#maccadans

[ikkosu]

BOUNDARIES

warnings : nudity. slight non-con. slightly suggestive(?) part of MDM (my darling medic verse)

PHARMA lacks a conceptual understanding of space. He might despise bursts of affectionate touches from his love little pet but if it is his turn to show off his streaks of intimacy you're in for a ride — any semblance or care to your own boundaries are disregarded.

Oh, you're working? Too bad he's got you on his lap, prying the reports off your brittle fingers. You've got twenty four hours in a day. You can do it later. No, he doesn't care if the deadline is today. You're to be disciplined about diligence and work productivity. That's on you.

It's not that he doesn't want to care, he's well-versed in the cultural differences between a Cybertronian's mindset to a human one in regards of nudity, he just needs more than a brush of your fingers against his own.

You're endearing just as you are amusing with the thing you call 'clothes' draping over your soft little body. In many of his cold days, he thinks about ripping the fabric to shreds. A fantasy of how you'd feel underneath that primitive fabric takes up much of his waking hours. However, the only thing stopping him for doing so is the fact that you'll reduce his beddings to the outside lawn with the dogs.

It's atrociously blasphemous! How dare he be restrained from touching his pet by a mere textile linen from worms? If anything, it was you who should be grateful he cared enough to press about the matter in the first place. To be graced by the touch of the best medics in Delphi.

Pharma glares at the chronometer.

It's ticking close to the end of his shift and a quick swivel to his datapad, it's clear he hasn't drawn up a single report. No, no, no. Whatever happened to diligence? He's getting frustrated. This thought. This feeling. It's distracting his work. He needs answers, quick. Even if in unethical terms he'll have to seek it.

After a lengthful day in Delphi, forbid he ever said it's 'quiet', he slinks Into your shared room — half a habsuite and a normal apartment, if that's even possible to describe — and his hearing processors perks upon the running splash of water. A snake-like grin curls the corner of his dermas. Perfect, he muses. He's just in time for your evening bath.

So again he's goes, off to concoct another of of his unruly experiments. Will it end well? No, probably not. But who cares.Why would you ever want to hide a body like that from him?

"Dear? Are you in there?" He calls out, turning the knob.

You're too busy belting off to that song again. Skyfall by 'Amdbele', or whatever.He should've smashed that jukebox the moment he laid his eyes on it. That four sided, two, three (?) inch of metal you call a 'phone' take sup too much of your time and it irritates him to no end.

Really, you are blind sometimes.

The door gives way with a pull and the warm mist of the bathroom prickles his face. Your figure is a haze amidst the mist and his optics shutters, adjusting to the dim, golden lighting of the bathroom. Then he halts with a harsh jolt. His wings flare up just as how his face does when he regards the nape of your neck down to your back, to your—

"My, my, oh my..." He mumbles with a raised brow.

"Pharma!?" You gave a girlish shriek and on instinct, whether it was reflex or reflux, you ploughed the cleaning sponge to his helm. It bounces off with a plink against the metal. The mech,however, lay undeterred.

Pharma regards your scrunched up face and your arms — he only now realized how slick and glistening your body was — clutching your chest and legs pressed together like that'll cover up your modesty.

Oh, and your hair is matted much like a wet, tattered cat freshly wrung from a bath. He's especially fascinated by the way the fat of your chest is pushed up, though. Two circular mounds of flesh. So soft and so snug. How, pretty.

Now that would make an interesting study.

On the other hand you're stunned. Speechless. You hadn't expect him to be home this early — usually he'd come by ten. But that doesn't matter, you're too speechless that all you could sputter was his name again and again, finding the familiar grip of his name.

And when you do it's another shout. "Pharma!"

"I heard you the first time, dear." He mumbles lazily, his optics drifted off to the side and lower a bit.

"You can't just barge in here anytime you want!"

"If I wasn't suppose to then why was it unlocked?" He stares, bemused, as you curl around the curtains to hide yourself further. He catches you eying the towel within reach of his arm on the sink.

"You should be careful next time you decide not to follow simple basic house rules."

