#why are transformations so fun to write?

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Weredoll: Alone

It all started with that toy. I know it had to.

I only touched it for a few seconds. God, I should've known. That pull, that imperceptible radiance, of course it was magic. But it just looked so... pretty. I didn't think twice, I just wanted a closer look, and I could feel the jolt through my system as soon as I curled my fingers around it. Magic.

It's the same feeling that was in the seashells that made my best friend a mermaid all those years ago, damning her to the sea. The same feeling as the fae that spirited away my mother's name.

Yes, they looked happy. But I always knew better. You can't abandon your humanity, you just... can't. You shouldn't be able to, you shouldn't want to. It's just wrong.

I spent the whole day frantic. Combing through forums and blogs, staring down at the listings for dubiously reliable books. If nothing happened in the moment, the only conclusions were a crawling slow-burn transformation that would take me piece by agonizing piece, or... something conditional.

The door to my room was locked. My bed was pushed out from the wall and put in the way of the door, just in case. Now all I can do is sit at my computer desk, eyes trapped in the corner of my laptop.

11:59. Any moment now I would find what fate I was cursed to. I'd spent long enough wracked by anxiety, the humanity in my soul clung to my body in terror. Now, there was nothing but a silent, helpless anticipation.

12:00.

I flinch as the number changes. I pat my body down, trying to find any hints to my curse. But I can't find anything. Everything as it should be. Warm to the touch, but not hot. Just enough give before skin squishes against bone.

I wanted to feel relief, but the confirmation just brought on a defeated emptiness. A sighing, accepting resignation to the alternative, or a confused...

...it's spreading. The emptiness. It isn't just emotional. There is a visceral feeling of removal slowly expanding from my body.

I tried to stand. My hand was on my stomach, like I was trying to feel the thing eating me from the inside. I feel the void overtake my gut, leaving me with a hollow and cavernous lack. There was no sense of hunger, my body failing to cry out with need as it should with an empty stomach. The feeling instead slotted into place, as if I was designed for it.

I try and walk to the mirror. Everything's off. My limbs are too heavy and my torso is too light. I lift my shirt up, and see the beginnings of a seam. There's a small indent that traces around the base of my ribs. Exactly like a ball jointed doll.

I feel sick. I feel faint. But more than anything, I feel empty.

I stumble to the bed and collapse. I can't keep myself upright, I can't muster the will. Fuck, this is really happening, isn't it? I don't care if it's just for the night. I don't want to let go, I can't. Being a person is all I've ever known. How could I not be scared?

My hands fumble along my side. I can feel myself hardening, the texture changing as I move upwards. The seam's already deepened, god knows how far, letting my rigid body—

A violent shudder overtakes me. I cough involuntarily. It's reached my heart.

I can't take my hand off it. The other desperately grabs my hair, trying to ground me, as I feel my heartbeat get weaker and weaker. I try breathing harder, invoking my anxieties, anything to speed it back up, but it's mere seconds until it shuts down completely.

It feels... uncomfortable. Just uncomfortable. All my panic is forced. A cognitive understanding that I really should be terrified, that my heart stopping is something every person needs to fear, but the emptiness swallows all that away. There's a passive, almost reassuring understanding. I'm unharmed, and it's not permanent.

This shouldn't be good. It just shouldn't, right? This isn't the absence of life, it isn't an emptiness that destroys. It's tranquility, it's cleanliness, it's alleviation. I know this is part of the curse, but I just feel so... at ease. Any negative feeling I try to summon is just swallowed by the emptiness, tidied up and put away.

Oh yes, the transformation. It seems it's spread quite far while I was distracted. Down my thighs and up to my neck. I move my hands up to my shoulders, knowing my first joints are going to grow in any minute.

No, no. I can't let it take me. I refused to be reduced to a thing to be ordered around, some heartless construct that only exists for others. There has to be something. I can make my heart beat again, I have to, or I'll die, right? I make a fist and start pounding on my chest as hard as I can... only being met with a dull, hollow thud as the plastic dents into the emptiness inside me. There's nothing in there to start anymore.

Okay. This can still be salvaged. It's just a body, and while it may change, I'm still a human inside. I won't let that be taken from me, I just need to... a suctioning feeling settles in. My skin, just at my shoulder, feels... loose. Ill-fitting.

With a single jerking motion, I reach up and grab at my shoulder, bloodlessly tearing away my skin like it's a thick and heavy tissue paper. Underneath the scraps left behind is the beginnings of a ball joint. It's much too round, the indents where the mechanics let me move just beginning to burrow. It's as if my joints are trying to pop out of their place in my sockets, held in by the firm suggestion of an artificial material. I can already feel my muscle sinew being digested.

I need to be upset, I need to. This is an existential terror in the most literal form, a destruction of all that I am. But all change is death, sacrifice. You cannot become one thing without destroying another. It's rather beautiful to bloom... no, please, no. I refuse to accept such a fate laying down, no matter how much the curse tries to ease me.

I suppose if it can swallow my gut feelings and quell the uneasiness in my heart, it won't be long until it starts to harden this one's brain, leaving it with... leaving it. It. This one.

No. Not now, not ever. If this one can't trust its feelings, and if its starting to lose its cognition, it needs to rely on its behaviour. It will remain human, in one form or another.

Dolls like to clean, to keep things orderly and convenient for others. This one just needs to rip its bed apart! It tears at the corners of its covering, tossing its pillows across the room as it tangles its sheets into a useless mess. There, a bed no doll would be proud of. It tasks a moment to bask in the joy of a completed task.

A sickening pop. It turns back to the mirror and sees its joints as they should be. Perfect round attachments, manufactured just right to allow it mobility. All that remains are its shins and its hands. It's running out of time.

This one tries to walk back to its laptop, and is immediately distracted by its walk. No longer is there the looming clumsy tumbling from its discordant changes. There's an effortless elegance, a refinement of movement and intention. It feels rather pleasing to present itself in such a formal manner. Before the transformation began, it wouldn't have considered such a thing, finding much more comfort in more casual poses and movements. It feels silly to derive such comfort from informality now. Good dolls are-

This one freezes, taken aback by its thoughts. Good dolls are polite and dignified. It's a mantra, a commandment, a colloquialism. A reflexive proverb, as if it were so baked into cultural DNA as to be self-evident. Of course that is how a good doll is to act, it would be silly to pretend otherwise. That... doesn't have to imply anything about this one, it's still a person. This one returns to its task.

12:04. It feels as if it should have been much longer. Becoming felt so fundamentally altering it's bizarre to picture it as taking only 5 minutes, even if that is what this one's research confirmed to it prior. Oh well, it can't be helped. Good dolls are punctual, after all.

There has to be something it can do, something to keep the final throes of the transformation at bay. Dolls are meant to act, and... well, that's not entirely true, is it? Dolls are also meant to be still. To be posed, a beautiful decoration, dressed in the finest outfits...

This one finds its brain... shutting off. Floating away. This is no mere emptiness; it's a trance. A blissful, wonderful stillness. No concern for thoughts, no feelings beyond a gentle calm.

As it sees the clock change, it blinks itself back to awareness. Ah, so that was stillness. This one understands why other dolls find it so enrapturing. It will gladly return to it once it has finished all it has to do.

