#ancient times of cybertron

[valnes941]

Satellite of Cybertron/Chapter 5

In the centre of Festus Fax stood a building, as semi-circular and steel-grey as many around it, but it was many times larger and therefore more imposing. It was a temple dedicated to Primus and the first 12 Primes. It gave rise to the greying, as it was the first building constructed in the area. Of course, it was originally intended to house all the inhabitants of the fledgling village, but as time went on and new houses were built, that function fell away. However, the structure did not cease to be a gathering place for all the inhabitants, both for meetings and religious ceremonies, reminding them of the greatness of the Creator and the First Ones. Throughout the city, a bluish white light could be seen at track locations, gaining in brightness with each click.

On the steps to the temple sat three mates - one fem and two mechs. On the top step sat a focused pink femme. Behind her back loomed the wings of a motorbike, she was somewhat more massive than the stereotypical two-wheeler and the constructs that would have acted as wheels in an altform were four in number. Her helmet and limbs were decorated with yellow lines. In her manipulators the fem held a discoloured photocell of a metallic fern and scratched thoughtfully at it with a sharp metal stick. Against her sat an equally serious plum-coloured mech. His wings were tense against his back, his dents were gnawing hard on his stylo, and his optics were trying to melt a hole in the photocell in his manipulators. The bright blue elements of his armour stood out against the darker base colour. Between them, a step lower, lay a yellow mech with its doors spread out slightly, boredly shifting its gaze back and forth between Metric and Divido. It was clear even to the mentally calculating Lenis that the former was about to crush his opponent in an artistic contest. He stretched as he rose, glares running down the grey patterns on his body. Time was running out.

"That was it, the three breems were up."

Fem set the stylus aside with her helmet proudly raised, while the mech doomedly lowered its manipulators with an unfinished drawing. A few more clicks passed. The yellow mech rolled up its orange optics.

"Guys, show me, you're the ones who called me here for this."

Arrogantly spreading her pink motobike wings, Metric showed off her leaf. A cougaraider was scrawled on it, walking confidently through the thicket. A frustrated Divido, slouching even more, carefully opened his creation. There was something to look at - something was looking at them from the sheet: the fact that it stood on two servos and had two manipulators, the creature resembled an ordinary cybertronian in a robomod. But that was pretty much where the similarities ended. There were horns sticking out of the helmet, an obscure triangular protrusion on the faceplate between the diamond-shaped eyepieces and a little above the fanged mouth, the geometric body was closer to a ball, the wings (three branches each) were too small, and knife-sharp fingers were present on both the manipulators and servos. Lenis re-examined the two drawings.

"Well, Divido, I'm sorry, but Metric did a better job of depicting the word ‘force’."

Fem grinned contentedly and cradled the painting gently in her arms. As if anyone could take it away from her. The losing mech grimaced as he examined his work - it wasn't going to get any less ridiculous or more impressive. "I just don't take the easy way out," he pouted.

"What do you mean?" Metric squinted, gripping her sheet tensely with her fingers. "What are you implying?"

"I mean," Divido faltered a little, but didn't look away. "That me used his imagination more than you."

The yellow mech prudently began to step around the arguing couple, heading up to a safer place than the stairs. He didn't need to be Vector's messenger to realise that standing next to them was not a good idea anytime soon. Meanwhile, the conflict had reached a climax - unable to withstand the sudden round of glares, Divido ran - only plum heels glistening. An angry Metric chased after him. A merry catch-up ensued, and the altercation was still going on.

"But that's just it!" The mech barely dodged the leaf "You just drew Strag!"

"I drew Strag well! Without looking at him!"

"And I drew Cronid! Without ever seeing him!" he ducked. "Before that!"

"Your drawing is a piece of scrap! And we both know it!"

The temple door slid open slightly, creating a gap in the seemingly impregnable rounded wall. After a few astroseconds, the passage opened fully, and an elderly white and silver mech wearing a metallic cloak stepped out. He nodded slightly to Lenis, and then his faded yellow optics focused on the mates who were still screaming and scurrying up the steps.

How was it a miracle none of them had fallen yet?

With a scream, Divido crashed into him, and Metric crashed into Divido before he could slow down. The young artists raised their helmets in unison, examining the suddenly appeared obstacle.

"Messer Chorus!" The two pairs of red eyepieces rounded amusedly, and the dark pink and plum wings drooped in embarrassment. It seemed like just a little longer and they would lie on their backs in an attempt to look into the faceplate of the incredibly tall in comparison priest. Which wasn't surprising considering the old mech was one of the largest residents of the settlement.

Chorus smiled softly, and his blades showed from beneath his grey cloak.

"Hello to you too," the mech quickly got to the main point. "So, what's all the fuss about?"

Metric and Divido looked at each other unhappily and just silently handed the photocells to their guardian. He carefully evaluated both drawings.

"Well, Metric, you're definitely better than before," though the femme's armour shuddered slightly, she quickly regained her modest appearance, smiling slightly. "And Divido…"

A thoughtful expression appeared on the priest's faceplate. Both sparks showed a talent for drawing, but each had a different aspect they were most interested in. In that respect, Metric was… easier to understand. She strove for maximum accuracy, capturing the moment as it was. Her successes were easy to spot - for example, he was now holding an image of Strag, not some cougaraider. Divido, on the other hand, possessed an imagination that at times seemed boundless. In this case, however, the sheer number of images was more of a disadvantage - he often tried to add new ideas to the drawing on the fly, which overshadowed the original meaning. The final result was incomprehensibly-interesting.

And so it was this time.

"It's definitely… something," he tilted his helmet thoughtfully to the side. "What exactly did you want to draw?"

Spark, who'd already been excited, grew sad. Here we go again. He mumbled something quietly.

"What? Sorry, old mech, I couldn't hear you." Chorus bent down.

"Cronid." - he repeated harder and louder.

The supoptic arches of grey-silver mech lifted in surprise. Why of all things…? No, to be honest, initially he'd been more inclined to think it was some kind of weird predacon or something. But - a cronid?

"It was a competition," everyone immediately turned to Lenis. The yellow mech, leaning against the temple wall and crossing his arms over his chest, continued. "They drew on the theme of ‘force’.

A heavy sigh was heard from the priest's side.

"So, may I ask the reason for such a… unconventional choice?" no, he's certainly a servant of Primus and a preacher of the wisdom of the Primes, but he's certainly not one of those proud fanatics from the north who can't see beyond their manuscripts.

"Well, there's been so much talk about that… a vorn ago, the whole village was abuzz with the discovery of an unknown beast. Who hasn't seen that fire show in the sky at the Darkest Hour? Even in the mines they saw the purple glow and the whistling roar on those nights. Also..." Chorus realised that he had to stop the young talent's flow of thoughts, already regretting his question.

"Good," he stroked the sporkling's helmet lightly. "Okay, I think I get it."

It seemed to be a trivial curiosity, which was not surprising. While there were still stories about Primus and the deeds of the 13 Primes in the temple, there was very little information about their opponents, Unicron and his 5 Krones. It makes sense that the events that took place in this vorn have so stirred the sparkian imagination.

Still, the shouting outside so early in the morning wasn't the only reason he'd come out.

"Has anyone seen Canor? And Stan…"

"Out for a walk behind the wall," everyone looked at Lenis again. "Classic and Bellic promised to keep an ocular on them."

Chorus vented deeply. Good thing it was those two. The monochrome brothers balanced each other well: Classic - the older - was more principled, while the younger - Bellic - was more flexible. They were the constant gatekeepers.

"Oh, there's Stentor! And Canor!" Divido shouted joyfully and started running towards them. "Canor, Stentor!"

The old mech, having followed the sparkling, also saw the familiar orange and green figures. The diminutive, quiet Canor unlike many of his other apprentices didn't get into trouble on her own. And speaking of trouble…

Stentor had been asked to look after the spark's older sister, Somnick, as she had been busier lately… more than usual. Und Vox - her teacher, the hunter - was due back soon, after almost a vorn. So the femme had been disappearing into the forests from morning to night for training, eager to show off her skills to the best of her ability. Now, her younger brother is an extremely active little mech who at times got into trouble because of this and helped others with it.

In a nutshell, ever since he settled here on a permanent basis, this old priest had more things to do than he would have liked. However, looking at the group of kids now, with their conversations buzzing, he couldn't help but think that everything that had happened was for the best.

[cursed-transformers-gifs]

[planetformer-central]

Thank you for making this baby prime AU, it's a boost of serotonin seeing each art of it!

How do Starscream and Soundwave feel about the Primes they once guarded now having been reborn?

I've already done Soundwave, so here's Starscream. This is part 1 of a set of comic pages I have sketched.

That said, in the TF1 Baby Primes AU, Starscream is not a meme worthy character. He is cunning, exceptionally so. He was trained from the moment of his forging to be a soldier, eventually being taken under the wing of Liege Maximo himself. He watched the Cybertronian empire fall. He witnessed Crystal City, the crown jewel of Cybertron, burn. He was so loyal during the war that he was allowed to know of the Primes reincarnations and even serve as a teacher to Prima during his regular rebirths. Additionally, he served in a priestly position to fill in after the Primacy was destroyed. He tried to keep the ancient customs of Cybertron alive, no matter the cost to himself.

Starscream is old, and above all else, he's unwavering in his goals. He wants nothing more than for the old empire to return, and for his Lords to be able to go back to their traditional roles as wandering guardians and guides. For the sake of his goals, he has allied himself with Megatron and remains loyal in the hope that Megatron might show his Lords the error of their ways and convince them to come back with the High Guard.

One of his notable quotes regarding the situation is as follows:

"Our Lords are young yet. And during this delicate time after rebirth, they imprint easily. Their loyalty to Optimus is pure and unwavering, at least for now. But as they age, so long as they are shown the truth, they will begin to stray from him. That is when we strike. That is when we can bring them home."

[penny-anna]

G1 megops wedding episode

Exterior: Autobot base

Megatron: Autobots! lay down your weapons. I didn't come here to fight.

Optimus: then what do you want, Megatron?

Megatron: I grow weary of this war. I propose a truce - in accordance with the ancient laws of Cybertron.

*Autobots all gasp*

Spike: what does that mean?

Bumblebee: under the ancient law, a war can be conclusively ended by the leaders of the opposing sides getting married

Spike: oh wow!

Prowl: Optimus, don't listen to him, this is very obviously a trap

Optimus: you're probably right, Prowl, but if there's even the slightest chance of ending this ceaseless war, I must take it.

Optimus: very well, Megatron! I accept.

Interior: Decepticon base

(Megatron is being pinned into a bridal gown by the Constructicons)

Megatron: excellent. everything is going according to my plan. as soon as Optimus and I are wed, we will attack the Autobots. in accordance with the ancient law they will be unwilling to attack their leader's husband so I will defeat them easily. and then I will rule the universe!

Starscream: you know, Megatron, as your maid of honour, I think roses would be a more elegant choice for the bouquet than lillies

Megatron: we're planning an ambush, Starscream, I don't care about the flowers

Starscream: look I just think if we're going to do this we should do it properly

Starscream: and can I just say, as your maid of honour, you have a lot of cheek wearing white!

Interior: Autobot medbay

Optimus: Ratchet, I need to talk to you about the wedding

Ratchet: oh it's about time. Optimus I trust your judgement and all but this whole thing is completely -

Optimus: will you be my best man

Ratchet:

Ratchet, audibly choked up: it would be my honour

Exterior: blasted wilderness

(The wedding party is assembled. Optimus Prime is wearing a tuxedo jacket and bowtie and is standing with his best man and 2 of his groomsmen) (Jazz & Prowl, also wearing bowties)

(Rumble is coming down the aisle. he is the flower girl and he is taking his job very seriously. both the Autobot and Decepticon sides are getting pelted aggressively with flowers)

Sparkplug Witwicky: remind me again why I'm officiating?

Ratchet: well you're a neutral party

Sparkplug: ah this is all pretty weird

Jazz: I wonder where Bumblebee and Spike are? they wouldn't want to miss the ceremony

(Soundwave begins blasting an approximation of the wedding march as Megatron walks down the aisle with his maid of honour (Starscream) and bridesmaids (Skywarp & Thundercracker)

Sparkplug: uh okay. dearly beloved -

Megatron: you don't have to do the whole preamble, human. Ravage! the rings!!

(Ravage comes over with the rings in his mouth)

Megatron: now, with this ring I thee -

(Bumblebee comes racing over to the wedding party. Spike leaps out)

Spike: stop, stop!

Bumblebee: we object!

Spike: you can't go ahead with the wedding! Megatron is already married, and we can prove it!

Megatron:

Optimus:

Ratchet:

Megatron: Starscream you told me you got the divorce finalised

Starscream: I thought you were doing that. weren't you doing that?

Megatron: how are you this incompetent

Rumble: wait so does this mean we aren't ambushing the Autobots

Megatron:

Rumble: well are we?

Optimus:

Megatron: oh let's just skip it all - Decepticons, attack!

