#skidplate

[advpulse]

BDCW’s 'Ultimate' skid plate for the Tuareg 660 promises heavy-duty protection and quick-removal access for maintenance. We put it to the test in the rocks of the Sierra mountain range and beyond to see if it lives up to its name. Go to: https://www.advpulse.com/adv-news/tuareg-660-black-dog-skid-plate-review/

[hawkesoutdoor]

next #funrun on #offroad #trails with #toyota #4runner ready lets #upfit...

[swarmm-cod]

OG deck survival kit. I used all this back in the day… Did you? #independenttruckscopers #truckcopers #noseguard #tailplate #skidplate #truckrisers #ogskateboardparts #originalskateboardparts #skateboardequipment #vintageskateboards #80sskateboarding #80s #swarmm #underskool https://www.instagram.com/p/Cfl51ZursVJ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[demoness-one]

It snowed more yayayay i went drifting and got stuck in a snowbank for 20min <3

[archie-sunshine]

So, What Now?(Rehabili/Cohabi-Tation)

CHAPTER 1: In Which there is an Announcement and an Offer Between Friends Ex-Enemies

FIC TAGS: Eventual Whirl/Cyclonus/Tailgate, Cyclonus/Tailgate, polyamory, slowburn romance, mutual pining, slice of life, fluff, comedy, eventual smut(planned for later chapters), sappy mushy lovey stuff, polycue, May eventually have illustrations

The Lost Light has a brand new universe to explore! But everyone's still tired from the old one! In the interim between wacky hijinks, a solution is offered to those bored to death by peacetime- Why form a club about it or renovate your hab suite of course!

Whirl doesn't know how he feels about all the pep. And even worse, he doesn't know how to feel about Cyclonus and Tailgate wanting him to join in on their clean slate.

Chapter 2 Here! Chapter 3 Here! Chapter 4 Here! Chapter 5 Here! Chapter 6 Here! Chapter 7 Here! Chapter 8 Here!

_________________________

Author's Notes: I think about Whirl Cyclonus and Tailgate EVERY DAY. They deserve the world, and so I'm going to give it to them.

“So! As we enter our new universe, and plunge into a world of endless possibility, there’s some important things we’d like to take the time to discuss!”

With a world of infinite possibility and endless promise stretching out before them, one would think- rather one would hope, pray even- that it would be impossible to be bored. 

But apparently, once the lost light ripped a hole from one universe to the next, anything was possible. And Whirl was truly, deeply, madly bored. It had only been a deca-cycle and a half since the big jump, and for him, the promise and possibility was waning. It seemed like the crew was set on ‘taking a beat’(ugh) before jumping into anything too risky. Something about healing and resting up after such a climactic series of battles (snore) before running headfirst into more danger. In all honesty, during Rodimus’s disjointed address informing the crew of that matter, Whirl had found it more interesting to do literally anything else. 

Like people watching. If there was anything good about the break, it at least gave him the time to take stock of the new energy in the place. There was a denta rotting saccharine cloud of hope and joy in the air. For the first few cycles Whirl had taken part in it as well, the partying, the smiling, the laughing, the dancing, et cetera. But now it was getting a bit old. A bit old was an understatement even. 

It seemed like every other bot was hand in hand with someone, or standing a bit too close. Hell even the captain’s balcony reeked of love and joy. Whirl wasn’t a stick in the mud, but it felt like the ~positive and loving vibes~ were pinging off his plating like a constant series of annoying flicks and pokes. 

He shuffled a ways back deeper into the crowd, offlining his optic for a brief moment to let the mumbles of the crew wash over him. When he onlined it again, it was in response to a familiar voice-

“Whirl! Hey- Whirl!” Tailgate chirped, waving at the taller bot from his spot sitting next to Cyclonus. They’d been attached at the hip recently, disgustingly cute, a set of words Whirl never thought he’d use in reference to Cyclonus. 

Whirl raised his servo, letting him know he was heard as he shuffled on over towards the loverbots. “What’s up?” He asked, cocking his helm and leaning against the wall next to them. 

“Isn’t that super exciting- what Rodimus said?” Tailgate whispered, craning up to him. Whirl leaned down a  bit to close the distance. Frag it was kinda hard to have a politely hushed conversation with this height difference.

“Huh? The break? That's the opposite of exciting- sitting on our skidplates for ages? Gimme a break.” Whirl snorted, crossing his arms. 

Tailgate gave him a confused look. “What- No! He said we could do renovations since there are some empty hab suites- were you paying attention?”

Whirl squinted at him. 

Tailgate continued to look confused.

Cyclonus cycled his vocalizer. “I don’t think anyone but you expects Whirl to listen to a speech longer than a klik.” He said quietly, placing a gentle servo on Tailgate’s shoulder pad.

“OH- yeah-” Tailgate nodded quickly, a bit embarrassed. “Right- So you know how there’s less people onboard now than there were at the start-”

“That’s an understatement.” Whirl muttered.

“-There’s like a ton of uninhabited hab suites now, so he said after the whole announcement meeting we could go claim some to make a whole hab UNIT out of if there are any empty ones around us!” He was giving Whirl a look like it was the most exciting thing in the whole universe. Tailgate was. Tailgate who had stuck his finger in the forehead of a tyrannical dictator. Whirl glanced at Cyclonus. Cyclonus gave whirl a meaningful look. The kind that said something like ‘Humour him?’

Whirl nodded slowly. “... And thats… Exciting.” He said.

“SUPER exciting. It’ll be nice to stretch our legs, maybe do some decorating- OH! Hey, aren’t you lonely?” Tailgate cut himself off. 

Whirl, taken aback by such an abrupt observation, glanced around. Cyclonus, too, was blinking a bit incredulously at his conjunx. “E-Excuse me??” Whirl asked.

“NO- I mean- y’know- because you don’t have a suitemate-” 

“OH! I mean- I wouldn’t put it that way, flying solo suits me just fine.” Whirl shrugged.

Tailgate cycled his optics. 

“I’m fine with being on my own, Tailgate, I like having the space.” He said, turning his helm away to scan the crowd. 

Out of the corner of his optic, Whirl could see Tailgate turning his gaze to Cyclonus, grabbing his hand. Cyclonus shook his head sagely. He could hear the near silent whirr of them conversing in their heads, trading thoughts so he wouldn’t eavesdrop. 

Whirl turned his attention back to the speech. 

“-Next on the docket, we turn to Ultra Magnus with some important morale building updates!” Rodimus announced, sweeping a servo out to the larger mech. Whirl sunk back against the wall. Primus, just when I start pretending to care again.

