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nn1895 · 6 months

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Quiet Fics: Garden

Garden

“We’re going out today,” Prowl announced, putting his empty cube into the spotless sink.

On the front room sofa, Bluestreak’s wings flicked.

“We are?” he asked, pushing himself up to see over the arm of the couch.

It was the first sign of interest in months.

Please work.

“We’re going to the garden shop to pick out crystals. Finish your breakfast.”

Bluestreak threw back his helm and chugged the cube.

0-0-0

Prowl was not, by nature, a nurturer.

Lead a desperate last ditch effort against impossible odds when the syndicate set its sights on Praxus? Absolutely.

Recategorize the ENTIRE file room because someone auto-sorted all the dates, but not the rest of the file? He had a hot cube of energon and a fresh packet of rust sticks ready.

Crack his entire pelvic casing in a high speed crash? A welcome sacrifice.

Mentor new recruits?

….he’d make sure to crash harder next time.

It wasn’t that he disliked younglings or cadets. He just preferred to let others deal with them during all of the awkward growing stages. Like the “shoot themselves in the pede” stage and the “I’m certain I can do everything on two hours of recharge” stage.

Then his cousin Spiral had been offlined during a routine surgery and there had been no one else to take in his grief-wracked sparkling.

So here he was, dead center in the “my whole world has crashed down” stage, with a sparkling he’d only met once at a family reunion. Absolutely every decision he’d made so far had been shots fired so haphazardly in the dark he probably wouldn’t know if he’d hit a target until the sparkling was an adult.

They stepped out onto the quiet street and transformed. It took a few tries for Bluestreak to maneuver behind Prowl, but it was getting less awkward each time they went out.

“The garden shop is on the other side of the city,” Prowl commed him. “I’ll let you know when we get close.”

He got a near silent, “Thank you, Uncle Prowl,” in return.

Towing was a new experience. And…not an unpleasant one. The (thankfully rare) times he’d had to tow injured enforcers had been spent trying to get them to let him drive.

The sparkling, on the other servo, was content to let Prowl pull him through the dense, Praxian traffic, without trying to steer or brake, wheels spinning freely.

Bluestreak had even less experience with it all than Prowl. It had been only a few days of cohabitating before Prowl had discovered that the sparkling had simply never been taken anywhere. It explained a lot.

The night of Spiral’s funeral, after Prowl had explained everything to Bluestreak, they’d stepped out onto the driveway and both frozen.

Prowl had absolutely no idea how to transport a sparkling that didn’t fit in his altmode and the sparkling wouldn’t be road-safe for several dozen vorns. He’d seem older sparklings towed, was this one big enough?

Prowl looked him up and down as Bluestreak pretended to be fussing with his mourning decals. Probably. Maybe if they went slow.

“I’ll transform here and tow you to the road.” Anything said with enough conviction became fact. “Transform behind me and I’ll engage the towline.”

The sparkling nodded, still trying to press out the bubbles from the black lettering across his forearm.

“Right.” There. Simple.

It was not, actually, simple.

The loud thump echoed over the soft crick-crick of the circuit-crickets.

“Sorry!” the sparkling nearly wailed after the fourth time he’d misaligned and rammed Prowl’s back bumper.

“It’s fine. Try again. Just a little bit back and over.” At least it was dark. He’d have time to polish out the scratches before anyone saw. Not enough to pop out the dents though…

Prowl was halfway to suggesting they try it the other way, but he was worried his sensors wouldn’t pick up such a small vehicle. He still had a patrolbot’s sensors despite being years off of a beat. They were meant to take more of a beating and be less sensitive. The thin, fluttery field of the sparkling was nearly invisible to them.

“O-okay.” Prowl heard the small wheels on the gravel shift and vented in relief as he felt the towline catch.

“Got it!”

“Yes. Good job, Bluestreak.”

The praise was automatic, but with the way Bluestreak’s field warmed, you’d have thought Prowl was awarding him the Primal Award.

0-0-0

Prowl stepped into the shop and he was slammed back into his sparkling days with the force of a zero-G take off. The two-story tall quartz at the back still towered over the ruthlessly organized seed crystals bins. Everywhere, flickers of multicolored light bounced and refracted into a hazy sheen. The smell of fertilizer and impurity packets coated his chemical receptors like cheap wax.

He’d forgotten how much he used to enjoy growing crystals.

“Uncle Prowl?” Bluestreak inched closer, his wide optics full of twinkling colors as he stared.

“We’re going to start a tabletop garden.” Should he? The sparkling might not want- what if -

Bluestreak’s wings flickered up and down as Prowl cautiously settled an arm around his shoulders.

“I don’t know anything about crystals,” Bluestreak admitted, but his doorwings were twitching more actively than ever.

“It’s not hard. First, we pick out a few seeds and a nice shallow dish. We’ll pick up some growth medium and some fertilizer. Depending on the crystals we might even be able to get some impurities to make them different colors.”

“Really? What kinds should we get?” He was actually leaning into Prowl! Success!

