#I just want Optimus to be happy :)

[paradimeart]

redid this pic entirely 4 my own peace of mind

[gooseygoose7]

Yall see how the light is shining on optimus and megatron is in the dark...yea...

[clownswithshoes]

Papa prime is best prime :3

[grimlocks-noodle]

I really just think every Iteration of Optimus should love basketball. I want it to be a universal constant, Optimus balling Prime dunking on his soldiers in his free time.

[lord-squiggletits]

I know this fandom is capable of nuance because I see plenty of in-depth discussions about severely morally gray (more black than gray tbh) discussions of characters like IDW Prowl and IDW Megatron. So I know that the reason people don't talk about IDW Optimus isn't because they're not capable of taking an interest in complex/controversial characters.

At this point I'm literally convinced that it's just bc what the fandom wants Optimus to be is a dumb himbo team dad (and the malewife to whichever character they ship him with). So because IDW Optimus can't be simplified into a silly himbo or shy sad uke twink, and his character writing deliberately asks the question of "is Optimus a good person and how much do good intentions matter compared to the harm caused along the way" instead of making Optimus the Unquestioned Moral Paragon of the series, people react by utterly shunning and refusing to acknowledge or write about IDW Optimus the same way they're willing to write about other IDW characters who are far worse than he is.

That, and most ppl haven't even read the comics and so the version of IDW Optimus they think is utterly an asshole, is a caricature that only exists in their own brain constructed from out of context comic panels of him and nothing else lol. Like when people see the panel of OP beating up Prowl and going "omg he's evil" ignoring/not being aware of the fact the reason he did is bc Prowl tried to kill an entire planet of people. As just one of many examples. Bc god forbid people actually read the comics and see why he made those decisions in context, let's just cherrypick the worst incidents with zero explanation and act as if that's the sum of his character

[primus-why]

Sad Idea (tw: infertility mention)

Okay but what if when Orion got reformatted into Optimus, the Matrix gave him The Ideal Body To Go To War With? Like, it cut out unnecessary parts of his past self-- not just emotionally, but physically as well...

What I'm trying to get at: what if one day, the topic of sparklings come up. Maybe the humans they've been hanging around asked about the various ways a new Cybertronian comes to exist. Maybe the war is over, and someone innocently asks Optimus if he has ever considered being a creator.

Optimus might politely wave off the idea, citing he's too busy as Prime to give the care and attention deserved by a sparkling. But in private... or maybe even to just his amica/ a close friend or two... he admits that he did once want to be a creator, however, that's no longer in the cards for him...

... because the Matrix didn't deem a gestation chamber a necessary asset for a Prime at war.

[juniaships]

OK BUT SINCE TFA WAS INFLUENCED BY GARGOYLES IT WOULD'VE BEEN CUTE IF THEY HAD GIVEN OPTIMUS A HUMAN LOVE INTEREST LIKE GOLIATH AND ELISA

[httpsserene]

𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐩 (𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩) | 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐧

summary: a random man breaks your phone and runs away before you can even yell at him. he becomes your archenemy when you learn that you lost hundreds of photos of your children. and by “your children”, you mean pups—seal pups.

pairing: alex albon x seal specialist! fem!black!reader

from, serene: do not post any gifts you get on social media. that's how people get robbed /srs. i'm trying to make my reader's have different personalities but i think i failed with this one. i'll try on the next smau. happy reading, loves xxx

⌕ join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents | seal you later toc | next ↻

messages • yn -> coral (yn’s coworker)

twitter • alex_albon

twitter • sealteamsix

messages • max please unmute us gc -> alex

twitter dm’s • alex -> yn

messages • yn -> coral

twitter dm’s cont. • alex -> yn

messages cont. • yn -> coral • alex -> max please unmute us gc

igstory • seallygirlyn just uploaded!

[caption1; optimus prime being a very brave boy while being weighed][caption2; cutely decorated suspicious packages are about to be unboxed. if i'm inactive just know alex_albon is responsible!]

alex_albon: his name is optimus prime 🥹🤧 seallygirlyn: it's adorable right? seallygirlyn: when he first got rescued he was fighting with another pup named megatron, so the naming was easy lol

coral: that looks like a lot more than an iphone 🤨 seallygirlyn: i told him to keep it reasonable! but i fear he went too far,,,

user: wow he was really serious about finding you. lwk kinda sweet. it's giving loverboy. 🤭 seallygirlyn: loll don’t read to far into it! he’s just a generous guy ☺️ user: if you say so….

messages • yn -> coral • twitter dm’s • yn -> alex

instagram • seallygirlyn • august 26th

liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63, coral, and 17,364 others

seallygirlyn when you ask a man to replace your phone that he broke, he might buy you the newest phone and a bunch of other things (you told him not to get !!) you can't buy my favor, yk? fish says thank you for the stuffie. thank you from me too, alex_albon. this is seriously too much to give for a broken iphone.

view comments

seallygirlyn: going to miss using a flip phone lwk...tysm alex_albon i made it look all pretty in the basket in hopes it fixes your lightly ruined public image

➥ alex_albon: am i forgiven? ➥ seallygirlyn: i already forgave u alex, i told you this 🙂 ➥ alex_albon: just wanted you to say it where everybody can see it! they're still slandering my name ➥ seallygirlyn: you can replace my phone and my dying ipad but, you can never recover my lost seal photos :( ➥ alex_albon: i will pay for your icloud storage from this point forward until my dying breath ➥ seallygirlyn: i need that in writing with a signature ✍️

coral: i told you alex is a good guy! that's why he's been my favorite since f2!!!

➥ seallygirlyn: he's been moved from biggest adversary to occasional nemesis status ➥ alex_albon: that's improvement, i'll take it! thanks for supporting me from before the start, coral! dedicating my next points to both of you! ➥ coral: imgoingtofaint 😵‍💫

georgerussell63: ah. this must be why alex made me pay for his mcdonalds the other day. he spent all of his money on you

➥ alex_albon: GEORGE PLEASE 😟😣 ➥ user1: george is such an instigator. he lives to stir shit up i swear ➥ user2: russell, george. professional cockblocker extraordinaire.

user3: it's a little odd that a man would buy a woman he has no romantic interest in so many expensive gifts....

➥ user4: lol these gifts aren't expensive. the cost was nothing to him, he's an f1 driver and she's nothing compared to him 😒 ➥ user5: jealous little girl alert user4 🚨 ➥ user6: she's nothing compared to him? the woman who works tirelessly to rehabilitate seal pups and release them back into the ocean—the woman who's actively conserving the ocean and protecting marine life, is nothing compared to him? the man who drives an f1 car in circles? try again, girly. you're just jealous any RESPECTABLE man wouldn't give you the time of day. ➥ user7: CLOCK IT ➥ user8: read you like a book user4 🤣

user9: you have an orange cat named fish 🥺

➥ seallygirlyn: yes! isn't he the sweetest boy to ever exist? ➥ user9: i'd kill for fish 🫶🏻

user12: fish and his stuffie are the cutest!!!! i just wanna bite him

➥ alex_albon: not as cute as seallygirlyn ➥ seallygirlyn: ...who asked you? are you calling fish ugly?? ➥ alex_albon: what? NO !!! i was calling you cute?! ➥ user13: that was difficult to read ngl ➥ user14: mission failed. we'll get 'em next time.

general taglist (ask to join):

@saintslewis/@cherry2stems/@lorarri/@mindless-rock/@biancathecool

@barnestatic/@darleneslane/@lovingaphroditesworld/@smoothopz/@vetteltea

@tallrock35/@spideybv28/@loomiscorpse/@hiireadstuff/@namgification

@gg-trini/@multi-fandom-rando/@landoslutmeout/@love-simon/@iloveyou3000morgan/

@rexit-mo/@oscahpastry/@sweatrevenge5436-blog/@bokutos-babyowl/@oliviah-25

@evermoreandroyalblue/@riveristhebest1/@xylinasdiary/@ashiekins/@flowergirl1134

@hearts4robs/@c-losur3/@bloodyymaryyy/@awritingtree/@lammys-thinking

seal you later taglist (ask to join):

@poppysrin@everythingabby101@mangotaitai

© httpsserene 2024 — photos used from pinterest. do not re-upload.

[imauthicktic]

❤️‍🔥10

Sorry if this is a bit long, but maybe it could start something like this?

Y/N visits Sam at college with Optimus, who might've came with to harass Sam about helping like an alternative to the scene where they meet at the graveyard. Leo follows Sam out, probably harassing him about the website or whatnot, and basically just kinda stops like "You didn't tell me your sister was hot!" before running up ahead to hit on her, with Sam having his fifth mental breakdown of the day. Optimus isn't happy with Sam's dormmate, to say the least.

First request for the 1000+ follower event!!! Yippie!!!

Bayverse! Optimus Prime x fem!AFAB!human! Reader

OP in love with Sam's friend who is like an older sister of Sam is my favorite trope 😌💅🏻

Smut smut smut!!!

Warnings: size-difference! tried to keep this realistic so no penetrative sex. cock humping, clit stimulation. messy cum 🥴 Also cheesy flirtations from Leo

You were sitting inside Optimus who was in his semi-trailer form as you both waited for Sam to come out of his dorm building so you could surprise him. “You think he’ll be excited to see me, Optimus?” you ask softly, “I know it’s only been one day since he’s been here, but I was so upset I couldn’t help him move in,” you say with a small hint of guilt in your voice. 

“My dear sweet spark, Sam would be happy to see you,” Optimus said in his soothing deep voice in reassurance through his radio. You smile before affectionately rubbing your hand over his steering wheel. You open your mouth to say something when you see Sam walking out of the building with his roommate in tow. “Oh, look! He’s coming out!” you say happily as you scramble out of Optimus. 

“Sam!” You call out to him, effectively grabbing his attention. “Y/N?” Sam says happily as he sees you waving over to him with Optimus chilling behind you with his engine revving. Sam rushes over to pull you into a big hug as he lifts you slightly in his tight embrace. You can't help but giggle brightly as you wrap my arms around his neck tightly. “God, I’m the worst big sister ever-,” you start before you get rudely interrupted by Leo’s low wolf whistle making you pull back from the hug and look at him with a raised brow. “Damn, Sam! You didn’t tell me your sister was a babe,” Leo says as he pushes Sam to the side a bit as Leo grabs your hand to kiss your knuckles, “I’m Leo, Sam’s roommate, and hopefully your future husband,” Leo winks. Sam watches the scene unfold as he tries not to burst out laughing at the clear disgust on your face. Optimus is fuming at the scene knowing you're not exactly enjoying the flirt. Your brows raise in shock as you pull your hand away from him. “Charmed,” you say sarcastically as you wipe your knuckles on Sam’s shirt. You turn back to Sam, “Anyways, hon. My husband,” you pause to look at Leo as you lift your hand with your wedding band on it that you wear to fend off creepy men then look back at Sam, “wanted to talk to you. He said it was urgent. So, go get Bee and meet up with us,” you say in a more relaxed tone as you look at Sam. Sam can't help but chuckle lightly before realizing you're talking about Optimus and he let out a sigh. “Really? I can’t have one day?” Sam asks exasperated. “Nope!” you say as you pop the ‘p’, “And you know you can’t really say no to me and I’m not exactly asking,” you finish with a cheeky smile before walking over to Optimus and getting inside. “See you soon!” you say sweetly. 