Polite applause filled the room as Magnus took his place at the front of the group. He cycled his vocalizer, lifting up a datapad and beginning to read. “Hello everyone. As you all are well aware, during the past deca-cycle we conducted a survey regarding your thoughts on the brief ‘adventuring hiatus’ as our co-captain has decided to call it.” He began, briefly glancing at Rodimus, who offered a prideful nod at his expert naming strategy. “The results have been published, and your resounding, collective answer was, unsurprisingly, a pervasive feeling of boredom.” 

There was a rumble of agreement that rippled through the crowd. 

Ultra Magnus nodded, not looking up from his datapad. “As a means of quelling discontentment, we have come to a decision. In the halls and communal spaces within the ship you will now find holoboards which are available for advertisement as part of our new…” He paused for effect. “Communal Bonding and Engagement Initiative.” He paused again, looking out over the confused crowd for an excited reaction. Rodimus threw his servos in the air, giving a big enthusiastic double thumbs up to gesture for more of a response. After a few kliks of murmuring, Rodimus stepped forwards.

“We’re now actively encouraging you to form clubs and/or recreational sports teams! With the new unused space from our uh… lessened crew, we encourage you to begin construction on whatever spaces you might need-” Rodimus explained over a growing, more enthusiastic din. 

Whirl glanced around, noting the reaction. Bots glanced around at one another, growing smiles on their faceplates and loudening chatter filling the room as they traded excitement about the idea.

“WITH- Proper clearance and permits-!” Ultra Magnus thundered over the growing noise. Soon enough the room was filled with excitement and chatter. 

Whirl rolled his optic. If this was their idea of fun he might just start making problems on purpose. He turned his gaze to the two bots beside him. He had no doubt that Tailgate would be pinging off the walls at this concept- and he was correct, what with the way he was vibrating violently and gripping Cyclonus’s hand so hard it might as well have crumpled like foil. What he wasn’t expecting was the quiet, approving nod that Cyclonus was giving the idea. He wasn’t even doing it for Tailgate’s benefit! Tailgate wasn’t even looking at him for approval!

Magnus had resumed chattering, something about proper procedure for requesting space, and holding a workshop on how to properly take down walls for renovation purposes and Whirl was already bored of it. He was… preoccupied. It was hard to focus on most things for Whirl. But somehow, there was something about Cyclonus and Tailgate’s stupid relationship that held his attention. Maybe it helped that he’d kind of encouraged the two of them together, maybe it was all the gazing at Cyclonus’s constant pining that got him invested. But it was something he couldn’t help but watch. 

They were chatting with one another again, meaning Tailgate was babbling faster than Blurr and Cyclonus was gazing lovingly into his optics with an expression like normal energon, rather than the spoiled version he usually looked like. 

Whirl vaguely heard the doors of the hall open, and Rodimus eke out another ‘Til all are one!’ over Ultra Magnus’s continued reading of the CBEI rulebook that he had no doubt Ultra Magnus had relished in writing. The room was already starting to empty. It felt like Whirl’s audials were a million miles away, the whole room a little muffled. 

Finally, as the room was almost completely empty, Tailgate popped back up onto his pedes, still chatting with Cyclonus. 

“-ly if we’re going to grab the rooms around us before someone else gets their servos on them.” Tailgate’s voice came back into focus as he helped Cyclonus up off the bench. Cyclonus chuckled, which might have just sounded like an apathetic grunt to anyone else. 

“Aw, slag, everyone’s already got a head start!!” Tailgate wailed, grabbing his own helm with both servos as his optics flashed with despair. He began to jog out the door, rolling into his alt mode clumsily and speeding off down the hall, swerving between bot’s legs and around a corner. 

Whirl laughed to himself as he watched Tailgate’s tiny frame disappear off into the ship. “He’s a bit of a servo-full, huh?” He quipped, turning to face Cyclonus. 

Cyclonus nodded with a quiet hum. “You’d be too, in his place.” He said. 

“What, like I’m not a servo-full now?” Whirl grinned- in his own way. “I could be a bigger pain in your plate than he ever could.” He prodded a claw into Cyclonus’s chest. 

Cyclonus raised a brow ridge, folding his arms and cocking his head. “I don’t know, Whirl. You’ve mellowed out from my perspective.” He said in that infuriating tone, humor dry as a desert. 

“Mellow? I’d better up my game then.” He sneered, leaning his optic right up to Cyclonus’s head to leer at him. As usual he gave little reaction, gazing off down the hallway Tailgate had escaped to. 

“You spend too much time in your hab suite.” Cyclonus didn’t turn his optics to face him. “Even if you had upped your game I’d never have noticed.” 

Whirl was quiet for a long moment, turning his helm back down the hall. “... I like the privacy, what can I say?” 

“Tailgate was planning on asking you to join us in our ‘soon to be luxury habitation unit’.” Cyclonus stated bluntly. “He said you seemed lonely.”

Whirl’s optic twitched.

“And sad.”

Whirl’s optic narrowed, flicking down to glance at Cyclonus. He was glancing back at him.

“And it was making him feel lonely and sad-”

“I get the picture, Cyclonus.” Whirl snapped.

The two held each other’s sideways glance for another long beat. 

“I don’t need Tailgate’s pity, I’m doing just fine. Cool as an ice crystal. Never been better.” Whirl added.

Cyclonus let out a quiet ex-vent, taking a step down the hall. “Think about it. The door’s open to you. You know it is.” He tossed one last look over his shoulder. “And I’m not only saying that on Tailgate’s behalf. I can feel it too.” He opened his intake to continue, but shut it, turning back down the hallway. “It doesn’t suit you.” 

Whirl watched the ex-con walk away. That quiet feeling washed in again- Envy? Annoyance?... Longing?- dulling the constant whirr of the ship. Whirl looked down at his servos, clicking his claws together for a moment before glancing around the room.

Yep. Alone again. 

He waited until Cyclonus was out of sight before beginning to walk through the ship back towards his hab suite. He noted the new holoboards, currently empty save for the advertisement for Ultra Magnus’s upcoming CBEI workshop. He figured they wouldn’t stay empty for long, there were far too many bots chomping at the bit in that room. They all loved that kind of community, leave it to a bunch of veterans to jump at the opportunity to get back on a team. Whirl liked it just fine on his side of the fence, thank you VERY much. Teams had a habit of… collapsing on him. 

He tapped at the buttons of his hab suite, the door sliding open with a quiet whoosh. The lights flickered on over his usual mess. He swiped some junk off his slab and laid down. 

After a while of relative stillness the lights flicked off, plunging him back into darkness. He tossed, shifting a bit in an attempt to get comfortable. 

