#instead of his mech stuff

[onepiecepages]

[shanklin]

Stanford never became friends with Fiddleford.

Instead he got himself a different small friend group who cares a lot about him. At least about the Ford he pretended to be in college.

A kind, soft spoken formerly bullied genius who researches very dull stuff in Oregon and definitely not anything weird. Their Ford would never break any rules or ignore safety measures [unlike that other student they heard about during their college years.]

And then Ford stops answering their calls and loses his grant. 

It’s time for an intervention and they start pestering Ford with letters and calls until he finally agrees to meet them at a science convention, but he’ll take his brother with him.

They’re relieved! Ford is with Shermie! They like Shermie! It's a good thing that Ford still has one brother who isn't a good for nothing selfish criminal who destroyed his entire future!

If they ever get their hands on Ford’s evil twin they’ll make sure he’ll regret ever messing with their friend. Ford is too nice for revenge. They aren’t.

Meanwhile at the not-yet Mystery Shack, the Stans freshly survived their own angsty canon divergent tale of two stans AU and locked Bill out of Ford's mind like a week ago.

Stan: I don’t know how long Ford will keep me around but this will be good for him. He needs some friends to take care of him after I inevitably get kicked out again!

Ford: I only agreed to this because Stan insisted and I still haven’t found a way to thank him and apologize. I hope all my “friends” die in a fire.

[4mrplumi]

a spiderverse x spiderman!reader x batfam concept different from my spidernoir one

exposition is fairly simple, peni-parker!reader comes back from the boarding school they were sent to by the family to "keep them out of vigilante business" but are blissfully unaware that for the past few months, peni!reader's been working on a mech suit to support their new found spider powers, after getting bitten by a radioactive spider while away at school.

with access to bruce's batcave, luke's indulgence in your "academic strive" and your stealth and sneaking about, you're able to make your suit pretty quickly. unresolved feelings from your past, and this sense of debt you feel, you decide to repay by being SP//dr... spider for easy-comms.

the thing is, peni!reader is an anomaly, since this spiderman in this universe in not meant to exist. maybe some stuff with the spider society and all can come in and we find out that actually, the spider that bit peni!reader was from this universe and spiderman is allowed to exist here.

but to investigate what a radioactive spider with the wrong genetic data was doing in your universe, where is wasn't supposed to be* spidernoir agrees to drop down to gotham to help peni!reader to figure it out. he becomes, essentially, a father figure for reader, something that bruce hasn't been able to due to the weight of reader's and his past.

meanwhile, when peni!reader comes back to the manor from 'boarding school' the family notices physical and mental changes in them. their more distant, dismissive... confident in their skin. though you guys never had much time to talk or hangout or bond like they do, the development is difficult to notice.

additionally, sightings of a man in a trench coat and a car-sized robot swinging around have been going around, doing god knows what. the batman doesn't like being unprepared, and tries to scour out their identities and whereabouts. i have some really small little ideas that'd be funny for the whole run, like spidernoir showing up for a parent-teacher conference instead of bruce, ai assistant karen, commentary from spiderpunk, constantine and strange link up and also delve a little into what the themes between spiderman variants, spiderman, and batman are that make them so different are.

i'm rotting away like an oxidised apple but rlly dont know if i should write it cus ive got so much 2 do... if ppl are interested at all i mkigbt consider

in conclusion: I LOVE YOU SPIDERNOIR AND PENI PARKER!!!!!

*supposed to be = not in the sense that how mile's spider teleported to another earth, but like, peni!reader was just not meant to be bit, and that spider is not supposed to exist. the dc and marvel universes are parallel, with peni!reader's existence being a small, hairline road between the two.

[keferon]

Chapter 3 of Blurr’s storyline in Mecha AU!

Previous chapter

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers.

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Under the cut⤵️

——————————————————

It's Swindle's birthday.

He thinks it is.

He's pretty sure.

Since he was taken into the program, it's always hard to tell. It's like time flows differently here. He had a calendar, but Brawl put it somewhere a while ago and then forgot where it was. And they're not allowed to have phones yet. Though Swindle assumes Onslaught managed to steal one from someone anyway.

Shit. Where's the calendar?

Swindle remembers the date, but can't remember the month.

There's a strange static tingling sensation in the back of his head. If he turns his head too fast, it'll grow into an unpleasant pricking pain.

The last time in the lab was disgusting.

He can't remember what month it is. He's not even sure why it bothers him so much. Not that birthdays mean anything within the walls of the program.

He stops in the middle of the living room and looks around with a meticulous eye. He's already checked the beds, desk, and nightstands...hah.

“Hey have any of you seen my calendar?”

Vortex, sitting on top of the bunk bed shakes the ash off his cigarette right down into Blast Off's lap.

“Nope.”

“TEX YOU'RE LITTERING ON MY BED.”

“I could have ..torn it up” offers Brawl from across the room.

Swindle turns on his heels and angrily rests his arms at his sides.

“You tore it?”

“I might have,” Brawl scratches the back of his head.

Swindle pinches the bridge of his nose

That's fine. Not that he cares that much. Not that any celebration at all would save the crappy day.

He has some new “experimental” medical procedure scheduled for later, which generally means suffering. Or if he's lucky, some critter will attack the city and instead of squirming on the slab, he'll have to go cuddle with huge nasty beasts. Which is slightly better than the actual procedures. He'd like that to happen. If only his head would also stop buzzing....

“Happy birthday to me” Swindle thinks, sticking his Mech hand under the plates of a particularly ugly monster and pulling something disgustingly oozing green blood out of there. He can see the faces of the random gawkers who didn't have time to evacuate. Ooh, some of them got that nasty stuff on their faces. Swindle has no time to feel sorry for them.

The monster did attack, but it's entirely possible that this monster ended the last meager supply of luck Swindle had. Because somewhere. Something. In his head begins to hurt again and the world in front of his eyes begins to slowly blur and..

ahh FUCK….

The monster grabs him knocks him to the ground and Swindle can literally feel in his bones that something's wrong, but the data from his Mech doesn't give him any useful information. Which isn't that uncommon. These things are glitchy as hell and aren't designed to recognize anything but the most basic popular malfunctions.

The word “error” shines mockingly in his face. Blurring in his eyes and reflecting in red on his uniform.

Error, error, what the hell is this error. He needs to know what's wrong so he doesn't accidentally kill himself, but all this bucket offers him is oops. You're in trouble teeheee~

He can hear the sound of Blast Off's giant cannon in the distance. And the loud rumble where Vortex and Onslaught are trying to get out of the ring of monsters.

His Mech is unresponsive. His damn machine refuses to move and Swindle isn't quite sure if it's the Mech that's the problem, because his head feels like a piece of raw rotten meat and maybe the error meant that what's broken is him.

The monster leans over him, trying to rip off whatever it can rip off and thank god this thing apparently isn't smart enough to realize that the Mech is controlled from the head because it's aiming straight for his chest.

He needs to get out. If he can't get this thing to move, he needs to get the fuck out of it before the alien gets him.

He manages to open the emergency hatch and quietly slip out and ohhhh the world is spinning, this is not bloody good.

He manages to take a few steps before a loud B A N G comes from somewhere above and IS THAT A TRAIN???? Who in their right mind would think of using a fucking train as a throwing weapon???? Is that Brawl? It's got to be Brawl. Oh, Swindle is so gonna kill him.

Because (sadly) in addition to the monster, the train and Swindle, there's also physics involved in this circus.

So while the monster is effectively brought to rest and knocked sideways with a hole in it’s head, the train stops its forward motion and starts its downward motion.

Right onto Swindle's head.

He just has time to think that dying from a train falling out of the sky is a pretty creative death. His legs are shaking, his head is buzzing and he only manages to take half a sluggish step in an attempt to avoid the inevitable when a loud “MOVE” comes to his ears and something yanks him to the side.

The tug sends fire down his spine and head. The ensuing landing reverberates with pain in his shoulder and sides. He barely has time to process the first two sensations until a moment later he hears a rumble so deafening that he thinks his eardrums are about to burst.

Swindle props himself up on his elbows and hisses in pain as the movement causes the back of his head to sting.

“Ah I'll fuckin' kill him...”

A voice comes above him

“Ouw dude. You okay?”

There's.. Some teenager hovering over him. And behind him is lying...the wrecked train...right where Swindle himself was standing a second ago.

The strange teen frowns worriedly and pulls Swindle upright and drags him somewhere else

“Come on, it's best not to be in the open during monster attacks”

“Ah” thinks Swindle ”right. Without Mech you're a pathetic tiny piece of chop begging to be stomped on by Brawl.”

He tries to focus on balance so he doesn't hang too much on this kid.

They find the nearest unlocked door, which turns out to be the entrance to an underground bar.

“So” says the stranger, letting go of Swindle and shaking the dust off his hair ” You're a pilot! That's so cool, but you're kinda small for a pilot.”

Swindle sighs sullenly.

“I'll let you have that one comment about my height because you helped me, but next time you're dead.”

“Helped? I saved your ass.”

“Helped a lot” says Swindle grudgingly. “Thanks.”

The teen laughs and climbs into the bar. It's a mess everywhere, people clearly evacuated in a hurry and threw everything in haste.

“What's your name? Oh, or, wait. Do you guys use code names? I've heard pilots call each other by call signs, but half the time those call signs sound so dumb, I don't see how they can respond to that.”

He waits for the kid to cut off his flow of words to take a breath. Man, what a chatty boy.

“You can call me Swindle.”

“Kay” the kid pulls out a couple glasses ”I'm Blurr. Would you like something Swindle? I don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty good at mixing cocktails.”

Swindle looks around the room suspiciously. The bar, even though it's underground, looks pretty good. Too good, in fact. The place is clearly not for the poor.

He walks over to the bar and climbs onto a bar stool. There's no one else in here but them, but the electricity is on so he doesn't doubt for a second that they're being filmed by a security camera right now. Maybe a few even.

Blurr throws him an expectant look.

Swindle pretends to go through his pockets. As if there could be money in them out of nowhere. Then he makes a comically confused face and spreads his hands.

“Oh, no, I think I left my millions at home. What's the cheapest thing you have?”

Blurr snorts.

“Ice is free.”

“I'll take the ice then” nods Swindle.

There is a loud rumbling sound above them. It must be Vortex having fun again bouncing on the aliens that have fallen to the ground, crushing their heads.

Swindle is just. He takes off his helmet, takes a glass of ice and presses it to his head enjoying the way the nasty buzzing recedes.

Blurr waits for the rumbling to recede before speaking again.

“But really. You're a pilot but...uh. Are you even old enough to drink?”

Swindle sends him his best grumpy look. It's not exactly a joke about his height, but it's damn close.

“Are you old enough to pour?”

“Sure,” says Blurr too fast for it to be true. If Swindle had to guess, he'd say the guy in front of him is no older than seventeen. The tattered jeans and the T-shirt with the F1 logo printed on it definitely don't help. And, hey, those headphones look very expensive. So do the sneakers. Kid's clearly from a wealthy family.

Blurr pulls out a bottle of syrup from somewhere and pours it straight into his mouth. Doesn't miss, which is amusing. Doesn't wince, which is frankly impressive. Swindle feels the unbearable sweetness just looking at him.

It suddenly hits him

“Hey, do you have a phone?”

“Sure,” Blurr pours himself more syrup. Swindle twitches.

“What's the day today?”

Blurr's mouth is full of an unimaginable amount of sugar, so he just pulls out his phone and turns its screen toward Swindle and oh...oh. He was wrong about the date. And the month, too. It's not his birthday. His birthday was a week ago...

Does that mean he must be nineteen now? Yeah, that makes him nineteen.

Blurr takes the phone back and slips it into his pocket.

“Your face looks funny.”

“I just realized it's my birthday today,” smiles Swindle.

“Oooooooohh~~~” rejoices Blurr ”Congratulations! It's kind of poetic that you almost died just today. Can you imagine how funny the numbers on your tombstone would have looked.”

Swindle chokes on air.

“That's certainly a very appropriate comment, thank you...”

“Sorry haha said without thinking.” Blurr reaches under the counter again and pulls out a bottle from there “Hey, they have more syrups!”

There's another loud rumble from upstairs.

Blurr presses his head into his shoulders and stares up at the ceiling as if hoping to see something through it.

Swindle puts his elbows and head on the tabletop

“Don't worry, it's just Brawl.”

Blurr doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling

“ You can tell that by the sound of falling concrete?”

Swindle lazily dangles his feet. The chair is high and even the toes of his shoes don't reach the floor.

“Brawl is the loudest. And the heaviest, too. He's always crashing into everything, throwing things and breaking things too. You can hear him a mile away.”

He pauses to listen

“And that kch-ooooooooomm is Blast Off's cannon. It's some super rare experimentally advanced one, so it sounds like something out of a space movie. He couldn't stop bragging about it for half a year when he got it.”

Blurr chuckles and leans his elbows on the counter, relaxing.

“ And this...uh...what's this?”

“That's Vortex, he's our local lunatic. Best not to listen too much to what he does, it's almost always disgusting in ways you would never even consider.”

Blurr makes a disgruntled face and is silent for a couple minutes.

“It's weird hearing you call them by their names. I mean, I kind of always knew Mechs were run by people but you guys are never seen, so most of the time it's just.. Huge robots and huge monsters. You know what I mean. I was actually surprised when I saw you get out of that Mech.”

Swindle just nods. Because, what else is there to add.

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”.

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Blurr doesn't seem to notice his glum mood

“Oh, hey. If it's no secret, why did you go into piloting in the first place?”

Because he had no choice? He can't answer that, that information isn't for civilians.

Because he didn't know what he was getting into until it was too late? That's not vague enough either.

Because he was up to his neck in debt and barely into college before a smiling man showed up on his doorstep and offered him good money if he agreed to a couple tests...?

“I had to do it for the people.” Swindle decides to repeat a line of propaganda.

“Ohhhh.... That's...a good reason. The monsters are disgusting, of course. But the reason is cool.”

Swindle just. Holds his glass of melting ice, listens to Blurr's mutterings, and enjoys the peace. This random teenager is not his superior or colleague and has nothing to do with the organization at all. Swindle doesn't have to remember to salute or follow orders or fear being reported to his superiors.

He can just. Be.

Just him and his free ice and his saved for free life.

That's. Sweet.

Blurr's drinking syrup again.

...and a little disgusting.

