her Telepathy also has a weird quirk of turning her emotions off, if she uses it too much. Her level of emotion is connected to her Telepathy abilities, so basically, if she uses her Telepathy too much, it effects her emotions, and it shuts them down... It's a side effect of growing up in a not so stellar home life, these side effects also extend to her physical form as well. She's not as bulky as other femmes, and while she does end up being taller than the average femme, she pays for that with a skinny frame, and difficulties when it comes to physical fighting. She's basically more like a Mage, or a Rouge, she excels at using speed, stealth, and her Telepathy in a fight, but is terrible at hand to hand combat, and while she does eventually get swords, she has a lot of training to do, to build up the physical strength, and the stamina needed to use them.

She eventually does get out, and is adopted, when she's about six or seven, by Cybertronian standards, by a family that loves and supports her.

I like to think that she's a SkyStar adopted child, they adopt her after she runs away from her biological family, and they're the best parents, okay!

She's got a reading buddy in Skyfire, and Starscream is surprisingly a big help with learning how to live with emotional shortcomings, and acting like nothing is wrong with you... They have a lot of fun building a mask that she can use to hide her emotionless moments...

So yes, a little mini Starscream, with a love for books, mostly becomes her default expression in public. She's actually more like Skyfire, when it comes to personality, and she wants to be just like him when she's older... A soft spoken researcher, scientist, and explorer... The Starscream side comes out when she's either exhausted, or she has overdone it, with using her active Telepathy abilities.

I also mostly headcanon Skyfire and Jetfire being two different Cybertronians, and they're brothers, with Skyfire being the older brother, and Jetfire being the younger brother. He becomes 'Unca Jet', he is her favourite 'flying buddy', and her flying tutor. Skywarp and Thundercracker are 'Unca Warp and Unca TC'.

I'll update this post whenever I come up with new lore for her.

[libermachinae]

Night Shift

Also on AO3! Summary: Prowl and Jetfire analyze leads on a Decepticon smuggling operation, working together late into the night trying to find the missing connections. A sleep deprived slip of the tongue leads Prowl to revisiting old choices. Word Count: 2146

---

Prowl didn’t keep track of his chronometer this late in the night. Morning was inevitable, and he knew he could rely on a burst of messages from Orion to let him know when it had arrived. As such, he had no idea what hour it was when Jetfire broke through the productive silence.

“How did you come up with these predictions?” Jetfire asked. Worst of all, he was speaking with his mouth full, apparently too incensed by Prowl’s logic train to be bothered with common decency. “Every gun you’ve pulled in has been running on fumes; I’ve had to scrape the insides of the barrels just to figure out what they’re fueled on.”

The impressive thing about Jetfire was that even as a voice over the comms, he sounded like the biggest bot in the room. It wasn’t just that his voice was deep; Orion, who wasn’t that much taller than Prowl, had a voice you could feel through the floor panels. It was something about the way Jetfire talked, deliberate and straightforward, rarely stuttering even when caught off-guard. It was refreshing.

“I’ve outlined the logic process in my report. I won’t be repeating it,” Prowl said, scrolling back through his files.

“What are they teaching in the enforcer academy that reports don’t need to communicate anything?” Jetfire grumbled

It would be a reasonable estimate to say they spent 50% of these near nightly calls complaining about their targets, their coworkers, and the administration, and another 40% about each other. Prowl sat through them strictly as a matter of convenience, being a faster mode of communication than the intermittent data bursts preferred by the sanctioned enforcer agencies.

Having someone at the other end of the line also assisted the rust sticks and nucleon microcubes in staving off recharge protocols.

“It’s as I explained to Tumbler: it communicates everything I intended it to.” Ideally, very little to anyone who couldn’t have worked it out themselves. That way, the important information stayed with those who could actually use it, and the rest—

“Who’s Tumbler?”

Prowl lost his train of thought as the rest of his processor caught up to what the .5% he reserved for conversation had said. He froze, rust stick halfway to his mouth.