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It was always a struggle to recharge. His frame felt restless and wrong. He squished himself into a comfortable enough position and focused on trying to pass out. Counted backwards, counted forwards, replayed the most boring parts of Ultra Magnus’s speeches.

Finally, as he started to power down, he was snapped awake by a tiny bit of text appearing in his comms frequency channel. 

A message from someone. Someone who’d signed their words, even knowing that the receiver would know whoever sent it.

TG: Don’t be a stranger! -Tailgate

… Maybe just visiting some time wouldn’t hurt.

[ckret2]

Do transformers exist in the multiverse somewhere? Has Bill met a transformer? Because that's legitimately the only thing I can think about when monster truck events are involved.

Anon, just because you asked, I'm gonna say yes, Transformers exist somewhere in the Gravity Falls multiverse, and furthermore I'm going to say that the Noisemaze is part of the Nightmare Realm and Bill saw Tarantulas as equivalent to some squatter setting up a tent in Bill's backyard.

"Gee then why didn't Bill get Tarantulas to make him a portal out of the nightmare realm?" because by the time Bill figured out he's a spacebridge-building supergenius he'd already insulted him so much that Tara just shoots at him on sight. Pain in the skidplate fragging triangle vermin always trying to break into his secret lab.

[tf-animated-out-of-context]

Professor Sumdac, inside a Headmaster Unit: Total ownage, noob!

Starscream: You cut off my head!

Bumblebee: I told you he was working for the Decepticons! He just saved Megatron's skidplate!

Professor Sumdac: I saved him so I could kick his skid-plate myself!

[witchofthesouls]

Here me out: Feral!Cyberformed!June and Jack Darby along with Semi-domesticated!Optimus. Definitely a universe with the supernatural involved. The thought of these two exhausted fuckers going unintentional feral because they don’t understand the Golden Age societal norms since one was a former organic from a water-laden planet and the other was born in Cybertron's Wasteland boonies warms my deadened soul.

Is that a lost Autobot? A Neutral? A Decepticon?! Oh no, she’s not. She’s a raccoon or a seagull. No self-respecting Cybertronian would straight up eat raw Energon embalmed with clay like a space pig-in-a-blanket. Sometimes June powders it up and mixes it up with hot springs water and igneous rock to make a glowing sludge of an eldritch smoothie. 

The Autobots have no idea how the hell she travels all over and so quickly. None could pin her alt-mode.

She has a sparkling. She has a sparkling!? They’re losing their skidplates on how the everliving Primus did a lone femme reared a newspark on Earth of all places.

Ratchet is screaming at the complete mindfuck it is. There's no fraggen way she had managed to whelp a newspark on her own!

Miko would be beyond the moon: Baby robooooooot!

The humans would be pestering their guardians how the hell that happens and Optimus, bless his spark, takes it upon himself to explain the Well of All Sparks and its cultural/religious significance. The ‘bots relaxed far too early because he was about to explain the sexual methods as well. (Nooooooo~!)

The only reason the Autobots figured out there’s another Cybertronian around is due to June’s presence on hunting down artifacts from the Iacon database as well as finding random Energon mines.

June, due to an accident on an ancient site of a lost, mixed civilization, was one of the few survivors when someone activated the dormant scripts.

The human-to-Other conversions hadn’t fazed the survivors too much. Occupational hazard. At least they have a physical form and it’s familiar enough. One unlucky bastard was sucked into the device itself and has no corporal body.

One of the fossils, the only complete one, was brought back to life. It attached itself to June and now she has a little, metal dragon following her footsteps.

They’ve been reclassified as Clockwork; a mechanical species that has ties to the Fair Folk.

It screws with the Cybertronians from Cybertron that these folks enjoy swimming in volcanoes, diving to the unfathomable depths of the oceans, and/or wandering the Arctic tundra as if they’re taking a little winter stroll.

Bullet the little Predacon is femme, so unlike the mech-counterpart, she’s able to sniff out Energon veins to a high-degree of accuracy. Unfortunately, she’s too young to properly dig them out, so she tries to find openings or shafts for easier access near the surface.

There are a few parties interested in such an ability. Including the fae because they love how Energon sounds and how it can be tuned by careful cultivation. The presence and/or addition of such crystals yields interesting effects to their crops. It could be the reason why Their food is highly addictive to mortals.

Of course, June meets the Decepticons first and gets quite a bit of curiosity from them.

She manages to escape the Nemesis by jumping off the flying ship after retrieving the artifact once she figured out the vault and how to circumvent its security measures, especially with a walking, non-talking camera overseer. But she done so, speed-run jail-break style.

The Decepticons are still trying to search for her, but a majority of the ranks consider her dead since she crashed into the ocean.

June has a heavy EM field, it sprawls out and encases the entire room. She uses it to scout ahead and to keep track of the environmental layout, especially with a fussing Jack when she needs to put him down.

Makes it easier to pick apart foreign and subtle energies as well as blanket an area to ward away certain Beings, but she doesn't know it's rude and/or uneasy to Cybertronians. 

Dense fields have the implication of raw power output, especially with those that are able to completely overwhelm others with little effort.

So for someone to appear and disappear with little-to-no sign and take control of a wide spread area…

June is a helmeted with long cords that flare out that mimics her old hair style. She ties in a braid or a low-pony tail to keep it out of the way. Despite her tallness, her pale robe of armature seems out of place for a femme that could take on far more heavy structures.

Jack is a dark-counterpart to his mother; he has her pale face and is still blind with newspark optics. Seems to be a flyer with the little nubs on his back. Ratchet is highly surprised that he’s in good health, especially since he was born on Earth.

Due to a difficulty with upkeeping a human form, June mainly lives Elsewhere. She has dedicated rooms within the widespread locations of the Foundation as well as a cottage at a hidden university since she does as extra staff for a variety of things.

The cottage has been built for immense shapeshifters, so June fits the criteria quite well and can be at her newfound 35 feet inside very comfortably.

Should she ever crash at the Autobot base for whatever reason, she can't stand sleeping on just the flat surface of a metal berth and needs padding. June had scavenged for pillows and thick blankets to layer upon it. Jack gets to enjoy a cradle-nest of lovesac pillows, beanbags, and tarps.

Has no health complications with eating raw crystals much to everyone's horror. Quite a few are queasy watching her eat dry clay cakes.

Optimus doesn't flinch from it. In fact, he gets a nostalgia kick at the sight and taste. Much to everyone’s horror.

Funnily enough, June is in contact with the older Esquivels. Dr. Julian Esquivel works as a researcher in the Department of Unspeakables, Marianna (his wife) decided to go through as a consultant to have more family time, and Pilar (the eldest daughter) is a third-party associate since she independently hunts and tracks for private individuals and takes missions from the Guilds.

