#prob Pearl too

[crazysnor1ax]

How did Pearl react to Marina's first transformation?

She’s very confused, but at least Marina is comfortable with her right off the bat!

[love-is-a-pearl]

Idk if I’ve bought up this HC before but…

Ash fell first. It was during the Sky Bouquet obviously. But Dawn fell harder, realizing her true feelings for him seconds before he left Sinnoh.

ABSOL-FUCKING-UTELY!

My personal HC is that Ash had a puppy crush on Misty during Kanto-Johto and by Sinnoh he saw those feelings be replaced by even stronger feelings for Dawn. And he just accepted it. He was like "those will sure go away, like the feels for Misty did :)" (they didn't)

And Dawn only started to consider those feelings even existing by the end of DP (after Lyra pointed it out, after Kenny did the atrocious bet thing, after she realized how much it hurt to part ways with him and Brock). And afterwards this silly girl would literally travel continents only to meet this idiotic boy, kept up with everything he was doing while STILL being like "nah, im fine, i have no feelings for him :)"

In my ideal pearl dynamics Ash has to be the one confessing first because Dawn is just in utter denial while he knows he will always adore her :v And she recriprocates right back because she had been bottling up things for so long that when he gives her a vault she jumps right into it without even thinking~

[sudaca-swag]

good for them i guess i was reading 1D novels on facebook about being sold to them and getting pregnant the day after having sex for the 1st time

[coridallasmultipass]

It took me, ugh, MONTHS (2), to get to cleaning the two shrimp tanks I have... I had IRL issues going on that would have made it extremely difficult to do a water change especially while injured, and I just had to keep putting it off. It's just shrimp, so it wasn't like, the worst situation, especially since I have established plants and the tanks are a couple years old. There was just a lot of algae build-up on the glass, and, well... Let me just say it was not contributing to my mental health and well-being while the tanks were in that state.

I tested the water before I started cleaning and the parameters were fine (like, I could have left the tanks even longer if I would be okay with selling my soul to the Algae Collective), and the plants and shrimp look fine, too (I mean, I've obviously been keeping an eye on the tanks bc I sit right next to them). Actually, I'd wager to say that the plants are looking really great (the lilies haven't died off [yet? This is the longest period of time I've seen them stay... foliage... fol... foliated? Idk.] and the cryptocoryne in the 10gal is fucking huge and needs to be rearranged, just not right now). That fucking algae was a motherfucker to get off the 10gal (it's a plastic tank and I think that makes the algae grip harder than the glass 5gal).

[Also, fyi, depending on the tank's needs and stability, recommended water changes are a small one every week or every other week. My parameters don't seem to do anything dramatic, so I usually aim for a 20-30% water change every third week (just depends on how much vacuuming needs to be done and how cooperative the shrimp are with moving aside). So 2 months is still a lot. I still did the normal 30% ish amount, since doing more will risk the shrimp's well-being if there's a sudden change in everything, and my water parameters indicated a change was unnecessary - but I don't test for more than the minimum freshwater tests, so there could be a buildup of some mineral I'm not testing for, which is why the change IS actually necessary regardless of what my test kit says - because these tanks were evaporating a lot in summer, it condenses the minerals added with each water addition, even tho I usually top up with R.O. water.]

My back is fucking killing me lol. It has been killing me since spring when it 'went out' for the first time, and I'm not getting any relief, it sucks. But this had to be done.

The 5gal is looking pretty cloudy still, since the filter was super gunked up and I accidentally spilled gunk back in, so I may need to retest the 5gal parameters tomorrow just to make sure I don't have to do another water change, but it'll probably be fine, right? Shrimp love mulm and detritus. I did give both tanks a big ole algae tab for their trouble, tho. (I need a fuckening dish for the big tank. I really wanna clean off that white quartz rock again, but being white means it's an algae magnet, and it's just gonna go green again after a month or two.)

Anyway, shrimp tax:

I lov thees widdle oange bebies.

Wish I could take better pictures rn, but I am. Like. Dying. My recommendation: never live in an A-frame style room if you have the option. The wall above my tanks is slanted, and NOT fun for my back to bend underneath the wall for maintenance. (My only flat wall in the room is for my TV/PC.) Also, treat your back nicely, in general. I unfortunately have not had the option to treat my back nicely since spring (fall now), because 'when it rains it pours,' and heavy shit that needs to be moved will not move itself. Once I get a few more things in my room in order, I will hopefully be done with the IRL chaos, bc I have Halloween socks to knit, and I'm not putting that off for another year. (I'm still mad that I couldn't make the ones I planned last year. And I found more Halloween yarn I forgot I bought, so I'm gonna try to make multiple socks.) And I just really need to fucking chill and knit and stop having panic attacks and meltdowns.

[circus-k]

stardew sisters?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

marie color slider values

EYE: H29 S74 B87

HAIR: H00 S00 B100

PANTS: H10 S43 B57

callie color slider values

EYE: H8 S73 B80

HAIR&PANTS: H340 S100 B46

used this cool and epic website

[mewniemoon]

I completed Saints compaign and now wanna collect all the pearls.

Should I get then all as rivulet or survivor? Rivulet would be prob be faster but also I know some of the dialouge changes. Is it better to get them all as survivor instead or is it better to get them as Riv?

[lanshappycorner]

thinking about how my biggest W in life is starting off as a f/e artist so basically ive been set to draw armor since day 1

[foxstens]

scavenger reputation sure is confusing

[crunchycrystals]

oh no i have to think about who im watching this season.......