Interior: Autobot headquarters

(The humans are eating wedding cake)

Spike: well at least we got cake?

Bumblebee: yeah this could have gone worse

Carly: I thought it was a lovely ceremony up until all the violence

Jazz: at least this way you don't have to spend the rest of your life married to that bum Megatron. right, Optimus?

(Optimus is looking sadly at his wedding ring)

Optimus: yes. that's right.

(roll credits)

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

[TFP] ♡ SHOCKWAVE NSFW HCS

haha another set of ancient HCs from my ao3, might be cringe since this is kind of old but to be cringe is to be free

scenario: how you and your freaky Decepticon scientist boyfriend pass time aboard the Nemesis.

warnings: smut, Shockwave is mainly a dom.

note: i don't really think that Shockwave is entirely emotionless mostly because of the fact that he can feel things like annoyance so i believe Shockwave feels things but its in a very toned down manner

cross-posted on ao3. MDNI, NSFW under the cut

— He has never interfaced before as he is always cooped up in his laboratory making all sorts of death devices and scientific break-throughs... before he met you at least. Shockwave was a freak in hiding, never aware of just how intense he could go when it came to interfacing. Not that he thinks it's illogical or anything, he would love to get a good frag but it's hard to come by potential partners when he’s so distant with emotion. Also because of his appearance. He lacks an arm and he doesn't have a mouth so he thinks that he isn’t exactly interface material. He’s also constantly busy due to his workaholic nature so he rarely gets time for sexual endeavours. He has no time to embrace his inner freak.

— However, he definitely knows how to pleasure you extremely well and he does it surprisingly good for his first time. Let's just say that the mech has done some ‘research’ on the subject beforehand. It gets lonely and while he may not have "emotions", he does have his own desires. Shockwave has a good grasp on anatomy and biology.

— He never really got the hype about interfacing until he had his first time with you. He did know it was extremely pleasurable from various accounts but he just didn’t know how pleasurable and… If he knew how good it felt sooner, he would’ve been indulging in this WAY more often. There weren't enough words in any language in the universe, Cybertronian or English, that could explain how immaculate Shockwave felt.

— You just unleashed a horny touch-starved tank. Good luck.

— Him asking your consent is very, very direct. "Do you wish to interface?" The delivery is flat and almost funny in a way because he is being 100% serious here.

— He’s surprisingly really down bad even if he doesn't look like it. That isolation back on Cybertron really messed him up and he thinks that interface is a good way to release out any frustrations and such.

— He will only interface at his berth or your berth. No where else. He absolutely does not want anyone walking in nor does he want anyone seeing either of you vulnerable like this. Privacy during interfacing is logical and sacred to him. Period. Once, the two of you almost got it on in Shockave’s examination table only for Knockout to walk in. Knockout is partially traumatised and he proceeded to taunt and tease the two of you ever since, he's a lot less scared of the scientist after that.

— He will only interface after both of you are completely sanitised. He’s a germaphobe. But if you say that to him, he’ll just say that he isn’t afraid, rather he just thinks it's in the best interest for both of you to be careful. He doesn't want you to catch anything and he doesn't want to catch anything either. It’s just the most logical choice. He will also clean after your activities.

— He might only have one servo but he is ridiculously good at using those claws somehow. You could get off from his digits alone even though they are sharp and pointy but then again, Shockwave has always been a careful mech, he's teasing you with surgical precision. It is know surprise that he knows your frame better than you do.

— He also makes up for his lack of a mouth and an arm by using toys on you. He is not afraid to experiment. Viberators, toy spikes... even array mods. But his favourite probably has to be interfacing with you after having his lab-made aphrosodiacs circulating through both of your systems, the overloads are more intense.

— He’s more on the quiet side, only making incoherent noises. He isn’t exactly accustomed to using words to tease (mostly because he has no idea what to say, he does not have a way with words). He might say phrases like “You’re doing good.” every once a while just to let you know. He knows that things can get awkward with him because innuendos or flirts literally just fly over his head so he just sticks with grunts and moans. One time he said that your moans are logical cause they were making him more aroused and you swore, a piece of you died that day.

— Since he has no prior experience, he does not know how to hold back the noises he makes and honestly, you do not mind it. The grunts and moans he makes with his deep voice are very sexy. If you have a voice kink, this is your mech.

— As I stated before, he knows your body better than you do and he uses that to his full advantage; his extensive knowledge in anatomy comes to play here. He’s a HUGE tease, although he doesn't look like it but it's limited to his actions. Playing with your sensitive cables, fingering you nice and slow until you’re practically begging for him to do it faster and give you your release. Depending on the alt mode you have and frame type, he can easily find your egregious zones easily with all the data he has in his processor.

— He’s a control-freak, he loves ordering you around. This mech is built like a tank, tall and imposing. He uses this to dominate you completely. He does NOT like being the bottom, mostly because he can’t control the situation which he does not like. He’s a top dom. Though, the first time, he would surrender to you because he isn't exactly sure on what to do... yet.

— More into the control-freak bit: He secretly wants to tie you down and immobilise you completely as he just pounds you into oblivion. Blindfolds, restraints, gags, you name it. Maybe even a collar. He wants you to be at his complete mercy. Whine for him. Beg for him. Praise him and only him. But he has no idea how he’s going to persuade you or even present this idea to you.

— He also wants a recording of you and him doing the deed for only himself so that he could watch and thirst over you no matter where he is.

— He’s willing to try out new things only after deep thought and consideration. After all, he is a scientist. What kind of scientist doesn’t experiment with a test subject? Shockwave won't hesitate to bring up something new he wants to try with you.

— Things he will absolutely not be involved with: Threesomes, Exhibitionism, anything unsanitary, anything with health risks and anything that might hurt you too much. He's fine with sadomasochism. Definitely a voyeur.

— He cannot be mean to you even if he tries and he does not see the logic behind degrading. He thinks you’re more than good enough for him (it's illogical to say that anyone's perfect unfortunately) and he will make sure that you know it. Also because he does not have a way with words so even if you wanted him to, it would be sort of... it would make you cringe more than anything. His vocabulary is extensive and Shocky mainly uses formal terms so degrading would sound strange to hear from him. Similar thing with praise. Best he can do is "you're doing well.".

— Oral is a huge no-no, in the first few sessions at least. He thinks it's completely unsanitary and you will have to actually convince him to let you suck him off. Another reason why he doesn't have a preference towards oral is because he can’t reciprocate to you.

— But once he did let you suck his spike, you went on to suck his spark out instead. Shockwave became Shookwave. The way your glossa wrapped around his spike, milking every last bit of his transfluid had him actively whimpering; vocalizer shorting out. The moans and grunts he let out were nothing except pornographic as he fucked your intake, your glossa tracing along his spike. And the way you looked up at him after swallowing up all his transfluid had his knees weak. If he had an intake, he would’ve kissed you so hard for making him feel so good, praised you to the end of days. Marked you up completely as his.

— Let’s just say, he understood the logic behind oral very fast that day and he’s completely clueless as to how he even remotely managed to bag you. Your glossa game had him go see Primus and come back. He’s disappointed to know that he cannot give you the same treatment.

— But it's fine, one of the perks of having a Decepticon scientist/engineer boyfriend is that he can.. *ahem*, let's just say that Shockwave is more than capable of making devices that could replicate the stimulation for you. It would definitely have you surprised at first but Shockwave will put his scientific knowledge to good use. He has no shame, he who cannot feel shame does not know what it is. He's the first person that comes into a Cybertronian's processor when they think of unethical scientists so this is nothing.

— This mech will look at you, straight in the optics and ask for your feedback on how he could make his devices work better as if they didn't just give you a processor-shattering overload which he totally didn't self-service to while watching by the way.

— Shockwave sometimes asks you to self-service in front of him to which you shamelessly do so. He’s got that beautiful image of you pleasuring yourself with half lidded optics engraved into his processor so he could never forget a single detail. Has a weird Voyeurism thing going on, he’s absolutely fascinated by the way you pleasure yourself.

— He wants your praise badly, keep telling him how good he makes you feel. Not a praise kink but he just wants to know if he's doing a good job. It fuels his ego and his confidence. He knows that his appearance is not the most appealing when it comes to interfacing.

— Suck his digits. Please.

— One time he accidentally activated his cannon arm during interfacing and he made a hole in the wall. The both of you were stunned, looked at the hole and looked back at each other.

— He always makes sure that you’re alright before and after interfacing. “Was the experience optimal?”, “Are you comfortable?”, etc. He will ask only using very... scientific vocabulary though. Shockwave wants you to come back for him and for that, he needs your feedback.

— Shockwave will wash you up and provide necessary items to clean you up, he takes the liberty to wash you himself cause it's just another excuse for him to touch you. Shockwave loves it when you clean him up. Shockwave is miserably and hopelessly in love with you and he does not want you to reconsider being with him so he makes sure that you get supreme aftercare. Shockwave thinks that aftercare is most logical.

— However, he will not know how to talk or comfort you after the experience. You guys mainly just recharge in each other’s embraces. Shockwave likes having your helm rest on his chassis or his helm on your lap.

— He will ask you how he can improve upon the experience and he's expecting an actual, genuine break down of how he could make it better. Too rough? Too painful? Maybe he should've denied you your overload longer? Perhaps tighter restraints? And he's asking you very casually, by the way. Shockwave treats interfacing like its a science experiment where the goal is to make you reach maximum, processor numbing pleasure so he could watch and because of that, he wants your feedback directly.

— Shockwave takes notes mentally of every reaction so with every single session, the scientist gets better and better at it. Like exponentially. So after a while of fooling around with him, he's leaving you overwhelmed and overstimulated. Overwhelmed to the point of overheating and your optics swelling up with coolant threatening to spill. The sight arouses him unlike anything he's ever seen, especially if you're helpless in restraints. He's got enough images and videos of you in that state to make his own porno by then. He would definitely enjoy ruining you, seeing you so hopelessly lost in the pleasure he gives.

— Would Shockwave use his valve? No, not really into it. But he does like riding your spike. Shockwave likes having you squirm beneath him and his valve mods will have you fighting for your life. Though, it is sort of unsettling because you have this big red optic looking down at you. Shockwave likes having control so even if he's using his valve, he'd be a valve dom. Your poor spike would be getting all of your transfluids drained out because he probably has one of those valve locking mods where your spike is quite literally stuck in his warmth when he overloads, quite literally milking you.

— If you're into sparklings: Shockwave absolutely does not want sparklings. His love for watching his transfluids leak out of you fights against his dislike for sparkling in an all out war. Thankfully, Cybertronian contraceptives are far more convenient and flexible than you might think. He has a love-hate relationship with children of any species, Cybertronian or not; they are loud, noisy but strangely adorable. But adorable does NOT make up for the rest in the SLIGHTEST. He might be willing but you'll have to really, really, really convince him because he would not be near a thousand feet radius of crying sparklings. You say a word about him carrying and he's walking out of the room.

[crying-fantasies]

Monsterfucking

Masterlist

Featuring Merformers! Rodimus Prime, smut/fluff/humor, CW: you fuck the fish, that's it, Roddy doesn't know about kissing, licking (sexy and lovingly), handjob, penetration, mention of a knot, barrier language, nesting, light gore (in a fight), mention of Rodimus’ creators, mer pups/cubs (I love these fictional babies so much), long fic.

Days in Cybertron tend to be regulated in cycles, the days are longer than average back on Earth, and it has been years but you still get problems waking up at the start of the day cycle, a new day to work, and a new day to try and not mess all up as a snake-like tail gets clingy, not letting go of your leg and purring when his claws get a hold of your torso again, hardly letting you hold on the data pad and give your boss a message of your more than sure tardiness just to get a thumbs up from her, almost hearing her say ��work hard!”

Anything to help an endangered species.

Rodimus tends to be quite the hyper-energy kind of person, well, fish, he stands up more than the rest of the marine wildlife on this planet, and that's saying a lot given the unique metallic nature displayed, it’s a miracle that whatever kind of liquid filling most of the planet's oceans isn't cooking your meat out of your bones; Rodimus stands up, a lot, you've seen the others around, most are friendly, more inclined to curiosity when they touch your legs or look at you from some reef like structures, believing those as the better spot to hide but forgetting to low the light in their optics, first time it happened you were in for a shock as the rest of the team laughed at your spooked reaction to more than 20 pairs of optics shining bright under the liquid, all with overflowing attention to the new organic putting feet on the floating laboratory.

Rodimus would always be more noticeable to you, as he was the first pair of blue optics reaching out to you the same day your work put you there, so far away from your real home, all to preserve the mechanical nature of this planet and it's creatures, Rodimus escaped from his group, servos trying to catch onto his fins, all for nothing as the mech came up to a side of the lab where your official in charge was giving you the tour of the facility.

With shiny red-colored scales and flimsy paper-like metallic membranes, he was just like in the books, something from far away yet seemed organic, it was something so intricate no one could ever think of, the pads in his digits patted your right foot, feeling the texture of skin and thin body hair before giving a high pitched trill when he launched himself back to the liquid.