Due to the nature of experimental research, Julian is seen with his far more inhuman/Other attributes: brightly, thick scales, protective stubs of would-be horns, slitted pupils upon liquid gold, and exudes heat that wouldn’t be far off with the temperatures of a desert noon or the heart of a volcano should it be necessary.

Marianna was quite the Adventurer but it has taken it’s toll over the years and is considered semi-retired since she isn’t active on the field. She does get called in for consulting on the trickier and/or messier sites and containment measures.

June has contacts within the Fair Folk, so she had ventured off with Pilar for diplomatic stunts and to ensure no one else is unwilling betrothed or becomes tasty morsel.

[seat-safety-switch]

If you just accept what Big Government and Bigger Automaker sell you, you’re not aware of the magic that is the aftermarket skidplate. Here’s the drill: chances are you have an internal combustion engine in your car. Underneath that engine, you almost certainly have an oil pan. It’s a pan filled with oil. And it’s low to the ground. Low enough that you can smack it on shit, all the oil will fall out, and then your engine will stop working.

The fact that this has never happened to anyone I know does not particularly impede my desire to purchase a skidplate. I drive off-road a little more often than the average person. No, I’m not going to Moab: I just get very impatient when stuck in traffic. Occasionally a nearby playground is unfenced, and provides convenient access to an alley, side-road, or parking lot that can be used to bypass whatever is slowing my commute. It stands to reason that sooner or later karma will catch up with me, potentially in the shape of a rusty teeter-totter punching its way through my sump.

There’s lots of great options out there for skidplates. Thanks to the collapse of Western civilization, more citizens are feeling the need to up-armour their regular cars in order to survive the degradation of public infrastructure. Is that really an average everyday pothole, or is it an engine-devouring sinkhole? One of them is gonna need all the help you can get if you want to make it home tonight. Skid plates also easy to install on a car, so they are a popular modification by people who otherwise would shy away from the essential work of swapping engines and putting on egregious homemade suspension lift-kits.

Personally, my favourite way to skid is called “municipal signs.” You see, road signs are made out of high-quality aluminum, often have nicely machined edges (to avoid cutting the people who steal them,) and are a self-replenishing resource. As long as you don’t steal ones too close to your house, or do so in sight of an obvious undercover bylaw officer’s van, you can get away with it enough times to outfit all of your cars. I’ve got a playground zone one wrapped around the bottom of my Valiant right now, although I didn’t exactly take it off the signpost first.

[sweetpeaches666]

(Starscream, about to kill Sari.)

Sentinel, crawling: Wait! Hold on!

Starscream: Or what? Mr. Shattered Skidplate is going to stop me?

Sentinel: Listen, you don't understand. Nothing you could do will ever compare what Optimus and his team will do to me if they ever find out she died.

Starscream: Well, sucks to be you.

[ask-an-alien-robot]

Aww you two are the cutest \(//∇//)\, Circuit how has life on earth been faring for you? Any notable experiences so far?

"Earth's been really great! I've already been here about.. a month maybe? But yeah! I'm learning more and more by the day! It's great!"

"As for notable experiences, I think kicking Blitzwing's aft was pret-"

"SHE DID NOT! She did not kick any Decepticon skidplates!" -Optimus

"Ultra Magnus, if you saw this, I promise she has not fought any Decepticons or left the base!" -Optimus

"Oh, chill out, it's not like Magnus will see this!!"

[bikebound]

Fraternal Twins! The Scrambler DUO Project from Instanbul’s @bunkercustomcycles, built for a pair of childhood friends and lifelong riding buddies, Pekin and Mert! Besides the upgraded suspension and custom paint / upholstery / exhausts, Bunker developed and outfitted the bikes with plug-n-play fenders, number plates / side covers, skidplate, rad guard, and more. Photos: @rovingmementos. Full story today on BikeBound.com! ⚡️Link in Bio⚡️ https://instagr.am/p/CnJ-nG1uYfZ/

[fuckyeahtransformersfanfic]

MOD'S SPECIAL FAVORITES FRIDAY

I made this blog purely to help spread love for Transformers fanfics specifically. I will start with my special favorites.

💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠

The Cop and the Cryptid by ckret (@ckret2)

Prowl: the rational skeptic with a history in crime scene investigation. Mesothulas: the wide-eyed believer who's mastered—or at least dabbled in—every field of science under the sun. Together, they're Iacon's leading paranormal investigators. … With a few twists.

Twist #1: Both are stone cold skeptics, with Mesothulas only playing the believer for their clients—allowing them to become wildly successful as paranormal debunkers. Twist #2: They don't quite disbelieve in everything; they both know more than they'd let on about the Iaconian Spindleback, a local cryptid with an eight-legged alt-mode. Twist #3: They're about to learn that there are more true paranormal things on Cybertron than just the Spindleback.

TaraProwl | IDW1 | T+ | Complete | 100k+ | 11/11

Nor Is He Early by ObliqueVion

A Prime is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to… give or take that one small paracausal nudge.

Or, that time the Matrix got impatient and stole a truck...

Gen | Continuity Soup; Main G1 | M | Ongoing | 250k+ | 103/200

100 chapters of pure, all natural:

✔️ Optimus Prime being iconically wholesome

✔️ Cybertron being an exotic mechanical wonderland

✔️ Mystery, adventure, and intrigue

✔️ Not so much a slow burn as a long fuse

❌ Civil war

The Brave Shall Heed The Call by MlleMusketeer

Defeated and dragged back to the world he called home in chains, Megatron can do no more than endure. A rescue from Cybertron itself is almost impossible; he is forced to face the possibility that the Decepticon cause is lost, and that he will end his days as an Autobot experimental subject.

Optimus's hero's welcome is shortlived. Deemed too radical and ousted from the position of Magnus on a technicality, he struggles to keep those he cares about safe from the Council's manipulations and Sentinel Prime's ambition, a struggle that will cost him more than he believed possible.

General Strika contemplates a future without her leader, and finds it bleak. If the General of Destruction is to pull the Decepticon Cause's skidplate out of the scrappile, she's going to have to do a lot of thinking outside the box.

Ratchet learns the true uses to which his research has been put, and begins to wonder if the Decepticons had the right idea. When the extents to which Optimus has been forced come to light, Ratchet makes the decision that might save them all or damn him further.

MegOP, RatchStrika, SentinelOP, ShockBlurr | TFA | E | Complete | 150k+ | 80/80

TW: Graphic Depections of Violence, Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Abusive Relationship (SentOP)

All the World by PARNEL

An accident reveals the female Autobots' existence three million years too early, and has dire consequences.