But first, it looks down at its body. Everything is stiff and rigid, the only movement being allowed by the segments through its hardened skin. Its behaviour has been overhauled, now much more prim and proper, only breaking its posture to help its self-examination.

Of course, this one thinks like a good doll as well. It desires to serve and obey another, and in their absence, it will simply busy itself with chores, doing all it can to help like a good doll. It seems its readings were correct, and the transformation has finished.

Well, that was quite the experience. This one prepares to reflect on it... in the morning, once it's a person. In the meantime, it elegantly walks back to its bed and begins to tidy up, the much more pertinent task.

[lemongogo]

viktor prev 🤖

[feenmies]

every time i see people act like character.ai and other ai art sites are two completely different concepts it makes me laugh because like. that site is basically if not actually identical to a fanfiction ai model that rips from the works of countless writers . just because you can input your own personalities and backstories now doesn't mean the bots aren't based on the work of pre-existing writers 😭 it's all still ai generated . not to be the fun police or anything but i think we should be more mindful of the fact that it's literally still ai art by definition and you are feeding the ai model by using it for x reader scenarios!!! like idk. i wish we lived in an era where commissioning/requesting fics was still widely popular so people didn't see a need to use ai sites

[merlinfromberlin]

Hey! 

I finally finished the first chapter of this fic. :3 

First things first, this whole concept was inspired by @keef-a-corn and their notes on S01E14 of TFP (Sick Mind). More specifically them pointing out the way in which Bumblebee, despite being possessed by Megatron, opens his hand for Ratchet when the latter grabs his wrist. 

You can find the specific post here: https://www.tumblr.com/keef-a-corn/710534208967376896/dats-right-people-its-time-for-keef-watches?source=share 

Please check it out. It’s such a thoughtful and detailed collection of notes on the episode that brings me so much joy every time I look at it. And if you’re at it, they also have notes on most episodes in season 1 of TFP that you should check out, which are just as great. :3 

Summary:

Primus knew, Ratchet would do anything to shield his sparkling from harm. Yet, the War made exceptions for no one, not even at the insistence and threats of grumpy old medics. Thus, sometimes the only thing Ratchet could do was to hold and comfort Bumblebee in the aftermath of disaster.

Or: 5 times Ratchet had to encourage Bumblebee to open his servo. The gritty, the wholesome and the dark.

Or, put differently again: Ratchet (and theoretically Optimus) being Bumblebee’s parent with hints of background Optiratch. Lots of Angst. And 5 different scenarios of Ratchet having to encourage Bee to to open his hand. 

This first chapter is a bit dark and gritty, so please check out the tags and make sure you’re okay before going into it.  Enjoy. ^^ 

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

Close your eyes, I'm here.

(..... @quibble-auk we ugh I might have really really wanted some sad fluff, it was supposed to be a quick blurb. Not connected or even angsty?? Then Comet took over, ugh my newest contribution to the Dropmix Trials..Yayyy...)

Tw. Eh Self worth, Self harm, angst with comfort because I could not take it right now.

-

Comet wanted to sleep, badly.

He sat in his customary chair beside his brother’s medical berths, with an air of exhaustion. It was noticeable from his dark eyes ringed with blue, the way his shoulders hung low but the muscles of his back still twitched with the need to be awake. It wasn't safe enough to sleep. Not here. Not when Comet knew so much and his brothers laid still in their own recharge. Sunstreaker recovering from his debacle with Dropmix.  A shiver racked Comet’s spine, his eyes burning at the memory of his cowardice, of his stupidity. If the young male could look any more tired, he did. Another wave of emotions hit when his mind turned those fifteen minutes over for the hundredth time. When the world had felt like it had caved in again.

  He had attacked Jeopardy. Like an animal he had tried to eat him, the young mech who had been nothing but kind. Comet had revealed himself to someone else, another pair of eyes. More adding onto his list of threats. What were the chances Jeopardy would turn in a report on him? Comet felt a horrible pit get deeper in his stomach, he had given no reason to not seem like a threat to the medic. He could be right now typing up a report, a slip of data that would get Comet taken away. Panic flared in his heart, tears burning his throat as he sputtered with horrible scenarios. All of which would be his fault. 

The muscle twitch of a yawn wracked through him, cutting off the worried train of thoughts. Comet did not release it, clenching his jaw against the organic signal. Even if he was alone now in a private room, among only his resting brothers.

Cometeater had not really slept since he had arrived in the torrential medbay, too frightened and nervous to close his eyes for more than a few minutes. 

It did not help that those few minutes of sleep were plagued by nightmares, that Dropmix himself and his smell had conjured back up. Those awful images on the computer had only worked up the terrors his mind tortured him with. Comet had  decided after the first night in Dropmix’s territory he wasn't going to sleep until Sideswipe woke up, until he was sure he was safe.

Then Dropmix hurt Sunstreaker. Then Comet tried to kill someone who might have been trying to be his friend. With that combined with every other stress, Cometeater finalized he just wasn't sleeping till they left this place.

What little he could snag was useless, it was a waste of his energy to try. Another yawn cramped his jaw, as Cometeater dug a claw into his arm to keep himself steady.

A warm hand grabbed onto his hand digging into his plating, “Hey..Don't do that..” 

Jolting, Comet looked to the side to find his red brother slightly awake, optics soft with the pain medication. Cometeater felt a new wave of loathing appear when he realized he was so deep into his own head he hadn't heard Sideswipe even stir. What if he had been in pain? Or needed a medic because of a complication? What if-

“Don’t do that either, Comet look at me.” Sideswipe’s rough voice was soft with concern, Comet hadn’t realized he had started to time his breaths with every rampaging worry on his mind. Which meant he was inches from hyperventilating.

Weak.

“No, no hey.”  Sideswipe was sitting up, he was not supposed to be sitting up.

Comet jerked eyes widening with concern, “Sides no, your-” The red mech said not a word, violet optics brightening with every moment as he looked around. Before landing on Comet, who had scrambled to be as close as possible in case the older mech had trouble. Cometeater stiffened under the knowing gaze, his hands dropping from their protective hovering as Sideswipe settled.

Many would underestimate the red mech as ditzy, maybe even stupid because of his smiles and charm. But those optics caught everything, it was annoying at times how well he knew Comet’s tells.

“You’re supposed to be resting..” It was a concerned murmur as another tired cramp went through Comet’s mouth, Sideswipe raised an eyebrow.

“Well yeah, same to you.” There was a protective lilt to Sideswipe’s curt snap, optics picking apart Comet’s tired form. The pretender had nothing in response.

“Yeah thought so, what's wrong?” Comet winced at the sentence, how many times had Sideswipe had to ask him that? Had to go out of his way to make sure Comet was alright. When all Comet did was let Dropmix-

A soft touch. Sideswipe’s rough hand moved to run along Comet’s face, a gentle grounding gesture that had the green mech trembling. He didn’t deserve it. “Don’t get too far in that head of yours Com, nothings wrong.”

But it was wrong, everything was wrong. This whole thing was his fault, if he had heard those seekers none of this would have happened, if he had attacked Dropmix he could have ended the fight before Sunny got hurt. “Cometeater I said stop it.” It was a snarl, that for what felt like the hundredth time, snapped him out of the deep water.