One of the scientists laughed, “Rodimus likes you”, almost catching on to his designation he emerged back, just to be dragged under by the rest of his group in a hissing feat, especially by a very mad hunter mech.

Mechs they call them, as in mechanical individuals, some skip over formalities and call them mers because the mers call themselves that way; and no, it’s not a joke as you see Chief Medical Darcy act as a referee when Optimus and Megatron are about to rip the fins of one another again as the doctor only sips on his instant chemical coffee, watching them both quarrel like an old couple, using sounds on a piano-like artifact to tell them to, in the mers own language, “frag off already, Optimus, you left him” while pointing at the blue mer, then to the almost smiling big-like ancient shark, playing his piano like a pro, moving pieces and volumes to say: "Megs, you shouldn't have acted like that, you started it”.

They are ancient, going way back to when Earth was still galactic powder, sentient in every way, they have language, culture, arts, and everything in between, the planet was under colonization until someone noticed the fishes could communicate, it all burned down from it, now considered a protected system the priority was to increase their number, as they could tell tales from bygone times, cures and methods never told before; the mer called Alpha Trion knew of a treatment for decayed fins, which somehow also worked on humans, it was incorporated to treat many skin diseases back on Earth, and the pros of keeping them alive overwhelmed the ones trying to sell them in pieces like it was done at first.

Rodimus is part of the reproduction program, more like one of the offspring resulting from it, but you've seen the program, it looks more like a dating event to this point, and then a nursery program, once the mers get good results, keeping the babies is high maintenance even for the most experienced ones, Cory tells you so once he catches on Rodimus going to you more times than ordinary, cuddling your side like an over-affective cat while purring, “he was just a small baby when I handled him, seems like it was yesterday”, he has a very worn-off expression, and the bags under his eyes tell you of unending nights while he has a new baby in his arms, you see a few mers in the pool connected to the nursery, passed out on the floor in uncomfortable positions over beds of wire-like kelp, some with their young sleeping like angels over them, and Rodimus, who is now shining and swimming in circles for some reason around you two as you also hold a baby, is very focused in how the little guppy holds the neck of your t-shirt, even using one of the sleepy carriers as some platform to show off his pretty red and orange scales, “never expected to live enough to see the day he would dance for a human”, you take a moment to think over it, process it, Rodimus has little time to do something when one moment you're standing there and the next you're running like you heard Megatron is coming with a bad temper.

Rodimus hasn't seen you since that day and makes it everyone else's problem while wailing on the shore closest to your room, and you, so shocked you almost dropped the baby back into the water, only hide in the sudden realization that an alien, mechanic, sentient fish wants to have something with you.

It was too much for a Saturday night, excusing yourself and leaving the baby with Cory who shouted something along the lines of it being normal, “Have you seen this fellow here?” he pointed at the red and silver mer in the pool, a new sire taking a rest while his babies were being rocked back and forth by you just a few seconds ago, the silver and white baby, now in Cory’s arms next to his red and white sibling, “have you meet Miss Astoria yet? The co-owner of this preservation program? These are her boys”

How can it be normal? How did it even happen between two different species on two different planets? How come the babies don't even look human? How?

And why is he trying so hard to find you? There is hardly time to even eat next to the shore before he appears once again, at least his blue optics peaking over the liquid before he goes back down, leaving you in a moment of solitude, raising your hopes, that maybe he finally settled for a partner of his species, but no, Rodimus only went back to the ocean and took out some kind of alien mechanical fish, still moving and trying to return from where it came, only to be gutted right there and then in front of you, Rodimus looks at you, expectantly, how can his optics shine so much?

“You know what? Fuck it”

Next thing everyone knows you're sunbathing in your free time on the beach, Rodimus making a donut-shaped nest at your side with his body, thrilling happily while doing so before you are called back, making him look at you, then at the nest, and back at you, big optics pleading and almost whimpering, “what is-? No, no! It's not that I don't like it! You shouldn't even be doing that here!”

Mers hardly do nests everywhere, as it is only recommended to do it near calm waters, safe to raise their young, close to the waters to ensure the moisture of the nest, with enough light to keep the iron sand warm and cozy for the growing protoforms.

Rodimus makes them where he likes or where you stay for a time long enough for him to get back at his job.

Cory tells you that's normal, since you said yes to Rodimus is normal for any newly paired couple to create their own nest, and also the fact that Rodimus is a recently matured young adult makes him more eager over the idea.

Maybe not exactly at the prospect of having a baby, more like the idea of banging.

Rodimus makes a lot of nests around the iron sand, he has one outside your shared habsuit, another out of your side of the laboratory, one in the sunbathing grounds like the other mers, but not one in the nesting grounds or the nursery, being extremely on edge if an unpaired mer looks at you or his nests, Rodimus is snarling at them when he notices, fins flaring with violent intent and only stopping when the other mer is at a distance he considered respectful before going to you as if he was the victim and not the curious young mech, chattering inconsolable until you let him snuggle in your lap, holding to you and whistling happily.

Mers, while being highly intelligent and sentient still go by their traditions, quite animalistic traditions as they fight over themselves to get a partner, and catch the attention of another; a group is wrestling in the iron sand in one of the little islands while you sunbathe with Rodimus, cleaning his fins of parasites or dead scales, taking samples while at it before a road and a snarl catches on your attention, jumping on your spot over the sand and looking at the island, two mers soon to kill each other while some others look, expectantly, waiting for the winner, the mers waiting to make a display and show their scales, show their array once the loser is bleeding energon in the sand and the winner takes the prize, you feel bad for the med, dragging his massive metal body back to the ocean, maybe soon to arrive at the medic area for medical aid, Rodimus calls your attention back at him, his servos holding your hands and pressing them back at his chest which rumbles, then holding onto your face to look him directly at his optics once you notice the healed scars under his scales or the growing pity on the injured mer just meters away.

Doesn't take much to know why he is always so clingy, or the reason for him to have so many scars when you look at his multiple medical reports, all gained after several mating seasons, losing every single one, being dragged back by Cory to patch him up even in a fainted state.

You look at him now, different, both resting in the bed inside your habsuit, still too early in the morning, Rodimus is curled next to you, his arms holding you, tail heavy over your legs, tangled within your legs, a remarkable subject that pointed out what he was and what you are, impossible to miss, still, you know about it now.

Nesting season is still a long way to come but the mating one is ever present once the fights for lovers have ended, Rodimus seems to not be moved by it, or he tries to appear as much as he grooms you with his hands and his glossa, it is more like an affectionate display but it still far from any sex, still, while he tries to rule over your hair with his oral solvents you catch on the puffy look his slit shows; most paired mates had long since gone to more private zones to let their needs and urges free, you are with the rest of the team as everyone gives their farewell to the newly paired young mechs, hoping for the best in the nesting season.

He tries to deny it, trying to keep up with the older mers who choose not to join the younger ones and the ones without pairs, all just doing their usual routines, Rodimus comes back much earlier than usual and becomes more anxious, just yesterday you finally noticed the reason why he didn't like to enter the nursery lagoon, using the piano-like artifact, asking him if he didn't like to come near the nursery even when you or Cory, his partner and his sire, were inside, his answer was simple “you don't like pups”.

Take a moment to let that sink and the misunderstanding born from the moment you realized his intent in courting you, Rodimus was, in reality, giving you much praise while snuggling next to you, presenting how nice you were with the young pup in your arms in front of his sire, happy by the way you two seemed to be getting along and then thinking in how happy his carrier was going to be when he came back with the hunting group, but his sire said something, making you jump and run, leaving the pup behind with his sire.

Rodimus believed you didn't like babies.

Which, in truth, wasn't exactly like that or different, “it may be impossible”, your words translated with the machine made his optics go big, soon pointing at himself, “Well, hard to happen”, Rodimus looked at you with barely closed optics, a little mad and hurt, “how can we be prepared? Or in any case, why now?” of course, it had to be soon, as the days progressed, and as every grooming session got heavier, sometimes you would nap while Rodimus cleaned you, soon feeling the way his servos were touching, massaging, his glossa looming over your neck, denta nipping at the skin.

He has been so strong so far, but it only takes a movement of your leg to make his tail recoil over it, rubbing his dilated slit over your hip, moaning during his recharge, optics opening just slightly when your fingers started to move along the opening, he squeaked, then rumbled out a groan, hissing while letting his slit open, you've seen the books, but it never said anything of it being soft, like rubber, Rodimus moves his hips, his massive tail pumping against your fingers as his arms go to your neck, anchoring himself to you while crying out in ecstasy, your fingers push a little more and you find a protrusion, pushing your fingers out for a moment to show his spike, letting you touch him more, lavish him more, his servos were frantically holding to the meat in your ass, trying to make you move against his spike in a rutted haze, barely giving your time or space to get the pajama pants off, “Okay, if only we could- could you keep it down?”, your laugh is nervous as he seems to be ripped apart on putting you over or under him, groping where he can while doing so, being careful to not catch your skin or hair with his frantic moving seams, finally deciding to put you down in the mattress, rocking his spike in between your open legs, knowing well the differences, but also the coincidences, between your bodies.

Where the slit of his tail was is also the point in which your legs connected.

“Come here”, your instructions are hard to follow as he is overthinking, full of joy while nipping at your neck, eager to couple but too excited to put it in, the little fighting you both do, one to put his spike inside of you and the other showering you with affection, finally ends when your hand catches on the pointy head of his spike, pumping at it while dragging him over, making him curl a little to be able and still be face to face plate.

Of course, you should've expected the unfamiliar sensation, impossible to compare to anything you've ever had, there was desperation in it, and his movements were too fast, too eager, still, Rodimus kept showing what you liked about him, smiling like a dork and holding to you, letting your legs brace to his tail, said tail rocking fast against you like he was swimming, putting your arms around his helm as he snuggled against your chest and neck, leaving bite marks just to show off, never to give you real damage, moving just enough, in that specific part to make you see starts with your breathless indications, easing your worry with forehead nudges that you changed for kisses, taking him for a surprise before he just let you continue, imitating you, when you felt his spike grow, inflaming, he was sure to make you come at least once before he started to pump faster, wilder, until the base was all in, pushing to a point never had before, looking at you with barely open optics as he started to coo and chatter, you didn't know what he was saying without aid, but Rodimus was singing you praises once again, “I love you, we are mates, mates for life, you're mine, I’m yours”, every short break in between his thrilled gibberish were supposed to be words, but you didn't have much to think straight as he kept on leaking into you, overflowing, keeping it all inside while relishing over your limp body as he still moved to let you get all of him, cleaning you once again to let you rest.

Once you slept well, he was back from wherever he went, coming back with food for the day for you both, once you ended your rations he would give you one of those glances, holding one of your legs, smoothly putting it over the beginning of his tail as you let him, seating you over his already wet and dilated slit.

Mating season wasn't a long period, but it was a delightful one, soon comprehended why so many people on base were missing for all of its duration, now being part of them and even learning why some told you to keep your clothes off most of the time except for a night coat easy to open, Rodimus was a good lover, as he barely left your side, and if he did, it was only to get rations from the cafeteria before leaving them to you and expanding the nest he was making outside your habsuit, using his body, curling it over the sand to make it compact at the base, then making a hole in the middle to keep water inside while you rested inside, not worrying about you leaving to do your science as he was sure the other humans just let you rest.

Months later, Cory found Chandler hissing at the ocean, just to stop, startled, like him at the sight of Rodimus, soon making direct eye contact with them, holding a still closed-eyed little black and silver hissing pup between his servos, presenting his own young and beaming with pride as they both heard you screaming Rodimus’ designation with two more pups in your arms from your habsuit, more than likely enraged and worried out of your mind by the lack of your firstborn in the nest where you left him with his siblings, then being startled by the potent cry of the pup that could only be comparable to a dying animal asking for mercy as he was soaked, cold and scared out of his young mind by the emotion of Rodimus’ to show off his offspring, and this was the fourth stop he made so far.

Rodimus’ carrier, Chandler, didn't give his own pup time to ponder what made you so mad before he was trying to knock some sense with violence into his adult pup like he was still a youngling after snatching protectively the pup against his chest to try and comfort him, Cory runs to them to try and save his son from the fury of his partner and his heavy servo, you appeared with your other two babies to see Rodimus being smacked by his carrier without mercy, “Have I not taught you well?! What in the PIT were you THINKING?! What are you DOING with a NEW FORGED PUP OUT OF THE SLAGING NEST?!”

Rodimus was a great lover, he was still learning to be a sire.

.

Inspired by the work of @tinydefector and @shyspider, love your guys’ work so much, totally lost Mermay but I can try it again with some good monsterfucking.

And if you realized, yeah, that hissing baby is Sunset.

@tf-kinktober2024

[smallestapplin]

Hiii :3 I have a fluffy request, lol. So randomly, my nerdy self learnee how to write ancient autobot, right? I can do it from memory now, and decepticon graffiti is next for me to learn.