(A G1-ish take on Shockblurr, with Blurr and Wheelie inserted into Elita's team on Cybertron.)

ShockBlurr | G1 | E | Ongoing | 80k+ | 15/?

The Rule of Order (and Attraction) by Languidly

Rodimus had successfully dodged this third attempt of Magnus’ to make him review and sign off on a proper maintenance schedule; the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord had lost his captain somewhere between the third storage room and the oil reservoir. But Magnus could persevere. He could persevere until ignoring his good influence became a futility.

RodiMags | IDW1 | G | Complete | 5k | 3/3

Baptism By Fire by EatYourSparkOut (@eatyoursparkout)

When a routine exploratory mission becomes a matter of survival, Getaway has to confront the idea that maybe animosity isn't the only thing he feels towards Rodimus.

Rodimus/Getaway | IDW1 | E | Complete | 20k+ | 7/7

A Calm Rarely Savored by Carmilla DeWinter

Starscream is ordered to seduce Optimus Prime to infect the Autobot leader with a virus. This leads to the discovery that they both don't do attraction in a way others expect. Starscream is intrigued.

StarOP, Minor JazzProwl | G1 | M | 40k | 12/12

TW: Specifics in Story Tags

[elendiliel]

Prisoner

Inspiration and some worldbuilding credits to the usual source (@justawannabearchaeologist's "TFP Wheeljack in TFA" series); some ideas from @blueskyscribeupdates' With a Side of Rust (also highly recommended) may also have worked their way in. (The way my processor works, I can never be sure.)

---

“Well, this just got more interesting,” Smokescreen commented as Stealth Team (seriously, who thought “stealth” and “Smokescreen” were compatible concepts? Glitch wanted to know) exited their latest groundbridge by the side of a deserted stretch of the River Rhine to find a Vehicon reception committee waiting for them. As ever, there was no parlay, no attempt to negotiate. The ‘Cons just opened fire, which the Autobot party returned with interest.

Well, Arcee, Bumblebee and Smokescreen did. Glitch neither had nor wanted blasters, and hadn’t finished modifying her EMP generator to her liking. But her magnets, laser scalpel and blowtorch were perfectly serviceable weapons – or would be, if the others would let her get within range of the enemy. All right, so she was from a universe where the Autobot-Decepticon war had ended before she came online and the rest of the team had been fighting almost all their long lives, but she had faced her fair share of ‘Cons in both realities and usually won. She didn’t need to be protected quite as much as the others seemed to think.

“Scrap,” ‘Cee swore as she took advantage of a momentary pause to check the scanner that had been calibrated to search for Predacon fossils. (Glitch’s idea, though Ratchet and Raf had done much of the work. Each bone or other component emitted a tracking signal that the Decepticons – and now the Autobots – could follow.) “It’s underwater – at the bottom of that river, if I’m reading this right. We can’t get down there, but I bet the ‘Cons have a way.”

“You can’t?” Glitch was still getting used to some of the differences between Cybertronian biologies in her universe and the one in which she was currently living. “I can, though. Hold on to this.” She removed her repair kit, which was attached behind her saddle when she was in vehicle mode, and handed it to Bumblebee, who gave her a questioning look but put it away in his storage compartment. “And cover me.”

Not with a tarpaulin, she managed not to say. After a recent skidplate-kicking courtesy of Soundwave, the Decepticon third-in-command, she had tried to cheer her friends up by telling them about his equivalent in her universe. The idea of the faceless gladiator being a child’s toy had amused them, but then her motor-voicebox had run away with her. Halfway through narrating the fight between her team under Soundwave’s control and the Substitute Autobots, she had belatedly realised that ‘Cee, Wheeljack and Smokescreen were all looking decidedly uncomfortable, and Bumblebee was actually shaking. That was how she had found out about the cortical psychic patch, the Decepticon invention that could hack into a ‘bot’s processor as though it were any old computer, and Megatron using it to possess Bumblebee. Vile thing. Should be illegal. Probably is, but who can enforce that law?

Grateful for once for her teammates’ protection, she shifted into her alt-mode and drove straight into the river, headlamps piercing the cloud of silt her wheels were stirring up as the current dragged it downstream, looking for the Predacon fossil. She saw it within cycles, a rib by the look of it, sticking out of the riverbed, and shifted back to robot mode to grab it. That was one of the drawbacks to being a two-wheeler – she couldn’t use her servo in vehicle mode, the way other ‘bots from her reality could. Another was her lack of a storage compartment. Having given her repair kit to Bumblebee in the interests of streamlining, she’d have to keep hold of the bone, which meant staying in robot mode and letting the river carry her further downstream, hoping there wouldn’t be any humans wherever she washed ashore.

There weren’t. What there were, she realised as she shook herself dry, or rather drier – the verdigris on her bronze finish was going to be murder to remove – were Vehicons, surrounding her before she could back away and return to the water. They must have known someone would retrieve the fossil, calculated where that person would emerge from the river and arranged an ambush. Drat and blast.

She wasn’t planning on making life easy for them, though, not by a long way. Raising the rib in her right servo, she shifted her left one into a blowtorch and held it close to the precious relic of a mighty being. “One step nearer, and I melt this.” She was planning on melting it anyway, if she could – the less Predacon CNA the ‘Cons got their Energon-coated servos on, the better – but they didn’t need to know that.

Nor did they need to get any closer. Even given Vehicons’ generally appalling marksbotship and the shield that fitted itself to Glitch’s arm without her having to think about it, there were just too many of them. She’d have needed a miracle to escape, and miracles don’t happen on demand.

***

As Arcee finished off the last of the Vehicons and checked on Bee and Destiny’s Child (who were both fine, as was she), a flare of green light at the edge of her visual range caught her attention. A groundbridge. Probably not one of theirs; they’d have been told. More ‘Cons. And it was downstream, still on the riverbank, quite possibly where Glitch had washed up. She only had to exchange glances with Bumblebee and Smokescreen before all three transformed and put metal to the pedal, hoping against hope that their teammate would still be close by.

Bumblebee called a halt a click or two further on, just where the portal had been. The terrain was just the same as it had been at the site of their own battle, soft mud, good for tracking, though not for sports cars. As Smokescreen tried to clean his chassis, Arcee watched Bumblebee doing what Glitch occasionally called his “Aragorn impression” or “Prince Humperdinck routine” depending on her mood. (Both references were lost on Arcee, though Glitch had promised to show her at least one of the relevant movies.) Even she could tell that there had been a struggle, but Bee would be able to find out much more.

