adonisnt

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter twenty of twenty.

notes: dawn of the final day, beginning of the final chapter. IiM LOWKEY SAD posting this here bc that means it'll now be fully finished on both ao3 and here. the end of my story––and the end of theirs. skyfire considers the nature of love and loss and change as he chooses the world over his affections for the final time.

posted a day early bc smth abt the final chapter coming out on the solstice just made sense. as an aside: please read the a/n at the end for thanks.

the final song reveal. the songs for this chapter are "lover, you should’ve come over" by jeff buckley, "memories fade" by tears for fears, and "i know it's over" by the smiths.

the last chapter is here below the cut.

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: The Arctic, Earth. Now. 

The sight and sound of Starscream hitting the ground keeps replaying in Skyfire’s head, though he tries not to ruminate too intensely on it as he plans his own collision course. 

The Seeker’s paint job would require a touch-up, and he’s fairly certain he bent one of Starscream’s winglets and its adjacent aileron, too. His pride will be exceptionally and unforgettably wounded, too; Skyfire could only hope that that wound will heal in due time––though, knowing Starscream, he’s not sure if that soreness will ever abate, if that wound will ever be welded shut. The ‘con’s memory had always been impeccable when it came to sleights and grievances, let alone for what he’d surely perceive as an irrevocable act of treachery. But the commander still had his life, and that’s enough for Skyfire to justify his choice.

The mining operation had to cease; the efforts of the Decepticons could not continue, lest they destroy the very planet beneath their pedes.

There is no uncertainty in his mind about such a decision, no doubts in his processor; his logic circuits have calculated the success rates of any other option, and the null results only solidify his decision. Starscream’s safety is enough for the shuttle’s spark, and his own sacrifice is enough for his spirit. It has to be enough.

There is no other option, not this time, because this time, Skyfire won’t be there to tend to Starscream’s recovery, to listen and love. There are bigger things to tend to, this time, and his courtship can’t come first, can never again supersede the demands of his conscience. The choice is…it’s uncomfortable at best, but whatever’s left of his Starscream will be safe. After all, his survival predicates on the salvation and continuance of this carbon-based world of flora and fauna and flesh. 

Even if the ‘con did not want to be saved, Skyfire would simply have to ignore his wishes. Skyfire of Harmonex did not have enemies, and Starscream, in spite of his betrayal of their beliefs and history, would not be his first. No, protecting his Starscream––the pride of Vos, his silver-tongued scientist, his quetzal-eyed and brilliant minded Seeker, his mercurial mate, his closest companion and his Conjunx in all but name––was non-negotiable, even if it meant protecting the strife bringer wearing the aerialist’s face. That salvation, ultimately and unfortunately, would come at a price that Skyfire is wholly willing to pay. The choice was nearly a brainless one, devoid of any logical or emotional conflict or complication.

…sort of. There’s only one conundrum that nags at the shuttle, and it is the one complication that can unstitch his seams, a sickly tar of calamity that can creep into every chink in his armor and dissolve his very frame.

For all of his knowledge on xenobiology and astronomy, on the cosmos and its contents and its creatures, Skyfire knows he is woefully out of his depth when it comes to matters of the spark––and Starscream’s spark has always been the hardest for him to understand. Yes, he knew the smaller mech’s mind. Back then, he could predict the turns and tides of his partner’s temperamental tumults, could comprehend his circuits’ computations with comfortable clarity, but his spark? Granted, nine million years of separation surely did not help. This he regretfully knew. But even before he had fallen into an accidental cryosleep, Starscream’s emotions were not easy to fully puzzle out; nothing about Starscream was ever easy, not when it came to the sentimentalities of their relationship. Skyfire had always known––unfailingly believed––that he at least would be able to recognize the character of his Seeker, that he would always know the shape of Starscream’s soul. 

The theory of their courtship, however firm in its science, was evidently faulty. The thought stings.

So could a mech’s spark really change so drastically, then, in what was comparatively a mere day in their lifetimes? That one-eyed researcher from Centurion, so quick in all that he was, was surely the same, no? And the doctor from Vaporex, that skillful mech he met at an inter-institutional research symposium so many mellenna-vorns ago––he, too, was still the same bright-sparked and earnest mech he once knew, right? A war couldn’t make Perceptor forget his insatiable curiosity, and war couldn’t strip Ratchet of his unparalleled compassion. He had known his friends almost as long as he had known Starscream; they were flawed, as all living beings were, but they were always prodigious, always upright and righteous.

Most importantly of all, they were always still themselves. Functionism, fuel shortages, academic set backs, ideological dissidents…nothing had ever been a hindrance to them. Not Perceptor, not Ratchet, and most definitely not Starscream. But then…the evidence before him is irrefutable, too. Starscream had changed, and all that was left behind in the place of the Seeker Skyfire once loved was a sick amalgam, a phantom crawled forth from some oxidized crypt. The entire universe had moved on without Skyfire. It was naïveté, he knew, to have believed in a better world, in a reality frozen in time so that he was not left behind, a relic collecting dust alongside the last fossil of love and the final sherd of peace.

But that conclusion brought about a whole new problem. This, he was sure, was the only dilemma left, last puzzle left to solve. and that harder question, that debilitating notion lingering in his processor is one Skyfire can’t readily acknowledge. Won’t acknowledge, let alone answer. After all, the experiment had already been corrupted nine million years ago, and the foundational principle that he held dearest––his law of love had rusted away. But it echoes in his audials all the same, a static in his sound sensors that not even the Arctic winds can drown out as they go howling along his frame. 

Could love really be lost in a mere cycle of one’s optics or a simple, singular pulse of their spark?

The answer that comes to his glossa is instinctive. There is no rationale behind it, no logic borne of his reason circuits and no evidence derived from any thorough observations. But now was not the time for philosophy; now was not the time for matters of the mind or soliloquies of the soul. After all, there was no worthwhile result to be found in pursuing that final hypothetical, not when there was no time left with which to pontificate and postulate. No, his final apology was in order, his last atonement for having abandoned all that he had known and the only that he had loved. This world did not deserve to pay the price for the consequences of his own truancy, nor for the self-serving tyranny of his people. 

This world, so vibrant and resplendent with the glories of love and life, deserved a chance. 

Skyfire and he can feel the watchful eyes of the little organics and his fellow Cybertronians––his fellow Autobots––but he can’t stop, can’t change his velocity at this point. He wills himself further, tells himself that he’s got one final shot left in him. His aim holds true, the blast kissing the mountainside at just the right angle. At the sight of the avalanche that comes tumbling down, concealing the mining site beneath countless tons of snow, the explorer smiles to himself.

There’s no need for sorrow, not now, not when he’s furthered his newest purpose: defending life. How could he not smile one last time? 

The ice is cold as he remembers it being, when it collides with his armor and buries him. His systems immediately flash with a never-ending stream of warnings, a slew of pop-ups and status alerts telling him what he already knows as he begins to go offline again. Circuit by circuit, mechanism by mechanism, he shuts down again, the heat of his spark not enough to stop the cold from slowing the flow of energon in his wiring. Would the little organics be okay? Surely the Autobots will be able to protect those two, but would their world be alright? Will his sacrifice be enough to keep this fragile planet safe, even if only for one more night? 

Could he and Starscream have kept the world safe together, if things were different? 

There comes no answer to his stalling processor, and all of the questions wear out the last bit of energy he’s got in his decaying frame. Yet still warmth unparalled bleeds into his neural circuits, even as the chill seeps in through the seams of his plating. His optics offline as his sensory inputs shut down one by one––and yet, for a brief moment, he feels the twine of slender digits against his own clumsier ones, affections tapped through his nerves, and he feels the press of soft dermas against his own. His spark glows a little brighter, he knows, a solar flare flicking in his chest in time to the visual cadence of those lights that kept him company so long ago. 

In time, all stars must go out.

Spike and Sparkplug keep their eyes on the smoke drifting up past the mountainside as the Autobots monitor their locators, the world itself stilling for just one moment in antedation of the shuttle’s return. 

Skyfire's life signal blips once, twice, thrice, then fades from his comrade’s detectors, and the tundra is silent once more. 

In his absence, the northern lights gleam vividly that night.

end of all archived datalogs.

previous.

a/n: okay. there it is. i worked on this fic for (essentially) three months virtually nonstop and it was Very tedious. sometimes id lose feelings in my hands or arms (i have nerve issues) bc of how long i was writing for. would work on this at work in b/w ringing ppl up. but i am SO so so proud of how this turned out. thank you for reading :] the sincerest of thanks go out to my friends and mutuals, whether they be from discord, instagram, or simply from irl. love u guys love skystar love everyone and everything. THAT'S A WRAP!

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter NINETEEN of TWENTY....! ! !

notes: skyfire's time in the arctic, before he offlined nine million years ago, was devastatingly lonely.

SO. one left after this. long. all angst. bc this is canon technically this falls under implied character death but yknow. writing this first made me joyous bc i like writing angst but very quickly it made me insurmountably sad because like. idk its hard not to feel sad for skyfire. even though i wrote him suffering, i love him so bad :( get my king some help!!!

as for the songs: this time we've got "closedown" by the cure, “here she comes” by slowdive, and "untitled," also by the cure.

read below the cut </3 and sorry again to skyfire...

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: The Arctic, Earth. Nine million years ago.

He’s fairly certain, at first, that he will live. Then his flight systems start crashing, and though the snowfall had been pretty from afar, careening to the ground through it was less than ideal. Bracing himself does not adequately prepare Skyfire for the pain of colliding with a frozen planet at terminal velocity.

When his helm stops spinning and his audials no longer ring, the scientist is very quick to realize that, in every possible sense, the mission has gone awry. His system is still semi-functional, to his initial relief, though his solace slips away when he realizes which systems of his have been damaged in the crash. His auto-repair systems and his internal transmitters have been fully obliterated, for one; worse still, both his navigational and propulsion systems are down. one of his servos had been damaged, too––though, bitterly, he knows that even if it was still functional, he still wouldn’t be able to repair himself. There was no way for him to escape the frigid wasteland, either, and there was no way for him to contact Starscream for help using their comm-link, either.

In the back of his mind, he can hear Starscream insisting on running more data simulations, can picture the vicious severity of the Seeker’s displeased look after Skyfire had reassured for the umpteenth time that nothing would go wrong. He tries to let go of his regret, though, tries not to hold onto that oppressive guilt. Starscream’s logic simulations had been infallible every time, with a margin of error so low that one of the Jhixian review board members had accused the duo of tampering with the data. Indeed, it was no one’s fault but his own, if anyone could even be blamed for this devastating fiasco, and the harshness of the truth was comforting in its own sense. science, after all, was a pursuit of life and truth. 

The comfort of the truth, however, does not mitigate the callousness of consequence.

Starscream must be hysterical right now, he thinks, closing his optics as he pictures his courted one. Was the smaller mech careening through this world’s atmosphere, right now, in search of him? Had Starscream set a new record for his flight speed, shredding through the air at a pace unimaginable in his concerned frenzy? Did his engine strain under the burden? Did his spark tremble in his worry? 

Was Starscream afraid? 

The question makes Skyfire’s internals malfunction, falling apart under his regret. It echoes in his audials, burns itself into his processor and embeds itself within his spark. That first night is an unbearable one, the howling winds failing wondrously to drown out his emotions, cacophonous and crippling.

He’s no stranger to harsh conditions, no. It’s not as if he’s never encountered an unforgiving planet before during his innumerable deep-space travels. There was the world in Sector 1140 that, despite its volcanic activity, hosted extremophiles with exoskeletal structures that made Cybertronian armor look juvenile. It had nearly fried his circuits, melted him down from the oppressive heat alone, but he had been able to prepare well enough beforehand that he suffered no harm. Then there had been the oceanic planet with only two identifiable landmasses, all the way out in Sector 841; that world had been quite the conundrum, with its oversized fauna and acidic seas. Yet even that hadn’t been such a nightmare as compared to this. The hail stings his faceplate, biting away at the smooth metal of his massive frame as he reflects on his predicament, and he dims his optics to save his energy whilst he thinks. 

Soon enough, though, his vocalizer offlines. 

It doesn’t take long for his oral circuits to fail, though he’s not particularly surprised by it; calling Starscream’s name every few grooms was not exactly his smartest maneuver, per se, but it was the only thing he could think to do. His system index shows no sign of damage to his cerebral processor or his logic systems, though the positive result only draws bitter melancholy into Skyfire’s spark. If his partner was with him, he would surely have made a comment about how his neurological circuits were faulty because of the crash, some snide, half-genuine remark about Skyfire being a bleeding spark and too quick to worry.

His audials offline after nearly a full chord. Admittedly, it’s not as if there’s been anything to hear: the polar region is one of nigh-endless snowfall, of sharp-toothed sleet and hateful hailstorms. There is no life to be found here, Skyfire’s long realized, beyond the few birds he’s seen and the one large, shuffling creature of extraordinary proportions. Sure, there had been some microbes his optics had been able to analyze once out of absolute boredom, but there was nothing substantial, no company to enjoy out in the white wasteland of withering winter.

What he would not give to have company.

Oh, Primus, what he would not give to be with Starscream again. To hear his courted one’s voice once more, to feel the warmth of his spark, that bright core burning like a sun in the Seeker’s chest. 

His thoughts only worsen as the days grow considerably shorter. Colder.

His optics are beginning to glitch, motion failing to load fully in his processor and his ocular speed dropping to only a few shutters per klik. It’s of no comfort that there’s hardly ever anything to see, either: the snowfall is usually too heavy see through, and when it is not snowing, there is only an endless sky of desolate white to keep the decaying mech company. The sole relief he is gifted comes at twilight, phantasmal lines elegantly twisting about as they haunt the night-deadened sky. 

Skyfire’s not quite sure what to call the lights that have been appearing as of late. Never, in all of his expeditions, had he encountered something quite like this. Rven Cybertron failed to have a phenomenon that could quite match the radiance of that overhead display; the vibrant streak of viridian bleed into the reds and yellows that separate it from the indigo streaming parallel to it, and the spectacle weaves its way through the nighttime with only the utmost elegance. If Starscream could see it, Skyfire was sure he’d like it, would want to fly through it at the speed of sound and chase that anfractuous artfulness. They could race one another, and his star would laugh so brightly as he won again and again. They would be whole, and they would be happy.