Can there be a scenario where some of the bots/cons find little cute notes left around only to find out their s/o wrote them? I'd think it'd be cute :)

~SPADE♤🐈‍⬛️

Holy shit that’s so cool :0! I hope you don’t mind I went with Hound and Thundercracker

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Hound knew you were studying something but you never told or showed him what, you begged him to let it be a surprise knowing how observant he can be, honestly he’d be able to tell if you gave him a second to see, but you wanted this to he a surprise for him! And he’s not about to go against his sweetspark’s wishes.

So imagine his surprise when he finds a peice of paper in his glove box after dropping you off at your house. the hand writing is a little sloppy, but it’s in cybertronian autobot dialect and signed off by you.

‘I hope you have a good day, and be safe! I love you.’

- your love’

You learned cybertronian for him? You went out of your way to study his home language, just to surprise him with little notes for him? This was the surprise you wanted to keep for him until you learned it perfectly? He’s paused in the middle of the road just staring at it, he can feel his optics stinging and a smile just overtaking him.

Hound is driving right back to your home, waiting until the garage door closed before transforming to knock on the door. He sits down on the concrete waiting for you to open, though he knows it’ll be a moment as you’re getting out of your work clothes.

When you open the door in your cozy clothes, you are yoinked swiftly into his servos pulled close to his face plate and getting kisses littered across your face. You can’t help but laugh as his dermas tickle your skin, with each kiss being paired with an exaggerated ‘mwah!’

“Not that I’m not happy, but what is this all about? Or did you miss me that much, lover boy?” Your smile just makes Hound melt, and finally pressing his dermas to your lips.

You place your hands on his metal cheeks, holding him in this embrace just a few moments longer before he pulls away to let you breathe.

“I found your note. Did you really learn my home language just for that?”

“I wanted to leave you little notes so you could read them when we aren’t together.”

Hound lets out a pained wheeizng sound like an arrow just struck his spark, before your being smothered in his kisses once more.

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-

Thundercracker doesn’t ask much, he’s a ‘you’ll tell me when you want’ type of con especially to you, his little human. He does what he can to keep you safe and entertained while he works, he barely bats an optics when you ask him for books or files on cybertron. True, a part of him is happy you want to know about where he came from, but he doubts you’ll have much luck reading it without his help.

Which he did offer, but you denied him. He’s just happy you’re here with him so it doesn’t matter to him.

Until he’s going through the computer in his habsuite and notices a tab open that wasn’t there before, opening it shows him a little messily written message by you, clearly nips use to how big the controls were.

‘I left you some rust sticks in my side of the habsuite. I won’t be gone long but I’ll miss you! Love you!’

- kisses!’

He is suddenly regretting taking you to your friends house, he wants you here now he wants to hold you and kiss you for being far too sweet, far too good for him! You learned to read decepticon code for him?

He barely notices his habsuite door opens as he crumples to the floor groaning.

“Dude, you good?’ Skywarp leans over his friend, poking the blue seeker who just isn’t moving anymore.

“Ugh, you and that damn fleshie again, this is so gross.” Starscream rolls his optics as he notes the message on the computer, and totally isn’t jealous Thundercracker has a loving relationship.

When it’s time to pick you up, you best believe you aren’t leaving his habsuite fot a while, as he drowns you in so many kisses and refuses to stop cuddling you.

It’ll happen everytime he finds another note somewhere, so much so he starts going on the hunt for them checking everywhere he can just because he wants to read what you wrote, to have a physical copy of your love for him. You love him so much you do this for him, and he’s expected to not kiss you?

[capricorn-writes2]

Hey! Can I Get a headcannon of Wheeljack, Bulkhead, Optimus and Ratchet with S/O that got infected in cybonic plague?

Wheeljack, Bulkhead, Optimus and Ratchet with S/O Who Got Infected with Cybonic Plague

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I try my best to make the portrayal of their character based on their personality, and I would like to apologize for replying to the ask late because I had horrible carpal tunnel syndrome in my right hand and depression, and I had to focus on finding jobs as well as therapy. Thankfully, I graduated in July from my university and able to get a quick 6 months of internship before leaving to find a new job.

Gender: Neutral

Warning: Angst to Fluff, sickness, mention of injuries and Profanities

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OPTIMUS PRIME - Autobot

When Ratchet first tells Optimus you're infected, his spark clenches. He masks the fear behind his usual stoicism, but his optics dim. The Cybonic Plague is a deadly, ancient virus, and he vows silently that you will not meet the same fate.

Optimus spends long hours at your side, even when he should recharge. He watches your spark signature fluctuate on the monitor with quiet intensity. Every labored intake of your vents feels like a countdown ticking louder.

He searches the archives for ancient medical data, something even Alpha Trion once wrote. Sleepless and single-minded, he sifts through fragments of forgotten science. If the answer lies buried in the Well of All Sparks itself, he’ll find it.

When Megatron offers a cure to him but in exchange a cruel price. Optimus would consider surrendering himself if it means you’ll live going through Megatron’s database to get the cure. He volunteers instantly to deliver it, no matter the danger.

Inside your subconscious, he finds a corrupted image of yourself. It’s terrified, glitching, dissolving into plague data. He kneels beside it, shielding you with his own spark energy.

The process nearly destabilizes both of you. Your systems scream under the pressure, and Optimus begins to fade. But his spark surges, wrapping you in protective light.

After what feels like forever, your optics flicker back online. You see him there, battered and dim, but smiling just for you. “You… stayed,” you rasp, and he nods, servos brushing your cheekplate.

Recovery is slow, and he never rushes you. He adjusts your routines, brings Energon himself, and reads to you aloud. No mission takes priority over your healing, not even war. He keeps a fragment of your corrupted code stored away safely. Not as a reminder of the pain, but of the strength you showed.

Your near-loss changes him, even if subtly. He becomes gentler in the quiet moments, less afraid to show his affection. When you reach for his servo now, he squeezes back without delay. He lets you stay by his side in the command center now.

Sometimes, he wakes up from recharge fearing he lost you again. You always pull him close, resting your helm against his chest plate as your arms wrap around him to comfort your sparkmate. “No plague. No pain. I’m here,” you remind him.

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The first symptom was a flicker. Just a minor glitch in your visual sensors, nothing big, just a half-second blackout that you chalked up to fatigue. But then came the spasms. Your servo twitched, then locked. The base lights blurred, the floor shifted beneath your feet, and Ratchet’s voice faded into a muffled hum. By the time you collapsed in the medbay, Optimus was already on one knee beside you, calling your name repeatedly.

Ratchet’s diagnosis was quick, in a second, and brutal: the Cybonic Plague. A virus from Cybertron’s darkest past. You barely heard the details, lost in a haze of heat and static, but through the buzzing in your head, you caught one thing: from your receptor, the fear in Optimus’s voice. No, he didn’t shout; he didn’t panic. He never did. But when he asked, “Ratchet, is there a cure?” The weight behind his words could’ve cracked stone.

You drifted in and out of stasis, each moment flickering between memory and dream. Sometimes you were back on Cybertron, laughing in golden-lit corridors. Other times, you were locked inside your own mind, fighting the virus as it twisted your code. On the other hand, the leader of the Autobots sat beside you, silent, his servo resting against yours.

When your vitals began to crash, Ratchet proposed a dangerous solution: someone had to enter your mind through a neural link and manually inject the cure. Optimus didn’t hesitate. “Prepare the link,” he said. "Optimus Prime, Are you sure?" Ratchet was surprised. The medic even warned him of the risk, of the chance he might not return, but Optimus had already decided. “She is worth the risk.”

Inside your mindscape, the virus had created a corrupted version of you. It was ugly, fractured, glitching, and afraid. Optimus found you there, curled in a pit of static. He didn’t rush to pull you out; instead, he knelt beside you, his sparklight flickering in the dark like a pulse. “You’re stronger than this,” he said, his voice echoing like thunder through the data storm. “And I’m not leaving without you,” His voice was louder. You reached for him with a trembling servo as his hand gently held your hand.

The battle inside your mind was like drowning in code, each surge of infection trying to rewrite who you were. But with every wave, Optimus pushed back, pouring light into the cracks. He shielded you with part of his own spark signature, even as his systems began to flicker too. “Stay,” he whispered when your form began to fade. “Stay with me.” And this time, you did.

You woke to the soft hiss of medbay monitors and the familiar warmth of his servo against yours. Your optics blinked open, and there he was, damaged, dim, but alive. And smiling. “You’re back,” he said, as if those two words were enough to rewrite the universe. You tried to speak, but all you could do was nod, the heat of tears burning behind your eyes. He leaned forward, pressing his helm gently to yours. “I believe in you; I know you could do it.”

Recovery was slow, but he was patient. He helped you walk again, holding you up when your joints trembled. He sat through quiet recharge cycles with you, read aloud during your checkups, and let the others take the front lines so he could stay close. The war could wait, he told them. Because for the first time in a long while, the hope had won against the cybonic plague virus.

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RATCHET - Autobot

Warning: The doctor is tsundere

The moment Ratchet scans you and detects the Cybonic Plague, his spark skips a beat. He double-checks the readings, then checks them again. But the data doesn’t lie, your code is breaking down. “…No. No, no, not them. Not you,” he mutters while already grabbing tools.

He doesn’t even try to hide how shaken he is, there’s no time for pride. His servo trembles for the first time in centuries. You try to joke about him being dramatic while the rust starts to form, but he silences you with a look.

Ratchet keeps a close vigil at your bedside, monitoring blinking over your spark signature. He rarely leaves your side, only to mix compounds or pace violently. The others offer help, but he snaps at them without meaning to.

He digs into archives older than the war itself to find a possible cure. Your medical file grows thicker by the hour, stained with energon smudges. He barely recharges, too afraid that he’ll wake to silence from your berth. Your steady pulse is the only thing keeping him from destroying himself.

When your systems crash temporarily, Ratchet genuinely breaks down. He slams a servo into the wall, a spark roaring behind his chassis. The monitors scream, and he’s barking orders at the others like a war general. No one dares disobey him when you're on the line.

He eventually constructs a prototype antivirus—but testing it is risky. Ratchet debates for only seconds before deciding: he'll inject it directly. If it fails, it could speed up the deterioration… But doing nothing is worse. “Better to die trying than to watch you fade.”

He injects the cure with a shaky servo, optics locked on your frame. You seize up, systems sparking, and he nearly overloads from panic. But then your vitals stabilize a little. It was not perfect, but enough. He doesn’t breathe until your optics flutter open.

He’s exhausted, hunched over your berth like a rusted-out frame. When you whisper his name, his entire posture softens. “Don't ever do that again,” he says quietly, voice raw. But there's relief under the gruffness, and it bleeds through.

Ratchet orders a full scan every two hours after your recovery. No exceptions, no excuses, even if you insist you're fine or if you just have a simple cough from dust. It’s annoying… but deeply sweet in a Ratchet kind of way.

He brings you energon personally, even if he pretends it's 'standard check-in protocol'. He triple-checks its composition, temperature, and nutritional balance. When you smile at him, He huffs and mutters, “Don’t get used to this.”

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

You were just teasing him over another one of his grumpy lectures when it happened. A sharp pain cracked through your spark, and suddenly your systems seized up, dropping you to your knees. Ratchet barely caught you in time, optic panels wide in alarm, shouting your name like it was a medical emergency code. “No, no, no! Stay with me!” He barked, already scanning you with shaky, frantic digits.

The diagnosis was something Ratchet had hoped he’d never see again: the Cybonic Plague. A virus so ancient and insidious that even whispering its name made bots flinch. You were already twitching, glitching, fighting to hold onto reality as the virus gnawed at your code like rust in your processor.

Ratchet didn’t react with panic. No, panic was inefficient. But his voice lost its edge of sarcasm, and his hands never once stopped moving. “You are not dying on my table.” The others offered help "Ratchet What happened?!" Bulkhead asks with panic in his voice. "We can help you," Arcee tried to step up as Bumblebee buzzes.

But Ratchet didn’t let anyone else touch you. Instead, his optics silently glare at the other Autobot teammates and blocking them away. “No one knows their system like I do!” he snapped, the words heavy with something more than professional pride. "You all step away from (Y/N)!"

He worked tirelessly for hours, then days, ignoring recharge and energon warnings, digging through corrupted Cybertronian medical files older than Orion Pax. You were more than just a patient. You were the only one who’d ever made the old medic feel again, you're his sparkmate and the only one who could understand him.

Every time your spark signature flickered, something in Ratchet faltered. He’d pace the medbay like a caged beast, muttering equations under his breath, cursing the virus and whatever careless god had let it survive this long. He really wishes that time Megatron hadn't made a virus as the biology weapon as he remember all of those passing comrades who rusted away from the cybonic. Even when Optimus offered to assist, Ratchet nearly shouted him down. “Don’t take this from me! I have to be the one to save (Y/N)!”