“Wait! Here’s my number in case your husband doesn’t work out or if you want some spice in your life,” Leo says as he hands you a folded-up piece of paper and he blows you a kiss. Optimus’ engine revs loudly in annoyance at Leo’s insistence. You look at him incredulously and can’t help the laugh that comes out of you, “I genuinely don’t know where you get this confidence to go after a married woman, but I’m very much not interested, kid,” you scoff. “Leo, buddy. Trust me. Her husband is a god compared to you,” Sam adds as his hand pats Leo’s back as he guides him away from you. 

You crumple up the number and toss it aside as Optimus peels out of the parking lot. After a few minutes of driving at a fast speed and Optimus being oddly quiet, you decide to speak up. “My love?” you ask softly only to hear nothing but silence. You sigh softly, “You know you’re the best thing to happen to me right? That I’ll never get tired of you and that it’s always you on my mind right? The only one who gets me all hot and bothered,” you say reassuringly with a small giggle at your last statement as your hand caresses the dashboard in a soothing manner. “I know that. I’m not upset with you. Never with you, my sweet spark,” Optimus says with a soft sigh before pulling off to the side of the road and into a small forested area as he transformed into his humanoid form with you in his servos. 

He finds a tree and sits down with his back against it as he lifts you up to his face and carefully places kisses on your face and lips. “No one else could ever have you,” Optimus says as his spike is released and his other hand reaches under your dress to take off your panties only to realize you weren’t wearing any and he lets out a low rumbling growl. You smirk slightly, “I have to keep things interesting, Optimus,” you say teasingly. “My wife,” he says possessively and places you against his warmed-up spike making a shiver run down your spine. His voice and possessiveness were something you’d never dealt with before with him. Optimus was always so gentle and loving, but this… this was primal and rough. You begin to rock your hips lightly as your slick covers his spike making it easy for you to feel the ridges of his spike against your clit making you let out breathy moans. His servo wraps around your torso in a firm grip. “Primus, you’re mine,” Optimus groans out as he gently rocks his hips lightly to create more friction as you grind against his large spike. Your hands grip his spike as you let out a whine at the feeling of him, “I’m yours. N-no one else’s. I love you, I love you,” you whimper out desperately as your orgasm approaches. Transfluids start to leak from his tip and he pushes your hips down as he starts to apply more pressure to his length as he let out a deep moan from the feeling. Your juices have coated his spike as your thighs tighten and they become lubed up from your essence dripping down the sides of his spike. “‘M close, my love,” you gasp out as you continue to moan and whimper from the pleasure. “Optimus!” you cry out as your orgasm wracks through your body and your thighs squeeze around him. Optimus hasn’t stopped moving you against his spike as his hand moves down to hold your lower back and ass to continue the grinding. “Y-Y/N,” he groans loudly as he twitches and the transfluids shoot out from his spike in large spurts against his abdomen and breastplates. 

You watch the liquid shine against him and you bite your lip softly. “I… don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing that,” you say lovingly before looking into his blue optics. “Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you… it’s quite sexy seeing you so- what’s the word,” you pause, “so deliciously possessive,” you finish with a smile and a small giggle. Optimus lets out a small chuckle as he raises his other servo to caress your cheek with the back of his finger. “I wasn’t too rough?” he asks softly with slight concern. “Your grip may have been too tight, but would I change that? Absolutely not. In fact, I like this rough side a bit,” you smile cutely, “it’s kinda, super, mega sexy,” you giggle brightly making Optimus laugh softly with you. “I love you with all of my spark and every inch of my being, Y/N,” Optimus says lovingly as he leans down a bit to rest his forehead against yours gently. Your hands go on either side of his face as you place soft kisses on his lips, nose, and forehead before resting your forehead back against his as you both close your eyes to breathe in the moment. “I adore you and every bit of me forever belongs to you. Mind, body, and soul. I love you,” you say in a soft whisper.

Bonus:

Sam turns to Bee at the place they were supposed to meet you and Optimus at. "Where are they?" Sam asks confused. Bee shrugs his shoulders and lifts his servos slightly, "Hell if I know," he says through multiple channel changes through his radio.

A/N: lmk what y'all thought about it!! comments appreciated 🫶🏻 tips are also appreciated, no matter how small 💞 much love and kisses to you all

[imagine-darksiders]

Transformers Prime: Optimus + Reader. Chapter 1.

So, I read @lovinglonerhybrid 's post here. And it absolutely had me in a chokehold, so this is based off that premise. I'm in the UK so please excuse my ignorance of American states lmao.

So, there is a part 2 to this, but I'm going away for 4 days and wanted to get some of it posted before then.

You've broken down fifteen miles short of Jasper's city limits in the dead of night. Deciding to hike in to town, you feel the earth rumble beneath you, and over the horizon, something enormous approaches...

Chapter 1: 9352 words.

-------

It’s a rare and covetous thing, to find even a single moment of peace in the midst of an intergalactic war.

The gap from one of those precious moments to the next seems to grow wider and wider every time, until their frequency is so negligible, it becomes hard to recognise them for what they are anymore.

For everything Earth could have offered Optimus Prime, he hadn’t been expecting it to relinquish the gift of peace so willingly. But he’s glad – more than glad – to accept them when they come, even if he’s only stealing glimpses of tranquillity on the sand-swept road leading out of Jasper.

Low-beam headlights lazily trace over the faded tarmac ahead of Optimus’s tyres as he trundles along Highway 49, one of only two roads that surround the small, sleepy city of Jasper. It’s a very routine patrol, one he obligingly excused Bumblebee from taking after his poor scout all but begged Optimus to give it to someone else, beeping out promises that he’ll take double shift tomorrow night, if need be.

All this on the back of Miko announcing another of her ‘slumber parties’ at the base, much to Ratchet’s noisy chagrin and Optimus’s private amusement. And, of course, when Bumblebee found out that Rafael would be staying the night too… Well…

‘You’re too indulging,’ their old medic had admonished from his workstation, the broad expanse of his back turned to the Prime, ‘He ought to learn he can’t always have his way.’

But it was a harmless indulgence, and Prime was more than happy to take over the patrol in this instance.

Besides, he had an arguably selfish reason for doing so.

If he’d admitted as much out loud, Ratchet would have scoffed and sent a pulse of chiding dismissal crashing into Optimus’s EM field. ‘You don’t have a selfish component in your body,’ he might say.

But this… Optimus muses, gazing skyward as he trundles down the highway in vehicle mode, letting the crisp, night air slide through his grill and cool his powerful engine… This is the appeal of a solo patrol.

Every now and then, there are times when the Decepticon activity goes quiet, Fowler has nothing to report, and Optimus can almost pretend that he’s just another Cybertronian enjoying a long, quiet drive through the Mojave wilderness. And while he remains ever vigilant, keeping every sensor poised outwardly in a constant surveillance of his surroundings, the old bot still permits at least one sense to wander.

Somehow, it’s always his sight.

Oftentimes he catches himself doing it. Other times, on nights that are quiet and still and clear like this one, there’s a wire-deep longing that overrides his logic gates, and the Prime won’t notice that he isn’t keeping his processor and his optics on the dusty road ahead of him. He’s too busy stealing long, pensive looks at the stars above him, scattered like a-hundred-billion souls sprawling across a curtain of crushed velvet.

It’s out there… somewhere… riding a lonely orbit on the furthest reaches of the galaxy’s Centaurus arm.

Cybertron.

Home.

Their first home, he amends gently, depressing his accelerator to speed up when he realises he’s starting to crawl. Earth is as much their home now as Cybertron ever was.

Sagging on his suspension with a low hiss, Optimus drags his hidden optics back to the road ahead, and all at once, he nearly lurches to a halt, his exhaust pipes sputtering out a hollow sound to betray his surprise.

There, parked several feet from the road a few hundred yards ahead of him, is a vehicle.

Prime’s senses sharpen to a startling focus.

Pumping his brakes, he slows down again, and the roar of his engine fades to a fluctuating hum.

A Decepticon…?

He doesn’t feel anything trying to breach his EM field, nor does he pick up on any resistance when his scanners hone in on the vehicle – ‘Ford. F250. A Pickup truck.’ Year….? Optimus’s focus narrows to a pinprick… ‘Eighty-seven.’

It’s red - a faded, dusky red like some of the sun-baked sandstone at Red Rock Canyon. As Prime’s massive form rumbles on through the night, looming closer and closer to the mysterious truck, his lights reflect off something situated above its rear bumper, the presence of which quells his flaring codes and eases his rigid frame.

A number plate.

Thick, black numbers and letters stand out against the white rectangle, though it isn’t the sequence that alleviates Optimus’s suspicion, it’s their mere presence.

No Decepticon he knows would ever suffer the ‘indignity’ of having a human number plate stapled to their bumpers.

Primus, even the Autobots have foregone the accessory after Fowler gave up trying to keep Bumblebee from losing his, Ratchet from ‘misplacing’ his, and Bulkhead from bending his irreparably whenever he transformed. Optimus had given it a go, for a time… mainly because he was growing worried that their overworked liaison would quite simply combust if he had to intercept one more phone call from ‘concerned civilians’ who were reporting a semi-truck driving through Jasper without its registration.

The Prime’s number plate came to its own crumpled end when he sat down on his berth one evening without removing it first.

One genuine, slightly sheepish apology to a very fed-up liaison later, and Optimus was informed that he and his team no longer needed to wear the plates.

So, the presence of one on this truck is a good sign. It’s less likely to transform and cause an incident.

That does, however, open up an entirely new avenue for concern to creep in.

A crash, perhaps?

Several dark skid marks indicate that it must have veered off the road after a hard, panicked brake.

He can’t pick up any biological signatures either. Even when he casts a wider net, all his sensors catch are the heat signatures of a few tiny, Earthen mammals scurrying about over the sand before they dart into various rock formations when he rolls by. But just because he isn’t picking up the presence of a living human, it doesn’t negate the possibility of a human being inside…

Frame suddenly taut, Optimus trundles to a cautious halt on the road alongside the truck, his engine idling like some great, murmuring beast in the quiet of the desert.

A throaty hum seems to escape his smokestacks as he peers down at the smaller truck, contemplative… considering… Then finally, relieved. There doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, judging by what his headlights illuminate through the cab windows.

What is it doing out here?

It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when he made the drive into Jasper. It isn’t a vehicle he recognises either, and he’s been doubly vigilant of late regarding all the civilian cars, bikes, trucks, vans, and even agricultural vehicles in and around the town.

Privately, he’s been compiling a catalogue of them all, for his own reference.

If there’s a threat to his human charges lurking about in their hometown, Optimus needs to know about it. A Decepticon disguised as a civilian vehicle would be an effective method of infiltration.