Joy will find him again. His spark clings to that possibility, pious in the face of hope oh so divine. And when Starscream saves his life, Skyfire will ask him once more to be his Conjunx, and they will spend the flight home celebrating their union. 

He can persevere for Starscream. He would, come what may.

By day, he enters fitful recharges, his failing systems barely gaining enough energy to get him through even just one more cycle––and, based on his internal reports and energy consumption logs, he’s still consuming too much energy, especially considering that his energon tank is almost entirely depleted. 

It’s no matter, though. Starscream will find him soon enough, and the Seeker’s energon reserves will be enough to get them out of this galaxy and back towards their own; assuming Starscream hadn’t been burning through it in his efforts to find the larger mech, they should be able to get back within communication range of Cybertron. Things will be fine, Skyfire believes, his spark pulsing in his chassis at the ideal he holds as fact. The strange lights keep him him company for several nights further, and it’s hard to be afraid as his processor starts slowing down with such splendor above him. iHs hope does not wane, not even as his fuel tank alerts him to his now-empty reserves. Starscream’s arrival shouldn’t be long now, the shuttle tells himself that morning, and come evening, even as his systems splutter, he does not give in to his despair.

Starscream will find him. It might just…take a while. 

But they’ll be reunited, his spark assures him. For a fleeting moment, the cold is abated by an influx of warm memories, of countless lifetimes spent at Starscream’s side back on Cybertron. His Conjunx––even if not by name––will find him again. 

It’ll be alright. Their affections for one another defy reason, and in their mutual adoration, Skyfire knows so resolutely that they’ll figure anything out. Nothing could keep them separated for long. 

The last thing he sees before he offlines is the bright lights twining through the night sky, and, for that single second before his optics fail, he notices a black star jettisoning through the iridescence overhead. 

previous. | next.

a/n. this is one of my favorites, too. i really hope i did skyfire justice here. was one of the first chapters i ever wrote for this. one left.

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter Eighteen of twenty :O

notes: and we are in the thick of it now. this chapter + the following two are p much exclusively angst. skyfire vs the world here––but more devastatingly, skyfire vs starscream. the yaoi is dooming itself rn. back 2 long chapters btw.

the song 4 this chapter is "you’re gonna hate what you’ve done" by greet death.

chapter BELOW .........

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: The Arctic, Earth. Now.

His processor is a little too scrambled still to focus on the details of everything going on around him, when he comes to. One moment, a rather fretful Autobot is trying to shake him awake; the next, he’s upright and walking again, drifting closer to where Megatron is fighting another large mech. The blows exchanged are dizzying to keep up with, yet when the skirmish slows and reveals Megatron as the leader, the scientist does not feel any sense of relief. The sight of the red and blue Autobot colliding with the resplendent viridian crystal hard enough to crack the glittery surface just fills his spark with an inescapable disquiet, bruises something within him that demands attention instantly. “Skyfire, destroy Optimus Prime!” Megatron barks at him, sneering and triumphant.

Yet Skyfire hesitates. 

This is not right, his spark insists, and his processor does not disagree. How could this violence and hatred ever be the right path, the path of truth and reason? Then that fallen fighter––Optimus, he corrects––looks at him, and something in those bright optics draws him in. He’s not sure quite what it is that reminds the shuttle of all that had once been his back on Cybertron before there was a right and wrong, before the frost-bitten jaw of this world’s ice age had swallowed him alive, before the miserable new experience of war consumed his waking reality. But it is there all the same, and the evidence before him is suddenly too great to ignore. 

This cannot stand. Such tyranny and death-deliverance cannot last. 

Megatron’s arrogance has his frame tensing, reacting, and he steps towards the conquest-driven ‘con, unafraid, unwavering again. “I take no orders from you!” Skyfire says, servo coming to rest over his spark chamber, “I am an Autobot now!”

When Skyfire finds himself again, he is a bit surprised to see that Megatron is allegedly missing. Some remote part of his memory drive is quick to fill in the gaps, however, thankfully replaying for him the moment he had thrown the other mech into an ice-lined mound; given that the warlord hasn’t gotten up yet, he assumes that he gray ‘con is incapacitated enough that he is no longer of any concern. The only issue remaining, apparently, is that he’s still engaged in conflict, considering the number of Transformers presently running at him, itching for a fight of their own.

That said, the fight between Skyfire and those few Deceptions brave enough to try battling him is…not a difficult one. 

In the brief reprieve he’s got, the shuttle exvents tiredly. It’s been too long since he’s had to put his systems through any sort of strain, for one, and two, he’s never had to use said systems for combat in the first place. His servos had never been scratch-lined from strife rather than science; his strength had never been prioritized over his gentleness. A quick systems check confirms his personal suspicions that his battle computer had grown laggy with an infinity of inoperativeness, and that his weapons systems were working overtime to try and meet a demand they had never needed to fulfill. In his disorienting dance of dire defiance against his former Decepticon allies, he had forgotten how strained his frame and internals still were. Even the best medic amidst the Decepticons had not been able to fix his self-repair systems, and without enough energon to kickstart their operation at any significant levels of efficiency, every effort just wears him down more than the last. 

Taking a second to cycle his systems feels good, though. Or it does, until he is very wonderfully reminded of a fantastic principle of probability: that which can go wrong most certainly will. The concept cheerfully returns to his processor in an ever-helpful and well-timed pop-up at the sound of a jet careening overhead at terminal velocity has his fans freezing up. 

Right.

Starscream. 

He’s barely got enough time to shield himself with his bitarlueic armor before Starscream’s ray canons pelt him with enough blasterfire to melt the permafrost and compacted snow within four mechanometers of the scientist. Starscream says something overhead between the barraging bolts he fires, though Skyfire’s not exactly listening as he focuses on not being offlined by the Seeker he had been betrayed by. He then retreats, and though the white mech is fairly certain that the aerial commander is going to double back for another bombardment if left unchecked, Skyfire does not give him the chance to as he transforms. The little humans have to cover their ears at the sound of him taking off, engines once obsolete now shrieking their way to life before he, too, rips through the sky. 

Though he initially wants to pursue Starscream unfettered, Skyfire’s neurals are not so ice-addled as to even remotely imagine that he can keep up with the Seeker in a direct aerial pursuit. Few shuttle-class frames could maneuver as quickly as Skyfire himself could, sure, but the average Seeker could still outpace him, even if only minority. And Starscream was many, many thing, but average was not one of them––especially not when it came to speed, not when his trinemates were the only two other mechs capable of possibly matching the commander’s pace. ‘Possibly’ being the imperative, there.

So Skyfire chooses not to outpace Starscream, but to outwit him. 

“Where are you, traitor?!” Starscream shrieks once the scientist disappears into the clouds. Such a trick ordinarily would not have fooled his clever one, and it would not take a mech of the scientist’s intellectual caliber to figure out that the cold is likely inhibiting his targeting sensors, much in the same way it’s doing for Skyfire. Beyond that, it simply seems that the Seeker is across the board not handling any part of this entire nightmare well; the smaller flier would have never been so fearful in an aerial ordeal otherwise, would never be so paranoid and skittish, and some part of the shuttle craves comforting his courted one in the way he once had back on Cybertron. 

Starscream is not his enemy. In the same way that no amount of time or distance could dampen the solar flares of softness in his spark towards the sleek mech, no amount of animosity and anger-driven assaults could make Skyfire resent or loathe his dearest one. Starscream had just been…led astray. Yes, that was it, he told himself as he flew overhead, patient, preying. Yes, the Seeker’s still snarling serrated insults and savage threats, vile and vitriolic at best, and, yes, Skyfire has to will himself to ignore the fact that he knows that tone he’s sporting. That shrill anger, sharper than a techno-blade and sawtoothed in its savagery, had never been directed at Skyfire before. That level of unmasked vitriol was often reserved for his political dissidents and, on occasion, his trinemates when they would visit unannounced. But the hurt there was undeniable, too, beneath the barbed brutality burrowed into every syllable Starscream barks out. 

How could he not recognize the upset in his star’s voice? It was the same hurt that would creep out when he would be stood up again for flight outings by his trine, the other two mechs suddenly too busy to honor their covenant, the camaraderie formed from energon more fiery than the flames of the forge now seemingly forgotten. It was the same frustration he’d hear in the times the Seeker would talk about the unfairness of Cybertronian social stratification and functionism, wings flaring and digits flexing self-destructively until Skyfire’s own would twine with his. 

Yes, his irritation and scorn were the howling winds the smaller mech would cut through while shooting across the airspaces of the Lithium Flats, a meteor above the other polities. His ruefulness was as innate to him as the gloss of his carmine colorant, his paranoid paroxysms more commonplace than energex intoxication at that oil house in Iacon; for Primus’ sake, Skyfire could recognize his partner’s disgust as easily as he could identify familiar astrophysical phenomena that accompanied him across his each and every expedition.

But things were not always that way. Starscream’s joy was as familiar as the open skies of Harmonex’s sprawling and peaceful skies, like the thrum of love in Polyhex’s crowded domiciliary districts and life in Vos’ elegant and heaven-reaching city spires, their pinnacles cradling the stars in the way the Seeker’s own would Skyfire’s helm in the private comfort of their berthroom. 

His spark swells at the softness seeping into his processor.

Then Starscream shoots hysterically into the onlooking crowd of Autobots and humans, and that sentimentality is smothered beneath his disgust. There is no room for gentle sparks and fond recollections, not as he hears the little organics shouting, the younger one so audibly afraid as he calls for his ‘dad.’ There is no sense in stalling, in being so reticent in doing what was right. suffering of any living being was not permissible, was not acceptable in any capacity. Long ago, the smaller mech would never have dreamed of laying servos on an innocent life on a world that was not theirs; his closest companion would never have prioritized conquest and carnage, repression and retribution. But this Starscream is no longer his, and this Starscream will not hesitate to pull the trigger. 

So Skyfire decides he will not hesitate, either.

“Here I am,” he answers, revealing his strategic position above the fighter jet. He knows that he only has one shot, one opportunity to end the conflict here and now. He and Optimus had already put Megatron out of commission, and Thundercracker and Skywarp had long since handled their own demises themselves. Some distant part of him hopes that they’re okay, wishes only the continued wellbeing for Starscream’s trinemates; he knows they’re no longer the mechs he once knew, but they’d been his family, too for a time. 

Too long a time.

Not that there’s time to even reflect any further on such things. Not when Starscream is reacting already, pivoting in a sharp angle and locking onto a direct collision course with him.

At least Starscream’s impulsivity has not changed, either.

A quick flick of Skyfire's wing catches Starscream off guard and sends the second in command careening down in a circuit-singing tailspin. His plating sings shrilly as it scrapes against the ice, the sound only stopped when he is buried beneath a suffocating snow. Skyfire can hear the Autobots and the humans below cheering for him, though it’s hard to focus on the sound echoing around him. All that’s echoing in his audials is the countless alert pings flashing across his HUD, blaring warnings about his insufficient fuel supplies, his emptied energon reserves, his internal damages still unprepared from his first crash-landing. The sound is overwhelming, all-consuming as he begins to lose altitude, flight pattern destabilizing in the way it did all  those years ago. 

The only real concern to him, though, is not the imminent threat of dying again. No, it is the sound of Starscream hitting the glacier that bothers him, and the sight of the snow covering him in a suffocating sheet. After all, Skyfire knows all too well what it's like to hit the ground that hard, to lose oneself to the frost. But the Seeker, surely, would live.

Starscream always did. 

...the thought is a cold comfort.

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter seventeen of twenty....

notes: the calm before the storm. TO MAKE UP for the last chapter being so short i am posting this one on the same day!!! this one is also a little short. skystar encountering the home stretch of their trip, just like how we r encountering the home stretch of this fic. song for this section: "do you realize??" by the flaming lips.

chapter BELOW.

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: The K-1121916518 Expanse, System Sol-9. Nine million years ago.

Starscream has, rather admirably, been the most attentive listener Skyfire has ever had. 

Not that the shuttle is complaining in any capacity. The trip has been long––and yet his partner had not failed even once to be an adept audience, much to Skyfire’s personal delight. Their trip had been wonderfully educational, too; if not for the fact that his curiosity superseded his desire to return to Cybertron, he could see himself being abundantly happy with reporting back the findings they’ve accrued so far. The data they’d collected from the planets they’d visited between each check-in point along the way was absolutely beautiful, and considering that each world had been just as resplendent and captivating as the last, the trip had been difficult on neither on the optics nor spark. Their energon supplies were in good standings, too, and nothing had gone wrong in their excursion––much to Starscream’s own delight. Better still? They were ahead of schedule, for once. The larger mech could not help but to feel rather pleased about their entire expedition.

That pleasure, however, is almost immediately forgotten as they pass through the penultimate field of debris and rock. His words trail off, dwindling like a dying star, and his spark races at the sight that greets them. 

"Welcome, Skyfire of Harmonex, to the K-11 Expanse. You are, I think, the first––no, we are the first Cybertronians to ever reach it,” Starscream murmurs sincerely through the open comm channel, pinging their location on their linked nav systems as he speaks. The shuttle’s engines nearly stall out in his excitement, those massive motors spluttering for a moment before crescendoing back to their standard immutable roar. 

This star system, while not revolutionary in any particularly visible way, is possibly one of the prettiest he’s ever seen, he thinks. The focal star, so far off even still, possessed a corona so vibrant that it gifted the planets that stood between he and it the most lovely halo one could imagine. The gaseous planets, so massive and serene in their slow-moving shifts, were gorgeous in their enormity; there was even a planet before them that was wrapped in positively picturesque bands, the circumplanetary disks far more fantastical and sublime than they had appeared on his telescope back on Cybertron. Skyfire’s processor drinks in every sight greedily, ravenous, voracious to consume that which he did not yet know as if it was energon itself. Every new sensory input he registers has his fuel lines running warmer, his systems cycling faster, and his internal cooling mechanisms whir to life to keep his internals from overheating in his overeager state. Even with that automatic aid, though, Skyfire feels overwhelmed in every positive sense as the influx of visual data nearly lagging out his neural networks as he pauses before the newest intersection of infinity and knowledge that he finds himself at.