When your systems dipped into emergency stasis, Ratchet broke protocol. He ignored the risks, activated a neural bridge, and entered your mind full in desperation and determination. Inside, your consciousness was a mess of static and corrupted data. He found you in the center of it, your voice distorted and broken, barely able to reach out. But he knelt beside you anyway, optics locked on yours, his touch gentle as he whispered, “I am not losing you, too.”

Fighting the plague from the inside was like performing surgery in a hurricane. Every data spike you sent at him nearly knocked him offline. But he kept moving forward, shielding you with pieces of his spark signature, injecting the antivirus into your core line of code while taking damage himself. “You're worth every scratch,” he said quietly, even when you begged him to leave. “Don’t ask me to walk away from the only thing that makes me feel alive.”

You came back slowly, stuttering and disoriented, optics dim but conscious. Ratchet was there, slouched in his chair, faceplate smudged with energon and exhaustion. When your hand twitched, his optics widened, and the relief that washed over him nearly dropped him to the floor. “You stubborn glitch,” he whispered, and for once there was no bite in his voice. Just soft gratitude, like your survival had rebooted something inside him.h

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WHEELJACK - Autobot

Wheeljack doesn’t panic often, but the moment Ratchet says 'Cybonic Plague' his spark freezes. He clenches his servos so tightly they spark. He’s used to battlefield injuries, not watching someone he loves slip away without a fight. “You’re not fraggin’ leaving me,” he growls, already planning something reckless.

He tries to play it cool around the others, but you can tell he’s on edge. His optics flicker faster, and he paces like a caged beast. He gets into three arguments and almost punches a wall in the first hour. No one dares call him out, except maybe Ratchet.

He hates not being able to fight the plague with his blades or explosives. But he sits beside you anyway, blades sheathed, just watching you breathe. Because being there is the only fight he can win right now.

Wheeljack once storms into the medbay covered in Energon because he thought you flatlined. Turns out it was just a system recalibration. Ratchet yells at him for scaring everyone and nearly bleeding out but he doesn't care, he just wants to see your condition.

When Ratchet finally gets a possible cure, Wheeljack insists on testing it himself. He offers his own code as a host “Load me with it. I can take it.” Ratchet refuses, but Wheeljack doesn’t stop trying to bargain.

He holds you through the injection of the antivirus, despite Ratchet’s warnings. You’re spasming, screaming, nearly overheating, but he won’t leave. His armor gets scorched, his frame rattles with yours. “Easy, sweetspark. You’re tougher than this thing. Just hold on.”

Once you are awake when your vital stabilized, , he cracks the dumbest joke to make you smile. It’s so bad you groan, but it breaks the tension. Of course he does this is because he wants to distract you and himself from what just happened.

He actually hugs Ratchet after the cure works, and then immediately denies it. The medic bot would pushes him away, rejecting his hugs but secretly the doc was smirking and says nothing. Everyone at base teases him about it for weeks.

Wheeljack would secretly builds a private recharge chamber for the two of you. It’s lined with Wrecker badges and LED lights shaped like stars. It is a sanctuary for you two.

He puts your spark signature into his own HUD overlay. He monitors it 24/7, even when you're fully recovered. Says it helps him 'focus' but you know it just helps him breathe easier because after what hapened he became twice more protective around you as he tries not to show it (but it's too obvious).

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

You didn’t even feel it at first. Just a flicker in your HUD, a small static delay in your vision. You chalked it up to a power drain or a bad line of code from your last mission. But when your limbs started locking up mid-step and your systems spat out unfamiliar alerts, you knew something was wrong.

The moment Wheeljack caught you collapsing in the hallway, optics wide and frantic, you knew things were about to get worse before they got better. He carried you like you weighed nothing, sprinting to the medbay with a speed that would’ve impressed Flash from the DC Universe.

Ratchet was already scanning your systems before your optics flickered out. His voice is grim, “It’s Cybonic Plague.” That’s when Wheeljack went completely still. Not in fear but in that deadly kind of stillness that comes before a storm. “You sure?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Because if you’re wrong—” “THE DATA IS NOT WRONG!” Ratchet snapped. "Get out of my way and let me try to save them.” But Wheeljack didn’t leave after Ratcher ordered him.

He stayed by your side like a guardian drone, arms crossed, pacing only when the tremors in your frame got bad. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, but the tension rolled off him in waves like a bomb waiting for someone to trigger it. His fists were clenched the entire time, even when your body seized and your vents wheezed like you were drowning on dry air. “I’ve seen ‘bots fall apart in my hands,” he muttered one night, eyes locked on your dimmed optics. “Never thought it’d hurt like this.” His voice cracked for just a second before he stuffed it down.

No one else saw that moment. He made sure of it. But you heard it—through the haze of pain and corrupted data, you heard the fragging heartbreak in his voice. The worst night came when your spark signal flatlined for 4.3 seconds. Ratchet got it back, but Wheeljack didn’t speak for an hour after. Not one word.

He just stared at you like he was memorizing everything in case it was the last time. When you jolted awake with a scream during the antivirus injection, he held you down himself, letting your thrashing scorch the paint off his arms. “Easy, sweetheart. Come on. I’ve got you,” he whispered like a promise.

When it was finally over, and your vitals stabilized, he didn’t cheer like the others. He just slumped into the wall and let his optics close. You’d never seen Wheeljack rest before, it was almost unsettling. He didn’t speak until you weakly reached for his servo, and he took it like it was the most precious thing in the universe. “Welcome back,” he whispered, smiling with that cocky lopsided grin that always made your spark flutter. “Told you you were tougher than scrap.”

Late at night, when the others were recharging and the base had gone still, he’d sit beside your berth and tell you Wrecker stories, a wild, impossible tales of explosive stunts and near-death victories. But there was always a pause at the end. A breath. A moment where he looked down at your frame and whispered, “Nothing I survived out there scared me half as much as this did.”

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

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BULKHEAD - Autobot

Bulkhead instantly panics the moment you stumble mid-step. You’ve handled worse injuries before, but this was different. Your optics dimmed, and your balance gave out. He caught you before you hit the ground, yelling your name so loud it echoed through the base.

When Ratchet announces it’s Cybonic Plague, Bulkhead nearly shuts down. He’s heard of it, he’s lost Wrecker comrades to it in the war, and the thought of you having it nearly crushes him.

Bulkhead refuses to leave your side, even when ordered to. He snaps, “I don’t care if Megatron walks through that door. I’m not leaving them.” Miko tries to convince him to get some rest, but he just shakes his head.

He strokes your helm gently whenever you’re unconscious. It’s a side of Bulkhead few ever get to see, soft, wordless care. His massive servos are surprisingly gentle, brushing away coolant leaks and static from your face. Sometimes he whispers old Wrecker stories, just to fill the silence.

He threatens to storm the Decepticon base for a cure if needed. When Ratchet mentions the cure once came from Soundwave’s systems, Bulkhead's optics flash with rage. “Tell me where, and I’ll smash my way through if I have to.” The team knows he means it.

When Ratchet tests an experimental antivirus, Bulkhead is the first to volunteer to help. He doesn’t care about the risks. “If it saves them, then I’ll take ‘em all.” He’s the wall that keeps everyone moving forward.

He keeps a record of your vitals and treatment schedule. It’s scrawled in messy handwriting on datapads. “Just in case someone else gets sick. I want them to have a head start.” Even in your worst moment, he’s thinking about helping others.

When your systems finally begin to purge the virus, he almost collapses with relief. “They’re stabilizing,” Ratchet says. Bulkhead just lets out a broken laugh. “You fraggin’ did it, sweetspark!” The first time you speak after recovery, he nearly sobs.

He organizes a celebration after your full recovery, but it's more of a quiet hangout with the team. He brings Energon treats and music, keeping you close. The way he smiles when you're laughing? Pure sunshine.

He starts spoiling you with homemade energon treats. They’re not great. He accidentally makes them too spicy, too sweet, or too burnt. But he tries, and he beams every time you take a bite. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”

Even after you recover fully, he watches you like a hawk. He pretends to be casual, but you catch him staring every few minutes. “What? Can’t I look at my favorite bot?” he teases. But deep down, he’s still guarding your spark with all he’s got.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

Bulkhead had seen a lot in his time, explosions, Decepticon traps, close calls that would make any normal mech fold under pressure. But nothing could have prepared him for the moment you collapsed right in front of him. One minute you were laughing, teasing him about how slow he was on recon, the next, your legs gave out, and you hit the ground with a terrifying clang. “(Y/N)?!” he shouted, running to you so fast the ground shook beneath his feet.

Your optics flickered, static buzzing through your words. You tried to smile. Primus, you tried, but all that came out was a pained whisper of his name. Ratchet didn’t need a scan to know something was wrong. “We need to get them to the medbay. Now.” Bulkhead didn’t wait for anyone else; he scooped you up like fragile crystal, whispering your name like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

The word 'Cybonic' nearly made him drop. He’d heard it before, on the battlefield, whispered like a curse. It was a plague that turned circuitry against itself, shutting down bots from the inside. “ You’re kidding,” he muttered to Ratchet, his voice cracking. But the medic just gave that grim look he always wore when hope was wearing thin.

Bulkhead never left your side. He sat beside your medberth with Miko’s blanket wrapped awkwardly around his shoulders, your servo gripped tightly in his own. He didn’t care if the others thought he was being dramatic; he’d rather be dramatic than alone. Every time your frame spasmed or your systems flickered, he flinched like he’d been hit. It was like watching the world end, one glitch at a time. “C’mon, Y/N… you’re stronger than this,” he murmured on the third day, optics bloodshot from lack of recharge.

His voice was soft, nothing like the boisterous Wrecker tone everyone knew. “You still owe me that race through the canyon, remember?” His laughter broke into static halfway through, and he leaned forward, pressing your servo to his cheekplate.

On the sixth day, your vitals dropped, and Ratchet yelled something Bulkhead didn’t understand, some medical code, some numbers, some urgent demand. But all Bulkhead could see was the way your body arched, seizing, like it was rejecting life itself. “No, no, no! Stay with me, (Y/N)!” he begged, almost in tears. The world blurred, and he wasn’t the strong, dependable Wrecker anymore. He was just a mech in love, losing his everything.

When you stabilized the next morning, he didn’t dare believe it at first. Ratchet hesitated, then finally said, “They’re responding to the treatment.” Bulkhead didn’t say anything. He just slumped forward, his forehead resting gently against yours, shaking. You were still there. You were still here.

The day your optics lit up fully again, the first thing you saw was Bulkhead slumped in a recharge chair next to your berth, snoring loudly, with dried energon streaks staining his cheek. You reached out and poked his shoulder. He jolted up like he’d been shot, optics wide. “Y/N?!” he shouted, voice cracking. You smiled. “Hey, big guy.”

The energon tears shed openly, and unashamedly. Not the silent kind, not the pretend-tough tears. Real ones. He gathered you in his arms so gently it nearly hurt, rocking you like you were the last spark in the universe. “Never—never—scare me like that again,” he whispered. You could feel the tremble in his voice, but beneath all of it… you felt the safest you’d ever been.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

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❀

[revelboo]

I just wanted to say, thank you for showing me where to get the little models, I've been having so much fun putting these guys together the past two days

Sorry for the quality of the photo

Shockwaves! I found the Blokees models purely by accident, but I love how tiny and posable they are. I ended up moving my Flame Toys Megs to my plant shelf just to make more room for these guys

Gravity Pt 6

IDW Optimus x Reader

• “Why Earth?” Turning away from his work at the soft question, he finds you sitting cross legged nearby watching him with a little frown. You’d been quiet so long, he’s assumed you were resting. At his questioning look, you roll your hand in a vague little gesture. “Why did you all come here? Why Earth?”

• Servos flexing slightly, he leans his forearms against the desk. Almost looming over you, but you don’t lean away. Just arching your eyebrows at him, because it’s been bothering you for a while now. Surely there were other worlds closer to his world, to Cybertron. So why here? “In the archives, there were ancient records of worlds the Primes had visited during the expansion before the war with the Quintessons. Of worlds that had been seeded with energon or interacted with,” he says. The words bringing up more questions than answers. Quintessons? Other Primes? Only energon rings a bell, because that’s the stuff he lives on, but seeded?

• Your expression twists and he knows he should explain it all. That he owes it to you after trapping you with him, but the past has only ever wounded him. Dredging it up always brings up the choices and mistakes he’d made. The things he can’t undo, but wishes he could because something small might have led them all down a different path, a brighter one if he’d only been better, stronger.

• “You came here for the energon,” you hazard. He’s volunteered so little of his past, only letting things slip occasionally. Like that his Autobots are at war, that they’d had to flee their world and that their enemies had followed. The details, though? Like why they’d left Cybertron or even what the war was over? Those things he doesn’t seem ready to talk about so you haven’t pushed.

• “We had no way of knowing about your species. You didn’t exist when this world was seeded as a potential colony.” Reaching out, he crooks a servo not really expecting for you to lay a hand on him and let him gently pull you to your feet. “I wouldn’t have led the Decepticons here if I’d known.” And that’s his guilt to carry from now on. Another failure that might cost so much, another sin weighing on his spark, because this world might not survive their war. You might not.