Sideswipe had a severe expression, his mouth downturned and brows knitted. “Talk to me. Don’t pull the you should be sleeping slag because you obviously haven't slept in weeks.” Comet closed his mouth at the pointed remark. Sideswipe had the gall to smirk, “I win. Now c'mon, what's swirling around in there?” Sideswipe tapped Comets' helm ever so softly to emphasize his point.

Comet took a shaky breath, “...I just can’t sleep, too..” Cometeater struggled to get out the right words. Sideswipe watched him patiently, thumb gently running down Comet’s face. That warm touch is what probably let the dam loose.

“Too much has happened, everything is so weird. A- and its my fault!” The thumb stopped.

“I-If I had heard those stupid seekers, if I hadn’t been sleeping, if I was doing what I was supposed to be doing!” Comet was trembling from the force of letting the thoughts finally fall from his mouth, “If I had not been so stupid,” His voice cracked, “ if I could have stopped Dropmix and not froze like some kind of coward-”,  Sideswipe opened his mouth, optics flaring with a sharp emotion. Comet didn’t let him speak, desperate to get the poison out of his brain.

“What kind of brother am I?! I dont deserve it I dont deserve you, Im not good enough-” Sideswipe cut him off by jerking their foreheads together, a gesture of pure tenderness that only made Comet sob.

Sideswipe hugged them tight together, his vents deep with what could either be rage or sadness, Comet felt guilt rear its ugly head once more.

Pressed against one another, they could feel the thrums of their hearts thudding. Comet’s slowed in response to the deep comforting hum of his brother’s. Sideswipe had his arms wrapped tight around the other, forcing slow breaths to ease the heartache coursing through him.

“I need you to listen to me, you hear me? No bullshit, no giggles, listen to me.” Sideswipe’s voice was raw with hurt, but firm as he turned his blazing gaze to meet Comet’s wet gold and black eyes.

“Never, ever say that again. None of its true. Not one word- Don't interrupt me.  First off Cometeater your ours, you will be till you die and you're gonna fragging deal with it. You're not a coward, Dropmix could have turned you into paste, you did nothing wrong. We talked about this. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

With every word the mech grew more solemn, hugging Comet like the world was ending.

“Bad things happen, slag happens Commy. All because you have intuition better than Sunny and I combined doesn't make you all seeing. You're not a Primus damned prophet. No one could have known except the superiors, who we both know can’t tell their helm from their aft half the time.” He snarled, rubbing circles into Comet’s armor desperately trying to comfort the smaller mech, who had only watched with wet wide optics. But every sentence had taken some of the hurt away, left Comet feeling less heavy. He had missed Sideswipe so much.

“Dammit Com, why..” Sideswipe seemed to run out of steam looking at his brother trying to grasp the right words to clean the wound the younger had seemed to let fester.

Comet opened his mouth, heart throbbing at causing so much pain. Sideswipe caught it with a growl, “No. Don’t start, this isn’t something for you to apologize for..Comet I love you so much. We love you so fragging much..Your our brother, nothing will ever change that. Primus, you are the only thing we have that isn’t just us.  You’re ours, I wouldn’t have survived after the attack without you. Sunny might never have found us if not for you..Sweetspark you did everything you could have done.” The older mech's voice held a crack in it, Comet pressed himself forward to cling to the mech best he could with the berth in the way, trying to offer comfort in return. Allowing himself to just finally melt, almost weak from relief and the force of his outburst.

 Sideswipe let out a growl when Comet couldn’t seem to get close enough, and without warning pulled Comet up into his lap. The pretender let out a squawk, remembering Jeopardy’s warnings past his tears.

“Frag that, come here.” With that Comet was tight in the hold of his brother, Sideswipe soothing them both with the contact. For a moment neither said a word, Comet allowing his brother’s comforts to wash over him. His scent the hard thump of his spark, fear dripping away with every breath. As the two held one another, Comet could feel sleep gently tugging at his eyelids.

When Sideswipe spoke again, a while after, his voice was soft. “I'm so proud of you, ok? You did everything you were supposed to, and I'm so proud of you.” With that Sideswipe gutted his fears, stole them away and smoothed the edges. They both knew this wasn’t the last time they would sit down and talk about this, too much had happened. But both were tired, Sideswipe had begun to feel the ache of his old injuries, and Comet needed sleep.

“Go to sleep Com, I'm here. We're both here, we're all here.”

The smaller mech shook his head tiredly, “I tried..I can’t.” Sideswipe pressed his thickly armored helm against the smaller mech’s. “..Nightmares?”

Comet nodded into his brother's neck, fighting sleep with every breath. Sideswipe would have found the battle amusing, if the reason behind it wasn't so spark breaking. Sunstreaker was tiredly awake now, gazing at his siblings, concern in his optics. Sideswipe cuddled his smaller sibling closer, sending a quick tip over the bond that he would explain later. It was steeped in a request for the golden twin to hold his temper.

Sunstreaker moved so his shoulder was brushing Sideswipe’s, a tender gesture of understanding. “Nothings gonna get you Com, I swear it.” Sideswipe tried to ignore the pang of guilt that came along with the promise, how many times had he broken it?  

Sunstreaker sat up fully, tugging his brother down onto the berth and curling against him. Much like they did when they were sparklings, two pieces that fit perfectly.

Sunny laid his helm on his brother’s shoulder, optics a tired glow. Over the bond the gladiator sent soft pulses of warmth, trying to soothe the guilt.

“We're here little brother, nothing's gonna touch you.”

-

Jeopardy would later enter the private room in the morning, finding Sunstreaker awake sitting on the edge of the berth.  Sideswipe positioned so he was mostly behind the other gladiator, cradling a sleeping Comet. The green mech was firmly hidden behind the gladiators, they without budging asked the medic to leave. Saying they wanted some privacy for a few hours. Jeopardy had nodded ever so slowly, his fresh weld shiny in the low light. Leaving the energon on a nearby table, saying he would be back in three hours to check on their vitals. Neither mech said a word, violet optics firm and tired.  

[theskyexists]

Oh another cool fantasy idea that ill never write

[cloudbends]

as life would have it I started wonderful precure today! watched 4 episodes... thoughts in the tags as per usual, so far it feels very fun and fresh in a way I'm enjoying a lot

[comixandco]

waiiiiit, now you made me think about other thing.... so, let's assume mermaids can get pregnant in human way right, but their child then has to be a merperson, because how would then a mermaid transform, if she turns into literal water... i can already imagine a pregnant mermaid and a baby with a littleee tail inside her LMAOOO.

no, actually, when mermaid transforms, the baby teleports to the backrooms /j

this goes sooo deep i just sought out a couple episodes of mako mermaids bc i remembered the guy was adopted and like. babies have to be brought up in that discussion right? And in the episode the teacher mermaid says “your mother was the only mermaid strong enough to stop you from getting your tail” which implies that????? they’re born without tails????????? How long are they babies with legs do the mermaids give birth on land and then return to the sea and their babies get tails then? do their tails slowly form as they grow older? if they have to become human to give birth why is it so unheard of for the mako mermaid girls to go on land for their mission? have they never seen any merbabies? there are canonically mermaids younger than them! And why does the h2o wiki refer to one of the characters as coming from a long line of mermen are mermaids not involved in the process do mermen get pregnant like seahorses????? why did they have to make mako mermaids and make everything so confusing?????? *cries*

putting mako mermaids aside because that’s a hot Mess. Would the baby also turn into water? it wasn’t in the moon pool but it’s parent was and the moon pool changes a person’s entire dna so like. it would change the eggs dna as well right? but the egg is only half of the dna and there would also be a human half that shouldn’t respond to water at all. does the mer dna overpower the human dna? would onlookers see a random tiny foetus floating in the air/water for a split second before the mermaid reappears around it?

yeah the baby goes wherever cleo’s coat went in the second episode

[saltysaltdog]

New entry!