The precipice of enlightenment calls to him, a surreptitious song in a language he did not know, and he readily takes to plunge into it.

Perhaps this––this helmfirst dive into the unknown––is what flying feels like for Starscream, he muses absently as he transforms. Though the use of excess energon is objectively not advisable, Skyfire chances it anyway, returns to his root mode and lets his optics indulge in every sight that they can grasp onto. And though Starscream had reminded Skyfire on several occasions that they did not have an overabundance of energon to ‘irresponsibly use whenever in quintessential displays of arrogant wastefulness,’ the Seeker offers no chastisement as he, too, transforms. Servos interlock again as they linger in the silent expanse of that unending frontier. Skyfire tethers himself to the humming of Starscream’s internal processes, those machinations’ whirs sending reverberations through his arms, and chooses to be the most attentive spectator he possibly can for this young stretch of space.

…what a beautiful, beautiful place. 

The nine planets before them all eclipse that distant star, and when they return to their alt modes to resume the last leg of their expedition, it is the light of that sun that guides them closer to the new world.

Their new world.

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[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter sixteen of twenty!!!

notes: angst is back. not better than ever but its for sure back...a Laughably short chapter bc idk how to write physical conflict of this sort i am sm better w emotional strife i think. but i tried.

but there will be a reward for u guys...an atonement for my brevity...

the songs are: songs for this chapter r "cherry wine" by hozier, and "let down" by radiohead.

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: The Arctic, Earth. Now.

His spark jumps at the anger directed at him, thrown with the arm of a fighter as it flies from the mouth of his lover. The demands Starscream’s made sit heavily in his chassis, his frame burdened by the weight of expectations he never could have expected to be held to. After all, his Starscream would’ve never required violence in a test of loyalty, and his Starscream would never have spoken to him so acrimoniously, that clever glossa scantly scathing prior to this. So what, then, had changed? 

Was it really Starscream that had changed? Or…the thought does not sit well with his processor, but the question burned away at his neurals all the same. So was it that he himself is the ‘different’ one? Had the ice really altered his being so drastically, or had he not changed enough? 

He doesn’t have a chance to deduce an answer. The light catches the crystalline structure behind the prisoners, cascades down onto the Autobots still standing so expectantly before him and his courted one, and Skyfire’s attention returns to the present. There will be time for postulating later, he tells himself. Even against the backdrop of war, surely there was another way for the Autobot aggressors to be handled. The shuttle steps forward again, optical ridge pinching as he says, “No! I will not! They have done no wrong––”

“But you have! Traitor!” Starscream interjects, then, that same venomous wrath twisting his faceplates into an ugly expression once more. 

Everything that happens in that next instant occurs far too quickly for Skyfire’s liking, even though the moment plays out in such an agonizingly slow sequence.

In what must’ve only been half a nanoklik, he finds himself at the end of Starscream’s null ray canon with the barrel leveled directly at his spark chamber. The energy there builds almost instantly, coalesces barely a nanosecond later. The light is absolutely gorgeous as it stares him down, an amaranth glowing so exquisitely even as it cuts through the air and collides directly with his frame. The Seeker’s expression lingers in his visuals for the brief moment Skyfire’s left standing, denta bared in a smile so hellish that’s beyond appalling even as the beautiful ray casts his faceplates in handsome lights and stunning chiaroscuros. On reflex, he calls out for his partner, voice desperate as he pleads, “Starscream––!”

The ice is cold beneath his frame when he collides with it, cracking beneath the weight and the suddenness of the impact. His helm hits the ground, too, and his still-recovering processor is sent on the fritz at the force: it stalls out, completely blanking as his world flickers. The sky above him is the loveliest shade of blue as his systems falter in their stunned state. The last thing he hears, distantly, is the sound of Starscream’s voice, pride bleeding onto soft-sparked sincerity as he says something about him being ‘fortunate.’ Then a deluge of error messages pop up on his HUD, and his systems shut down again. 

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[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter FIFTEEN of twenty!!!

notes: AHHH WE ARE 75% OF THE WAY DONE!!!!! Guysssss im so geeked THIS IS WHERE I RLLY LET LOOSE and have fun writing. thankfully for ygs though this one is not sad. or well I dont think it is. domestic skystar right b4 they leave for their deep space exploration. ANOTHER super long one + some long ass world building in the a/n at the end. genuinely a long chapter im sorry

BTW the songs for this chapter are "don’t let me be misunderstood" by the moody blues, "wichita lineman" by glen campbell, & "coward" by matt maltese.

chapter below the cut :O

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: Vos, Cybertron. Nine million years ago. 

Seekers as a whole tended to err on the side of pridefulness, and Vosians even more so; Starscream was no exception to this pattern and was, in fact, most likely the worst offender of such a stereotype.

Not that Skyfire minded: the smaller mech’s vanity was largely endearing the majority of the time, even if it on occasion caused the duo more inconveniences and tension headaches. Granted, Starscream did care far too much about his appearance and representation, worrying himself sick over it, so it wasn’t always easy for Skyfire to only listen. But platitudes and placations frequently only exacerbated the situation, and his own inability to fully grasp emotional comforts made it a bit more difficult for him to give the Seeker the support he needed. Therefore, though the phrase is admittedly the first thing to come to mind and best reflects his own thoughts on the matter, Skyfire chooses prudently not to tell Starscream that he is overthinking as he rather passionately raves about the potential optics if their expedition was to go wrong.

“––and if we fail, Skyfire, we will be ridiculed beyond compare,” Starscream continues, wings flared in agitation as he paces incessantly around the space of their berthroom, “Can you imagine the repercussions? We’ll never be able to show our faces in any scientific setting again; we’ll become the archive example of hubris and intellectual ineptitude––”

Most of his fretting becomes incomprehensible as he gradually slips into his native Vosian, brisk with its sharp chirps and clicks and beautiful in its liquid euphonics. At that point, the larger mech simply lets his partner go on, easily accepting his role as a patient listener for the Seeker’s distressed diatribe. It’s certainly not the first time he’s ever served as a receptive audience for him, and Starscream doesn’t seem to mind––let alone notice––Skyfire’s quietude. It’s not as if it’s hard for Skyfire to just listen and, before his systems start to malfunction from the stress charges, Starscream begins to settle soon enough on his own. 

When he’s done, he exvents harshly, folding his arms across his chassis as he returns to his earlier brooding. His muteness serves as the shuttle’s cue, however, and it is with unhesitant steps that he comes to stand before the smaller flier. "Star,” he calls gently, servos coming to rest on his partner’s iliac, the red skirt plating contrasting so vibrantly with Skyfire’s ivory digits, “It will be fine. You yourself calculated the probability of failure, and the results were beyond extraordinary in their favorability.”

He’s tempted to tell Starscream that he’s beyond extraordinary, too, but the Seeker’s still not looking at him, vermilion optics fixed on something or other in their berthroom. definitely not in the mood, then, for romanticism.

“The probability of exploratory failure was near-zero,” the smaller ‘bot corrects, voice quiet, “but there are no theorems or equations capable of predicting social failures. Interpersonal failures, Skyfire.”

Social failures? What on Cybertron could Starscream possibly…?

The confusion must be evident on his faceplates, considering that Starscream rolls his optics and exvents sharply; Skyfire’s never been one for masking his expressions though, and judging by the fact that Starscream leans further into his partner’s embrace, it seems as though his lack of subtlety is still not something Starscream is particularly bothered by. “We will be traveling across several galaxies together, Skyfire,” he says, terseness softened by the gentler look he explains, “It will take us countless lightyears for us to reach the other side of this galaxy, let alone through the other two. Even if we are punctual in our arrivals at Paradron, Velocitron, Archon, Gigantion, and Aquatron, the intensity of our travel will still probably keep us from following our schedule.”

“Schedules are not the Imperative, Starscream. It would only be natural for us to be tired and need breaks,” Skyfire soothes, ducking his helm down to rest against Starscream’s for a moment. the Vosian only scoffs, though, and answers, “It’s not a matter of punctuality. It will be you and i journeying for over several megaannums together. The exhaustion will not solely be physical. Do you follow now, or do I need to translate it into Monexic or chiro for you?”

Ah.

So that’s the issue.

The bigger mech hums in understanding then before fleetingly pressing his dermas to the other’s forehelm, voice kind as he says, “Nothing will change my opinion of you, Starscream. We’ve been at one another’s sides for over ten megacycles; You are part of my spark. You know this.” The sentimentality has the smaller aerialist shifting uncomfortably, grimacing and agitatedly flicking his wings. At least this time he doesn’t lash out verbally over the soft-spoken intimacies, and a small victory is a victory all the same to Skyfire—particularly when his courted one lets his arms fall from their tense position in order to grasp Skyfire’s waist. “It’s easy to promise calm skies when you’re still grounded, Sky. You can’t always account for unsteady air,” he murmurs, tipping his helm up to kiss Skyfire’s upper chestplate, “and not all flight-frames can weather turbulence.” 

The metaphor is not lost on the scientist, and he shifts his grasp, cradling Starscream’s helm with a careful touch. The Vosian vents tiredly at the feeling, optics dimming as he leans into Skyfire’s servo as his thumb brushes along Starscream’s cheekplate. A silence passes between them for a moment, the sounds of their respective engines purring faintly.

“It will be fine, star,” Skyfire promises again, hushed, “and we will be fine. Even in the most remote and unknown parts of the universe, even in the most distant and strangest of times, it will always, always be you and I. There is no truth more empirical nor rational than this.” 

The Seeker is pleased by such romanticism, if the prideful flaring of his wings is anything to go by—and much to the shuttle’s own delight, though there is far too much left unsaid for his liking. If he were more poetic, he would tell Starscream of every tender thing he felt towards him: every fondness and adoration, every flustered desire and every ardent longing. There were no words in any language, Cybertronian or not, that could convey the full depth of his affection for his partner, and there was not enough time in their endless lifespans for him to tell his equal in all things of how deeply he is loved.

Starscream wouldn’t want to speak of love, though, not in direct terms. He rarely did.

Skyfire adjusts, then, pulls his courted one closer and hugs him with only the utmost care. Despite being stiff initially, the Seeker goes lax soon enough, growing at ease when Skyfire’s servo glides from his cheekplate to the back of his helm. The other comes to rest on Starscream’s lumbaric plating, work-worn and scuffed digits splayed across the sleeker metal of the smaller mech’s back. It had taken innumerable attempts to get Starscream to even relax enough to hold servos, let alone for him to accept an embrace; despite having grown more comfortable with chiro-comming––and even after seemingly infinite kilocycles together––he was still frequently uneasy about most levels of romantic contact, rarely letting it linger save only for when they’d interface once or twice a decacycle. Skyfire had come to terms with this fact about his partner, and it wasn’t a source of contention or frustration for him most times. Starscream met him in the middle when he could, and that was enough for him.

When Starscream returns the hug, however, Skyfire’s processor stalls out. 

That sort of reciprocity from his star had only ever happened twice before: once when Skyfire had received a particularly harsh rejection on a thesis he had been crafting for over ten ano-cycles, and again when the shuttle had returned from a deep-space exploration that lasted fourteen stellar cycles with nearly empty fuel tanks and spark-crushing results. For a klik, he’s not quite sure if the sensation is real, but then Starscram’s servos are grazing against the bigger mech’s spinal strut, claw-tipped digits nigh-phantasmal as they drift across the white plating, and it is all abruptly very real. Once again, he’s silent. Admittedly, however, it’s less of a wisdom-borne decision and more of a consequence of his stunned stupor. He’s fairly certain that his courted one knows this, too, though luckily the Vosian rather benevolently chooses not to tease him about it. Thank Primus. 

“Are you sure you aren’t better suited for politics instead of science, Sky?” Starscream murmurs, “Such silver speech would get you far in any polity’s social sphere, you know. I’m sure you could convince a grounder it could fly, if you wanted to.” While not intentionally designed to fluster or tease him, the comment has the white mech’s faceplates heating, his frame shifting awkwardly at the genuine compliment from his partner. His mandibular joints click once or twice as he tries to find the right words to gift to his dearest one, though nothing seems particularly correct or even worthy of Starscream’s audials. But something is better than nothing, so quietly he says in turn, “Politics would only take me further away from you, star. To be rather honest with you, I am perfectly content with the current state of my, ah…‘social circumstances,’ as you would put it.”

That gets a small laugh out of the other flier, much to Skyfire’s relief. Indeed, his spark buzzes excitedly in his chassis at the sound, somewhat loudly humming while he again thanks Primus––this time for saying the right thing. Starscream’s doubtfulness seems to have abated, too, if he’s reading his partner right, and replies, “A lright , alright; I get it, Skyfire. I like you too, I suppose, even if you are a bit too obsessed with me. Not that I blame you.” 

“Of course you don’t,” the taller scientist says agreeably, dermas upturned in the smile he knew Starscream loved most, “You’re generous like that, Star, and there’s no mech more deserving of such admiration.” The praise, like usual, lands precisely as it’s meant to, and Starscream’s servos drop to find Skyfire’s midsection plating before he half-purrs, “Precisely. Your sense of truth really is impeccable, you know. Perhaps I should let you tell me more truths now; we’ve done all the preparations we can for this investigative research travel of ours, anyway. We have the time.” Skyfire’s faceplate heats almost instantly again at Starscream’s forwardness, though his agreement certainly comes readily enough as he follows his courted one to their berth with eager steps.

They can enjoy this night together, he tells himself. There really is no reason to be afraid: no situation would ever be too perilous if he could still be near his sun, his star, and he trusts Starscream more than anyone else on all of Cybertron. Their research trip will be fine so long as he’s with his dearest one. 

After all, as Starscream and Skyfire, they could handle anything. There was no greater truth.