• “You guys were starving, right?” You ask, hand lingering on his servo as he inclines his head. “You were trying to save who you could, I get that.” It’s not fair or right, but you do understand. From what you can gather from the things he doesn’t want to say, things were pretty desperate. He was desperate. And to be responsible for the survival of your people, what would you have done in his place? You’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be nearly as honorable as he is, that you’d do anything regardless of the cost, because you’re not good like he is.

• Spark warming at your soft words, it’s that you understand that makes him curl his servo about you. How can you not blame him for bringing his war to your home? Not hate him or at least resent him? Your little palm slides against his servo like you’re trying to comfort him, worrying over him. It’s a weight from him that you don’t despise him even though he knows that this and what will follow will be his fault. For now he just wants to feel your hand on him and pretend that this one time, his decisions won’t cost him what little he has right now in this moment. Won’t cost you, because you give him something to look forward to every day. Something beyond duty or responsibility, just enjoying your company, the sound of your voice. The soft touch of a hand reaching out to him to break his loneliness.

Previous

Next

[gigidraws13]

TFP: LOOKING THROUGH THE SHATTERED GLASS

After a confrontation against the Decepticons over an ancient artifact, F! Y/n finds herself warped into another reality, with the roles swapped between the two factions. With the heroic liberating Decepticons and the tyrannical oppressive Autobots fighting over the fate of a remaining Cybertron.

Being in a different reality that resembled hers, she must navigate the world of shattered glass, teaming up with the Deceptions and catching both the optics of their freedom fighting leader, Megatron and the tyrannical ruler of Cybertron and leader of the Autobots, Optimus prime.

With her power and determination, F! Y/N must race against time to recover the artifact that sent her here, before the domineering Autobots get their servos on it.

She must find her way home, while having the fate of two worlds on her shoulders.

* Yes the story is based off Soundbluster’s interpretation of Shattered glass, I will not be writing a fic of this, because I don’t think I would have the motivation to do so, but if anyone would be willing to write a fic based on this, I will forever be grateful.

[lets-try-some-writing]

The Matrix's Guide to Choosing (And Raising) A Prime

Having grown increasingly frustrated with the continual failure of its Primes, the Matrix has had enough of being passed around. Determined to pick its own Prime for once, the Matrix has set off to select its chosen.

Well, it would be off doing that a lot more if it didn't have one young Orion Pax to take care of.

(NOTE: This is a snippet and will be a full fic soon :D)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The mythology presented on Cybertron generally depicted Primus’s core, the Allspark, as being a place of peace and respite. By almost all accounts, this idea was supported and correct. Primus’s core was a lovely afterlife for the fallen until the time came for rebirth and a comforting cradle for those yet to be. But for one who was neither living nor dead?

It was the same as being stuck at the bottom of a hole with no real way out.

The Matrix’s initial decision to abandon the surface for a time was made in a moment of calculated rashness. It was tired of the foolishness of its previous chosen bearers and at the time, it had no desire to be passed around and presented only with lackluster options. Sentinel had not been its ideal choice, but Sentinel was all it had to work with during its last stint on the surface.

The Matrix refused to suffer through that again. 

It needed someone worthy, and it was absolutely through with leaving the selection pool up to someone else to create. No, the Matrix was going to find a right and proper bearer this time. It would choose itself and it would mold its champion into the glory of Prima without so many pathetic impurities to tamper with its work.

At least, once it got out of Primus’s core.

The Matrix contemplated for what could have been vorns. It was impossible to tell without access to the surface or the frame of its chosen. However, eventually, the Matrix reached a conclusion. It would ask, then it would adapt. The task was of course, quite daunting. None save for Primes spoke to Primus. The Matrix was a mere forging tool, unworthy of direct communication… but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I shall bring forth a Prime worthy of thy glory. Release me, and I shall not fail you again.”

The Matrix waited, its many failures weighing on it as it felt the attention of its god turn toward it. Primus’s gaze was a heavy thing to bear, and most mortals hardly even noticed it. The Matrix wished it had such ignorance as it sensed Primus sifting through its crystalline core, seeking answers and understanding. If the Matrix had been a living being, the prodding would have likely hurt. When Primus pulled back, it did however ease at the lack of further invasion.

“Seek. Walk amongst my children. Bring forth one who shall stand against the coming darkness.”

Blessed relief washed over the Matrix, memories of prior Primes struck down for their foolishness fading away as the Matrix found itself released onto one of the many winding paths surrounding its god’s core. It lay there, momentarily frustrated with its lack of mobility before it ran a quick assessment of its shell.

Technically, the Matrix itself was a crystalline computation device and sparkless intelligence. It did not possess the necessary components required for full frame functionality. If it had a bearer, then it could make adjustments, but on its own, the closest thing the Matrix had to a frame was its shell. The ancient sentio metalico that made up its shell was moldable, easy to change if the Matrix demanded it. How else was it to bond to its bearer? Some were small, some were large. It had to make some adjustments.

It had never used its shell’s adjustability in this manner before, but again, desperate times called for desperate measures.

After sifting through a few old memories of creatures that met its size categorization, the Matrix shifted. Its shell warped, changing from golden handles and casing to instead create four spindly spider-like legs. Its core was carefully kept encased and served as the centerpoint for its new mobile frame. The change was disorienting for a moment, but soon, the Matrix adapted.

It always did.

Up it went, painstakingly using its legs to pull itself up and through shafts long abandoned. It knew these paths, for Prima had walked them before. After him, Guardian travelled far and wide and Nova went through great pains to know as much as possible for fear for his own life. The Matrix knew what roads to take and marched without regard for the passage of time or nonexistent exhaustion. It did not wither, it did not fade. It was the Prime forger, a tool designed for one purpose and one purpose alone.

Find, forge, and guide Primes to better Cybertron and its people.

Its design pushed it onward, until at last, the Matrix emerged from an old garbage chute. It was dirty, a fact that bothered it to a degree. Potential bearers would not be fond of seeing it in such a state. But first and foremost, its task was to assess and then, if the Recorder Prime still lived, return to him for guardianship. Alpha Trion always listened to the Matrix. It was he that carried the Matrix to Guardian after all.

The Matrix shifted its attention, sifting through memory until it determined its estimated location. Based on the towering and geometric city structure, it suspected Iacon. Outer Iacon at any rate, considering the amount of dilapidated buildings it observed. The trek was going to be long at this rate, but that afforded the Matrix time to observe and learn-

The Matrix halted in its steps as a cry rang out, young and desperate. Its legs tapped as it turned, adjusting its view and scuttling toward the source of the sound. Part of its design was to seek out and guide its Prime to aid the weak and the needy. The Matrix had no bearer, but it could not help but wish to see.

And see it did.

Rounding a corner, the Matrix saw devastation. Fallen crystal spires and toppled sunstone trees littered the area, plant life uprooted and made into little more than rubble. This was absolutely the outskirts of Iacon. These areas had been home to Iacon’s last forest, the only place Sentinel had seen fit to preserve at the Matrix’s prodding. Now it was little more than a barren wasteland, caution tape and markers for new construction already in place.

The Matrix was not living. It did not feel rage. But if it could have felt rage, it would have been seething as it carefully made its way through the ruins, searching for the cry that rang out without end. On and on it roamed, until finally, it came to a pile of rubble. It was largely leaf litter and branches from fallen trees, but hidden behind all that, the Matrix sensed life. Small and fearful, but living nonetheless.

“Be at ease. I mean no harm.” 

The Matrix projected its field, presenting the copied signatures of Prima and Nova, the most empathetic of its chosen. As it did so, a small frame sifted through the mess, lingering by a hole leading into the rubble and glancing out cautiously. The Matrix paused, its sensors picking up something impossibly young.

A sparkling. This one was a sparkling.

Immediately the Matrix folded its sharp limbs away, softening them and shifting until its shell produced optic shutters so that it might make its core appear as if it were an optic, and thus, less terrifying to the little one. If it had a face and vocalizer, it would try to smile and coo to ease the tiny being before it. Instead, all it could do was settle and emit waves of peace, blinking slowly to show its docility. 

The sparkling remained a careful distance away, growling lowly. But after a time, the sparkling came forward, prodding at the Matrix with tiny clawed digits. As it did so, the Matrix could finally get a good look at the distressed sparkling left to rot in fields of destruction. 

The sparkling was still largely matte gray, as was customary for all newly forged little ones. Its optics were a stunning blue of the cycling variety, taking after Amalgamous in design. Its frame type indicated it would be meant for the ground, but the small finials on its helm reminded the Matrix of Thirteen, Prima’s ever elusive visionary. The sparkling’s growls slowly eased into faint chuffs as the Matrix continued to emit soothing waves of emotion, finally letting fangs hide behind a soft smile.

The sparkling patted the Matrix’s shell, gently caressing its core. They were almost the same size, and yet the sparkling was so thin…

The Matrix was not intended to get involved in such affairs without a bearer. But looking around… there were none to care for the sparkling before it. The newspark was bound to extinguish at this rate. That could not be allowed if the Matrix had a say in things.

Hoping for the best, the Matrix carefully unfolded a limb to draw the sparkling closer. The sparkling hissed at first, tensing and batting at the Matrix’s outstretched leg. But after a moment, it accepted the contact, returning to a comforting series of chuffs as the Matrix purposefully increased its temperature and wrapped itself around its newfound ward. It had to go slowly, so slowly in fact that by the time it wound fully bound to its new ward, the sparkling was deep in recharge, nuzzling against the Matrix’s core.

This was acceptable.

Gently, so as to not cause too much distress, the Matrix shifted a limb to hold the sparkling in place, and with its other three, it began the long journey to the Archives. Everything else could wait. For now, it would go to one it trusted and lean on Alpha Trion’s guidance.

The Matrix was a Prime forger, a warrior maker and observer. It did not directly interact. 

But as it felt the sparkling venting softly against it, the Matrix found itself willing to make an exception.

[valnes941]

Satellite of Cybertron/Chapter 1

Okay, Google, what to do if you suddenly found yourself in space, didn't die after a few minutes, realized that you are no longer a human… are these two giant robots destroy nebula during battle?

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

He was running. Again.

Green crystalline trees whizzed past, metal ferns whipped around the hull, and cable vines tried to get under the servo.

But it wasn't the first time he'd been here either.

From behind, the slow, loud stomping and noisy venting of the pursuer could be heard. The vegetation around him reflected the violet glare more and more vividly.

He was being caught up. As expected.

Spark pulsed excitedly, heating up his chamber and accelerating the energon pounding in the audials. Optics in battle mode scanned the surroundings.

Up ahead, amidst all the kaleidoscope of green, steel and purple, the native blue lights appeared.

In time. He was already beginning to tire.

Suddenly, as always, the forest was replaced by the bare bank of a shallow but wide river. He was immediately transformed.

The two wheels made sure to make contact with the ground, and he quickly picked up speed. Using the familiar rocks as a springboard, he managed to fly over the obstacle and land softly.

He braked sharply to avoid crashing into the blue crystalline thickets and transformed again, but he was unable to steady himself on the servos and rolled over. Now he was lying on the aforementioned energy-blue crystalline vegetation and mentally counting the new dents on his hull. Well, as an unnamed seeker-researcher had written: ‘If you remain conscious after landing, the landing is considered soft".

Violet mech groaned and stood up, rubbing his bruised helm. When he regained consciousness, he retrieved two cases from subspace with a single manipulator movement. First, he checked the long and narrow case, opened it, and with a sigh of relief ventilated it: the brush and paints were in order (which was a good thing, considering how difficult impossible it was to find replacements for them in these places). The second case turned out to be a book - opening it, the motorcyclist checked the fresh inscriptions on the bound pages, which were safely hidden by the metal cover. Fortunately, the characters were still legible, though slightly smudged. All that remained was to quietly update them, and all would be well.

Flicking through the previous entries, he stopped at the very first page. The young Cybertronian's optics were not on that page, but on the inside of the cover, where the large handwriting read, ‘Notes of a novice explorer,’ and in smaller print, ‘Liber, doing Vector's Feats'.

Closing the book and carefully placing the important things back into subspace, Liber looked at the opposite shore. The creature that had stalked him had not left. It was following him closely with its bright purple optics, whose colour was diluted only by the darkness in the middle, like black holes surrounded by the light they sucked in. Though the beast was not clearly visible from behind the green thickets, the fur knew its appearance well.

A powerful giant, many times larger than him, a silver body, two manipulators, two servos, a pair of horns and wings each, as if made up of a single endoskeleton, capable of flashing flames the colour of the creature's optics. Something that shouldn't live, no, exist on Cybertron.

Cronid.

A species descended from Unicron himself, the bringer of Chaos.

And yet there it was, and it was about twenty-five mechanometres away, never having left its teritorium.