[sundewa]

hello! what is your favorite hermit skin?

for jokes i think i have to say ethos old chest face skin… rip

for the actual design probably gems :D

[crazyw3irdo]

just lost all my gear in my minecraft world im normal

[wp100]

picked up the pokemon anime again. gonna try and finish it as soon as i can.

i dont want to. i have one season left with ash then i might call it an... anime. i miiiiight give the new one a go, but there's no ash, so what's the point

[anantaru]

synopsis. boothill wants to know how many of his fingers you can take — one? two? or three? <3

cw. metal fingers (they're cold & vibrate), fingering + clit rubbing, calls you baby, fem! reader

"no, no, no," boothill mutters underneath his drawn out exhale as his digits trace soft patterns over your achy clit, "don't buck back, baby, you're already so sensitive, aren't you?" as a grateful hum whirls against your temperate neck.

his eyes scan over your bare body— your tits showing erected nipples, your thighs so prettily soft and your ass, ugh, all for him to look at with your dress pulled up your waist.

naked, you're completely naked and it only made him delve deeper into his want, his need and the desire to crowd you with him.

it's all he wants, everything he needs.

you're so messy, so wet, just perfect. and boothill wonders how more messed up he could get you if he was to insert a finger inside. after all, currently he only rubbed on your clit, pulling on the hood of your pearl and playfully tugging it, surging warm curls into the reactive nerves as you're repeatedly bucking into his hand.

"you want a finger, hm?" he probs at your hole, his voice sounding so handsome, so desperately hot that in truth, you wanted him to fuck you right here and there, skip all of this and grace you with the thick press of his cock stretching you nicely, "just one now?" he winks smugly from behind as he pulls one finger in, leisurely, pressing back and forth to his knuckle and back.

you wince at the coldness immediately, the metal slipping within your temperate walls as you were already pretty much riding the finger. the clear contrast of hot walls and cold finger made you moan his name, moan it wetly and scream it even filthier as you arch your back, your ass rubbing back into his palm as he fingerfucks you.

"hey not yet, don't get too excited, gonna put two fingers in now," he groans quietly, kissing along your neck, rubbing your wet walls with one digit, "need to see you get excited for my cock later, you think you can take two though?" you're beyond overwhelmed by the single one, does he really believe the combination of one finger would give him such a reaction from you if not due to the fact that his digit was vibrating almost cruely.

a cold metal, spilling in and out, vibrating, the quivers and judders of strong sparks reaching all into the blood in your body, rushing through your weeping pussy as you slick him up with your wetness.

you nod eagerly, part your legs for him just a little more as he inserts the second— and this time, the stretch was already burning, a plenitude of pleasure melting into your sensitivity, riveting over your dazed mind. you felt a new sense of excitement enter your psyche, it's dangerous but you do not mind, and as you pull your head back to look at your boyfriend, you see bliss in his own expression, tented in the shadows of his eyes as he licks his lips.

in the most intimate sense, your budding cunt clenches down and shakes at the vibrations of his fingers adding an uncountable amount of new pleasure, the vibration like silent promises, promising you that they'll make you cum and cum all over his hand, right here and there, high on the sensation of the freezing steel entering you this filthily.

"you're so wet for me, oh, oh ugh," boothill bites down on your neck to hide his moans, but his fingers fuck you without pause, so lecherous with their precise thrusts entering your lust-filled body.

"it's so easy for me to just slide in, don't you feel it? you've been waiting for this, didn't you?"

"waiting for me to make you feel good,"

seeing your slick all over him so deviously decadent, made his heart skip a beat and cock hard, all the blood rushing to his erection— fuck, he's so hard and thick, his shaft pushing messily against your plush ass from under his boxers, the girth and length coaxing a thrilling shiver from your body.

"you want me to try three now?" your cunt sucks him in at his words, squelching noises buzzing over your ears in an embarrassing orchestra as you nod your head at him, loved to get stuffed on all ends, with all of him entering you.

"yeah? you want it? gotta be wide open for me, for later," abruptly, he adds the third and the stretch funnily enough— didn't feel too painful, which was due to the fact that you were already wet for him, soaking the insides of your thighs and your ass.

you're gasping, twitching, you're so hungry and bending around his fingers like you're made for him— as if boothill was always supposed to pleasure you this way. the compelling, pressuring thrusts of his digits rocking into your hole was enough for you to become overwhelmed by all the sensations happening at the same time.

sudden warmth fills your belly as you release all over his hand, the sparks of his fingers exuding the vibrations had turned stronger, harder and ruthless to the point where you could feel them attack your sweet, little clit, begging for mercy.

"ohh, yeah, just like that," he places a kiss on your neck, "let me see it, cum for me, pleaseplease," breathing heavily when he broke away to prolong your orgasm, "see? i told you baby, you could take three fingers, maybe more?"

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[ravennaortiz]

37, 31, 35, 1, 17, 13 with Happy (shocking, I know! 😋)

Angst with a happy ending. He cheats, doubles down, but eventually realizes he's a complete idiot and goes to grovel.

Make it hurt before you make it better!

You want a Happy story?!??! ( LOL) .Mam! The way you have me clutching my pearls with this one! Though my brain has the perfect idea for this! I left it a bit open for interpretation at the end. As always 18+.

Prompts

37. who was that?