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a/n. ok long world-building here. i had quite the jimmy neutron brain blast of creativity. which is that if there r cultural differences between each polity of cybertron, one can explore many fun linguistic dynamics. neocybex is the standard right. like arabesh in star wars + then there r other langs outside of that. so monexic chirolinguistics is a specific variation for where skyfire is from (harmonex) + it is a dialect of standard / Iaconian chiro. it's also the standard form of comms in harmonex, hence why skyfire tends to use it. seeker cant / vosian is a faster-paced language with a lot of consonants and clicking because i want it to be like that <3 while spoken monexic is slower-paced w/ a gentler rhythm + softened consonants.

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter fourteen of twenty!!!

notes: angst is SO in season w this chapter so ummm yeah. shorter chapter bc i had needed a break after writing such a behemoth (chapter 00.13). the songs for this one r "bow" by greet death and "the working hour" by tears for fears.

chapter down yonder *salute

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: The Arctic, Earth. Now.

It takes a disturbingly short time for those four Autobots to be rounded up and incapacitated, and, if he’d have had any unprocessed energon in his system, Skyfire is absolutely certain he would be violently, alarmingly ill by what he’s witnessed. His vocalizer feels absolutely fried: no words the slow march out of the tunnel to the large crystalline mass, virescent and vibrant as it gleams in the light of a pale sun, is a serious contender for being one of the most hellish experiences in Skyfire’s entire life. The nightmare doesn’t seem to be ending anytime soon, either, once the smaller bots are lined up with their backs to the crystal. They all look worried, afraid––they look like those little organics had when Skyfire had first approached, and that look once more makes his internals churn. 

Worse still, though, is the sincerity that bleeds so authentically from Starscream’s tone when he hums, “Those years under the ice diminished your loyalty coefficient, Skyfire. But I shall be generous because of our old friendship.”

The term ‘friendship’ puts some detritus in his air vents, to put it politely. On what planet had they just been friends? Not that the white mech has time to unpack all of that, considering what Starscream offers, then. “You may have the pleasure of melting down these Autobots!” the aerial commander says proudly, gesturing with so much enthusiastically to their captives that Skyfire recoils, stepping back from the monstrous words coming from such pretty dermas. His spark is suddenly far too large for its chamber, squeezes horrifically as he struggles for the first time in a very, very long time to comprehend what he’s witnessing. No matters had been beyond his processor’s capabilities once he had finished his schooling; even the most perplexing problems had become sparkling's play so early in his life. But this?

There was no explaining this, and even if there was, no answer would have been satisfactory or compelling enough to overlook this brutality. “But I’m a scientist, not an executioner!” Skyfire objects instinctually, servos splayed in exasperation as his desire to understand Starscream gives way to his hurt, his confusion. Not that Starscream even tries to soothe the bigger aerialist’s upset; no, his charm dissipates in an instant, that nice smile wrenching itself into a nasty little look before he hisses, “I am your superior. I order you to terminate them!’

Superior? Since when had Starscream, his equal, his courted one, been his superior? And why is the smaller mech giving an order to terminate the Autobots? They were defenseless! They had no foul intents, as far as he could tell, and they had tried to save the little organics––or, to be fair, he assumes that had been their goal. Starscream is looking at him expectantly, still, smiling again as if his fury was only a fleeting nightmare, a hallucination of hatefulness alone; the sight has Skyfire’s internals turning, cycling far too quickly and making him nauseous. The other four mechs stand before them in a line, prepared for an condemnation they did not deserve, and he can practically feel how his logic circuits nigh-fry themselves trying to comprehend just why Starscream is so eager to see the Autobots eradicated––and why he himself is not. 

Awakening and being reunited with Starscream had been a statistical miracle, a dream untethered, unrestrained. Their lives had been perfect again––or, well, their version of perfect, at any rate––even with the frequent monologuing from Megatron and the less than covert surveillance from Soundwave. They had fallen into lockstep again, entirely and unequivocally harmonious just as they had always been despite nine million years of separation and strife. But this––this is agony. Oh, Primus, make it stop, his processor pleads, cries out for a salve that will not heal this wound. Starscream’s betrayal hurts even more than the ever-present joy that had first devoured him, gripped him between the memory-sharpened teeth of a loving jaw.

The past consumes him as his processor stalls out, the Autobots wide eyed as they stand before the two Decepticons, before the executioner and the oblivion.

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[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter thirteen of twenty!!!

notes: angst begone for now. we might be so back on wholesome content there definitely won't be any sadness in the next seven chapters....the songs for this chapter are "i can’t" by radiohead, and "the place where he inserted the blade" by black country, new road. chapter is extra long btw My Bad guys.

disclaimer: there is a p over reference to interfacing in this chapter + implied interfacing towards the end.

YOU ALREADY KNOW where to find the chapter...

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: Vos, Cybertron. Nine million years ago. 

There are few moments where Skyfire ever wishes that his processor had been designed for some other purpose. 

He is more than happy with the way his life’s turned out so far, all things considered, and he was fully aware that, if he had not pursued the rigor of data and the joy of discovery, he would have spent his entire existence feelings as though there was a hole in his frame, a bug in his core matrix that could never be patched out. And while the sight of Starscream alongside him was a direct consequence of all the choices he has made up to this very moment, it still has him longing that his processor was geared towards the fineries of the visual arts or the gorgeousness of the spoken word. His partner is, for the moment, in recharge, optics dimmed and fans faintly whirring to cool down his overheated systems. Interfacing always left the smaller mech tired, granted; yet the sight, while endearing, is not what has the shuttle so captivated as he sits up in the berth.

The Vosian had been beyond adamant about his paint work and, while Skyfire definitely admired the vibrancy and flashiness of his courted one’s coloration, it was not a desire he fully understood. He simply chose to support his partner’s harmless inclinations and idiosyncrasies. Starscream would relish in being gawked at by grounders and other flight-frames, proud in the face of their awe, and Skyfire was content to admire the pretty smile that curved the Seeker’s dermas so nicely and put a confident gleam in his optics. But it was in the quiet moments that Starscream was the most captivating, in his opinion. The looks of concentration that knitted the Seeker’s optical ridge together as he analyzed and tabulated data that would leave other mechs stupefied were so endearing, or the serenity that would grace his face whenever his trinemates or Skyfire himself would preen Starscream’s wings. The other two Seekers were better at getting into the crevices between each of his wings’ plates, crafty digits curling into the ailerons and beneath the spoilers for actual cleaning; Skyfire’s broader servos, however, by smoothing over his partner’s wings in slow, steady motions was enough to coax Starscream into recharge, even if only for a few groons. 

And that––that was Skyfire’s favorite look for his courted one. 

It was also, unfortunately, the most infrequent occurrence, quite posssibly ever. Starscream would, by and large, sooner sacrifice his pride before he would let another mech see him in any state of vulnerability, and it had taken an inconceivable amount of time for Skyfire to even remotely become an exception to that near-constant rule. Only now that they lived together was the smaller ‘bot even remotely more willing to be witnessed with his defenses down, and that, too, was not a guarantee. But the shuttle cherished the sight all the same, adored the quiet hum of the Seeker’s internals running and the way his wings would flick as he slept, his pretty faceplates pressed into the luxury fabrics that adorned their berth.

But more unfortunate still is that, like every time Skyfire would start to admire his courted one, he is caught in the act. 

And, much like every time, Starscream is not pleased. 

As soon as his systems come online again, he is immediately sullen, scowling and sour-eyed as he shifts to sit up alongside the Monexian. “Staring at someone sleeping is a sign of deviancy, you know,” he grouses, running a servo over his face wearily before leaning against Skyfire more fully, “And I don’t interface with deviants, Sky.” Considering that, objectively, it’s not the harshest rebuke Starscream’s ever thrown his way, the quasi-insult barely registers; somewhat unhelpfully, Skyfire laughs at the semi-serious admonishment gently, then kisses top of his helm a few times as a tender comfort. His voice matches his softer actions, too, when he says, "I was simply studying you, Star. I am a scientist that specializes in astronomical and life studies. Is it a crime to study a subject I am passionate about?” 

That comment only has the smaller aerialist glaring, sulking even as he says, “I suppose if you’re studying a subject as important and excellent as myself, then it’s…permissible. On occasion.” 

Rather astutely, Skyfire does not push his luck, instead only wrapping an arm around his partner and pressing a servo to his partner’s canopy. The gesture is seemingly the correct one, given that the Seeker hums prettily and relaxes again; it seems like a positive enough reaction that Skyfire chooses to express that which had been long heavy on his processor. 

"In my studies,” he begins slowly, averting his gaze as his faceplates begin to heat, “I have observed many things about you, Star, including substantial evidence that suggests we have beyond profound intrinsic compatibility. So much so that I propose we trial a new, ah…experiment, if you will, on the impact the Conjunx Ritus may have on our relationship––” He does not get the chance to finish expressing himself, however, before his courted one interjects, as unsurprising as it is. “Your interest is flattering and deeply appreciated, really, but it’s too early for us to even begin considering becoming Conjunx Endurae, Sky,” Starscream directly declines despite still being audibly drained, “and, really, such formalities are unnecessary. Must we really establish what we are so clinically? We’re fine as things are.”

The rejection stings, though Skyfire tries not take it too personally: Starscream had rejected his advances along each and every step of their relationship, only to immediately make those said advances himself. For Primus’ sake, even when Skyfire had asked Starscream to meet his carriers, he had said no. Then, when the shuttle returned to their domicile from the Institute the next solar cycle, his carriers were already there, chatting up a storm with one rather smug looking Seeker. The trend, while frustrating at times, seemed to only be continuing now.

Or, well, that’s what Skyfire thinks, at first. But the longer they talk about it, the more it seems like an actual argument––and, while they had most certainly fought and disagreed with one another in the many, many vorns they had been together, this one seems genuinely irreconcilable. That sinking suspicion only intensifies as Starscream bites back to one of the scientist’s comments, snarking, “You’re like a sparkling, Skyfire; I don’t know why you’re so interested in this Conjunx nonsense. We don’t need to follow those antiquated rules, and we don’t need such pleasantries to prove what we are to one another.” The words are a bit more painful than the initial rejection, his spark troubled, sore. Carefully, he extracts his servo from the Seeker’s own, a chill settling in his digits without the warmth of the smaller mech’s touch.

Starscream does not handle the silence that creeps in all too well, quickly speaking up again. In no uncertain terms, he says, “And besides. We’re about to go on this expedition, and if something happens, that whole Conjunx ordeal would be for nothing. So, really, it’s a practical measure to not engage in that sort of triviality. Furthermore––”

Most of what the Seeker says, at that point, becomes background static to Skyfire’s audials. 

Starscream was avoidant by nature. Skyfire knew this well enough. For the longest, he had assumed that, perhaps, it was a cultural thing. Most Vosians tended to be skittish about indulging in anything outside of a trinary relationship; supernumeraries were frowned upon, and couplings were ‘unfinished’ and taboo. Conjunx Endurae were therefore less common amongst that distant group and as such, the Monexian had been larely unsurprised and unruffled by his then-friend’s staunch beliefs on the matter. Then when they first started courting one another, Starscream had been reluctant to even acknowledge that there was a romantic element to their relationship. It took Skywarp making a rather…forward remark for Starscream to verbalize that he and Skyfire were, in fact, together. But that, too, had been a mere hindrance. A minor ordeal. Seemingly temporary. 

Evidently not. It did not make any computable sense, though, to the white mech, because Starscream had gotten better at expressing affection, enough to initiate physical contact in public and outright asking––or, well, telling––Skyfire to be affectionate with him. Beyond that, the two had already gone through three of the four acts of Conjunx Ritus, a fact that Starscream himself had pointed out on several occasions. Their relationship was, in every possible sense, as perpetual and perdurable as their very lifespans, so much so that his partner’s trinemates and his own friends had made innumerable comments on the matter. The two of them had already mutually decided in no uncertain terms that they were in a permanent partnership anyway, even if their label was only that of reciprocal courtship.  

Only a few possibilities behind Starscream’s unending list of apparent problems with becoming Conjunx Endura remain, then––and based on the thinly-veiled agitation on the smaller mech’s face and the sporadic tremors sending his wings flicking, Skyfire did not exactly have time to systematically eliminate his options. 

Given that it was not traditionally seen to such an intense degree in other flier-class builds, the micro-expressivity of Seeker-class frame language was so radically nuanced that the scientist is reluctant to believe in the accuracy of any preliminary assessments he makes. On first observation, Starscream’s wings are hiked up in obvious disquiet, the sporadic twitching of them suggesting a desire to take flight; in direct contradiction, however, is the fact that Starscream hasn’t physically removed himself from skyfire’s personal space. Ordinarily, his partner had no problem whatsoever with leaving the room when he was stressed, and his choosing to stay is in direct opposition to that previously established trend. The theorem had not been faulty before; Why now? It couldn’t be that Starscream was playing hard to get, based on the readings of his EM field, but the only other likely explanation doesn’t make sense, given Starscream’s own disposition. He’d do everything he could to mask an emotion that ‘unbecoming’ and ‘deplorably useless,’ if his words were to be believed; he’d never let himself be seen in that vulnerable of a state, not by another, and especially not with something as important as the Conjunx Ritus. Ah, but then, he had once said that Skyfire was not like any other mech to ‘ever come online in the history of Cybertron.’ It would stand to reason that he’s become the one being that Starscream can’t mask himself so convincingly around, particularly considering their courtship, wouldn’t it?

But that’d only leave one theory, and it was one he did not wish to be correct on.

So…was Starscream afraid? 

Cautiously, he takes the Seeker’s servos in his own again, digits interlocked in perfect union and palms kissing softly once more. Starscream looks incredibly displeased still, olfactory wrinkled and scornful optics narrowed, though thankfully he does not lash out or protest when the shuttle begins relaying countless fluttery messages. The conversation is not long as they tap their truths in chiro, and each response leaves Skyfire’s sensory circuits tingling from both the energy and the featherlight inputs of his partner’s touch. It is an accident, however, when his EM field brushes against the Seeker’s in concerned flares and relays his worries about Starscream’s hesitancy; the Vosian almost immediately reacts, pulling away from Skyfire and baring his denta.

