#one for all is sentient

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

Kinda tired of the idea the Geneva convention (however badly interpreted) would ever be applicable against an army of robots. 

[birthdaycakeplate]

Hey 👋 can you please do more of Megatron treating Optimus like a sugar baby after kidnapping him please 🙏, and a funny scenario would be Megatron making a call to ultra magnes to make demands and Sentinel, jazz , jet twins being there to and Optimus is just there dieing inside 🤣🤣😂🤣

You will never believe how much I shortened this....

That said, there is an <ENTIRE FIC> below the cut here. Warnings are in the tags, everyone.

💕 Thank you💕

——— ———-—

Optimus settled right in to his new life on the Nemesis- choosing stubbornly to keep his mouth shut and optics alight in cold fury whenever Megatron dared try to speak to him. He had nothing of consequence to say anyway, and keeping himself a quiet, angry little speck in the corner of Megatron’s optic was exactly the role he’d had in mind for the little nuisance anyway. How fitting.

When one-sided conversation about the Prime’s shortcomings and foolishness had proved ineffective in getting a response, Megatron no longer bothered. He would have loved to garner some more indignant outrage on his behalf, but he could gloat all the same in Optimus’ capture without it.

So Megatron allowed him to simply exist with the unholy fear he’d kept hidden so unfailingly in the brig, all pout and refusing to talk.

“And zat is your prize- keeping him as a trophy?”

“Not nearly. He’d only be a sour reminder of all the misery he’s caused me since crashing on that pathetic planet- No. That petulant Autobot brat is Ultra Magnus’ greatest weapon.”

Strika waited with more patience than she’d exercised with Lugnut’s grabbing servos on their honeymoon for Megatron to explain. As far as she could see, this Prime was nothing more than a title. He hadn’t landed himself a place on a foreign planet while working as a repair bot by displaying any prowess in the leadership skills the name would suggest. And her lord was doing nothing to make her otherwise privy.

She did have to wonder about the timing- Was this Autobot the reason Lord Megatron had failed to reach their rendezvous overtaking the space bridge?

Megatron watched a feed on his datapad of their sparkling little prisoner, sitting curled up in his cell.

“So jou intend to barter with him? Ensure Ultra Magnus loses his most valuable piece, and his place, in this war?” All the far more kinder of fates they could bestow upon this little mech, if he was such a pain. But something told her to tread lightly.

“Strika, I will decide what use he is to me. You needn’t worry.”

She wasn’t. She was asking a simple question- as his commander and all.

She considered yanking the datapad from his hands and reminding him they would -in theory- have the Autobot Elite looking for their key player to deal with, and they’d need to be ready. If he really *was* so important.

The nagging voice in her processor wondering why she felt she even had any reason to question Megatron’s judgment kept getting louder as the days past. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on about the stiffness in Megatron’s strut and the distance he put between anyone and the Prime who attempted to make the bot their business....

—— ———

Optimus did well enough to ignore the obnoxious afts whistling and catcalling when they came by to slosh his ration at him through the little window, spilling most of it. He’d stare at the wall as dutifully as if he was keeping guard of it. The luxury to turn his audio receptors down and wash out their hideous name calling forfeit in the event he missed some sort of vital information. Not that he believed the grunts sent to babysit him would ever be entrusted with anything as such.

And anyway, knowing at the back of his processor that he was at Megatron’s mercy was worse than the conditions of his cell- His cell with no berth and strangers 5 times his size eyeing him up on the other side of the glass. Like he was a glitch tiger caged up for their entertainment. His cell where he’d gotten poisoning from who knows *what* was in his Energon and purging it onto the floor -making for a fun spectacle for his tormentors, leaving Optimus that much more conscious of the optics always looking his way.

Another night cycle- at least his chrono wasn’t playing go fish on him- and Optimus had to relent that the dry corner closest to the glass was unfortunately the best for the recharge he desperately needed. He sank down, pulled his knees to his chest and pushed his face down into his arms.

Sometimes the passing Cons would tap on the glass, just to rile him up out of a fretful recharge. Not a few minutes in to dreamless slumber, one felt it the perfect time to strike.

The click of metal on glass above his finial was considerably more gentle then all the other times. His fins flicked upright, helm snapping up- Then felt his tanks physically lurch at the sight of Megatron righting himself, staring down at the shivering figure from above.

Optimus scrambled to make himself an eighth of the domineering sight the war frame posed. It failed, as always, as Megatron watched blankly with his mouth drawn thin.

He didn’t look particularly amused by it the way he had in the past- amused at the idea that the little Autobot was anymore a threat with a bumbling crew of rejects and a single pathetic axe for a weapon than if he were a yapping pup.

Optimus didn’t really know what this look meant, but he wouldn’t give Megatron a chance to rattle him when all his sleepless nerves were frying his circuits.

“I know you’re not letting me go, so unless you’re here to end me, let me enjoy the time I have left in my dark, dirty cell in peace. It’s an improvement when you’re not here.”

His servos clenched -a useless gesture- but he hoped looking like a feral thing while layered in scratches and stains could improve his fierce factor.

He wished desperately in his sleep addled state he’d remembered his battle mask was perfectly functional, but it was too late to hide the way his tired face twisted in less menace and more exhaustion.

The silence grew stifling as Megatron seemed to consider him. Optimus refused to crumple under his judgment, keeping his shoulders straight and fists clenched.

And then-

“Let’s go Autobot.”

He didn’t wait for Optimus’ processor to catch up. The doors to his pathetic little prison unsealed and Optimus was faced with the chance of real freedom for the first time since arriving here. It wasn’t so simple- he didn’t have a plan, no escape shuttle waiting on him, minimal to nonexistent knowledge of the ship’s modern layout.... and a vastly combat superior war machine would be at his back in nanokliks, pinning it down. Halving him with a single servo.

He waited for restraints in some form to come about his wrists or his throat. The Cons had zero qualms in the barbaric message the latter sent. Nothing ever came, though- nothing more than Megatron walking at his backstrut, close enough to warm him with his well fueled engines.

Optimus didn’t know he’d been cold down here.

“Where am I going?” He asked, as he was essentially herded like Cy-cattle through the corridors. He stumbled once trying to clear the sizable step up into the lift at the end that was made for war class pedes.

“Focus on walking.” Megatron growled.

“I know how to fragging walk-“

“You nearly collapsed trying to stand up.”

“Ugh...” Optimus was too tired to argue.

He’d rarely even had the fire in him to give Sentinel a proper fuss when he did something especially damning for him and his team these days.

He’d love to think he had all the energy left in the world to rile Megatron up at any given time -be unwavering in his resistance to his authority. The slag maker that’d caused him and the whole of Cybertronian millennia of misery.

But right now with half rations -one of them ending in a poisoning- and another sleepless cycle weighing at his processor atop of the hopelessness of finding freedom in his future, Optimus chose to follow quietly at Megatron’s guidance.

Taking turns where he was directed to and breaking his gaze away from the floor only when he was ordered to stop walking.

He hadn’t even noticed how quiet the trip here had been. That he’d purposely been kept away from any curious optics, and especially Strika’s.

“Stop here.”

Optimus looked blearily up at a very unassuming door. Which meant it was just his luck it’d have all the resources at Megatron’s disposal to execute him as fantastically as any maniacal war lord would the troublesome pain Optimus had been on the other side.