31. Jealous?

35. Don't touch me

You hate me

17. I love you

13. I promise

Stepping out

"Thanks again for picking me up Tig" you stated as you followed him into the clubhouse. "Not a prob-" started Tig before he caught sight of Happy making out with a blonde on of the couches. Stopping short he tried to usher you back out the door but it was too late. Your eyes had already clocked your husband. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you watched him stand up and carry her back to the dorms. No doubt in your mind what his next move was going to be.

"I'm so sorry" murmured Tig as he moved nervously from foot to foot desperately wishing Chibs or someone else was here. "No need to apologize. You're not the one cheating on your healing wife" you replied as you blinked back the hot tears. You refused to be further humiliated today. "Let him know I'm waiting outside" you stated as you carefully walked outside to sit at one of the picnic tables.

Too think that he could so easily throw away ten years of love and memories was unimaginable to you. The tears poured hot and fast as you waited for him. You had stayed loyal for every lockup, run and hospitalization. The thought of stepping outside the vows you had written each other never crossed your mind. You had always thought of him as the stronger one of you two. Obviously you were wrong since he couldn't even handle your going through a hysterectomy and chemo without going to get his dick wet in someone else's pussy.

You had shouldered the diagnosis alone for the most part. Happy had gotten distant right around the time the doctors said your chances were slim for survival and if they did manage to get it all irradiated you would never bear your own children. That had ripped through you worst than the cancer diagnosis. The two of you had been so close to a little bundle of joy four times. Each time ripped away due to club bullshit.

By the time Happy was standing in front of you anger had completely taken over. "Who was that?" you snapped as you watched the woman tear out of the clubhouse and to her car. "Why? Jealous she knows how to please a man?" replied Happy as he crossed his arms and stared you down. Your harsh laugh shocked you both before the sound of your hand across his face echoed in both your ears. Without another word you stormed off.

Happy stood watching you go. His cheek stung as did his heart. "Docs told her she was all clear. All she talked about on the drive from Lodi was how excited she was to tell you" stated Tig from the clubhouse door as he lit a cigarette. "You know your an idiot right?" questioned Tig as Happy pushed past him back into the clubhouse.

Four days later

"I told you to get your shit and leave" you snapped as Happy stepped into the house bypassing his belongings on the porch. "I just want to talk" stated Happy as he stood in front of you his eyes full of sadness. "Literally nothing to talk about Hap. I'm done. I wont sit here like Gemma, Donna and Tara and be made a full of by a scumbag man" you stated your eyes ablaze with an anger he had seldom seen in the years you two had been together.

"Please" pleaded Happy as he reached out to you. "Don't touch me!" you screamed as you knocked his hand away. "You don't deserve that privilege anymore." you continued as you balled your fist at your side. Happy shrank back some before tuning his eyes down to the floor. "You hate me. I understand" he whispered as tears pooled in his eyes. He had not only lost the battle but the war as well. "No. I love you still and that is so much worse than hating you." you replied your own voice cracking with emotion.

Neither of you spoke for several minutes. Happy finally nodded and got on his knees in front of you. "I promise it will never happen again. I also promise you that was the first time it has even happened. I was scared of losing you." pleaded Happy as he looked up at you with tears streaming down his face. "I think its best that you lose me for awhile Happy" you stated as you stepped around him and exited the house.

Want more Happy? Click here

Want to see how to make your own request? Click here

[superjumpintomyheart]

Been thinking a little bit about Eight reuniting with Iso Padre in Inkopolis Square since we can see him in the cafe in splat3. I'm imagining Eight chatting and walking into the cafe with Pearl and Marina, stopping by for a snack before they head in for some turf wars or ranked battles and all of a sudden she stops mid sentence when she spots the isopod sitting at the counter. It's impossible to mistake him for someone else with his signature black suit, and how many other giant isopods inhabit the surface anyways?

Eight- just to be sure- still asks stunned, "Iso Padre?"

He turned around to see who had called him and when he sees the octoling standing there he grins widely, "Young squire, is that you?"

Before Pearl and Marina can even ask Eight about who this interesting person is, she's running across the cafe to give him a hug, laughing as his multiple limbs embrace her. It filled her with such joy to see him here on the surface, in the heart of Inkopolis Square where he always dreamed of being. After they had defeated Commander Tartar and effectively freed the deep sea metro patrons, she worried about where the friends she made along the way had ended up- if somehow they remained trapped underground with no way out. Thankfully, it appeared that wasn't the case, as even someone like Iso Padre who had been on the metro for a long time was able to make it to where he desired to go.

"You made it! I'm so, so happy you're here, how long have you been in Inkopolis?" Eight asked, still holding onto to her dear friend.

"For some time now, although not terribly long. Once the tests stopped being required in the metro I figured it was my chance to follow the light you were chasing as well. Then I made my way here before I even knew were I was going, like it was calling me." He hummed thoughtfully.

She nodded against his chest, finally pulling away to look at him with a smile. In many ways thats what it had felt like for her too, leaving the underground world of octarian life with nothing but the clothes on her back and a heavenly melody in her head, letting instinct guide her. It seemed things always worked out when they trusted what their hearts yearned for.

"I'm so glad," she could almost feel tears beginning to well up in her eyes, overwhelmed with happiness and relief. "It's wonderful here, isn't it? Everything you ever thought it would be?"