“No one,” he said.

“Okay.” Jetfire drew out the word. “Did he buy that line?”

No, of course not. Tumbler was always relentless about that sort of thing. His curiosity and drive could have lent to the makings of a detective or captain if he’d dedicated them more often to investigations and less on critiquing Prowl.

“He was young and failed to grasp the necessity of efficiency in our line of work.” Prowl had tried to be patient, but he’d been young too, and Tumbler was the first partner he’d had who would listen to him. Even if it was just to argue that Prowl’s opaque writing was the cause of their inefficiency.

“Hmph.”

Jetfire liked to intersperse their conversations with meaningless noises, and although Prowl needed more samples before he was certain of his explanation, he believed they meant Jetfire didn’t agree with something he’d said but was ending the discussion prematurely. It was illogical, leaving a matter unsettled for which a solution existed, but normally Prowl’s priority queues were ordered such that work came before ideological disagreements.

“What?” he asked, finally setting down the rust stick.

“You’re normally terrible with names,” Jetfire said without hesitation. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bot would have to be like to leave that much of an impression on you.”

“He was talented,” Prowl admitted.

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No.” Prowl straightened his back and flared his sensory panels, ready to move on. “It was not a practical partnership. Being together diminished our respective abilities and prevented us from fulfilling our responsibilities. It was for the betterment—”

“Hey, hold on, Prowl,” Jetfire said, his rolling voice enough to draw Prowl up short. “I know that you—but, you know what that sounds like, right?”

Prowl frowned, immediately recognizing Jetfire’s social theory tone.

“Pragmatism,” he said. “We can’t have everything we want in an ordered society. I—we did what Cybertron needed of us.”

“By disposing of a part of yourself?”

Tumbler hadn’t liked that explanation either.

“We weren’t conjunx.” And for very good reason. There were more important things in life than feelings or fleeting commitments, and it was idealists like Jetfire who—

“Just because it didn’t have a name doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Prowl’s thoughts stumbled. He hadn’t expected Jetfire to say that, not because it was out of character but because he was right. That was the exact sentiment Prowl had tried to put to words maybe half a dozen times and now it was being turned on him like a spotlight.

“There are things that should never be sacrificed,” Jetfire went on. Prowl felt his silhouette thrown into sharp relief. “Things we’re worse off for letting go of.” He paused. “A while ago, I was made an offer: instant entry to the academies. No exams, no fees. Everything I’d ever wanted. In return, though, I would’ve had to give up my wings. My… sponsor, I guess, knew I had the processor for science, just not the frame. They asked for me to give up one part of myself to let the rest go free.”

Prowl shook his helm, leaning away from the speaker. Jetfire’s tone was the same one he occasionally used with Bumblebee. With Prowl, he was hard edges and warning lights. They weren’t this for each other. They didn’t do this.

“You were nearly the victim of a scam,” he said, searching blindly for familiar ground.

“I’m sure it seems that way,” Jetfire said, unperturbed. “Do you get it, though? Giving up any one piece would’ve meant tacit agreement with the Functionists, that I wasn’t fit to do my work in any form but what they prescribed. Even if I’d told myself it was for Cybertron, it really would’ve been a sacrifice in their honor, and nothing would ever be worth that.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely obtuse. He understood what Jetfire was saying, but he couldn’t afford to hear it, not with everything he had already done and the plans he had yet to set in motion. Maybe Jetfire had found a way to live that allowed him to maintain his idealistic commitments, but most mechanisms weren’t so lucky. Everyone had to give up something.

“And now you’re here, working on behalf of the Senate,” Prowl said, just to prove that point.

Jetfire made his noise again.

“Right, I forgot,” he said. Annoyed or frustrated: the usual feelings they brought out in each other. “Waste of time. Forget I said anything.”

Prowl wouldn’t, but he also wasn’t going to give Jetfire an excuse to keep pontificating.

