#transformers fate of cybertron

[prince-toffee]

The End of an Era, A Final Farewell | Transformers: Fate of Cybertron (2022) | One Shot | Retail Incentive Cover | Art by Alex Milne

[aecholapis]

October 15th - Stranded in the Rust

Javelin / Shadow Striker

For the @tfrarepairing fest 2024

The only time they were in the same panel

[hercarisntyours]

dare i say oplita coded

[lets-try-some-writing]

Had a thought for your seeker knockout AU:

Knockout sees Bee fall into the Cybermatter and get his voice back. Knockout wonders. "What if..." But sits on the question for too long and now he's trying to make own cybermatter to get his wings back.

Alternatively....

There's just enough cybermatter left over from the dump into Cybertron's core for Knockout to take a quick dip... And he becomes a triple changer and has to relearn his t-cog.

YES. This is an excellent idea right here. Time for Knockout to get his wings back.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Knockout once called the skies his home. It was his safe haven, his place of purpose and peace. When his wings were taken from him, he was quite frankly sparkbroken. He adored the skies and the ability to soar through them, but he did not allow that pain to show. He needed to stay alive, and the only way to do that amongst Decepticons was to keep composure at all times. He thought the chance to regain what he had was gone...

But seeing Bumblebee emerge restored from the Cybermatter... Knockout wanted to hope. Before he could be stopped, he scooped up a small portion of the Cybermatter in a vial and tucked it away, allowing the Autobots to do with the restored Omega Lock as they wished. At that point, he didn't care what they decided to do, he had more important possibilities to see to. Now he was no scientist, but he didn't need to be to have an idea of what to do with the Cybermatter.

Quietly, as the Autobots directed the Nemesis toward Cybertron, Knockout retreated to his quarters and readied himself for what would either make or break him. He was no fool, he knew this could go horribly wrong or fantastically right. Thus he kept a commlink ready to be activated and call Ratchet. No matter how much he disliked his fellow medic at times, medics stick together. If things got bad, Knockout wanted to have a fellow doctor on hand. As such as he sat down on a medical berth and loaded the vile into a syringe, he could only take a few deep vents and steady himself.

In one swift motion, he jabbed the needle into the crux of his neck where he knew there was a fuel line that once ran directly to his wings. At first, he felt nothing as the cybermatter entered his body. His constant scans revealed nothing out of the ordinary save for hyperactive repair nanites, and so with a heavy spark after a few groons of waiting with no notable results, Knockout retired to his berth. He shouldn't have expected anything, he had been without wings since the height of the war. It was foolish to hope...

At least that's what he told himself up until he woke in the middle of his recharge cycle in agony.

He couldn't scream, he could hardly even move as he rolled onto his side and shook in silent torment as it felt as though his frame were burning, melting, and being reforged all at the same time. He wasn't sure how long he laid there, but at some point someone must have gotten concerned as eventually Ratchet busted down his door and had him moved to the medical bay. Knockout was largely unconscious for the latter half of whatever it was that was happening to him. However when he woke again, his frame felt... different. Flight protocols that hadn't been used in vorns were awakening.

He didn't cry, he didn't even twitch when he sat up, stared straight at the nearest wall, and felt what he knew to be wings. It took Ratchet nearly beating him upset the helm with a wrench for being so careless for him to really comprehend what happened. He could only sit there, flexing his restored appendages with a growing smile and wide optics. It felt like a dream, especially when he looked into the mirror and saw that the Cybermatter had not just restored his wings, but also his frame. He was restored entirely. He wasn't half bad as a grounder, he took care to ensure that. Even still, having his true flight capable frame back was simply put, a miracle.

Ratchet: YOU FOOL! Do you have ANY idea how dangerous using Cybermatter like that was!?

Knockout: I am well aware Doc.

Ratchet: You certainly don't sound like it!

Knockout: ...

Ratchet: ...

Knockout: ...

Ratchet, sighing deeply: Look, it was dangerous, but... I am glad to see you got your wings back. I cannot imagine how difficult it was to manage living as a grounder.

Knockout was largely confined to the medical bay as his wings continued to develop. The bare essentials were there, but the plating and protoform was still taking time to develop. Against the expectations of the entire team once they learned of Knockout's actions, he stayed put. In fact he took his recovery and restoration far more seriously than even his duties as a Doctor. Every waking moment he spent dutifully tending to his precious wings and practicing flexing the cabling and activating the still sputtering thrusters that were making themselves known on his back.

By the time the team arrived on Cybertron, Knockout was more than ready. Fear lingered at the back of his processors, causing him to hesitate as he stood on the deck of the Nemesis, a few flight capable vehicons by his side to catch him if things went south. Optimus himself was also present, keeping a vague optic on the scenario as he worked on something or other. As such with a fearful vent and a prayer to Breakdown to watch over him, Knockout threw himself over the edge, begging his instinctual coding to take control.