Iso Padre chuckled and nodded, "And so much more. I have to say thank you for what you accomplished, Eight. If you hadn't come along I wouldn't be sitting here now, I'm forever grateful for the light you shined on the metro."

"No, I really should be thanking you, Iso Padre. You helped me so much on my journey to get here, with my memcakes and all the support you gave me. I was so thankful to have a friend to rely on."

"Then we both can share thanks for each other," he concluded, patting the octoling on the shoulder.

Eight is suddenly reminded of her friends she came with when she hears Marina coo "awww" from a few feet behind her. As much as she wants to be embarrassed by it, she instead waves the idols over to join them, excitedly introducing them to Iso Padre, "This is Pearl and Marina, you might know them as Off The Hook, but they helped me a ton with escaping the metro too."

"Allow me to extend my thanks to you girls as well, for taking care of Eight both back then and now," he says, offering one hand to shake.

Pearl takes it first, commenting, "No prob, we owe it to you as well for helping her out too. This whole thing was kind of a team effort, huh?"

The group agrees and settles down in the cafe to catch up on life and share stories of the deepsea metro, spending a few hours just talking and enjoying each others presence. From then on, Eight reserves a day of the week to meet up with Iso Padre at the cafe, to stay in touch and update each other on their lives on the surface. Occasionally when she's just heading in for turf war, she makes sure to stop by for a moment just to say hi and he wishes her good luck, and reminds her that no matter how many losses she has at least it will never be as bad as pushing that 8-ball down a narrow pathway again.

[orion-nottson]

the comet did not reply | tfp!megatron x reader

A/N: my dualities of man: megatron smut and megatron angst 💀 this one’s literally crazy insane among us balls tbh so please proceed with caution if you choose to read!!! heed the warnings!

also, megatron probs comes across as a lil ooc in this, considering the ~premise~ i establish in the story (you’ll understand if you read it 😈) but for realsies i really really did try to keep him in-character/in-line with how he’d act/react in this scenario!! 😭

title is inspired by a line from and also with you by natalie shapero.

summary: you’re old, weary, and it’s hard to fight a war when you feel like you’re losing. and the mech you once loved love leads the other side.

content: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, DARK, cybertronian!reader, gn!reader, suicidal ideation, past relationship, break up, lovers to enemies, referenced infidelity, war, violence, injury, major character death, no happy ending

word count: 4,925

~ * ~ * ~

~ * ~ * ~

Wherever you are on Earth, it’s raining. Again. It’s the fourth mission in a row that it’s been raining. The warm water patters rhythmically on your armor, wetting your wiring and gathering in seams and joints. Shifting on your peds, the grass and soil beneath sink in that strange, soft way that you’re still not quite adjusted to. Organic planets are peculiar and always will be.

Back on Cybertron, “rain” wasn’t composed of water, but of highly corrosive, abrasive acids that could eat away at a Cybertronian’s frame if they chose to stand in it for too long. Which never happened, because most ‘bots had the common sense (and innate fear) to run for cover once city-state alarms were sounded.

Once, when you were barely out of your protoform, you had gotten sprayed with the “rain” and it left shallow, yet surprisingly painful, grooves on your back struts.

Lifting a servo, you watch Earth’s tiny, harmless beads of nothing more than oxygen, hydrogen, and occasionally elements such as nitrogen and sodium, collect at the divots and seams of your palm or drip off the points of your digits. Mesmerizing little pearls, leaving shimmering trails, careless and directionless.

“Ratchet, I am at location. It seems undisturbed, but if I don’t report back in a breem, I may require assistance.” You say across the comm, still watching the rain make rivers of you. After a beat, the old medic replies with a gruff and secretly worried, “Affirmative”. Then you disconnect the line and it’s silent— save for the rain— once again.

Scanning your surroundings, you take note of your location at the base of a sloping mountain to your left, the break in the forest right before it, and the expanse of wilderness all around you. You’d have better coverage with the trees, so you stick to the treeline, quietly marveling at how, despite your towering height, they are still taller than you. 

In the air, the droplets mess with your sensors— not nearly as bad as falling snow does— and the reduced accuracy in spatial awareness and cloaking raises your guard. If you had a partner with you (especially Smokescreen or Bumblebee), you’d be doubly cautious for them, but this is an increasingly more common instance where a member of Team Prime is sent alone for a mission.

If you were truthful, you didn’t mind it. Silence was becoming more and more a treasure to you, and you’d admit you began to almost frantically seek it out. It was too hard now to be... around others. Being present, having to act as if nothing is so fundamentally wrong, pretending for the morale of the team— It makes you want to crash your own drives so hard it takes a week for them to reboot.

Yes, isolation is easy, it’s kinder. Being alone with your thoughts is easier than being in a room full of people— All talking, all watching— where you have to squash them deep down, down where each terrible, horrible thought festers in the circuitry of your processors like a virus. It pains you to no end that you can never tell anyone this, but this is war frag it— Who isn’t suffering?

A heavy, nebulous weight settles in your spark like an all-consuming void, where it started aching vorns ago and seems to have grown only larger. System diagnostics find little physically wrong, usually just slightly elevated Energon circulation, so you know it’s all psychological. The thought doesn’t help. 

Being so lost in your helm made you forget your purpose here, a living-metal titan amongst trees beneath a steady rainstorm. The Energon locator in your servo bleeps rhythmically, faster when you angle it towards the mountain. That’s where a deposit probably is, though that means there may be Decepticons as well.