It would have been a waste of their time, anyhow, because however sincere Jetfire was in his admission, Prowl had never understood the hypocrisy of bots who would claim to reject Functionism while maintaining an almost fanatical devotion to their frames. In some intangible sense, maybe he did enjoy the opportunity to go for a long drive, but he couldn’t imagine himself grieving his tires for their own sake. He tried to compare it to what he had felt when Tumbler had said going to Kaon was a selfish, pretentious idea and immediately recoiled.

“Results are exactly what I told you,” Jetfire said. Prowl realized he hadn’t gotten any work done in the last several kliks. “Not nearly the concentration of materials to support your theory the Decepticons have contacts in Uraya, and a few that will probably trace back to Kaon, like everything else.”

“I’d like to see for myself,” Prowl said, standing. He didn’t often get this badly distracted, and it was easy to pin it on the state of his desk: used energon cubes and wrappers from the cheap snacks he kept fueled on littered the spaces he should have been using for case notes and displays. When was the last time he’d cleaned?

“Really?” Jetfire asked. “The data’s pretty clear.”

“Humor me.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Neither said goodbye before they hung up: another of their customs.

Prowl cleared the mess into the trash. Exhaustion was nibbling at his processor like a corrosive. Another couple shots would get him through his morning meetings, and then a regular midday fueling would carry him over until he could recharge properly in the evening. Before that, though, the day had to begin, an event he discovered was closer than he’d expected when he stepped outside and saw the horizon just tilting toward the pale blue of an oncoming dawn.

The air was gentle, the pleasant cool that foreshadowed a blistering day. Jetfire was a dot over the Rodion skyline. Prowl glanced up at the few stars that could punch through the light pollution and was reminded, suddenly, of the time he and Tumbler had discussed getting a little patch of metal out on the Tungsten Moors. The barren sparkfields had felt nonetheless fertile with possibilities, and they had gotten hung up on whether it would be more practical to live in a house with two stories or just one. It had been a fantasy, nothing more; even on their joint income, it would have taken millions of years to save up. But there had been something, if not fulfilling, thrilling about it, making plans that didn’t hinge on work or promotions.

He wondered if Tumbler remembered that conversation.

Jetfire’s slow approach gave Prowl time to dwell while keeping an idle optic on his teammate. There was nothing spectacular about Jetfire’s flying: Prowl had worked with and chased down fliers who were faster, more maneuverable, and flashier in every way. But there was something resolute and sure about the way Jetfire coasted, a steadiness that Prowl would have appreciated sooner if he’d noticed it, his thoughts of Tumbler and past mistakes and pointless sacrifice sliding away as he watched Jetfire’s flight.

Jetfire’s flying was beautiful, in its own way. Its understatement reminded Prowl of his own assembly line colors, but with an underlying confidence that left Prowl feeling inadequate. Though technically strong, his power was limited to what he could siphon off Orion and their other high-level contacts. He’d experienced a taste of the real thing under Sentinel, but that had been an especially tenuous connection, liable to snap had he ever tugged too hard. Jetfire’s power was all his own. Not overwhelming, not enough to make the changes Cybertron needed. Incomparable, really, to what Prowl had wielded. But it radiated from the tips of his wings to the burn of his thrusters, self-realized, without reservation or concession.

Prowl’s tac net pinged him with the results for a problem he hadn’t realized he’d plugged in: 50% Prowl should have been strong enough to find another way, 50% choosing Tumbler would have made him stronger.

A perfect 50-50 meant his systems were badly in need of defrag. He cleared the cache and set his tac net to reboot, shaking his helm to dispel the resulting vertigo as Jetfire landed on the steps below him. Prowl waited patiently for him to complete his mode switch, taking two steps back so they would be at optic level with each other.

“Pleasant flight?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Jetfire said with a smugness that allowed Prowl to scoff as he motioned for the datapad.

Jetfire handed it over. Prowl knew he was being watched as he powered it on and reviewed its contents, but he took his time, using Jetfire’s results to run through a few warm up calculations as his tac net came back online.