He fell like a bag of bolts for a few dozen feet, and then just as he was starting to fear for his life, age old codes activated. However instead of wheels spinning and dirt beneath his frame, he felt the current rushing past his wings as his vision warped and he graced the skies for the first time in millennia. Never before had Knockout laughed so joyfully, nor had he ever stayed in the skies for as long as he did that cycle. He only returned to the Nemesis when his wings burned from the exertion and his spark fluttered with too much emotion to be contained.

The team congratulated him on his restoration, but to Knockout it meant very little as he returned to his quarters, and collected a small picture from his berthside table.

"I did it Breakdown. I promised you I would fly again."

[transformersmr-hq]

Finished yet another round of brave police j decker

Fuck yeah sentient robot squad story where everyone gets equal character development

[thehuntsmaster]

PRE WAR. WIRES OF FATE I.

violence, death, duh. Scorne, a security officer which cogless mail drone Rivet (P-22) had thought for a while but tonight this friendship is over as she witnesses a darker side of Scorne murdering the Politician along with his employer by his side.

Night had fallen over Iacon, and the city’s luminous towers gleamed like stars above the darkened streets. Most of Cybertron’s denizens had retired for the evening, but not Rivet. Her small frame moved quietly through the deserted streets, her optics flickering with uncertainty. She had no delivery to make tonight, no assignment or errand. But her thoughts were tangled in knots, pulling her back toward a name, a figure she couldn’t shake from her mind.

Scorne.

It had been weeks since she had completed his mission. Since she had stood in that dim waste management room and accepted his dangerous proposition. He hadn’t contacted her since. No more late-night messages, no more threats or orders. But his presence lingered in her mind, heavy and inescapable.

She wasn’t sure why she was drawn to the Archives tonight. Maybe it was the silence of the city, the way the world felt hushed and secretive after dark. Or maybe it was something deeper—an instinct that pulled her toward the imposing building, as if her spark could sense something wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be here, wandering the streets after curfew, but her curiosity and the restlessness gnawing at her had led her this far.

As she approached the massive building, the first thing she noticed was the presence of guards at the entrance. That was strange. The Archives were typically open to the public, but now they were heavily guarded. Something important was happening inside, something that required secrecy and force.

Rivet’s optics narrowed as she crouched in the shadows, watching the guards pace back and forth. It wasn’t just any guards—they were Seekers, large and imposing, their presence unmistakable. She had no business with them. And yet... something inside her pushed her forward.

What was going on in there?

Her optics darted to the ventilation shaft on the side of the building. It was narrow, but she could fit. She hesitated only for a moment before slipping toward it, her small frame allowing her to pull herself into the vent with ease. The shaft was dark and tight, but she moved swiftly, following the faint hum of voices that echoed through the vents.

It was quiet at first. Just the low murmur of muffled conversations. But as she crawled further into the maze of ducts, the voices became louder, sharper. She could hear something... off. Not just conversation, but the sound of struggle. Of fear.

And then, the cries.

Muffled, desperate cries. The unmistakable sound of someone in pain. Her spark clenched, and she pressed forward, her mind racing with questions. Who was in there? What was happening? Why were they crying out?

The vent led her to an overlook above one of the higher chambers in the Archives. Carefully, she peered through the grates, her optics widening as she took in the scene below.

In the center of the room, a figure was on his knees—bound and gagged, his once-proud wings pinned to his back in submission. Sigil. His green and purple armor was marred with fresh dents and energon stains. His blue optics were wide with panic, and he strained against the restraints, trying in vain to free himself.

But it wasn’t just Sigil. There were others. Scorne was there, standing tall and menacing, his massive frame towering over the kneeling Seeker. And beside him, another bot—Xeon, the politician Scorne worked for, a cold smirk playing on his lips as he watched the scene unfold.

Rivet’s spark froze as she watched, barely able to process what she was seeing. Scorne wasn’t just standing guard. He was leading this... this interrogation. No, not an interrogation. This was an execution in all but name.

"Sign it," Xeon commanded coldly, his voice devoid of sympathy. "You don’t have a choice, Sigil."

Sigil’s optics blazed with defiance, but his hands were trembling as the data pad was shoved into his bound hands. He tried to resist, tried to shake his head, but Scorne stepped forward, his optics narrowing.

"Do it," Scorne growled, his voice low and threatening.

When Sigil hesitated again, that’s when Scorne struck.

Without warning, Scorne’s fist collided with the politician's faceplate, the force of the blow sending the mech sprawling to the floor. Rivet’s breath caught in her throat as she watched in horror, her hands gripping the edges of the vent carefully making her descend trying to get closer as Scorne continued his brutal assault.

The blows came fast and hard—Scorne’s fists hammering into Sigil’s frame, each punch sending echoes of pain through the chamber. Sigil tried to shield himself, but he was helpless, his body folding under the relentless strikes.

“Sign it,” Scorne repeated, his voice now laced with venom as he delivered a savage kick to Sigil’s midsection, sending them skidding across the floor. Sigil’s frame crashed into one of the bookshelves, and the data pad clattered to the ground beside him.