A passing thought of requesting back-up crosses your mind, and you dismiss it— Along with Optimus’ inevitable disappointed reprimand should you get into trouble— faster than an optic blink. You’d be able to hold your own against Vehicon drones.

And it is a tremendous effort to ask for help; You don’t speak that language anymore. Haven’t for eons. Especially not from Optimus, whose optics are always sad when he looks at you.

At least it’s raining. In the short time you’ve been on Earth, you learned to like the rain.

~ * ~ * ~

At the far side of the mountain from where you emerge from the forest, the rock opens into a jagged cave entrance. Crouching behind an outcrop of stone, you survey the open area and see no immediate signs of Decepticon activity. Waiting a few clicks, listening to the soft rain, you stand up and hastily cross the small distance to the cave. Hiding at the mouth of it, you peek past the edge.

Dark, damp, and most importantly lifeless, the cave looks like it hasn’t been touched in some time. You check the locator as you step inside, a blip on the screen confirming Energon a little ways in. The light of the device illuminates the cave walls, though with your specialized optics, the darkness doesn’t negatively affect your vision.

As you walk, the cave tunnels seemingly endlessly, winding occasionally but steadily declining as you find yourself going deeper and deeper into the Earth. Eventually, the layers of sediment will afflict the range of your communications, and you’d have to turn back. Or continue and be cut off. 

You weigh your options. Your pedsteps don’t stop.

A break in the tunnel reveals a more open area, where a cave fractures into multiple systems of shafts that stretch in all directions. Stalagmites sporadically rise from the ground, uneven and glistening with calcium deposits. The Energon locator pings, telling you that there is a deposit somewhere beneath the clusters of mineral ore.

Somewhere, cave water drips from the ceiling and lands with soft plinks! into puddles scattered across the wet rock ground. It’s not perfectly rhythmic like the rain on the surface, but you suppose it’ll do.

plink!

You count to three, audials straining to listen.

plink!

Two this time. You shudder.

plink!

Four. It is so quiet down here, you think, I want it to be quiet forever.

plink!

In a barbaric shift in volume level, the tell-tale sound of a groundbridge crackling to life behind you sets you immediately on edge. You whip around, making short work of the three Vehicons that appear from the swirl of light, getting them each with a blaster shot. Respite wouldn’t follow, as the large, foreboding frame of the Decepticon Lord himself strides from the groundbridge just as it flourishes into nothingness behind him.

In the sheer darkness, Megatron looks like a living shadow, no light reflecting off his silver armor except the slimmest amount from the glow of your optics and weapons. His optics shine menacingly, bright enough to bathe the nearest rocky formations in red. It wouldn’t be something that any other ‘bot would catch— barring Optimus— but the brief flicker of genuine surprise that crossed them is almost too much for you to handle. He hasn’t been this close to you in vorns.

Briefly, the sight of him conjures another vision in your processor— One of being within the gloomy underbelly of the Pits of Kaon, of being introduced to a determined, yet kind, gladiator, of his optics aflame, twin stars in the dark—

— Then, the last time you saw him up close: A gladiator scorned, storming from the Council in Iacon that just renamed Orion Optimus Prime, the silver mech filling with dark, dark resolve—

You return to reality almost painfully, ignoring the deep, throbbing hurt in your chassis— An internal diagnostic check reveals nothing physical. The mech that stands before you looks similar to the one you knew eons ago, but this mech is changed. His faceplates have hardened. He’s darker, more violent. Similar, but different.

It’s a sobering thought to realize you’ve become much the same.

“Megatron.” His name passes your dermas harshly, like saying it was sharp and jagged enough to tear up your intake. You slowly lift your still-smoldering blasters, flipping one to your sword instead. Megatron takes up an untroubled demeanor, lifting an optic brow in a grand display of supposed boredom. His true intentions are divulged by the cruel glint in his red optics. On guard, you adopt an offensive stance, bristling.

He says your name like it’s meant to please you, like nothing ever happened between the two of you, and it makes you feel sick to your fuel tanks. Why did it come to this, you beg yourself and find no answer, seeing again that kind-sparked gladiator of Kaon, but now a warlord stands before you. Nonchalantly, Megatron regards his slain soldiers and dismal, claustrophobic surroundings then speaks, “It has been quite some time since our paths last crossed so... intimately.”

“Keep that word from your mouth.” You snap without thought, too blinded by the rage and hurt and regret to act reasonably. Memories become insinuated, memories you once found fond that now you can’t look back upon without flinching. It breaks your spark, makes the void grow larger, but you box them away and hide them in that deep, dark place to rust.

When Megatron’s sword slides from his armor with a clean hiss, you realize you are pitifully, utterly alone. Dread creeps in through the same cracks as guilt does.

“Are you truly so quick to discard our history?” The silver mech asks, dermas twitching up into a smirk that brandishes his pointed denta. It’s a visceral feeling to see familiar features you once loved bastardized, to see the softer parts of him sharpened enough to harm. Barely contained shudders threaten to disarm you as your processor is unforgiving in letting you forget.

I remember so much, you beg, Allow me to not, just this once.

“I washed my servos of you eons ago.” You lie breathily, as you remember the phantom touch of his servos tender and warm against your armor. Places where he once held you burn, fires igniting all across your frame like tiny volcanoes of sparkache and sorrow.