He didn’t have the processor power to be annoyed when the mech reached over him, as if he wasn’t even there, and pressed a button on the access panel, opening the door to....

“This my new cell?” He wondered aloud.

“For the time being.”

“....Until you do what with me?” Because Megatron surely wouldn’t bother moving him off to what looked downright cozy compared to the brig if he was going to kill him.

His plating prickled at a sudden thought of what a nice inviting room with a nice inviting Autobot inside of it could be used for on a ship full of Decepticons.

Megatron was unfortunately very perceptive.

“Nothing so egregious is going to happen to you here, Autobot.”

Thank the stars...

Optimus nearly ‘collapsed’, as Megatron had put it, right then and there. For whatever reason, he had a clean room with lighting and a berth. Not only that, but a berth with a *pad*. And it was so warm up here.

He didn’t even register his legs carrying him over to the berth until a servo with a cube of Energon between deft fingers was lowering over his head to his optic level.

“Drink this.” Megatron rumbled, much too close to his vulnerable backstrut again.

Where’d this come from? He couldn’t remember him carrying it up here. Regardless, a quietly grateful Optimus took it. Floundering a bit when the brim proved to be near overflowing with the viscous liquid.

A full ration, a warm room....

Optimus turned to find himself alone again with the door firmly locked. His only interest now was downing his fresh fuel and shuffling into berth.

—— ———

This was.... Odd. This was just... just... *odd*. Odder than everything he’d been put through so far.

The clean room, the full Energon rations. The trip to the washracks with Blitzwing -‘Vell, Lord Megatron decided a familiar face was better than some of the other hands available for zis task.”

Meaning, A) that Blitzwing wasn’t involved in any serious plans or Autobot headhunting for the moment. Curious, as it wasn’t like the Cons didn’t have plenty of work to do to take back Cybertron.

And B) why did Megatron care about Optimus’ finding comfort in familiarity?

Then there was C). That none of that was remotely as baffling as whatever *this* was.

A new coat of paint? For him? Megatron’s prisoner? Megatron, who Optimus had made it his life’s mission to see wallow eternally in his own failures at the hands of himself and his brave repair crew?

“You want it or not?” Optimus wasn’t given designations of the two bots buffing over his frame and waiting for his approval to continue, but he supposed names weren’t detrimental knowledge for a prisoner.

A paint job, however, was.

“I... I...”

Optimus looked over at the towering figure in the corner, optics sharp and focused on his little frame, completely unabashed to be caught staring. It wasn’t particularly unlike Megatron not to feel himself owed another, lesser mech’s privacy. At least this wasn’t anything as invasive as a trip to the medbay with his company.

“Yeah, um.... go ahead.” He held his arms away from his chassis and let the duo paint over the now freshly buffed scratches. Replacing the colorless scuffs as they turned him this way and that.

It was over in an instant, but it wasn’t so easily forgotten.

Optimus looked as clean cut as he had out of the academy -with the exception of a processor free of guilt, making him a nice clean slate. His now thoroughly extinguished lackadaisical attitude did apparently nothing to dampen his appeal, though.

He received plenty of appreciative stares on his way to his ‘cell’. Megatron thankfully unaffected in the same way as the other mechs- pointedly ignoring Optimus walking below his pedes altogether.

Then avoiding the sight of him completely and turning to leave when Optimus had finally had the good grace to at least thank him for the body work.

“Rude.” He muttered to Megatron’s retreating form.

It wasn’t necessary to thank the bigger mech, anyway, when it was clear Optimus was being taken so well care of for the purpose of bargaining him back to Ultra Magnus.

Obviously. Why else would Megatron allow him these luxuries -ones that were clearly given to few if any mechs onboard- if not to improve his chances when Ultra Magnus saw how well they were caring for his little Prime.

Well, good luck with that. Optimus couldn’t imagine Ultra Magnus forking over anything in favor of him- nothing Megatron would want. Only about what Optimus knew he was worth.

It was a bitter thought at times, but a realistic one, too. And Optimus always strangely felt better after he’d leveled with himself and found peace in it. He was probably here for the long haul.

—— ————-

So it made the absolute least sense possible when he was promoted from luxuries that’d benefit Megatron’s cause, to luxuries that benefited nobody but *him*.

Access to a library owned exclusively by Megatron, access to a deck on the middle floor -*for essentially nothing else but stargazing* purposes. Access to the mess hall to fuel himself at his leisure. All supervised of course, and always apparently Blitzwing, so long as he was available. And he was. Had Megatron made that a priority?

He decided to make good use of the library. It was apparent Blitzwing wasn’t familiar with this part of the ship. He stared in quiet awe at the assortment of datapads, possibly prewar era as Optimus would soon find out. As risky as that would be to travel with them, doomsday vessel level security or not.

Then the triple changer seemed to adhere himself to the strict orders he was likely set and moved back towards the door to keep watch of it. Hanging his helm and letting his processor wander.

Optimus was happily surprised to find the array before him was an impressive mix of tactical readings, including defensive maneuvers. He’d like to see Megatron ever take the defensive on anything in battle, headstrong heathen. The thought of him frequenting this quiet little space, of his servos holding the substantially larger than Optimus was used to datapads. The ones in his very servos now.

There was only one chair, a testament to how few mechs were allowed this privileged place at any given time. He climbed up and curled himself against an armrest, choosing of all the datafiles to immerse himself in being the seemingly only one in the collection to be about strategizing rations. An odd choice, and a boring one. Perfect for him then.

He came back to this place a few more times before Blitzwing’s company was eventually replaced by Megatron’s -particularly gleeful Optimus had actually chosen to utilize the library. He supposed there weren’t many others here who would ever want to, but surely the war lord hadn’t thought he aspired to fist fights and throwing darts at his ‘friends’ when he was bored. What else would he be doing with his time?

Curled up against his favored arm rest, Optimus’ helm popped up from the datapad when he heard pede steps considerably heavier and less cautious than Blitzwing’s approach.

Their optics met, Megatron’s looking far too amused and much like his old Earth self’s, and on instinct, Optimus unwrapped himself from the chair and the file in hand to scurry down. Trying to look busy with selecting a new pad from the shelves, so as not to have to fight over the only chair in the room.

Why else was Megatron here, but to do some silent reading? He wouldn’t very well stand in his own library.

Optimus felt his nerves prickle at the other’s optics on his back. He made sure to look interested in only the shelves he could reach to avoid floundering on tiptoes like a fool.

Megatron mercifully left him be.

The smaller mech shuffled through the organized chaos, settling into the silence. It wasn’t long before it lost its stifling edge and he was finding himself comfortably leaning against the wall as he skimmed a basic instructional guide to wing type reformations. Probably the only other oddity in his growing pile.

Or maybe he was selling Megatron short. What leader focused the entirety of the knowledge banks to attack patterns when there was a whole military to maintain. There was bound to be other benign anomalies in his collection -considering Megatron was a well versed, intuitive mech. When he wanted to be...

Optimus carefully sidled the guide in hand to start rifling through the particularly untouched section he’d found it in. Braving another stare down from the lethal war machine in the room by crossing into his line of sight.

He bit his tongue, waiting for comment on his emergence, but the silence thankfully stretched on.

