#❖ ⌈ op & mega ⌋ – ᴍʏ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ; ᴍʏ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ．

[atlas-ordained]

relationship tags

❖ ⌈ op/ratch ⌋ – ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ᴛᴇᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ．

❖ ⌈ implied op/ratch ⌋ – ɪ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ʜᴏᴜʀs．

❖ ⌈ op › ratch ⌋ – ᴇᴛᴇʀɴɪᴛɪᴇs sᴛɪʟʟ ᴜɴsᴀɪᴅ．

❖ ⌈ ♡ to ratchet ⌋ – ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ．

❖ ⌈ op & mega ⌋ – ᴍʏ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ; ᴍʏ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ．

❖ ⌈ to megatron ⌋ – ɪ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇᴅ sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ; ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴋɪɴɢ．

[atlas-ordained]

Optimus knows the devastating force of Megatron's mace well, but also that such a weapon is most effective at a medium distance where momentum is its stalwart ally. If he can get in close, then, he is paradoxically safer. He supposes there is some bitter poetry in that, a mockery of their past relationship. What he would give to restore that past... to guide his once and still dear friend back from the darkness. For all the atrocities, he saw potential in him once, and surely it must still lie somewhere, buried....

Alas, he cannot deny his desire to save him is a selfish one in the scheme of all his responsibilities. Paired against his own nature, Megatron's actions do not leave him the luxury of choice. And so here he stands, blades drawn——

But he is one who responds. In nearly all of his life he has been this way, particularly in areas as counter to his personality as violence. His offensives are usually too little too late; he rises to meet his nemesis only because experience has trained him to do so. Megatron initiates; Megatron attacks. Optimus only counterattacks.

So when Megatron stops?

When Megatron lifts his hands as though through a gel bath, with movements that hold no malice?

When Megatron leaves himself wide open and vulnerable?

He cannot fight him.

The Prime stands immobilized as his greatest enemy's servos cup his face with such painful tenderness, as though— though he cared for him still, as though Optimus were not the only one between them to still hold this sort of tender feeling, to miss their friendship. Hope blooms knifelike in his spark, piercing the bonds he keeps around that idea of fixing things, ending the war peacefully....

... How he felt back then?

Optimus can only stare in helpless confusion, every word playing in rapid repeat in his processor. He didn't feel the same. Did he? How did... does.... Why is he saying this?

The pain on Megatron's face cuts through where words spin out—through his denial. Megatron wanted something more from him. The thought sinks like a rock in his fuel tank, new interpretations of their past interactions fractaling outward. Does Megatron feel scorned? Is that why he will no longer hear his words? All their time together, and he never thought to consider that his friend's sentiments might take such a form....

He finds himself wanting to reach out, wanting to... comfort him, but his frame won't let him move. They've fought for so long...

If he had known, if he had... reciprocated, could that have altered this outcome? Or was that fate set in stone by their natures? He cannot say which is more painful.

For so long Megatron has given a cold shoulder against his sympathy. And now he has... still only that to offer. He cannot give him what he truly wants. He will never be enough. For his friend. To end the war peacefully. His spark aches to try, and yet that inevitability wraps its cruel thorns around him.

Will his actions mean anything?

Only when those hands drop does he regain the ability of movement, and he immediately misses—not the touch itself, but the softer side of the now-tyrant.

"Megatron..."

His mask retracts after he speaks. If he can take away the barriers between them, reach an understanding——

He reaches after him, but it is too little too late. Megatron is gone. His servo drops to his side and his pauldrons sag, all fight leaving him.

"I cannot allow..." something makes Optimus's words die as he sees his nemesis closer; something seems... off. Still, he does not let his guard down; his blades remain drawn, stance ready to spring him back into action.

— @atlas-ordained

01/19/2025 - 01/23/2025 ⋆ Honesty M!A Jan 2025 no longer accepting — just answering late

Megatron wasn't quite sure what compelled him to join the battle this time, even despite knowing he was compromised. It was foolish and maybe a little reckless, to think that perhaps he could quietly watch it all unfold in front of him without him feeling compelled to step into the fray when inevitably his incompetent lackeys crumbled like so much dust before the Autobot's advances.

He was cursing himself now, as he strode into the midst of the turmoil, his fusion canon blazing as he fired weak blasts at all who dared approach him too closely, doing much to keep them at a safe distance and defend himself from revealing more than he ever intended. But Optimus is a different beast entirely, and no weak blast had ever deterred him the way it would deter others. Megatron leveled his canon with the Prime's faceplate — but Optimus was already charging towards him with his blade drawn, intending for hand to hand combat. Seemingly seeing through Megatron's plan to stay sniping at them all from afar.

Reflexively, Megatron drew his Energon mace in the place of his left servo, already cocking his shoulder back to swing it as hard as he could into the other's frame. A good swing would demolish most anything, and rend a smoking hole in even the most resilient armor. For most mecha, the mere threat of such certain destruction would be enough. But he's misjudged the speed with which he could swing the mace, and the distance between them is closed way, way too fast.