I'm only 8 days late in posting an already finished chapter, which for ongoing works is a personal best.

And although they're literally at a location called wharf I still haven't mentioned the sea three chapters in.

...

Next time.

[merlinfromberlin]

I have to admit that this fandom has conditioned me well.

I just need to read or hear the words Tyger Pax and my stomach turns into a pit full of anxious scraplets trying to eat each other because scrap is about to go down.

Nothing good ever comes from that place.

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

A Look.

( @quibble-auk I wanted to explore the Swap au Comet some more, figure out his personality without the Spidey senses and Pretender stuff. I played with your concept of programming a bit, more of my own thoughts on the servant class. Maybe I'm not overdoing it-)

Comet hadn’t been able to sleep that night, recharge not on his Master’s list of chores for him to complete. 

Instead the young mech was forced to run errands between the Architect and the Artisan all night. Back and forth to and fro, carrying datapads color, swatches, and material listings. Cometeater wondered why they couldn’t have their offices closer. The reason for such an odd system was that the Artisan enjoyed his highgrade, and adored a large personal studio away from the main towers, especially while he chipped away at a project for the families. Said families would never risk ruining his artistic mood, and they themselves would never do something as lowly as deliveries.  Why not send pictures? Well the pictures never caught the form or the color correctly, that's what he assumed from the drunken ramblings of the Artisan. 

Comet had stood stock still for two hours as the mech worked, ready to deliver his progress at any moment. Stiff and optics lowered, he waited. 

Eventually Nisis shooed him, saying that his work would take more time. That the servant’s hovering was destroying his focus. Comet had bowed low, optics never moving from the floor. 

Silently taking his leave, his programming whirring angrily in his chest. Bowing to the Masters was a movement he had practiced till it was second nature. A slow bend at the waist if being dismissed, keeping your movement smooth and graceful.

Yet it made part of him angry. Some alien piece of him hated the feeling. Comet had been cuffed more than once for allowing his displeasure to show in a twitch of his plating. 

“A servant is placid, a shadow and an extra hand to the Master, bite than hand boy and you lose yours.”

Comeater sighed deeply as he passed the lavish halls, the older servants beginning their days. Quickly and without even a glance they flitted past him. Comet couldn’t help but cut his eyes up at them.

Servants were beautiful mechs. Their colors are inviting and comforting, never pastels or bright eye catching shades. The hues always complemented their master’s paints, embellishments from their master’s pallet dotted and painted in lovely patterns on their plating. 

To be a servant of a house was to be like a painting in the hall, if your servants were beautiful then your status showed with every movement they made. A splendid house would be decorated in the flawless mechs, themselves part of the house itself. 

Companions, status symbols. 

Being a decoration to a family, honoring the Masters was all any servant could ever live for. Providing comfort, advice, anything beckoned of them. 

Comet couldn’t help but be in awe of them. 

He had to be chosen by a family however to become one of them. 

Cometeater sighed deep in his chest as he manoeuvred past the mechs, avoiding the gazes of Guardians when he could. 

The large intimidating sentinels you could almost miss if you were not careful, but Comet knew they would never miss you. Acting suspicious in any way would have you on a list in their minds, Comet couldn’t afford that. He wasn’t exactly supposed to be out this early, not that his Master cared.

Soon he reached the servants door that would lead him down to the  quarters, a section of the wall that when pressed on, opened with no fanfare. He looked side to side, checking for the echo of footsteps or murmurs within the passage. 

Comet heard none.

In a flurry he flew down the stairwell like a bird, he let himself smile as he did it three steps at a time. The airtime from the leaps causing giggles to bubble in his chest. 

Finally he was alone. 

Finally he could cut up just a bit. 

Comet laughed to himself as he went, the tired aches forgotten in the thrill of finally loosening his shoulders. Moving as fast as he wanted, no Master to cuff him for the childish twirl he did when he hit the bottom at a spark hammering speed. Breathing fast, he couldn’t stop grinning, continuing to spin, arms outstretched with his left over momentum. 

Comets laughter echoed through the passageway, dizziness and the thrill of being alone egging him on. He finally came to a halt leaning up along the wall, breaths deep and optics glowing brightly in the dim light.  Cometeater laid in the exhilaration for as long as he could, now with all of his training and chores he hardly ever had time to feel like this. He smirked, it almost felt like flipping off his Master. 

See you stupid ugly fragger?

He could have fun, do whatever he wanted. 

Comet felt his spark hum, his programming stuttering at the insults, the love of control. Some darker part of Comet crowed, the part of himself that had been numbed and blocked. But still showed its quills. Showed him what it felt like to control, to try and dominate.

He was supposed to report the thoughts to his superior, but Comet was infatuated with knowing something those slaggers didn’t. Having something that was his. 

It made him feel so perfect, why would he let them take that away?

His drunken happiness was cut short however by yells above, thundering steps down the stairs. 

Comet hardly moved in time to avoid the Guards as they rushed past.

He couldn’t help but be surprised when one of them stopped, optics fiery with clicking programming. Comet allowed his own to take root, bidding goodbye to his heated other, keeping him from reacting to the sudden intensity of the gaze.

“Are you alright?”

The guard's voice was close to winded, Comet nodded his servant programming purring at the attention, that he had asked him something. He wanted desperately to ask what was happening, so before his jaw would lock he let it slip.

“Why what's happened?” 

The guard only scowled down at him, “You shouldn’t even be out here boy, younglings are supposed to be in their designated areas till released by your Master.”

Comet’s programming snapped up the attention like a starving dog, the need to please, to help. He also felt his curiosity flare.

“I was doing errands for the Architect, did something happen?”

There was a childish lilt to his voice that seemed to make the guard soften, a look of protectiveness flashing over him.

“One of the guards found a dead mech on the east gate Sparklet,” the warmth vanished before Comet could get a proper glimpse of it, the guard answering his com. Then his faceplate hardened. “That means you should get back to your barracks, now. I don't want to catch you out and about again by yourself. Got it?”

Comet felt a sulkiness rear its head, but his innards begged to please. “Yessir.”

The armored mech nodded, but did not move. Comet sighed in realization, like all guardians the mech wouldn’t just leave him till he knew he’d follow orders.

Comet gave a bow, and turned on his heel for the barracks. He knew the guardian wouldn’t leave till the younger bot was out of sight, so Comet with a sad grumble accepted that his time for play was over.

He had work to do.