He visibly relaxed -another slip up, surely- and focused on finding a new title. Lots of interesting finds in the means of their banning from Cybertronian libraries, some he’d be coming back to when it was just him and Blitzwing again.

He rifled through datapads, batting away the ones he found rather distastefully anti-peace. His finials flicking in irritation at a fun little find -‘The Repercussions of Civil Class Sympathizing’. Shockingly credited to an Anonymous writer, as Optimus would never imagine a Con taking issue with being forthright about that opinion.

“You’re like a cyber cat.”

Optimus startled, a tad disappointed he hadn’t thought to use it as an excuse to drop and shatter the datapad.

“Ex-excuse me?!” He whirled on his heel looking equal parts flabbergasted and mortified.

Megatron turned away, frowning at his lap.

“Nothing. It was just a passing thought.”

Oh, really? Was this a common occurrence of his to compare Optimus to fussing house pets? He’d been minding his business and everything- Megatron would do well to keep anymore of *that* to himself!

Optimus glowered a moment more before turning back to the shelf. Finials lying flat to his helm, pawing at the datapads a bit more roughly.

———- ——

There weren’t stranger circumstances to this change in character than Megatron’s blatant lack of punishment for Optimus’ ‘transgressions’ on Earth. Even now given the unlimited opportunities to, Megatron had seemingly forgotten about every blow they’d landed on each other in their time there. All the insults and meddling in his affairs, and Megatron hadn’t a single paralyzing penalty to bestow upon him.

It was the definition of looking a gift horse in the mouth, but Optimus absolutely wanted to understand how that had come to be overlooked.

He was ready to ask as much when the infamous war lord seemed to appear out of nowhere while he was ‘stargazing’ -and definitely not staring at one star in particular as they drifted closer and spiraling a bit into madness. Except the first words out of Megatron’s mouth as he approached were a command that Optimus see himself to the medbay for a physical.

A physical.

A *physical*.

To add to the surreality, Megatron offered him a cube of Energon before gesturing at Blitzwing, slunk off in some corner of the deck, to assist the Autobot to meet Flatline and Scalpel.

“The name is quite appropriate, but Scalpel won’t be your medic. It’s his medbay, however, so expect to see him there-“

“What *is* this?!” Optimus snapped, feeling some tether pulling in him stretched to it’s limited. His backstrut bristled up.

Megatron extended the cube uselessly, optics as careful to gloss him over as they’d ever been since his repaint. But a physical, for whatever reason, was worthy of his attention?

Optimus glared daggers up at him, looking totally unshaken by the sight of Megatron donning his Cybertronian armor, sharp and thick and impenetrable, by sheer will. There were plenty of other surrealities to worry about besides his mortal enemy standing tall in all his native glory.

Megatron finally turned his gaze on the bouncing ball of nerves before him and immediately, his eyes seemed to soften. A familiar little smirk splaying his lips- the one he wore in Optimus presence solely to mock him... But the strange look in his eye made it all appear so oddly charmed instead.

By Optimus? By his obvious rage? Great, so Megatron was taking him even less seriously now- probably because he’d accepted all this special treatment so easily.

Blitzwing was doing his best to blend in with the wall behind them.

Optimus supposed this quiet moment was his opportunity to rage on.

“Why are you doing all this?! What’s the point- what’s your game?! I don’t *want* that!” He bared his denta at the Energon in question, and Megatron subspaced it. Still perfectly undeterred by his fussing.

He watched the little Prime glimmer in his fresh paint, noting the healthy glow in his cheeks was from more than just the expensive bodywork.

He was well fueled, well rested, and free of any immediate responsibility at the moment. And Megatron was unsurprised to find he liked this look on him much more than with his battle mask up and axe at the ready. He liked the fight in this being, he liked Optimus’ determination.

But he adored it all so much more when the Autobot was left all to him without high command bigots whispering in his audial.

Without organics and repair bots to keep alive.

Without working himself through another restless recharge.

He liked Optimus at his peak performance, healthy and strong, and at the great thanks of Megatron’s pampering to see him here.

He would like to *keep* Optimus like this.

“I wouldn’t have you suffer the indignity of poor health.” He said simply, like that explained anything.

Blinking wide optics and slack jawed, Optimus murmured-

“Why?”

“Would you have it done to me if I were your prisoner?”

He could see how *much* Optimus wanted to say otherwise, but then-

“No...”

And that was exactly as much as Megatron was willing to say on the matter.

——- —————

Optimus still couldn’t understand why Megatron *didn’t* want to humiliate him to his very core. He could probably live with his indifference -one reason he was so nervous these last few cycles with Megatron’s nearly unwavering optics on him at all times. Why did he ever challenge him to look during their last fight?- but his blatant interest was even more baffling than Megatron pretending he didn’t exist.

How he’d landed himself a spot at Megatron’s side during fueling and reading was a cosmic mystery.

How he’d landed himself outsourced Energon with rust sticks and goodies that had no business being on a war ship, existing there only because Optimus did, too, was more fantastical a feat than he could have imagined.

It was painfully clear now, Megatron for whatever reason was granting him special treatment.

His tanks fluttered and flipped- nerves and worry eating away at his processor more and more as the cycles went by.

Why? Why? Megatron *hated* him, so why?!

Right? There was still a nice, thick layer of hate between them, wasn’t there?

“Don’t let these get cold.” Was Megatron’s attempt at making Optimus eat his sweets. It often worked, if only to keep his attention off of him a moment more.

Optimus was sure he made a sight with his usually confident frame tucked in, sitting on his hands on the chair at Megatron’s side. Audials dipping low. He didn’t even have the courage to reach out and obey this time, stewing in all his hard earned paranoia while he wondered what dimension he’d stepped into when Megatron’s men had thrown him into that cell on this Primus forsaken ship.

Megatron clicked off his datapad and removed it from any wandering Autobot optics before turning towards him.

Their conversations were brief and strangled. Megatron clearly had no intention of letting him go- the thought was ridiculous. And Optimus had no intention of pleading for his life- equally ridiculous. So it was mostly comprised of-

“You’re under no obligation to eat those. I suspect, though, that you simply do not know how to indulge yourself in something so harmless and enjoyable, and that won’t do. If it’s for the benefit of the mechs on this ship who aren’t spared your luxuries, consider that few of them have even earned it.”

“True. You wouldn’t reward your soldiers with these.” Which made him feel that much more juvenile for being allowed the pleasure to.

“Lugnut.”

Optimus’ fins popped upright and he practically did a double take.

“Lugnut... You mean Lugnut gets...”

“He has an affinity for sweet things. Swindle provides them, of course, as he’s one of the few trusted not to poison them as a....prank.” Megatron clearly found that word upsetting to his refined palate. Optimus easily imagined he’d meant a certain purple seeker he’d heard rumors about.

“Lugnut is offered rewards in accordance to the work he does....Though I’ll admit....”

He trailed off, Megatron snapping his helm back to his datapad and looking especially busy all at once. Optimus inched closer, hands coming up to rest on the table.

“I admit, junk fuel isn’t necessarily part of his payment for his work.”

Optimus worked it out for himself in the silence that followed. He could feel a little grin lift the corners of his mouth when he finally concluded-

“You mean you just give him little gifts... just because?”