Pharma begins stalking towards you, blatantly ignoring the towel on the sink. Forget the curtains, you push yourself up against the tile wall to prolong the distance between the mech and your bare body. He's got that stupid smug smile on his face and his servos are clenching and unclenching on an invisible stressball. Said stressball is about to be the mound of your flesh in a moment. But that's fine. You've got a plan. Come any closer and you'll jam a foot up his dick.

"That doesn't mean you can just—" You cut yourself short, feeling your face burn up. He's so handsomely irritating that the urge of throttle him dead overrides your prior chagrin. "I told you, you can't just come in here unannounced like that. I was naked, Pharma!"

"And?"

"What do you mean 'and' ?!"

"Depends." He shrugs, now a foot away "What's there to hide?"

" Everything! There's this thing called boundaries, you walking, talking piece of—" You feel something metal and cold groping the flesh of your ass and you're pulled flush against his chest.

"Oh, I would love to be educated on such matters, sweetheart." He's hunched over, helm craning down close to your own. You feel the ozone breath of his mouth prickling your face. "I can't even begin to comprehend the little evolutions of every miniscule organs you stock up that little body of yours."

"What's with you and organs?!"

"That aside. I have another inkling. I was quite curious why humans are so insistent on hiding their flesh from other humans..."

"And how's that working out for you, huh?" You bite back. He grins.

"My conclusion comes clear. I'd prefer it if you were to expose such delicacies to me and only me alone..." He purrs and, much to your chagrin, buries his face into the mound of flesh that is your chest

This bastard, I swear. Your face flares up and you try to pry away from his grip. He doesn't care, however, too focused with peppering kisses down your sternum and the crook of his nose trailing after. You feel yourself lowered until you're backed against the cold, unrelenting touch of the tile floor.

"Why must you hide this from me?" He's hovered above you now, casting a shadow over your face as his head blocks the light from the ceiling. "I think it's high time we should have ourselves a little bonding session, no?"

And on cue his modesty panel opens. You disregard the slick member pressing against your stomach and wrangled away from his body, braced your stance into a standing position and well, jammed a foot up his dick.

Safe to say, he won't be using the baby factory maker for a while.

[BONUS]

It's just another day at Delphi.

Ambulon stares, concerned as the CMO waddles from ward to ward with a grimace etched on his face.

"Pharma, you're limping." He speaks up eventually and the jet halts.

It felt like hours as he did a 180 swivel around. His face twitched, a forced grin and he grits out. "You don't think i know that?"

Ambulon stands his ground. After all, wounded doctors are a blemish to the system.

"I understand you might not need a helping hand. But you don't have to hide it. I'm well verse with the feeling as well." Ambulon trails off, glancing at his own prickled off paint job. "It's not something to be ashamed of. In fact, it just means your circuits are faring well."

Pharma blinks. Once. Then, twice. "Ambulon, my man. What in Primus's spark are you going on about?"

"Your joints." He seems equally puzzled. "Aren't they rusty?"

What returned, however, is a funny look.

[sirveltic]

a heem heem worldbuilding concepts... ft the Dires (dire wolves) beastformers <:]

if people are interested i may show more lore and concepts

Dires (known as dire wolves) are one of the bigger units of canis beastformers. Weighing 1.5x more than their cousins the Greys (known as grey wolves for their colourations), these beastformers rely on their weight in battle, bulldozing anything their size or bigger. Dires have been documented to ally with Grey packs, offering protection and strength in return for the Greys' superior tracking and running speed during energon retrievals. Dire strength generally focused on their upper body, with large shoulders and heavyset paws, useful in wrestling down bigger opponents. While a little weak in the jaw, their bites were more used to hook and hold onto opponents to keep a hold on it when it fought back.

Typical Dire colouration were desaturated colours, although outliers have been documented to have more vibrant colours as markings.

CANIMUS was one of the biggest recorded packs, averaging 100 members at its peak. This pack was a mix of Dires and Greys, numbers split unevenly. Their territory spaned most of the Praxus outlands. Canimus fell to near extinction during the war; with some members having disappeared from all trace, and only one survivor currently documented. At the time of extinction, Tar was the leader of the pack.

[geartrain-prime]

Finished this prologue for N7 day. Transformers/Mass Effect fusion idea.