Casting one more, cursory ping out into the night to check that he’s definitely alone, he at last begins to unfurl himself into his bipedal mode. Metal plating slides away from his grill, pulling back and rolling along the body of the semi as he rises onto newly revealed pedes. The mechanical whines, whirrs and buzzes are terribly loud and alien amongst the desert’s natural ambiance, but soon enough, the air falls still once again, and a monolithic Cybertronian stands in the place where a Peterbilt used to be.

Soft, cerulean light spills over the abandoned truck as Optimus settles his optics upon it, easing his enormous frame down into a crouch and draping one arm across his knee with a ‘clunk.’

At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything especially odd about the truck save for its unexpected presence. Leaning sideways, he casts an optic over the front bumper and finds nothing out of place, no damage to indicate a crash, no broken headlights or crushed bonnet.

It’s the same story with the truck’s bed. Only when Optimus hauls himself upright and treads carefully around it to inspect the other side does he notices the glaring problem.

The whole vehicle is canting onto its offside front tyre, a tyre that sports a rather sizeable puncture, considering how flat it is. And from the looks of it, this one was only ever meant to be used as a temporary spare. A quick glance into the truck’s bed reveals what he assumes must be the original tyre, flat as well, with the silver head of a nail jutting from the centre tread block.

Optimus clicks his glossa softly for the owner’s run of bad luck.

Right away, he sends a ping to his team, advising them to be wary of stray nails along this stretch…

He receives several pings in return. Immediately comes Bumblebee’s frustration, buzzed over the airwaves like a sulking sparkling who’s been told his toy was broken. Given the Scout’s inclination to race at top speed all over these roads, Optimus doesn’t doubt he’s just vexed at the shuddersome notion of having to slow down.

Arcee and Bulkhead respond in kind as their leader absently moves his attention to something strange obscuring part of driver’s window, letting their concern wash over his field.

‘Popped a tyre, Boss?’ Bulkhead’s message hits his comm, informal and probing, but with the warmth of care behind it.

Optimus is quick to send a pulse of reassurance back through their shared channel. He’s fine. If one little nail was all it took to take a Prime out of commission, they’d all be in serious, serious trouble.

The channels go quiet after Arcee and Ratchet send their short, concise responses, and once again, Optimus is alone on the road, peering down at a small sheet of paper that’s been taped to the inside of the truck’s front window.

Gradually, he furrows his optical ridges until they almost click together into one, solid line, the apertures inside each optic whirring and shrinking as he reads the words scribbled on the paper.

He recalls the first time he encountered the languages of Earth as they were written. The looping letters, graceful and elegant, chasing one another across the front of the letter Agent Fowler gave him as part of an unofficial welcome to the United States.

Optimus had held the paper so delicately between two of his digits, blinking down at the dark ink soaked into repurposed cellulose fibre. It was beautiful.

When he remarked as such, Fowler made a noncommittal comment that you could tell a lot about humans from their handwriting.

Optimus would sometimes find himself glancing over the children’s homework when they left their books out unattended on the table in their recreational area.

Jack’s neat and sensible cursive. Miko’s chaotic, glittery script that rose and fell and ventured outside the lines because she was usually paying more attention to her music than the words she wrote in her textbook. And Rafael, of course, with his quick, almost frantic stokes of the pen as he tried to scribble his thoughts down as fast as his brain could make them, only to end up losing his confidence halfway through a sentence, doubled back, drew a single line through the words, and started again on a fresh page.

This handwriting though… written in blue, splotchy ink and stuck with a piece of scotch tape to the truck’s window, makes Fowler’s words ring true in Optimus’s processor.

He can tell a lot about the human who wrote it.

‘Please don’t steal/break into my truck,’ it reads. The word ‘please’ has been underlined several times. ‘Not worth much, it’s all I’ve got. Tyre is flat, spare tyre too, so can’t get far anyway. Walking to town to find help bcos phone died and I don’t have a charger. Be back soon. Thanks.’

The ink has run in several places and rendered some of the letters illegible, as if water has been dropped on them from above.

Optimus isn’t naïve. He’s seen the children cry, more times than he can bear.

Then underneath all that, in much smaller writing stuffed underneath the first message like an afterthought they forgot to leave enough space for…

‘P.s, if the truck is still here in 3 days, assume I’m dead.’

With a sudden groan of his metal frame, Optimus braces a servo on his knee and hurriedly pushes himself to his pedes once again, helm swivelling sideways to stare down the length of the road.

The truck’s nose is pointed in the direction of Jasper, but the town itself is still about a fifteen-mile drive…

Surely they wouldn’t make the journey on foot…

But if the note is any indication, then…

His processor flashes again to the children; Miko in particular, and the alarming disregard she has for her own safety. The boys are guilty of that as well, though to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there’s a very high likelihood that there might be a human wondering through the vast Mojave, alone. Worse still, Bumblebee had reported just last week that there’s been an increase in Decepticon patrols in the area around Jasper. No doubt Megatron has been ramping up his efforts to locate the Autobot base. Their growing presence in the vicinity of town makes these roads particularly treacherous…

Optimus ex-vents roughly, more troubled than frustrated.

Blue optics narrow at the road ahead, and once again, the peace of the desert night is filled by the sounds of living metal collapsing back in on itself.

A powerful engine roars to life. Somewhere nearby, a startled jackrabbit darts beneath the safety of a sagebrush, hiding herself amongst its silvery leaves.

Unblinking, her wild eyes stare after the great, thrumming beast as it moves on down the road.

—————-

You’ve had a lot of ideas in your life.

Some good. Some bad. Some that have paid off, but most that have gone nowhere at all.

Perhaps you were growing tired of going nowhere…

What else would have possessed you to up and move all the way to the middle of Nevada state on the back of a job offer that came from a man your uncle purported to know?

‘Oh yeah, Terry? Did a job with him a few years back for some cattle baron out in the sticks. ‘Course, Terry always wanted his own dairy… Want me to tell him you’re lookin’ for work?’

Turns out, Terry did end up getting that dairy he always wanted. And as it happened, he was looking for a farm hand.

Does it count as nepotism if you’re fairly sure your uncle had only met your future employer once?

Beyond a certain point, you simply couldn’t care less.

A job is a job, even if it is out here in the desert near a town you’d never heard of a month ago.

Dust-caked trainers trudge to a weary halt in front of a large, green road sign.

The moon, thankfully, hangs fat and luminous in the cloudless sky. So at least you don’t need a torch to see, not now that your eyes have had time to adjust the darkness cloaked over the desert.

With your run of bad luck, you half assumed the heavens would have opened by now and given the Mojave a nice, little dose of rain.

“Well,” you mutter aloud to yourself, peering up at the green sign with a grimace, “Could be worse…”

‘Jasper – 10 miles,’ reads like a slap to the face.

Still… It’s better than the fifteen miles.

You must have walked at least five already, dragging your legs behind you like extra baggage that doesn’t want to cooperate.

It has to be beyond midnight now. Well beyond, you suppose.

You’ve been walking for the better part of two hours, slow and sluggish and exhausted. The journey getting to Nevada had been tiring enough, then as soon as you crossed state lines, your tyre caught a puncture going over a particularly nasty pothole that had snuck up on you.

After an hour spent in the blazing sun jacking up the truck and changing to the spare, you set off again for another several hours of travel. Then, twenty miles out of Jasper, just as you dared to celebrate being home-free, the unthinkable had happened.

Who hits a pothole and drives over a nail in the same, damn day? Apparently, the same person who forgot to buy a charger adaptor for the truck.

No charger? No phone.

No phone…? No calling for help…

Your chest expands and deflates with a bone-tired sigh, turning your gaze back onto the long, dark road ahead of you. Tears sting at the inside of your eyelids, and for a moment, you consider letting them fall, if only to ease some of the pressure building up behind your temples. But crying hysterically about the unfairness of the world hadn’t un-punctured your spare tyre, so why would it help the situation now.

“Come on,” you coax yourself, hauling one leg out in front of the other. Rinse. Repeat. “Not far now.”

Just a few more hours…

The going is slow, tough, draining. Even the dark shapes of rocks start to look enticing as you pass them, letting your eyes slide over to them as you wonder just how safe it would be to fall asleep in the desert by the side of a road.

Ever since you broke down a few hours ago, you haven’t seen one, single vehicle out here.

‘Which,’ you hum, pursing your lips and tipping your head back to peer up at the bleary sky far above you, ‘Isn’t so bad…’

The stars are numerous, and startlingly clear out in the wilderness. The moon as well seems brighter here, unobscured by clouds. She makes for a quiet companion on your journey towards Jasper, her starry brethren endlessly stretching out to each corner of the horizon.

Suddenly, you feel very small. A hopeless traveller trying to find port in a sea of sand and rock.

Swallowing roughly, you hike your tattered rucksack high onto your shoulder and tear your gaze from the stars.

It’s quiet out here, save for the rustle of sage bushes disturbed by the warm breeze, and the skittering of rocks as night-time animals go about their hunts.

Perhaps that natural silence is why the sudden introduction of an entirely new sound unnerves you so much.

You jerk to a halt, ears straining to hear something approaching from the distance. Underneath the thin, worn soles of your shoes, you start to feel it; the road thrumming with gentle vibrations, growing stronger every second.

Lighting quick, you whirl around to face the way you’d come, hands flying up to grip anxiously at the straps of your rucksack.

You’d have thought you’d be excited to see those headlights rise up above the horizon line. At last! A stroke of luck! A potential ride! Potential help.

Instead, it’s as though the sudden appearance of two, dazzling lights blooming into view as they crest over the hill finally jar some sense back into your dizzy head.

The haze of fatigue lifts slightly, pushed away by little bursts of adrenaline as your brain fights to wake you up to an unconscious threat.

You’re alone out here. Defenceless, phoneless. You don’t know the area. Nobody knows you’ve broken down… You try so hard to think the best of people, but now that you’ve had one doubt, a hundred others start to scurry around in your brain, demanding attention.

You can see the vehicle, or their lights at least, but you doubt they can see you yet, this far down the road. You wonder what it is. Car? Truck?

… Alien spacecraft? Despite yourself, you let out a snort at that. Isn’t that infamous military base supposed to be in Nevada? The one hiding alien activity?

Right. Sure.

Despite your scepticism however, a thrill of fear rushes down the length of your spine as if to say, ‘Oh? But are you sure sure?’

 Gulping audibly, you take a few steps sideways off the road, stealing a glance at a cluster of large rocks that sit conveniently just several yards to your rear.

You have a decision to make.

Maybe you’ve been alone on the road for too long, and isolation has bred a paranoia in you that’s so deeply rooted, you can’t shift it at a moment’s notice. If the sun was out, perhaps you’d be less apprehensive, but the night, no matter where you are, makes everything seem so much more… treacherous. It hides things. People, motivations, monsters.

And though it pains you to do so, you swiftly decide to err on the side of personal safety.

The vehicle is closer now, and your blood trembles as the roar of a loud, formidable engine thunders over the tarmac. Yet you’re still certain it isn’t close enough to have caught you in its high-beams.