“Don’t *ever* put words in my mouth, little Prime.” Megatron thundered, but clearly had nowhere better to be as he remained at Optimus’ side.

The little blue mech felt a knot thread and pull in his stomach, a strange sense of calm settling in beside the nervous jitters.

“Does Blitzwing get anything like that?”

“Blitzwing doesn’t deserve anything.”

—— ———-

“Can I read your work?”

Megatron looked surprisingly bothered by that request, considering he was a well written, highly controversial writer.

“I’ve no doubt you’ve read plenty in the academy.”

“Sure, but nothing recreational.”

“Do I strike you as the sort of mech that writes for ‘fun’, Autobot?”

Optimus shrugged, studying the shelves in the library.

“Blitzwing said you wrote poetry.”

Megatron turned and scowled at him like he’d just had the audacity to spit in his face.

“You know perfectly well that I do.”

“True.” Optimus grinned. Sassy thing, getting much too comfortable with his cushy life here.

“If you want something so whimsical to read, I won’t spare you a single thing of mine.”

“Why? Are you shy?”

Megatron outright laughed at his attempt to shake him. He’d seen varying shades of pink and red and even blue on Optimus’ faceplates at the single brush of their servos during fueling.

“Try self preserving. You’ll thank me, Optimus Prime. The latest subject of my musings is quite an unpredictable thing- how might you react if you were to read such damning things coming straight from my processor about him.”

Optimus stilled. He went ramrod straight and stared very carefully ahead at the wall -and anywhere in the universe, but at the Goliath grinning wickedly behind him.

It didn’t shield the glowing red creeping up his audial fins, however, and Megatron counted that as yet *another* win.

He loved winning, but he couldn’t have prepared himself to love winning over Optimus Prime of all things so much. It would be an unrewarding victory winning back Cybertron when it paled so terribly in comparison.

————— —-

“Jou haven’t made a *single attempt* to contact Ultra Magnus! Not once!”

“I am certain you are not talking to *me* in that tone, Strika.”

“Zen go see Scalpel about jour hearing. Jou’re not a young mech anymore.”

Megatron’s optic twitched, thoroughly chastised.

“Thank goodness I’m not vain....”

Strika circled him in his throne room, coming away from his side to dare and face him head on. Exactly how he liked her to when he was making questionable decisions.

“My lord, the Autobot is in excellent condition to make a valuable trade. Although I vould have taken ze route vere roughing him up to a bleeding pulp vould have been more effective at instilling the severity of this situation, and ensuring Ultra Magnus understand he act *fast* to secure him.”

“I’m sure you would have. Lucky, then, that I am sane enough to consider his reluctance to trust us if his favorite Prime is beyond repair.”

“Ve agree then, don’t ve? Now is the time to strike, while ze Prime is in perfect condition.”

“Well, not perfect...” Megatron began to worry his lower lip beneath a fang.

“He could really use another trip to maintenance-“

“He doesn’t need repainting! Vut is wrong with the work he has? It vill last eons!”

“It’s called maintenance for a reason. He has to *maintain* that glossy finish to-“

“Jou sound like Starscream!”

Oh, Primus forbid....

Megatron wiped a servo down his face and ordered Strika to schedule his first officers to be present for a briefing on negotiations. Not that they needed the reminder on how to behave, but it was crucial this call went smoothly if he was to garner Magnus’ foolish favor. He didn’t want to risk Optimus livelihood in anyway.

——- —————

Optimus felt terribly warm with Megatron’s optics raking over him so close. Considering him, calculating. Whatever was coming, it was going to be terrible...

Optimus just needed to stay alert and keep his wits about him. Something was coming to fruition now, and standing there patiently at Megatron’s side in his throne room most likely meant it’d be the sort of damning thing that’d decide his fate and future here. Whether that future was here, back on Cybertron, or pushed in a smelter.

“Relax.” Megatron finally said. It rumbled through his chest, clearly amused at the situation, though masking it perfectly. *Almost perfectly*.

“How can I relax? I’m not stupid, something big is happening. You fueled me twice this morning.”

Megatron scowled.

“You’re supposed to fuel more than once a day, Prime. You’re pitiful civil frame is substantially less acclimated to surviving long winds in between.”

“Only if I’m running myself ragged trying to keep up with you and your lot- and I’m not. I was lazing about in berth until late.... Besides your rations are much bigger here.”

Megatron shut his mouth so as not to admit that wasn’t the standard for his kin either, turning his nasal ridge up and looking every bit the confident bastard he was.

Optimus ducked his helm, wishing he could have a seat somewhere while he waited for whatever signal they were waiting for to come through.

Finally, though to his amazed terror, a femme looking ready to blast a whole through him with her optics alone came marching up to the pair. Her accent thick like Blitzwing’s.

“Lord Megatron.” She bowed, eyes narrowing Optimus’ way, and leaned forward to whisper something in her lord’s audial.

Whatever bad thing Optimus had been expecting to happen, it wasn’t Megatron looking completely poleaxed, followed by an unholy fire prickling his field against Optimus’. The smaller mech instinctually stepped away from the war lord as he stood and swiftly made his exit shouting curses. Off on a rampage, destination unknown.

“Jou stay here.” The femme crossed her servos to her chest and made herself right at home staring down at Optimus like he was some smear on her stabilizer.

“Liability.” She added mostly to herself.

Either meaning Optimus accompanying Megatron wherever he’d gone was a liability -even though Megatron had been the one to summon his company- or that his whole existence itself was a liability. Probably all that and more.

Optimus wanted to fill the silence by apologizing for somehow inconveniencing her, but he wasn’t sure it’d be well received, nor very genuine.

“Should I be escorted back to my... room?” Surely that was not the way to unravel the pinch in her brow, but he was out of ideas of how to handle this mystery femme.

“Jou just stand there quietly. Can you handle zat?” She sneered, and took a step closer. Covering him in her shadow despite being a few steps below him.

Somehow, he’d made things worse.

He nodded without another word and focused on his servos clasped together at his middle. Trying his hardest not to worry them.

Awkward silence was survivable, the femme’s scrutinizing gaze was deadly. He thought it’d be enough to crush him to death, until she -thankfully or not, he wasn’t sure- spoke. Tone all malice.

“Jou’ve been a terrible thorn in my side for some time now.”

Optimus hoped he didn’t looked as breakable as he felt then.

“Yes. I imagine so.”

He knew he was taking resources and opportunities away from somebody somewhere. It made sense that it’d be someone excruciatingly important.

It dawned on him then, much too slowly in fact, who he was speaking to.

“In truth, I was hoping to be out of here by now, Commander Strika. Megatron hasn’t made his intentions clear to me.”

Hadn’t he, though?

“Is zat so? Jou look awfully comfortable here, taking everything jou’re given.”

‘Whether you deserve it or not’ was implied.

Yeah, he definitely could have resisted a little more, and a little longer.

How far he’d fallen from the years of special training, mental and physical, to withstand the enemies’ unorthodox techniques. A little kindness targeted exclusively for him for the first time in his life cycle, and he’d forgotten Megatron once used him as a shield. For a moment anyway. Some things stayed with you.

She spoke again.

“Jou don’t address Lord Megatron appropriately, and yet jou seem to have found your manners on my account. Why is zat? Afraid, little one?”