“No tyre tracks,” he pointed out. “She didn’t transform. Probably holding something, most likely the fossil.” Glitch usually used her alt-mode a lot in combat, especially when outnumbered.

“There’s Energon here,” Smokescreen said, looking crestfallen and more than a little shaken by his friend’s disappearance. It wasn’t a good look for him.

“Not hers,” Bumblebee was quick to remind him. “She doesn’t bleed; she sparks. She must have put up a good fight.”

Arcee had just found some more evidence to support that hypothesis, half buried in the ground. A bronze shield she had last seen on Glitch’s hubcap. Judging by its position, it had been thrown, Captain America-style, as Miko would say. The young ‘bot had a Pit of an arm on her; Arcee had to use quite a bit of force to retrieve the shield. And she’d never leave it behind, having inherited it from a dead teammate via her mentor. She was gone – either captured or… just gone.

I said we’d get her home, and now I might have let her die. Arcee forced herself not to think like that. The ‘Cons would want her intact, either for intel – much easier to extract from a living mind – or to study her unique biology while it was in full working order. If they hadn’t known she was different before, they would have after her latest crazy stunt. No Cybertronian from their universe could swim like that. The idea of her kind, cheerful, gentle friend being interrogated or experimented on still wasn’t a pleasant one for Arcee, but at least in such cases she’d be alive and could be rescued.

There was nothing more they could do there. “Arcee to base, requesting a groundbridge.”

“Where’s Glitch?” Ratchet demanded the moment they arrived in Hangar E.

“We don’t know,” Arcee admitted. She was Stealth Team’s leader; she should take responsibility. “She went off on her own to retrieve the fossil, and it looks as though she was ambushed. The ‘Cons took her.”

“But she’s still got all her gear, right?” Miko always did her best to look on the bright side. “I bet she’s breaking out of her cell right now.”

With an almost mournful sequence of beeps Arcee couldn’t bring herself to translate, Bumblebee withdrew Glitch’s repair kit from his storage compartment and placed it on the medics’ workbench, next to her half-disassembled EMP generator. Arcee put her mud-stained shield on top of it. All that their friend from so far away had brought with her to their world lay in one small pile. If Glitch were even still alive, she’d have to rely on her inbuilt tools and her wits for the time being.

“Can you track her?” Ultra Magnus spoke for everyone. Arcee didn’t know how the Wrecker commander and the field-tech had gone from “at each other’s throats” to “ride or die”, but they had. Now the seasoned veteran looked as worried as any of the team, including the kids.

“Even if she weren’t more than likely aboard the Decepticon warship,” Ratchet replied, “her energy signature is different from that of any Cybertronian of this universe. We’ve yet to find a way to integrate it with our scanners.”

“Is her medical scanner still in her repair kit?” Raf piped up. “I bet it’s got a ton of information about her biology, and it shouldn’t be that hard to read. And if her energy signature’s so different, it might be outside the frequency range of the cloaking device. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

“It most certainly is,” Ratchet agreed, looking happier than he had since the rest of Stealth Team had returned without his colleague. If he thought they were in with a chance of finding her, they surely were. Hang on in there, Glitch, Arcee thought. We’re coming for you.

***

“Ah, the sleeping beauty awakes.” The unfamiliar voice, packed full of arrogance and self-importance, was far too loud for someone who had just woken up with a shocking processor-ache. “Well, when I say beauty… I’ve never really seen the appeal of two-wheelers.”

Glitch forced her optics open and to focus on the speaker. A mech with a bright red finish and white accents. Grounder, probably a sports car. Red optics – Decepticon, probably, though his brand wasn’t obvious. Their surroundings, which looked like a medical lab – not one of which her teachers would have approved – helped her identify him. “Knock Out.”

“If that was a compliment, thank you. If it was a suggestion – rude.”

“It’s your name. Vain, speed-loving Decepticon who calls himself a – medic.” She managed not to say “medibot”; while easily understood, it wasn’t common usage in that universe.

“I suppose that’s one way of describing me. Not a very flattering one. By the way, you don’t have to pretend you’re from around here. I scanned you while you were unconscious. Your biology’s quite fascinating, and will be of great help to the Decepticon cause – not that you’re likely to live to see that.” Glitch shuddered in horror, and realised for the first time that her arms were completely unresponsive. According to a quick diagnostic, apart from some dents and scorching and minor processor damage that her self-repair module – installed months previously by her Ratchet – was already fixing, she was fine. Her arms just wouldn’t move.

“I put a couple of circuit blockers in place, by the way,” her captor explained. “Couldn’t have you using those mods to escape, now, could I? Now then, Lord Megatron wants some information from you, and we both know you won’t tell me if I just ask nicely. I don’t think you’d tell Starscream anything either, and he’d make quite a mess of your finish trying to prove me wrong.” Knock Out had been adjusting some equipment with his back to her as he spoke; when he turned round, the innocuous-looking cable in his servo struck fear into her spark. She recognised it from ‘Cee’s description. A cortical psychic patch. “So I’m going to cut to the chase, so to speak. I have to warn you, though, I’m not an expert with this. But Shockwave’s still messing around with Predacons in his offsite lab, Lord Megatron is away inspecting his operation and I’m sure your Autobot friends are planning some inconvenient rescue attempt as we speak. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

Not half as afraid as she was. Glitch never locked up in combat; however scared she might be, if she could fool herself that it was a training exercise, convince herself that she was safe with her friends, or do anything of the kind, she could keep moving. But a cortical psychic patch was entirely outside her experience, and there were no friendly faces to be seen. In her head, she fought against her bonds as best she could, shook off Knock Out’s attempts to restrain her, even bit his claw-tipped, too-perfect servo (seriously, what kind of medibot had such flawless servos, or so much time for personal grooming?). In reality, she couldn’t move a single component as the ‘Con approached, or as he connected the cable – its other end already attached to the back of his own helm – at the junction between her head and her neck, through the repair table to which she was bound. For a moment, searing, stabbing pain lanced into her processor from the contact point; then all sensory input ceased and she was alone with her thoughts and the intruder in her head.

Now she truly understood why the others had reacted so badly to anything that reminded them of the patch. Her mind was her only real safe space, and Knock Out was inside it, making her plating crawl, inexpertly rifling through her memories, examining a few – from her sparklinghood, boot camp, training. She managed to force him away from one of her and Bee on St Stephen’s Tower in London, after their first mission as a partnership – that was private.