—————————-

Brawl jumps out of bed, hits his head on a shelf hanging on the wall and drops everything on it onto Blast Off's head

“Swindle!!!” yells Brawl.

“Why are these books sticky???” shrieks Blast Off.

“You don't wanna know~” giggles Vortex.

Swindle sighs.

“You're alive!!!” ignores Blast Off Brawl's complaints. And a second later runs up and pulls Swindle off the floor in a crushing bear hug.

Behind them, Blast Off, with his face wrinkled in disgust, gathers all the dropped books back onto the shelf.

Swindle wheezes pathetically and slaps Brawl's arm with his palm, either to reciprocate the gesture or to beg for mercy

“Br...khaaaaah...Brawl I can't breathh.”

“OH. I'm uh. Here. Wait.”

Brawl puts him back on the floor and runs back to the shelf.

Onslaught, who has peeked into the room, puts a hand on Swindle's shoulder

“You've been gone a long time. Boss said you tried to escape.”

His tone isn't judgmental. And not pressuring. Not even questioning, but Swindle knows Onslaught wants more information. Swindle clutches a piece of napkin with a phone number in his pocket and smiles weakly.

“I've found a...friend? I think?”

Onslaught nods. In a manner that only he knows how to do. Not giving an opinion, not encouraging or condemning. Just taking in the information. Swindle admires him for that.

Behind them, Brawl pulls some piece of paper out from under the books that have just been put away and drops them again

“FUCK!” yells Blast Off. Vortex just starts hooting like a hyena.

“Hey Swindle I found the calendar!” yells Brawl waving the paper.

Swindle frowns in surprise.

“It's a different calendar...”

“I found you a new one.” nods Brawl.

“...Why...is it...it's torn in half?”

“It had stupid flowers drawn on it, so I ripped them off. And I accidentally ripped off more than I needed.”

“Ah,” says Swindle, clutching the calendar, ”That's...Thanks. I forgive you for losing the previous one.”

Behind them, Blast Off is trying to strangle Vortex with a jacket.

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

Blurr waves his arms happily like a hyperactive windmill.

“Swindle!!!”

Swindle smiles and adjusts his glasses

“Your party can be seen from across city.”

“I know~~” primps Blurr “Are you hungry? There was a snack table around here somewhere.”

“I didn't bring any money.” lies Swindle.

“Hey man, it's a party. Help yourself, it's free.”

“Оh.” Swindle's mood instantly brightens. “All right, then.”

“You look terrible” Blurr decides to share.

Swindle, busy shoveling food into his pockets, nods.

“I've had a rough week. Actually, it'd be cool if you didn't tell anyone you saw me here. I'm kind of not supposed to be here.”

He doesn't elaborate.

Blurr is a civilian. In his mind, a rough week is rude people or an exam or bad weather. Swindle's bad week is strap marks on his wrists and double vision. It's nausea from injections and sleepless nights because Vortex won't stop screaming in his sleep.

Blurr doesn't know that. With him, Swindle can pretend to be somewhat normal.

-----------

“Heeeeey“ says Blurr ‘I haven't seen you in a long time~"

“That” thinks Swindle ”is a pretty standard phrase for both of them.

Blurr looks older. Taller too. He was taller than Swindle before, but now that difference is starting to look almost comical. He's also flaunting a cast on his arm.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Didn't make a turn at training” waves Blurr off “It's no big deal. Wanna go find something to eat?”

Blurr is always trying to feed him, Swindle notices over time. Offers him drinks or snacks or whatever.

“ I like your uh..cap?”

“I got a promotion” Swindle smiles proudly “Me and the guys were made a special group...actually you're not allowed to know more than that, so you'll have to take my word for it when I say we are officially cool.”

He purposely adjusts his cap by the brim so Blurr can get a good look at it.

Blurr makes a delighted sound. Something between a “wow” and a giggle. He generally makes a lot of sounds all the time. Tapping his fingers on every hard surface, stomping in place like he's always late for something, laughing, whistling, clicking his tongue. A human orchestra.

__________

Onslaught sits down next to Swindle and clutches his hands in his lap in front of him. This makes the bed legs squeak pitifully. Onslaught has grown surprisingly large. He can almost rival Brawl in height already. Most people find that intimidating, but Swindle just thinks Onslaught is like a wall. A big, solid concrete wall that's so good to hide behind.

“Be careful with what you tell this guy.”

“Don't worry” says Swindle ”He's not the type of friend you tell secrets to. He's just a fun dude who's great to hang out with.”

Onslaught hums.

“And who feeds you for free.”

“If that's how you're trying to ask me to share, you're not doing a very good job.”

Vortex snaps his fingers as he walks past them

“Hey Swindler, the lab is closed for today. It's your day off.”

“Wha...”

Onslaught tilts his head.

“Vortex. What did you do?”

“I spat in their dna sample vault” proudly proclaims Vortex “and didn't tell them exactly where.”

-----———————-

Blurr frowns.

“Hey...are you okay?”

“No” thinks Swindle.

“My friend died” he says instead.

He's not okay. He feels like an animal caught in a beartrap, trying to chew off its own paw to get free.

Except the trap is closed around Swindle's head and it's not a body part he can afford to lose.

There's been a lot of talk. Even more rumors. Swindle listened but tried not to believe.

And then one of pilots, Shockwave… was taken to the lab and brought back a different damn man and it felt like Swindle had the rug pulled out from under his feet with hot coals underneath.

Because Swindle's boss, with his stupid, rehearsed smile, started writing reports about how “human personality flaws are something that can be fixed. That challenging behavior is something that can be repaired with tools.

Blurr freezes.

“Who?”

“Vortex.”

Because of course it's Vortex. Talented but difficult to handle. Powerful but uncontrollable.

They wanted a pilot who would be a beast on the battlefield and a loyal dog on base. And who else would be a more ideal test subject than him?

Vortex was being very rude that day, even by Vortex standards. Yelling and swearing and throwing things around. Kept saying that no shitty lab could make him “a fucking puppet.”

Scratching the stitches on his head until he started leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He went on a mission.

And never came back.

The reports said it was all the monsters' fault. That Vortex was unstable. That the accident had nothing to do with the new technology. But it was nevertheless suspended.

Swindle is both bitter and amused by this. Vortex would eat the same monsters for breakfast any other day. The bastard was unkillable.

“Oh my god” says Blurr “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

He says something else. Probably comforting. About how Vortex died protecting people, maybe. About Vortex being a hero.

“Vortex,” thinks Swindle, ”loved life. He loved adrenaline and danger and pain and thrill and fear, but he never wanted to die. They did something to him. Something that made him go over the edge.”

Vortex got his head in the trap and ripped it off to escape it.

Swindle knows him and the others are next. And knows that no one but themselves can help them.

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

Blast Off seems...very quiet. He could never stop complaining about Vortex before. Yelling about the garbage. Resenting the unmade bed and the cigarette ashes.

Vortex's bed remains unmade.

Blast Off regularly cleans everything up, but never wipes away the little circles of ash from the places where Vortex used to put out cigarettes on the furniture.

Onslaught puts his hand on Swindle's shoulder and squeezes. Not hard. Just enough for Swindle to register the gesture as important.

Standing nearby, Blast Off lights a cigarette and leans on Onslaught.

“Ons told me about your plan. I want to join in.”

“What kind of plan? Can I get involved?” inquires Brawl.

Onslaught sighs.

“Repeat after me - I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“Good job” nods Onslaught “From now on, every time they ask you any - listen. Any! Question about us, you will answer them with this phrase.”

“Got it,” grins Brawl.

Swindle smiles.

“Gentlemen, it's time to violate all that is written, and rewrite all that is violated.”

__________________

Blurr lazily takes his eyes off the phone. He's wearing a racing suit and tons of hairspray. He's shiny and gleaming like a fine collectible figurine that should be on the shelf of an expensive exhibit. He's also bored.

“Sorry buddy, the interview is long over, if you have any questions you'll have to pay for the session.”

Swindle smiles.

“How about one tiny little question?”

Blurr makes funny big eyes.

“SWINDLE!!! I haven't seen you in a thousand years! You...oh I didn't recognize you haha sorry. Nice coat. You quit being a pilot?”

Swindle proudly adjusts his glasses. He's wearing a brand-new, ironed shirt that's exactly his size. Nice neat tie, expensive coat. Swindle isn't surprised Blurr didn't recognize him immediately. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize himself. After all those years of wearing the pilot's uniform, he felt almost attached to it. And yet here he is.

“You could say I moved.” he winks snarkily, “Up. All the Mechs you see on the streets now are my Mechs~”

Blurr completely forgets about his phone.

“REALLY?? Oh man congrats to you!”

“Thanks” nods Swindle ”You want something to drink? I'm buying.”

———————-

Onslaught adjusts his tie. It's still, years later, a little strange to see him in a uniform instead of a pilot's suit.

“You do realize it's going to be hard to find a person like that, right? We need someone famous enough to be effective and dumb enough to want to save mankind instead of sunbathing on a yacht.”

Swindle adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair.

Someone outgoing so they can quickly befriend all the right people. Handsome enough to have their face printed on a poster. Smart just enough not to say too much. And not associated with Mecha program so they can't be accused of trying to get promoted through their acquaintances.

Someone who already has everything but still willing to put themselves at risk for the cause.

“You know, I think I have a possible candidate.”

[artdagz]

First and foremost, Jazz prowl mecha AU is so fun and I'm reading so much of it and sometimes I really just want to share something.

As most probably already know this was started by @keferon and this AU is so fun, I really can't, everyone is so creative and there's so much to learn and see everywhere, the angst, the evolution and cheesy romance mix with hurt comfort is just🤌

So please, it's just some idea, but I hope this gives somebody something ><

(First part is big hurt, second part is rescue. So prowls death and not being treated like a human, when his conscience is in the mech, but he gets safed/saves himself with jazz. )

What if prowl becomes somewhat like Vortex in the mecha au, but with the downside of now being a supercomputer trapped in a mech that won't move without a pilot.

And as they notice he can still calculate stuff for them but is no longer a fragile human and also conveniently can't say no to requests, they use that without remorse. Prowl is allowed to move freely in the field when fighting quintessons but used in his spare time to do all sorts of administrative tasks that commanders are too lazy to do..

It happens along these lines:

Tarantulas notices Prowl won't be able to be doing the whole upgrading forever.

He's failing more and more, getting worse.

So next time he has him under his knife, he's doing something so in case prowl won't make it There is a safety backup of prowl in his mecha, so that's how prowl becomes a mech.

When Prowl suddenly stops in battle and all jazz can do is get them out of there, back at base there's nothing they can do for human prowl anymore.

While the battle is still raging around them, Jazz just sits next to prowls mecha hoping prowl will make it.

But it's as everyone feared and jazz is just sitting there close to prowls mech knowing his friend will never return and nobody dares to come closer.

Tarantulas approach being met with a visor that dares him to get any closer.

They organize a small funeral, one of the other pilots inviting jazz. Jazz goes, out of his suit for once, to attend.

When jazz is back his suit informs him that someone had been in prowls mech.

And it was Tarantulas.

Jazz thinks about confronting Tarantulas, but instead goes into prowls mechs cockpit, looking around to find out if he did anything.

And there's this button that's blinking, it's the startup button and jazz just absentmindedly pushes it, the mech whirring to live around him and the cockpit closes.

Text is running on the screen that looks like startup of a computer, then there's just text that's scrolling down further until it gets to the bottom.

The little blinking bar indicates the last line is just blinking for a while as jazz stared at it.

Then suddenly it moves again.

One word catches his optic

Jazz

Written on the screen.

And another line appears.

Help.

So, prowl is stuck in his mech, which wouldn't be as bad if he could move.

Jazz hacks the programming that makes it necessary for there to be a pilot and everything is a 100% better cause he can move.

Still unlike before, prowl can't just get out of his mech and walk around and that's so frustrating, cause his health isn't an issue anymore but now he got military breathing down hus neck, who are ecstatic at not having to worry about prowl being human anymore and prowls workload suddenly becomes so much that even if he was allowed to move he doesn't have time.

The programming and the reinstalled tacnet making it so he can't say no even though he wants nothing but a break.

Jazz being in Prowls mech trying to talk to him and more often than not he'll be sitting in the cockpit and prowl suddenly cuts off and his vents kicking on, as they use prowl to calculate scenarios like a piece of equipment.

Jazz noticing this installs a blocker that prowl can use to deny dumb requests and suddenly prowl can hear his own thoughts again.

When military gets on jazz’ case about doing that, threatening him to reverse what he did, prowl interferes.

He threatens them back he'd go with jazz and if they do anything to him he'll do the same to his own mech (himself).

Now prowl and jazz get to go out on walks together.

And prowl finally comes to realize that he actually died and everything just feels so much in a robotic body that is all built for efficiency but not for expressing oneself or even just feeling anything.

[earthsparked]

There were a lot of sideways looks and mechs falling silent whenever anyone brought up the former Decepticon warlord around you. Even the former ‘cons who historically had a dim view of organics had learned your worth. If the sparkeater incident hadn’t done it, you sneaking onto the bridge through the air vents to stop an accidental self-destruct lockdown and saving everyone’s afts, most certainly had. But Megatron? He hadn’t been there for that.

Rodimus had been the one to say it.

The human is not to be left alone with him. I’m serious! He pointed at you specifically. Do not go near him. He can’t do much to us without his weapons and on a diet of fool’s energon, but one wrong move and we’re down a human. And good luck trying to get any new humans to sign on when they find out he’s on board. We are NOT losing you.

Nobody had actually bothered to ask how you felt about it. Except Rung, of course. And he’d gotten an audial-full from you.

By the time Megatron actually came on board, you’d already more or less decided your course of action. You hadn’t hidden away. You’d walked up to him and looked him in the optic from your enormously different perspectives.

Rodimus had tried to hastily nudge you behind himself with the toe of one of his pedes, but you’d sidestepped him.

You really weren’t sure you could keep the emotion out of your voice if you tried calling him Megatron. There was too much tied up in that name. Instead, you’d called him captain.

Welcome to the Lost Light, Captain. I’m the ship’s human. I’m here to provide services as needed.

And then you’d given him a polite nod and left and gone about your business. Your heart pounding in your chest. You’d felt how his red optics had followed you as Rodimus had jumped in to distract him.