“You didn’t check for copper fluoride,” he commented.

“No,” Jetfire said slowly, “because it wasn’t one of the compounds we were investigating.”

“Run the tests again.” Prowl tried to return the datapad, but Jetfire refused to take it. “The chances we would find evidence of materials native to the Urayan region were always slim to none. However, the old blackmarket pipeline between Kaon and Yuss ran directly underneath the city. Does that make more sense?”

Prowl saw the moment Jetfire finally saw the case as he did, a knotted web of deceptions meant to dissuade even the most seasoned detective from untangling its core. Jetfire took the datapad from Prowl and stowed it, though the hard look in his optics did not waver.

“Could’ve said that from the beginning,” Jetfire griped.

Prowl didn’t bother to respond. What was done was done. Talking so much about the past was a waste of time neither of them could afford, because for all that it might have mattered, nothing they said could change any of it. All they had was the future, and the possibility of starting each day stronger than they had the one before.

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

The Scar

Requested by the awesome @gothicsprinkles who wanted funny and soft and only got... embarrassment instead xD Forgive me!

-

It’s really warm so Corin doesn’t bother wearing his shirt to bed. He knows he will have a human Mandalorian heater attaching himself to Corin the second they settle for the night and if he’s going to get any sleep with Din doing that in this kind of temperature, Corin has to wear as few layers as possible.

After a quick check on the little bean, sound asleep in his crib, Corin crawls into bed and settles next to where Din is propped up by pillows and is waiting to attack.

He’s not wearing his armor, only his helmet and the layers of regular clothing, feeling secure in the bosom of the Covert, and it’s nice to see him somewhat relaxed for a change. It would be even nicer to see him entirely relaxed in just a t-shirt and sweatpants like Corin usually wears to bed, but Corin knows not to press his good luck. This is good. It’s more than enough.

To Corin’s surprise, Din doesn’t just attach himself to him like a shady rumor, but lies on his side, removes his right glove and reaches out to draw light fingertips over the scar left by a blaster shot that should have claimed Corin’s life but ended up saving it in countless ways instead.

Corin sucks in his stomach a little, despite knowing he’s never been in better shape in his life. He just can’t help it.

“You were a Trooper for so many years,” Din mumbles, his touch light on the scar and soon trailing over his abs, “how is it that you have so few scars?”

Looking down at his own torso, Corin knows the answer but he’s not proud of it. “At first, I had good luck and… friends on my side. That kept me safe most of the time.” He holds out his arm and shows a barely visible scar, a really faint line across his upper arm. “I did take a shot to the arm once, though.” Corin lowers his arm and places his hand on Din’s back instead. “After they… After that, I just made sure not to be at the front wherever we were sent. There were plenty of young idiots like me looking to make a name for themselves and play the hero, I just let them. They were the ones who got the scars. Or got killed. I just focused on getting my ass transferred to the Blizzard  Force.”

Din’s helmet nods thoughtfully.

“What’s the scar on your back from?” Corin asks, having seen and noticed it earlier when they… well, he’d noticed it.

“Oh, that.” Din gives a quiet, amused laugh. “Well, it was my third bounty job and-”

His life as a Mandalorian has left Din with a whole bunch of scars and one crazy story after another to go with them. Corin goes from smothering laughter behind a hand to staring with horrified wonder at how this man is still alive.

“What about that one?” Corin eventually asks, reaching out and pulling Din’s sleeve up a little to reveal a thin, modest scar on his underarm.

“That? That’s nothing. Nothing at all. Ignore that one.” Din tugs his sleeve down and covers it back up. He turns to trail fingertips over Corin’s scar in silence.

At first, Corin’s gut instinct is to apologize, thinking he’d overstepped and accidentally uncovered some painful memory, but then his brain points out how there had been no hurt or defensiveness to Din’s voice. No, it has sounded more like… embarrassment?

Corin’s curiosity sits up and pays attention.