“It is not a matter of ‘insecurity’ or ‘self-doubt,’” he hisses, wings flared in agitation, “I have nothing to be cowardly about. I’m not a cowering sparkling––”

The shuttle interrupts, then, murmuring, “You are not a coward, star. But you are my courted one; you are the center of my attention, always, and you are the object of my every fascination. I am not afraid of my affections for you.” 

The words hang in the air for a moment, swirling about like dust in the evening rays and lingering. Starscream’s expression flits through several emotions, each one less discernible than the last, before finally settling on a look that fell a few centihics short of fondness. It’s a new look and, feeling unsure of its meaning, the Monexian speaks up again, saying, “I did not mean to offend you, Starscream. I wanted only to convey that you are…that you are known. You are witnessed. Seen. And that is not something to shy away from.” That, however, does not elicit a response, either.

Not at first, anyway. 

When Starscream does respond, it is first by somewhat nicely pushing Skyfire onto his back, servos firm but not unkind as they, loosely speaking, force the shuttle back onto the berth. His processor is firing at maximum capacity, struggling to comprehend just what’s happening. Starscream’s still looking at him with that strange expression, dermas a bit pursed and keen optics scrutinous, and he’s having a sinking suspicion that his partner is, in fact, unimaginably displeased. But then the Seeker smiles as he crawls onto Skyfire’s larger frame, tibulen on either side of his lower cockpit and plated knees digging into the more sensitive mid-section plating, and Skyfire finds himself awestruck again. He is not a ‘bot of faith, not one to be stirred by the zealot’s superstition or the devout’s fanaticism; science was the guiding light all Transformers should pursue, and there was none more faithful than he when it came to the empirical and the truth. 

Yet with his partner above him, Skyfire is fairly certain that the divine is, quite possibly, blessedly real.

The light catches on Starscream’s frame in a way that no art could replicate, that not even Primus himself could dream of emulating in another creation. The apotheosis of perfection, the Seeker perched atop him smiles so bewitchingly that Skyfire’s spark hiccups and his mind circuits begin repeating only Starscream’s designation in loving prayer. He reaches dazedly for the smaller aerialist, outstretched in supplication before his digits graze that slender midsection––only for Starscream to grab one of those curious servos, locking their digits together in a hold so dizzyingly possessive that Skyfire’s fuel lines start overheating. He doesn’t get the chance to say anything about it, either; Starscream’s quick to send a barrage of both crass and charismatic messages through Skyfire’s nervecircuits, rendering the shuttle speechless. Every digit stroke sends hellfire through all of his systems, temperature warnings cropping up on his HUD at every ministration, and when Starscream smiles at him, seraphic and sly all at once, Skyfire can feel the precise moment his neurals start shorting.

The charge is building a bit too quickly for Skyfire to handle it all too well. His vocalizer crackles, staticky when he tries to speak, much to his partner’s enjoyment. the sunlight filtering in has the aerialist backlit so devastatingly, gorgeous warmth painting that handsome frame so resplendently. His internal cooling fans kick on, running at a speed so high he’s worried that their spindles will give out, and a few more warnings pop up on his internal displays, which he quickly closes out. Best not to have a visual reminder of how his courted one is exacerbating the overwhelmed state of his frame from their last interfacing. When he does manage to spit out something coherent and not-fuzzy, his vocalizer hitches, catches as he asks, “What’s––Starscream, what are you––?"

“You’re correct: I am not afraid of anything, Skyfire of Harmonex,” the Seeker hisses, leaning towards the scientist’s helm, “and I am certainly not afraid of something as simple as being your Conjunx. You want an act of devotion? A promise of my affection? Fine. I will show you devotion.”

Skyfire gives in to the rites that his dearest one leads him through. The talk of Conjunxes and contradictions and commitments is forgotten at the feeling of Starscream’s dermas kissing along his spark chamber’s cover and the sight of his optics, a red sun gleaming.

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a/n: fr one of my favorite chapters i wrote for this lol top three for sure. 'fear of being known' meets 'joy of being loved' or wtv i wrote originally on my ao3 a/n

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter twelve of twenty!!!

notes: angst creeping in like black spots at the edge of ur vision.....songs for this chapter: the songs for this chapter are "fake plastic trees" by radiohead and i’m your man" by mitski. and again. we are for real getting 2 the angsty stuff. but its ok im good at writing angst i think so this is my time to shine baby!!!!!

chapter below the cut :O

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: The Arctic, Earth. Now.

The organics in his servo do not seem surprised when Megatron bids Starscream to ‘deal’ with them, and they seem only slightly surprised when they are thrown further into the tunnel and imprisoned behind ice-lined stalactites. Skyfire, however, recoils at the sight, and his spark constricts at the way their little bodies turn red where they’d hit the ground, seizes when he sees how the older organic shifts to stand before the smaller one. His burning gaze scorches Skyfire’s optics even in the frigidity of the narrow tunnel, his mouth twisted in an angry line. There was no need for a defensive display: the organics were his friends, and he was theirs.

Wasn’t he?

The shuttle’s processor can’t comprehend this violence, this cruelty so unabashed; how could Starscream stomach such hateful ways? How could Starscream not only abide by those heinous orders, even if it’s for some masterful scheme of his, and how could his Starscream laugh in the face of the little beings’ suffering? War or not, there were always more diplomatic ways of handling one’s dissidents. This could not be the only way.

Success could not––should not––come at the expense of these native beings. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. 

"This is wrong!” Skyfire protests, his optic ridge furrowing as he turns to face Megatron, "I promised the Earth creatures that no harm would come to them––”

Yet Megatron silences him far too soon, crimson optics scornful as the leader condemns, “You overstepped your authority.” 

The word rings about in Skyfire’s audials. Authority? What authority did one need to believe in the fair treatment of others? What power could a Transformer ever possibly need to justify their defense of weaker beings? Why would protecting life ever be deemed an overstep, a mistake? And the tone Starscream then levies at him isn’t one that Skyfire’s never heard from the Seeker––rather, it is one that has never been aimed at him, and the venom slung at him so precisely stings when Starscream spits, “Who are you to offer safety to our enemies, Skyfire?”

Skyfire did not have enemies. That was never an occurrence for him before he left Cybertron for the last time; the presence of combatants and corrivals was never a concern for him. Yet now, on this strange new world, there are strange new rules, and strange new companions. But these creatures…they were not skyfire’s enemies. How could they be? They were alive, byproducts of science and bearers of sentience; they had committed no crime in simply being born, offended none by living their little lives on their little world. The organics were clumsy, sure, and they seemed to be a young species, this the scientist knew. But they were passionate, and braver than they perhaps ought to be, and they were kind. Hopeful. The shuttle’s servo flexes once, twice. Their body heat still clings to his digits, he thinks, and the delicate nature of their smaller bodies still weighs upon his palm, his spark.

How could such warmth come from a foe? 

"Enemies?” he echoes, frowning more intensely now, “But they are my…my friends.” Unafraid, he reaches out towards the little ones; They needed help, not harsh punishments and hollow promises of gentler hands. It is wholly on accident, then, that he bumps Starscream with his servo and when the Seeker falls, he immediately freezes, asks, “Star? Are you alright––?”

“Do not interfere!” the smaller ‘con shouts, optics wild, “The puny flesh creatures are insignificant. Once they cease being useful to us, they will be terminated!” 

The bite of Starscream’s sawtoothed words is, somehow, worse than the physical blow that accompanies them: the stun blast from the Seeker’s ray cannons merely stings, tingles down his nervecircuits in the way Starscream’s fluttering chiro once did. His processor’s reeling, every new altercation like acid in his fuel lines. The little organics look so frightened and resigned, defeat pulling their intakes into distraught little frowns; the sight has his spark seizing in his chassis, the pain at having hurt them visceral as it devours him from the inside out. And Starscream looks unaffected––no, worse still, he looks amused at their despair.

Skyfire’s never seen the smaller mech look so baleful, so spiteful and malefic, and the sight is one that violently tears into the trust long unshakable that he’s placed in the Seeker. The hurt is a hungering wretch, a starved pneuma-lion with its teeth gnashing, rabid as it gnaws upon the technomatter of his being. His optics cycle once, twice, thrice as if to erase the horrific reality he’s facing. The little creatures look surprised, too, as confused as Skyfire himself is, and it dawns on him that their confusion is not that Starscream is willing to hurt them, but that he himself is not. 

Nothing makes sense. There is no algorithm to decode this, no programming to decipher the dismay and devastation in his spark, and there is no theory or hypothesis that could explain this senselessness. If the Decepticons were as righteous as Megatron and Starscream have said, then why do the organics look so surprised at the sight of him choosing not to harm them? 

“I don’t understand! My function is to further science and learning,” the scientist insists, blue optics wide in the face of such maliciousness, “not to destroy innocent life forms!” 

They had worked for over a megacycle to prove that their construct did not dictate their function, and endured countless judgments from countless other Transformers that they had dared to defy their designation––and they had done so together. Adversity became an annoyance at best when they worked together; scorn, once a sufferance, became a slight deserving of a mere side-long glance. They proved their worth beyond their function, had surpassed the pride and prejudice that plagued Cybertron like Cosmic Rust.

Had Starscream forgotten that? Oh, Primus forbid, had Megatron tampered with the Seeker’s processor in the nine megaannums Skyfire had been missing? Had war stripped Starscream of his most gorgeous parts, eradicated his secret kindnesses that once glittered so wonderfully in his sun-birthed spark?

What happened to his dearest one?

Where was his Starscream?

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[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter eleven of twenty!!!

notes: cutieful courting efforts here....ohhh starscream you little wreck. songs for this one? 'oldest trick in the book' and 'strange time,' both by matt maltese.

chapter below the cut :O

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: Harmonex, Cybertron. Nine million years ago.

Helm upturned, Starscream is very laughably flustered as he stands at the door of Skyfire’s residence.

Considering that it’s Skyfire’s day off, he’s a little surprised at the smaller mech’s presence, though he’s hardly upset by it; he’d been showing up unannounced to his workplaces in both Altihex and Centurion, and his personal residence in Harmonex with increasing frequency. Each time, he weaves together some hole-filled and winding excuse for his presence with that crafty tongue of his, snarking all the while about how he didn’t need to be there. Truthfully, Skyfire found himself rather moderately endeared by the trend. The smaller ‘bot was not particularly good at being subtle, not when it came to such openly affectionate displays––especially since he would sooner meet with his political dissidents than admit that his endeavors were, in fact, borne of affection. But he tried, in his own clumsy way, and Skyfire could not deny his admiration for Starscream’s…unique approach to courting.

This time, too, was no exception. 

Servo outstretched insistently, the Seeker bristles, snaps, “Well, aren’t you going to take it? The trip from Vos to Iacon was too long, and the decaphase it took to get here from there was one decaphase too many, especially with those useless flight-speed limits they’ve imposed in Uraya’s airspace. Don’t tell me I wasted my time coming all the way out here to Harmonex, Skyfire. I don’t do house calls.” The sharp words are belied by the gift in his palm, though––a gift that has Skyfire smiling brightly. Carefully, he takes it, gazing down at it fondly as he murmurs, “I am surprised you remembered that I wanted this, Star. There are only two copies of this on all of Cybertron; I cannot imagine the trouble you went through to acquire this.”

"Your insistence on such primitive forms of data storage are beyond me,” Starscream answers, shaking his helm vexedly, “but if these relics––these books are so important to you, I suppose the effort to get them is tolerable on occasion.” The somewhat scornful reply does not faze the shuttle, though. No, he simply takes Starscream’s servo in his free one, relays his thanks and affections in chiro. The jet seemed to handle such tender expressions far better when they weren’t spoken aloud, and in this, too, this visit is no exception. Wings flicking up, Starscream visibly preens at Skyfire’s gratitude, though his expression grows petulant when he deciphers the other half of what Skyfire’s signed. Sourly, he grouses, “You’re soft-sparked. Don’t say such things; it’s foolish.”

Skyfire laughs, dips down to press his helm to the Seeker’s, and hums, “regrettably, I have many foolish things to say to you, Starscream, if you could consider letting me express them.”

The gentle comment gets him the reaction he had been hoping for.

Starscream stiffens and splutters out something in Vosian that Skyfire is rather sure is profane, his wings flaring behind him. The quick cadence of the Seeker cant has Skyfire’s spark practically purring, gets his bio-circuits thrumming. It wasn’t often that Starscream let himself speak in his native dialect, and though Skyfire couldn’t quite understand it, its brisk intonations and rolling phrases too remote from Neocybex, it was something the shuttle appreciated all the same. “I am sorry,” Skyfire apologizes, then, though his accidental titter does not quite convey his regret all too well, “I only wished to indulge in you, Star.”

The apology, while laugh-lined, evidently placates the Seeker enough, as he settles and disdainfully says, “I don’t need apologies; you hardly rattled me at all. Wow. let me in. I need energon before I can head back to Vos, or I'll have to stop in Tarn to recharge and refuel, and that glorified garbage patch isn’t suitable for me. Flying through the Sea of Rust was already bad enough.” Skyfire hums in understanding: the Seeker’s gone on enough diatribes about how deeply he abhors the different, non-Vosian regions of the Lithium Flats to last a lifetime. Readily, he offers, “If Harmonex is more suitable to you, you could perhaps recharge here. It will be much faster to return to Vos by using the bridge from here to Axiom Nexus, and then you will not have to deal with the Rust Sea again. I have plenty of energon to spare.”

The gesture is not lost on the Seeker, and though he pauses for a moment before nodding, curt as ever. “Your residence will suffice,” he says, his terseness softened by the look in his optics. It’s not as if the shuttle is suprised, however, by this outcome. This dance of theirs, twisting as it always does, once again with Starscream spending the night. Indeed, like every other time, Skyfire beckons starscream in, big servo coming to rest on the smaller mech’s hexa-laterals as he steps inside. And, like every other time, he kindly ignores the way Starscream’s wings twitch and how his lipplates curve into the briefest of smiles. Such an observation had to remain a secret, though, since commenting on it wouldn’t do: Starscream would only mask that behavior, and it’s a sight that Skyfire is certainly not willing to lose. 