You’d been a child when the worst of the fighting on earth had taken place, but that grey plating was nonetheless a part of the background radiation of the Cybertronians’ presence on your home planet in some early memories. The blurry video, the images in newspapers and on the news.

You knew exactly who he was. You knew exactly what he’d done. That he had not managed to exterminate your species, destroy your world, like he had so many other organic civilizations over the course of the war? You had no illusions that it was out of the goodness of his spark. It was because he’d failed.

Seeing him without his weapons was strange. Seeing him without his purple Decepticon sigil, bearing the red Autobot sigil instead, was even stranger. You had to get Brainstorm to confirm you hadn’t slipped into an alternate reality (again).

Chaos reigns as it always does, and before long you and everyone else gets distracted by the day to day realities of your quest. Megatron proves to be an entirely competent captain. The mechs rally to make sure you’re never alone with him. You spend a lot of time thinking. You wonder how long it will take before you stop flinching at the sound of his voice.

One night it’s really hopping in Swerve’s. Megatron is there, nursing his fool’s energon. You sip your whiskey and coke, and brood.

Finally you shake it off and pull out a credit chit. You push it across the bar to Swerve. You’d say you were getting his attention, but the guy always has at least one optic on you, as if you were a rockstar or somebody important. You weren’t anybody important back home. But you know who you are, and what you stand for.

Swerve, two cubes of the good stuff, please.

He has to cycle his systems, and then checks, Two…cubes..? Little guy, you know you can’t drink energon. Are you feeling okay?

You smile tightly and push the chit closer. Yes, I’m fine, Swerve. Thank you. I didn’t say I was going to drink them.

Oh! he exclaims, and awws at you. Aren’t you sweet! Buying a round for some friends?

He sets to getting the cubes and you wait until he places them down to answer.

No, not tonight. Could you get me another jack and coke, too, please?

You finish your drink and stand up, walking along the bar to where Megatron sits. You can’t even imagine what he’s thinking as you enter his immediate sensory range and his big grey head turns to regard you. You meet the same optics that were the last thing so many people - so many humans as well as mechs - ever saw.

Those are yours. You point to the cubes. They’re too big for me to lift. You’ll have to grab them.

And you thought his attention had been intense before. His gaze sharpens, and his smile is bitter.

Trying to get me killed, human? I admit, it’s rather clever as assassination attempts go. My former lieutenant could have learned a few lessons from you.

You snort and shake your head. I’m not a murderer. And if they wanted you dead after the trial, they should have executed you. But what they’re doing to you, isn’t punishment. This is cruelty. Go get your energon, Captain. It’s even more dangerous out here for a mech not in top condition. And, I’m told Swerve makes the best.

You turn and fight the urge to shudder. Despite your display of courage, you’re very frightened right now, and you know they can all feel it no matter how you try to hide it.

But the trembling anger and disgust is stronger.

Swerve tries to talk you down. In a hushed voice, glancing worriedly between the cubes and Megatron, who still hasn’t moved.

Hey - you can’t - I mean, kiddo, what are you doing? Have you forgotten who he is? What he’s done? This is for everyone’s safety. Especially yours.

You stubbornly sit down, and cradle your drink in your hands, refusing to look at anyone.

I know. I know why he’s here. But I think you may have forgotten why I am here.

Your voice loses its hesitation, becoming every bit as hard as any mech’s armor.

While I am on this ship, this is my ship. While you are on this ship, you are my mechs. While you are my mechs, I don’t let anyone hurt you. I don’t let my mechs starve. I don’t let other people starve my mechs, and call it justice.

You’d examined your contract very, very carefully. Given the nature of the relationship between the handful of humans willing to become ships’ humans, and the huge demand for you on the Cybertronian fleets, those contracts were both highly coveted by captains - and extremely tilted in your favor. Humans liked their independence, and didn’t like being given orders. Your contract reflected this.

Even Ultra Magnus wouldn’t be able to seal up this loophole.

I’m an independent contractor and technically not under Cybertron’s authority. There isn’t shit they can legally do to stop me. It’s not illegal for me to buy some energon and give it away.

Besides.

And if the powers that be don’t like it? What the hell are they going to do? If they wanted authority over him that bad, they could have kept him locked up somewhere they could enforce it.

You give a half-shrug, and toss back your human-sized drink. If anybody complains? Tell them it was me. I want them to know. Tell them to come talk to me. I have plenty to say, and I’d rather say it to their fucking faces.

There’s dead silence in the bar. A feat you’re not sure has ever been accomplished. You feel every optic in the place on you and Megatron. You’re pretty sure you’ve pissed off some friends tonight, or maybe even lost some. (It’ll be a long before it hits you that you might have gained some, unlooked-for, too.)

It’s not that you like Megatron. It’s not that you trust him. It’s not even that you forgive him. It’s that there are things you cannot allow to continue and still be able to look at yourself in the mirror. As it turns out, enforced malnutrition as a condition of prison release is one of them.

Swerve’s a good guy, and he leaves you alone about it after that. Even if he keeps hovering a little.

The silence doesn’t last long. There’s some muttering, some surprised exclamations. The mood has shifted, and you decide you don’t want to be here anymore. Setting down a tip, you take the human-sized walkway down to the ground and grab the scooter you use to get around the massive hallways. Leaving Megatron and the cubes behind.

- - -

author’s note: obviously this happens in a scenario where the human is not “in” on the whole fool’s energon thing. Wouldn’t have been told the secret.

[revelboo]

Hey Revel, would you do some mechs (your choice) finding out that their human has some kind of unexpected and useful skill, please?

My ex has been harassing me and calling me useless and I'd really love to see some positive from my favorite characters. Thank you! 💙

Sure! Don’t pay any mind to the ex. They’re an ex for a reason and it kind of sounds like they’re just trying to make you miserable to be petty

Scenario- fascination

Waspinator x Reader, TFP Bulkhead x Reader, Bluestreak x Reader, Armada Starscream x Reader

Waspinator

• Sighing as a mandible brushes your cheek, you’d long since accepted that you no longer have personal space. Your space is also your clingy bug husband’s space. Arms wrapped around your middle and chin on your shoulder, he watches you mixing the batter with the same rapt fascination he reserves for anything you do. How many times has he watched you stress baking cupcakes? It can’t be that interesting anymore, but he’s fixated on your every move. Like it’s magic to him. Maybe it is. You’ve seen his attempts to cook for you and had to threaten him with violence to get him to stop trying.

• Watching his little mate’s hands as you’d measured mysterious powders and liquids in a bowl, breaking the delicate little eggs, and then mixing it all, he vents against your neck, scenting the sweet organic stuff and you. Knows you’ll then line that metal pan that he’s forbidden from eating with paper things in the little holes then spoon in the mixture. And you’ll make human food. Loves watching you decorate the little things, the way you fuss to make each one perfect, shaping sugary petals and flowers for them even though you’re just going to eat them. You’re happy, so he’s happy even though eating the pretty things makes him sick.

Bluestreak

• “Ta-da,” you murmur, lips twitching in embarrassment as you hold up the flower chain and he leans forward to let you drape it around his neck. Watch him reach up, servos just shy of touching it like he’s afraid he’ll break it and he beams at you. Like you’d just done the coolest thing ever instead of something childish. And your heart skips a beat at his smile, warmth spreading through you.

• You made him something with those soft hands. Burying his face against your neck, he hears you laugh as he tugs you onto your back and he shifts over you. Wanting more. A kiss, to touch you. To love you, but unsure if you’d let him. If you like him that way and he’s too scared to ask. To find out that you don’t. “Thank you,” he murmurs against your skin and you cup the back of his helm as he vents deeply, scenting you and the green scent of the broken flower stems. And the delicate chain will go into his locker with everything else you’ve made for him, his treasures. He’d lost everything when he’d lost his home and family. Hadn’t bothered to collect things, to keep mementos after that, but he wants those things you give him or make him. Because you’re his home, the only thing he needs and the only thing he can’t keep. Wishes he was braver. That he could tell you he loves you, needs you.

Armada Starscream

• Spark warming as you fuss over his mini-cons like they’re yours, he can’t help but imagine you as a carrier with your own sparklings. With his sparklings. It’s become a guilty fantasy that he can’t actually admit to you, that any time he touches you, he’s thinking about sparking you. About trying to. And you’d be such a good carrier, can tell watching you with his mini-cons. Spike stirring at the thought of you sparked with his young, his wings flare slightly.

• Aware of him staring at you, the mini-cons notice too and chirp softly. Leaving the two of you without needing to be asked as everything shifts and you beat. Because you know that look on his face. Know that he’s thinking about sex, about you suddenly. Breathless as he mass shifts and stalks your way, you have no idea what flicked his switch, but you’re not about to complain.

TFP Bulkhead

• Teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you wedge an arm between two armor panels to fish out a shard of metal, you’re aware of Bulkhead trying so hard to be still for you, his deep voice rough. “Thanks again. Didn’t want to bother Ratchet with a little scratch,” he says, a servo brushing your spine and you shoot him a look.

• Venting at that censoring frown, he knows you don’t approve of him avoiding the medic and a proper check up, but he’d rather have your soft hands gently pulling out shrapnel instead of Ratchet’s strong servos. You’re always so careful like you’re afraid you’re going to hurt him, but you’ve also never once dropped a shard down between his plating. Not that Ratchet has, either, but if it’s you or the cranky, old medic? He’ll choose you every time. And there’s the added bonus of your soft form sprawled on him to reach, though he can’t admit that to you. That he loves the feel of you stretched out on top of him, gets flustered just thinking of it, his spike stirring behind his plating to make him shift uncomfortably. Hating that he can’t just say that he wants more than your friendship, that he wants it all. Wants you.

[sightseertrespasser]

Odds of Survival apart 7

Welcome aboard the Lost Light! Where nothing stressful ever happens.

Working back into longer chapters. Credit to @keferon for creating the AU. Enjoy!

———————————————————————

Spaceship spaceship spaceship that is a mother fucking spaceship.

Somewhere within the poor rattled jelly of his brain, eight year old Jazz was screaming and jumping and slapping his adult self’s shoulder to start doing the happy dance.

Instead, he reached out a hand to clasp Prowls shoulder. “Hoooly shit!”

Music.

He needed music. The Superman theme? No. Interstellar? Nah, something more energetic. Star Wars? Closer. Jurassic Park? Yes.

As Jazz began playing the introductory notes to the Jurassic Park theme, he had the presence of mind to take a screen capture to show Hot Rod later. Jazz was mech-crazy but Roddy was all about spaceships and this was something straight out of a comic book brought to life.

The Lost Light, as best Jazz could translate, was a thing of beauty. Mango sherbet sunlight spilling over the horizon painted the ships white exterior peach and cream. It had these spine? Thingy’s? Rising from the back. Jazz had no idea what for but they looked awesome. Massive thrusters slowed its decent onto the moons surface, kicking up enough glittery dust to make everything around it sparkle like a goddamn anime filter.

Bluestreak was saying something in his native language again. Clearly shocked and ranting at his brother.

“Blue, if you’re gonna talk about someone in the room, it’s polite to do it in a language they understand. Ya know? ‘Specially so they don’t make any assumptions when they hear Prowl, Jazz, and Frag in that order.” He inclined his head towards the mecha in question but didn’t look away from the ship.

“I am so sorry!” Jazz gave it fifty-fifty he was also talking to Prowl.

“It was just! You grabbed Prowl and trust me no one actually gets away with that if he does not want to be touched by someone. Which is almost everyone. I mean, even {Smokey} and I can only get away with it on a good day. Or if I blackmail him about the time he blew me up. Even then we’ve known each other for vorns and he met you like a cycle ago?! And I’m also kinda loosing my mind right now because you are SO weird and oh Primus I didn’t mean to call you that, you’re a really cool mech I just think you’ve got a really messed up home life and that just sounds like another insult doesn’t it? Did I tell you I talk a lot when I’m nervous because I talk a lot normally so you’d think I’m nervous all the time but really I’m not nervous all the time it’s just that when I actually get nervous I really really start talking a lot and are you flirting with Prowl because I think you’re flirting with Prowl even though he said you weren’t but I think he’s just in denial since he keeps letting you do stuff like touching him without warning.”

“BLUESTREAK.” Prowl ground out a shout through clenched teeth.

The sniper snapped a hand over his mouth. Eyes wide and wings pinned low. In stark contrast to Prowl, who had his own wings flared high and wide. Both brothers were wide eyed in utter mortification.

“Go.” He paused, lightly removing Jazz’s hand. “Go to the ship. That is an order.”

Bluestreak skedaddled, keeping one hand firmly over his mouth and giving a firm thumbs up with the other.

Jazz knew there was no way that would actually stop him from talking, but he really appreciated it when a pilot could commit to the bit. He snort chuckled.

“I apologize greatly on behalf of my brother. He meant no offense. And please disregard anything he might have..” Prowl looked like he wanted to cough discreetly. “Implied.”

They walked together towards the airlock outside. Waiting for Bluestreak to exit before they could go next.

“Do you mean when he implied I have a slaggy home life or the bit about you liking me?”

He watched Prowls face twitch a bit. He was standing military inspection straight, hands tightly clasped behind his back and pointedly not looking at Jazz.

“Cause I wasn’t flirting on purpose.” Prowl did not break eye contact with the wall, but Jazz caught his wings dip imperceptibly.

“When I grabbed your shoulder.” Jazz hummed.

Ope. Made ya look.

Prowl glanced back to the wall, before apparently deciding there wasn’t much point in ignoring Jazz. Smart man.

He turned more fully back to Jazz, face focused but a hint more open then before.

“Slaggy isn’t really a- that’s not how the grammar is used for-“ Prowl rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Jazz, do like how you are treated where you are from?”

Oh, well shit. He silenced the movie soundtrack, thinking. Felt the horns pin back.

“When you joined your group, how much did it hurt?”

Prowl didn’t immediately respond. Considering his question for a long breath.

When he finally spoke, it was quieter than before. “Pain is relative, and I believe certain aspects of the process are idiotic and pointless, but to try and answer your question; it hurt less than what it was worth.”

Jazz watched the lights cycle on the door as it re-pressurized.

“Same.”

They stood together before the way out.

“Though, from the looks of it, you guys are in much better shape than us. I kinda thought we were the best of the best. But I’m starting to think there’s a lot they weren’t telling us.”

The airlock hissed open, and the two stepped inside.

“You can stay. If you choose.” Prowl shuffled back into a parade rest, hiding behind formality. “You do not have to go back to those people.”