But she couldn’t stop him finding some of the ones he was after. Her arrival in his universe, and the reason for her visit to Cybertron just before a buggy space-bridge had sent her across the interdimensional barriers, sideways in time (and backwards a little). She couldn’t let him see anything more recent, and it occurred to her that the patch might work both ways. Megatron had used it to possess Bumblebee; could she use it to put Knock Out back in his own head? Or, better still, take some intel from him?

Only one way to find out… Her mental avatar took a deep vent and tackled the virtual Knock Out, carrying him out of her mind and into his. What she found there took her completely by surprise. Random recollections presented themselves to her, but only her deep subconscious noticed or recorded them; the level of her mind she was using registered only pain and grief. All thought of strategy and tactics forgotten, tears her body couldn’t cry streaming down her avatar’s face, she reached out to her former invader, wanting only to comfort and console him.

He scrambled away from her outstretched arms, flailing at something behind his head – the patch cable. His physical servo must have found it and safely cut the connection; his mindscape vanished, and her mind returned to her increasingly damaged shell – which was still bound to a table near a now very angry Decepticon.

***

How dare she? That was all Knock Out wanted to know. How dare that impertinent little Autobot not only evict him from her mind (which was fair enough, he conceded at some level that the rest of him ignored) but invade his? See so much he tried to keep locked away – and, perplexingly, not try to use that to her advantage? He didn’t even know what she had been trying to do, and that confusion only added fuel to an already blazing fire.

Blinded by rage, he forgot all about Megatron’s orders, and even his own scientific curiosity. (He didn’t even realise that the wide dark blue eyes looking back at him weren’t entirely filled with terror, or that the other emotions in them weren’t hatred or anger, but sympathy and love.) All he knew as he activated his saw mod was that she had committed a crime worse than scratching his finish, worse even than tearing off his door, and she had to pay.

“I’m afraid,” he informed her, his tone somehow still level, “your surgery’s been rescheduled.”

“No,” an infuriatingly familiar voice said behind him, “it’s been cancelled.” Before Knock Out could so much as turn to look at the Autobot rookie who had once trapped him in a wall, his own electrostaff struck him in the small of the backplate. He was in stasis before he hit the floor.

***

“Smokescreen.” Glitch had never been happier to see the blue and yellow mech. “Good timing.”

“Well, the hero always arrives at the last minute,” he pointed out. “Especially when there’s a beautiful femme in need of saving.”

“Still spoken for.” He knew that, of course. The exchange was a variant on a ritual that had become blessedly familiar – once she’d got it through her thick plating that he was teasing her.

“Can you stand?” Straight to practical matters, for once.

“I think so, if you can get me out of these cuffs.” He did so in his own way – activating his phase shifter, reaching through the table and lifting her clean out of her restraints before setting her on her peds. She had to admit, that was a useful bit of kit. “You OK?”

“There are circuit blockers on my arms to stop me using my mods. Crude, but effective – and somewhat painful, now I come to think of it,” she added as an afterthought. “Otherwise, all systems nominal.”

“The white boxes on your shoulders?” Smokescreen removed the offending devices, and Glitch sighed with relief as sensation flooded back into her arms. “Stars, that’s better.” She tested her joints and mods for functionality, pair by pair; everything was working normally.

“Why’re your mods so important to you?” Smokescreen asked as Glitch found a medical scanner in among Knock Out’s equipment and checked on the unconscious ‘Con. He’d be fine.

“I wasn’t protoformed with these; I earned them.” She hoped Smokescreen understood what she meant, because there was no way she could explain herself any more clearly.

Mercifully, he did. “I get it. Even during the war for Cybertron, nobot was protoformed with combat mods. We all had a choice whether or not to fight. Weapons were only given to those of us who did make that choice and were trained to use them.” A stark contrast to Glitch’s Cybertron during the war, which had had a flaming draft. “You’re sure you’re OK?” Glitch had put a servo to the back of her head, where the cable had connected; it was starting to hurt again.

“Fine. But I don’t think much of Knock Out’s idea of a patch job.”

“The cortical psychic patch? Not nice, is it?” Belatedly, she recalled that he’d had it used on him as well.

“Not remotely. But nor is it my priority right now. I don’t suppose you thought to bring a transfer drive?” Smokescreen hadn’t. “I’ll have to memorise as much as I can from this, then – bother!” While trying to unlock Knock Out’s terminal, she had accidentally tripped a piece of alarm code. Soundwave’s doing, no doubt. Other alarms rang out through the warship, drawing Smokescreen’s attention away from the much-abused shell that Glitch now knew was all that remained of the ‘Con medic’s partner and back to the matter in servo. “Come on, we’ve gotta get outta here.”

“Not yet. Knock Out scanned me earlier. I can’t risk him or any other Decepticon reverse-engineering my tech. I need to wipe the hard drive of this terminal. Ideally I’d use an EMP, but a magnetic pulse will have to do.”

“Would this help?” Smokescreen held up Knock Out’s electrostaff.

“Perfect.” It was indeed. The combination of electricity (don’t think about Bee, don’t think about Bee) and magnetism fried the hard drive, and hopefully all Knock Out’s data on his extradimensional “guest”. Smokescreen looked down at the still-unconscious mech. “What about his memory?”

Glitch hesitated. After what Knock Out had done to her, wiping his whole memory was a bit tempting, but the feeling soon passed. Knowing what had happened to her universe’s Arcee, she just couldn't put even a ‘Con through that, especially not that ‘Con. And a selective wipe would take too long. “No time. Let’s just hope he doesn’t remember enough.” Smokescreen agreed, took her servo – with permission – and, as Vehicons started to hammer on the med-bay door, activated the phase shifter and charged out through the nearest wall.

As they ran, Glitch could see why Smokescreen liked that gadget so much. Walls, blaster fire, other ‘bots (the inside of a Vehicon was a memory that was not leaving the hard drive any time soon) – if they didn’t go through it, it went through them. A perfect defence. She only became worried when she realised they were heading straight for the ship’s outer hull. And it was in flight.

“I hope this is part of the plan!” And that there was a plan.

“’Course it is! The moment Ratchet picks up my signal, he’ll bridge us out. It’ll be fine, trust me.” She did, though not without concerns regarding the effects of using a groundbridge while in freefall. Even if it only took them a nanoklik to clear the ship’s cloaking field, they would still be going dangerously fast when they reached their base. She didn’t need her ability to compute that that could end badly. But Ratchet would have thought of that – right?

He had, of course, as she confirmed when, after a few spark-quenching moments of uncontrolled flight that seemed to last an aeon, a now-familiar green portal opened directly below them, replacing unforgiving ground or sea (they were too high for her to tell which) with a wall of blue, red and white. Glitch and Smokescreen didn’t quite have enough momentum to send Ultra Magnus and Bulkhead, respectively, to the floor, but it was a near thing.