Not exactly yes, but not exactly no. Optimus settled for,

“I’m just- I- Well, I don’t think Megatron means to kill me.”

No, no, no, that’s not what he meant to say. That wasn’t even true, of course he was going to kill him. Eventually. Right?

Luckily, she glossed over the hilarity of the implication he was worried that she might, though.

“I don’t think he means to kill me either, but I understand respect. Zey don’t teach jou Autobots about respect anymore?”

Obviously they do.

“He’s the leader of the enemy faction- ma’am. He isn’t my leader.”

*Obviously*.

Oh, slag, was this some kind of test? He’d heard plenty enough of Strika’s crimes against mech-hood and the grizzly details were rarely spared. Was he nanokliks away from being offlined while his personal guard was currently indisposed?

“But- but that’s not to say I-I don’t... *respect* his military status. Or yours, Commander Strika. I do.”

She’d talked him into a circle and a painfully contradictory one. Megatron was just Megatron. Strika was Commander Strika. And that made zero sense at all, other than Optimus would be damned to ever call Megatron ‘Lord’ of anything.

He glanced up again to start another attempt at amending the damage he’d done when he noted that Strika looked considerably less put off by his explanation. Which that couldn’t be the reason she’d relaxed her stance, he’d done an abysmal job explaining anything other than he was a threat to their beings, and a disrespectful one.

Her guard down even ever so slightly was another chance to clean things up, though.

“I’m well aware that Megatron is making sacrifices in my favor -though I admit I don’t know why. And I’m aware those sacrifices are affecting your soldiers directly-“

“Ve can live without rust sticks.”

Optimus turned a shade of crimson that was in step with the unflattering impression he’d made for himself. Strika was merciful enough to end the conversation there, and that might be the only mercy she’d ever given in the whole of history.

—— ————

The disturbing thing was that he was clearly being left out of the loop of something that so plainly revolved around him, and Megatron wasn’t around to distract him from the chaos that was creating in his helm. Megatron hadn’t been around in an entire solar cycle.

Blitzwing was a beacon of tension, wings flickering with his nerves occasionally when he thought Optimus wasn’t looking.

He spent most of his time just waiting, fueling and napping and reading datapads until he was unconsciously grinding his dental plates together- trying his damnedest not to think about where Megatron had run off to in such an uproar, never to be seen again.

Blitzwing wasn’t bad company. He rarely spoke to him, either disinterested or unsure how to acknowledge such a prominent force in his life on Earth under hostile circumstances. They’d found a rhythm for themselves long ago, and it’d stopped being awkward around the time they gave each other eyerolls at the wandering optics and rude exchanges from fellow Cons in the corridors.

Blitzwing was equally as unpopular here, and it was something to bond over.

Optimus was no coward, and so he couldn’t help risking ruining the peace he’d made among himself and the triple changer by asking the about the elephant in the room.

“What’s going on with Megatron?” He whispered into the quiet of the library.

Blitzwing’s helm popped up, keeping guard by the door, but didn’t look very perturbed to be the focus of possible controversy with nowhere to run. When did he ever? But an agitated flick of his wings signaled something particularly unpleasant about him asking- and maybe not exactly Optimus’ fault for it, whatever it was.

“If you even know, I mean. I don’t expect details, I just haven’t seen him in a while and we usually, um-“

They usually fueled together. And Megatron usually walked him to his room afterwards. And sometimes slipped him a datapad he personally liked if he knew he wouldn’t be able to accompany Optimus for a time. And watched his shining form disappear into his cozy room a little too intently. And sometimes said goodbye.

“Negotiations aren’t going as planned.”

Optimus snapped to attention at that and outright gawked. He hadn’t expected a real answer, but certainly nothing so telling.

Then Blitzwing made this face, completely indecipherable, and yet this knowing sort of look, like they were sharing some kind of inside joke. Optimus was definitely not in on whatever was happening, and he couldn’t imagine why Blitzwing would think otherwise.

He took it as an invitation to push his luck some more.

“What do you mean exactly? What...Did Megatron really think the counselors or Ultra Magnus would trade something he actually wanted for me?”

For *him*, when they had Sentinel and Rodimus Prime- both perfectly capable of following orders when given.

“Ja. And jou knew ze vouldn’t.”

Optimus’ optics blew wide open.

“Well, I, I mean- it’s me. I’m not worth a whole lot.”

And for that matter-

“Megatron’s called me a dumb little Autobot plenty of times. You can’t tell me he *didn’t* know.”

At most, he assumed Megatron would simply try his luck, and move on when his suspicions that Optimus made for a poor trade proved accurate.

Blitzwing looked completely bemused by the whole thing, and surprisingly, a little sympathetic.

“Lord Megatron hasn’t thought little of jou in a long time, not since jou vere brave enough to face him in hand to hand- and long before jou came here. Othervise he’d have left jou in a dirty cell in ze dark.”

Optimus blinked several times. Feeling perfectly numb and a little stupid for failing to process.

Blitzwing was prompted into explaining.

“Jou and jour team have done a lot of vork undoing our efforts to the cause, jou’ve proven that jou are vorthy of our consideration. Ve had to scrap a lot of plans ve’d originally made just to vork around jou and jour outstanding resourcefulness... despite jour stature and lack of skillsets. Comparatively speaking.”

“How comparatively?” Optimus whispered. Forcing his processor to pump doses of cognitive performance patches out to articulate anything more than amazed babbles.

“We have Cybertron’s lead spacebridge technician on our team.”

“Ja, jou got us zere.” Blitzwing shrugged, utterly unaffected by any of these life altering realizations.

He looked down at a gaping Prime, looking hopelessly lost, and found a smidge more of sympathy to bestow upon him.

“Megatron views jou in a different light now, a flattering one. And he’d assumed ze opinions of your leaders after watching all jour accomplishments vould change as vell. As zey should.”

Optimus hadn’t registered when he’d had to take a seat on the bare floor to ground himself.

“It’s a shame zey haven’t.” Blitzwing hummed thoughtfully.

“I hope zere’s some solace in knowing zat ve feel otherwise. Who else is zere to impress, if not jour enemies really?”

It was the first time Random had made an appearance since his coming here, even though he was replaced by Icy in an instant. The only thing Optimus took solace in was being the reason for the moment of calm they’d both needed for that to ever happen.

——— ———- -

He was thrust out of berth in the dead of the night cycle by Strika and dragged like a wayward youth by his scruff to the Decepticon command quarters.

It went by in a blur, his brain module desperately trying to peace together the layout as they walked before crumbling under the utter fascination shocking him to his core upon reaching their destination.

“W-Where are we- This is-!”

The stars looked close enough to touch up here. The glass walls stretching out against an endless expanse of space and the soft galactic lights beyond. The cold glass thinly separating him from losing himself in the inky abyss.

“The command center!” He said with all the enthusiasm of said wayward youth.

“I-I’ve *never*- It’s, I- Whoa!”

He was silenced by a familiar booming voice, the air of wonder about him instantly shifting to trepidation. And then-

“Optimus Prime! Stand at attention!”

He did on pure instinct, and a little from fear. Having to be forcibly lifted and settled back down by Strika in his endless bewilderment right in front of Megatron, standing at the center of the room and baring his fangs in a feral grin at the monitor at Optimus’ back. Strika’s servos disappearing as suddenly as they’d came.