Jazz smiled deep within his mech, and lightly bumped his unwitting guide to the galaxy. “Prowler! Really now, flirting at a time like this? How unprofessional.”

Goddamn it was mean, but holy hell it was just too much fun to fluster a man like Prowl.

“You are completely insufferable.” Points to Bluestreak, when Jazz asked him for a bunch of keywords Prowl would probably use, unprofessional and insufferable were some of the first he taught him.

“I am trying to help you. I have been trying to help you this entire time and you have constantly managed to find entirely new ways of making my head hurt.” Prowl had finally dropped the act and was waving his arms emphatically.

“M’kay.” Jazz nodded along. “Would you like my number?”

Prowl made a face like he was mentally blue-screening again. “I… Yes. Yes that would actually be very helpful.”

“I’m happy to help!” And Jazz rattled off his personal phone number for the burner cell he wasn’t necessarily supposed to have.

“Thank you?” Prowl said with an entirely new flavor of confusion. “Jazz what is-“ Prowl was cut off by the airlock’s depressurization.

He could not wait to get that man to a rec room. His mecha was built shorter than Jazz’s, but he had this weird total confidence that Prowl was somehow taller than him.

Jazz stepped out onto the moons surface, letting the last notes to the Jurassic Park theme finally play out, stopping briefly to once again admire the insanity of the situation. He liked to focus on the good when it was front and center, because he had a pretty clear idea of how bad the bad could be.

A dull stone of dread settled in his stomach.

Disconnecting was gonna suck. Pretty sure he didn’t have a full blown concussion at least. Hard to tell with the drift link suppressing most of the “oh fuck ow stop that” signals his body was almost certainly sending him. He felt basically fine though, so he could get away with pushing it back just a little further.

Probably.

The medics here didn’t know his rep either, so even on an unfamiliar base, Jazz gave it two minutes max before he’d be in their walls.

Prowl appeared in his peripheral vision and motioned for Jazz to follow.

The closer they got to the Lost Light, the more the feelings of Awe transitioned into Vertigo. This thing was fucking massive up close. Upon reaching the outer airlock door, Jazz found he couldn’t touch the molding at the top. Maybe if he climbed onto Prowls shoulders though?

Before he could poke that particular bear, the door opened and Jazz was ushered in. As soon as the atmosphere returned, Prowl was on his case.

“Jazz it is of the utmost importance that you behave yourself. I will handle your introduction to my immediate superior. Please refrain from any overly familiar behavior.” Prowl wasn’t doing the no eye contact-parade rest pose but actually looking at him properly.

“Don’t embarrass you in front of your boss, I got you boo.” He clapped Prowl on the shoulder for emphasis and watched his wing things do a little dance.

Oh those things definitely got hard wired into his neural net by accident didn’t they? Wonder how he deals with the phantom limb syndrome.

Jazz himself walked like a, quote “new born deer that just took a shot of fireball” per Rico, every time he disconnected from his mecha after too long.

“Please refrain from touching me until further notice.” Prowl tacked on as the doors slid open.

—————

Something was off.

It started in the hallway but the sensation didn’t fade. Like when you get home and vaguely smelled something had gone bad, but it was so faint you could barely remember it was there. So you search the fridge, the trash, yadda yadda yadda because you know it’s there. Even if you’ve gotten used to the smell and can only imagine what’s wrong based off of a poorly informed memory of the thing.

The interior of the ship looked off. But in a way he just couldn’t put his finger on.

Jazz was vaguely aware he’d been getting a little loopier ever since him and Prowl went tumbling down Crash Mountain.

Truth be told, he’s been off his game ever since Prowl found him.

Shit, how long had he been piloting actually?

Let’s see.

He woke up this morning on the mecha program space station, got to piloting, ran maybe a couple hours of tests? Then space tore itself a new one, Jazz tore that alien a new one, got teleported, scared the fuck out of Tentacle Monster Mission Control, got teleported again for much longer, passed out, woke up, spent the better part of a day traveling with Prowl and oh fuck me I haven’t eaten or drunk anything in at least 14 hours.

Now that he was thinking about it, the dull ache in his skull felt more like dehydration than blunt force trauma.

Wait. No. Concentrate.

Something about this place was off. It wasn’t just in his head. He just needed to focus for more than - woah that’s a lot of mecha.

Mechanical forms hurried along massive hallways. Vehicles abounded as well and Jazz had to make and effort not to trip on any. Prowl had gotten a hold of his arm at some point and was half supporting half guiding Jazz through the hall.

“You said no touching.” Jazz crooned in a singsong voice.

“You’re going to fall on someone.” Prowl was making a face that had every passing mecha pointedly not make eye contact.

“Am not.” And Jazz went a little limp just to fuck with him.

Prowl left little space for Jazz to wander or wonder. He’d catch a glimpse of a rooms interior or another fantastic mecha only to be pulled along before his gaze could linger.

Jesus this place was huge. And detailed. Lots of GNDN lookin’ pipes, wires and greebles across every surface. After what felt like walking through every spaceship movie set at once, Prowl pulled him into a room with red cross markings on the doors.

Inside, the room hosted a number of high tech (pillowed?) tables and a truly ridiculous number of tools. Half of them looked suited for body shop work, welders and wrenches and the like. While the other half resembled supersized computer repair kits.

Why is everything huge? They don’t. They don’t seriously have the pilots handle the repairs while in their mecha do they?

Sure Prowl did some basic repair stuff earlier, but that was mid battle support. It made sense.

Speak of the distracting devil, Prowl was addressing somebody while Jazz was ogling a 30ft tall filing cabinet.

Two mecha were at the other end of the room.

One was teal and standing, tapping away at a super-sized tablet. They had a face -something is off- that turned to them warmly, taking in their battered mecha.

The other one was neon alien blood green. Sat on a table, they were wiping their face off with a cloth, revealing a hot pink paint job. Their other hand rested on a severed and charred alien head missing most of the fleshy bits. They tossed the cloth in a bin and locked onto Jazz with a face that promised fucking death.

Hot Pink said something formal and clipped in Prowls native language. Standing from the table and casually swinging the skull in one hand.

“Elita One,” Prowl dipped his head and wings. “This is Jazz. He has significant experience in batting quintesson forces. I have seen his capabilities firsthand and they are highly impressive. Currently, he is in need of medical treatment.”

The bloody one, Elita One, stalked up to Jazz. Raking over him with a critical eye. The pilot got a tingly sense of deja vu, like he got pushed back in time to when he first applied to the mecha program.

The lights hummed at a B flat pitch.

Onslaught, one of the first pilots and one of the few to live to retirement stood like a demon guarding the gates to Hell.

Jazz straightened up, squaring his shoulders.

“Sir, Striker one zero six one, {Pacific} Rim Defense, Callsign: Jazz, sir.”

Elita paused in her circling, however briefly, before returning to face him and Prowl once more.

“At ease.” She considered Jazz for only a moment longer, something like curiosity flickering before turning to Prowl, “Officer, I expect a full report from you on the bridge. Jazz is to not go anywhere on this ship without accompaniment. And I expect you to justify this situation to Red Alert.”

If Jazz hadn’t specifically been watching for it, anyone else would have missed the ever so slight way Prowl cringed at the order.

“Yes Captain. I volunteer to keep watch of Jazz and assume responsibility until a shift change can be approved.” D’awww. The machine has a heart.

“Request granted. Now, you have until I finish cleaning this skull to take care of any personal matters.” Elita hefted the thing for emphasis.

She locked onto Jazz once more, “Velocity will see to your injuries. You will comply with whatever treatment she deems appropriate. If you cause harm to her or any other member of my crew, I will rip off what’s left of your arm and beat you to death with it. Otherwise, remain here until Prowl comes to collect you. Is all that understood?”

I’m sorry can you repeat that middle bit? You said it so casually and in the same tone as everything else that I kinda blanked for a sec.

Instead, Jazz said, “Yes sir.”

Velocity stepped up, -their medic is a pilot- “If you’ll follow me, I can get you situated on the medical {berth} over here.”

Velocity paused as she was about to leave, like she’d just heard something. She turned and nodded to Prowl who returned the gesture, releasing Jazz in the process.

Velocity clasped her hands together and spoke to Jazz.

“I understand you might have a, ah, unique medical history. Would you be able to discuss any of that with me so I can better treat your injuries?”

Jazz hesitated.

Something is off.

“A moment in private, if you both would allow.” Prowl looked between the two other mecha. Elita was pretty much out the door and Velocity graciously left to gather the needed supplies. Prowl came closer to speak quietly.

“Jazz. You said some concerning things before regarding your previous experiences with medical treatment. Can you handle allowing Velocity to treat you?” He was doing the serious face again, one hand resting on Jazz’s working shoulder.

“Yeah. I mean, worst case scenario and I start freaking out you’ve got my permission to use force.” Prowls eyes got very wide at that.

“Which I won’t! I won’t!” He held up a hand placatingly. “I’m…not great with doctors, but it’s less the medical stuff itself and more..” Jazz made a so-so gesture.

“Feeling trapped?” He felt his horns pin down again.

Before he left the program, Ratchet had a whole system worked out. He did as much light treatment as he could with Jazz in public places like the cafeteria or in his apartment. Usually bringing in someone trusted like Rico around to distract and talk to him while Ratchet worked.

For full on surgery though, there wasn’t a lot of alternatives to turn to. White lights, white walls, dark shadows. The actual operating theater was the only option.

Ratchet, to his credit, never used restraints, which was usually enough to avoid triggering an episode if he worked fast. As far as drugs went, Jazz had a twilight stage between Fully Conscious and Out Cold called Fuck Where’d He Go that no one enjoyed playing.

He sighed.

“Look, I’m not hurt that bad. Just..” Jazz rubbed the back of his mechas head out of habit, “Give me a dim room and something cold for my head and I’ll be fine after I get something to drink.”

Prowl furrowed his brow, “Jazz, one of your arms is non functional. I implore you to let us help. You are concerned with feeling trapped, yes? If the door out of the room is left open, would that alleviate some of your fears?”

His visor twitched towards Prowl. Jazz stood very, very still.

Focus. Something is off. Focus.

“Yeah. I… I don’t want to be strapped down either. Or put to sleep.” Jazz focused on Prowl’s face. His mecha that had a face. The face that Prowl could chose not to use but is. Prowl looked like he was actively having to school his expression.

“No restraints. No sedatives. I will comm Velocity your requests and you may reiterate them at any time.” He let go of Jazz, who stepped back slightly.

Jazz watched him from within his mecha, only showing what he wanted to show. Prowl was watching him just as closely, but couldn’t hide that he was. Why can’t he hide it?

Something is off.

“Got it Prowler. See you soon!” Jazz left him with a cheery wave.

He needed to get his head on straight. It was starting to feel like he was high or something with the way everyone was talking about his mecha. There was the language barrier sure, but it didn’t account for whatever visual weirdness that was tickling his sense of uncanny valley.

With the specter of possible legitimate brain damage haunting his steps, Jazz walked towards where Velocity had gone, knocking on the doorway to get her attention. “Ready to go when you are doc.”

Velocity, who Jazz caught peeking around the corner during his little heart to heart with Prowl, at least had the gumption to not even pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping. He could at least appreciate when a doctor was honest about their bad habits.

“Right this way. I’ll be leaving just the interior door open for the sake of privacy if that’s alright. Prowl also noted you did not have a negative reaction to localized {anesthetic}.” She gestured to the chrome duct tape still on his shoulder.

Velocity led them back into the room with all the tables and the huge central computer terminal. “Lay down here, and I’ll get started. I’ll talk you through every step of what I’ll be doing.”

Jazz walked up to the table, and stared.

And stared.

“Uh.” He circled around the mecha cradle table thing. “How do I get down?”

Horizontal style cradles were a thing in like, New Zealand? But for the life of him Jazz couldn’t see where he was supposed to go.

Velocity raised an eyebrow. Speaking slowly she gestured to the table, “You sit in the middle, and then turn 90 degrees to set your upper and lower body on the berth. Laying down.”

Jazz looked between her and the “berth”, his brain skirting the very edge of the sink drain.

“Right, but after that is there a ladder or something? Do stairs pop out? Or are you actually going to lift me out of here?” Jazz squatted down, inspecting for some kind or catch or compartment or..

Or..

Something was off because there weren’t any.

Jazz felt every hair stand up on his body.

His brain fell down the drain.

He stood.

Carefully.

Nothing on this ship has been built to human proportions. Nothing.

“Jazz? Are you alright?”

The human turned to the giant robot.

“Hmm? I’m fine.” He hopped onto the berth with ease, looking relaxed. “Still learning Common. Just a little confused was all.”

Velocity blinked, “Oh well that’s understandable. It’s designed for communicating with organic alien life forms so the terminology can be a little strange sometimes.”

“Hah. Right.” Jazz stared at the ceiling.

Every drop of his blood was cold.

“Aliens.”

———————————————————————

It is truly a Jazz fic if he isn’t lying for his life and bouncing off the walls like a squirrel in a plastic bucket?

Next time, Prowl has a completely relaxing chapter all about petting Green. Yep.

Definitely.

- SSTP

<- First Next ->

[nonsscrapheap]

i blame @lovckett or this, spawned by their SI!Armada!Starscream appearing in TF: Prime Idea

random scene of armada starscream rescuing breakdown from mech's first capture. (let my boy have BOTH his optics pls and thank you)

===== Armada x Prime =====

"Open him up."

Breakdown would never admit to feeling fear at the sight of the drill coming closer to his optic, but he won't deny that he was feeling something akin to it. Which was fragging natural considering this was a drill about to take out his optic!

Suddenly, the tunnel he was being kept in shook. Breakdown gritted his denta as the tip of the drill shook and scratched along his faceplate instead, the shaking missing his optic by inches.

"What was that?!" The fleshling, Silas barked as the drill was reared back and powered down. The screen suddenly shifted to a closed entryway, the start of the tunnel.

The metal shutter was dented inwards with the metal gleaming red as if something hot had exploded against it. The armed humans at the closed shutter seemed hesitant but had their guns aimed at the dented and idly melting entryway.

Breakdown squinted his optics, wondering what was going on- had Lord Megatron or someone else sent Decepticons to rescue him? Great, if a little embarrassing considering he'd been captured by organics of all things.

The tunnel shook again as the metal shutters exploded, a violet beam cutting through the giant dust cloud that came from the explosion, miraculously it didn't hit any humans but it left a series of small explosions in its wake.