“Din…” Corin drawls, sliding his hand up from Din’s back to gently squeeze the man’s neck and has him arching into the touch with a faint sound of approval. “Din, tell me about the scar on your arm…”

“It’s nothing.” Din mumbles. Definitely embarrassed!

“Come on…” Corin whines playfully, shaking Din a little by the scruff. “Tell meeeeeee…”

Din answers by manhandling Corin over on his side so Din can curl up behind him and hold him tight, too tight to squirm away. “I told you, it was nothing. Sleep now. You’re tired.”

“I’m not tired. Tell me about the scar on your arm, Din Djarin.”

“Shhhhh.” Din shushes him and when Corin lifts his head to glare back at him, Din shoves it back down against the pillow. “Shhhhhh.”

Fine. Din wins the battle, but he has not won the war.

-

Paz has picked his laser cannon apart and is cleaning each piece with as much affection as he shows Raga. He glances up with mild surprise when Corin sits down next to him in the common area. “What do you want?”

Corin glances over and sees Din is busy talking to aforementioned Raga by the door and decides to go for it. “Din has a scar on his right arm. His underarm. Do you know how he got it?”

Several things happen at once. Paz sits up straight, Din makes a startled sound and bolts towards them, and Raga trips Din.

Corin hears Din’s impact with the ground, his furious shout when Raga holds him down with a painful knee to his lower back and the frankly scary strength of her arms, but his focus is on Paz who draws a long and deep breath like a man about to tell a story worth hearing.

“He hasn’t told you about that, has he?” Paz says, reaching out and placing an oil-covered and heavy hand on Corin’s shoulder. “Allow me.”

“Paz, I will shoot you in the face!” Din shouts.

“Is that any way to talk to your brother?” Raga tuts and shoves his helmet down, visor first, to smack against the floor.

“I was fifteen when I got my first jetpack and my father started training me.” Paz sounds nostalgic, before giving a faint shake of his helmet and sighing as he gestures towards Din. “Back then, Din was a little twig who had yet to take the Creed and he was ‘not’ happy about that.”

Din tries to buck Raga off but can only bite back a pained, but mostly angry, sound when she digs her knee in deeper and wrings one of his arms.

“So, one night,” Paz continues, sliding his arm around Corin’s shoulders and maneuvering him over to sit next to him so they both can look at Din, “the little womp rat decided he was going to grab my jetpack and show everyone how he was a natural talent at flying. That he was as good as the older children.”

Corin struggles against a smile. “Is that so?”

Even Raga cackles as she has to grab Din’s other arm as well to keep him pinned down when he struggles even harder to free himself.

“Indeed.” Paz says. “The brat wormed his way into my room, grabbed my jetpack, went into the hallway and put it on. That pack was designed for me, not his baby-ass, which meant that when he activated it at full throttle, it went as well as you can probably imagine.”

Corin is losing the fight against not laughing.

“I woke up to his scream growing fainter as he zoomed down the hallway.” Paz says. “I ran out and saw jetfire and his tiny feet as they blew around a corner and I ‘knew’ what had just happened. I chased after him. If he had been keeping a steady course, I would never have been able to catch up, but lucky for both of us; Din managed to bump into every door, both walls and occasionally the ceiling as he raced down the hallway. Screaming his head off. Eventually I caught up with him in one of the training rooms that had been left open and he decided to end his journey by flying smack up into the corner of the room and get stuck in one of the climbing ropes up there.”

“By now the grown ups are gearing up and preparing for battle because they think we’re under attack.” Raga supplies with glee.

Din gives up fighting and just drops his helmet, visor first yet again, to the floor with a thump.

“Din was bawling, the adults were freaking out, so it was up to me to save the day.” Paz’ voice is brimming with obnoxious delight. “I climbed up there, managed to untangle the little idiot and got him ‘and’ my jetpack down. Luckily his thick head hadn’t suffered too much during his rodeo, but he had busted up his arm pretty good. He was wailing so loud it took about two minutes before Davarax found us and he wasn’t happy.” A fond laughter. “He had to explain to the rest of the Tribe it had only been an illegal jetpack joyride, not an actual invasion by outsiders, while I had to bring the troublemaker to the bone-setter and wipe snot and tears off that face of his.”