[kingrayii]

I've watched Earthspark, and soon Cyberverse, and I regret nothing. I was avoiding Cyberverse for the longest time (I guess I was a little misguided bc back when it came, everything was about Bumblebee and I guess it was overwhelming me at the time. Also, I don't really mind Windblade that much, but she's ok in the series), but Cyberverse is easily one of the best TF series there is.

Just today I thought that there needs to be more Kup in video media of TF, and I didn't expect to see this much of him in the Cyberverse!! <3 It makes me so happy, Kup is my second fave Transformer, OP being the first. Kup and OP mean so much to me, they are some of the first comfort characters I ever had, and Transformers has been very important to me since childhood (i am 29 soon).

Also, the nonbinary representation on Earthspark had me crying. I feel so loved and cared for, and Nightshade is one of the purest things alive.

[anon-e-miss]

At Waiting’s End

“Nightstalker has chosen death for Praxus,” Camshaft declared. Prowl looked up from his datapad and stared at his originator.

“He has bent the knee to Megatron?” Prowl asked. He shifted his hold on Smokescreen as his mechling dozed against his shoulder. After finding a petrorat in the crate-turned containment berth of his creation, Prowl had not trusted setting Smokescreen down to recharge anywhere but in his own arms.

“He lowered the dome and welcomed them in,” Camshaft replied.

“What do we do then?” Prowl asked.

Deep beneath the surface of Cybertron, in the catacombs that held the tombs of Praxus’ founders, Prowl pondered their future. The data-net extending beyond Praxus’ borders had been blocked for quartexes, and despite all of his and his originator’s efforts, they had not been able to break through the encryptions. Counter-intelligence had responded to their last attempts, trying to track their coordinates. It was too dangerous to make another attempt. Though they were safe for now in the catacombs, there was no escape from Praxus’ borders to be found in them; they did not extend beyond the walls of the capital. The patrols of the militia were difficult enough to dodge when they surfaced for supplies but Seeker patrols would be so much harder to avoid.

“We watch and wait for our moment,” Camshaft replied and he nuzzled Prowl’s crest with his own. “Nightstalker has chosen death but we will not abide him.”

Prowl stretched back on the berth roll he had set up upon a row of upturned crates, across the alcove from him, his originator recharged on a makeshift berth of the same design. On his well, Smokescreen suckled and Prowl stroked his helm. It had been half a stellar-cycle already since his creation had ventilated fresh air or felt the sun on his plating. Camshaft had heard whisper that Nightstalker was calling all those Praxians with ties, current or former, with Iacon to give him counsel as the war beyond their borders gathered steam. None of those who had been called to speak with the Lord of Praxus returned to their homes and before Prowl was even summoned he and his originator had descended with Smokescreen to the forgotten catacombs. There were no wanted posters with their faceplates on them up in the markets or gardens but that did not mean they were not being searched for. Shadows did not hunt their prey with wanted posters.

They would have to watch the skies, Prowl and his originator, when they took turns surfacing in search of supplies. It was Camshaft more than Prowl that ventured out. Not merely because Camshaft was a seasoned Shadow-mech but because Smokescreen was still nursing and would be for some time yet. He was protective of both his creation and grand-creation. With Decepticons marching and flying into Praxus, their city-state was that much less safe for them. Though the dome was down the borders would be that much more heavily guarded. Escape from Praxus had now become that much more difficult with the arrival of the Decepticons. Difficult, perhaps even impossible, if they could not escape they would merely remain in the darkness of the catacombs and wait out the end of the world. 

Neither spoke. There was no dirty talk, no wanton pleas, just the wet clang of two frame slamming together and the occasional groan or gasp. The tent was not soundproof, surrounded as they were by more than a dozen similar tents, even this much noise was a gamble. Prowl did not care. He was furious, enraged, guilty and so many other things at once he imagined it would take only one final small blow to see his glitch erupt in spectacular fashion. His jaw fell one as Jazz nipped the crooked of his neck as he hollowed Prowl out with his spike. Lust overruled anger and guilt and grief. Prowl dragged his vestigial claws over Jazz’s shoulders and shuddered as he overloaded. Jazz groaned into his neck as Prowl’s rapidly spasming valve milked his spike and dragged him over the precipice. A jerk of the saboteur’s hips and his spike tip breeched Prowl’s gestational take as it release stream after stream of transfluids into Prowl’s frame. 