[nomiyakazehaya]

2, 7, 8, 12, 14, 23 for megatron^^

2. where to even begin… for one, the ever imposing leader of decepticons likes to write poetry? just, the fact that such an aggressive and terrifying warlord known for so much destruction and violence has a sweeter, softer side deep down somewhere has me kicking my feet and sobbing… 🥲 which also stems my love for how much more gentle and noble megatron originally was. (i know this is case-by-case depending on continuity, but you get the picture)

7. absolutely love when people give megatron she/her pronouns! idk, i just resonate with it so much and enjoy projecting my own gender on her :) (but i absolutely support he/she/they megs too!!)

8. i think i share this sentiment with most people, but please stop making my babygirl a rapist or sexual assaulter of any kind!! or comparing her to hitler and nazis, and saying they're the same! like, i know megs is a warlord and has committed countless war crimes, but Please. why are you saying she did things she absolutely did not do and Would Not. do 😭

12. maybe a super unpopular headcanon, but i like to headcanon that while in the public eye or in front of others, megatron would, of course, prefer to be in full control and shown to be indomitable, but when she's behind closed private doors and with her significant other, she likes to let loose, let go of the reins and let her partner take care of her, be a little submissive, even. always being in constant control gets tiring and stressful, after all! :)

14. i… may be just a little (a lot) biased, but i love to imagine megatron in east asian traditional/oriental clothes, like a korean hanbok or kimono. or silky, flowy fashion. those kinds of threads just have such a graceful and elegant air to them, and i think they suit megs so much. like, i just absolutely love imagining megatron with all kinds of flowing sashes and ribbons on her… 🥺 bonus points if there's a futuristic/cyberpunk twist to the dresses. but a really, really close second fashion aesthetic would be techwear. megatron would absolutely rock the techwear look. hell, in an au of mine, i quite literally put her in a fusion hanbok with techwear mixed in. my tastes certainly show 😂 more projection, tee hee

23. my personal favorites have to be these two bc like. girl, what business do you have making that kind of devious expression 😭

this very particular and specific one frame i happened to catch of her is also an all-time favorite because the way she looks like she's grimacing and judging sends me 😂😂

[virtual202]

Ngl, I don’t always mind it if they did not watch the show properly, as long as they did enough research to not make it a ‘take the characters and dump them in Knowhere’ fic. But what the fuck man?? Why do people even use AI to write?? That’s not what AI’s there for, anyway. It’s supposed to help in your work, not ‘cheat’ in a fun ‘game’. (In other words; don’t fuck the community up with your nonsense AI shit that’s not even good enough to make it work in serious jobs and ruin the fun others have.)

gun to my head i would rather die than read this fic. what the fuck are you even doing at this point. whats the fucking point?

[nejackdaw]

(Abandoned) WIP Wednesday

So I never actually finished this (or wrote the things meant to come after,) but I still like it so I figured I'd post it. Ra'zhirr was from my last rp file, he's a MASSIVE khajit (to me, not that ingame models agree,) escaped gladiator (which is why he was caught at the border,) and WAS going to be Harbinger but I decided it would make more since if the Companions just. Shattered. After the truth came out. Cause half of them already had issues with the Circle, then come to find out it's some exclusive werewolf club? Nah, they're out.

Anyway I put off ever actually starting the main questline til after doing the Companions bc that progression made more sense to me, so I just pretended the whole "hey can I talk to you about the whole dragon thing, go talk to Farengar" thing didn't happen, you know, to some rando walking through the door the Jarl doesn't even know.

Also this post was partially just so I could tag @incorrectskyrimquotes in wip Wednesday. Hiii :) no pressure <3

At the Turn of the Season

He hadn't expected to return to the great hall, to climb those steps misted by the waterfalls of Whiterun and feel the heavy doors beneath his hands once again. All things considered, it was a decent enough day to be summoned: without heavy winds the sun was warm, and his feet had nowhere else to be.

Not now that the Companions had nearly unanimously agreed to disband, fractured by the truth of Hircine’s blood and the realization they'd been lied to. They will do well enough, Ra'zhirr told himself as he crossed the threshold. There's nothing more for it.

The hall was as grand as he remembered, dark browns and gentle yellows and tall, looming beams leading to the balconies. Quiet conversation stopped as he closed the door behind him and the guards posted nearby both nodded, then relaxed, resuming their quiet chatter as he stepped away. Something so massive should give him pause, he thought idly; something so empty should feel wrong. Large and empty rarely went well together, but the welcoming air and decor set him at ease once again as he mounted the steps.

He'd received summons the night before, sitting idly on the steps to Jorrvaskr. The agreement had just been reached, and most had been quick to gather their things and depart. Some still lingered, and it was for their sake, he'd told himself, that he yet remained. Stars had been shining when a woman approached with a message, armor shining new and untattered as she said the Jarl wished to see him the following morning.

So here he was, drifting the same as the rest of them, following whatever voice next called. The fire blazed in its recess, chasing away the darkness and the cold, and he and the Jarl locked eyes through floating embers.

The hall was empty, Ra’zhirr noted, and the surrounding doors closed. His chest hollowed with a dread he kept firmly from showing as he halted before the steps to the throne, bowing his head as was expected.

Grey-green eyes swept over him for a moment. “I hear you were to be Harbinger,” Balgruuf greeted quietly. His posture was straighter than it had been last time: he sat regally in his chair, looking down, and this, too, stirred dread in him.

“A decision has been reached,” Ra'zhirr replied. “The Companions are to be no more.”

“Daedra worship is not permitted. Doubly so within the city.”

Ah. The Jarl's voice was hard, a threatening warning that spoke ill. Of course the secret had gotten out: anyone who'd heard of the Silver Hand could guess at why they'd attacked the longhouse, killed the Harbinger and maimed who they could before being slaughtered. Word had, however, been quickly contained–warriors were those who would recognize the signs, and warriors would obey the demands of Balgruuf and the guard–but whispers reach far. It had not been an easy trip for those who had left the city gates, whether they'd possessed the blood or not.

I am within rights to have you all hunted down and jailed,” Balgruuf continued.

Ra'zhirr met his gaze head-on, saying nothing for a few moments in favor of looking him closely over. He understood suddenly why the hall was empty; he understood the steel in the man's tone was poorly crafted. “You complained not when they protected your city. Complain not now that they drift.”

Regal shoulders lowered, relieved at the civility of the response. “Aye.” Exhaustion darkened fine features, then, emphasized the shadows under his eyes as he leaned himself against the armrest, duty-bound warning administered. “Aye,” the Jarl whispered. “But I did not call you here for that.” He held no animosity towards the men and women who had defended his city and people, had no desire to dirty their legacy. Let them leave, he thought again. For all they have done, just let them leave. There are worse things at hand. His eyes met again with his company's, ice cold and hardened and watchful. “For you, who have witnessed the massacre at Helgen and survived, I have a request.”

“This one is listening.” It was easier to listen, easier to breathe, now that Ra'zhirr knew there was no risk of needing to cut down the Jarl and flee. He kills glady, perhaps, but Balgruuf seemed a decent enough man. It would have been a shame, he admitted to himself as he relaxed. The smoke reached him here and burned his nose, but the sensation kept him here, in the moment. He enjoyed the way the firelight danced off of gleaming metal and gems and the golden silk of the other man's robe as he watched his throat work, looking for words. “Speak plainly.”