"Jetstorm, Runway, Sonar, go!" A voice, a mech's voice, commanded. A voiceprint that Breakdown was unfamiliar with.

From the dark cloud, three small jets, smaller than even the average Earth vehicle, emerged. The humans were stunned, but not stunned enough to not react- they shot at the flying vehicles but were chaotically rammed into by said jets, they cried out in surprise as the three jets flew around and aimed for any human nearby.

"Unfortunate, but intriguing." Silas said before he motioned for the other to follow him. "A shame to cut this short, it would have been a lot more interesting cutting open a live cybertronian instead of sifting through the leftovers of those lesser Decepticon ones that the Autobots love going through. Another time then, Breakdown."

His spark dropped, did he mean the vehicons? Was that why they had less body parts to retrieve lately? How dare they-

Three thumps interrupted his rage, and his optics flickered at the sight of... minicons? Minicons? Here? On Earth? "What the frag."

The three minicons beeped in their private little minicon language, Breakdown had never really bothered to learn about it or more about minicons. The little espionage bots throughout the war were more of the Intel and Communications part of stuff while Breakdown- well, obviously he was not that.

Reminds him of the minicons that Soundwave used to have. (He wonders if those two are okay, Soundwave has never been the same without them and Ravage)

The minicons looked up and waved their arms, beeping and chirping cheerily and with pride.

Pedesteps.

"Yes, yes, good work you three. You cleared the way and made it to- well, this poor gentlemech." That voiceprint... Breakdown strained his helm to see who it belonged to.

It was... a seeker? Big one, bigger that Starscream.

Bright red with white, and- orange optics? Strange. He doesn't know this mech. No Decepticon brand... but no Autobot brand either. Neutral?

Pretty thing though, the red finish reminds him of Knock Out...

Was that another minicon on the seeker's shoulder? Four minicons?

"Who are you?" Breakdown asked suspiciously, optics narrowing at the seemingly Neutral seeker (who was neutral nowadays? He didn't know there were any neutrals left...)

The seeker huffed, "Your savior." He deadpanned in reply before reaching back and detaching his wing??? What??? The??? Frag??? Could seekers do that?

He watched in stunned silence as the wing folded thinly into a blade-shape, before gleaming red with energy. A fragging laser sword?? Again. What the frag??? Could Starscream do that??

The minicons jumped off of his restrained body as the unknown seeker stepped closer, raising the sword high, was he going to—

Breakdown flinched as the sword was brought low in a swift, yet beautifully efficient movement. Not a klik later, his restrained were sliced open. Breakdown had no knowledge of swordsbotship, but damn had that been cool.

"Come on, we need to go." The seeker barked, turning on his heel. The minicons beeped and chirped, motioning Breakdown to get up.

Breakdown was quick to do so, "Hey! Wait!" He and the minicons quickly caught up to the seeker who was now jogging through the tunnel. "You didn't answer my question."

"Yes I did."

Breakdown frowned, "You didn't tell me your designation."

"You asked who I was, not for my designation." Was the seeker's smart aft reply. Breakdown held back an annoyed growl. "Call me... Armada."

Breakdown's optics narrowed again, Armada? He doesn't recall any mech or seeker going by the name. Clearly a fake designation. Before he could even ask or demand the seeker's actual designation, they ended up at the entrance- where more of those pesky humans were.

Breakdown didn't bother holding back his growl this time, servo shifting to his hammer while the seeker dropped into a defensive stance with his sword, shielding his faceplate from the annoying fire from the smaller creatures.

The minicons took shelter behind them, the one at Armada's shoulder moved behind Armada's helm and tapped it insistently, bleeping and chirping rapidly. "Absolutely not! Just get down with the others Swindle!" Armada growled.

Swindle?

How fragging hilarious, the minicon shared a name with that money-grubbing conmech. He can't wait to tell KnockOut later on.

Swindle, hah, bleeped even harder but reluctantly dropped to the ground with the three other minicons. Just in time Armada to swat away an incoming missile with his still glowing sword.

Missiles were being launched from helicopters above while cars of humans were shooting annoying yet distracting bullets from below, moving around like the chaotic insects they were.

Breakdown used his canon to shoot at them, and his hammer to pound down any car that dared to come close enough.

Armada was using his sword to gouge the earth and cut cars in half, using one half of the car to lob at the helicopters- direct hit. Breakdown grinned, following his lead and grabbing a smashed car for one of the other copters.

One of those copters had a strange electric canon thing, it charged and narrowly missed Armada who had dodged just in time with a incensed growl.

Breakdown was a little more distracted, trying to smash every car in his wake so he was very surprised when Armada suddenly tackled him from the side- he was less surprised as the spot he'd been standing at suddenly exploded thanks to that electric canon.

The seeker was quick to get back on his pedes while Breakdown stared up at him with wide optics. Damn.

Usually, between him and KnockOut, it was KnockOut who liked to bring mechs into their open relationship for a good time. Breakdown rarely did that on his own, content with his conjunx but Primus, was this new seeker making him think—

He suddenly hears blaster fire, and from the distance, he sees blue blaster fire shooting at the helicopters from the ground. "You called the Autobots for backup?!" He hissed but was surprised by the glare he got from the seeker.

"No, I did not." He growled back, looking displeased and annoyed. "They must have been in the area and heard the noise."

Breakdown doesn't know if he should believe that, but as much as he hates the fact the Autobots were around. At least their presence was useful, with the added numbers of threats growing, the humans- MECH- decided to retreat.

Leaving Armada and Breakdown behind to deal with the Autobots. Or, well, Autobot.

Turns out it was just Bulkhead.

"Well I'll be, if it isn't Bulkhead." Breakdown sneered as the former Wrecker came forward, blaster smoking. "I'll admit, didn't expect to see you here alone. Again. Ready for round two?"

"Breakdown." Bulkhead growled back, optics narrowed, "Should'a known you of all mechs didn't need rescuin'... Who's your friend?" He glanced over to Armada but faltered at the sight of the four minicons that were peeking from behind Armada's legs. And then double-taking as he watched Armada's sword de-activate, fold back into a wing shape and reattach it back on his back. "Uh..."

Honestly, not even Breakdown can blame him because that was the exact reaction he had watching the whole thing. "I'm not his friend." Armada replied with a scoff, "Just someone who knows it's a bad idea for Cybertronian biology to end up in the hands of humans like MECH. It's trouble no one wants." He said, crossing his arms.

"You're a Neutral?" Bulkhead muttered, a bit awed as he sees no brand on the seeker. "Didn't think you guys were still around."

Armada sent him a sharp look, "And whose fault is that exactly?" He snarked before shaking his helm, "I'm done here. You two can go back to your war and your fighting. Try not to destroy this planet like Cybertron and countless others."

Both bots flinched at the scathing tone the seeker had, "Hey! That's not fair- it was the cons who destroyed Cybertron not us Autobots!" Bulkhead protested and Breakdown glowered at him.

Unfortunately that was true, however- "It was you 'bots who forced us to do that!"

They both readied their hammers before a loud, angry jet engine growl interrupted their fight. "Both of you can shut the frag up! As far as I see it, both of you Decepticons and Autobots ruined Cybertron! It's always you two! No matter what uni—" Armada cut himself off, inventing sharply with a bitter and pained look. "... Cybertron is dead, thanks to this Unicron-damned war. Autobot, Decepticon... You both have energon staining your servos. Don't act as if the other side is the sole blame for everything."

There was a silence in the air as Armada seemed to hug himself, his minicons beeping and chirping sadly at the seeker who avoided looking at both ex-Wreckers.

Well... seemed like trying to coax Armada to either side would be difficult if that was his mindset over everything. Breakdown had to wonder if Armada had sided with either during the war, or was he neutral all along? Hard to say.

Suddenly Armada's wings perked and he looked up to the sky, "Scrap." He said, spotting lights in the distance in a formation. His wings twitched again and he looked off to the side, more lights in the distance. "Scrap." He repeated.

"Swindle! Jetstorm! Sonar! Runway! We're leaving, now!" Three of the minicons immediately transformed into their jet alts, taking to the skies while the fourth, Swindle, climbed up Armada's leg. Armada turned to Breakdown, glaring at him determinedly. "You owe me for this Breakdown, remember that."

"Armada—" Breakdown was interrupted when the mech jumped into the air, transforming into a jet with Swindle in his cockpit. Soon, he, along with the three other little jets, were off. Flying as far and as fast as they could.

By the time both Decepticon and Autobot back up returned, it was just the ex-Wreckers left behind.

And though there would be an ensuing fight, said Wreckers would have quite the tale to tell to both sides.

===== Armada x Prime =====

this is definitely not canon to Hound of the Stars since i have no idea WHEN hokori is going to drop Armada in, in the Primeverse timeline. just a separate snippet about Armada saving Breakdown that i had to write bc it was itching at my brain.

why did armada save breakdown? because he hates MECH and Breakdown should've had more screen time. VERY bitter about cybertron's fate in nearly all the continuities they know of, its added by armada!starscream's own personal memories as a child soldier who probably never saw cybertron's golden age and stuff. all he knows is war and he hates it.

that's this armada though, i am very much looking forward to whatever hokori is cooking for Hound of the Stars.

also yes, those are the names for the minicons who make up the star saber- i had to dig for those. swindle is the laser canon. ive implied a lot of stuff, also made breakdown and knockout conjunxes bc yes.

honestly i have another scene in mind of dreadwing meeting armada and immediately falling helm over heels for the seeker. bright paint, good at minicon care (sparklings anyone??) and strong warrior? oomf. likewise, i kinda want soundwave to be lowkey obsessed with armada bc of the minicons. and oo, wheeljack? fellow swordfighter hello???

look i just want armada to be hot and be sought out for by both sides.

i hope you enjoyed!

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

Hiiiii! I read your cozy Starscream comfort fic on Ao3 and have followed you here :3

You mentioned being open to writing prompt requests; if this one strikes your fancy, I have one for you!

Prompt:

Something comforting about a Human!Reader who lately feels overlooked because they are inclined to be quiet in a group, and their shyness means they don't speak up or assert themselves unless something is really, really important. They listen far more than they speak. And even when they do speak up in a group... it's like no one hears them often times, and they get talked over.

Starscream, Soundwave, Optimus, or Mirage, if either of those four 'bots stir your muse?

Ahhh! Thank you for your request, and I’m sorry for the wait. I haven’t had the opportunity to write for Soundwave, OP, or Mirage so I’ll do blurbs for all four, but you mentioned Screamer is one of your favorites, so I made his a little longer! I hope you enjoy!

Soundwave (G1) WC: 608

The Decepticon site of operations is lively in the face of the most recent win against the Autobots, meaning high grade is being passed around like no one’s business. As the resident human, on site to assist the Decepticons with tasks that only small hands can manage- even smaller than the minis and the cassettes can manage. Only problem is- with how tiny and squishy you are, it is important that the cons watch their step- a task they frequently forget to do, even the Leader of the Decepticons himself, who made the declaration. 

With the high grade flowing and inhibitions lowering, the pedes around you hold no caution, making it obvious your… friends(?) have forgotten your existence… again. Having had enough of nearly becoming a smear on the floor, you make your way to the side of the room and press yourself to the wall as you scooch your way to the doorway. As soon as you make your escape from the room, you slam into someone’s shin and fall back on your rear.

“Inquiry: Why are you distressed?”

Looking up, the one and only Soundwave looking down at you with his helm tilted, a reminder that you’re so small and often forgotten surges through you and forces your eyes to well up with tears. It was such an odd feeling, crying at the pedes of one of the high command officers, who you can only imagine is staring blankly at you through his visor. Instead of waiting for any answer, the mech lifts you with his thumb and index digit and carries you away from the scene. It’s hard to keep track of where he’s taking you, your blurred vision keeping you from mapping his walking patterns.

After a few moments, your tears have slowed enough for you to wipe them away, just in time to see Soundwave briefly stop before a door and have him open it with a couple of buttons on the wall. Walking in, you notice Frenzy and Rumble in a halfhearted argument, Lazerbeak perched on the edge of the rather large berth, and Ravage curled up in the middle who, upon hearing Soundwave’s return, lifts his head to regard him. The Commander approaches his berth, Ravage moving temporarily before curling up in his master’s lap, once he made sure you were comfortable. Rumble and Frenzy grinning, their previous conversation dropped at the prospect of a recharge of a new entertainment source, run and climb their way onto the berth on either side of Soundwave, and on his shoulder, Lazerbeak finds his new perch.

“Ooo, is the human going to tell us about human stuff?” Frenzy’s grin doesn’t waver as he leans in toward you. Normally, the cassettes are much too wrapped up in either infighting or Soundwave’s orders, so they don’t really talk to you much, unless you’re needed for something.

“They will speak if they want. Or they can recharge.” Soundwave, as per usual, speaks plainly- it would be easy to misunderstand his tone for uncaring curtness, if you didn’t know him and the care for his cassettes better. 

Rumble and Frenzy both look to you, hopeful, and even Ravage, with his head in your lap, looks up to you in mild interest. It was a nice change of pace in comparison to the giants who would often forget you were even there. It briefly occurred to you to thank Soundwave later for not only helping you get away from the so-called party, but giving you some well-needed attention. You smile gently to the cons looking to you and clear your throat,

“Um… well, what would you like to know?”

Optimus (TFP) Gender-neutral reader WC: 692

“I’m not sure if that’ll work, Ratchet.” Arcee peeks around the medic’s frame, looking at the plans for intercepting a possible shipment of energon the Decepticons were planning on transporting, if their movement patterns indicated anything. You look at the computer from your spot on the raised platform, trying to make sense of the plan Ratchet had input.

“Maybe if-” You spoke up, albeit softly, trying to find a compromise, though you’re promptly cut off by the previously mentioned mech.

“And I’m not sure when I asked for your opinion, Arcee. Shouldn’t you be looking over your ward?” Ratchet snaps back, tired and obviously agitated by the state of the Autobot’s own energon storage. 

“Ratchet, that seems a little-” You try again.

“I’m just saying. It’s not like you’re on the field much- there are better ways to plan an interception of Decepticon forces.” The blue and pink femme argues, tensions rising as her optical ridges furrow and a servo finds its way to her hip. 