Satisfied with the job he had done, Liber walked slowly into the blue forest, looking for signposts to get back to the settlement. Knowing that he would not be attacked (the cronid himself had never crossed the river, all dangerous animals had been scared away by him), he found himself daydreaming about the next time he would learn about this creature.

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The creature sighed as it looked at the robotic motorbike. Wasn't he tired of following her and then running away? On one hand this behaviour annoyed her, on the other…. it was refreshing.

This purple stalker was the first intelligent (?) inhabitant of this world who hadn't tried to kill her after his first encounter with her.

Though the fact that he always came back was a little tense and reassuring. How curious/crazy do you have to be to come back to her every time, knowing it would end in a mad race?

But, come to think of it, one didn't prevent the other.

Sighing once more, she turned away from the river and walked back to her house.

This day was exhausting without metal weirdos lacking the instinct for self-preservation.

[lovekabaneri]

TF Monster hunter AU fic "In hindsight"

I wrote a new fic inspired by @keferon TF Monster hunter AU.

Here's a link to AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63512290

Summary: Basically Brainstorm and Quark watch a conspiracy tv show about ancient monsters and as a mech of science, Brainstorm is dismissive of all the crazy theories. He laughs and says it is just bogus… only to end up discovering vorns later that these theories were true and it was actually him.

[extension announcement]

[Next story =>]

Story:

Brainstorm was a mech of science and cold, hard facts. And a bit of an ego, and maybe a bit of a crazy scientist streak… alright and maybe a bit too ready to test the limits of what is possible. You get the point.

Because of his personality, he was not very liked both in the academy and the scientific field, yet… even a mech like him managed to somehow find love. He and Quark were fellow students and then co-workers, they had worked together for many vorns, so it was weird to him how he still could not understand how Quark could fall in love with him. Before he could make sense of it all, he and Quark were conjux and moving in together.

………………………..

It was one of those slow and gloomy days on Cybertron, the night was dark with clouds blocking the sky and absolutely POURING outside, so the streets were empty of all traffic. It was a quiet time.

*Du-dun-dudu-du~!*

Music was playing from the screen in their shared hab, the sound loud and clear enough to be recognizable from all the way to Breinstorm’s little lab at home. A mix of dramatic tomes and techno music – absolutely gating on Brainstorm’s audials.

“Ugh! That thing again.” – he groaned and got up.

It was obvious he was not going to get any work done, with the annoying show now on and Quark really enjoyed watching it a lot, so he couldn’t really tell his conjux to turn it off, so he got out of his little lab and headed for the living area to get himself a cube of energon and maybe sit together with Quark.

“Oh, so you decided to finally come out of your lab, Storm?” – Quark was already sitting on the couch with a cube of energon in one servo.

“Well, not like I would have been able to do much at the moment. I still don’t understand why you watch this thing.” – Brainstorm said but sat down beside his conjux and settled comfortably as the show was starting.

“What? It is fun and I like watching all the ridiculous conspiracies they talk about – it is a good way to relax. If I remember correctly, you were also laughing last time we watched Cybertron Dismantled.” – Quark quirked an optic ridge.

“W-well… How can I not laugh at their stupidity?! They were talking complete bogus!” Brainstorm gestured at the TV “Magic? Immortals and Gods walking among us? A monster living in one of the seven oil pools near Cyplex? And don’t get me started on those supposed ‘monsters’ and ‘demons’! The Spark Eaters! We learned about the Age of Hunters in the academy. All those so-called monsters were just different types of beastformers. Like Grimmlock.” – he ranted, almost spilling his energon.

“Haha! You sound even more invested than me in this show with the way you are talking about it.” Quark laughed and put a servo on his conjux’s shoulder “Now, shush, it is starting.”

With a grumble, Brainstorm quieted down and just drank his energon.

On the screen, the theme song and introduction was finally done, the glyphs spelling out the show’s name flashed one last time before the feed cut to a darkened studio with two mech figures sitting in the dim light. Lights turned on, but unlike previous broadcasts, the studio was made to look like a room with a projection on the wall, making it look like they were standing by an open window with a storm outside. There were even occasional flashes and fake thunder sound, reminding the viewers of the storm currently outside.

[Good day or night, dear viewers. It is me, your host, Skidtrace.] – a flashy brown and gold mech with a dark visor smiled, his dentae glinting even in the low light.

[And I am Tsoul, the truth seeker…] – the second mech said, being more muted color of black and light green with facial markings and a distinctly spiky helm shape.

[And we are here, LIVE from our studio to share with you the TRUTH! In today’s episode OF-]  -Skid trace bedan.

[[CYBERTRON DISMANTLED!]] – the two said, with Tsoul being quieter and Skidtrace almost shouting.

Brainstorm winced a bit at the loud noise while Quark smirked from his side – the traitor!

[As you have noticed, we have decided to do something a bit different, compared to our usual broadcasts.] – Skidtrace gestured to the background.

[In theme with the current acid rain sweeping the region, we have decided to discuss a ‘being’] Tsoul made air quotes with his digits [That many of you, fellow seekers of truth, might have only vaguely heard about.]

[This episode is dedicated to a lesser-known story from the region of the Lithium flats and the surrounding areas like Vos, Nyon and Tarn. It is said than on stormy nights like these, where acid rains pelter the planet and electric storms light up the skies, a lone figure could be seen zipping through the clouds, the sound of thunder following it as it chases the lightning and tears through the skies! The legendary Thunderbird!] – Skidtrace said enthusiastically.

[It is quite an ancient legend, coming from the Age of Hunters or the ‘Dark Ages’ as some have started calling it in recent times.] Tsoul said with a composed tone, unlike his fellow showrunner [Today we are going to look through the many facts and myths and reveal to you the truth about this ‘mythical beast’. What is it? Could it be real? Or is it something that the government is trying to hide?]

[What are you talking about, Tsoul? Of course it is real! It is one of my favorite stories from home, before I came here to Polyhex! A mysterious beastformer from ancient times, a mythical being even! Flying through the acid rains like it is nothing, bringing with it lightning and thunder!] – Skidtrace gasped in mock offence.

[I know you are biased, being from the area, but we are a reputable source of information and we have to work with facts.] -Tsoul levelled his co-host with a look.

“Feh, yeah right, facts! Nothing factual about made-up conspiracies.” – Brainstorm scoffed.

“Shh! It is getting interesting and I am actually invested in this Thunderbit thing now. Maybe it is some kind of recluse beastformer, living away from civilization or maybe even an undiscovered species.” – Quark said, humoring the show but also honestly interested to see where it is going.

“Quark, you can’t be serious, there’s no creature that can do all that they are saying-]

[You should be aware that a living creature like the Thunderbird can’t exist, not even some of the bravest seekers would dare brave the storms, considering what kind of damage the acid rain and lightning can do to a mech.] – Tsoul continued.

“See, even the crazy guy agrees!” – Brainstorm exclaimed, only to be shoved by Quark.

[Then how do you explain all the myths, sightings and, this time, actual historical proof!] – Skidtrace fired back.

This was their usual routine most of the time, the two hosts having radically different conspiracy theories and trying to convince the audience theirs was right. Skidtrace leaning way into the ancient mythos or magic, gods and the unexplained. Tsoul leaning more to the sci-fi side of things like parallel dimensions, aliens and so on.

[Oh, what is that proof? Other than the very blurry pictures that we have found buring our research? None of which are clear enough to see much, considering they were taken during heavy storms.] – Tsoul gestured to the background.

The projection of a window was replaced by a conspiracy board with different blurry pictures on it. The two hosts started discussing the pictures and the smudged shapes on it, arguing about whether it was actually a bird or a shuttle doing an emergency flight, or maybe an UFO.

[Well, take a look of this, dear viewers! And Tsoul.] Skidtrace said dramatically, adding his partner’s name as an afterthought [With the help of some of my fellow mystic enthusiasts, I got access to a special piece of evidence from the Cybertronian museum of history!]

Then the doors to the studio opened and a few bots with the mark of the museum wheeled in a display cart. A mech that was obviously someone important followed them close by, watching with a careful optic as they brought in the covered cart.

[Dear viewers, say hello to Dictatus, one of the lead curators of the museum!] – Skidtrace introduced.

“Wow, maybe this time they do have actual proof? If the museum really is sponsoring this…” – Quark muttered to himself

“Eh, at least it is better than the ‘ghost’ episode we watched. How ridiculous, the spirits of dead mechs return to the Well, they don’t haunt things. The apparitions were obviously trick of light or due to radiation. And the noises were either from faulty machinery in the abandoned building or due to a scraplet infestation.” – Brainstorm scoffed.

“Yes, maybe that was so, but you have to admit it was a fun episode. You have to admit there are still thing unknown to us out there, ‘Storm.” Quark looked at his conjux “It is why we both became scientists, right? To challenge the boundaries and discover the unknown.”

“Yes, you are right-“

“Plus, it is really fun watching all the crazy theories fly around! It would be SO ridiculous if at least ONE turns out to be true! I know all my colleagues would short-circuit because of it.” – Quark couldn’t help but chuckle as he imagined some of his more annoying colleagues glitch and stutter.

“That is very unlikely to ever happen, but I do have to say I would like to see it.” – Brainstorm added.

As they watched, it turned out the mech known as Dictatus had only come to the show to promote the new exhibition his sector of the museum was doing. It was free advertisement and they would actually get a small sum as compensation for their time, so the museum won in said deal, only having to show on a conspiracy show to collect all the benefits.

“Judging by his face, I don’t think Mr. Curator is too happy to be there.” – Brainstorm remarked.

[And now, for the grand reveal!] Skidtrace gestured and pointed at the cart dramatically [Witness, the indisputable proof of the Thunderbird!]

The cart was uncovered and the camera zoomed in on the item inside the cart display, protected by a thick glass case. Inside was a carefully preserved, if quite weathered, old poster. Both Brainstorm and Quark couldn’t help but lean closer to inspect the piece on display. It looked to be made of old parchment, the kind they used in ancient times before they had datapads, it was a miracle it had survived for so long. On it were ancient glyphs that were faded and a bit smudged. Neither of them could read what was written in the old language, but it was clear it was a wanted poster, judging by the pictures and reward money written below, looking all too similar to current day ones. The picture was also more of a sketch than an actual picture, since photos were not available at the time of its making.

“That is-“ – Brainstorm began.

“Yeah?” – Quark’s eyes focused intently on the screen.

“That’s one really weird and fragged-up looking bird.” – he finished.

“Brainstorm!” – Quark shoved him.

“What?! You know I am not lying!” – he poked his conjux back.

And it really was very weird looking beastformer of some kind. Its root mode was all weird, had a yellow beak-like mouth, sparking eyes, yellow claw-like servos and some weird growths? They were on its back, on its arms and dangling from its back. It stood all odd and hunched, the most normal thing were probably its pedes, since they were at least normal. The drawing next to it was supposedly what its alt mode was supposed to look like-

And it was even weirder! Somehow! It looked like a bird beastformed but with the wrong shape – the beak was too long, the eyes in the wrong angle, int body too flattened, had somehow gained 2 smaller wings by its head along with the two deformed-looking wings that were WAY too far back, again, there were odd growths sticking out of a few places and some long strands dangling along its back.

“This… This doesn’t make any sense! There’s no way such a being would be able to fly!” – Quark pointed at the second drawing.

“See! What did I tell you – bogus!” – Brainstorm crossed his servos.

[As you can see, the fact that the Order of Primus – the biggest hunter organization at that time issued an official wanted poster of the Thunderbird! If you could introduce us to what has been written on this relic from the past, sir Dictatus?] – Skidtrace gave the word to the curator.

[Of course. It is a pretty rare specimen and time took its toll on the pigments used to write this, but we’ve managed to translate the message. It says: “Wanted! Dead or alive. Monster bird of thunder and lightning. Highly dangerous. Reward 100 000 credits.” Or at least that’s the best translation we could make from what’s left of this wanted poster. Apparently, this individual was tr-] – Dictatus started explaining.

[Yeah, yeah! I get it all that, BUT! What’s more important is to ask- Is this REALLY the mythical Thunderbird?!] – Skidtrace rudely interrupted the curator.

[Yes…] Dictatus almost revved his engine, just by looking at his faceplate it was clear he was not happy to be interrupted so rudely [There is no actual mane put on the poster, since the so-called ‘monsters’ were never called by their names, but the description of ‘bird of thunder and lightning’ could be also called Thunderbird.]

[Here you have it, viewers! An irrefutable proof of the Thunderbird’s existence!] – Skidtrace declared.

[Heh, I would not be so sure, dear colleague.] Tsoul finally joined the discussion [Just look at the drawings, at the odd way your ‘Thunderbird’ looks. Such a creature could never fly, not to mention live for so long!]

[But-] – Skidtrace began.

[BUT I have a much more plausible theory as to this ‘being’s’ existence!] Tsoul stood up and started walking, the camera followed him [As you know, back then majority of mechs were monoformers, unlike today when all have developed the ability to transform into an alt mode, even having triple changers in rare cases. Back then, the fearful, more primitive mechs labeled beastformers as monsters, solely because they were different, as a way to explain it to themselves, they blamed some sort of dark force for their abilities. So, what do you think they thing of something unknown? Are you following me?]