It’s of no concern to the scientist, though. It simply meant that his affections for his smaller counterpart would no longer be his only secret. 

The privacy of Skyfire’s residence shields the couple from stress of Cybertron, even if only for that singular night. There is only serenity and safety.

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[adonisnt]

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter TEN of twenty!!!

notes: OVER INTO PART TWO!!! omg im so excited this is where everything goes horribly wrong for starscream and skyfire. i am so excited for ygs to read part two this chapter is a transitional one so forgive me if its lackluster...

the song for this one? 'blood like lemonade' by morcheeba.

chapter below!

Archive 19112569185: Skyfire's memory log. Data Source: The Arctic, Now.

Like all things, the long dream eventually comes to an end. 

Skyfire’s out for patrol when he discovers enemy Transformers for the first time, those mechs clearly spying on the Decepticon base. They transform into their root modes easily enough when he confronts them, demanding their identity, and if they hadn’t exposed themselves as Autobots he would have certainly been more amicable to them. But those ignoble intruders give up their identities so immediately, and it is with that same immediacy that he responds, his spark crying out for action. And indeed does he act, blaster firing before he has time to think on it. His eye for precision keeps his aim true, even as the drawling red mech aims, fires at him.

Everything Starscream’s told him comes flooding back: how the Autobots fight unfairly, preferring to overwhelm lone ‘cons in petty ambushes using even pettier tactics, how they’ve no regard for sense or strategy––and, by and large, that seems to hold true as the Autobots suddenly retreat. Their cowardice is disgraceful at best, and his servos twitch as his defensive aims shift into something between vexation and outright anger. Those recreant mechs are no better than sparklings, stirring up trouble like that and fleeing; they had started the war first all those millions of years ago, had thrown the first stone back on Cybertron and, in doing so, countless Decepticons were harmed or worse. His star had been hurt. such violence could not be left unaddressed, and, for Starscream, the scientist would heed the call.

His pedes carry him across the frozen plains easily enough as he searches for those sparkeaters. They must be taken to Megatron to answer for their crimes––

His sensor displays alight in a multi-colored swath, a new audial input capturing his attention and drawing him away from that last ridge he’d needed to check. It’s one…no, two voices, his audials discern, two voices crying out for help by the waters below. The noises are so odd, shriller than the melodic intonations he knew once on Cybertron and far more guttural, with the phrases being a mismatched menagerie of crunching clumsiness and oblong, open coos. It takes his language modules a second to decipher what they’re saying, the translation software just a bit slower than he’d like after such a long period of disuse; the younger voice’s distress, however, requires no linguistic conversion, and Skyfire’s pace quickens as he goes to investigate the cries he’s hearing, even if he doesn’t quite grasp what ‘dad’ means. 

There is no space for a warrior when the scientist reaches the waters, the two beings stranded on a floating ice drift, and his thoughts of combat give way to his natural curiosity as he looks down to the little bodies. What fascinating creatures, they are! They look so eerily like Cybertronians do, a fact revolutionary enough on its own––did they model their design after a Transformer? Were they, too, crafted by Primus’ loving servos and clever mind?––but then he notices their flesh, the skin stretched over their tiny frames, and his spark lurches. What were such fragile beings doing this close to a battle, this close to drowning ? Eager to help, he reaches for them. They’ll be safer in his servos, he knows, and he carefully lifts them from the floe even as the older-looking organic says something or other about ‘big mitts.’ 

Whatever those are.

The shuttle’s confusion returns ten-fold, however, at the smaller one’s begging for him to let them go. Are his intentions not obvious? He’s not a mean or cruel mech; he’s only trying to help them. And anyway, Megatron had permitted him to continue researching and processing the data he and Starscream had acquired those infinite mellenna-vorns ago, and Starscream had promised him that he would not have to fight unless absolutely necessary. He would never do unjust harm unto anyone. But the organics keep pushing the matter, asking why he’d be a Decepticon if he didn’t have malicious intentions. Adamantly, he tries to explain the truth. But the little beings don’t relent, their ire worsening exponentially at his attempts to remedy their misunderstanding until the smaller being interrupts his clarifications. 

"They’re fighting to protect our planet,” the younger organic insists, “and all us humans.” 

The elder of the two nods, his little anger so insurmountable when he says,“Right! You Decepticons are the real monsters!” 

The idea is…at best, it’s delusional. Such a thing could never be true, for one. After all, Starscream was a Decepticon, proudly so, and his courted one would never dare to join a group of ‘real monsters,’ as the little ones put it; furthermore, he would never join a group that positioned itself against life, not in a trillion mellenna-vorns.

Then came the fact that Skyfire himself is not a blind follower. He’d never support a faction that demanded the superiority of one mech over another, nor a mob that coveted power rather than equality. Megatron and Starscream had told him what he had missed in the ice: how the Autobots defended the functionist regime, how that bright-eyed law enforcer of Iacon became the Prime through treachery and malignancies, a cancer eroding away at the golden beauty of their home world––a cancer that followed the exiled Decepticons to this Earth like rabid turbofoxes chasing down sheepitrons. He knew of the Autobots’ efforts to suffocate the remaining Decepticons by restricting their access to potential energon sources, and he was more than aware of how far those traitors were willing to go to eradicate those Skyfire held in such fond regard.

After all, he had seen the damage firsthand, the scars left that even the most skilled of medics could not eradicate. Starscream’s frame was a testament to the carnage the Autobots were capable of, and the aches and pains embedded so deep in his spark––while some of which were solely Megatron’s fault––spoke the truth of what that Prime’s war had done to innocent mechs. 

The organics must simply have been tricked. Swayed by Autobot propaganda, like Starscream had warned him. 

"No,” he rejects, frowning at the lies, “no, that can’t be true. I will prove that we are not evil!” And, helm held high, he carries the little ones back towards the base. They will see, he tells himself, that there is no need for fear. He, and Starscream, and all other Decepticons––they were not the enemy.

The truth is inescapable, after all.

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a/n: first ending author's note ahh!! part two also features Far more raw emotion b/c w starscream's section i wanted to focus on starscream's emotional dishonesty––how he can only really be honest when he's caught off guard or under extreme duress. skyfire's focus is on the full honesty of every situation. LIKE SKYFIRE is more emotionally honest than starscream ever could be, and his section is full of more introspection, while starscream focuses on things that match his perspective. if that makes sense. IDK i hope ygs can Feel the visceral differences between their sections as you read...

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter nine of twenty!!!

notes: so we are effectively at the halfway point of this story, sort of !!! this is the last chapter of starscream's POV, anyway....cute flashback. learned theoretical astronomy for this one. if u know what the OZT is actually referencing i love u so bad.......!!! the song for this chapter is "what is the light?" by the flaming lips.

chapter below!

Archive 1920118: Starscream’s memory log. Data Source: ???. Nine million years ago.

Content tracked to Sector 62141111212. 

“Starscream, have you ever seen anything like this?”

The question is one he has heard about twelve separate times from Skyfire––thirteen, now––and, much like every other time, a resounding no is the answer he gives. Despite having the correct frame equipment for space travel, he’s never been one to leave their world; before Skyfire, there was, quite literally, not a single thing beyond Cybertron was even remotely interesting to the Seeker. Yes, he had studied geo-biographics for a time during his younger years, but his function was not to be a scientist, and, with time, such fancies became only distant fantasies. But the spectacle before them was interesting, and he elected to slow his flight speed to better appreciate it with his courted one. The thing certainly looked interesting, though based on Skyfire’s less than subtle enthusiasm, ‘interesting’ was only a mild descriptor of the visually intense spectacle.

“Naturally not. what is that?” he asks, failing quite miserably to mask his amazement, and he elects mercifully to ignore the endeared laugh of the shuttle at his side when he explains, “This is what the Altihex-Uraya Fellowship of Cosmology and Astrophysical Excellence referred to as an Obscure Zenith Totality when discussing possible objects of interests with us during our thirty-first thesis defense and research proposal hearing. If you remember back to our time at Nova Cronum, you might recall the term spent on hybrid stars. That light there is the byproduct of a red giant star above a certain mass threshold colliding with, then later subsuming, a neutron star. At present, we’re witnessing that red supergiant’s absorption of a neutron star, which was likely triggered by––”

Starscream’s audials filter out the bulk of what Skyfire says, at that point.

Listening to the mech speak is enough to put the Seeker at ease, and his engines slip into a soft-purring idle as the shuttle relays astronomical principles well beyond Starscream’s comprehension. How Skyfire can recall any of this information is beyond him, and while he enjoyed hearing his partner's scientific soliloquies, his processor had been primed to only focus on four essentials his life: both aerial and personal superiority, political influence, and, most importantly, Skyfire himself. Theoretical cosmology and astrophysics had no bearing on Starscream’s life in any sense; his interest was minimal at best. Even in this particular case and to maintain perfect transparency, the broader universe was not among Starscream’s larger concerns despite the two of them, quite literally, exploring it at present. His sole objectives in this entire excursion were to, one, conducting his different surveys and, two, to keep Skyfire focused on the actual project. Really, he should be telling the shuttle now that they have to go, that they’re loitering for far too long watching strange phenomena––and spending too much energon in doing so.

Yet he does not interrupt Skyfire.

His courted one explains the principles behind the spectacle, describes the implications and intrigues of such an occurrence with an eloquence unrivaled, and Starscream contents himself readily with simply listening. Half of what the scientist says is still nigh-incomprehensible; if a mech existed with the same level of intellect that his courted one possessed, perhaps they’d be able to understand the lengthy words and niche terminology that Skyfire prattles off. That far-off glow does not escape his attention while the larger mech speaks, yet it is the adoration and awe in his tone that has Starscream’s spark ensnared even as he savors the sight before them all the more. Not that he’s surprised by that; Skyfire’s seldom failed to get him to slow down and admire the world around them, to appreciate the very cosmos enveloping them. 

Life, in all senses, was more worthwhile with Skyfire around. 

Granted, Starscream would never admit to such a thing. That bleeding spark nonsense was better suited to his partner anyway, and that level of vulnerability would be like pulling dentae with a stiff-jointed wrench and no sedatives. He had surely made great strides towards emotional honesty in any possible capacity, but sentiments and sincerely-spoken adorations were still not within his wheelhouse. Skyfire didn’t seem to mind his ineptitude in that regard, though, and his own feelings towards the bigger mech did not change even if they went unspoken. The Seeker still adored the way the scientist would go on his diatribes or the occasional accidental soliloquy, admired the faith his partner held in others, and his inimitable devotion to science, and his verbose tendencies, and a trillion other traits his equal held. 

As if remembering himself, then, Skyfire laughs off his unplanned lecture and says something about them resuming their journey. His modesty is, as usual, expected; that level of humility is just another regard in which the shuttle is without equal. Starscream lingers, though, then suggests they stay in a far softer tone than he’d have liked. Skyfire pauses in his flight at the request, though only a klik later he’s back at Starscream’s side, the two letting their engines rest in favor of simply observing the hybrid light that burns so terribly far from where they’re at. It gleams so resplendently in the cosmic expanse, the light mesmerizing as it flickers. The collision of the two stars is, plainly, stunning, the second-most captivating sight the smaller mech has ever witnessed.

To the wayside falls the stress of their work, the strange homesickness that tugs at starscream’s spark and the familiar impatience that burns in his fuel lines so hungrily. The reprieve brings a serene reunion of its own, and Starscream lets himself drift into Skyfire’s airspace, their wings nearly touching as they linger in the great unknown together.

The empty darkness of space, for that silent stretch, yields to the luminosity of that distant star, to the sight of two equals, two lovers.

prev. chapter. | next chapter.

[adonisnt]

you are a ridiculously talented writer!!’ never stop!

this made me tear up i love you random citizen

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter eight of twenty!!!

notes: 2 all of my hopeful skystar enjoyers....2 all of u that enjoy seeing them happy....this chapter is for you. HONESTLY one of my favorite chapters in the entire fic and genuinely one of my favorite excerpts that ive ever written. today's songs are: "nights in white satin (single ver.)" by moody blues" and "future past" by duran duran.

SO! chapter under the cut :] !!!

Archive 1920118: Starscream’s memory log. Data Source: The Arctic, Now.

The frozen ground is particularly loud under Skyfire’s larger pedes when the two make their way outside. 

He’s leading the way, already making observations about how much the Earth has changed during his time in the ice: how the surface they walk on is actually a granular snow, rather than the rigid crystalline ice he had collided with upon landing, how the organics––wildlife, he calls it––is drastically more evolved than the microbiota he had encountered so long ago. Skyfire’s gesturing with his usual passion, too, mellifluous voice elegantly twirling through air while his servos spread in emphasis on something or other. At the seeker’s silence, he pauses for a moment in his impromptu science lesson, smiling back over his shoulder to Starscream to ensure he’s focused before he resumes his discussion of organic development, all as if nothing has changed at all.

Then, to Skyfire, nothing had changed. Starscream’s torn between wishing his courted one knew the truth and praying to Primus that he never finds it out.

When Starscream manages to tune back in, Skyfire’s still going on.

“...I was online for nearly two chords after I landed, and, before my systems went offline, I was able to devise a hypothesis on the phenomenon of those wonderful lights above us. I believe you will find it rather interesting, Star,” the shuttle continues, looking heavenward, “I theorize that it is caused by fluctuations in the energy emission of this system’s star. As that energy mingles with compounds found in the space between the star and this world, it unifies into some sort of element which, in turn, likely collides with the atmosphere…” 

The words mean very little to Starscream, in all honesty. Sure, the lights are…pretty, he supposes, as he looks up to them. At least, they’re prettier with Skyfire saying they are, even if Starscream can’t particularly agree. His processor’s a bit stalled out with all that there is for him to perceive, and countless questions flood his circuits while his spark grows heavier in its chamber. In time, he interrupts, backtracking when he asks, , “You were awake for two chords?” 