“A shame. You once promised yourself to me.” Megatron drawls, and the glint in his red optics is cruel as the familiar tickling at your spark, a sensation that was once new and curious and that you both tested on each other, rouses awake like an old god from their eons-long slumber, shaking off the dust of vorns of dormancy and misuse. The connection is near instantaneous, near overwhelming, as you feel him enter your spark. Megatron’s sudden emotions of righteous fury and long-withheld grief are unwelcome visitors to your processors.

He is reopening your sparkbond. 

And as a weapon against you.

“How dare you.” You seethe, coolant tears gathering at the edges of your optics, your spark aching in your chassis. Megatron no doubt senses your turmoil, but your servos quiver so hard you feel no satisfaction from the knowing wince that crosses his faceplates. Bonds go two ways after all.

Then:

/No— How dare you./ Megatron sends the scathing message across the bond, his gravelly voice ringing somehow in your spark and not your audials. It has you gasping, blinking back tears, the burn of his voice branding rather than comforting. It’s been so long since you’ve heard him in this way.

“Do not act as though you are blameless.” Megatron snarls, and all the bond chants is Betrayal! Betrayal! Betrayal! as it throbs with his vengeance and pain. The accusation is hefty enough to shake you from your self-loathing and pity so that those ugly feelings get replaced by anger, which is easier than all of them. Rage hot beneath your chassis, you make sure to flood the bond with it.

“Betrayal? You don’t know the meaning of the word.” You hiss, the word’s mention wanting to make you laugh and weep, “We were not the ones that turned the revolution into tyranny! We didn’t cause Cybertron to die—”

“We! Precisely that!” Megatron exclaims angrily, and the words conjure images of Optimus Prime, of what your estranged conjunx believes you to have done with the Prime— flashes of curious, black servos, foreign dermas upon your own, promises made under guilty moonlight and secrecy— and your spark sinks deep, deep into your fuel tanks. Optics blown wide, you barely manage a horrified, “I never.”

/Have you?/ Distrust, cynicism, vexation.

“Pray tell, why else would you choose him over me?” Megatron jeers harshly, and it hurts to see the pain written across his faceplates as clear as a sunny day.

“Because I didn’t know who you had become!” You cry, gesturing vaguely as terrible memories start to resurface from the deep, dark place you ensnared them in, memories of Megatron after Optimus gained his title, of a glowering mech taking up arms under the name of the Old Guild, the birth of the Decepticons.

There were so many nights of fighting, of arguments that eventually forced you to make the terrible, spark-breaking decision to walk away from your conjunx as all that you fought for collapsed.

/And into the awaiting arms of Optimus Prime./ Bitterness. Contempt.

“NO!” You howl like some wounded Earthen animal, and you never used to be a violent person, yet here you are, charging with a sword drawn at your own sparkmate. A battle cry tears out of you like a demon let free, and you lunge at Megatron swinging your sword, the blade clashing against his with a metallic bang. A litter of sparks fly off the collision, more when your swords drag against one another, and you slide back defensively as you avoid a slash from him. Megatron sneers as his blade meets air, but gloats when his fist collides with your side.

You fly back, the shriek escaping your dermas abruptly stopping when you hit the stone wall. Pain receptors flare, a system diagnostic finding nothing severe enough that you’d worry. Just as you collect yourself, you dodge Megatron’s blade and he’d thrust it with enough impact that it imbedded itself in the rocks. As he struggles to free his arm, you swing your fist at his helm, connecting with his jaw, causing him to stumble on his peds.

This has the unfortunate side effect of dislodging his blade, and the silver mech wastes no time in charging you again. He roars, his hefty blade colliding with yours so intensely it sends shockwaves up your arm. You grunt, losing your footing, fully understanding now just how competent a gladiator Megatron was, and just how strong Optimus is to be able to best him.

“You know you are no match for me.” Megatron says as if he’s heard all of your thoughts— Which he probably has, in a sense. You glare at him and while your helm says I know, I don’t plan on winning, your mouth retorts headily, “You’ve never been one to be fair regardless.”

Swords clash, a kick is attempted, a fist is swung, you sail back hard against the wall— Again. Stone crumbles and falls around you, rocks bouncing off your armor and leaving knicks in your paint. Before you can stand, Megatron seizes your neck cables with surprising speed, and your groan warbles in your intake as he squeezes your vocal processors.

Pain flares as the silver mech heaves you to your peds by your neck, clawed digits digging into Energon lines at the base of your helm. Megatron is beaming widely as your gaze locks onto his, anger wild and crazed in his blazing optics. Your servos fly to his arm— At impact, your frame automatically disarmed— digits gripping at unforgiving silver armor. Your bond weeps in pain and terror, Megatron fights to meet it with indifference and coldness.

“Do not speak to me about fairness. It never existed on Cybertron, and it certainly doesn’t exist now.” The silver tyrant drops you like you’ve repulsed him, your peds nearly giving out as you manage to steady yourself. He has half the mind to look as though he’d strike you again, but he doesn’t. At Megatron’s side, his sword shivers, and with a twang! it retracts back into subspace like he wanted to keep it out and his body refused him.

“I cannot kill you.” He says after a beat of silence, while you barely manage to keep your footing, leaning heavily against the stone all around you. 

“Our— The bond won’t allow it.” You reply dryly, not looking at your conjunx, delicately touching your now-aching neck cables. The metal beneath is warm with pain, but not unbearable. 

“Then we find ourselves at an impasse.” Megatron’s stare bores holes straight to your spark.