“A Jarl does not usually find himself being ordered,” Balgruuf deflected, weary amusement in his voice as he settled comfortably in his chair. “Very well. You know more than most what these dragons are capable of. And I do mean dragons, plural. That beast you encountered is far from the only one I have heard tale of.” There was urgency in his voice, a plea for his audience to grasp the gravity. “There's not much we mortal men can do to stop them,” he said, “no deep wound we can cause with blades and arrows. My court wizard Farengar has been fond of reminding me of late.”

Balgruuf’s lips pressed together as he glared sidelong at the closed doors off to the side, irritated and unsure. “He's fond of the damn things–or at least, the idea of them. I've set him to working on finding a way to drive them away since you first came here from Riverwood, but now he says an informant of his has come up with something that may be truly helpful to our cause.” His gaze darted away from the doors, to the spit above the fire to the floor between his boots and finally to Ra’zhirr’s eyes. Thinking. “This brings us to my request. Speak to Farengar and go where he guides–I’m certain he'll tell you more than me. I know what he seeks is hidden in a crypt somewhere, but that is all I could gleam from him. He insists he won't bore me with the details, insolent man he is,” the Jarl muttered. “Though perhaps you could tell me in one minute what would take him many. He will not share all the details with me, but I suppose as long as you get this done, that will hardly matter.”

[quibble-auk]

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

Hah, yeah…. More of this au…. Same not really important roadtrip.

Found family roadtrips are my favorite. I regret nothing. I’ll probably make more. Jep learning about earth through a roadtrip is living rent free in my head and it refuses to stop.

This one has a little more angst… just a bit? Basically nothing compared to what I usually do haha. I had fun though.

—

The road stretched out like a ribbon of ink, unspooling beneath the tires with a low, constant hum. Somewhere behind them, the glow of the last truck stop had vanished into the dark. Ahead, the headlights carved twin tunnels of light through the thick forest, dancing over tree trunks and foliage. Pines towered above them, kudzu crawling up the wiry titans. Shrubs and smaller trees crept up between the giants, leaves shuffling in a late night breeze.

Devin sat in the front passenger seat, feet propped on the dash, his legs lit up in flashes from the occasional reflector strip. Music provided by one of Sid’s cassettes drifted through the ambulance, low and mournful and just static enough to sound like a ghost on the edge of a dream.

The rest of the van was quiet. Sunni was asleep in the back, curled in their makeshift bed. Devin had been with him, but had woken up some time ago from a nightmare and had decided to accompany Sid in the front of the cab. His older brother watched the road quietly, the window rolled down to let the cool wind pass through the van.

There was no real reason for him to be up, other than the sake of an appearance. Their vehicle—Jeopardy—was perfectly capable of driving himself, he had done it plenty of times. The alien robot was probably better at driving than all of them, considering his alt mode was a vehicle.

That was Devin’s take on it though, both the twins would disagree.

Sid leaned forward slightly, one elbow hooked over the open window frame, the breeze tousling his already-messy hair. The faint smell of pine and asphalt drifted in, chased by the sweet rot of damp leaves.

“You okay?” he asked without looking over.

Devin blinked, pulled out of his thoughts. “Yeah,” he said, too fast. Then, quieter, “Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Was it the dream again?” Sid’s tone was casual, but there was a razor-thin edge to it—older-brother sharp. He cast a glance at his brother from the corner of his eye.

They didn’t need to state what the dream was, Sid and Sunni had dealt with the aftermath of the recurring dream for months now. It was always the same: Sue Rose looming over him, knife in hand, pistol on her hip. Blood dripped from her forearm where Devin had managed to claw at her. She smiled, icy blue eyes alight with something that Devin could only describe as madness. She would laugh, mock him, lean over him and torment him.

Sometimes the twins were there, watching with distasteful expressions. Or Sue had already gotten to them, their broken bodies slumped over, halos of blood crowning their places on the grimy concrete.

Then at the end—once she had her fun—the pistol would rest on his forehead. The cold metal burning against his skin, the smell of blood and gunpowder overwhelming. Devin always woke up before she pulled the trigger, gasping for air and trembling in a cold sweat.

Devin shifted in his seat, pulling his legs in and hugging his knees loosely to his chest. The dash was cold under his bare calves. He watched the road flicker beneath them, thin and ever-stretching. He weakly nodded, head thumping against the window of the passenger door.

“I hate her voice,” he murmured finally, his voice barely carrying over the music and thrum of travel. “It’s always the same. Like she’s right there. Real as anything.”

Sid didn’t answer immediately. The tape hissed and warbled as it switched tracks, now playing something with a deeper synth line, more mournful. It was one that Devin didn’t recognize—one of the music files that Jeopardy had saved for his personal use, hailing from the foreign world of Cybertron. The music was quieter, allowing the two boys in the front to speak.

“It's not real,” Sid said, not quite gently. He looked over at his brother, emotion burning in his eyes as he took in Devin’s curled form. His hand flinched, hesitating for just a moment before reaching out and firmly grasping Devin’s shoulder in a show of support. “Just a memory your brain won’t let go of.”

“It feels real,” Devin countered, quieter than before. He kept his gaze firmly set on the passing forest, heat rising in his face from the thought of the dream. He swallowed thickly, blinking away the tears that threatened to blur his vision. “Every time.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, a tremor that he quickly buried by adjusting himself in his seat. The trees out there blurred like watercolor—green and black and endless. The suffocating kudzu oddly vibrant against them despite the late hour.

Sid gave a quiet sigh, more breath than sound, and let his hand drop from Devin’s shoulder. He didn’t push the conversation further. There wasn’t much to say, really—not unless he wanted to open old wounds. And this wasn’t the time. Not with the forest watching them like it did, dark and close and heavy with the weight of memory.

There was nothing that the older boy could do to spare his younger brother from what haunted his mind. Despite his best efforts—and Sunni’s—the dream kept on returning. It was only recently that the twins themselves had discovered the reason why—Devin’s involvement in the underground, the club, and wronging a gang leader. Sid could see the weight of it all resting on Devin’s shoulders, but knew that his brother needed time before he would be willing to talk.

When he was ready, Sid would be there.

The road twisted ahead like a snake, its curves slow and deliberate. Moss-draped limbs arched over the asphalt in places, forming half-lit tunnels in the weak reach of the headlights. Crickets sang their endless chorus outside the cab, broken up only by the occasional rustle of something unseen in the underbrush. The gentle music still lulled, mixing with the songs of the night and forming a reminiscent harmony.

Devin let the music wash over him, his eyes half-lidded as the forest pressed in on either side. The shadows between the trees felt deeper here, like something older than the road itself had laid down roots and grown over everything with intent. He watched the kudzu sway like slow breath and wondered, not for the first time, how long the South had been haunted.

“Did Sam ever take you out to that one town past Marksville?” Sid asked suddenly, his voice a low murmur. He cast a wary glance at Devin, “It had this big fire tower, he had a friend that lived there.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Dad didn’t take me places.” Devin sighed out eventually. The blonde didn’t bother to look over at his brother, focusing on the trees instead. Something like envy pinched in his heart, jealousy that he had buried long ago.

Sid nodded slowly and used the rear view mirror to glance at the sleeping form of Sunni. He paused for a moment before he looked back at Devin and smiled.