“Don’t forget who-”

You don’t stay around long enough to hear whatever snide comment the older bot was going to spit at Arcee, tired of feeling ignored and make your way down the hall, wanting to be anywhere other than the main silo of the base. Passing by Optimus, you don’t say anything, not wanting the feeling of anyone else not acknowledging your existence to sting you yet again today.

“My friend, you seem disheartened.” Optimus’ deep voice reverberates through the hall, less of a question and more of a statement, not giving you the chance to pretend you didn’t hear him. You turn around and grant him a half smile, before it drops and you avert your gaze.

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, Optimus. You might want to lend Ratchet and Arcee a servo- they’re caught up in a bit of a feud about the next mission.” Tapering off at the end, Optimus briefly glances towards the main part of the Autobot headquarters, where he can faintly hear the aforementioned pair squabbling about details he would hear about and consider later.

“Those two have been fighting this war for many stellar cycles and will come to a solution. For now, I believe I have something much more pressing to focus on.” Taking a knee, the leader of the Autobots holds down a servo for you to step onto. Once you have taken a seat and braced yourself against one of his digits, Optimus stands and holds you close to his chassis for further stability and begins walking back to his habsuite. “You do not have to tell me what is troubling you, but you are free to do so.”

It takes you a moment- you feel silly singing your woes to someone who has been fighting in a civil war for longer than you can conceive, but the feelings simply bubble up, “I feel small… smaller than I am, I mean. I can’t imagine the stress and exhaustion everyone faces from fighting for so long, but it feels like no one sees me. And if they do, they can’t bring themselves to care.” You curl up in Optimus’ hand and take a shaky breath through your welling tears, “I must sound so selfish- you all have so much more important things to do than worry about the feelings of some human.”

“One of our human friends.” Optimus chimes in, drawing your eyes away from boring holes into your knees to his optics, “It is true that we are anxious for the end of this war, but know this, you are our friend, and we care so deeply for you. You matter just as much as any other autobot, Cybertronian or human. I can assure you, I am not the only one who holds this belief.”

Before you say anything, the mech stops in front of his door, punching in his code and sitting you on a desk that must have been built for his size and he sits himself on his berth. He gives you a rare, gentle smile that fills so many with hope.

“Would you like to tell me about your day?”

Mirage (ROTB) Gender-neutral reader    WC: 533

“Woah, woah, woah! What’s got you down in the dumps?” Mirage looks through your apartment window, forcing a yelp from your throat. You leap up from your bed and rush to the window, motioning for him to get down. 

“What are you doing?! Get down before someone sees you!”

It’s pitch black out, wherever the street light doesn’t touch, but you still worry about the possibility of Mirage being seen, like he was when you met him as he was standing outside of Noah’s apartment- which then basically sucked you into this crazy adventure of saving the world from other space robots. You had stayed behind with Bumblebee to watch over him until a sudden surge in the energon brought him back, so you unfortunately missed all of the action of the final battle.

“Nice try, but no avoiding the question. Besides, no one’s walkin’ around at like… 2:50 am.” Despite his counter, Mirage lets go of the fires escape’s railing, his new frame rattling and resulting in a resounding thud and more than a couple of cracks in the pavement below. One of his servos comes into view for you to jump on, “Come on, small fry, I wanna go for a ride while the streets are as empty as they’ll get.”

“Why not get Noah to go with you? He too busy?” Your questioning would lead the bot to believe you wouldn’t be joining him for a spin, if he didn’t feel you carefully climb aboard. He lowers you to his eye level and shoots you one of his contagious smiles.

“Naaah. I felt like a you and me kind of night. I want to hear about what you’re up to, now that I’m not locked up in that garage anymore.” For further emphasis, he stretches his arms out wide and groans in relief. It had been a few months since Peru, and while you had visited Mirage while Noah had been fixing him up, it definitely wasn’t the same as him being out and in his element.

He doesn’t wait for any further response and transforms, quickly making his way down the road, no particular destination in mind, knowing him. The city passes you by quickly, Mirage not giving a second thought to any speed limit signs he sees, remembering he considers them suggestions, not law. Snapping you out of your thoughts, Mirage clears his throat, “Well? The tread on my tires isn’t getting any thicker- what’s my favorite human been up to?”

“Your favorite, huh?” Whether or not he really meant it, the thought brings a smile to your face. 

“Well, duh. I got out of that garage, and the first thing I did was come see you, so spill the oil- gimme drama.”

“...You won’t believe what Elena told me happened at the museum the other day-”

The rest of the evening was spent driving the backroads outside of the city, telling Mirage anything and everything. Mirage listens aptly, responding when needed, and takes pleasure in knowing he’s distracted you from whatever was dragging you down. You’re part of his home team, and he’s not just going to stand by while you fall victim to your thoughts.

Starscream (TFP) Gender-neutral   WC:1431

“Starscream! I have something to-” Running towards the seeker, his back plate remains facing you as he keeps his focus on Megatron. He normally turns to you, happy to see what his little human has to tell him. Your smile faltering after recognizing he has no plans to turn toward you, “Starscream? Are you ok?”

Megatron glances briefly towards you, but doesn’t say anything to neither you nor his second in command, likely due to the fact that they were waiting for Soundwave to return with more information before choosing any action, so your presence isn’t much of an interruption. Trying to hold onto the hope he just has yet to hear or notice you, you give his heel strut a tap, remembering how he had once told you he keeps special attention to that area for you. You furrow your brow at the confirmation of him ignoring you, your voice lowering in volume, “Starscream, what’s going on?”

“Starscream, I suggest you see to your… pet, before it becomes too much of a distraction.” Megatron growls at him, not bothering to glance back down at you.

“Of course, Lord Megatron. It was just leaving.” He still didn’t look down to you, keeping his optics glued to his leader.

It?

Without further ado, you quickly leave the room, not having any desire to stay where you are not wanted. Storming down the hall, you aren’t sure where you’re heading, but the plan was getting out, even if just for a few hours. There was no leaving the Decepticons- especially not with everything you’ve overheard, been told, and seen- you’d be hunted down in less than a day. 

“Woah-ho-ho! Where are you headed off to?” Breakdown, despite standing to the side to allow you to pass without the possibility of disaster occurring. The blue mech and his partner have been a nice comfort and support system ever since Starscream first brought you onto The Nemesis, often shielding you from Megatron’s ire when Starscream wasn’t around. 

“I’m finding a way off this ship, since I’ve obviously worn out my novelty.” You sniffle, refusing to shed a tear over someone you thought cared about you. 

“...How about I take you to the lab, so you can tell Knockout and me about what happened.” Breakdown smiled down at you, letting it grow when you nod and allow him to lift you up and onto his shoulder. And before long, you were sitting in front of Knockout and Breakdown explaining what happened on the bridge. 

“-and then he goes, ‘it was just leaving’. He called me an it.” Whispering, you were sitting on one of the medical tables while both mechs lean against a parallel table. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, finally looking up to gauge their reactions. There stood Knockout with his mouth slightly agape, and Breakdown’s frown was deeply set in his faceplate.

“That slimy, scrawny-”

“Now now, Breakdown. I think there’s a lesson we can teach our superior.” Knockout, being broken out of his aghast stupor, rested a servo on his partner’s shoulder and smirks. He returns his attention to you and raises an optical ridge, “How does that sound?”

“Depends on what you mean, I guess.”

“Well, I deduced that you likely ran from the room after you were disrespected, am I right?” As you nod, he continues, “Right, so the last time Starscream saw you, you were in quite the distressed state. My idea is to let him believe that you left and let the slagger squirm in a panic.”

“He won’t. He didn’t even look at me earlier. Why would he care now?” The hem that you’ve been playing with during this conversation now scrunched in your fingers, hating the thought you’ve been discarded with so little thought.

A digit lifts your chin, forcing you to face the medic and his assistant, who smile down at you, “Trust me, dear. Starscream will care, he’s just an aft.

*        *        *        *        *        *

“Starscream, sir.” Breakdown hastily walks onto the bridge, mentally noting the lack of Megatron. 

“Breakdown… what is it?” Starscream turns to face the destructive warrior, face obviously in no mood for foolishness.

“The human-”

“What’s happened?” Starscream’s optics widen, panic already setting in.

“They’re gone, sir.”

“What do you mean, they’re gone?! They are to remain on this ship at all times, unless they are accompanied by myself!” Starscream grabs Breakdown by the edge of his chassis plating and pulls him forward to better snarl in his face. 

“They said something about being done with their stay here and made their way to one of the storage bays with the airlocks.” Breakdown shrugs, not showing any care for the mech who is beginning to dig his talons into his frame. Knockout wouldn’t be happy about his partner’s scratched paint and plating, but that would be a problem to deal with later. 

“Why would you not stop them, you incompetent-” Starscream pauses, unlatching himself from the larger mech. His optics narrow and he sneers, “They haven’t left this ship, and I’m willing to bet my next share of energon that they’re in that lab. Get out of my way!”

Shoving his way past Breakdown, he passes through the doorway and changes to his alt mode to faster get to the doctor’s lab, Breakdown quickly following behind him. Reaching the lab in record time, Starscream slams his fisted servo into the doorframe as the metal door swishes open, revealing Knockout gently speaking with you about how everything is going to get worked out one way or the other.

“What is the meaning behind trying to fool me into believing my star has left this ship?!” 

“I don’t know, screamer. Why do you make your star feel ignored and unwelcome?” Knockout stands to his full height and crosses his arms.

“Know your place, doctor.” His voice is low and holds promise for consequences, if your friend continues to display disrespect.

“I know my place, Starscream. Do you?”

“Why you-”

“Would you both stop it?!” You yell, startling everyone in the room. It isn’t common for you to raise your voice, always preferring to stand down, listen, and stay calm. But this was just all too much. 

The room was quiet, everyone not knowing what quite to do next, all mechs looking between themselves, then turning their optics to you. Another moment passes and Starscream turns to Knockout, much more calmly than before, “Knockout, I would like some time alone with them… please.”

The flashy Decepticon makes sure you’re ok before taking his leave, with Breakdown close behind.

“My star-”

“I’m not your anything. I am not some object or a pet, as Megatron so quaintly put it.” You snip, putting on the show of having no desire to hear what he has to say, despite wanting nothing more for him to give you a good reason for his behavior earlier and for him to apologize. “And you didn’t- … you - do I really matter so little to you?”

“Of course not. My star, you are the most important being in my life. But it is becoming increasingly difficult as Megatron’s fury and impatience grows. He anticipates my betrayal at every turn and has, on more than one occasion, threatened your life because of this.” Starscream gently scoops your figure up and presses his derma to the crown of your head, “I am sorry I have hurt you in my attempts to protect you, but I cannot fathom surviving this torturous world without you. Please… forgive me, my brightest star.”

“You’re such an idiot, Starlight.” You bring your arms up to cling to his face plate and lightly cry into his chin. You didn’t expect the weight that was lifted off your shoulders at his confession, but you were so grateful for the fact that it was just Starscream making a foolish decision.

“I would have to agree with you in this instance.” Starscream’s small, airy chuckle blows past your hair, and he presses yet another kiss to your forehead. “Will you forgive me, my dear?”

“I’ll forgive you just this once, but don’t ever make such a decision without telling me again.”

“You have my word. Now, why were you so excited earlier?”

“Well I…”

You spent the next few cycles regaling him about what the vehicons were up to and how silly Steve was behaving, knowing their idea wasn’t going to work. You love being able to talk to Starscream, knowing you were one of the only people he would give his full attention to. You love your mech. Your silly, silly mech.

[dragonqwq]

So I was thinking about drachrod moment.

Rodimus comes the habsuit after working over bunch of very boring paperwork about crew safety and possible health Hazards? According to magnus the plans and policies in them were from war time and needed updating. But the issue is while he read (skimmed some parts) entire manual magnus gave him he didn't understand most of it how was he going to update something he doesn't understand like the quarantine protocols for contagious disease and epidemics. If he has no idea how they work and there are like bazillion different diseases to code ones, energon ones, organic based ones, infection ones(he thinks) and more types he is not a Medic how is he spose to update them. Sure he and upper command will have a meeting about it.... and Ratchet will be there and drift and lot more people... God he will be embarrassing himself maybe Ratchet has some medical data pads around. So he searches the chaos incarnate Ratchet's desk at their joined habsuit it takes a while but he finds bunch of them so he starts checking them out...and primus he is so intrested in them he ends up reading bunch of them ones related and none related medical datapads. When drift and Ratchet comes to the habsuit after their shifts. They found Rodimus reading datapads. He basically ended up reading every educational material Ratchet had instead of recharging. So Drift kinda scared comes up to very restless Roddy with twitching spoilers muttering staff. He puts his hand on Rodimus's shoulder and asks " Roddy are you OK?" Rodimus tuns at him he has the biggest eye bags he ever saw on him and his plating pale, looking like he didn't refueled for a cycle. " Drift! Did you know there was a hole virus that can get into your mainframe and cause critical cpu failure though physically contact! And it can pass through scans to like the point someone checks you out for problems boom they are also infected how cool is That! Well it is terrible to have a critical system failure but God it is so interesting how it slowly destroy your core prossesor step by step while increasing your overall performance to hide itself in your programing!" Rodimus goes and shows the data pad about the virus to drift. Drift sigh. "Actually That is a older version of that virus our fire walls now are strong enough to deal with it. You should hear about the 5.03 version of that virus. It melts the mechs and very hard to diagnos since it doesn't have as much as side effects." Ratchet says to drift's horror. Rodimus keeps going with his sudden interest in medical stuff and drift has to go along and has to listen them talk about a rust infection at their regular refueling time. Ratchet keep telling Rodimus about bunch of very gruesome medical procedures he performed. While Rodimus asks questions and replies. Drift is just about to purge his tank. He loves his gorgeous conjux's but they can be too much some time...

[robolvrr]

attention-seeker ミ⁠●﹏

transformers reactions to human modifications. (tattoos, piercings, hair-dye.) headcanons!

optimus prime, bumblebee, prowl. tfa.

sfw / suggestive under cut.

may do more of them, i love this show to death.

optimus prime

"you do this stuff... for fun? huh."

try as he might, he does not understand the point much.

don't get me wrong, i see animated optimus to be the closest to a mid-twenties rascal as you can get. modifications aren't unheard of for bots. he's not a nun.

however ...

he sees humans as still pretty fragile. so the idea that you like going and having needles shoved into your flesh and jammed through your muscle isn't something he can wrap his helm around at first.

primus forbid you have lots.

imagine him trying to process you explaining that yes, your entire back is covered in ink and you're planning on about five different piercings in the next year.