“Here he is, just as I said, you blasted *fool*!” Megatron roared, and Optimus was almost too afraid to turn and see who was profoundly pissing him off on screen.

//Op?!//

//Holy slag....//

Optimus whipped around so fast he nearly lost his balance and had to reach out for the console below the monitor screen.

His optics almost whited out at the sight of Jazz, Sentinel, two curious helms peeking out from behind him, and a furious looking Ultra Magnus with hammer clenched in servo.

The helms popped up and twin smiles greeted Optimus without a single care for the danger they were all in.

//He’s alive!//

//Is not lie!//

//I had told you so brother.//

//Eh... I still not honor our bet-//

“Shut up.” Strika growled, apparently having conversed with them thoroughly enough at this point.

Optimus stood in shocked silence, trying to figure where his place was in all this. Should he assure Ultra Magnus he was alright? Would that undo whatever work had been accomplished here today if he downplayed the severity of the situation?

Megatron was ready for the next round of insults, though, before he could speak.

“Congratulations, you wasted everyone’s time further, *Ultra Magnus*. He’s exactly as I said he’d be. What’s your excuse *now*?”

“....We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

The fury was instant.

“A MECH WITH HALF A PROCESSOR WOULD NEGOTIATE ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING TO HAVE THE PRIZE OF THEIR PEOPLE RETURNED!”

“Delegate.” Strika muttered dangerously from over Optimus’ helm.

Megatron attempted to, but an unusual tremor laced his tone.

“What’s worse than having your greatest asset in the hands of your enemy? What could possibly be more valuable to bargain with?”

Optimus felt a surge of courage then. He could answer that, and he could do so without sacrificing Ultra Magnus’ precarious position. He had a good idea what Megatron would be bargaining for, and it was pretty ambitious, worthy bargaining chip or not.

“The Allspark is nonnegotiable, Megatron. Nothing is more sacred, and we must protect it at all-“

“No- WE ARE THROUGH NEGOTIATING!”

Optimus took a step back.

Megatron leveled a claw at the screen, aimed at Magnus’ throat cables.

“You come here and *get him* by *any means necessary*! You will sacrifice half your military force if you must- OPTIMUS PRIME IS WORTH YOUR HEAD AND MORE, YOU ULTRA SELL-SHORT!”

“*Delegate*!”

Optimus felt the floor shift beneath him and he actually did have to brace himself on the console this time.

What....was happening?

Then finally, in a voice so tight, Ultra Magnus must be chipping his teeth together-

“I won’t risk the lives of any one of my soldiers, *Megatron*.”

“He’s *one of your soldiers*, isn’t he? He’s the *best* you could ever hope to have- WHAT WILL you risk then?! What do you even stand for? If the most precious thing in the universe exists at your disposal, you undeserving glitch, only for you to *forsake* it?!”

Optimus thought he was about to slip down the console and crumple embarrassingly on the floor like a pathetic Iump when a single strong servo wrapped around his waist, just as his pedes were shaking, and hauled him upright- over and over, and up in to-

Megatron had taken a seat, forehelm collapsing into his open palm to shield himself from the sheer stupidity of it all, pulling Optimus securely onto his thigh while he gathered himself.

Optimus was a shivering mess of raw nerves and mortification upon hearing the collective gasps and realizing where he was. Who he was with. Who he was sitting on....

He threw a hand out to steady himself against Megatron’s chest, and that was probably misconstrued, too. Though not terribly wrongly. Megatron was about the only thread he had tethering him to any kind of sanity.

The mech that had worked so viscously to protect his honor for possibly cycles and cycles now. All this time he’d been gone, in this room, doing this...

It was a lost cause, which he was probably realizing, and Optimus was oh so ready to thank him genuinely for all of this unnecessary, CONFUSING, effort on his behalf when-

“How dare you, you old fool.” Megatron said with every bit of exasperation he’d undoubtedly earned. He barely refrained from tacking on a suppressed sigh.

“I will not rest until you can never lay another servo on this mech.”

Which was infinitely profound a thing to say.

And again, confusing.

There was silence as Ultra Magnus considered the literal audacity of the war lord, leaving Optimus with another moment of courage to look up at the screen with the single ounce of bravery he had left resembling the strong mech he once was- right before he was forced into this deranged call, in fact...

Sentinel was there hiding behind a single hand, shoulders tense with repressed laughter that Optimus had come to recognize as a poor coping mechanism for horrific stress. Clearly at his breaking point and reaching for something rational to hold on to to make sense of everything.

Jazz was in a similar state- mouth open in absolute shock, failing to contain his outright amusement at the absurdity of the hours, cycles, they’d spent on this ‘negotiation’. Only for it to derail into surreal and wild claims.

And there was Jetfire, clutching Jetstorm like his pedes had stopped functioning. Megatron’s last words while Optimus Prime sat saddled in his lap like a trophy piece to help him win over his argument were enough to push the crew past their already broken point.

Ultra Magnus was the only mech looking as thoroughly put out and downright *offended* as Megatron, that was possible, in all the seriousness of the situation.

Megatron’s field prickled against Optimus’ in righteous indignation.... Indignant on his account.

Optimus wasn’t sure exactly which commander he felt he should be adhering to the judgment of. All he was unfortunately aware of -so no plausible deniability there- was that Megatron had done nothing but given Optimus the utmost faith in himself, if Blitzwing’s words were true.

Above that, he’d never felt so sure of his safety before- if Megatron didn’t want Ultra Magnus to touch him again, it was as good as gospel.

Though... why he would need saving from his own commander was a definite err in the mech’s logic center. He’d let it slide in favor of all the recharge Megatron had been missing. The brush of his thumb against his hip plate admissible, too.

//I’m ending this now.// Ultra Magnus said, lip curling.

Optimus chanced another look at the fearful faces on screen exchanging looks, and Jazz’s quiet //But, Commander...//.

“You will do no such thing, not until I have your word that Optimus Prime, your Prime, must I remind you, is your immediate priority. And that he will be spared anymore of your dispassion and bias moving forward.”

Silence. Festering, angry silence.

Optimus felt redder than his chassis upon noticing Sentinel looking pleadingly between the button to end the call and Optimus clearly at the mercy of a maniacal madman. When his terror eventually subsided, what the frag was Sentinel going to be telling the femmes that took interest in him or the rest of the populace with an open audial for gossip?

“Do it, or I take siege of your Earth outpost.” Megatron threatened, finding the energy to enforce it with a snarl.

Magnus, as unbothered by anything to do with Optimus’ Earth crew as ever, ended the call.

“My god.” Strika turned her wrath onto Megatron now. Optimus had all of second to make out the point behind their arguing being Megatron’s inability to remain impartial himself through that cycles long ordeal before he was being lifted, to his endless humiliation, with a servo under his knee joints and another under his backstrut.

He held on for the ride, narrowly ducking stares from Decepticon’s high commands as Megatron marched through them towards Optimus’ room, unbothered to be taking such a public route.

His mind remained carefully blank when protesting and fighting out of Megatron’s hold failed to occur to him.

Carefully blank of the strong servos holding him close, promising safety and care.

Carefully, carefully blank.