Din is thumping his helmet regularly against the floor before he suddenly lifts his t-visor to glare at Paz. “I hate you.”

Paz stares at Din for a heartbeat and a half, then turns his t-visor to Corin. “Has he told you about his first dancing lesson?”

“PAZ!” Din’s bellow echoes through the entire building.

[soundwavereporting]

soundwave week day 5: “Reconnection”

There’s a ghost living in the Acid Wastes. Cosmos and Prowl go to investigate.

Some prowlcoswave angst for the soul! Watch for grief/mourning, temporary character death. An au of the prowlcoswave au. ao3 link in source!

His day goes like this:

wake up (alone)

grab energon

find Prowl, persuade him to drink energon

slog through a shift mindlessly mapping New Cybertron

repeat steps 2-3, except this time it’s Prowl persuading him to eat

consider going through their Soundwave’s stuff—the things the cassettes won’t touch. Decide to put it off for another day.

fall asleep (not alone)

repeat

It’s not a bad routine. Prowl’s…he’s not happy, but he’s not the pile of misery he had been for those long, long months when Cosmos was stuck in the medcenter, and he’s nothing like the inconsolable mess they both were after the funeral.

Soundwave’s absence cut through them, leaving the edges so torn and ragged, it would be impossible to repair them. And his absence wasn’t supposed to be repaired—according to the little Camien therapist Rodimus had hired to meet with anyone who’d lost someone during Unicron’s attack (and, hadn’t everyone? Privately, Cosmos felt awful for the mech.) the grief was meant to be felt. Meant to be experienced. According to her, in time, it would fade to an ache.

Now, it was burning, crackling thing. He finds himself halfway through his shift, suspended in orbit, wondering what Soundwave would think of the new canyons formed at the edge of Uraya before realizing it doesn’t matter. Soundwave’s gone. Dead. So dead there hadn’t even been a body left to smelt. Jetfire had found some piece of his armor that everyone suspected was a part of his insignia. That had gone in the smelter, because their ritus hadn’t been completed.

It helps, knowing Prowl’s dealing with it about as well as Cosmos. He’s rounded up what remains of the cassettes to scout the landscape while Cosmos maps from above, and he spends the rest of his time breaking up fights in the Autobot-Decepticon district of New Iacon.

So it’s a little surprising when Cosmos comes home one day to find Prowl waiting for him.

“You up for a mission?” Prowl asks, and Cosmos just nods dumbly.

He takes a minute to down a cube of energon, and then they head out.

Prowl sends him the notes as they make the journey from Iacon to Stanix. Settlers in Fort Syck and Yuss have been reporting a ghost of all things, lingering at the edges of the Acid Wastes. It’s corporeal until it’s not, and it sings so loud it makes a mech’s processor hurt to stand too close. Of course, no one’s ever captured a clear recording—of either the ‘ghost’ or its singing.

Other than that, they don’t talk.

Which is fine—there isn’t anything to talk about. Except there is—he knows Prowl will listen; not as well as Soundwave used to, but he won’t flat out ignore him.

He doesn’t really want to talk, though.

So they don’t.

They arrive in Yuss late enough to warrant renting out a hotel room for a night. It’s not accommodating enough to have adjustable recharge slabs, so Prowl takes the bed, and Cosmos sleeps on the floor.

In the middle of the night, Cosmos wakes to find Prowl sleeping on top of him. He watches Prowl for a moment, watching the way his jaw clenches in response to some dream., before settling back into recharge.

In the morning, they’re back on the road (Prowl is, anyway. Cosmos is flying.), heading for the border of Yuss and the Wastes.