With Optimus this close, Megatron slowly lowers his swing before it could even begin, and he moves for him as a mech possessed — slowly and methodically, like a zombie. Though his every wire is screaming in protest, and his processor was working as fast as it could to think of something — anything! — to say that wouldn't be too revealing, he sees himself reaching for his face with both hands. He's holding his breath as his fingers brush across the other's protoform just as they had in years long past, feeling rushing away from his touch as he began to panic in earnest.

This isn't his Optimus. He knows that. But even still, a long-held truth tumbles from his dermas anyway.

"I never told you how I felt back then. But I wonder now how much it would've even changed. I... I know you don't feel the same, and never have. No matter how I wish... differently..."

The look in his optics is agonized, as if the words stabbed through his very Spark; and perhaps they did, because this was something he had never ever intended to say. And to have the words forced out of him in this context —

He ripped his hands away from Optimus when the spell was broken and he'd regained control of his faculties. One last terrified look at him, wildly searching the Prime's face for some derision or disgust that he knew he'd certainly see in light of this unwilling admission, but he doesn't linger long. He's gritting his jaw hard, his every strut tense with humiliation and self-disgust as he turned from him.

Then he's transforming into his jet alt. and thundering off at full speed, the resultant thunderclap of the sound barrier being broken the only indication Megatron had ever even been there.

[atlas-ordained]

Optimus found his gaze lingering on the window as he settled onto one of the couches offered by his host. This had been unplanned, but he would not yet consider it a setback. If anything, he appreciated the opportunity this provided to... settle in, somewhat, in a relative oasis of calm. He was still new to multiversal travel, and this universe in particular carried a certain amount of... conceptual baggage. Regardless, the accommodations were comfortable, and it would be good to grow more acquainted with his current liaison to this world.

His attention returned to Tarn when the tankformer spoke. "It is quite all right," he assured. "I do not have a tight schedule."

He considered the offer. Of course it would be polite to accept, and he was curious after Tarn's high praise. "Thank you. A small glass—I do not often indulge in such beverages." He had always been a lightweight, and still was to a relative extent for his frame size. "I admit I have not heard the name, but that may easily be the fault of my own ignorance."

His EM field radiated relaxed professionalism with the ease of one who has schooled their emotions for millennia. The spark that shone like a beacon in his chest spoke another story. Even without the Matrix it was many times denser and brighter than any ordinary mortal, and deep as an ocean—an ocean whose waters shifted with untold emotion, an old attachment churned up from the sediment by the circumstance of the world he was visiting. Ancient sadness, nostalgia, regret—not that he believed he had done wrong, or that this universe was better than his own, but something more complex. A hope that stung like a scraplet bite over the fact that a place like this could exist at all.

He had cared for his Megatron. Like a sibling, a brother—he had seen pain in him that had resonated with a piece of his spark so deep that nothing he'd done could make Optimus hate him. He'd had to tear himself apart day after day to fight him when he wanted to love unconditionally and show him right from wrong. And he'd grieved him with the weight of all that history, secretly, privy only to one.

Optimus clung to the steadying influence of his bondmate—the faintest mark of another presence tangled indelibly with his. Even across the boundary of universes a piece of Ratchet was with him. The famed medic held him in unseen arms, and his familiar melody gave Optimus an anchor, calming his spark's more agitated peaks.

With that strength he composed a gentle smile that belied all of the turmoil within. "This is a pleasant place to pass the time. The view of the scenery is lovely."

// ⛈️ acid rain sounds fun ajgfdgh ( @atlas-ordained )

Send ⛈️ to get stuck in acid rain on Cybertron or a storm on Earth with Tarn

New Kaon seldom rained. Unlike its namesake in the bygone days of old, where thick fumes of pollution often condensed into showers of acid that lasted for days, the revived city now enjoyed plentiful light and clear sky. However, a planet left in ruins for millennia did not recover quickly, and weather could be unpredictable. Tarn could not recall a time where rain fell upon New Kaon for all the years he's been here, and he couldn't help but wonder if this were an omen.

Still, there was a certain beauty to be admired from a city in rain. The streets gleamed to reflect the light of lamps and signs. The even rustling of raindrops added a Gaussian haze to the otherwise clean lines of grand architecture. Looking through glass at the cityscape was akin to watching an impressionistic painting in motion. Every once in a while, headlights passed by, wheels driving through shallow streams that washed into the drainage system of the city.

Hardier frames could easily withstand the mild acidity, but Tarn thought it bad manners to invite an esteemed guest of the Empire for a tour under the rain. For now, he opted to wait in the lobby of city hall, and made use of the couches set up in cozy groupings to entertain the Prime of another universe.

"Please forgive my lack of foresight for a day of rain. Ambassador Nightfall is by far a better host, but she is preoccupied with meetings in Iacon." And as far as he knew, Prowl's slow recovery did not allow for easy rescheduling, especially when the said meeting required the attendance of several high-ranking Autobot officials. "Might I interest you in glass of refined energon? I happen to be in possession of a bottle from the distillery of Quantum. I do not know if he had a counterpart in your universe, but in mine, he was quite celebrated." The ancient vintner had already been struggling to survive day by day before the war had begun. He did not last for long once it had, and thus his brews became all the rarer.