Leaving Praxus had always been an ordeal. To leave, regardless whether the dome was sealed or open, one had to have the proper paperwork. Few contributive citizens ever received licenses for travel or immigration. Like Prowl’s originator before him, he was a receptive mech and like his originator, he was a recalcitrant mech, and Praxus had not been so terribly sorry to be rid of his sharp glossa for a spell. It had not been his intent to see himself ensparked. When Prowl had left Praxus, he had not intended to return, seeing no future for Praxus in the rapidly changing world. Praxus had withstood war before, never fighting any conflict itself, forever the neutral party, forever the party who made shadowy deals, milking the conflicts of its neighbours for enormous profit. 

Prowl had left Praxus with the intent to change the direction he saw his planet had tumbled into. For a time he had observed the warring factions, weighing their sins as he debated which banner to wave. The murder of the Senate had not been enough to completely turn Prowl to the side of the Autobots. It had been the slaughter of the Xeno-Quarter that had seen Prowl take up the Prime’s cause and he had been prepared to die under that banner until he had discovered, just quartexes after he and Jazz had spent that dark-cycle entangled in his tent, that he was with spark. His right to his creation was not sacred in Iacon, so different than the laws of Praxus, and he had made his way quickly home to ensure the creation he carried would never be pulled from his arms.

He stared up at the black ceiling above his helm. It had not been Prowl’s intention to make his home in a crypt. Praxus had changed in Prowl’s absence, and not for the better. The old lord had died and a new one had been elected. An enforcer Prowl had once served with, Nightstalker was not a mech Prowl would have ever chosen for such high an office; he had always been so duplicitous, so blatant a schemer. Though Prowl had not announced his return or sought out his old post, Nightstalker had invited him to join his government. Prowl had politely declined, using his carrying and the subsequent emergence of his creation as an excuse. Perhaps if Prowl had accepted the invitation he might have seen the path Nightstalker had carved for Praxus with enough notice to send a warning to Iacon. But what would that have accomplished anyways? Each state had an intrinsic right to self-govern and Optimus Prime would not have invaded because Prowl did not like the choice of Praxus’ government. Prowl knew this, but he wondered anyways. The war had come to Praxus, invited in but the state’s Lord. Above his helm, the streets of Praxus were perfectly manicured, perfectly peaceful, as they always were. How long would it be before that veneer shattered and energon ran in Praxus’ streets?

Not long at all.

[dariiy]

General Strika commission for @a-life-revised Thank you so much!!

Please consider following me for more art and checking the options for supporting me, thank you!          

[kagebros]

Participated in @secretsolenoid for the first time! 

@silverxenomorph asked for some post training routine Wrift! Hope you enjoy~

[zxid]

skyscream and blurrhead chibis because… yea

[wolfpupytfstext]

[okeymakeydude]

Ultra Magnus: You’ve gotten into serious trouble, Whirl. I need you give me your ID.

Whirl: Sorry dude, I cannot do that.

Ultra Magnus: [Sighing] Don’t call me ‘dude’ and why?

Whirl: Cuz i smoked it haaa

Ultra Magnus: Okay then…wait, what?…HOW!?

[thevoltsiren]

Nickel voices

I got a bunch of bloopers I was thinking about posting from my attempts at doing nickel but I'm also tempted to do actual serious stuff since I got a new better mic. Anyone wanna send some prompts for nickel to say, my ask box is open!

[ikkosu]

Throwing this at you ikko, because I am obsessed with Pinks fairy’s in Archie’s Knightformers au, butttt, Pharma the freaky little man finding a fairy that can’t run or fly because their wings broken<3 and he uses old test subjects wings to fix theirs despite their disgust to it, partnered with him keeping them as his little pet/experiment.

(Also my friend sent me more pics to use as reaction <3 so I am blessing you with a cat)

compookie!!

rubs hand evilly ohohoh I've been plagued with knightformer pharma and his evil little smile. He's definitely getting his own little fae too.