“I think we’ll start with a nice quartz mix - easy to grow, easy to keep indoors. These are the bins here. Pick whichever ones you like.”

Bluestreak stiffened against him. Scrap.

“They’re all good ones,” Prowl continued, pretending not to notice as he steered a now-reluctant Bluestreak closer. “Each crystal will grow well, even if it grows differently.” Prowl dug around in the bin of loose seeds. “See this one? That crack just means that it’ll branch there. It’s one of the smaller ones, but it’ll catch up. Now you pick.”

Bluestreak reached out and hovered his servo over the bin. His field flickered up and down Prowl’s in a mixture of dread, uncertainty, and the faint trust that had started to thread through it recently. He picked up a large, pale purple seed crystal.

“That’s a good one too. We need two more.” Bluestreak’s next choices - both clear quartz - were chosen a bit faster.

“Now we’ll pick out a dish.” Less dread, more uncertainty, a stronger vein of trust dividing them.

It was progress.

0-0-0

Prowl had only attended the funeral and the reading of the will because his creator had asked him to.

Spiral’s carrier had been his Aunt and his creator’s only sister. She’d felt some sort of obligation to have someone there “from the family” that Prowl just didn’t understand. His creator hadn’t even liked her sister. Prowl certainly hadn’t liked Spiral.

Prowl had attended the reading of Spiral’s will at the request of the lawyer who had seen him arrive and cornered him in the second entrance room. Apparently the reading was going to get heated and he wanted someone representing the other side of the law there.

More like he wanted someone to act as a bouncer that the funeral goers would think twice about before crossing.

Prowl didn’t think he had much to worry about. The kind of bots Spiral attracted were thin plated, stylish types with more insulation behind their optics than processor. Well, insulation and pure, black spite.

“-and to think I thought Spiral had such good taste!” one of them was saying loudly. Prowl took more fried energon balls from the buffet and wished he was out on patrol. Out on patrol in the shopping plaza. Out on patrol in the shopping plaza in the pouring acid rain.

“It’s positively tragic!” another bot agreed. They were criticizing their dead friend’s taste in wall art. At his funeral.

Like called to like, carrier had always said.

Prowl turned to grab another serving of the fluffy goodies when he caught sight of something small pressing itself into a corner.

It took him a moment to recognize Spiral’s sparkling. He was very thin and covered in mourning decals. Prowl vaguely remembered seeing him twenty - thirty? - vorns ago when he was just starting to walk and roll on his wheels. He couldn’t be that old then.

“And those drapes!” More high, brittle laughter and Prowl saw the sparkling flinch, his optics darting around the room. He was edging towards the doorway to the rest of the house. Ah. Prowl wouldn’t want to be here if he was the sparkling either. Who was even supposed to be minding him? It was cruel to leave a newly orphaned sparkling alone like that.

“Officer!” Scrap, the lawyer found him. “Officer, we’ll be reading the Will and Testament in a moment. Would you come with me?”

Prowl tossed his half full plate back on the buffet table.

0-0-0

Bluestreak was analyzing the two crystal garden dishes as if he was deciding which of his servo to cut off.

“This one is more sturdy,” he whispered, “but this one has better drainage. I like the color on this one more, but I think this one will match the crystals.”

It was the most he’d heard the sparkling say since they’d met.

“Is matching the crystals important?” Prowl asked, hoping to keep him talking as he shifted the weight from one arm to another. His arms were weighted down with growth medium, impurities, seed crystals, misters, and two beginner care books.

“Of course. Everything you bring into your home is a statement about your taste. You wouldn’t want something in your hab to clash. What would bots say?” Bluestreak answered with frightening automaticity. Then he flinched. “I mean…”

Prowl had seen Bluestreak’s mouth move, but the words were all Spiral, the fragger. He had enough time to lecture his sparkling about ‘taste’ but not enough to tow him to the nearest playground?

“I’m sure Sergeant Strongarm appreciates your consideration. Next time she visits we’ll point out to her that we selected this dish to match the patches on the wall AND the stain on the kitchen floor.” That startled a laugh out of the sparkling. Finally!

“Visits? You mean next time she drags you home from work?”

There! A twinkle of mischief!

“Same thing. I think you should get this one,” Prowl said, tapping the teal dish. “You said you liked this color better. Me too.”

“Okay. Now we’ll go buy them?”

“Yes.” Prowl took the rejected dish and set it back on the shelf.

“Did we get everything?”

“I think so. If now, we can always come back.”

“Hey, Uncle Prowl? Why is everything so damp?”

“They spray the crystals in the morning. It helps them grow and makes them shinier so bots will want to buy them. Here hold this.” He handed Bluestreak the lighter bags and took the teal dish.

“How do you know so much about growing crystals, Uncle Prowl?” he asked as they wove through the aisles.

“I used to grow them before I left home. My creators still have a few of my larger gardens.” He got to hear them complain about them every time he called.

“Really? Why did you start growing crystals?”