“So we do.” You shrug, as if you could relinquish yourself of his gaze.

Megatron laughs then, humorlessly and clipped. His stare is a low glower, the type of piercing and forbidding better suited for a wicked animal than the mech you loved— love. His bond cackles cruelly at the word.

“Tell me why. After all that we experienced, all our trials and tribulations, all our toils and triumphs—” Megatron stalks like a pacing lion, then pauses so abruptly it gives you whiplash, “Why did you abandon me?”

— You see a gladiator beneath your window, your friend Orion Pax at his side, the two of them smiling grins that make you equal parts nervous and dauntless, Megatronus saying, Come with me, friend, we have a plan.—

“I already told you! I watched you change into something darker before my optics, become consumed, become… become…” Your mind frantically grasps for words and none fit, and you are rendered speechless and wordless again until, with horror, you ask, “How can you not see what you’ve become?”

Megatron does not answer, not verbally nor over the bond, and it’s then you truly have to come to terms with your reality and reconcile the past. 

“I thought you had love for me. I now know that I was deceived.” 

There was a time you loved Megatron— More than anything in the universe, when you both were far younger, more naïve, and things were different. Not better, obviously. You had met at the catalyst to the Revolution, when the unease and righteous anger of the under class imploded and burst the caste bubble. But it had been simpler: Long days of debating politicians, business magnates, nobles, and other close-minded bureaucrats, and even longer nights of replanning, reorganizing, and desperately invigorating your supporters when ideas of reform met deaf audials.

There were also rare moments when Megatronus and you lost yourselves in the quiet, tender aspects of a blossoming relationship. Progress has never been linear nor consistent, so throughout the early parts of the rebellion, when things were generally hopeless, it was easy to grow close for comfort.

Megatronus was intelligent, engaging, and charismatic. His drive to end the decrepit caste system on Cybertron showed you parts of him that were empathetic, angry, and even scared. He was also a mighty gladiator, so when he admitted his fears to you, it was beyond meaningful. You were given access to that heavily guarded spark of his, allowed to see the sensitive mech hidden within, the one that later proposed sparkbonding to you.

And you suppose Optimus loved Megatron too, and his fault is that he still does too much for him to let go. He may have all the wisdom of the Ancients, all the knowledge of the Primes, but he still has Orion Pax’s stupid, unshakable hope.

“Stop it.” Megatron says out loud, and you come to the realization he’s been sensing your melancholic nostalgia across your now open bond— And that you’ve begun to cry, coolant tears drawing rivers down your faceplates. He glares at you, servos flexing into tight fists and relaxing shakily. Air hisses from his vents as he shifts his armor plating in discomfort. He hates remembering just as much as you do. Hates seeing you weep.

“I did love you, Megatron. I believe I still do.” Your confession is quiet, and you must be an idiot too to still hang onto your love for your conjunx after all these eons of war, after everything he’s done. The difference between Optimus and yourself is that it isn’t hope that keeps you tethered to Megatron, but some intangible, senseless whatever that ties you to the idea of Megatron, the dream that your beloved Megatronus may one day return to you.

/I am still him. I have only just bettered him./

/No. My Megatronus died eons ago. You are an imposter possessing his body./

/You do not really believe that, do you?/

Shame brings your shaking servos up to your faceplates, hiding your tears behind them. Your processor fights to separate the image of Megatron from Megatronus and Megatronus from Megatron. The sound in your audials is like rushing water, faintly accompanied by a series of dull echoes, like rubble falling and falling...

“I lost you the moment you engraved that accursed symbol onto your chassis.” You bemoan, looking past your digits and at Megatron, at the sharp angles and harsh stare of the insignia on his chassis. You just missing the plume of dust that stems out from one of the caverns.

“I could say the same of yours.” Megatron replies bitterly, and he goes to say more, interrupted by the ground trembling, as if the Earth is grieving alongside you. For not the first time, you curse the Unmaker’s name for infecting poor, empathetic Mother Nature.

“Are you so jealous?!” You shriek, vocal processors high and shrill against the cacophony of noise in your audials, in your helm. Megatron regroups quickly, straightening his back struts and setting his broad shoulders, the perfect image of lordly crushing contempt.

“I did not intend on becoming so!” Megatron roars, the curl of his derma pulling his faceplates into an ugly, ugly snarl, “I was not destined for it! But you and Orion made sure that it became my fate.”

“Your own hubris made your fate.” You moan dolefully, anguished, stepping back as Megatron steps forward. You’re not sure if it’s the chaos of the situation or your pain that warps your perception, that makes the whole damned cave shake, but you’re not sure of anything anymore. Despair rolls off you in waves, and Megatron recoils from it, his bond slinking away like a cybercat back into the shadows that birthed it.

“Stop it.” Megatron hisses again, but you barely hear it over the sound of your own systems screaming at you, alerts informing you of an imminent drive crash, realizing too little too late that the stress, sparkache, anger, grief, and guilt of millennia has caught up to you. 

Megatron, despite blocking his bond, is hit with lashes of painful signals like a whip, his servos going to clutch his helm. Your spark is suffering, he opened the bond and now feels it too.

/STOP IT./

You do not.

Then there’s a grand and catastrophic sound of caves collapsing, of walls crumbling all around you, of the stony floor opening like the maw of a mountain god, and you fall.

Everything goes black and silent and still.