Quick incomprehensive ramble about my husband, for a moment (sorry prowl) Knightformers / Faeformers are by :

@archie-sunshine and @pinkanonwrites (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

(oofm gets a little bit violent at the end)

I'd say before Pharma went bonkers, his methods are a little less unethical. Like Prowl, he won't care much for these playful cretins. They're adorable, yes. Very soft, too. He can see why First Aid and Ambulon are always so keen on squishing their plush cheeks.

Unfortunately, as much as he tries to find them tolerable, one fae in particular switched his colorcoded books to different shelves can you believe that?

How utterly vulgar. He ought to put them in a Jar and send them to Nyon where Rodimus or whatever lives. That'll do the fine job of shutting them up.

Even more strange, this fae prefers to bother him, of all people. Always pottering along with their tiny feet. The wisp flutter of their wigs as they hover close, tugging on his hat, and cloak. Hiding behind pillars, peeking out then giggling when he notices them.

He'd imagine they go for humans like First Aid or Ambulon, since they are far more gentle with their words than he is to them

The annoyance to that particular fae, though, doesn't last too long.

It was a busy day at the hospital. Darkness veiled the night. He's working the night shift again and everyone had gone to their quarters. The halls are empty. It feels a little isolating but he'll have to make do.

After a small dreadful nap on his desk that left his throat sore and back.pained — Pharma wakes up with something warm over his back. He sits up straight and the something his back billows and pool to the ground. A — he pinches the material between his fingers, eyebrows cocked — blanket?

And the sprinkled dust of glitter on one end drew a smile to that face.

"Good, little cretin."

Pharma and fae aren't particularly close after, but he does acknowledge the fae and does, a little bit, grow more tolerant of them. In the gardens, where he'd go out for fresh air and a semblance for peace, fae would perch on his shoulder as he reads his book. Their tiny legs would swing aimlessly as their eyes peering over to read.

He's not sure the little thing understands but when he'd flip a page a little too early, he's halted by their itty hands and a trill. Pharma waits little, couldn't resist raising a finger and scratching the back of their ears, before turning the page after.

He couldnt retract his finger since fae is already nuzzling against it. So he keeps it there for as long as he remembers ( he couldn't perform surgery and had First Aid take over because of how sore his hand was).

Post-delphi Pharma, though. Yikes, okay. Everything is in shambles. Tarn comes and goes, and as he goes, chaos runs rampant and dances along every crook and cranny of Delphi like a forest fire.

Pharma isn't spared, either.

Fae, and the many others, find themselves scuttling away to a nearby forest. Their friend, a fae with green streaks to their wings, breedles to them about a new hideout in the caves.

Fae nods and follows along, before the group breaks off unceremoniously when a panther had caught on to their little group.

Fae persists to a different path. In doing so, unluckily encounters a bandit when they were trying to flee. It's not your usual, pillaging, loot lover bandit — these were the ones who snatch faeries and strip them of their magic dust.

A lot of fae's have been caught recently and the growing numbers are not one to mess with.

And, a quick scuffle between the two, led to fae hitting the floor hard. They squeak weakly, pawing the ground, trying and failing to flutter their wings. But it hurts. Thair back hurts. Their body hurts

Distraught, the shadow closes in on them, eyes of the bandit white half-moons of mirth as hands almost curl around fae's body—

And a sickening splat resounds after.

Fae opens their eyes and sees a different man looming. It's Pharma, eyes half lidded as he stares over the crook of his nose, down at the body in front of him — not the fae.

One side of his cheek had blood smeared across and over his hand, curls a crimson mottled axe. Fae doesn't want to see what's left of the body and looks away with a small shuddered trill, arms covering their faces.

This isn't the Pharma they knew..

Crass as he were — Pharma would never be so grotesquely vulgar as this.

The medic regards the little cretin for a moment, likely assessing the damage of their wings. He notices there's a stutter in the movements. Muscles, strained. Arms, limp.

Then, with another look to the body, silently, pharma grabs the fae with his free hand — blatantly ignoring their startled trills and their little kicks — and starts heading back to Delphi.

Everything was quiet. The hallways were quiet. The evening air was quiet. Even the gardens they so often mingle about — were dreadfully stale.

Pharma lays the fae down on the table, who scuttles to the edge in a fit of panic.