Prowl was thrilled with each question. “I needed something to do in the evenings that wasn’t too expensive and my creator got me a datapad from the library about crystalology. When I grew my first citrine I decided to -”

0-0-0

Prowl looked around, keeping the contempt in his field tight against his frame, letting the boredom leak through. There were certainly more bots here than he’d seen at the funeral itself. He was going to stay in the back, against the wall, in case any of them were spitting actual acid.

“WHAT! I put up with his disgusting jokes for two hundred vorns and all I get is the vintage Lunar collection?! I bought half of those pieces for him!”

“If you expect me to accept a third - A THIRD - of the Chrome Enterprises account then -”

“What do you mean he didn’t leave any money for the remodel? I’m scheduling the dumpsters right now to throw out these tacky paintings and those cheap rayon rugs.”

“Those are my paintings and my rugs you glitch! I SAID I’d get them in the morning!”

“PLEASE! QUIET!” the lawyer shouted from the table in the front. “You may not throw away anything in this house until everything has been distributed to its recipients. I can arrange an emergency moving service if necessary. Anyone caught interfering will be removed from the premises and charges brought against them.” The bots grumbled, but quieted down, claws out and poisoned words at the ready.

“Moving on. All of Spiral’s bank accounts have been transferred to his creators except for the joint ones which will be transferred to the other name on the account. As stated, you have a week to collect the physical items from the house and the bank will be expected you for the items in his safety deposit boxes.” He leveled a knowing glare at them. “The bank WILL be checking IDs.

“Furthermore, any custody of the mechanimals in the menagerie needs to go through the WildLife Preservation society. Once you sign, you are responsible for transport, housing, and feeding. There is no stipend.”

“If there aren’t any questions, we can move onto the land deeds and then get your signatures on the paperwork.”

“What about the sparkling?” someone asked.

Oh. That had been him.

The lawyer squinted at him and looked down at his notes.

“Officer Prowl? Well, it looked like Spiral didn’t say anything about him. If no one wants to take him in I guess we’ll call Sparkling Services. That is the correct procedure, yes? I’ve never dealt with custody cases.”

All helms turned towards Prowl who had also never had anything to do with custody cases, but he’d be damned if he let that show.

“I’m sure it won’t come to calling SS,” Prowl said, scanning the bots in the room. “If Spiral didn’t make arrangements then the next of kin - “

“Pit no! I don’t want a sparking.” Spiral’s brother.

“There have also been cases where family friends have -”

“What? I don’t have time for a sparkling.”

“Spiral wasn’t that good of a friend.”

“I’m going to one of the moons this week! I don’t have time -”

“Doesn’t he get some sort of maintenance check or inheritance?” called a sulky young mech in the front who hadn’t gotten anything in the Will.

The lawyer clicked through the Will again. “No, it doesn’t say anything about provisions for descendants. Spiral didn’t arrange any inheritance either. I guess his upkeep will fall on his new guardian.” He shrugged and then turned to Prowl again. “Will you make the call after the funeral? The house will need to be packed up and distributed.” There was nothing in his tone that indicated the sparkling was any different than the tacky wall art or the cheap rugs.

Prowl’s processor spun through the scenarios as the crowd settled. If Bluestreak didn’t come with an inheritance, money or land, then he was valueless to these bots. Given the lengths Prowl had seen others go to, he decided that was probably a good thing. No tragic accidents or quick arranged bondings. But SS was already overloaded and it would be easy for a quiet, sheltered sparkling to be swallowed up by the system. He didn’t want to make that call.

Prowl scanned the room again…

…family, friends, business associates. None of them gave a damn about Spiral and none of them would take in his sparkling -

- his pale opticked, thin fielded sparkling.

“No need,” he heard himself say, before the thought had fully formed, “I’ll be taking him with me once everything is arranged.”

0-0-0

Prowl watched as Bluestreak carefully unpacked everything from their shopping trip and set it on the table.

“What do we do first?” he asked, sounding like a normal sparkling for once, excited and eager.

“We’ll put the medium in first and then you’ll figure out how you want to arrange your crystals. This is a tabletop garden so we can put them closer together.”

They poured the medium together to keep as much of it off the floor as possible and Bluestreak started flipping through one of the datapads for layouts, asking Prowl’s opinion on each one.

Then, somewhere between choosing a layout and showing Bluestreak the trick of mixing the impurities in the mister, Prowl’s world rocked and resettled.

He lifted his helm and looked around his tiny habsuite.

He had a table and chairs now, because they couldn't both eat on the couch. It was tucked into the corner with a pile of goodies they’d bought yesterday driving home from the grocery store.

He’d finally nailed up those shelves to hold all of his mystery novels and Bluestreak had shyly set his own beginner readers up there.

The kitchen stain would be gone by next weekend - Prowl had bought the cleaner - and he’d set aside money to paint over the patchy gray walls. He’s planned on picking the color together.

In a few minutes they’d have a fresh crystal garden to add to it too.

“There!” Bluestreak set the final wire in place to hold that first cracked seed crystal up against the taller amethyst. He grinned up at Prowl and Prowl found himself smiling back, his spark spinning dizzily.