On sluggish legs, you haul yourself about and make a clumsy dash for the rocks, clenching a fist around one strap of the rucksack and using your other hand to grab the closest rock and swing yourself behind it. Dropping to your backside, you flatten your spine against the cool, solid surface, eyes wide, heart beating hard against the cage of ribs keeping it from leaping up into your throat.

‘Coward,’ a voice in the back of your head scoffs, sounding suspiciously like your father. You shake it loose. Now is not the time to be bothered by old ghosts.

The thundering engine draws nearer, rumbling in your chest as it seems to creep towards your hiding spot at a pace even a glacier would be impressed by.

Around the corner of the rock, you can finally see the glow of its headlights smoothing over the tarmac, illuminating the sand and brush all around you. Hurriedly, you tuck your toes right into the shadow cast by your rock, keeping a breath held hostage behind clenched teeth.

“Come on… Come on,” you urge it frustratedly, aware that every second you spend not moving is another second towards sunrise. If you’re not on the dairy ready for work by then…

The vehicle rolls to a stop.

It stops.

The temptation to let out a frustrated scream is only held in check by your tongue getting stuck to the roof of bone-dry mouth.

They saw you. They must have seen you. There’s no way they could have known you were here otherwise.

Idiot!

Wasting time on the decision has only taken it right out of your hands in the end.

A bead of sweat escapes your hairline and rolls down the side of your face, following the curve of your cheek. Should you run? Keep hiding? Did they stop by coincidence? If they meant no harm, they’d have seen you hide and kept on driving, wouldn’t they? Stopping is suspicious. It conveys a desire to engage.

And then something really strange happens.

“Excuse me?”

And… Well, you’re… not entirely proud of the choked gasp that jumps out of you, nor the way you flinch as if you’d been struck.

When did they – He? It’s a low voice, deeper than anything you’ve heard in a long while, full of bass but soft like distant brontide.

When did he get out of the vehicle? You didn’t hear a door open, nor close.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks again.

“I’ve frightened you…” Despite how gentle the timbre is, his voice is loud, like he’s speaking all around you, not just behind you. “I apologise,” the stranger continues, “That is the last thing I meant to do.”

What the Hell is he talking about?

There’s a long, unpleasant stretch of time until he speaks again.

“Was that your… Ford?” he asks, like he’s testing the word on his tongue, “Up the road?”

Shit. You’re starting to regret leaving that note. He must have read it and knew someone would be walking into town, alone and vulnerable.

The vehicle's powerful engine is still idling, strong and steady, buzzing along the ground and up through the soles of your feet.

It goes against your nature to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, but there’s still a part of you clinging to the hope that he’ll just give up and move on if you don’t respond or show yourself. Perhaps he’ll think you were just a figment of an overtired imagination…

Of course, instead, he persists. “Please.”

Jesus, he almost squeezes the word out, oozing dejection.

“You have nothing to fear from me… I’m a friend.”

A friend indeed. You huff quietly to yourself. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t know you. He’s trying to coax you out of hiding after watching you flee from his vehicle. Hardly the foundation for a good friendship. Still, you have to wonder why he doesn’t just come around the rock to stand over you if he’s so keen.

After another few seconds of stubborn silence on your part, the voice speaks again.

“Will you at least step back from the rock?”

What?

“There are scorpions on it, and I fear you’ll get-“

You don’t think you’ve moved so fast in quite some time. One moment you’re pressing yourself to the rock, and the next, you’re scrabbling to your feet with gusto, lurching away from your prior hiding space and spinning around, skin already crawling.

Sure enough, a pair of giant scorpions are scuttling around on the flat top, their tails held aloft, proud and large in the moonlight.

“-Hurt,” the stranger finishes.

Snatching your head up, you find yourself staring right into the vehicle’s headlights, and you instantly grunt with discomfort, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Oh.” There’s a pause, the vehicle’s engine skips, and the lights suddenly dim, plunging you into almost darkness save for the dim glow of residual light. “Forgive me. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks,” you respond automatically, only to turn rigid once you realise you’ve spoken aloud.

Well. He’s already seen you. No point pretending you can’t talk either…

Again, the stranger’s vehicle makes an odd noise, it’s engine hums gently, and as you lower your arm to seek out the man you’ve just opened a line of conversation with, you finally see what you’d been hiding from.

A monstrous Peterbilt sits squarely across the width of the road, entirely alien in the barren, rocky landscape. Smokestacks on either side of its cab reach towards the sky, glinting silver in the moonlight. It looks red under the meagre glow, with lighter panelling on the main body and dark, blue accents on the wheel trims and storage compartment. The grill is, in a word, massive, standing taller than you are, sporting a logo you don’t recognise on the front.

All in all, it’s a hell of a truck. Powerful, you imagine. Expensive too.

You try not to let your mouth hang ajar.

“Where-” Your voice cracks, still dry. “Ahem…! Where are you?”

Glancing around, your hackles start to rise. You can’t see the speaker anywhere. Which is why you let out an embarrassingly shrill yelp when his voice rumbles directly from the semi.

“I’m right here,” he assures you, polite enough not to show his amusement whilst you flap your mouth open and closed.

No, you shake your head. No, that is too weird. “What, are there like… speakers on the outside of your truck or something?”

There’s the tiniest of pauses, followed by a simple, concise, “There are.”

Oh. Well, then. That answers that burning question.

“Okay? So, um… Can I… help you?” you ask awkwardly, screwing one side of your face up.

The man seems to hesitate, allowing a pregnant pause to hang in the air between you before he replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Somehow, your expression twists even further south, and you begin casting your eyes over the semi, squinting through its dark windshield to try and catch a glimpse of what’s on the other side.

“I saw your truck on the side of the road,” the unseen man continues, “I feared you might have been hurt in a crash, so, I stopped to check that you weren’t still inside the vehicle. Then I found your note.”

He falls silent, and the air is dominated once again by the purring of his semi’s engine.

“Okay?” you prompt, still unsure of his motivations.

“It said you need help.”

He trails off, waiting. You’re promptly struck by the idea that he’s trying to guide you to some conclusion he hasn’t yet revealed. Finally, just as you start to grow restless, he forges ahead, “These roads can be hazardous for a lone hu-“

Suddenly, the truck’s engine revs, drowning out his voice for a second and sending you leaping backwards, startled.

“- A lone traveller…” he clears his throat just after the roar of its exhaust cuts out. Then, “Ah, If I may be so bold...”

All of a sudden, the passenger side door unlatches and swings open, and you’re presented with a clear invitation into the darkened cab. “May I offer you a ride into town?”

You wonder if he can see you turn stiff at his suggestion. Your body all but pleads on hands and knees for you to accept. What’s the worst that could happen, after all?

Well. You’ve watched several documentaries and movies that give you a pretty good indication of what ‘the Worst’ entails, thank you very much. You don’t like that he’s inviting you into his truck without showing his face to you yet. You’d like to gauge the person you’re speaking to. Get a bead on him. Is he big? Strong? Tall? Could you overpower him if it came down to it? Does he look like he’s hiding a weapon on him?

All these questions only serve to dry the moisture in your throat.

“I… That’s… very kind of you,” you admit, wringing your hands together as you take a small step away from the semi, “But I’m sure it’ll be okay, it isn’t that far.”

“At an average speed of three miles per hour, you will reach the outskirts of town in just under three and a half hours.”

You blink, caught off guard. ‘And they said we’d never need to use equations after we graduated.’

“Maths guy, huh?” you cock a hip, laying a hand across it and shooting the truck’s windshield a tentative smile, “Maybe I walk at four miles an hour.”

“Two and a half then,” he quips back just as smoothly, the door to his semi still hanging open. When he continues, you can’t help but notice that the cadence of his baritone voice rumbling through the speakers has turned to something a little more sombre, quieter, like he’s trying to impress upon you the gravity of a situation you don’t yet know about. “But time and distance aside, I do not wish to leave you to walk into Jasper by yourself, particularly at this time of night.”

He speaks like he’s been to elocution lessons. Every word seems to be carefully selected, every vowel and consonant articulate and refined.

It’s disarming. He’s disarming. But you’re still not convinced.

“Listen… Thank you, again. But…” It feels rude, like you’re committing some kind of faux pas in turning your back on the semi, yet you can’t shake the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you that there’s something not quite right about the man in the truck. Not bad, just… off.

“It’s a kind offer,” you tell him again lamely, turning on your heel. And so, you recommence your weary march for Jasper, tossing one last sentiment over your shoulder, “But I’m sure I can make it on my own. Take care, okay?”

You almost expect him to argue, but all you can hear is the now familiar drone of the semi’s almighty engine. For several paces, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you, scrutinising and pensive, if a little baffled by your short yet polite dismissal.

When you make it another ten feet, heaving your tired legs after you over the tarmac, your ears perk up to the sound of an engine revving.

Smokestacks chugging, the massive truck pulls out of its standstill, unseen behind you.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you keep your gaze fixed to the ground ahead and raise a hand, flapping it about in an apologetic farewell as you meander further off the road and onto the sand, giving him plenty of space to get past.

You start to frown when you make it twenty paces without being overtaken by the truck.

That frown only grows deeper when the engine keeps churring away behind you, rubber tyres crunching tiny particles of sand under their treads as it crawls along in your wake.

Is he…?

Tearing your eyes off the toes of your shoes, you send a fleeting glance over your shoulder, surprised – but not much – to find the nose of the Peterbilt creeping slowly along in your peripheral vision, keeping pace with you.

Your frown eases back, and you quirk a brow at him instead, calmly asking, “What are you doing?”

And just as easily, the voice returns, “If you will not allow me to drive you, I will happily escort you to your destination.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Ha! ‘Escort.’” The snicker jumps out of you faster than you can raise your hands to press your fingertips against an unbidden grin. “Sorry,” you immediately try to amend, “You just sounded so serious.”

“… I… am serious?”

Letting your hand flop back to your side, you give your head a shake, still grinning. You really do meet all sorts on the road.

“Regardless, I’m sure you have far better things to be doing with your time.”

How the truck matches your walking speed without his engine faltering or sputtering, you’ll never know.

A strange noise gurgles from its exhaust, almost perfectly reminiscent of a troubled hum.

“On the contrary,” the driver responds, pulling forwards a little until only the grill overtakes you, and for a moment, you worry he’s about to drive across your path, “There is nothing at the moment that concerns me more than getting you safely where you need to go.”

Huh. Of all the genuine, stubborn…

“Look.” Your shoes scuff up a cloud of sand as you draw to an abrupt and decisive halt, turning bodily towards the truck. Hands splayed on your hips, you glare at the windscreen, aiming approximately for the driver. A second later, he must have hit the brakes because the semi lurches to a stop as well, hissing noisily.

Still, he doesn’t step out.

“You seem like a nice guy,” you start, trying to keep your chin raised and your tone stern. You fail, of course. Your voice cracks nervously, but at least you try. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally elect to stop beating around the bush and just address the elephant in the room – or desert, as it were.

“But I don’t make it a habit to get into random trucks with strangers.” You make it a point not to directly accuse him of having ulterior motives, but you hope you’ve at least driven home your main concern. At best, he’ll grow offended that you’d think him capable of such a thing and – hopefully – move on. At worst… Well. You brace yourself for that, teeth grit so tightly, your jaw starts to ache as you flick your eyes over towards the truck’s driver-side door, waiting.