[Uh… no?] – Skidtrace scratched his heml.

[What I am trying to say is that this ‘monster’is no monster at all! The mechs of that time saw something odd, unexplainable, so they made it into something they could understand easily – a bird beastformer. But, no! It was not a beastformer! It was a SPACESHIP!] -  Tsoul suddenly proclaimed.

[What?! How can it be a spaceship?! They didn’t even have electricity back then!] – Skidtrace countered.

[That’s exactly it! THEY had no way of knowing what a ship was, so they called it a weird bird monster! Look at these! These look kind of like the wings of a shuttle! And these ‘growths’ in the back – they are fuel cables! Or charging diodes! Maybe the reason it was flying through the storm was to recharge its engine with the electricity from the lightning! The ancient mechs connecting that to the ‘bird’ actually bringing the storm. They were quite superstitious back then.]  - Tsoul nodded his helm.

At this point, the museum workers looked on the verge of just packing and leaving the two show hosts to argue.

[Then what are you suggesting?] – Skidtrace scowled at his partner.

[This is no living being! It is a spaceship! ALIENS!] Tsoul said loudly [An advanced race from another planet, much more developed than our own visited Cybertron in the times of yore and THIS is one proof of such aircraft being seen by our ancestors and written off as another of the ‘monsters’ that were being hunted at the time.]

The show then devolved into a very heated discussion of which conspiracy theory was the ‘correct’ one – whether it is some mystical monster or actual advanced alien life that the government is hiding. At some point, the museum staff just packed their things and stormed off in frustration all while Skidtrace and Tsoul argued about Monsters vs Aliens.

Quark had a good laugh at the crazy conspiracies that were shared and also because at some point Brainstorm started arguing back th the screen how stupid the hosts were.

“Ugh! I can’t believe I lost so much time on this stupid show!” – Brainstorm grumbled.

“Come on, you liked it! I also had a good laugh, so I can’t say our time was wasted. You got really into it at one point~” – Quark teased.

“Don’t remind me! There’s no way such a thing could have ever existed. Neither the mystic monster, not the so-called alien spaceship! It was just a bunch of nonsense and no one just pointed the obvious that maybe the artist was really bad at drawing pictures!” – Brainstorm pointed out and received a laugh from Quark.

……………………………

It would be vorns later, when Quark started getting sick and was diagnosed with an incurable spark disease, that Brainstorm did the unthinkable.

He managed to invent a time machine and went back in time to the ‘Dark Age’ to try and save the one called Perceptor, in hopes of using his research and equipment to help cure his conjux.

He found the mech… only to discover Perceptor was a Spark Eater, a deadly monster only heard in horror stories and fiction, and that he was on the verge of starvation. Needless to say, Brainstorm was lucky that he survived the attack. Then, he realized that Perceptor did not have any advanced equipment, HE himself was the equipment used to detect (or more correctly taste) the defects in sparks.

After that, a lot of things happened – the two were chased by the hunters as heretics, they ended up having to run for their lives and eventually ended on a crew of monsters that were looking for a safe haven. Brainstorm might have been a bit stuck, since his machine got damaged in his initial scuffle with Perceptor, but the two worked well together to develop a cure for Quark. Life was going well.

……………………………..

One day, Brainstorm and Drift had to go to a nearby town to get supplies for their travels. The two donned robes and cloaks to hide themselves. The cumbersome, restrictive material felt awful on Brainstorm’s wings but it was not like he could go without it. He was too recognizable and different from the monoform mechs of the time.

They were passing by stalls offering different types of crystals and metal when Brainstorm noticed a board with different sheets of parchment nailed to it. He approached out of curiosity, noting the different notices posted on it and… the wanted posters…

Criminals, crooks, murderers and ‘monsters’ like those in his crew. It was then that he noticed IT. It was a familiar-looking poster from his memory files. He had seen it long ago on the TV, but this one was brand new. All the glyphs were clearly visible and no parts were smudged or faded. Brainstorm had quickly learned this time’s language and writing system to be able to work with Perceptor and the others, so he was immediately able to translate the poster.

“Wanted! Dead or alive. Monster bird of thunder and lightning speed. Highly dangerous and fast. Travels with a group of other dangerous monsters and a titan. Reward 100 000 credits.” – he read to himself.

It was then that it hit him. The ‘fragged-up’ bird he mocked on TV was HIM! And that ‘weird growth’ was actually Perceptor clinging to his back for dear life! The memory was still fresh in his processor – the two were chased by hunters and were cornered, the storm was coming and Perceptor was injured, so Brainstorm had been forced to reveal his jet alt form and fly to safety. Poor Perceptor had wrapped his prehensile limbs around his frame and was clinging for dear life the whole flight. Obviously not used to a jet’s high speed. And the ‘thunder’ was him breaking the sound barrier for a second in his haste.

‘Well, as they say hindsight is 20/20. When I get back and Quark hears about all this, he’ll probably collapse from laughing too hard, especially after learning most of the conspiracy theories turned out to be true.’ – Brainstorm thought.

“Hey, ‘Storm! Hurry up and get your aft moving! We have errands to do!” – Drift pulled him away from the wanted poster.

“Alright, alright! Don’t pull me so hard.” – he grumbled and followed the younger beastformer.

He was going to get the cure, fix his time machine and return to Quark. He was a genius, one of the smartest mechs out there and failure was NOT an option for him!

[earthstellar]

One thing that I really liked in IDW 2 was the concept of Going Immersant.

Given the immensely long average lifespan of Cybertronians, it makes sense:

If nothing kills you, and you live long enough to have experienced all of what you feel you reasonably can in this lifetime, and you feel content with the life that you have had, and it seems time to retire--

--Why not return your knowledge and the entity of your self to the core of your planet, where your energy and your components can be reused and your memories and knowledge can be subsumed into the greater whole?

Plug in with the stray cables that stick out of the cavernous expanses deep beneath the surface of Cybertron, let yourself get situated, and allow yourself to daydream as the crystals grow around you and gradually consume you. It is not painful. It is a process of sharing.

Each daydream then enters the great memory bank of Primus, at the heart of the world, the core of life itself for your species. Your experiences become part of the eternal record of experienced Cybertronian life. You join your God himself, frame and processor, as you combine with him within the physical form of your planet.

Primus created you, and as you are subsumed into the crystalline forms that surround you, you will go on to sustain Primus in some way. An unending cycle.

Perhaps you feel something, leeching up from deep within the crystal mass, some unique energy meeting you halfway, the cables that snake their way into your ports like vines carrying some ancient data, older than yourself, older than the Rust Sea, older than the Hydrax Plateau, older than the Titans.

Maybe you cannot decipher it, yet. But it comforts you. It reminds you that you are not alone, after your visitors have gone. Where there is digital noise, there is something to produce it. You will meet it soon--

--After countless years of a peaceful rest, knowing that at the end of your endlessly long existence, your life will go on to benefit others.

And for as long as you are able, you still remain present, as well. Just not above, on the surface. For some time, others can still come and visit, speak with you, consult with you-- Although as your memory banks purge into the greater whole, you begin to falter in this waking realm.

And that is OK; To rejoin with Primus and re-enter the Well of All Sparks as an ancient elder, a repository of experience and wisdom, is to become a teacher to all. Even in peaceful, gradual death-- And even then, your energy and materials and thoughts remain somewhere, deep within the planet.

Returned. Recycled.

Eternal, in some shape or form.

It's just a really beautiful concept.

Without any natural death, Cybertronians have the option to simply return to Primus, return to the core of the planet, in a half-waking state.

At peace, gracefully and with intent.

All of what they have experienced and all that they are, all of their memories and feelings, all of the metals and compounds that make up their frame and armour and protoform, all of it can be taken in and absorbed.

The option is there, to emerge once more.

But for most, this is the final calling.

To go immersant is to enter peace, to become a living state of meditation until the very end for you as an individual. To have full agency over how you pass on, to make the decision and consciously know. To be happy with that. To relax into your fate, as you see fit.

To make the decision to be recycled, to contribute all that you are, to return your energy to the crystalline matter that fuels your world and your people and your God, who in turn fuelled you and will thus go on to fuel all those subsequently churned out by the Well.

To merge with your living planet on an atomic level, on an esoteric level.

I wonder if the fully immersant aren't dead in the traditional sense. Perhaps they are offline, to those in this world. Perhaps their frame is vacated as their data is absorbed. But that data is not lost, necessarily.

It's just a very beautiful end of life option for Cybertronians, and I do hope the concept is revisited in some form in the future.

[doctorsilverhead]

Hey there!

This is my very first req on tumblr cause I'm just too shy to ask anything. So yay!

May I request for a Bayverse Optimus with human fem reader? I don't know, just fluffy things. But honestly, I prefer Optimus being an alien dad bot to the reader. So like- fatherly fluffy things, you know?

Then again, I feel like bayverse Optimus need some more love! I'm basically begging you for our ruthless yet gentle leader!

Make it after TLK event please! (Just pretend he didn't go home to the Cybertron yet lol)

Thank you before that!

More Than Meets the Metal: When Optimus Found a Heartbeat (Bayverse Optimus Prime X Human Reader)

In the aftermath of the harrowing events of The Last Knight, the world found itself in a state of flux, grappling with the revelations of an ancient war that had spilled onto Earth's doorstep. Amidst the chaos, a beacon of hope emerged in the form of Optimus Prime, the noble leader of the Autobots, who had once again proven his unwavering commitment to protecting humanity.

For one young woman, the presence of Optimus Prime took on a deeper, more personal significance. She had been drawn into the whirlwind of events, witnessing firsthand the sacrifices made by these extraordinary beings from another world. In the aftermath, she found herself forging an unexpected bond with the towering Autobot commander, one that transcended the boundaries of species and culture.

Optimus Prime, with his ancient wisdom and compassionate spark, recognized the profound impact the events had left on the young woman's psyche. In a gesture that defied his imposing stature, he extended a gentle, fatherly presence, offering solace and guidance in a world that had been forever altered.

Optimus would regale her with tales of Cybertron's golden age, painting vivid pictures of a world teeming with life and wonder.

In turn,Y/N would share her own stories, her hopes, and her dreams, finding solace in the unwavering patience and understanding of her alien father figure. Optimus would listen intently, offering sage advice and encouragement, his words carrying the weight of eons of experience.

Optimus would take her on excursions, introducing her to the wonders of the natural world. They would venture into pristine forests, where he would explain the ecosystem, or gaze up at the stars, as he recounted the vast expanse of the cosmos and the myriad worlds that lay beyond.

He worried like a father hen, constantly reminding you of potential dangers. "Stay within the perimeter, little one," he'd say, his voice a deep baritone that echoed through the yard. You'd roll your eyes, but a smile would always touch your lips. He meant well, always looking out for you.

Sometimes, you'd read to him while he repaired himself, stories of faraway lands and fantastical creatures. He'd listen intently, his blue optics flickering with amusement at the lighter tales and dimming with concern at the darker ones.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the junkyard in a warm glow, you presented Optimus with a gift – a small, hand-painted firefly encased in resin. "For protection," you said, a little shyly. He carefully took the trinket, his optics softening. "Thank you, little one," he murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice. "It reminds me of you. Small, but with a light that shines bright even in the darkest of times." He attached the firefly to his chest plate, close to his spark chamber. It was a small gesture, but in the desolate landscape, it spoke volumes. It was a symbol of the unexpected family you had found in each other, a testament to the enduring power of hope and love, even in a world determined to extinguish it.

As the world around them continued to heal and rebuild, their bond only grew stronger, a testament to the enduring power of compassion and understanding. Optimus Prime had become more than just a protector of humanity; he had become a father figure, a mentor, and a friend, offering a sense of belonging in a universe that had suddenly become infinitely larger and more wondrous.

[nazrigar]

Transformers All-Spark: A Lil' Slice of Optimus and Elita

Today's warm up, featuring a slice of Orion and Aerial's dynamic once they become Optimus Prime and Elita-1 proper.

Optimus is bestowed upon him the Matrix of Leadership, continuing the long legacy of the Primes on Cybertron. Elita is named after her mentor, Leader-1, who bestows upon her a T-cog passed down from Guardian to Guardian since ancient times (yes this is a tiny bit influenced by @starimusprime 's bodyguard AU as well as story ideas from friends).

But inspite of all that... they're still REALLY young relative to their roles as leaders, and still kinda goofy when they want to be. It helps relieve the pain and tension, knowing that your dad/your bf's dad is Cybertron's greatest Tyrant.

And no matter what, Optimus will always, always be a MASSIVE history nerd.

Additional lore notes: In this AU, the 13th Prime is typically the bot chosen to weild the Matrix, though it does get passed on to other members as well. Nova Prime was the first Prime, and is known as Nova the Conqueror.

Stormreign meanwhile was leader of the original High Guard.