“It looks great, Bluestreak. I can’t wait to see it grow.”

I can’t wait to see you grow.

Bluestreak’s face lit up. “You think they’re really going to grow?”

“You did an excellent job. They’ll do fine.” That bloom of warmth again, a warmth Prowl finally recognized. It had been coming and going in Bluestreak’s field since that first night -

They’d arrived at Prowl’s tiny, barren habsuite in the early morning hours. The street was empty - too early for anyone in his part of town to be up - and still dark. He could see his trash bins tipped over in the side alley, waiting for the garbage trucks. His downstairs neighbor had left her holovision on again. He could see the faint reflection of the news program on her window.

The familiar place had not brought the comfort Prowl had hoped for. Instead a cascade of doubt, failure, anger poured through his spark. What was a bot like him thinking about bringing a sparkling - a sparkling! - back to this facade of a home. He could barely handle the grown recruits, this was a young, grieving, vulnerable sparkling.

“I’m sorry,” the sparkling whispered and Prowl realized Bluestreak was shaking.

A young, grieving, vulnerable sparkling standing on the sidewalk, in a place he’d never been, after driving all night, the day of his creator’s funeral.

“There’s no reason for you to apologize,” Prowl said, trying to gentle his tone. This was impossible. He was called gruff on a good day.

“I know you didn’t want to take me. Creator said no one would.” The sparkling’s shoulders hunched tightly up around his helm. “I heard all his friends at the funeral. I’m sorry you won’t get any money for it.”

Prowl felt all the indecision drain from him.

Blinding rage would do that to a bot.

He vented.

“No…I’m glad to do it, Bluestreak. I want you here with me.”

“You don’t have to -”

“I don’t have anyone,” Prowl interrupted. “I’m glad to have you with me now. Very glad, Bluestreak.” Oh. He didn’t know his voice could sound like that. “I hope you’ll be happy here. With me.”

Bluestreak hadn’t answered. He’d reached out and taken Prowl’s servo and followed him up the stairs and into the habsuite with its single table, single second-servo couch, and pitiful kitchenette.

Bluestreak hadn’t let go of Prowls servo until he’d fallen into recharge on the lumpy couch, leaning up against him, both pretending to watch the holovision as the sun came up.

So Prowl was not a nurturing bot, but he was trying to learn how to be enough of one for Blue, because he deserved better than what Spiral had given him and Prowl would be damned if he failed like that.

#transformers fanfiction #transformers prowl

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nn1895 · 7 months

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Parking this idea

-right here and not touching it (!!!) until I get all the other ones done.

Prowl is a former military cop removed from his position due to burn out. He is placed as Principal of a very poor school with the idea that he’ll stay in his office, collect a government paycheck and kick back until retirement.

Prowl is VERY bad at kicking back and collecting a pay check. He’s also terrible with others. Luckily the new substitute music teacher is charismatic, well loved and very good at seeing past Prowl’s prickly tactless exterior.

Together they fix problems, make friends, terrorize government officials, and fall in love.

#jazz x prowl #transformers fanfiction

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nn1895 · 8 months

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I am clean, the laundry is clean, the bed is clean, we are all consenting. I'm going to sleep with the laundry tonight and we can deal with folding in the morning.

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nn1895 · 9 months

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Nobody move! The muse is thinking about returning and we don’t want to scare him off. I’m going to bring him offerings of ambient soundtracks and fancy tea mugs. Wish me luck.

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nn1895 · 9 months

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A Year of Moments Optimus/Elita Drabbles - July

Enemies to Lovers

“Fraggit – move your shoulder!”

“I am trying not to crush your legs. Hold on –“

“I can’t hold on! Your stupid plating in smoother than a zero-friction track! Who the slag does your waxing?”

“Are–are you complaining that I am too well polished?”

“Yes!”

“You weren’t complaining a few minutes ago when it was all, ‘Yes, Optimus, yes!’ and complimenting my –“

“Shut-up-shut-up-shut-up! I heard someone! If anyone finds out I clanged Goody-Two-Pedes himself in a closet –“

“The Global Peace Initiative would not be happy to find out about this either. Not after your speech on space-mounted missiles.”

Vacation Together

Primes…couldn’t go to public beaches. Or amusement parks. Or even nice, slightly out of budget restaurants. There wasn’t a great deal of time either.

He still wanted to.

“Do you – do you like it?” he asked as soon as Elita-1 walked in.

It wasn’t much – he’d bartered for the beach soundtrack and bribed Mirage for the fancy fuel. Jazz had hung the mini-holoprojectors to mimic twilight in the Crystal Gardens and Prowl had lent his tabletop garden.

“I thought, since it’s our anniversary and we –“

He offlined his optics as she stepped into the circle of his arms.

“Yes.”

Power Swap

But Optimus wasn’t here. She stared out at the wide, fearful optics – the civilian optics – and her engine stalled.

“I’m sure you are all –“ a sparkling wailed, a rough voice hushed it – “I mean, it’s been…”

Stir up a fervor in new soldiers? Done. This…

Lend me your magic words for a klik, Orion.