The truck in question does something odd then. It… sinks? At least you think it does, lowering on its axles by a few inches like the wheels have just deflated. It’s difficult to tell in the dim moonlight though, and it’s over so quickly, you can’t be sure you saw anything at all that wasn’t just a trick of the desert.

How long have you been awake?

You’re busy calculating the hours you were driving when the stranger’s voice is kicked out over the speakers again.

“You assume I mean you harm…” he utters.

And just like that, the stern, rigid scowl is instantly wiped off your face.

He sounds…

…sad.

Not offended. Not angered by your thinly-veiled implication.

Just sad. Dispirited, even. As if it’s only just occurred to him that you might have perceived him as a threat.

It’s almost painful when the pair of you dissolve into an uncomfortable silence that lasts for several beats of your rapid-fire heart.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, your brows drift apart whilst you try to think of something to say. Trouble is, you’re afraid that speaking again will only make things worse.

You have no idea what’s going through his head. What if his dejected tone is followed by something worse?

“I’m sorry,” you backtrack, pressing your lips together and chiding yourself for faltering, “It’s nothing personal, just… I-I should probably get going before I fall asleep standing up.” You give a stilted laugh, but it soon turns into an awkward sound made at the back of your throat, lips pulled over your teeth in a grimace.

Dipping your head, you swallow thickly and grip the straps of your rucksack again. But just as you make to turn away, the semi’s wheels abruptly twist towards you. It’s ever so slight, just enough that the truck rolls a few paces in your direction before it stops again, its grill pointed straight at you.

With an audible gulp, you go to take another step back, staring at the metal in anticipation. Your retreat is soon halted by the mellow rumble of his voice.

“I understand your hesitation. And I know that the word of a stranger may not hold much weight,” he begins slowly. The Peterbilt inches forwards again. “But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me…”

Shifting on your feet, you let go of your bag and clutch instead at your elbows, brows tipped up indecisively. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. He also speaks with a candour you’ve never encountered outside of a film or a storybook. Frank and forthright in a way you’ve never been privy to. Is that why you’re hesitating? Is that why he seems ‘off?’ Because his level of sincerity doesn’t have a place in your world?

Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time by yourself, it’s turned you distrustful. Maybe you’re just getting cynical. Looking back on your journey here, you realise that only other person who you’ve spoken to was a disinterested server who took your order at a drive-thru… That was four days ago. How long before that did you listen to someone who wasn’t the people on your truck’s radio?

Why is it so suspicious that this trucker wants to help? Hell, you’d be concerned as well if you saw some poor bastard hiking alone through the desert at night without a friend in the world.

Christ, you need some perspective.

The driver must see the conflict painted like a brand across your expression.

“Would it reassure you to know that this vehicle is operated entirely remotely?” he pipes up.

You blink once. Then again to wake yourself up a little more, pulled from your inner turmoil. “What?”

“This vehicle,” he tells you, “It is an unmanned vehicle.”

Curiosity overtakes suspicion faster than you can uncross your arms and stare at the grill dumbly, face opening up in surprise. “Wait. You mean it’s one of those self-driving things?”

“In a sense.” The semi’s engine rumbles softly, and the not-driver adds, “I am what you might call… the safety driver.”

Now that is curious.

You don’t even realise you’ve taken a step closer. “Really? But I thought that sort of tech was still in testing?”

“It is,” he replies, “We are, however, attempting to advance to field-tests, to see if these vehicles can autonomously haul freight in areas with sparser populations, to minimise the risk of collision.”

“Hence why you’re driving it out here in the middle of the night,” you realise aloud, raising an inquisitive brow at the windscreen, “So you’re really not in there? You’re driving it from somewhere else?”

“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asks kindly.

Your wide eyes flit to the passenger door when it eases open once again, though this time, it seems far less foreboding than before.

Tugging a loose piece of skin between your teeth, you give the silver steps leading to the door a scrutinising glance.

That does reassure you…

Slowly, still at least a little wary, you coax your legs to move, and they begrudgingly carry you onto the road. You approach the semi-truck with all the caution of a doe crossing an open meadow.

As you venture closer, its engine kicks up a notch, emitting a steady, gentle purr as if the vehicle itself is pleased with your acquiescence.

Suddenly, as you move along to the open door, you’re dazzled by a light flickering on inside the cab, bathing what you can see from this angle in a calm, golden hue.

From down here, it looks… just like an ordinary interior.

And lo and behold, as you stand on your tiptoes to see in, you find the driver’s seat is eerily devoid of its occupant.

You let out a breath that emerges shakier than you would have liked it to.

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed.

Maybe just a quick peek…

A vast chunk of apprehension breaks away from your chest and vanishes into the ether as you shuffle towards the steps, raising an arm and stretching your fingers across the space to the grab handle that sits invitingly just beside the open door.

This side of the truck is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s only now that you’re this close that you happen to notice something you hadn’t before.

You almost wince when you spot them.

Although shiny and speckled with only the lightest dusting of desert sand, the metal panelling on the semi is covered in signs of wear and tear.

Enough to give you pause, at least.

For a moment, you’re taken aback, turning bodily away from the open door and cocking your head at the myriad of scratches that criss-cross their way up towards the semi’s roof.

All the paint in the world couldn’t hide some of those shallow nicks and lines that have been scraped out of the metal. In any case, something big must have scuffed it. Perhaps another driver in their own Peterbilt? Or perhaps it’s all damage sustained in testing the vehicle’s automated capabilities.

Clicking your tongue, you absently raise a hand to stroke your fingertips gingerly along the length of a particularly prominent scratch by the door.

“Oh dear,” you tut softly at the side of the truck, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Without warning, the engine that had been buzzing so gently suddenly ramps up and starts to vibrate firmly beneath your fingers, so strong you can even feel it judder the ground through the soles of your feet.

Recoiling like you’ve been zapped, you whip your head around to peer through the open door, half expecting the driver to admonish you for touching his vehicle.

As swiftly as it started however, the thrumming engine dies down, and the truck returns to its soft, benign idling. “My apologies,” comes that gentle voice again through the speakers, “Just an overactive combustion chamber.”

“Is it... safe to ride in?” you retort, giving the back of the truck a sidelong glance.

“You will find very few vehicles safer than this one,” he tells you patiently, “I will not allow any harm to befall you, as I would not allow it to befall any of my passengers.”

Your shoulders jump with a silent laugh. “Befall,” you parrot, fighting a smile, “I love the way you talk.”

“… You do?” His speakers buzz with a pleasant hum.

Fingers flexing anxiously, you reach out once again and slide them around the grab handle beside the door, finding that it’s unexpectedly warm under your palm.

“So, I just… get in?” you ask, only to cringe immediately, realising you probably sound like a fool who’s forgotten how to get into a truck.

Before you can rebuke yourself harshly though, the absent stranger offers his response. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, no,” you rush out, placing one foot on the first, silver step and hoisting yourself up off the ground, bringing yourself level with the cab’s seats.

Your eyes grow wide with wonder as you take in the interior.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, suddenly hesitant to pull yourself up those last few feet.

“Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just… It’s so clean!”

Laid out before you is a perfectly ordinary truck cabin. Soft, grey leather covers the seats, with the same dark colouration on the roof, doors and most of the glovebox, interspersed by a rich, black steering wheel. The soft light, you discover, is emitted by multiple strips of blue neon LEDs that the driver must have fitted underneath the radio dials and dashboard, casting the truck’s interior in a cool, soothing glow.

But most astonishingly, for as much as you search, you can’t spot a single thing out of place. It’s absolutely immaculate. There isn’t one receipt stuffed in the door pockets, no traces of sand or gravel dirtying the footwells, no loose change tossed into the centre console…

Dumbfounded, you glance into the back, but all you find it a dark, grey panel and a shelf set back into the semi’s rear wall, meant for use as a bed, you surmise. It’s empty, unsurprisingly. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

Finally, your suspicions are put to rest. This truck doesn’t look lived in at all. He really is operating it remotely.

“God, it looks brand new in here,” you marvel aloud, suddenly hyper-conscious of the abysmal state of your old pickup. The scratches on this semi’s exterior play briefly on your mind but you brush your musings aside, too fatigued to consider the contradictions of a worn exterior but an immaculate interior.

Instead, you feel a frown crease the skin between your brows.

It really is immaculate in here…

Glancing down, you scowl disdainfully at your filthy shoes, the tank-top that’s stained irreparably by dropped food and greasy finger-smears, and trousers that are tattered and worn at their hems.

“Is everything all right?” the ‘driver’ asks again. His voice must emerge from the speakers on each door, low and warm, filling up the cabin.

“My shoes are dirty,” you admit out loud, your grip on the handle turning slack until you sink a few inches back to the first step, “I’m dirty. I-I don’t want to get sand and crap all over your truck.”

“I don’t mind.”

Spoken with more consideration than you’ve heard in a long, long time.

You pause at once, brows tipping up in the centre of your forehead.

A deep inhale through your nose brings with it the unobtrusive scent of leather, with the faintest undertone of adhesive sealers, giving the interior that ‘new truck smell’ that so many drivers try to replicate artificially.

Comparatively, it’s been several days since you passed a rest stop that had showering facilities. Those that did asked for a hefty charge. You’d glanced down at the handful of coppers in your centre console and decided you could go without. Now, you’re starting to regret that decision. Every now and then, whenever you raised your arms to stretch or flip the visor down in your pickup, you’d catch an unpleasant whiff of yourself wafting out from under your light, cotton shirt.

Embarrassed as you are to confess that you’ve been severely neglecting your personal hygiene, you swallow past a lump in your throat and croak, “I… haven’t exactly washed for a couple of days… I wouldn’t want to make your truck smell…”

And in a tone so kind it threatens to brings a tear to your eye, the stranger answers consolingly, “I think your scent is perfectly fine.”

It’s so damnably genuine, you can’t even find it in yourself to point out that he isn’t here to smell you, so his point is moot.

“I…” One more cop-out strikes you. “I don’t have any money,” you murmur truthfully, ashamed, “I can’t pay you for the fuel, or-“

“-I ask for nothing in return but your company,” is all he says, cutting you off as gently as his profound voice will allow.

And just like that, you’re out of viable excuses. Or perhaps your body has noticed the comfortable seats right in front of it and you don’t have enough fight left in you to deny it a sit down. Besides, any reasons you come up with to dip are likely to be met with a counterpoint.

Even so, you can’t help but hesitate for one more question, hand clasping and unclasping around the grab handle. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything am I?”

The next sound that hums through his speakers is so soft and rich, you think it’s the truck’s engine playing up again, at least until the stranger cuts the noise off by saying, “You do not look like trouble to me.”

If he only knew.

The sound prior, you realise, was a chuckle, the first one you’ve heard out of him yet. Something in the measure of it settles the last of your nerves, only slightly, just long enough to have you throwing caution to the wind. With a final heave, you pull yourself the rest of the way inside, sliding gingerly into the comfortable passenger seat. You never notice how the metal below your foot shifts microscopically, lifting you closer to the cab.