"I did tell the man to go after the least energetic ones." He murmered and pinches their ankle to stop their movements

Fae kicks at his fingers. He doesn't budge. Instead, he brings out wires from a drawer and starts coiling them into rings.

"Seems like he doesn't very much like listening to my orders." The wires were cold to their wrists then more cooler around ankles. "He's got what's coming, poor fellow. But that's done, now. I don't have to pay him, anymore. He's done enough—"

Fae let's out a squeal and thrashes around.

"Oh, don't give me that look, cretin. You'd think I'd spare your kind after the potential results you could give me?" He says lowly and clamps his entire hand on their body.

The table rattles..Fae shudders and weakly trills, pawing away at his palm. Tears sting their cheeks.

"But no worries." He leans closer. A small smile. "I'm fond of you, I'll give you that. That's only if the gift I'm planning to give you is of your taste. Look around, cretin. A new wing i've culled — just for you. You can choose as many as you like."

And fae swivels around, heart lurching in their chest. They've realized there were jars all around, perched in the shelves and were filled with faes...

Limp shadows. No longer bright. No longer breathing.

A particular jar caught their eye. They were wings. The miniscule body is a mere silhouette under the dim light. And, streaks of green dances across the glint of the wings.

[moonslag]

someone please come get their pointy son out of the clouds, he’s looking at the stars and missing home :,)

[herzspalter]

i saw you answered a question to an anon who wanted to start reading tf and you said you havent read it all but maybe you can answer these two questions. i always see on the wiki about idw?? contination but i'm not exactly sure what it is?? what's maccadan?? i think it's called?? i dont know anything, ive watched a few of the tf cartoons but man, i have no idea where to even start with the comics, mtmte???

Good evening, Lovely Anon!

Alright so:

- The IDW continuation is the name for the line of comics released by IDW Publishing. There’s also comics by Marvel and Dreamwave which have nothing to do with the IDW comic run, therefore this continuation has a different name!

- Maccadam (named after the bar Maccadam’s Oil House in Transformers) is the tag used by Transformers fans to differentiate between Transformers talks and works made by fans and promo pics from the movies etc. You can read its origin here if you want to know more! 

As for the comics, I’d suggest you start with MTMTE volume one, which includes Death of Optimus Prime, a one-shot comic that sets up both MTMTE and RID!

I hope this helps!

[anon-e-miss]

I’m guessing Jazz is going to reunite with Prowl next?

His Prowler. Jazz stopped dead in his track as he pushed through the barracks’ door. Prowl stood, turned towards Barricade, cradling a Praxian mechling against his chassis. He looked... tired, his doorwings were drooping and his optics were dim, Prowl helm lulled towards Barricade. It had never been easy for Prowl wake up, not after a proper recharge, and certainly not in the middle of his recharge cycle. Jazz had always adored his drowsy Prowl, when he grumbled and hid his face from the light. He had enjoyed bringing him that particularly potent pressed energon, smuggled in just for him and seeing that little smile every time. That little smile, just for him.

With his spark in his throat, Jazz walked toward his twin and the Praxians. As he got closer, it because clear that the mechling was sick. He was so gaunt, like the Empties of the nearby Dead End. Jazz felt horrified. His creation had been wasting away all the while Jazz had not known he even existed. Prowl turned his helm and his celestite optics fell on Jazz and Jazz was paralyzed. Those optics still held the power to steal Jazz’s ventilations. Still, it was not only Prowl’s optics that stole his ventilations. His beloved Prowl was gaunt. Like the mechling, he had been or still was sick. It was shocking, it should not have been surprising but it was. Maybe Jazz could blame his state of shock for missing the pair of mechlings clinging to Prowl’s legs until one of them spoke up.

“Who’s this, Ori?” Jazz looked down and saw the pair for the first time. They were Polihexian-coded, like him. The one who had spoken had red paint the colour of Prowl’s chevron, the other was a sunny yellow, though the mechling was not sunny. He had his face hidden in his originator’s side as he glowered at Jazz from the corner of his optic.

“Jazz,” Prowl replied in the cool tenor that had first caught Jazz’s attention. “He is your progenitor.”

“Does this mean we’re gonna be short?” The mechling asked. Jazz chuckled, this was his creation alright.

“I am not precisely tall, Sideswipe,” Prowl replied, dryly and the mechling grinned.