A flash of memory rose up– a late cycle, a stubborn rust infection, bills racking up, Orion’s servos –

“I know you are tired and empty and scared. Lean on each other - we can carry more weight together. I promise you – everyone’s going home tonight.”

“Batman won’t like this”

“Batman won’t like this.”

“Stop calling Prowl Batman.”

Stars

“Coming!” Elita punched the button and put on her ‘greeting fans’ smile as the door slide open.

“What can I sign for –“ she started and realized she was talking to a chestplate.

“Um, it’s to, ah, Optimus?” the chestplate rumbled hesitantly and she looked up into the stunningly blue optics of the Prime, his Holiness, the Sacred Conduit.

He was holding out a holo of her in one of her sparkling movies – The Little Merformer.

“Of course!” She fumbled the holo. “Sure…yes!”

“It’s,” his voice dropped and he glanced at the bodyguard to his right, “it’s my favorite movie.”

Coffee Shop

This wasn’t the cozy energon café she’d been envisioning most of the war. The only space she could afford was between a Real-estate Agent and a steel manufacturer. The cobalt paint she’d thought was so pretty looked like the inside of a dirty cube. The delay of the sign meant the shop still claimed to sell novelty horns.

She had also burned every cube of energon she’d made.

Currently, the only customer was an addled librarian who came in like clockwork because it was “on his way in.”

What an idiot. The Archive was in the opposite direction of –

Oh.

#optimus x elita #YOTP 2023 #transformers drabbles

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nn1895 · 10 months

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Read the first sentence of a new book and wanted to whip out a red pen and FIX IT. Returned it to Hoopla and opened my draft instead. 😭

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nn1895 · 10 months

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Doc: So you think the meds are working?

Me: Yes. When I take my meds and go into the kitchen to do dishes, I do the dishes. Today, without meds, I got sidetracked.

Doc: What did you do?

Me: I made a pie.

#adhd brain

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nn1895 · 10 months

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There is something very real and very whole about being driven home at night and watching the rain and lightning outside the window. It’s a little bubble world and it connects me all the way back to little me in the car, after going out to dinner.

#rain

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nn1895 · 10 months

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A Year of Moments Elita/Optimus Drabbles - June

Wedding/proposal

“- and I’ve got a great view of the river!” Orion Pax enthused, lifting another box down.

“Sounds great.” Ariel wrote down the recipient and tried to keep her smile in place. “Soon you’ll be out of this job and in the archives, yeah?” - and lightyears out of my reach.

Orion was still talking as he loaded it.

“And – since I’ve got my own place now - and there’s that promotion down the line – and I’ve got a bit saved up for things – I think we should bond,” he said in a single vent, keeping his back to her.

Saving the World

She told everyone it was for extra credit in science. Really, it was to make sure slag-for-brains Pax didn’t sink into the Sodium Swamp and drown.

“Look! It’s got toadlets!”

Pax was leaning over a wriggling puddle.

“Aren’t they cute?” he asked, gazing down affectionately.

“Yeah, cute,” she said. He was going to topple over. “Pax, your pedes are sinking again –“

“Oh! Oops.” He lifted them with a loud sucking sound and trudged forwards. “That’s six endangered species we’ve marked down! They couldn’t possibly build on it now!”

She followed grudgingly.

“Yeah, Pax, we’re saving the whole fraggin’ world.”

(accidental) love confession

Decked out in temp paint and stencils, a false visor, and miles away from the base, Elita-1 waited in line, clutching a fresh copy of Eternal Spark.

Hers was dented and scuffed to Pit. She couldn’t ask Optimus Prime to sign that.

She rehearsed in her processor - “I love your books. You’re my favorite author.”

I was drowning until I read your novels. They were my light.

“Please make it out to Lita.”

If you believe in love like that, maybe I can too.

She reached the front.

Optimus smiled.

“I love you. Make out with me.”

SCRAP.

He grinned.

“You aren’t what I expected”

This was the Prime? The divine mech she was honor-bound to defend?

His frame DID bristle with weapons and his helm DID brush the ceiling, true. Holy light softened the lines of his face and his optics blazed with purpose.

It was just that he was holding a tiny, jelly-coated truck, miniature wheels spinning excitedly as the Prime gently scolded.

“That’s naughty, Dion. We don’t – oh.”

“Hi.” Elita-1 subtly subspaced the Starsaber. Not like she could offer it to him now with his servos…full.

“I’m supposed to accept your fealty today, aren’t I?”

“Yep.”

“Sorry. This is unprofessional.”

“No…just unexpected.”

“Downpour”

Earth held many miracles. They had new friends and allies. A hopeful future.

Today, he watched Elita discover the humans’ painless version of acid-rain – a sun-shower.

She laughed and offlined her optics, tilting her face upwards. He could hear the tiny droplets pinging off her helm and the fine mist threw rainbows across her plating.

He stepped towards her, the puddles beneath his pedes warm as bathwater where they pooled on the hot tarmac.

She turned to him, optic still dark, and smiled.