The Wrecker commander didn’t need to tell the no-longer-frightened field-tech she was safe; his presence was enough as he folded his massive arms around her, even before some of the more demonstrative members of Team Prime made her the centre of a group hug – Arcee, Bumblebee, Miko, June, even Wheeljack and Raf. Glitch let herself relax and enjoy being with the friends – the family – she had thought she might never see again, breaking away only when she noticed Optimus Prime watching her with a look in his optics that would have been a kind, gentle smile on any other ‘bot. “Reporting for debrief, sir.”

“Ep-ep-ep!” Ratchet objected. “Not until I’ve-!”

“I can run my own diagnostics.” The bite was taken out of Glitch’s words by her sheer gratitude for the senior medibot’s part in her rescue. “I’m a bit dented, but otherwise fine.” Physically.

“Glitch.” Prime had heard her unspoken words. “You have survived a terrible ordeal-,”

“As have quite a few of this team,” she snapped, the remnants of fear hardening into anger. It didn’t help that she’d had too much time to think in the endless seconds when she’d thought she was about to die, not once but twice. “Did Smokescreen get to rest and recover after he was captured? Did Wheeljack? Or Arcee?” She folded her arms and fixed Prime with a sixty-megawatt glare. “If you can look me in the optic and tell me I’m wrong, I’ll do as you ask, but if not, and if I am a member of your team, please treat me like one. I may not have your experience, but I’m a fully qualified field-tech, not a Dresden doll – or a rookie, let alone a sparkling,” she added hastily, knowing that Prime didn’t always understand human metaphors.

The look of guilt and pain on his face sent a wave of shame through her, quenching her fury entirely. “I’m sorry. That was out of order.” But she’d needed to say it. She had lived with undiagnosed, untreated mental health issues her whole life; seeing them neglected in others did not fly with her.

“Not entirely.” Agent Fowler, of all people, came to her defence. “If I’d reported that time Starscream got a hold of me properly, I’d’ve been pulled off active duty for a whole set of evaluations and probably therapy I didn’t really need. I didn’t, ‘cause who knows what you ‘bots would get up to without me?” Most of Team Prime laughed at that, though Ultra Magnus didn’t seem comfortable with the idea of flouting proper procedure. “Between you all, you’ve gone through a lot more than that just in the time I’ve known you, and you barely even talk about it. I didn’t realise it before, but I reckon you’ve been fighting so long, you’ve forgotten how to take care of each other, or yourselves.”

“You both raise valid points,” Prime conceded. “Ratchet and I will discuss this matter further, and endeavour to do better in future. Nurse Darby, would you be willing to advise us?” June was. “In the meantime, Glitch, if you truly feel equal to talking about your recent experiences…” She did, and joined Prime, Ratchet and Ultra Magnus in a secluded corner of the hangar to tell them what had happened since she last parted from the rest of Stealth Team.

The others mostly stayed quiet, except for Prime’s gentle prompting when she ran out of words, until she mentioned the cortical psychic patch, which alarmed all three mechs for at least two reasons. While Ratchet tried to scan her processor for potential damage, Ultra Magnus asked whether she could tell just how much intel Knock Out had extracted from her.

“Nothing of immediate concern, but he did confirm that I’m not from around here before I managed to reverse the polarity of the neural flow.” None of them would get the reference, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself.

“You entered his mind? Did you obtain any new information?”

“That was my intention, but…” She broke off for a moment to take a calming, steadying vent. “He’s hurting. His partner, the one ‘bot who really cared for him and vice versa, was butchered by a fellow Decepticon, and his shell was used as a life support system for a human who’d previously traumatised him – in the medical sense. Knock Out’s alone now, grieving and unable to show anything that could be called weakness to anybot. The cognitive dissonance going on in his processor is off the flipping charts. He’s been experimenting on what’s left of Breakdown and the human inside, convinced that it’s what his partner would want, but it’s done nothing to ease his pain. I just couldn't consider hurting him any further. It might not have been the right call, but it was the only call I could make.” She hung her head, unable to look any of the other ‘bots in the optic. The Predacon bone might have been damaged beyond the point of usability by Vehicon fire before she was captured, but otherwise the mission had been a failure from start to finish, because of her. Maybe she shouldn’t be part of the team after all.

“I understand,” Prime said softly, seeming to read her thoughts. “The ability to act outside the boundaries of logic and strategy and the capacity to empathise with others are among the qualities that set us apart from mere machines. You have returned to us, alive, whole and with a clear conscience; that is not failure by any means. And for all we know, the kindness you sought to show Knock Out may bear fruit in the future.”

“I thought MECH killed Breakdown,” Ratchet put in, bringing the conversation back down to Earth with a jolt.

Glitch shook her head. “Airachnid did, before going rogue again. Leastways, she claimed responsibility, and Knock Out believes her. MECH just found his body and used it to save Silas – without a shred of respect, I might add. Anyway, to get back to the point of this discussion…” They finished the debriefing, and Glitch – having waited to be formally dismissed, to please a still-rattled Ultra Magnus – left the senior ‘bots to discuss the small amount of intel she had managed to gather, making her way back to her private area (and politely turning down ‘Cee’s suggestion that she join the younger team members for video games; she wanted to be alone for a while).

Putting on her ‘bot-sized headphones, she pulled up the soundtrack to Donna’s series of Doctor Who (Series 4 of the reboot run, if one preferred that system, which had always confused Glitch), skipping ahead to – what else? – “Songs of Captivity and Freedom”. The haunting melody and lyrics melded with the music already filling her processor as she opened the composition software on her personal computer and began to write. Note by note, a song without words took shape on the screen, describing a lonely, angry, mourning person, who had both done terrible things and had terrible things done to them. A person who no longer knew how to accept kindness, let alone show it. A person trapped in an invisible cage – who still might, just might, find the key. (Yes, a few bars quoted from “The Other Side” from The Greatest Showman could work nicely, transposed into a minor key because the subject hadn’t escaped – yet.)

It was about Knock Out, of course, but she entitled it simply, “The Prisoner”.

[demoness-one]

New skidplate obtained we are READY for winter. Ignore the huge subframe holes im replacing that later. Minor details

[noellevanious]

i tell you sister the only type of fastening screw i ever did care for was these little half turn deals that hold the skidplates onto the bottom of cars. no fuss, no drama, just turn it 45 degrees and it’s off. don’t even need to use a screwdriver, i even done it with my thumbnail. i hear word you’re a big fan of different types of screws so i thought you might appreciate this.

looks like how Baiking (from Guilty Girl) does the mat flip move