The idea is sickening, at best. Starscream’s internals lurch as his processor tries to wrap itself around a truth he’d have been better without. Skyfire pauses, then, turning to face the Seeker with a confused look. “Yes,” he confirms, tilting his helm, “or, to be precise, my systems tell me that it was about two chords, though I do not fully recall what had occurred during the final solar cycles I was online for. Why? Is everything alright, Starscream?”

The conversation that follows is, decidedly, not alright. While unable to see himself, Starscream is fairly certain he looks as haggard and exhausted as he feels, that reminiscence on ancient hurt leaving his entire frame weary, down to his spark. Skyfire, however, looks outright distraught at the news, wringing his servos as he tries to digest the truth; the smaller of the two could not help but to wonder what was going on in that processor of his as the truth sank in. He knew firsthand how unwieldy grave realities could be, and the weight of an entire epoch is not an easy one to have lived through. So what did that burden feel like on Skyfire’s shoulders? Was it cumbersome? Did it eat away at Skyfire’s frame in the same way that prolonged absence had once eaten at Starscream’s? Did his spark chamber rust from within at the notion of having been left behind in time? Did Skyfire feel afraid, confronted by a wholly new sort of gravity, entombed in a time more alien to him than the very world they stood on? 

As he considers the grief of his once-courted, Skyfire’s visible upset worsens. Starscream’s never seen him look so visibly upset before, the pinch of his optic ridges and the distressed downturn of his derma bothering the smaller mech. Immediately and decidedly, it is not a look the Seeker likes to see on the researcher’s face, and he gingerly places a servo atop Skyfire’s own. 

“Forget the past, Skyfire,” he says plainly, “regardless of how brave and tireless my efforts were back then, and thanks to my brilliant idea to mine here in the Arctic, we are reunited now. Really, that’s all that matters.”

Starscream’s spark is far more overjoyed at the prospect than his words could ever indicate, though the commander keeps such a truth secret. Skyfire’s always known how to read through him––all too well, really; it’s not like he won’t be able to figure out Starscream’s feelings, and tender words have never been something he particularly cared to gift. Thankfully, the white mech seems rather delighted at their reunion all the same, and he shifts his servo in Starscream’s grasp to lock their digits together as they resume their patrol. Starscream fills the quiet with countless stories about his countless valiant escapades, his heroism and bravery in the face of Megatron’s despotic dramatics and endless years of Autobot aggression. Save for a few questions about Skywarp and Thundercracker’s respective wellbeings, Skyfire merely listens, gives the Seeker enough attention to atone for ten trillion years of absence––let alone nearly ten million. The two fall into their old routines readily enough, an unbearable age of separation all but an afterthought, a footnote in their thesis on one another’s company. 

It is as all things should be. 

Their connection is, once more and as always, only natural.

They pause in their vigil at Skyfire’s request, the two pausing so he can bask in the sun as they walk. Starscream hardly hesitates in his agreement; it’s not as if there’s anything to observe out here anyway, and Megatron’s useless directives are secondary at best to the aerial commander. They stand at one another’s side, servos intertwined still, plating pressed together in a weld most perfectly while the sun warms their chilled armor and eases the cold's grasp on their joints. In due time, Skyfire breaks the silence, his voice dulcet and kind as ever as he asks, “Are you happier being a warrior than a scientist, Starscream?”

“Yes! It is far more exciting,” Starscream insists immediately, wings flaring up in self-righteousness as he points up to Skyfire, “and one day, I––not Megatron––will lead us! And then you will be my second in command!” 

The notion is no novelty to the air commander: he knows that he is destined to be in charge, to be the monarch atop a throne of gold and grace, to be the ruler bearing the gleaming crown of righteousness and the ornate scepter of divine recognition. He is Starscream, the pride of Vos, Cybertron’s most excellent flier, the genius mind behind every Decepticon success, the greatest Transformer to ever be in the history of all things. Megatron could tear him down all he wanted, could try to contain the solar flares of Starscream’s spark; the fearful grasp of gravity could only ever birth a star, and the pressure of that foolish warlord’s reign would, in time, yield the incandescence celestiality of Starscream’s ascent. 

Skyfire’s newfound presence was not a hindrance to the Seeker’s envisioned victory. No, it was only natural that his courted one would become his secondary, would stand at his side and bear witness to the greatness that his reign bore. Being a scientist had been droll without Skyfire’s genius. No other had been able to equal his intellect and quickness, his unrivaled knowledge and surgical precision. Research was of no interest without his partner in all things and bore no significance––but, when Starscream ruled over all exactly as he was made to, Skyfire would serve as his right hand in all things: his chief scientist, the head of the science division on his reformed Cybertron, the executive head of the Institution of Deep Space Exploration, whatever he so wishes. Where Starscream leads, Skyfire will follow, and they will restore their homeworld at any costs, in any way they wish. 

Glory and victory will be inevitabilities under Starscream’s crusade towards greatness, and peace and progress will be left to Skyfire’s gentler sensitivities. 

He relays these plans unabashedly to the shuttle, drawing away from the mech’s hold so he can pace and gesture freely, servos wildly motioning and wings flitting and flaring as he speaks. For a fleeting moment, Skyfire’s awe and admiration seems to flick into something more confused, a look more surprised and concerned. But the worry disappears as soon as it comes, and the large ‘con seems placated, at least partially, when the Seeker says, “Times have changed, Skyfire, but when I lead with you at my side, times will change again for the better. We will rebuild our world without tin-headed failures like Megatron or that gaudy, weak-sparked Optimus Prime. We must simply bide our time under that Mega-moron’s reign for only a little longer, and when we overthrow him, I will lead us to success!”

In the silence that blankets the snowy plains, the only sound that comes is the quiet revving of Starscream’s now-excited engines and the soft cycling of their vents.

For a moment, it seems as if he has fully lost the white mech’s interest, his partner’s expression once more cautious, once more uneasy. However, the Seeker knows that expression of his rather well: the shuttle is likely just running through probability logarithms or contemplating inputs from his conflict circuits. The bigger mech will adjust, will see the reason Starscream’s presenting––and indeed, though Skyfire hesitates, he still stands tall, still the same determined bot he’s always been as he promises, “I am grateful to you for freeing me from my tomb of ice. I shall try to bring you credit.”

And, once more, it is Starscream and Skyfire.

Skyfire’s touch is dizzyingly gentle when he takes his Seeker’s servo in his own, digits interlocking and palms finding one another readily. Large digits tap against Starscream’s joints, occasionally flicking into the air, and though it has been a lifetime since the smaller mech had last needed to know chirolinguistics, the phrase Skyfire conveys is one he could never forget. “You, Skyfire of Harmonex,” Starscream comments, “are still too soft-sparked. Perhaps we should have your brain circuits evaluated; it seems the ice might’ve impacted your neurological functions far greater than I had anticipated.”

The half-hearted insult comes out too fond for Skyfire to even remotely be fazed by it; yes, the shuttle simply laughs, then repeats that same string of his, fleeting taps and quick digit-flicks sending electricity shooting through Starscream’s nervecircuits. The commander rolls his optics again, failing to fight back a smile when he answers, “Yes, yes, I know, Skyfire. No need to repeat yourself: it’s not as if my sentiments have changed. Honestly, I’m almost insulted that you’re presuming i forgot or changed my mind. I don’t need the reminder, and I’m sure you already know my position on the matter.”

“I wanted to remind you, Star,” Skyfire says, bending down and pressing his forehelm to Starscream’s own, “It has been far too long since anyone has told you anything that nice, I presume. It is the least I can do, since you and I are––”

The term goes unspoken, the sentiments known but unaddressed. Indeed, the researcher simply falls silent, instead drawing his courted one closer, large servo falling from where it had been laced so perfectly with Starscream’s in favor of delicately curling around the Seeker’s midsection plating. The touch sets Starscream’s spark into a shiver, undoes the feared commander in every possible sense, and his own free servo comes to rest on Skyfire’s chassis, digits basking in the warmth of the mech’s spark burning beneath that durable plating. The snowfall around them eases and, for a time, the only disturbance to the duo comes from the cry of snowbirds overhead and the thrum of their own bio-fields.  

Despite the frost licking at his frame, the frigidity feasting on his wings and backplates, there is a sun-lit spring birthing a fresh bloom in the center of his cold-constructed frame, cicadas singing between his neural circuits and hyacinths winding about within his thoraxal cavity. But such things are not to be tended to, not now, he decides; it is all too easy to lose the best things in life, after all. And so, Starscream does not let himself notice the fact that, for the first time since he lost Skyfire, he is genuinely happy again. 

The lights twinkle on behind them as they return to the mining shaft, reds and blues kissing one another across the backdrop of the night sky.

prev. chapter. | next chapter.

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter seven of twenty!!!

notes: ok starscream in this chapter is so silly. so jaded and judgmental but so easily soothed by his research partner that he definitely doesn't have feelings for. because starscream would never lie to himself or to others, and he definitely wouldn't catch feelings for the one mech he spends countless cycles with. OH btw the songs for this chapter r "once more to see you" by mitski, and "cupid de locke" by the smashing pumpkins. enjoy !!!

anyway! chapter under the cut :] !!!

Archive 1920118: Starscream’s memory log. Data Source: Altihex, Cybertron. Nine million years ago.

Though listening to Skyfire’s humming had been nice, the larger flier falls silent when Starscream’s voice comes cutting through. “They’ll never approve it if we leave this in this state, Skyfire,” he remarks, shaking his head at the other mech upon finishing reading the grant proposal he had written. “Their broken down, obsolete, data-fried processors could never see the genius of this, as brilliant as our work is. At most, they will see this as a project ‘best left to theory.’” 

While harsh, the truth is a much needed reality-check for the two bots. The two had already spent fifty-five full ano-cycles doing the preliminary research, seven meta-cycles working on their joint proposal, and faced twenty-six rejections––and six of those occurred in the last four orbital periods alone. Despite Skyfire's writing being articulate and objectively perfect in all important senses, despite Starscream’s arguments being concise and confident, despite the gorgeous thesis and the handsome methodology they’d devised, nothing was enough. Those gilded-grilled junkers wouldn’t be able to recognize quality work if even if Primus himself had crafted it.

The existence of such moronic motorheads was an insult to life itself, in Starscream’s blatantly correct opinion. 

Honestly, those absolute scrapheaps had one too many glitches in their retro processors to comprehend the enormity and merit of their project. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the critiques they offered weren’t even valid! Every effort they had made had been met with insufferable levels of scorn and snobbery from those pretentious, small-bearings clunkers. Worse still? Every correction they’d made in an attempt to appease said gearshafts had been dismissed without even a second glance. If not for Skyfire’s insistence on doing things ethically, he and Starscream most definitely would’ve been halfway through their expedition by now. 

As such, to say Starscream’s patience with the grant proposal board had grown extraordinarily thin would be an understatement of insurmountable proportions. 

But of course, his ire is tempered by the Monexian, a routine that had developed as of late. Starscream would grow displeased with whatever was the newest unfortunate object of his fixations, complain and seethe about it for perhaps far too long, and his counterpart would first commiserate, then soothe that foul temper. And indeed, in that expected display of his usual patience, Skyfire merely hums warmly at his partner’s sour attitude and answers, “I agree. The committees we have to convene with are too disagreeable for their own good, at times. Hm…ah! Perhaps you can help work in more assertive language, then, Star. You’re far better with the language side of things than I am, and the representatives from the Jhixian, Crystal City, and Nova Point academies seem to respond better to you than to me.” 

The compliments do as they’d been likely intended to: Starscream preens a bit at the notion of his excellence. Indeed, it’s obviously only natural that the Nova Point delegates responded better to him; his prodigiousness at that academy had rendered him a legendarily remarkable ‘bot, showcased him being a cut above the rest––and, in doing so, he had redefined the very essence of being the best of the best. He had later flourished at Crystal City’s institute, after he left Nova, and as for the Jhixians, well…that, too, was a given, seeing as his innate charisma preceded him. Readily does Skyfire’s flattery result in his scorn softening, his wings flaring at the indirect praise. He’s quick to skim the data pad’s contents again, making amendments as he sees fit, and pretends he does not feel Skyfire’s admiring gaze on him as he works. 

"Perhaps if, this time, we can appeal to the Vosian branch of the Energon and Spark Research Program, convincing the broader panel to agree should be laughably easy,” the Seeker muses to himself, thoughtfully running his servo along his jaw, “and if I hande the arrogant functionist glitch from Praxus so he can’t needle that slightly less incompetent duo from Uraya, you can cater to their gentler dispositions.” His processor’s firing at supersonic speeds, now, the thrill of social engineering getting his energon flowing freely. While using his cerebros for scholarly purposes is fine and well, putting his expertise into an affair of charisma fits far nicer into his own skillset in a way that has his entire frame thrumming with unmitigated enthusiasm. His wings even flare more the longer he devises different ways to achieve this new goal, a tell that he is too preoccupied to notice, let alone to mask.

Distantly he’s aware of Skyfire’s tender smile, though he bites back the warmth he feels over the gesture. 

Particularly because he’s not sure why he feeling so pleased over the shuttle’s approval.  

There’s no time to waste on the mysteries of the spark, however, and firmly he says, “Skyfire––pull up the maps again of that star system. I’ve an idea that is sure to get those afts’ logic circuits to function again after a trillion vorns of disuse; with my brilliant strategy, it will be impossible for them to deny your proposal––”

"Our proposal, Star.”

Ugh. That Pit-spawned nickname. He’s got half a mind to snap back and correct the shuttle’s willful shortening of Starscream’s designation: his name was not, nor would it ever be, simply ‘Star.’ Back in Vos, none would’ve dared to address him with such nonchalant casualness, which was exactly how Starscream liked it. He was a mech deserving of respect, not such laxity. But when he sees the Monexian’s optics gleaming with such sincerity, that contempt fades, even if only a little, into a mere background hum in his systems as that sky-colored gaze meets his own so earnestly. 