“Water is their energon?” she asked, her English accented with Iaconian. “Their life-fluid falls from the stars?”

Soulmate AU

Elita-1 smacked her helm into the wall, ignoring the guards’ odd looks – they’d hired her to lead the new Prime’s security – you want a “vicious Kaonite warrior” you got one – and tried to shake the sting from her digits.

Her sparkmate was definitely in Iacon. Once was a fluke, but every time she’d ended up here – trade treaties, mercenary contracts, guarding idealistic younglings around this soft-sparked city – she felt the phantom sensations of her sparkmate’s servos.

They’d smacked them fraggin’ hard against something.

BANG! A guard tumbled in.

“Red! Optimus tripped over his pedes again! He broke the Primal Scepter!”

#optimus x elita #YOTP 2023 #transformers drabbles

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nn1895 · 11 months

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So it only took me *mumblemumble10monthsmumble* a while to make an appointment! I am now officially 2 hours into my first dose of ADHD meds as an adult! I’m a bit excited and a lot terrified.

Also, I have a headache because I was too scared to drink coffee before taking the meds and I have a chronic caffeine addiction.

Frankly Dr, I think the fact that it’s taken me so long to call you back should be used as evidence for my ADHD evaluation.

#adhd

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nn1895 · 11 months

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A Year of Moments Elita/Optimus Drabbles - April

Pranks

“I think it’s your color,” Elita-1 sniggered, trying to muffle herself with her servos.

“Quite.” Optimus shook again and more bright pink clouds fluffed up around him. “I think it is more your color.” He glared at the sabotaged vents. “I have a cleaning kit in my office.”

“All the better,” she said, dragging a digit through the chalk as they walked. “Now everyone will know who has claim on you.” She grinned.

Optimus nodded.

“In that case, love, please step into my office, through the door, don’t mind the –“

Splat!

“Oh, dear. What a lovely shade of blue.”

Canon divergence

Orion… Where was he? Where was she?

Wait… Something was off…

Who was she? No…who had she been? Her name -

Arise, Elita Prime.

Frag.

Elita Prime, Matrix bearer, onlined her optics to Orion above her, frame blocking the shower of ash from the fire. Pieces teased out of her memory core – transporting something important, an attack by strange mecha, Orion on the ground, leaking –

“Orion! Primus, are you okay? He – he stabbed you!”

Orion smiled, half manic. “Scrap, Ariel, I thought you were dead!”

She shook her helm - didn’t correct him. Not yet.

There would be time later.

Unrequited Love

If Prime got any stiffer, they could laminate him.

“-which concludes my repot,” she finished.

“Thank you.” Prime barely nodded before moving on.

She’d just completed a successful mission and this was his response? Stupid Prime, stupid pretty optics and stupidly open –for everyone else- spark.

She remained after, fuming.

“Elita-1,” he started. She invaded his space.

“What’s your problem? Have I insulted you?”

“No,–“ He looked around frantically.

She stepped closer. “Do I annoy you?”

His optics widened. He stumbled -put out a servo-

“I am endeavoring to remain professional! P-please step back!” He seemed…scared? No.

Flustered.

Oh.

"no, i'm not dating your brother"

Elita-1 loved Ultra Magnus like a brother. She was thrilled he was “forming new relationships” and making friends.

She just wished they hadn’t fallen for the same bot.

Late nights. Hushed conversations. Clasped servos. A hurried “You can do it, Prime,” this afternoon as they parted.

Optimus was beautiful. She couldn’t blame him. She could only wait and hope her affection weakened - and drink tonight with Chromia.

“Ah, ahem?”

She looked up from her lunch.

“Prime? Sir?”

He shifted his pedes, servos clasped tightly.

“Would you – I mean – do you like museums?”

“But, Ultra Magnus –“

“-said you did?”

Peace

The ship was utterly still, except for the faint, unstressed rumble of the engines. Each step Optimus took split the frozen air like an axe.

He hasn’t been off-world since the end of the war. The clean hallways of the research vessel were overlaid with the damaged walls of the Arc. Was there no place free of this biting, stinging nostalgia?

He stepped into the shuttle bay. Ah… he wasn’t the only restless bot.

“Elita.”

“You too?”

“Yes.”

His warrior sparkmate looked awkward amid the detritus of a science ship.

“Don’t think peace…suits me anymore.”

“Well, this is good practice.”

University AU

It is a universally understood truth that a Library Science Major is in want of a split PoliSci-Engineering Major to lure them out to parties.

It is expected that the Library Science Major will drink far too much high grade and start talking excitedly about Ancient Filing Systems with any bot that stands still long enough. The PoliSci-Engineering Major will inevitably find this adorable.

Circumstances will contrive to draw the Library Science Major to the attention of nefarious bots.

Fate will draw the PoliSci-Engineering Major to his side to –

-watch as he frowns and punches them.

Which is still adorable.