“But you’re taller than him!” Sideswipe said and Jazz already adored the cheeky bitlet. He though Ori would too. Ori would love each of them.

“Ain’t about how tall or short ya are, Mechlin’,” Jazz declared, smiling at the mechling. “It’s ‘bout knowin’ how to use what ya got to yer advantage.”

“Jazz would know,” Prowl said. “His stature has never put him at a disadvantage. You are looking well, Jazz.”

“I can’t complain,” Jazz said. “Ya been sick, Prowl.”

“Pox,” Prowl replied and Jazz felt sick to his stomach. Not only did Pox ravage a mechanism’s frame, the treatments were brutal. Jazz saw the way Barricade looked at Prowl, lingering worry.

“Ratchet’ll get ya right,” Jazz promised. Prowl’s tired optics became flinty and his doorwings twitched sharply. Without thinking, he stroked Prowl’s shoulder and tried to reassure him. “I promise ya, Ratchet isn't like the medics that tortured ya in the enforcers. He’s got Unicron’s own temper but he’s an angel at spark.”

“I suppose we have no other choice but to trust you,” Prowl replied.

“I will take ya anywhere ya want,” Jazz said, hoping to allay some of Prowl’s fears. Prowl did not move away from his touch. He did not flinch when Jazz touched his sickly mechling’s back. “As soon as y’re healthy, ‘n this bitlet is healthy, I’ll take ya anywhere ya want if ya don’t wanna stay.”

“I have your glyph?” Prowl asked.

“On my life,” Jazz promised. The yellow mechling cocked his helm at Jazz. “I give ya my glyph, mechlin’, on my spark, ‘m I’ll give my all to make sure yer ori ‘n all y’all mechlings are safe, healthy ‘n happy.”

“Even Blue?” The dour mechling asked and he pointed at the Praxian mechling.

“Bluestreak,” Prowl replied. “Sunstreaker’s and Sideswipe’s best friend. He emerged addicted to Syk and his originator fed him small amounts for vorns to keep him placid. I purchased him from Rapidfire for five hundred shanix. Barricade and I have gotten him through Syk withdrawal but he is... fragile.”

“Oh Sweetspark,” Jazz crooned and he felt a new awe and love for Prowl. “Ratchet’ll have the lil bit feelin’ better too.”

“Promise?” Sunstreaker asked.

“Pinkie promise,” Jazz said, sombrely. Sunstreaker reached out his servo and they linked their smallest digits.

“Ya can’t break a pinkie promise,” Sideswipe said.

“That’s right,” Jazz agreed. “Rico, I think we outta get’em settle, before we clear house.”

“What do you intend to do to... clear house?” Prowl asked.

“Ori got into Blue Swindle’s accounts,” Jazz revealed. “He’s just finishin’ up splittin’ it onto credit slugs. Everyone’s gonna get their share so they can start fresh.”

“Your originator?” Prowl asked. There was a horrible grinding sound from his helm and Jazz’s optics brightened with alarm. It terrified him that the mechlings did not even flinch. Prowl’s rasping laugh sounded so alien to Jazz’s audials. “You brought your originator to retrieve your fr...”

“My lover,” Jazz interrupted, refusing to hear Prowl call himself a frag toy, frag buddy or anything so demeaning. Neither descriptor was true. Whatever they could be called now, until Jazz had defected, they had been lovers and even when he had defected, it had not been because he had loved Prowl any less. He still did not love Prowl any less. His Prowler. “He ain’t really on speakin’ terms wit me or Rico right now. Safe to say ya ‘n Cade are his favourite creations.”

“He has not even met us,” Prowl argued.

“Don’t really matter,” Ricochet said. “The way he sees it, we outta left some comm access, somethin’. We didn’t. So it’s our fault ya ended up here wit the bitlets we sired on ya. Ori don’t think much o’ us at all right now.”

“I do not understand,” Prowl said and he looked at Jazz and he looked... lost and confused. “You are his creations. We are... of no consequence to him.”

“Y’re the originators o’ his grandbitties,” Jazz said. “Just ‘cause he ain’t met ya yet, don’t mean ya don’t mean the world to’m.”

[dariiy]

Quick Leviathan

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