It takes a lot of restraint not to let your eyes drift closed, nor to slump backwards into the wondrously giving material on your spine.

Instead, you sit stiffly with your rucksack keeping you upright, legs pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. If you make any kind of mess in here, you’ll be mortified.

After a moment, you remember to close the door, but just as you turn and peel a hand off your thigh, you jolt, staring agog at the door as it swings slowly shut with a dull ‘click.’ All of its own accord.

“Full remote access,” the voice pipes up as the engine below you roars to life, and then you’re moving, and all you can do is stare through the window at the desert drifting by whilst trying to ignore the uninvited ache in your chest.

“Seatbelt.”

His gentle prompt spurs you to reach over and grab the fabric near your shoulder, tugging it across your body and fumbling a little to slot it into place. Suddenly, you feel an invisible pull on the belt, and the metal buckle finds its way into the socket on your next pass.

‘Must be magnetic,’ you muse distractedly.

“Are you comfortable?”

Blinking back the moisture in your eyes, you turn to glance at the empty driver’s seat. It’s bizarre, and more than a little unsettling to see the steering wheel turn itself around as the truck pulls back onto the road, driven by unseen hands.

When you don’t immediately respond to his query, the man continues just as patiently as before. “If it is too cold, I can turn up the heater. Or… perhaps you are too warm…” He hums to himself, thoughtful. “You have been exerting yourself.”

You instantly become aware of the light sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried on your forehead. Puckering your face up into a solemn smile, you shake your head and at last respond. “Not to worry. It’s very comfortable in here.”

What follows is a poignant moment of hesitation before the voice speaks again. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… You do not seem comfortable…”

The open-ended statement fades into silence, and you’re left casting nervous glances around the cabin again. “How do you-?” you start, tugging your shirt further down your arms, “Can you see me? Like… in here?”

Again, there’s a pause, barely longer than a second, yet long enough for you to notice it.

“Cameras,” comes his measured response, “Both external and internal. They’re how I spotted you on the road.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even considered that… Of course.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach up and begin to paw uselessly at your dishevelled hair, humming though a thin-lipped smile. “I must look a sight,” you half joke.

“You look tired…” he replies diplomatically, and there’s nothing in it for you to be offended by.

Rubbing a thumb over the wrinkle slowly carving a home between your brows, you heave a dreary sigh. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I can only imagine… And… Where does it culminate, if I may?”

“Terry’s Dairy?” you offer, “Uh, it’s this little farm just on the outskirts of Jasper.”

The truck beneath you gives a reverberating thrum. “I know the pastures, but I’m afraid you will find they lay beyond the ‘outskirts’ of the city.”

Letting out a groan, you knock your head back against the seat behind you, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. “Of course… How far?”

“Only a few miles, to the East of Jasper. We’re coming in from the Northwest highway. I can get you there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty- Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to do that,” you protest, shifting in the seat to frown at the empty driver’s seat in lieu of anywhere else to look, “Just drop me off in town and I’ll walk the rest. You’re already going out of your way for a stranger.”

“I am dropping you off at your destination and not a mile before,” he tells you steadily.

His uncompromising tone brooks no argument.

You stare at the spot a person should be for several, long moments, debating how much you could push an argument. He’s already coaxed you into his truck, his powers of persuasion are rather good. What chance do you have, sleep-deprived as you are?

Conceding sullenly, yet appreciatively, you let your back touch the seat, settling into it a little less hesitantly. “You won’t be taking no for an answer, I assume?”

He only lapses into a stubborn silence, an answer in and of itself.

That quiet is broken, however, when you suddenly let out all the air from your lungs, a smile growing across the width of your face as the breath escapes your nostrils in a sigh. “Thank you for this… Really. You’re saving me a lot of grief.”

The blue neons on his dashboard seem to flare a bit brighter for all of a second before they dim again. “I am glad to be of service,” he replies warmly.

“Oh my god,” you blurt without warning, leaning forwards in the seat and staring through the windscreen with wide eyes, “I’m so sorry, you’re being so nice and I’m so rude – I never asked your name.”

“Nor did I yours,” he points out, “You may call me Op-“

Suddenly, a burst of static buzzes through the radio. You shoot it a funny look.

“Optimus,” the stranger admits over the static with a hesitance you pick up on right away, drawing your gaze from the dash, “My name is Optimus.”

“Optimus?” you repeat incredulously, a small smile quirking at the edges of your mouth, “Wow… You must have had creative parents.”

“I appreciate that it might seem… an unusual name…”

“It is,” you agree pleasantly, “I like it. Makes you sound cool. Unique. My parents just stuck me with Y/n.”

At once, Optimus echoes your name, and you’re jarred by the sound of it coming from someone else’s lips, reverberating around the truck. It’s been a while since anyone used it.

“Y/n,” he says again in his velvety timbre, “It’s a fine name. I like yours too.”

[ragingbookdragon]

Hanging By A Moment

Bayverse Transformers x Reader Blurbs

Word Count: 940 Warnings: None

Author's Note: I love TF so much. I miss it all lol -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ironhide:

“This is…different,” she notes as she arrives into the darkened field; the veil of the moon blankets the land in an ivory haze, yet Ironhide’s sleek body is visible from even the edge. It’s remote enough that they don’t have to worry about being seen; she nears him with a curious look on her face. “Ironhide?”

His tailgate lowers and with a surprised expression that quickly gives way to a pleasant smile, she climbs onto the back, kicks her shoes off, and lays down on the makeshift bedding, resting her head on the pillow.

“Did you do this all for me?” she asks. “Aren’t you so sweet underneath all that firepower.”

“Have to treat my best girl, don’t I?” Ironhide teases back. “You’ve been working awfully hard lately. Even I know to take a break once in a while.”

She hums and curls into the blankets, almost feeling like they’re keeping warm and toasty. “No rest for the wicked, Ironhide. The Decepticons won’t wait while I rest.”

He grumbles, deep and low, and she can’t help but laugh. “Then you’ll rest, and I’ll kick ass.”

“Okay, bud,” she jokes, resting her head back on the pillow. “Take care of me while I rest.”

***

Rachet:

“When I said I wanted to spend some time alone with you, Rachet…this isn’t necessarily what I meant.”

His frame rumbles as he slows to a stop on the side of the canyon. “I can turn around, if you’d like?”

“You better not,” she warns and points a finger at the steering wheel. “You promised to take me out to the stars.”

She can hear the smile in his hum as he starts driving again. “When you mentioned you’ve always wanted to see the stars up close, I figured this would be the best I could give you.” He shifts back the roof, and her eyes widen at the expanse of bright stars above her.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, unable to help but stand up in the front seat, rising out of the rooftop. “Rachet, it’s…it’s incredible.”

He slows to a stop at the edge and stills. “It’s almost as incredible as you are. But somehow, their brightness can’t even come close to how beautiful you shine.”

Slipping back into the seat, she reaches forward and gently presses her lips to his steering wheel. “Thank you, Rachet. For doing this for me…for us.”

***

Bumblebee:

It’s almost one AM by the time they make it back into the city. Eerily enough, the roads are almost empty, and Bumblebee has a straight shot back to the facility, but he passes the particular highway that leads to it.

She notices from her sleepy haze in the passenger seat. “Bee? You missed the turn.”

He makes a noise that she recognizes as his answer of “Yes.”

“Where are we going?” she’s not worried in the slightest, knows that Bumblebee wouldn’t ever take her somewhere she could get hurt; she’s still curious though.

“Don’t worry about it,” a voiceover from a TV show filters through and she snorts tiredly.

“Alright, Bee, keep your secrets.” She shifts in his seat and reclines back, unable to help but trace the threading in the console. “You takin’ me home, Bee?”

“Take me home tonight!” he sings, and she smiles, gently shutting her eyes as the streetlights still shine across her face as they pass between shadows.

“I’m happy, Bee,” she murmurs. “You know that? I’m always happy with you.”

He’s silent for a long while and she wonders if maybe he didn’t hear her, but it doesn’t bother her as she curls up in the passenger seat and begins to drift off, only to hear quietly through the speakers, “I’m living for the only thing I know. I’m running and not quite sure where to go. And I don’t know what I’m diving into, just hanging by a moment here with you.”

***

Optimus:

“Sorry about the rain, Optimus,” she murmurs as they take shelter in the rundown warehouse. “I can’t imagine it’s going to let up…we’ll be here for a while.”

She watches as steam begins to flow from his body, fans in his processors blowing until the water is simply droplets here and there.

“That’s handy,” she jokes, and he meets her gaze with a smile.

“While rust isn’t a big a worry to myself as it is Ironhide, I’d rather not take any chances.”

She nods and takes off her jacket, wringing it out. “It’ll be dark soon. We should set up a perimeter.” The echoing of his transformation sounds in the warehouse, and she looks up. “Optimus?” His door opens and closes a few times until she gets the hint to climb in.

As she enters, the cab opens, and she slips further inside. It’s smaller than she imagined, given that outside he’s much larger but she assumes he’s somehow made some room for her. It’s a small bedding, smaller than a door, but enough that she can curl up on it, propping her arm under her head. She’s about to say it’s cold when the fans blow again and fill the cab with a warmth that feels like she wrapped herself in a blanket straight out of the drier.

And he knows it too as he asks, “Comfortable?”

“Mhm,” she murmurs and scoots back until her back is against the wall of his cab; it feels good to have him at her back, safe and secure. “I think I could lie here forever.”

“When there is peace, my spark,” he says. “We will lie forever.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” and she knows his words ring with truth.