“I’ll send for the Constructicons- you will tell them what accommodations you need to make your room livable. I understand there are cultural differences between us, and you’ve been severely lacking the proper living arrangements. Do not refrain on their account, the demands can and will be met accordingly. And timely, might I add, so do keep your schedule free until you’ve finished your consultation.”

Optimus didn’t know where to begin. How to address the fact that he wasn’t very well going to be staying here forever.

Megatron set him down only after he’d entered his quarters and the door was shielding them away from prying optics. Blitzwing’s fascinated ones passing them by in particular.

Optimus was at a total loss. No way to articulate that that Earth outpost was completely off limits until he had Megatron’s word all of this would never reach Ratchet and Prowl’s audials. The most benign of his worries. Or at least for as long as he could realistically keep that from happening with them undoubtedly pestering Sentinel and Jazz about his whereabouts and rescue.

No way to make Megatron possibly conceive the ludicrousness of Optimus continuing to receive extra special treatment. With extra privileges now, too.

No way to thank him properly for something he should never be thanking his enemy for. Not even sure what he was thankful for exactly.

Megtaron seemed happy enough to take his silence and the privacy of his room to be his chance to collect himself before facing Strika again.

“Are- do you need to... sit?” Optimus offered, gesturing towards the berth.

Megatron shuttered his optics, servo gripping his forehelm again. He considered the tiny frame before him, wringing his hands together anxiously, field prickling with worry.

“I’m well, Autobot.” He reassured in his most calming voice. Then thought it over.

“I will be- after you get a retouch. Your gloss finish is wearing.”

It wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t.

Optimus flushed a vivid shade and tried not to nod like there was a wedge stuck in his neck. If that was what it took to sedate Megatron, alright then. He could flounder at the absurdity of another shine up -the third one in his entire lifecycle- later, and only privately to Blitzwing.

He would be doing nothing further in the future to attest his quiet gratitude for Megatron’s misguided care for him. He would do nothing to insinuate it was not appreciated. It was all extremely hard to accept, but it was very much appreciated.

“I can’t keep you here forever.” Megatron said then. An odd thing to say, because Optimus would argue that while he would love to leave this place, Megatron could absolutely do whatever he wanted, so long as it didn’t mean hurting anybody- and he could absolutely keep him here, too.

Megatron, self assured as ever, carefully reached out to slide retracted claws under Optimus’ chin and lift -making his sparkbeat spike in his chest.

“But I assure you this, Optimus Prime. That wasteful, foolish, idiot ‘leader’ of yours will not touch you again. His insufferable lack of compassion for you is poison. It’s a direct offense to me, the unstoppable mech you’ve continuously thwarted.”

Optimus didn’t feel that opinion of himself terribly egotistical. It was luck alone that he and his crew had ever stood a chance to them. Alone on a foreign planet without any of the necessary resources, it was clearly a case of the stars aligning magically in his favor each time.

Though apparently, the Earth Cons had started feeling differently about any assessment of himself selling him and his team short at some point.

Optimus hadn’t realized his optics had closed. Not until those fingers stroked up towards his cheekplates. Another violent flush coloring his facial mesh and impossible to hide from Megatron’s tender gaze.

“You won’t let his ideas of you shape you- you can’t afford that. It would be the biggest affront to our species if you allowed him, anyone, to taint you.”

“A little much.” Optimus murmured, voice rough with some untapped emotion.

Megatron grinned, shrugged, refused to let that perfect moment to end their contact before things became a bit too intimate convince him to let go, and even dared to stroke his thumb below Optimus’ optic.

The smaller mech caught his bottom lip in his teeth, feeling something give a strong tug on his spark.

“I’m fueling early,“ Megatron purred, brow creasing, enjoying the show of Optimus’ face twisting into one of contentment at his ministrations.

”I’ll return shortly. Wait for me.”

What could Optimus say to that?

He felt like melting into the floor when Megatron’s other servo reached up to mimic his cupping palm in a final stroke below his shuttering optics before pulling away and marching out the door to meet a furious Strika who’d effortlessly tracked him down.

His shoulders straight and helm high all the same- feeling particularly invincible all at once.

Optimus numbly watched him go, watched the door closing behind his broad frame, then flung himself onto his berth to hide his burning face in the padding.

He stayed like that until Megatron returned for their dinner date.

——- —-

I am.... oh my God. Thank you for giving me this opportunity, stranger💖 You looked into the void and decided I should embarrass myself as much as possible, and I’m grateful.

Thanks everyone for reading.

I’d like to post the entire thing to Ao3 at some point but people are head hunting me on there to finish my Detroit Become Human stuff and I owe about 600 people content in my messages. No one knows I live here now in transformers heck.

[ibis-gt]

power rangers au............ some colors have shifted but here’s the basic gist:

all power rangers lore and this screenshot courtesy of @bolshoycorvid​ bc taylor continues to hook me up with the Good brain worms

[genderfcker]

the more i learn about rhinedottir, the more i want to fight her

[matsumi101]

Bonnie’s decommission was actually an executive decision and not monty’s fault real not fake

[mummer]

the tension between the absurd and the real in barry is so good it makes me want to explode

[liapher]

can we. can we as a society just let go of the term 'artificial intelligence'

[jupitermelichios]

📷cake-and-monsters said: This makes a lot of sense . My inner Buffy nerd would be genuinely interested on your expanded thoughts on Joyce and Angel’s relationship with Buffy heh

I'm not sure I have much of interest to say about Joyce and Buffy. Joyce is a bad mum, but she's a bad mum in a very believable, and unfortunately common, way. I don't think she necessarily actually wanted kids; she probably didn't think about it all, in fact. Having kids was what women in her societal niche did, so she had some. Her own feelings didn't come into it. Marrying a man who you don't actually like and who doesn't like you was what people did, so she did it. Hers is a life unexamined. Nothing has ever happened to derail her from the path set out before her - even her teenage rebellion was by the numbers - and so she's never actually stopped to think about whether the path is what she wants

the problem is that buffy is not on that path any more. until she became the slayer, buffy was living, more or less, the exact same life her mum had, only the fashion and the slang any different. then overnight the tracks switched, and buffy's living a life completely divorced from what joyce is familiar with, and she has no idea how to cope

there's a jeanette winterson quote i think about a lot. it's something her mother said to her when she first came out to her. "Why be happy when you could be normal?" That's essentially Joyce's mindset in seasons 1-3.

they turned the reveal of buffy's slayer-ness into a coming out metaphor, because that was all teen genre shows knew how to do in the 90s apparently, but i am personally absolutely certain that joyce would have reacted in the exact same way, with the same level of vitriol, if it was an actual coming out. her problem isn't with slaying, her problem is that buffy is stepping off the path, and in doing so, forcing joyce to actually think about her own life in a way she's never done before

~

Angel is more interesting, and kind of a unique example, i think. its fascinating that twilight was inspired by bangel, because edward is in some ways angel taken to the logical extremes - angel is dramatically more likeable, but he has most of the same faults, in smaller, more forgivable ways

he is absolutely in love with an ideal far more than he's in love with a person, and he would absolutely fall out of love overnight if he realised she wasn't that ideal. the complication is that her being a flawed human is part of that ideal, so what it would take to make him realise he doesn't really love her is hard to say

if cordelia wasn't enough to make it happen, i'm not sure anything could.