"so you. you plan on getting two on your back. just because?"

"that's the plan, big guy."

poor mech is lost. though he does enjoy learning more about humanity when he isn't stressing too much about saving it.. so expect questions.

when you suggest getting one of the autobot emblem, his circuits nearly fry.

prowl

"so, what's the significance?"

i see prowl not writing off the behavior as weird and instead digging for why you pursued this journey.

yes, he sees your tattoo and piercing collection as a journey, because that's what it is, isn't it? years of work and pain to adorn your body to your liking.

he knows that humans are bundled with nerves. there's respect earned. he finds humans to be eerily resilient.

will ask you the meaning of each and every one. piercings less so.

"what does this bird represent?"

"mm.. my sense of liberty."

"a visual representation of the wish to stretch to new horizons. how fascinating. being small in a vast universe with the urge to still explore."

"i also just like hummingbirds."

"mm. i see."

will get onto you once he finds out about the "makeshift" work. finds the mistakes or even forgettable craftsmanship to make you endearing.

bumblebee

"whoa! sick paintjob, human!"

he LOVES human culture. and you guys can just... change your appearance? count him impressed!

you had dyed your hair to a nice golden yellow to match his frame and he almost jammed his intake shut.

"you can just. do that?!? b-but your helm used to be-"

"hair, bee."

"right, right. it wasn't always that color though!!!"

he thinks it's so cool. real dork about it. totally buzzed out once you spoke about the chemistry that it went to the process though.

he thinks piercings are cute. after all the fusion of metal and organic is kiiind of taboo. you pull it off great.

tattoos make him beg ratchet to let him upgrade his paint. poor old mech is grumpy and over bumble whining him to just let him "get some flames and that's it."

you draw a lot of inspiration from him. will gladly brainstorm your next big change and puff his chassis out like a lil peacock knowing you're willing to get something permanent done in his designation.

nsfw.

optimus prime

"you look like a painting. primus above, you're gorgeous..."

optimus prime enjoys tracing your tats. he kisses the patterns and images as if the pain of the needle remains, glossa licking along thick and thin ink with shuttered optics.

he likes to see goosebumps trail after. kind of a weird fetish (?) but he mostly enjoys how reactive you are and how your inkwork ripples with the movement.

when he finds out your piercings can make you sensitive ...

well, good luck.

optimus at his spark of sparks is such a tease. when you continue to surprise him, it's nice to be in control of that mutual fascination for once.

"you enjoy when i tug.. these?"

nipple piercings.

expect his glossa. he takes special care to even lubricate each of his digits just to toy with your sore nipples.

prowl

"that's it. fall apart for me. just like art..."

prowl is observant. so when you let it slip that you've been holding back on some of what's on your body...

you're on his berth and naked. his optics are hidden behind his sharp visor.

"holding back on me? that's a shame. i thought you knew better than to do that."

is he angry? hardly! but his processor is about to work overtime when you stammer just why you hadn't gone into depth.

genital piercings.

he doesn't say anything for a long time. doesn't ask the millions of questions bombarding his thoughts. his servos do that speaking before he can.

let's just say you start to understand why he deals with tedious and delicate situations. those hands are built for... meticulous attention.

bites. all the areas with piercings. focuses carefully damn near to the square inch of sensitive flesh where it drives you wild.

tattoos? he loves to scrape his digits down em.

loves to doll you up in lingerie that accentuates everything you hide. crotchless, cut-outs exposing yourself until he can't see where the inkwork begins and ends.

robolvrr 2024.

[hoiststowline]

tell me why

prowl x reader a/n: newly edited from my initial post on ao3, I will update it there as well!!

Sensing his deadpan before your feet even leave the stairs, you save him the scoff that was certainly headed your way and offer a middle finger instead. 

"You've got to be fragging joking." He won't open the passenger door, heaven forbid he let you sit in the driver's seat, yet his side-view mirror jerks your way in an aggravated manner. Languidly looking you up and down, and not in a way that makes you feel good about yourself, he continues with as much disgust, if not more. "Do you even care about appearances, or have you just given up entirely?"

"I'm sorry," You start, hand defiantly coming to your hip, anger seeping far too easily into your tone, now riled up. "I didn't really have a second to change when you called me at eleven-forty-eight, yelling at me to be outside in three minutes." Backpack hanging from one shoulder, the toe of your sneaker meets the pavement in an irked manner. "You're lucky I even picked up, I have you blocked from four different numbers, and yet, you've managed a way to contact me."

The police cruiser sputters, his engine growling as he argues, temper flaring alongside a familiar dramatic display. "I'm lucky?! y/n, please, I should drive off and leave you pissed that I got you out of recharge for nothing."

Your fingers curl around the door handle, tugging it twice to ignore his unkept threat. "Open the door," 

"You're the biggest pain in the aft I know, and that's saying something." The door pops open, narrowly missing your kneecaps, but you can't find an ounce of energy to start up another round of quarreling. Prowl's voice echoes from the center console as you throw your bag in the backseat, hard, bouncing off the leather before landing on the floor with an unceremonious thud. "Would you stop that?"

"You woke me up and are giving me attitude?" His rear-view mirror moves erratically now, straightening out until you're looking back at your reflection. 

"Get out." He doesn't particularly mean it, because the whole reason he called you is because he needs you, something he'd rather drop dead than admit. You're the bravest and yet the daftest individual to even offer a smidge of trust towards Prowl, but the only being that's shown him a glimmer of kindness in epochs. "I'll do it without you."

But the recently slammed door doesn't re-open, and his engine never cuts out, leaving the conversation hanging in empty air. The two of you sit in silence, the mech baiting you to erupt into an argument, but the only thing you propose is to sit in the front seat with arms crossed over your chest. 

"I hate you." The seatbelt clicks across your waist, tightening gently as a warning to behave. "I hate you so much, y/n, and I hate that I even resorted to coming here."

"You don't hate me because you wouldn't be here if you did." You jeer, sniffling before looking out the window, unimpressed by his nonchalant jab. "I'm one of the few friends you have, you bastard."

"Please," He takes off, moving down your street with purpose, hardly disclosing the actual reason for darkening your doorstep. "Let's set the record straight, we are not friends, not by any definition."

"Oh?" Your palm meets his dashboard, a half-hearted hit. "Then what are we, Prowl?"

"I'm an Autobot." Prowl snuffs, coming to a stop at a red light, yet jamming on his breaks a little too violently. "You, are annoying."

Rolling incurious eyes, you offer a swift kick the glovebox, leaving some residual dirt along the plastic. Beating him up was probably not the smartest idea you've had recently, though it was a valid response- you were on the verge of burnout. But the worst part of it all was that you could never deny Prowl, even as exhaustion threatened to claim you. He was abusing you, knowing your weakness was your compassion and ability to jump when he told you to. 

"Stuff it, you overgrown toaster." Your crankiness was leaving you with no filter, eyelids heavy as he began again down deserted roads, kicking up unsettled dirt with squeaky clean tires. 

"I have been alerted there is Decepticon activity in a secluded area where your species partakes in...street racing?" He relays it as if he's reading a transmission. "And I needed a driver."

"So you roll up, as a police car, to an area where people are doing illegal activities, with me in the passenger seat?" Elbow resting against the paneling of the door, your chin meets your hand. "Aren't you the smartest person alive."

"I-" For the first time since you've met him, he actually gives pause as if surveying his next round of words carefully. Whether that be to think of an insult or to think of a reason for how he's right, you give him thirty seconds before continuing. 

"You really woke me up on a Tuesday night for this shit, Prowl? I know you hate me but for fucks sake." He's been driving straightforwardly for a few minutes now, and taking in your surroundings, you realize he's long left city lines. "Hey, where are we going? How far away is this place?" 

"I lied." It's short as if he isn't going to provide any more information, and to nobody's surprise, he doesn't.

"You woke me up! For nothing! And you aren't even at least going to tell me why?!" Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you begin erratically pulling on the handle, even as he increases his speed. "Prowl, let me out, or so help me-" 

"You'll what?" Part of you wished the sadistic mech would open the door like you know he would, leaving you clean on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. He'd done it before, but every time except once, he'd come back to get you, much to his grumbled annoyance. Yet, at this very moment, walking home was better than being with him any longer, patience long since tried. "Tough luck."

"I'll key you. I'll run my keys over your doors and steal your sirens, kick your bumper, disconnect your voice box-" Rattling off as many empty threats you could think of before you ran out of breath, you end the rant with one final blow. "Fuck you, Prowl, this is the last time I ever do anything for you. You insufferable, bird-brained jackass-"

Prowl takes it, every single one of your denunciations, listening and waiting patiently for your incessant prattling to end. He could wait, he's waited thus long, stewing in sleepless nights and throwing any object that he picked up, berthroom walls littered with dents from his servo meeting the metal. He could take one more klik of your unendurable squabble before he transforms, moving cautiously until you're wriggling in the palm of his servo, staring up at him as he stands off the pavement.  

"I will dump an entire gallon of iced tea in your interior," You stand, dusting yourself off as the black and white mech deposits your backpack at your feet. "Pause. Aren't you supposed to be careful about this shit? I know we're in the middle of nowhere but-" 

Prowl's staring, intently so. He eerily hasn't said a single word in five minutes, which is unlike the Prowl you were just previously bickering back and forth with. A frown is permanently etched onto his face plate, cerulean optics unblinking as he observes you and your body language, vexation evident.

"You're not often correct, y/n, but I will give you credit about one thing." A retort looms on your lips, but he silences you with one look. "You are one of the few friends I have left." 

There's a brief moment where it all comes at you ridiculously hard, his unselfish words for once, not agitated or backhanded. Prowl woke you up so late because he couldn't stand to be alone with his rampaging thoughts anymore, putting it off as long as possible before it all boiled over in one fell swoop. It's why he's indignant and irate towards you, at least more than normal because he's trying to process something uncertain of how to proceed. You cock your head to the side, trying to read his well-stifled emotions, but it all comes back to one thing where you release a shaky laugh.

"You're an asshole." Your palm finds your forehead, smacking it with a guiltiness residing in your chest, but the insult this time is much less sincere. Prowl deserved it, he and you both knew he did, but you were blindsided by his vagueness and impromptu wanting to meet up. "I really do hate you."

"You say that as if I don't hear it every damn cycle," His unoccupied hand comes to your back, circling you leaving you no means to escape. "Old news, y/n."

"Are you going to say it, or are you going to make me?" You push away his digit as it smacks you, enough to say 'Cut it out'. 

"Pain in my aft." Prowl gravels, leaning forward to deposit a kiss on the crown of your head. "Don't expect a ride home, ungrateful brat."

You refuse to believe you're blushing, reduced to nothing, as Prowl just offered genuine affection and not a mean-spirited one. Feeling relief in the non-existent explanation and exchange of pitiful and disputatious words, it could only be described as the last puzzle piece finally slotting into place. 

"Kindly, shut the-" You're interrupted as he presses a benign digit over your lips, successfully silencing you, though you don't doubt that wouldn't have happened anyway, even without his assistance. Instead of fighting back, you pull away from his soft pressure to kiss the tip of his finger, letting your lips linger before a weary sigh escapes you.

"Are you wearing that petrolatum on your dermas?" Prowl spits with disgust, yanking his servo away. "You are, aren't you? You fragging gremlin."

You hate Prowl. He was selfish, infuriating, and generally unfriendly to everyone he's ever had the pleasure of meeting, but for some otherworldly reason, you found yourself attracted to his stupid face and his outwardly unlikeable personality. There was a mountain of gold buried under layers of hardened concrete and false promise, but you were up for the challenge if he would let you in. 

[jweekgoji]

can you make a 3 part of d-16 of pleasuring him with a spike instead of fingering

Yandere!D-16/Reader

tw: NSF///W (minors don't read), jealousy, possessive behavior, unhealthy attachment, insecurity (D-16's side), yandere themes. word count: additional tags: gender neutral!reader, reader has a spike, D-16 has spike and valve, cybertronian!reader, idol!reader, power bottom!D-16, top!reader a/n: there's so many different continuations of the original posts so that even I can't keep track of it, haha. the previous chapter for this would be >this.

You're so fond of your little devoted fan, it's hard not to find D-16 at least a little cute.

If any of your coworkers heard your thoughts, oh, you would hear their taunts for cycles.

“That's so weird, what do you even see in him?”

“He's half your size, how do you do...well, you know. 'That stuff'.”

“You're definitely a pervert.”

Of course, none of your friends took your interest seriously. It's just a one-night stand; as they say, you will grow tired of that needy little thing and move on. At least, you should.

You're too good for him, too beautiful for everyone's standards, there's plenty of other mechs and femmes showing their desire for you, the ones that can provide you with everything you need.

Chromia, despite your pretend rivalry during the races, seems like paying too much interest in you, and Hot Rod can't stop asking you out on dates, each time you beat him. So many options...and yet, out of all the Iaconians, a miner? Seriously?

Maybe you actually need a little break from everything. If anyone finds out what you two do behind everyone's back, a cogless bot slacking off instead of working tirelessly in search of energon...that information will definitely screw off his chances at getting a better, higher position in the future. With how little respect most Iaconians have for the cogless part of cybertronians, you can only fear of what else the higher-ups can do to him. Not to mention...what will the others tell about you?

And still... Why, why, why were you like this?

D-16 couldn't comprehend in his head why all of a sudden you started to avoid him.

Are you embarrassed of him? He totally understands that; he learned his place in this society for a long time ago; it's not like he will blame you for it.

Maybe he's been too much for you lately? Yes...yes, definitely, isn't it? He's been so demanding the last time, craving your touch and your praise; everything will be good enough for him if only it comes from you.

Every new reason he comes up with for you as an excuse for you to ignore him, leaves a suffocating feeling of fear inside his processor.

'You've lost interest in him, that's all' is constantly ringing in his head. But that can't be true, can it?

You're perfect; you've said you love him and dedicated some of your time to him specifically, even though you could have run away as soon as you had some pleasure.

He must be the reason.

The look of disappointment was etched on D-16's face. Every single time he cheered for you from the crowd, waving his servo in hopeless need for you to spare him at least a single glance.

You pose next to Chromia, your servo on her waist, as one of the photographers approaches you to take a photo together. First and second prize winners, you can't ignore so many questions from the local sports reporters who are trying to get some answers about your relationship with the blue bot.