#optimus x elita #YOTP 2023 #transformers drabbles

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nn1895 · 11 months

Text

A Year of Moments Elita/Optimus Drabbles - May

Flower language

Most bots had delicate blooms painted across their plating for the festival – wheel-wheat flowers and uranium-geraniums. Optimus himself was decked out in overlapping laserlillies to symbolize his message of peace and the purity of his intentions - even if the only bots to see it were his fellow rebels.

The femme that approached him now had only a single, bloom over her sparkchamber – a black-optic’d cesium. The subtle yellow and black outline was wire-thin.

“Why have you asked for an audience, Elita-1?” he asked. That flower…

“I heard you stand against the Senate.” She grinned, fangs barred.

Ah. Black-optic’d cesium.

Justice.

Sick fic

It wasn’t fair.

Optimus rolled and pulled the blanket over his aching helm. They’d been back on Cybertron for barely a vorn and he caught a virus. Sure, plugging into the ancient database in Kaon had been risky, but he didn’t deserve THIS as punishment.

Primus, if his internal temperature gauge fluctuated again he was going to –

The door to his berthroom banged open.

“You slagger,” Elita-1 growled. She flung herself down beside him, optics flashing static. “Got me sick too. It’s not fair.” She burrowed against him, shivering.

Well, at least I’m not alone, he thought, pulling her closer.

Pet acquisition

Elita-1 was acting…oddly.

She hadn’t complained about his datapad hoard collection in weeks. She’d been leaving her grenade launcher at work instead of the front room. They’d had Optimus’s favorite fuel three times in the past week. She’d taken him to the theater and sat through “Love, Fractals” without groaning at the soppy dialogue.

She was laying it on thick.

He still hadn’t told her that the turbohound puppy she’d been hiding in the backroom had accidently introduced itself three weeks ago. He wanted to see how long he could get bribery AND secret puppy snuggles before she told him.

“Who are you”

She’d been in the cells…how long? She was so thirsty.

“Tell me again…” she wheezed, “about this ‘team’ of yours that’ll rescue us.”

“Jazz will have tracked me by now,” the voice said, strong, confident, a little bit thinner than it had been yesterday. “He’ll try infiltration first. If that doesn’t work, they’ll attack directly.”

“They?”

“Ironhide, Bulkhead, Cliffjumper, Arcee…”

She closed her optics and scooted closer to her new cellmate’s wall.

“And who are you, to have so many bots looking for you?” she asked, vocalizer cracking with disuse.

“Me? I’m not important. I just have good friends.”

Sunshine

“Elita wake up.”

Something nudged her.

Primus, she was going to have to kill him, wasn’t she?

Late nights soothing crisises of faith, foiling assassinations, light account keeping – all expected.

Optimus Prime, 327th Prime, Lord of Cybertron, Guardian of the Spark of Cybertron, delightedly dragging her around his own palace to translate the ancient glyphs – unexpected.

“Elita, you have to see it!”

Poke. Poke.

Murder it was then.

“Yes, my Prime?”

“Look!”

She onlined her optics, but didn’t lift her helm from the berth.

“What?”

A thin golden line was widening across Optimus’s face.

“We’re going past a yellow star.”

Fantasy

“And you’re going to follow me around until I make three wishes?” This – THIS – was why discount sales were dangerous. Sometimes you bought live ordinance and sometimes you bought enchanted jewelry – he called it a ‘Matrix of Leadership’? – that talked.

“I am yours to command until I grant your last wish, Master” the giant – mostly blue – mech said, bowing.

“Just Elita is fine. Wishes…can I just wish you free and be done?”

The mech stared at her. He blinked slowly.

“Well…you could, yes. But don’t you want –“

“No time. I have meetings this week. I wish you free, Optimus.”

#optimus x elita #YOTP 2023 #transformers drabbles

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nn1895 · 1 year

Text

Good Company

The world was scrapping at him like a paint blaster set on high.

Don’t stop.

Prowl hurried through the crowded main room of the station. It was so loud.

“I need another copy of –“

“What the frag do you mean you didn’t finish it –“

“- ba da de, buy Fresh Wax products! They –“

“-for only the first three –“

Don’t stop.

Rage was shifting under his plating, curling up in the back of his helm, shivering through his digits. He wanted to put his fist through the wall.

“Captain Prowl!”

Bluestreak.

Prowl stopped and turned. Bluestreak – young, happy, clever – was waving him down.

Go away.

“Captain, sir, do you have time this afternoon to help me with those reports again? I’m worried I’m inputting the data wrong.”

“I have already – “

Stop.

Prowl vented slowly. Everything about Bluestreak, in that moment, was annoying. His helplessness, his enthusiasm when Prowl was wrung out, the faint bounce in his step.

“Of course, Bluestreak. I’ll move my calendar.”

Bluestreak smiled.

“You’re the best, Captain! Thanks for helping me so much. It’s been hard, after, well – “ he trailed off, his optics dimming.

“Of course.” Beyond words, Prowl nodded and began to walk away.

“Hey, Captain Prowl!”

Smokescreen was coming towards him.

Don’t stop. Get away.

“Smokescreen. I don’t have time – “

Smokescreen was waving his servos – grinning, relaxed, always-had-a-joke – and settling back.