"…our proposal,” the smaller bot agrees softly, tipping his helm in agreement. How could he forget? Right. Skyfire had insisted that such niceties were absolutely imperative from the door. To Skyfire, everything was not just one of theirs. It was never just “Starscream’s,” nor just “Skyfire’s,” not anymore; no, Skyfire ensured they were equal in all things, even if Starscream did not always agree––especially when starscream did not agree. For Primus’ sake, though the scientist had devised nearly the entire thing on his own prior to ever meeting him, Skyfire’s eruditely envisioned exploration plan was, to the white mech, their research plan. Any attempts to dissuade such inclusivity were met with a semi-stern look, the gentle downturn of Skyfire’s dermas a look the Seeker inexplicably did not like. 

Not that he’d ever acknowledge that. 

…Well. If the work was to be theirs, Starscream supposes, then he’ll ensure this time that it goes perfectly. 

Right on time, Skyfire gets the documents back up on the holo-projectors, the overhead lights dimming in response, and begins his usual discussion on the cosmological coordinates of the little world he’d identified so many cycles ago. He’d heard the shuttle’s insight and reporting on that far-off planet a trillion times over across the duration of their work so far, though he once again does not interrupt, merely listens and chimes in with his own insights and tabulations to help guide the discussion. In this steady rhythm, thoughts shared freely and plans made prudently, the two hunker down together once more, their sagacious processors working in lockstep. 

Synchronized as always.

prev. chapter. | next chapter.

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter six of twenty </3

notes: okay waiiiit they might be so back...!! songs for this chapter r "back to the old house" by the smiths, and "flightless bird, american mouth" by iron and wine. ummm yeah things might just work out for starscream for once in his life (sorta)

anyway! chapter under the cut :] !!!

Archive 1920118: Starscream’s memory log. Data Source: The Arctic, Earth. Now.

When Starscream finds himself in the present again, it feels as if the permafrost and compacted snow beneath his pedes are cracking under the burden of his regret. 

“You knew him?!” Megatron snaps, disrupting the Seeker’s melancholic recollection. It is as if he’s not even there, though, as Starscream drifts closer to the monitor: never once does he avert his gaze from Skyfire to visually acknowledge the warlord. No, he remains devoted, fixed on the manifestation of his spark’s very purpose with a gaze of utter piety, even as he murmurs, “His name is Skyfire.” 

His spark constricts at the name. After not speaking of Skyfire for countless mellenna-vorns has him feeling ill, as if his gyroscopic navigational system has fallen into dysregulation. That thought has him sick, too, as his recollection program replays the countless times Skyfire had repaired his flight systems. Every plate of his aches as they remember the gentle grace of Skyfire’s touch, and every circuit of his thrums to the same frequency of Skyfire’s bio-mechanical field. Every last circuit of his had memorized Skyfire’s entirety and, now confronted with the shuttle’s presence again, Starscream knew no peace.

Skyfire, Skyfire, Skyfire. All he knew was Skyfire.

The name burns in his mouth, stings his glossa and taints his intake with the putrid corrosion of nostalgia.

A series of images flicker across the screen protruding from the white mech’s helm, capturing Starscream’s focus immediately. The two Decepticons watch the monitor’s display attentively, Starscream’s processor overcome with the weight of time as he recounts what had happened for Megatron: how he and Skyfire were once researchers together. How they found this miserable planet together. How, in the end, the other mech was lost to the hoarfrost and rime of Earth’s ice age. The words tumble forth, even as Megatron pieces together the timeline of when that bitter voyage had been and drones once again about the beginning of the war.

“And I circled half the globe for him,” the commander then concludes, his vocalizer strained, “But he was gone.”

The unending hail and pin-tipped sleet had eaten away at his plating, back then. For half a stellar cycle, he tried to scout out precisely where Skyfire had crashed. His ailerons had nearly broken, and one of his exhaust vents had become so impacted with frigid precipitants that his geographic sensors had overheat and went offline for a full chord. He had depleted his primary fuel tank fully and, when he had finally left for Cybertron to find help, his spark and his bio-circuits wound up failing on the way there. It took an entire deca-cycle for him to even regain half-functionality, and a second one for his tanks to begin retaining energon again, instead of expelling it. The grief had been disabling, then; now, aeons later, it still stings all the same, serpentine as it coils about his spark and sinks the acrid venom of regret into his chassis.

He knows that it is unbecoming, to be as emotional as he is about this; expressing even a fraction of this level of attachment would be a detriment to a ‘con’s reputation, let alone the level of care that Starscream barely conceals. Then again, even nine megaanums later, even in the midst of a war, a conquest demanding the end of all things, Skyfire is the only one that gets to him like this. For primus’ sake, if he could still cry, he’s sure that he would, because something at the very core of his frame crumbles as Skyfire’s optics reopen and relight. 

They’re as blue as he remembered them to be. 

“Starscream, it’s you!” Skyfire greets, his celebration untempered even with his vocalizer a bit staticky from disuse. Adoration so obvious in his tone makes Starscream’s spark cramp, and though he tries to look away from his courted one, his optics don’t manage to stray from Skyfire’s for long. Not now, not when Skyfire’s celebrating his presence, saying how Starscream’s ‘rescued’ him, not when Skyfire’s smiling at him as if its only been a few kliks since they last saw one another. 

The other bot is asking questions unendingly, and Starscream answers every last one while the vibrant star burning in his chest, his frigid spark, kaleidoscopes itself into an unending series of supernovae. Megatron’s presence becomes a distant threat as the Seeker moves closer to his shuttle, war-mongering servos gently tracing the silvery faceplates of the larger mech. If he touches too firmly, the illusion will dissipate, and Skyfire will no longer be his, will no longer be real, he thinks. But when Skyfire’s own servo comes to blanket Starscream’s, communicating countless confessions in chiro, the fantasy becomes a waking dream. He dips his helm towards his bonded one, closing his optics as their faceplates touch. 

“How long have I been dysfunctional?” Skyfire asks, and Starscream can only laugh bitterly, pulling away to see the researcher properly once more, and say, “Too long.” The answer is poisonous, miasmatic in his intake in its truthfulness. If only Skyfire knew how long it had been for him; the shuttle could not even remotely fathom the burden he had missed during his ice-bound incubation, and Starscream does not subject him to the torment of knowledge.

Sorrow could wait. Grief had no place here, not now. 

His attention is pulled back to the moment as Skyfire hauls himself to his feet, motions stilted and awkward after an eternity of disuse. Ge reaches out to brace the other mech, servos splayed to better catch him, though Skyfire seems to hardly notice the concern as he smiles eagerly at Starscream. It feels as if every other mech had disappeared in an instant, the cavern becoming a closet as the researcher cradles his cheek plate most affectionately. The irritation that quickly mounts at being touched so gingerly disintegrates under the light of Skyfire’s smile, and his pride devours itself in favor of indulging in the other ‘bot’s optimism. 

He even finds himself believing that things could work out when Skyfire enthusiastically promises, “It will soon be as it was again when we resume our scientific exploration!”

Then Megatron speaks, and Starscream pretends he does not feel that infernal charge of hope surging in his spark.

prev. chapter. | next chapter.

[adonisnt]

vide aurora borealis | meos amor aeternalis.

a skystar fanfic :] || chapter five of twenty!!!

notes: we r cruising along.....starscream being so uppity was so fun to write. and skyfire just being kind. ohhh skystar my darlings i love u i love ur dysfunctional homosexual tendencies...sooooo the songs for this chapter are "the spark that bled" by the flaming lips and "the boy with the thorn in his side" by the smiths.

anyway! chapter under the cut :] !!!

Archive 1920118: Starscream’s memory log. Data Source: Altihex, Cybertron. Nine million years ago.

“I did not expect to see you here today, Starscream,” he greets, welcoming the Seeker into his workspace readily.

And, readily, Starscream is not happy to be there. 

Despite the white mech’s promise to tidy, things are still in an unmitigated and rather unbecoming disarray. Admittedly, the walls being adorned with both several holo-projections of star maps and an unfortunately dizzying number of reduced-scale anatomical displays was fairly reasonable, given Skyfire’s academic and scientific pursuits. What was infinitely less reasonable was that Skyfire had covered parts of the window behind his desk and the entire backside of the door with data spreadsheets, so large that they overlapped enough to make certain sections incomprehensible. In that same fuel-line, and much to Starscream’s personal astonishment, there were piles of actual physical texts everywhere; worst still, an alarming few of those infinitely anachronistic and outmoded documents were in Neocybex. 

Granted––and according to Skyfire––the sight of Primal Vernacular should be less than surprising, given the historical nature of the subjects within. Some of those files apparently pertained to now-forgotten deep space navigational routes, star systems that had been discovered but unvisited, and species now long extinct. In this sense the archaic nature of those records, including their more…tactile nature, was relatively understandable and almost permissible in the smaller mech’s opinion. However, the vast majority were even written in non-Cybertronian scripts, a fact that Starscream found equally distasteful and fascinating. Worsening the mess still was the presence of several unkempt stacks of datadiscs, too, all scattered about as if they weren’t detailed, irreplaceable archival culminations of all of Cybertron’s knowledge across infinite generations.

Such a cluttered space was far from suitable, in the smaller ‘bot’s opinion. It was unsightly at best, really, and that’s him being exceedingly generous. 

That said, though, for a mech so large, it was rather admirable that Skyfire could move through the chaos so gracefully, navigating his way back to his workstation with a fluidity that Starscream is fleetingly jealous of. While Skyfire was at times about as featly as a Krystar iron-bear at best, the flowing movements of his seemingly cumbersome frame were regretfully optic-catching, and the warm smile that blooms on the bigger mech’s dermas has the Seeker turning his helm and scowling. 

What an annoyingly benevolent fool. How insufferable. 

"I’m not here for you,” Starscream answers, scoffing through his own lie, “I’m here because while you were off traipsing through the cosmos without a single thought in your oversized processor, I was being productive on our research––despite the fact that I have other, more important obligations outside of such irrelevant work. Thank Primus that I did, though, considering I found a significant flaw. I looked at our flight plans again, and I noticed some fuel mileage discrepancies between the currently allowed amount of energon needed and the actual quantity we’d require. This data needs to be perfect, Skyfire; we won’t last even a quarter of an astro-minute if we have a miscalculation.”

The winding and terse reply only pulls a laugh from Skyfire, the sound reverberating quite nicely in Starscream’s mind, and the shuttle answers, “Starscream, you have checked those numerical assessments seven different times in the last chord alone; I did check all of my communication alerts from you while I was away, really, and I read through your amendments, all of which I deeply appreciate. I trust that you have not lead us astray.”

Willfully, Starscream ignores the way such a simple ‘us’ gets his spark’s natural pulsing to intensify uncomfortably in his chassis. Instead, he snarks, “Let me refresh your processing, Skyfire, and remind you that my calculations are based on data you supplied me. Run the simulations again so I can evaluate the results, again. Anything less than perfection is unacceptable.” That, too, gets a laugh out of his research partner, and kindly he replies, “So you have told me, Starscream. Many times, in fact. Give me the rest of the cycle to review our current calculations more thoroughly, and I will run the simulation program again.” The Seeker glowers, sullen over the benevolence, and leaves with a huff. Might as well go recharge while the other ‘bot toils away.

When he returns the following day to check on Skyfire’s progress, he is extraordinarily displeased to find out from a note on the scholar’s door––not even from Skyfire himself! though, frustratingly, it's not as if Skyfire owes him an explanation––that the white mech is not there, but rather has gone to the Iacon Hall of Records. He nearly breeches his top speed, his flight deafening to some of the grounders as he races towards, then through, that pristine city, and when he inevitably catches up to his research partner, he’s irritated beyond compare. 

At least, he is until Skyfire lights up at the realization that Starscream is now next to him. 

“Star,” he greets, “what a pleasant surprise! I did not think that I was going to see you again until tomorrow. I am happy to see you.” A small flick of something solicitous nags at the multihued jet, though he’s quick to neglect those soft-sparked sentiments as he says, bristling, “As if it’s any real surprise. I’m here for my data, Skyfire. And it’s a good thing I am here; these wretched clerks here might not let you access the datadiscs you need without my clearance.” It’s a lie of an incredible caliber, particularly given that Starscream’s political standing is superseded here in the records hall by Skyfire’s academic credentials.

Not that Skyfire corrects him. 

No, he encourages Starscream’s lie, lets the smaller mech guide him to different hubs and server rooms. Even when Starscream misspeaks, the scientist only offers a gentle correction and a kinder smile; no admonishment or outright judgement comes, and his agitated wings settle under the shuttle’s grace. Naturally, the Seeker is not unaware of Skyfire’s perceptiveness, either. Only an absolute fool could be blind to such a thing, and while most Cybertronians did fit those prerequisite levels of idiocy, Starscream did not––though, in spite of being intelligent enough to recognize that needless nicety, he’s still definitely not going to comment on it.

It’s not as if he cares. Skyfire can spend his sensitivities on whatever he wants. It’s not Starscream’s job to be concerned with that sort of gentle garbage. Honestly, he’s not even remotely fazed when Skyfire profusely thanks him for his company upon their return to his worksuite back in Altihex. And, later that same day, when Skyfire shows up unasked at his private residence, bearing energon and a hearty smile, Starscream does not shoo him away. He’s a generous host, after all, and he’s more than capable of gifting his attention to the less fortunate.

Besides. The flight from Altihex to Vos was not a kind one. Granting pity to Skyfire was only natural, he told himself. 

"I have a presentation I would like to show you,” he says, dulcet voice pulling the smaller ‘bot from his thoughts, “on the findings of my most recent exploration. I think you will enjoy seeing the planet I found while I was ‘traipsing about,’ as you eloquently put it, Star.” Before he can think about what he’s doing, the Seeker finds himself stepping aside, welcoming the other mech in. There’s even a smidge less hostility in his tone than usual when he reminds, “It’s Starscream, Skyfire. Not ‘Star.’ And fine, I’ll listen to your lecture. I’ve already finished my other tasks for today; one additional chore shouldn’t be too difficult to manage.” His spark hums with an ardent fervor when Skyfire laughs at the remark. Starscream merely rolls his optics at the sound, snarling under his breath about the shuttle’s unflappable kindness, and Skyfire steps inside. 

The door slides shut behind them with a soft sigh, and the world passes them by in the quiet of the night.

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