[botboots]

Saw that your requests were open so what about TFP cons with an adorkable teen human reader? A really close friend (the emotional support bundle of joy™) that is really artistic, kind, understanding and just a pure cinnamon roll, what would be the bots reaction to the lil' human? Optimus, Ratchet,Bulkhead, Arcee, BB, and if you do the kids then the kids. If not the other bots, stay safe!

im back!! so sorry for the long ass wait, had so much going on in my life recently (graduating, going back home, etc.) but hopefully i'll be back to posting somewhat regularly! tysm for the continuous support :] love seeing the notifs pop up every day this is one of the first asks in my inbox (and i completely forgot that the prompt said reader was part of the cons... whoops) and i've wanted to get it done for a while now! have so many more to get through but will get them done eventually - this isn't the best but its cute <3 and you can 100% tell who my favs are lmao warnings: none word count: 939 (GN reader)

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

Optimus:

he finds your outlook on things is a nice change of pace compared to the more pessimistic views that some members of the team can have at times

values your compassion greatly, often turning to you as a confidant over the time you’ve gotten to know each other. a mission went wrong and he’s putting all the blame on himself? you’re there to reassure him in a heartbeat, reminding him that he did his best and there’s always another chance; you keep him grounded

has an innate interest in art and writing - he used to be an archivist, after all

so he enjoys watching you indulge in your hobby, your excitement about it reminds him of his younger years of being a clerk at iacon when he would become giddy over a newfound archaic text

he’s very fond of you and makes sure you know it, taking note of the small things you like and getting you whatever little gift he can manage to find - genuinely thinks you’re cute and likes seeing you happy :] 

Ratchet:

while it may have taken him a little longer than the others to warm up to you fully, he grew to start looking forward to your company (despite his his best efforts to hide it)

he appreciates your quiet company; you’re much less rambunctious than both the other humans and his own team - you complain a lot less too, probably one of his favorite qualities about you

like optimus, your bubbly attitude gives him a much needed break from the dreary duties that come with being the autobot medic

you often find yourselves working in tandem, with you sitting on the couch working on your newest project while he stands at his terminal typing away. occasionally you’ll walk over with a nervous smile, and with a roll of his optics he’ll lower a servo for you to climb into and lift you up onto the corner of the console, huffing when you chirp a thank you before the both of you quietly return to your tasks (he enjoys it, really)

while he’s not one to vent his frustrations to you, he’ll always be open to listen to you vent about yours. even if he doesn’t respond with much, he’ll offer logical solutions and observations for whatever issue you’re having

Bulkhead:

the big guy loves art, having been exposed to his fair share of it by miko, and is very encouraging when it comes to your projects

he might not get some of the nuances or meanings of the things you make, but he tries - oftentimes making you laugh a bit at the sheer amount he misses. it’s endearing though, and you appreciate the effort

too fidgety to sit and watch you do anything for too long, but he’ll offer to drive you to a vista for some inspiration while he does his usual scouting routes, miko tagging along of course. she’ll probably bring her sketchbook with her and sit next to you and draw, chattering the entire time while blasting some music from her ipod, offering you one of her earbuds

Arcee:

similar to ratchet she takes a while to get used to you, a little cold at first to your attempts at friendliness

she notices how happy you seem to make everyone else and eventually makes a legitimate pass at being friendly despite how awkward it feels

but with how eagerly you accept it she doesn’t feel as bad, sighing in relief as you immediately start filling her in on how much you’ve enjoyed your time with the autobots

she’s not much of a conversationalist (especially when it comes to humans) so your chattiness is almost a relief - not having to keep up fake interest and energy with someone puts her in a more comfortable position; especially since you’re not one to comment on it like others tend to

will sit and watch you work on whatever your newest project is, a comfortable silence shared between the two of you

rambles about random stuff from her past sometimes - you turn out to be one of the few people she trusts enough to mindlessly dump her thoughts to, both good and bad

Bumblebee:

one of the first to get to know you, overly excited about having a fresh face around

super curious when he sees you working on something, a barrage of questions translated from mechanical chirps and whirrs with the help (and annoyance) of ratchet

he’ll actually try and mimic some of your art on the walls of hidden ditches where he and rafael hang out, excitedly bringing you along to show off his latest work and buzzing happily when you praise it

will eventually, with your encouragement, try and make something original - he ends up finding it pretty soothing and an easier way to feel understood; communicating his feelings without words can be unsurprisingly helpful for someone who can’t use any of his own

you’ll spend hours hanging out and working on your stuff - he likes when you help him with his own art, adding your own brushstrokes to the concrete wall

he’ll let you sit up on his shoulder just to watch him make whatever he feels like making, or even just taking you on joyrides in the desert where he doesnt need to worry about anything going wrong

while it’s usually you, him and raf hanging out he does enjoy spending solo time with you - usually in silence or one-sided conversations, but you understand each other well enough without words

will also figure out what your favorite songs are and surprise you with them; he loves when you get all giddy about literally anything

[thewallsaretalking-again]

⭐⭐HAPPY PRIDE!!!!⭐⭐

I am SHOCKED that no TFP pride art has come across my feed yet, so I took it upon myself to create that art! Because, let's be honest, this is the most closeted gay show to ever exist. All I really knew when drawing this is that I wanted to include bulkhead, because the poor guy gets no love :(. I wanted to make each character the color of the flags I head cannon them to be:

Arcee is Bisexual!

Ratchet is Pansexual!

Bulkhead is Polysexual!

Optimus is Demi-Bisexual!!

I might do some of the other bots or show off some of my ships before the month ends, but we'll have to see!

Note: these are all head cannons, nothing official! If you don't agree, that's fine! Just be nice :) I hope you're all having a good month! Also, if anyone has any tips for drawing Ratchet, please let me know; I think I could've drawn him a bit better.

[in1-nutshell]

How would the tfp react to the sparkling beans

I have another work that has the TFP Cons reaction to the sparklings you can visit. Now its time for these beans to meet up with the Autobots.

Hope you enjoy!

Autobots reacting to finding a pod full of sparklings

SFW, familial, platonic, Cybertronian/ Bot reader

TFP

For the sake of this writing, the pod crash landed outside their base after a meteor shower. Optimus and Ultra Magnus go out to retrieve the pod. Bulkhead has his wrecking ball out just in case it was another scraplet trap. No one is expecting this pod to be filled with sparklings.

Optimus Prime

Confused sparkling noises

“My children.”--Optimus

“Optimus they all can’t—”--Ratchet

“My. Children.”--Optimus

Oh, he is not expecting this. But this is a pleasant surprise. He is in love with all these little beans. He helps them out of the pod with the help of the other to make sure they are okay in the med bay. Optimus is hypervigilant of each sparkling while Ratchet is checking up on them.

Due to the amount of sparklings, and his lack of more servos, he came up with a new guardian system for the team to use for the beans.

No one is going to say no to this idea.

Prime has a habit whenever he is in the base to pick up a sparkling or two and keep them around while he does work. That doesn’t mean that work is the only thing he does around the sparklings. He finds himself telling them stories he remembers from his days as Orion Pax in the halls of Iacon.

Has given the beans a ride in his alt-mode from time to time.

Ratchet

Giggling sparkling noises.

Mother hen mode activated.

Oh, his stress levels have skyrocketed.

Not only does he have to worry about his team doing dumb things and getting hurt, now he has to worry about a bunch of literal sparklings. He needs a break, but not now, he has sparklings now.

He checks up on every single sparkling making note that they were all right and healthy. Since he spends the most time at the base, he naturally spends more time with the sparklings.

He is thankful for anyone who stays with him at the base to help with the sparklings. His back kibble sub space is usually filled with the beans. It’s easier to make sure to know where they are. Ratchet endless patience with the sparklings.

Has taken some of the sparklings around on ambulance rides when he picks up Raf when Bumblebee can’t .

Bumblebee

Beeping sparkling noises

Mimicking same beeping noises

He isn’t the youngest anymore!

He is enamored with the sparklings. He is often found cooing at them and picking them up.

Protective of his little friends. Bumblebee is the first to introduce the sparklings to the kids when they come back. Which was a story all on its own.

He takes his job as guardian seriously with the sparklings, especially if Raf is around too. It makes him one of the best babysitters on the team.

Has taken some around on rides on his alt-mode, does speed up from time to time but usually sticks to the speed limit and smooth driving.

Arcee

Sparkling noises

“…Oh Primus…”

She is having a time.

Is mentally stressing about the sparklings safety. The war is still going on and the base can only be safe if they keep it that way. Doesn’t even want to think about the sparklings getting hurt.

She isn’t the best at comfort.

But she does her best in keeping the kiddos in check and safe.

Gets Jack to help her with them. Jack is just happy to help, because he is sure that Arcee might have a mental breakdown if one of them got a tiny scrap on their knee.

Due to her vehicle mode not beginning the safest for sparkling travel, she makes up for it doing piggyback rides.

Bulkhead

Sparkling noises

“Oh, thank Primus it’s not scraplets…”

He is so relief they are not scraplets.

He wants to be around the sparklings but at the same time wants to keep his distance. Bulkhead has a track record of accidents that happen due to him being a klutz.

Thanks to Miko’s help he does find a way to keep an optic on the sparklings and still being safe around them.

The first on is that he has to sit down with his backside against the wall and have the sparklings around his lap. That way he can tell stories and act as a jungle gym at the same time.

The other option is having them inside his alt-mode while driving.

He takes caution with the sparklings inside, meaning no dune bashing.

Wheeljack

Sparkling noises

“I want this one.”--Wheeljack

“Wheeljack—”--Ratchet

“Meet Jackie jr.”--Wheeljack

He likes sparklings.

Might have come as a surprise to the others but it wasn’t at the same time. Wheeljack has had experience with kids in the past and he is a good babysitter. One of the best in the entire team.

Reason 1, he knows his strengths and won’t accidentally step on one of them. He gets a lot of ‘uppises’ requests.

Reason 2, he can entertain the sparklings for hours with fun harmless science experiments. They have to be runned by the Doc first. The last time he didn’t do that he ended up with wrench marks at his helm as he was teaching the youngsters how to make a grenade.

Reason 3, he has plenty of stories to share, while keeping them all G rated. He is not dumb enough to tell them what actually happened, he still wouldn’t tell them even if they were older.

Wheeljack has been known to steal certain sparklings and take them out on trips in the Jackhammer or in his alt-mode.

Smokescreen

“Hi there little guy!”--Smokescreen

“Smokescreen you’re holding them upside down!”—Ratchet

He is too excited to see the sparklings.

He had never seen a sparkling before, so this was a special moment. Smokescreen is always the first to volunteer to take care the sparklings.

Loves the feeling of being looked up to and lives for it. He wants to be a good role model for them and tries his best.

He does sometimes forget where he might have put a sparkling here and there but that usually happens when he takes too many sparklings that he can handle. Thankfully for the most part he does remember in the end where he put them, or Bumblebee finds them before he can.

Why is it always Bumblebee who finds them, not even he knows why.

He is banned from taking the sparklings out in his alt-mode after speeding too much.

Ultra magnus

Sparkling noises

“I am going to read the entire Autobot code to them when its bedtime.”—Ultra Magnus

He has done this. Wheeljack walked in on him doing this and claimed to the others that he was torturing them with cruel and unusual punishment.

Magnus is not amused.

He is one of the best babysitters on the team besides Wheeljack and Bumblebee. Magnus knows how to be gentle and careful with smaller beings. After all he has had a lot of practice due to his tall stature on Cybertron and on Earth.

He can get the little beans to sleep faster than anyone else. Does not matter if they had a tiring day or are still full of energy, he can make them fall asleep in record time.

He likes to talk to them as if they were fully grown Cybertronians and has held interesting conversations with them. Secretly has a data pad full of the things the sparklings like and dislike.

He has taken a few sparklings out of the base at night and driven around the base to help them sleep better.

[unlikelypandahologram]

Reasons to ship every single version of MegOP

since Very Dumb Discourse™ exists about whether or not certain versions of this ship are valid, this is going to be THE most positive post about all versions of MegOP. refer back to this post for reasons to ship your favorite version of MegOP if anyone gets weird about it with you. now let us begin!!

G1: goofy '80s faction dads fighting each other in a denny's parking lot every week LET'S GOOO, that shit is fun as fuck. orion pax also totally had a celeb crush on megatron before megatron ruined that and shot him and his pals 😔 and there's a lot of angst you can add with megatron becoming galvatron and optimus coming back to life to see how much he's changed!