except that i also think cordelia did, in a lot of ways. he experienced a relationship built on mutual respect, with a fully grown adult (don't get me started on the question of how the fuck old cordy is supposed to be in angel season 4, time in los angeles works differently than in the rest of the buffy universe) who viewed him as a peer. that has to have put every other relationship in his life up to that point into harsh perspective. but by that point he'd built so much of his identity around the idea of loving buffy that he couldn't admit it to himself without shaking his entire foundation

buffy is, to him, a kind of measuring stick. if he meets buffy's standards, he must be good enough, he must be redeamed enough, and the fact that she's a traumatised teenager who's super strength didn't actually come with any special moral sense never occurs to him. she's the slayer. if even the slayer thinks he's good, then maybe he really is

for my money, the curse proves that. i don't think that moment of pure happiness was love. if it was, there were a million small moments before they had sex that should have qualified. that pure happiness was the fact that, just for a moment, when the slayer allowed herself to be so vulnerable with him, showed such deep trust in him, he could believe he really had been redeemed. (also sprinkle over a healthy dose of 'sex is dirty and bad so if she's letting me defile her it's extra meaingful etc' because he's what the writers thought people in the early 18th century europe were like, so his religious beliefs are a horrifying mishmash of puritanism, victorian anglicanism, and 20th century american evanglicalism)

if buffy was a decade older and more mature, i'd even be sympathetic to him. after 100 years of guilt and the sure and certain prospect of damnation, of course he was desperate for anything that tasted like repemption

but buffy is 16 the first time they kiss, and it's fiction and no one's being hurt, but that still tells us something about angel

because if buffy actually was that decade older and wiser, i don't think he'd fall for her in anything like the same way. maybe they'd still fall in love, but she wouldn't be the one to trigger the curse. his life wouldn't revolve around loving her. buffy being so young means she's essentially got nothing to compare against. it's easy to sweep a girl off her feet if she's not an a stable footing. it's easy to seem like the smartest, strongest, kindest guy in the room when the room only contains you

buffy would probably think he was a good person if they met as adults. she'd probably like him, and applaud the work he does to protect people, but she'd also see his pettiness, and his short-sightedness, and his paternalism, and a dozen other faults. she'd see him as just a person, good and bad, and it's hard to believe in the absolute and perfect redemption of someone who leaves the toilet seat up and keeps getting into stupid fights with his brother/lover/grandchilde/whatever the writers have decided spike is to him today, and is kind of a bad friend a lot of the time. he needs her to look at him and see a hero, because he needs, desperately, to believe he's capable of being a hero.

the only way he'd ever actually admit that he's fallen out of love, or at least that the feelings have naturally faded with time and distance, is if he actually found something he could accept as sufficient repemption for his sins, or if he realised buffy wasn't actually any kind of moral arbiter, and neither are likely to happen

connor might have been enough, if angel had actually had the chance to raise him, but we'll never know

the post S3 status quo is probably the best we'll get, healthy relationship wise. buffy still loves him but does eventually move on (I don't want to feel sorry for riley, because hoo boy does he have issues with women, but it's got to be hard to know the competition is one of histories most prolific serial killers and she still prefers him to you) even if it does take 4 seasons. maybe in a couple of hundred years, Angel will do the same

[albatris]

I forget what a doozy of a topic the garble is to explain

[warlordfelwinter]

[fruity-hub-blog]

Cursed Fact #13

The Fenton Parents have a yearly fight over the existence of Santa

That lead to Danny being pissed on by a dog as a baby

AND Jazz having to fight off a homicidal turkey 

And they literally yell at each other all Christmas season, about whether Santa exists, while they ignore their kids, because they are Totally Stable Adults.

[revrads]

'Buddy Simulator 1984' is such a good game

[drabblesfromthevoid]

star wars soul marks AU

You know what would be interesting to play with? A star wars AU where people have soul marks. Sort of a soulmates AU, in a sense, except that soul marks are for like, everyone - the people most important to you, whether it is as an enemy, as a lover, as family, or as friends.

The soul marks take the shape of symbols specific to the person itself. One day I'll sit down and figure out what everyone's soul mark is, but today is not that day. Anyways, on first glance at the person, you don't know what they're significance is, but you will recognize your symbol on them. Usually, the connection is two-way, and their symbol will also be on you, but it's not always the case.

Obi-wan meets a little boy on a desert planet. His master claims the boy is the Chosen One, but all Obi-wan can feel is the threads of darkness surrounding the child. Except-except they're on the ship, heading back to Coruscant, and Anakin has shed his light desert clothes for some ill-fitting but thicker clothing, and Obi-wan freezes, because that-that's his mark.

Right there on his forearm, right and clear and present.

"Oh," Obi-wan breathes out, kneeling down.

Anakin looks up, bewildered and confused and just a little bit scared, and Obi-wan automatically reaches out in the Force to send him waves of reassurance - calm - safety.

"Sir?"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says softly, then slowly reaches out to place a finger on his mark, "that's me."

Anakin looks down at the mark with wide eyes, then meets Obi-wan's eyes, and back at the mark again, brows furrowed before they loosen in something like wonder. "Oh," he says, and the Force around him is suddenly the lightest it has been in wonder - hope - joy. "It's you. Hello."

And Obi-wan laughs. "Hello, there."

Anakin's mark is found on Obi-wan right at the top of his left arm, right below the shoulders.

Qui-don and Anakin do not share a mark, and the reason isn't apparent, until Obi-wan is left standing - a Padawan without a Master.

Anyways, the presence of soul marks would make the initial beginning of Anakin's and Obi-wan's relationship smoother, I think. But I mostly wanted soul marks because in the year that Chancellor Palpatine is voted into office, the Jedi inexplicably receive a sudden burst of new soul marks.

Nearly all of them have at least one new soul mark, but most have more new ones - a scattering of symbols on their skin - bright and colorful and vibrant, and it's not usually a cause for concern if not for the fact that it happens nearly at once, to everyone.

"Maybe the Order allies with another group of Force users in the next few years" is the most common reasoning, but no one is really clear of the cause until a decade later, and Obi-Wan Kenobi stumbles on an unmarked planet named Kamino.

[redrobin-detective]

If you think about it, Professor Paradox would have interfered if Ben getting the Omnitrix really was that bad. Ergo, I can make the claim that 10 year old Ben Tennyson acquiring the Omnitrix was the best timeline. Vilgax, obviously would have been bad. Max or Xylene would have been passable but not great, they are soldiers at heart, old ones at that. Gwen also would have been good but she would have struggled with her dual heritage and wouldn’t have invested herself completely in the heroism aspect choosing to focus on her own life.

Ben Tennyson took possession of the Omnitrix and, yeah, he was cocky and reckless and playful with it. He misused it on occasion and didn’t always reach the solution in a straight manner, taking chaotic twists and turns to victory. But he was a soul with boundless determination, an almost obsessive need to help others (in an attempt to be useful and wanted but shh) and a very outgoing, charismatic personality. He was the only one who use the Omnitirix to its fullest, intended potential as a tool for peace and understanding. 

[tio--bruno]

Sometimes I wonder what it was like before it was The Amazing Madrigals and it was just a young widowed mother and three magical kids

[simptasia]

those types of christians who are like “god exists therefore there are no aliens” are gonna be surprised when they go to heaven and see blorbax from the andromeda galaxy playing a harp