Playfully, you deny every rumor, but the slight smirk on Chromia's face only encourages the audience more.

“Yes, we're just coworkers,” she gives you a brief glance, winking at you before looking back at the camera again. “Right, partner?”

The sight alone makes D-16 clench his teeth. The large, flat screen projecting the post-race broadcast seems to mock him.

Here on the screen, you seem much closer to him than you have in the last few days of your stubborn silence. He wonders, when you look at the camera, do you think about him? 

Are you even aware that he is, once again, focused only on you, rewatching the broadcast over and over again, just because you appear on the screen?

Primus, he feels so pathetic. Hiding behind one of the few quiet corners, he sighs, servo resting over his optics.

How long has this been going on now? A week? Two? He's so tired of waiting.

D-16 is patient; he really tries to give you as much personal space as possible and as much time as he can give you, but it's so damn hard.

Before, it was easier to control. Before, at least, he didn't have hopeless dreams that you would ever know he existed. But no, now you know him. You know how much he's in love with you—that he's dedicated an entire chunk of his poems about you.

It's not hard for Orion to notice how much his best friend has changed recently. From being strong and determined, D-16 completely avoids any contact with him. Any mention of you only fuels the silver bot more, and it's not uncommon for him to push everyone around him away.

But unfortunately or luckily, Orion is too determined to get off his back so easily. The famous troublemaker won't so easily leave D alone. And as his only best friend, Orion offers him a solution.

“Just sneak into their room when they won't see you and ask them whatever is bothering you. They can't escape you when you corner them!”

Such a ridiculous idea. It annoys him that he's even considering doing it.

Where Orion even gets such ideas from...?

Standing in your room, all alone and surrounded in everything that reminds him of every single thing he adores in you. That alone makes his spark beat faster.

Can he touch that? Some framed photos were carefully placed all over the room. Some with your friends, some with your colleagues; he can recognize the names if he tries hard enough, but it isn't necessary for him when it's only your face he's focused on. You have so many statues after cycles of your career...

It's not like he hasn't been there before. If anything, he's been here plenty of times, but it was never just him in there. Something in this feels more intimate, for some reason, yet it is so, so wrong.

The thoughts about guilt still linger in the back of his mind. He shouldn't be here. That stupid idea Orion suggested him...! Oh great, now he feels wrong.

Can you blame him for it? You've been denying him for so long. It is only natural for him to get a little ahead of himself. He just needs a little taste, just to calm this nagging feeling down his waist. His servo hesitantly reaches for your berth, gently gripping the soft material of the sheets. He just wants to bury his face in it, wrap it around himself, maybe to imagine your gentle hold of him—

Until he hears noise from the outside and all his thoughts stop as he tries to quickly step back from it.

The door opens, revealing only your figure standing in the way. It takes a mere seconds for you to notice an intruder inside your quarters, and the look of surprise showed on your face as you finally realized who it is.

For a moment, none of you let out a single word. His optics wide, mouth slightly open, as if he tries to think of something, anything, but nothing will possibly explain it.

‘This is your chance,’ he quickly thinks, before he musters his courage to finally start to speak.

“...Why? Why were you avoiding me all this time?” D-16's voice quivers; his servo tightens on his own chassis.

The heavy gasps of his breathing are the only sound in the room. You still have no idea how to answer that.

You should have seen that coming. Leaving him alone without any explanation broke his mind, and now frustrated, almost on the edge of tears, you have no other choice but to face the consequences of your own negligence.

Gently closing the door of your room, you decide to continue.

“I was afraid that if someone catch us...they will do something to you.”

D-16's optics widened at your explanation. He expected anything but that. He stops, just staring as if a deer caught in headlights. Not only that, but he was so happy to finally hear that. That at least it's nothing he had thought about before. You care for him, and realizing that makes all his worries disappear for a moment.

But seriously...that's it?

Slowly, a confused look morphs into annoyance; he steps closer to you, grabbing on your wrists.

“You really think...that I care about what others will do to me?” his digits tightening on your frame, almost possessively. “Do you have any idea what I've been thinking all this time? When you kept ignoring me?”

D-16 huffs in frustration, shaking his helm in disbelief. He doesn't understand if he should be angry at you or himself at this moment. He's been overthinking every little thing he had done for the past months that could have possibly made you angry with him. Furthermore, he even broke into your own damn quarters to confront you about it, only to find out that you are just like him.

Thinking too much about small things when the most important person is right next to you.

Primus, you're making him so mad right now, but he lets himself forget about everything, just now.

You feel his servos gripping your face, pulling you towards him, only to meet into the harsh kiss. He cuts off whatever feeble attempt you tried to mutter in apology; no, for now, it all can wait.

He's been waiting for this moment as if for ages. Having you so close to him, his frame pressed against your own, the familiar, burning tingling makes his spike twitch in need.

He wants you; he wants you so much right now, that he barely recognizes himself.

Any other day he'd be too embarrassed to look up at you, too shy to let out a moan in fear that someone might hear.

When he presses you against berth, straddling your hips, he looks nothing like the shy bot you met many, many times before. It's only by one look in his optics, full of need and hunger, that you realize how badly you screwed up.

His inexperience is still so apparent. In a desperate attempt to get you to open your interface panel, he's practically bucking his hips against you, like an animal in heat.

You are so tempted to just watch him trying. Maybe after a good half an hour he'd eventually reach what he desires.

Not wanting to act cruel for now, you finally open your interface panel without a protest. Your own spike pressing between his silver thighs, small droplets of transfluid smearing over the smooth metal.

The sight alone makes D-16 shiver, almost from embarrassment at how fast his own panel opens after watching you.

Spike standing tall, already rock hard, and the wet mess from his valve makes him grind his thighs from impatience. You can only imagine what he'd try to do in your room if you were an hour later to find him.

You feel his servos holding a little tighter on your shoulders, his breathing a little shallow, as he guides himself on your spike. A little shudder runs down his spine at the sensation of you feeling him up, and he barely pays attention to others, making it possible to hear him.

He's been so patient and kind to you. It takes him a little less than a minute to get even more hungry, desperate for more.

“D—” you gasp, your own servo reaching for his waist to slow him down a little, only for him to grind himself on you harder.

He'd be lying if he said that it didn't hurt him a little. He tried to stretch himself every single day since the moment you started ignoring him, hoping not to forget that delicious feeling of you inside him.

Tears prickling in his optics as he stared down at you—oh, how much he dreamed for this moment to finally come true.

Another, loud, shameless moan escapes his lips as your spike hits deeper into him, his valve clenching around your length, begging for more. He feels so full right now.

If only this feeling never ended.

“Agh...frag, yes—” he cries out, arching his back to meet your thrusts.

He's so content with just having you underneath him, while his mind is clouded with nothing but lust and need for you. Optics rolling into the back of his helm, practically seeing stars.

You pant softly, only guiding his movements from time to time, not letting the poor little thing to accidentally hurt himself during such an intimate moment of connection between the two of you. You're barely even doing anything at this point, letting him set control over his own pace.

D-16 salivates at the thought. His inner walls clenching around your spike every so often, making him more aware of his building-up overload. He wants to last so, so much longer.

His spike throbs as your servo wraps around it, gently moving up and down over the sensitive length. You hear him whine, pushing his hips harder for more, more of the sweet friction.

He'd beg you to stop, to not push him over the edge so soon, and he almost wants to swat away your servo from him until he grits his teeth, stifling a groan. Hips moving more erratically, and with a heavy breath, he stutters your name as he finally reaches his release.

With a soft, satisfied hum, you pull your cogless miner closer, letting him rest against you. For a quick moment, you glance down, noticing your spike still buried deep inside him, your chassis painted in his transfluid.

D-16 clinges onto you, servos wrapped around you, as if seeking comfort. He still tries to catch his breath, panting next to your audio receptors, optics closed shut.

Well, Orion's dumb idea worked out...somehow.

[keferon]

Sorry in advance for the word vomit but. I love the whole Jazz-and-Prowl figuring out the language barrier but also consider:

They don't.

Prowl's been captured by Quintessons and is currently thinking of ways to completely scrape his processor so they can't get any useful data, only to get rescued by a random mech. They fight their way out (the mech is extremely proficient in combat). At first he thinks it's a drone- it looks at him when he asks questions but doesn't answer (responds to noise, not language), it is sparkless (not alive) and it makes random but entirely incoherent noises and doesn't even ping (not able to communicate). Prowl has no idea what's going on but he's too injured to make it back to base alone and it's helping him? So. He chalks it up to some waylaid stealth military asset and tries to think of ways to both get it back to base whilst also making sure it's not some sort of Quintesson Trojan-horse [10%].

Meanwhile, Jazz was sent to blow up a Quintesson command camp by his organisation but instead he got thrown through a weird portal, and found a pilot all tied down and probably being tortured so naturally he busted him out but uh. He has no idea what the other is saying. He's talking in total tonal gibberish. Not that he's judging, he's heard some stuff about how far other piloting programs are willing to go to advance neural technology. And his face! He has one! A handsome one. Must be some advanced shit because he's got micro expressions and he's using them to frown as him. Anyways, Jazz's got bigger fish to fry. The sky's a different colour, there are two suns and atmo is reading terribly low levels of O2. Maybe he and this pilot got thrown into an alien planet? Cool- well, actually pretty bad but hey they're in this together.

Prowl knows by models that they're bound to run into another Quintesson patrol eventually, and based on the drones alertness to its surroundings, his previous observations to its capacity to fight, and how it doesn't stray to far from him, if patrol numbers are favourable [1-8 range] they can survive [70, .5]% the route back to base. But the drone is reckless and abandons him to the melee (how can a drone be reckless?) and Prowl gets injured worse. Energon drips from wounds, and the angle makes it challenging for him to patch it. But the drone creeps closer, folds to its (knees? Its joints are in an odd but effective configuration) and gently (gently?) begins to mimic (clumsily) Prowl's motions of patching his wounds. Here is where Prowl falters, because drones are not so careful. Drones do not do not look up multiple times at his faceplates, and become more delicate when they see you in pain. Drones don't hold out a servo and help you to your pedes when your done. Which begs the question, if he's not a drone, so what has been done to this mech?

Jazz on the other hand is freaking the fuck out. Naturally. Because uh, he started slicing Quints, expecting Frowny to do the same because his mech was still clearly operational, only for the idiot to completely disregarded normal combat standards which can be summarised as 'fight hard or die' and instead get chewed on by some big ass teeth.

Only to see the glowing purple dripping from his torn sides, only to see that he's bleeding.

Machines don't bleed.

So Jazz figures out Frowny is an alien first. He starts pointing at himself and saying his name, insistently, until Frowny repeats it. He points at Frowny, and records and replays whatever sound bite Frowny makes until Frowny's also nodding in confirmation. He still calls him Frowny, because even though he has his name? Probably? He has no idea what it means and can't actually pronounce it (no idea how to get a mouth to move that way) but hey! Progress! He does this again and again with small things (rock, hand, cyber?animals, music (Frowny's confused at that one it's pretty adorable) ect.

Prowl has no idea what to make of this strange mech. Is he a failed experiment? A runaway from Cybertron following the Functionalists rise or power? Thennn Prowl finds out one fateful night that the mech is actually an alien organic (in a fit of misunderstandings, and squeezes him pretty hard for it ouch and feels SO guilty about it later) and suddenly the language/culture barrier makes way more sense.

Prowl's injuries degrade (a line splits). He has no way to communicate this except for the energon dripping out of his chassis. The organic is clearly worried (how did he think he was ever sparkless), and Prowl can't reach the injury himself. So he guides the mech's servos past armour and wiring, down to protoform (near his sparkchamber) to the split line. Gestures and hopes the mech can figure out what to do from his miming[#^%]. That'll he'll be careful, and won't hurt him [5%, 87%, #*%, *########%].

Frowny is later picking shrapnel stuck in his forearm that's too small for him to remove, so Jazz gets out of his mech to help with his small human hands. Jazz has no way to communicate to Frowny that if he moves, he'll sheer Jazz's limbs clean off, but he goes in anyway, because Frowny's hurt, and speckled in blood. Because he's clearly struggling and hurt and tired. Because Jazz has to trust that he won't.

Frowny's injures eventually make him collapse, and Jazz carries him the rest of the way. Jazz has no idea how they'll be received (especially considering how Frowny reacted when he found out Jazz was organic). Jazz knows he might be dissected. Knows he might be pulled apart (again) but.

He remembers all the little moments they had on their journey (Frowny shielding him from falling rubble when Jazz was out of his mech once, them getting to gesticulating arguments, Frowny's reaction to his music, how he fell asleep on Jazz once and it was fricken adorable).

It doesn't matter that Jazz can't say (barely understands) his actual name. That Frowny probably doesn't understand his. It doesn't matter that they talk in halting miming, in broken sound clips and touches and half-glares.

He's already gone out on all his limbs, might as well put his head on the chopping block. And if it causes him to lose the damn thing, well.

He's a pilot. Dying horribly is practically his job description.

OOOUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHH DYING HORRIBLY IS PRACTICALLY HIS JOB DESCRIPTION,,,,,,,,,,,

[transformers-spike]

How do you think the bots will react when reader opens their abdominal panel and just puts their hands and tug, twirl and twists their mech’s wires? What are you takes on this?

To me I think each bot would react differently, for an example starscream would writhe and squirm as his voice glitches and gets all static and his optics starts flashing uncontrollably

Knockout upon feeling you twirl one of his wires; the headlights on his chassis would flash as he yelps, and tries his best to not scratch you with his sharp talons

And sweet little bumblebee would let out a weak honk from his horn instead of a yelp as you can feel his whole frame buzz against your hand as you twisted on one of his wires

Smokescreen would would start letting his engine go uproar as he tries to hit his internal breaks but fails miserably

OHHH BOYY - it's gonna be chaotic

Bro I think TFP Starscream won't even allow you to do this unless you're like intensely bonded - at which point he's shameless and makes the weirdest noises when he's close to overload

To me wire-play happens a lot in TFA

If you do this with Blurr he sounds like a fax machine and his body starts spasming - but it takes a WHILE to get him off, so you gotta keep up the rhythm and alternate it. Even wire-play is a goddamn workout

Do this to Blitzwing and Random will start cackling like a maniac as he overloads - loves it when you stuff your hands in there and come out with wet sticky wires