“I’ll take you sometime,” Sid said simply. “It’s not much—just an old steel skeleton rusting in the woods. But the climb’s good for your head. Makes the world feel small, in a good way.”

Devin’s lips twitched, a near-smile ghosting across his face before it vanished again. “I’d like that.”

The words hung between them like a truce.

The road rolled on. The forest thickened again, swallowing the sky, the stars, and any sense of time. The only certainty was the sound of tires over asphalt, the low hum of the engine, and the strange alien lullaby humming from Jeopardy’s speakers. It was beautiful in a way Devin didn’t quite understand—like grief strung out over lightyears, longing translated into tones only machines could make.

Then, without warning, something crashed through the underbrush on the left side of the road. A blur of white, legs kicking—eyes wide like polished glass, a large set of alters.

A deer.

It bolted directly in front of them and froze.

Devin heard Jeopardy exclaim something in a wild combination of clicks, chimes and whirs. The plating that made the walls rippled and flared.

“Shit!” Sid shouted, wrenching the wheel instinctively, feet going to slam on the brake pedal. “Don’t swerve for Bambi!”

Both Sid and Jeopardy tried to correct—sending the van veering to the side.

Devin slammed a hand against the dash, feet dropping from their perch. His seatbelt barely caught him from slamming into the dashboard entirely. Loose items fell forward. Devin heard Sunni slam into the small divider between the front of the van and cabin. The blonde twin yelled, duffel bags and boxes of snacks falling over him.

The large buck flinched but remained in the road, just a few yards away now.

The van veered sharply, tires screaming against the blacktop as gravel spat up from the shoulder. Headlights jittered across the woods—branches, glinting eyes in the dark—Devin screamed. The sides of the cab shifted, falling away and leaving Sid and Devin exposed.

Sid screamed.

The metal of the cabin trembled, as if it was trying to follow in the footsteps of the cabin but unable to complete its task. The side doors broke off, shifting and twisting in a way that Devin had learned meant Jeopardy was transforming. The metal formed into two large arms. Jeopardy’s hands shooting out to dig into the asphalt of the road.

The sound was like thunder being torn apart—grinding metal, rushing air, the roar of displaced earth. Jeopardy's transformation wasn’t violent, but it felt like the world itself was groaning under the weight of it. The van’s form split along seams that weren’t visible seconds ago, machinery folding in on itself and reshaping in practiced, alien movements. Sparks flew up as the front half of the van dragged in the ground.

Devin clutched the seat, breath knocked from him, his eyes wide and face contorted in a silent scream.

Jeopardy halted the forward momentum with a jarring lurch. They stopped less than a foot from the buck, who blinked once, nostrils flaring. The nose of the van mere inches from its midsection. The deer bolted into the brush with a flash of pale fur and a crash of brittle branches.

Silence hit them like a wave.

The silence was not peace—it was a vacuum. Heavy and unnatural. It pressed against Devin’s ears like a sudden drop in altitude, a stillness that screamed louder than the chaos moments before.

Jeopardy remained frozen in place, his hands still embedded in the cracked asphalt, only his arms transformed. Steam hissed from hidden vents along his shoulders, curling around the mangled remnants of what had been the van's side doors. Plating sticking out and flared up in mistranslation, not quite settling right. The entire van trembled.

The forest seemed to reel from the sudden shift. Even the crickets had gone mute.

Sid let out a breath that stuttered halfway through. “Everyone okay?” he asked, voice pitched high with the edge of leftover adrenaline.

From the back, there was a groan. “Define okay,” Sunni muttered, pushing aside a fallen box of instant mac and cheese. “My face hurts and I think I’m covered in Slim Jims.”

Devin nodded, still too rattled to speak. He wasn’t sure if the world had tilted off-axis, or if his heart was just beating hard enough to make it feel that way.

A low chime came from Jeopardy—less language, more pulse, like sonar checking for danger. His voice followed a second later, warped slightly by the strain of maintaining partial transformation. “I—uh—yeah? I… I think so?”

Sid shoved the heel of his hand into his forehead and laughed once—short, sharp, not entirely sane. He hunched over the steering wheel, “That’s good. That’s—great.”

Then he leaned out the side of the broken cab, eyes scanning the tree line. He laughed again, adrenaline making his hands shake far more than he would ever admit, “Heh—Anyone manage to count the points on that thing? Fucking… ten pointer or something”

Jeopardy finally uncurled his fingers from the road, large gashes left behind from where he had torn into it. His hands trembled as the transformation happened in reverse, plates sliding back to place and reforming the side of the van with ease. “What… what was that?”

Sid sat back in the half-reformed seat, the vinyl creaking beneath him, and let out another shaky breath. He scrubbed a hand through his dark hair and looked over at Devin, who was still white-knuckled and staring at where the deer had been, like it might materialize again out of the shadows just to finish the job.

“That,” Sid muttered, trying to regain control of his breathing, “was Bambi trying to end our goddamn tour.”

Jeopardy’s plates creaked softly, settling back into place with delayed mechanical sighs. The sound reminded Devin of a pressure cooker cooling on the stove—something tense and barely-contained now letting out steam. He watched a small puff of vapor curl past the edge of the dash vent and disappear into the night. His breath finally came easier, but only a little.

Sid hadn’t said anything else. He was gripping the wheel too tight, jaw set, eyes locked on the road with the sort of focus Devin only saw when things were bad.

In the back, Sunni made a noise—half a laugh, half a groan. “This was a wonderful way to wake up. Next time you're allowed to shake me or whatever.”

Devin swallowed and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He ignored his brothers’ attempts to lighten the mood, his mind latching onto what had happened. It replayed the scene over and over. If Jeopardy had been a normal van would they have hit the buck? His voice scraped its way out of his throat, quieter than he wanted. “It was just a deer.”

Sid looked at him, a ghost of a nervous smile on his lips and huffed. “Yeah. But a real asshole of a deer.”

Despite the lingering adrenaline and fear, Jeopardy began to slowly roll forward, much more cautiously this time. There was an odd clicking, Jeopardy clearing his throat, “Do all deer… do that?”

Sid sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Pretty much, yeah. Suicidal forest horses. Nature’s middle finger.”

There was a beat. Then Sunni let out a muffled laugh from the back, followed by the sound of him moving around wrappers and cans, “That’s going on a t-shirt.”

“But why?” Jeopardy made a confused, almost indignant warble as he slowly regained speed until they were cruising at the speed limit again. “It did not appear injured or chased. It simply… ran.” A pause, like a system checking for corruption. “At us.”

“That’s kind of their thing,” Devin muttered, voice flat. He let his head fall back against the window with a soft thud. A new wave of exhaustion rushed over him like warm water as the adrenaline faded. “Deer don’t make sense. They just… do. Like gravity. Or bad luck.”

Jeopardy grumbled—literally grumbled, his internal engines shifting pitch like a low growl. “That’s a terrible evolutionary trait.”

“Tell that to the deer,” Sid said, his voice gaining strength again. He reached out, thumped the top of the dash lightly with his palm—his version of a pat on the back for their mechanical riend. “You did good, though. If you hadn’t caught us like that…”

He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to. The shape of what could have happened still hung heavy in the air.