Prowl stops a group of mechs to ask about the ghost (have they seen him? No. Have they heard of him? Absolutely.), so Cosmos arrives first.

These Acid Wastes are different from the ones on Cybertron—their Cybertron, now as dead as Soundwave—with cliffs and mechaflora aplenty. There’s more than enough places for a ‘ghost’—hoax or otherwise—to hide.

“Um, Prowl,” Cosmos says, when Prowl finally arrives. “Why’re we here? Investigating urban legends isn’t exactly a part of your job description.”

“Honestly?”

Cosmos nods.

“I…don’t know.” Prowl looks away. “I wanted a break. From—” He makes a vague motion with one hand, gesturing in the direction of Iacon. “That.”

“You can just say ‘vacation’.” It’s the closest thing to a joke Cosmos has said in months.

Prowl’s lips twitch.

“Vacation. Working vacation.”

“Sure, Prowl.” Cosmos pats the other Autobot’s shoulder. “Sure.”

It quickly becomes clear that neither of them really know how to go about ‘investigating’ something like this—Cosmos picks up abbarent movement in his peripheral vision once or twice, which he makes note of. But other than that, the Acid Wastes are just…the Acid Wastes.

It’s quiet, though, and Cosmos finds himself wondering if that’s what both of them need. He devotes the second half of the day—which mostly consists of him sitting in the shade, watching Prowl take poring over datapads and articles—planning an actual vacation. Definitely not to Earth. But he’s heard good things about some non-Galactic Council worlds that he thinks Prowl would probably enjoy.

The sun is setting when he hears it.

And the worst thing is—he recognizes it. And it’s clear Prowl does, too, because he freezes, sensory panels hiking straight up as he tries to determine the source of the sound.

The music.

They recognize it because they were the ones who found it. They—and Jazz, who kept a copy for himself, but he’s living in Kaon, so far away it’s not even worth wondering whether or not they’re somehow hearing his music—found it, and gave it to Soundwave as—

Not for the first time that day, Cosmos catches a flicker in the corner of his optic.

This time, he whips around fast enough and sees him. Him.

It’s not Soundwave—not completely. This mech is translucent, shimmering like an optical illusion, as though he’ll fade away when the light hits him. But Cosmos would recognize him anywhere: the outline of his shoulders, the way his head tilts when he’s looking at them.

“It’s you.” Prowl’s voice is quiet. Reverent. “You survived.”

Cosmos can’t help himself. Prowl’s frozen in place, so Cosmos takes a step forward, hand outstretched.

His hand passes through Soundwave. Cosmos draws back, but what else did he expect? If Soundwave were fully corporeal, he would’ve said something. Found them.

Soundwave looks disappointed, so Cosmos reaches forward again.

This time, he feels something—were he not built to receive the weakest of signals in deep space, he would not have felt it. It’s the faintest crackle against his his plating. The ghost of a touch.

It’s enough.

“How?”

His voice cracks halfway through the word. Soundwave shrugs and extends a hand and brushes it against the side of Cosmos’ helm.

In unison, they turn to Prowl. Who’s on the phone.

Cosmos nearly laughs, though it likely would’ve come out as a sob instead. Prowl is yelling—at Perceptor most likely, or maybe Brainstorm—demanding they drop whatever they’re doing and get down to the Acid Wastes, but he freezes when Soundwave approaches.

As he had with Cosmos, Soundwave stretches out his hand and tries to touch the side of Prowl’s helm. Cosmos doesn’t think Prowl’s sensors aren’t sensitive enough to pick up the touch, but he sinks into the touch nonetheless.

Something clicks back into place.

The torn, ragged edges of Soundwave’s absence are sliced away and something new slots into place. It’s not what it used to be—Cosmos isn’t sure if things could ever go back to the way things were all those years ago, when the station still orbited Jupiter.

Cosmos takes in Prowl, who’s staring at Soundwave, and Soundwave, who’s staring at both of them and decides that maybe not what it used to be isn’t the worst thing in the world.