“I’ll be quick. Hey Blue! If Commander Radar asks about the accounts –“

“They were due two days ago,” Prowl interrupted, briefly confused. They were supposed to be done.

“Yeah…” Smokescreen smiled more. “I’m a little behind. Cover for me, will you? I’ll get them done tonight! Swear! Oh scrap.”

Smokescreen spun around and was lost in the swirling crowd of bots changing shifts.

“Captain Prowl!”

Stop saying my name.

Commander Radar.

“Yes, Ma’am?” She came from his right – her office.

He was so tired. He just…couldn’t.

Commander Radar was frowning before she got close.

“Prowl, I need you to be on top of these things,” she started without explanation. Prowl blinked and curled his servo tightly into a fist behind his back.

“Ma’am?”

“I know it’s Smokescreen’s job, but it’s your responsibility. They need to be done by tonight. No excuses. If you have to make him stay late, then do that.”

“Of course.”

Go away.

“I appreciate your dedication, Captain Prowl. It’s thanks to bots like you putting forth their best that this station runs so smoothly.” She wasn’t really talking to him. He could practically see the mental cue cards as she shuffled through them to find the right thing to ‘motivate’ him.

Go away.

“Thank you, Ma’am. If you don’t mind, I have to go now.”

He didn’t wait to be excused. He was past caring now.

He banged though the rest of the crowd and kept his gaze low and closed as he rushed through the hallways.

His office.

He closed the door behind him and leaned on his desk.

He was so tired. He just…couldn’t.

He gasped, venting heat like a furnace. He was so angry. Why couldn’t they – why couldn’t they just deal without him?

Stop saying my name.

Why was it always his fault when Smokescreen’s accounts weren’t balanced? Why was it always him that had to stay late?

Smokescreen needed help. He was supposed to help him. He’d just come back from that dangerous undercover work and Prowl had been so worried -

Why couldn’t Bluestreak do anything without someone holding his servo? Why was it always Prowl that had to help him – waste his time helping Bluestreak again? Then Prowl ended up staying late to finish his own paperwork. He was so tired.

Bluestreak didn’t know any better. Bluestreak was still dealing with the death of his creators – only back from bereavement leave this month – he was trying. Prowl could help him –

Where was Commander Radar? Why didn’t she say anything about it? She knew he was always here later than anyone. Why didn’t she –

She didn’t know. He hadn’t exactly told her what was happening. How was she supposed to know?

Why didn’t she just fragging see –

His vocalizer clicked helplessly. He bit down on his fist.

Quiet.

He wanted to scream.

Why was it always his fault? Why didn’t anyone else do something.

Prowl was so tired. So tired. The thoughts never stopped and the people never went away and the world never held still long enough.

He was the Captain. This was his job. The shame swept through him. He shouldn’t be so angry. He didn’t know how to stop. He was always failing. Now he was blaming everyone else. This was his job.

Hiding in his office like a newspark.

This was his job.

Wasn’t it?

Don’t stop.

0-0-0

Jazz was pinging him.

Prowl lifted his helm. The steam in the washracks covered everything. For all he knew, outside the small circle of heat and darkness, there wasn’t anything else.

He didn’t want to answer.

:Hello.:

:Prowl?: Jazz’s voice should have been a balm. It made something in his spark jerk and twist horribly.

:I am busy. Is there something you need?:

Go away.

:Nah. Just lookin’ ta chat. Don’ worry ‘bout it.:

Thank Primus.

His frame was jerking – short abortive movements as waves of angry and fury and strange grief rippled through him. He wished he could recharge. He can’t even stand -

:Prowler?:

:Sorry, Jazz. I am not good company right now.:

I can’t see anyone. I am exhausted down to my struts and so furious I think I might lose my processor. I don’t want to hurt you.

:I hear ya. Call me if ya need anything.:

:I don’t.:

Calm. Calm. Don’t be angry.

Prowl pulled his arms tighter around himself and brought his helm to his knees. He tried to think only about the heat, the tile under him, the processor-numbing patter of solvent.

:Kay. Love ya, Prowler.:

Then Jazz hung up.

Thank Primus.

Prowl curled up smaller and smaller.

Go away.

0-0-0

The morning light was beautiful. Prowl lifted a servo and dipped it into the golden glow.

What was that? He’d thought those days were behind him. Those strange, hopeless, angry days.

Depression was too quiet a word. Anger didn’t cover it. Grief, maybe. He just wasn’t sure what he was grieving.

He pushed himself up from the berth. Even that tiny bit of strength had seemed impossible last night. He vented slowly and stretched, relishing the small pleasure of the movement.

It felt like a storm when it was happening – unstoppable, dark, loud, and full of jagged flashes of lightning – but at least it was over.

He was still tired.

He’d call in sick to work.

He pinged Jazz.

He needed…a day. Just a day. He needed a small space of time for himself and for things he loved. Just a day. Goodies and old movies and blankets.

He just needed…a day.

#jazz x prowl #transformers prowl #transformers fanfiction

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