Devin closed his eyes. He could feel his heartbeat now, finally slowing. Still too fast, but at least it wasn’t pounding in his throat anymore. His hands unclenched from where they’d curled around the seat edge.

Sunni was sitting up in the back now, brushing powdered cheese off his jacket. “So what’s the damage? Anything broken?”

“Some paneling, superficial mostly,” Jeopardy replied after a soft internal whir. His voice slipping into what Sunni had nicknamed “the report voice” it dropped an octave, became a bit too mechanical, much more steady, and completely emotionless. “A door joint is misaligned, but I can fix it once we stop. Nothing internal, just surface level scrapes.”

Sid gave a short nod at that, tapping the wheel twice with his fingers, a rhythm that was more about grounding himself than any real decision. “Good. That’s good.” He exhaled slowly and gave the windshield a half-smile like it had personally done him a favor. “We’ll stop up ahead. Find a turnout or something. Let you patch up.”

Devin kept his eyes closed, letting the rhythm of the road settle back into something almost soothing. The trees blurred by once more, the weight of what had almost happened pressing down, then slowly easing. He could still see the deer's eyes if he tried too hard. Too bright. Too aware.

“I think I peed a little,” Sunni said, deadpan.

Sid snorted.

Even Jeopardy let out a low mechanical chuckle, a cascade of chimes tumbling like silver coins. Devin huffed something that might’ve been a laugh, or maybe just a sound to remind himself he was still capable of making one.

For a few miles, they let silence settle again—this time, less suffocating. The trees no longer felt so close. The music hadn’t started back up, and Jeopardy didn’t offer anything new. Maybe even he knew the moment needed time to breathe.

They all did.

[energ00n]

APPRENTICE AU MASTERPOST [read before you send in an ask]

[If your ask is mentioned in the Popular Questions section I will ignore it so please do me a favour]

If you're interested in the AU, let this be your guide. I suck at writing but I'll do my very best. Just a warning this is LONG and I'll probably update it as I go.

Read the AU from the beginning >> ✧

I. What is Apprentice AU?

Setting

Some basic knowledges

Apprentice AU takes place in a timeline where all the original Thirteen Primes are ALIVE. They're the rightful rulers of Cybertron and each takes charge of an aspect in their society (religion, military, economy, etc...) keeping everything running.

To be efficient with this, they take bots themselves deem exceptional under their wings and train those into worthy leaders for Cybertron. And potentially, a new Prime.

Fun fact: Only one bot has achieved Primacy through apprenticeship and it's Sentinel Prime.

2. Story

The AU mostly revolve around Orion Pax and D-16, specifically their growing relationship while being Apprentices of Prima Prime and Megatronous Prime, respectively. Orion is one curious cogless mech who loves to run around wanting to find answers to cybertron’s energon problem while D-16 only wants to keep up the hard work and potentially become commander of the High Guard one day

Some art and comic I've made of them:

First meeting - First greeting

Chatter - Pastime - Watchful eyes

Orion's upgrade (< context)

Lord High Protector

Fanwork

Fandub

Fanfic

An Apprentice’s (Unofficial) Guide to House Garments

To see only art, use the tag #apprentice_au

Ask tag for filter is #ask_ene

II. What entails being an Apprentice?

Role

A bot can only have 1 Prime as their mentor, thus wholeheartedly devote to that Prime's purpose. During the apprenticeship, the bot will learn all their Prime offers and graduate once they are ready to contribute to Cybertron.

Example:

Prima is in charge of the Religious aspect -> Orion learns of ritual and duties that help with the church

Megatronous is in charge of Cybertron's military -> D-16 is trained to be a warrior/soldier

2. Garment

Once becoming a Prime's apprentice, you are obligated to adorn their House's garment. Mostly consist of one primary colour of the Prime and an accent colour + accessories.

^^^ All designs shown thus far ^^^

*Regarding Nexus: Nexus' garment consist on a golden visor with a star on the right eye. The Visor can come in any frame!! Not just the one showed above

All the garments are considered extreme honour, a blessing that reminds the apprentices of their devotion to their Prime mentors

There's a little made up rule between the Apprentices that only your special somebot can touch your garment, consider how important it is. Like a forbidden peck on the lips if you will.

╔══ •- Popular Questions -• ══╗

"Where is Bee in the AU? Whose apprentice is he?"

He WILL APPREAR. Eventually.

STOP ASKING.

2. "Why are Orion and D-16 cogless?"

For some time now bots do not come online with transformation cogs due to the planet no longer being as potent. If not harvested as sparks, the bots will develop a frame and sprout from the ground only as cogless.

In this universe, all cogless will need to obtain a cold cog and have it be activated by a cogged bot. This activation can also be called “Imprinting”, the cogless will receive various unpredictable side effects if they use the T-cog, these effects can range from mental to physical (ex. Feeling passing sadness of the activator, frame looking similar to the activator, etc….). The Activator can even write a singular command code into the cog, effectively bound any bot that uses it so it’s highly recommended that the cogless bots only get a cogged bot they trust to imprint on their cogs.

For cogless apprentices, it is tradition that their Primes will be the ones imprinting on their cogs once they’re deemed ready.

3. "How are the Apprentices chosen?"

Vibes

4. "Are the High Guard still there?"

Yes. They're intact and is mainly under Megatronous Prime's command. Starscream, Shockwave and Soundwave are D-16's personal trainers since Megatronous has expressed his hope that D will lead the High Guard someday.

Starscream isn't happy so he's a particular harsh trainer to D but he'll be a good guardian figure when D needs him to be. D has a nice friendship with Soundwave

5. "How is X in this AU?"

Look up the name in my blog, at this point I’ve probably answered whoever you’re thinking about before. (Bee, Ratchet, Drift, Arcee, KO, Smokescreen, Hot Rod, etc…)

I’m still quite new to Transformers so I would be very appreciative if you'd give me a pic, tell me a short description of the character and maybe suggestion on what trope they might play (anatagonist, mentor, etc...). Information is always welcome especially if the character is more obscured

Please don't ask me about other Primes aside from Prima, Megatronous, Sentinel and Zeta only when it's Sentinel related. Most of it I consider as spoilers. Once again tho, info and suggestions about them would be nice.

Alpha Trion would be fine too but there's nothing much to say about him.

6. "I don't have a question just want to say I like your art <3" "Remember to take care of yourself/take rest!"

Much as I appreciate the notion, I get these wayyyy too often and it's clogging up the inbox. I'd prefer it if you guys keep it in the comment and only send them in as asks if it gets too long

Also very weirdly but being reminded to take care of myself is kinda irksome to me, I rather not keep hearing it.

7. "Can we draw fanart/write fanfic/make our own OCs for the AU?"

Yeah! I’m glad my stupid AU can inspire you. Tho I do have a few boundaries:

Dpax/Megop and Prima/Megatronous are SOLID. Please don't ship them with anyone else. Strict one-sided from others is fine tho! (ex: Bee has a one-sided crush on Orion) Tho JazzOp is an exception

Bottom Orion and top D-16 only

Orion is Prima's only Apprentice

8. A few reasons why I might not have answered your ask:

- Someone already asked it and I’ve answered it before. Keyword search may help you look it up

- It’s spoilers

- It’s not a question or anything I can comment on

- I forgor. It’s not likely but it happens

Thank you all for reading!