BW: it's the sheer fucking comedy gold factor of a newly minted college graduate and a terrorist dinosaur IMMEDIATELY singling each other out on a prehistoric rock and deciding to call their daily gang slap-fights the BEAST WARS, what iconic drama queens LMAOOOO. also, megatron made his final body in BM look like optimal optimus SPECIFICALLY to fuck with him, and that's just...incredible

UT: the fact that megatron CANONICALLY acted like a grieving widower over optimus after he died in armada is. amazing. never forget their absolutely insane obsession with each other that they can never EVER give up on played a direct part in unicron nearly ending the world <3

Bayverse: this is the one continuity of all fucking things that gave us the lore about megatron being prime's lord high protector. absolute galaxy brain writing from the tie-in comics. also these two would ABSOLUTELY have the messiest, nastiest, most brutal hate sex imaginable, and that's beautiful. <3

Animated: optimus being a rookie washout underdog and megatron being a super scary much older warlord is a really interesting and underrated fresh take on their dynamic! lots of fun to be had with exploring what their relationship would be like after megatron finally acknowledged him as his archnemesis, lol. also...age AND size difference ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Prime: do i even need to say anything, i'm pretty sure that one flashback still of orion and megatronus being friends is responsible for birthing a million shippers for this pairing alone LMAOOOO. the bitter ex-boyfriends energy was TRULY off the charts in this show, it's a damn shame megatron never appeared in RID15

Cyberverse: same bitter ex-boyfriends energy but this time with dates at maccadams. megatron also dies encouraging optimus to beat the unhinged alternate dimension megs AAHH THE ANGST

IDW1: they're both depressed gay war criminals in this one who CONSTANTLY live in each other's heads rent-free and that's amazing, lmfao. also, megatron becoming an autobot means this is one of the VERY FEW continuities where it's not nigh impossible to figure out a way to give these two a happy ending together in fanon

IDW2: space date space date SPACE DATE. they were falling together and everything. megatron also LITERALLY tells optimus to open himself to him...to give him the matrix...yeah megs my dude i'm sure that's the ONLY thing you wanted from optimus "opening" himself. toootally positive, lol

G1 Marvel: megatron was SUPER fucking pissed and weird as shit about the time optimus died over a video game. it counts

Dreamwave: their first fight had megatron urging optimus to join him AND they disappeared together in a space bridge explosion once which is like, a fanfic-esque setup for them to be alone. also i'm pretty sure this is the continuity where optimus accidentally gave megatron a lobotomy, so...uh...potential for angst is to be had

SG: mirror universe!! evil crazy villain optimus with noble goody-goody hero megatron has so much potential for absolute chaos. bonus if you also bring in the normal versions somehow through multiverse shenanigans <3

KP: the only way this version of prime can redeem himself from the creepy underage human girl bullshit is if he gets a good hard dicking from megatron. next

Prime Wars: huge "ex-husbands go on a road trip with their disgruntled daughter" energy here. megatron also LITERALLY says "oh optimus, if only you could see me now" <3

Earthspark: again...need i say why? they're pals and working together from the get-go, what's not to ship??

Skybound: optimus literally wears megatron's arm. truly beautiful <3

TF One: it's not out yet but give it time. the entire movie is going to be about orion and d-16 being madly in love and tragically breaking up, baby!!

[fallenneziah]

How they act with a passenger princess reader.

Optimus, Ratchet, Bulkhead, Bumblebee (no Arcee because she has no passenger seat) /Megatron, Knockout, shockwave, Starscream (Except Soundwave because unfortunately you would not fit)

Cw: Slight spicy talk? Suggestive? (Barely) I know I didn't get all the characters. This came to me like an hour ago and my dumbass fingers make it hard to type so I apologize.

Optimus doesn't at all mind. So long as his interior stays clean and you're not laying on his horn every five minutes, he hasn't run into any troubles with you in his cabin. He rather enjoys when you relax and kick your feet up on the dash, getting all comfy.

"Are you comfortable?" He'd ask while his tires rumble down the road. You melt into the heated seat and glide your hand over the dividing dash between yourself and the driver's seat. "Couldn't be comfier, Prime."

This makes Optimus incredibly happy. He enjoys knowing you like to relax in his cabin. He enjoys knowing you'd rather sit back and let him take full reign. Not like he wouldn't have it anyway.

Occasionally he'd even treat you. "You may eat, but refrain from getting anything in my flooring. It's... Uncomfortable."

Oh happy little you, that little smile while you eagerly shoved fries in his mouth while careful of his dash and other sensitive areas which you wouldn't desire fast food residue to reside.

And what's a little teasing? Without an eye on the wheel or the instincts to boot, you could easily mess around with him. Whether it's a hand placed firmly on a well oriented joystick or brushing over the fans of his dash. All the little ways that made the cabin rumble and shake briefly.

So silent, but ever so telling. He enjoys his little passenger princess. His only passenger princess.

You're wrong to assume you have any other choice but to be a passenger princess. Ratchet doesn't let anybody sit in the driver's seat. No grimy human hands on his steering wheel.

He forbids any fast food in his cabin, even if he feels like treating you. The most he's ever let you get away with was your water bottle or a well concealed smoothie.

He constantly is reminding you not to mess with the buttons inside the ambulance. And you always tease him, rubbing your foot against the underside of the glove compartment. "Aw, what's wrong doc, a girl can't have a little fun??"

He'd huff, warm air flaring out of his vents across the span of the cabin. "You'd do well to sit back and be quiet. We're almost there."

You'd pout, curling up in the cabin. "Ratchet..." Dragging your finger along the divider of the two seats. Ratchet would remain quiet, although the brief flare in the rumble of his engine spoke volumes. Damn you little human.

"Just sit still. All I ask."

"Yes sir, doctor."

He will never admit the amount of hot air that briefly left his fans. The rest of the drive he kept the heated seat on for you, making sure to ease you into sitting still for him while he brought you home.

Does the occasional fry or sauce packet get lost in his cabin and joints? Yep. Does he care? Nah! Eat as much as you want in his cabin and he won't stop you. As long as you're having fun.

The only thing he's slightly sensitive about is the radio. Once you're besties though he has no problem with you curling up your feet and taking over the tunes.

He'd be lying if he didn't enjoy the little wiggle you did in the seat when a good song came on. He'd remember it. He'd remember the way you moved to each song. It's something he can't help but notice.

He'd always beep quietly, almost a drawn out sigh he couldn't help when he heard you sing along without a care to watch the road, knowing he had the wheels. (Literally)

He would sometimes beep along and enjoy the way it encouraged you. Your hand gliding over his glove compartment and made his spark throb and pound. His enjoy roaring against the road in delight to be spending such time with you.

"Having fun 'Bee??" You smiled softly, hearing him chirp and whir back. "Yeah, I am too."

He is always willing to kill time on the road for you. For... One reason or another. That isn't important, his only desire is to be out there with you.

He literally drives Miko to and from all over Nevada. I don't think he's the least bit worried about you.

But unlike how Miko sits in the back.. you sit in the front. It feels so, in a way, intimate. You're in his dash, you're in his space. You recline the seat and relax knowing you're surrounded by a thick metal powerhouse.

Your hand wanders the dash or the seat. Sometimes spending extra time fiddling with the little nodes of his around you like the window or the throttle stick.

It grinds his gears in the best way. You're constantly laying it on thick with the praise for some reason, and Bulkhead isn't in the season to change that.

"You wanting something to eat?"

"Whatever you say goes, big guy." You pat the dash with an extra roughness than usual, making him tense a little. "Right... Right."

You know he likes it. He likes having you so close, feeling you so close to him. And in a way, that's your seat. He's sold in his mind, you belong there. Take your seat princess, it's all yours.

Now, technically your first time as his passenger princess you happened to be duct taped but who's really counting right?? You didn't feel very princess in the moment. Unfortunately, despite their intimidation tactics you've made yourself right at home now.

I'm assuming his cabin may have 2 seats. He doesn't let you sit in the front. One because he gets that seat and two because you don't get to see the view because fuck you.

He would rather you be a comfortable and safe princess than a dead one. Because what's a dead human to him, right? Pretty fucking useless.

Just.. don't mess with the buttons. Oh Primus don't mess with the buttons.

"Hey Megs?"

"What??" He grumbled, annoyed with answering all your idiotic questions. "What's this for?" You brushed your fingers over the switch, feeling his jets almost stop working. "Do not touch. Hands to yourself."

You pouted, slumping back in his seat. "I don't like flying... There's nothing to do."

Megatron grumbled in annoyance. Of all the little fleshies he had to deal with, Primus had to give him this one. Granted there's probably worse. "Hands to yourself, touch anything more and I'll cut your little hand off."

"Sounds like someone's sensitive~" You smirk. It grinds Megatron's gears, but alas, you aren't wrong... And for some odd, blasted reason, he doesn't mind. Do whatever you damn well please, really.

Don't scratch the interior and get comfortable for the ride princess. He thinks he's coined the term but really he's just a good 'con turned 'bot that loves to show the human some style.

Get your feet off his dash. Like now. No more.

He will let you do whatever you want but do not muck up, mess up or any other 'up' in his cabin. He will gut you and then throw you in the sewer. But that's only after a few warnings... Right??

"Knockout... I gotta stretch, we've been driving for hours." You huff and whine, the cramped little car getting to you.

"Alright alright, let me pull over." He would sigh, feeling how you tense up and stretch in the chair as best you could. Until you make it to the side of the road and you can get out and stretch.

"Being a princess is so hard, isn't it, love?" He teases you in mock concern.

"Sorry I have muscles, unlike you big boy." He huffed when you kicked his tire, and then went rather quiet the rest of the drive.

Big tank! Big tank! Big tank!!

You are the luckiest, even if Shockwave doesn't reciprocate your feelings.

"Illogical..." He'd grumbled as you relaxed inside the nice space. Kicking your legs up and leaning back, knowing you're in a fortified Decepticon bunker. Nothing can get you in here, no sir.

"So Shockwave, what's it like being absolutely massive??" You asked, patting the side of the interior.

Shockwave would only huff. "Do not move from your seat."

"We've got a long way to go and this thing isn't exactly F1... So, wanna talk about Cybertron?"

"No. Be quiet. You are comfortable, that is enough for humans to shut up."

"Who told you that? I could get bored?"

Shockwave is quiet. Granted those humans he experimented on may have only been loud because they were uncomfortable... And being experimented on.

"Nevermind. Sit down, and be quiet."

"Fine... Whatever you say, chief."

You'd honestly rather fly with Megatron. Or hanging onto Soundwaves fins as you flap in the wind at full speed. He's so bitchy. He only ever wants to talk about Megatron. He doesn't care that you sit in his front seat, just don't touch anything and sit still.

You'd listen to him ramble on and on like you're besties. You'd slump back, definitely not taking a well deserved nap as he trauma dumps his entire Cybertronian life onto your little innocent ears.

"Very interesting Starscream..." You mutter, dragging your finger along the dash panels. That makes him stop. "What are you doing??"

"What? I'm listening." Am not.

"No. Stop that. Put your arms down."

You huff, feeling the throttle of his jets increase, so you continue the motion. "I don't think I will. After all... I am the passenger."