~ * ~ * ~

With a groggy start, your processors boot up and the immediate wave of white hot, steel sharp pain that hits you almost sends you into damage-induced stasis. Injury reports and survival statistics blare red and angry in your vision, alerting you to the widespread, lethal wounds you incurred in the sudden rockslide.

“You are awake.” Megatron speaks from... somewhere, and suddenly he is above you, and you are laying half propped-up by his lap. You aren’t sure how you got here, an unconscious diagnostic reveals that it’s been six Earth hours that you’ve been offline. The void in your chassis grows cold, your spark twisting with dread and confusion and...

There is a tell-tale sensation of Energon... leaving your body, pooling beneath you, slick and hot against your frame. Realization cuts swift and sharp through the haze. Experience tells you this isn’t a good sign.

“Did you pull me from...” The correct words escape you, your processor too busy sorting through the alarmed pain receptors, too busy with trying to operate properly as major Energon systems in your leg struts and abdomen give weak warnings. You realize that they shut down with extraordinary distress. 

“Yes.” Megatron’s reply is too soft, sounds far far away. He looks down at you— /When had I laid down again? / You’ve been in my arms for a breem./— and there’s something like pity in his optics, but it’s less sympathetic and more guilty. Coolant tears, that you hadn’t even registered clouded your optics, roll down the sides of your faceplates.

/You’re injured. I have nothing to help you./ Comfort, anguish, regret.

/I know. It’s okay./ Thankfulness, sorrow, forgiveness.

Your mind must be going— You recall the most random thing.

“Do you... remember when we... visited the Crystal City?” It’s harder to speak now, each word is forced out your dermas like your mouth is holding them hostage. Your glossa feels heavy— Strange, really, because the rest of you feels lighter than air...

“Yes.” Megatron repeats. The rumble of his voice sounds even more distant, like thunder far on the horizon. Wherever you both have ended up— /The depths of Earth./— it gets darker, less focused and more opaque. Megatron becomes an incomprehensible figure, and only his faceplates remain superimposed in your line of tunneling sight.

“It was so beautiful.” You whisper, recalling the spires of crystal diamond, the walls of glimmering mirrors, the streets paved in quartz and prisma-glass. Megatronus takes your servo in his, clawed digits wrap around yours, encasing you in warmth and gleaming silver. You smile a small, sad thing that doesn’t reach your optics. Looking into your conjunx’s, you’re glad to see them as blue as oceans. Then you blink, and they are red. 

“It was.” Megatronus agrees, and although he’s warm and his EM field tickles against yours, your pain receptors cut off abruptly, signifying the start of what approaches.

Death is a commonplace occurrence these days, far more so after the Well of Allsparks went dark and Cybertron fell with it. It’s something every remaining Cybertronian has thought of, Autobot and Decepticon alike, of what can extinguish their spark, of when that invisible force comes to move them.

It’s all whether to fight it, to run from it, or to embrace it. There was a time you thought of returning to the Allspark, becoming one with your Maker once again, with unease and fear. It used to scare you, though now nothing does. You’ve found comfort and gratitude in the belief that you’d see lost loved ones yet again, once you’ve moved out of your frame.

“I loved you. Once.” You say, optics flickering as your body begins to allocate energy to more vital, still hemorrhaging, systems, “I never... lied about that.”

“And I was foolish enough to allow you to. Then and now.” Megatronus leans in and your spark sings as he places a wonderful, tender, sorry kiss on your dermas. His mouth is rougher than it used to be, but less clumsy and more assured. You smile into the kiss, wanting it to never end, so Megatronus lingers.

/You’ve changed. Your dermas have changed./ Delirium, realization.

/As have you. As have yours./ Worry, acceptance.

“I am not frightened by my ending.” You whisper after Megatronus has parted from you, and across your bond you hear And you never have been but Megatronus’ mouth says, “As no good warrior should be.”

His servo tightens its grip, his dermas in a hard line, the bond laments Acceptance.

“I will… see you again.” You say on your last ex-vent, and Megatronus is sure it’s a statement rather than a question.

/When you summon me, I will answer./

And Megatron watches your optics flicker, then not come on again.

~ * ~ * ~

Megatron sits with your body for another breem, taking in the beautiful stillness of you as he feels your spark diminish from his.

He’d always heard that losing a conjunx is beyond painful, that there were cases back on Cybertron wherein those that lost their sparkmates often suffered and died with them. Megatron doesn’t feel that; The severance of your bond with him is agonizingly slow and recedes like a fire dying out, but it doesn’t leave him in pain. You’ve left him empty. Hollow.

Megatron looks at your servo he holds. It fits perfectly in his palm, but now you are cold to the touch. His spark shivers once in his chassis, and now it too feels cold. You are gone. You are not coming back to him, not as anything living— Not as his friend, his conjunx, not even as an enemy.

Megatron invites the anger inside him like a welcome friend, letting it swell up from his peds to his chassis to his mouth where it smolders on his glossa like a curse. Red optics blazing, he tosses his helm back and roars, the way he did when some victories in the Pits meant only that he was still standing, still alive, until the scratch in his vocal processors confirms it.

After digging and clawing himself out of yet another Earthen grave, Megatron breaches the surface to find it is raining. He wastes no time, transforms and flies into the thunder-gray sky, where teardrops of rain slide forlorn and sleek against the silver of his alt mode until he breaks the troposphere, then the stratosphere, and leaves the rain, and you, behind.

~ * ~ * ~