Rivet flinched as Sigil’s beaten body slid toward her hiding spot behind the rows of dusty tomes. Her optics were wide, her frame shaking with the effort to remain silent. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. This wasn’t the Scorne she had known—the cold, calculating bot who always seemed to be in control. This was something else. Something darker, more vicious.

And then it happened.

As Sigil struggled to lift his helm, his optics dimming with the weight of his injuries, they locked onto hers.

He saw her.

Rivet’s spark nearly stopped as their gazes met. His optics—once filled with pride and defiance—now held only fear. Fear and a silent plea for help. But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t call out for her. His mouth was gagged, and all he could do was stare, his optics begging for salvation as his life ebbed away.

Rivet wanted to run. She wanted to bolt from her hiding spot and disappear into the vents, pretending she had never seen any of this. But she was frozen. Frozen by the horror, by the guilt of witnessing something she couldn’t stop.

Sigil’s optics dimmed further, his gaze still locked onto hers as his frame shuddered one final time. And then... nothing. His optics went dark, his body falling limp against the bookshelf.

Rivet’s whole frame shook, tears welling up in her optics. He was gone. And she had done nothing.

Scorne loomed over Sigil’s body, his optics cold and unfeeling as he stared down at the fallen mech. He didn’t notice her. He didn’t notice the small, insignificant bot trembling just feet away from him, hidden in the shadows. All he saw was his work, his mission.

“Let’s go,” Xeon ordered, his voice flat, as if he were discussing something as trivial as a broken tool.

Scorne gave a curt nod, his optics narrowing as he looked down at Sigil’s lifeless frame. Without another word, he turned and followed Emirate Xeon out of the chamber, their heavy footsteps echoing in the silence.

Rivet didn’t move.

She couldn’t. She stayed there, crouched behind the bookshelf, staring at Xenon’s broken body. The silence in the room was deafening, and the reality of what had just happened washed over her like a wave of cold, suffocating dread.

This was who Scorne really was. Not the bot she had hoped he might be. Not the one who had hesitated when she challenged him. He was a killer. A brutal, merciless killer.

And she had been complicit.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rivet’s body moved on its own. She stumbled forward, her optics locked on Sigil’s lifeless form. His optics were dim, his frame motionless, and the realization hit her like a physical blow.

She had seen everything. And now, she was part of it.

Her hands trembled as she reached out, gently closing the politician’s optics with shaky fingers. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to make sense of any of this. But she knew one thing for certain.

She couldn’t stay here. Not with the knowledge of what Scorne had done. Not with the weight of the truth hanging over her.

Without another word, Rivet slipped back into the vents, disappearing into the darkness.

[juicepoxwastaken]

Silly little wip

[kinzenn]

TFA VILLAINESS AU MASTERPOST

Collection of the little comics and some context for this silly au i've been making :)))

Some Context!!!

Og!Optimus, the cybertronian equivelent of a starving college student gets isekaied by transformers truck-kun into the shitty fantasy romance novel "I’m the key to the prophecy- unlocking my happily-ever-after!", and out of all characters in the novel he just had to become the doomed-by-the-narrative disgraced Autobot Prince, Optimus Prime!

The novel itself revolves around the main character's quest to save Cybertron from Quintesson invasion through uniting the two enemy factions, the Autobot Kingdom and the Decepticon Empire. As a part of the agreement, Novel!Optimus was forced into an arranged marriage with the tyrannical Warlord, Megatron. However this fragile peace between the two factions was broken as Novel!Optimus's betrayal against the 'Crown Prince' and Megatron (in the form of attempted murder) was eventually brought to light by the main character. In the end, Optimus would be executed for his crimes and the main character is able to truly unite Cybertron and save the planet from the Quintessons.

Whilst Og!Optimus did read the novel, the terrible writing and butchering of characterisation (especially Novel!Optimus) caused him to drop it, which he regrets in hindsight

Comics  ☆

The accident

Unfamiliar

The fate of Optimus Prime

Final order

World's worst light novel

Megatron's letter

[muletia]

-`♡´- 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐮𝐬

orion pax x human!reader x d-16 and a sprinkle of platonic x elita <3 pocket spouse au

summary: finally, the time has come to meet your spouse! after joining the Pocket Spouse Program — an Earth-Cybertron friendship pact allowing humans to become partners to bots who wish to have their very own human to love, cherish, and treat as their soft, squishy spouses — you’ve been waiting for so long for your turn to come. and as it turns out, this long-awaited day is full of pleasant surprises <3

cw: fluff, canon divergence because tfo takes place bazilion years before humans, a little bit of jealousy and obsessive thoughts, possessiveness, implied polyamory, implied nsfw thoughts (nothing explicit thought)

word count: 3900

shot out to all the anons and non-anons who gave me a lot of great ideas for this au <3

Armed with a travel bag filled with the most useful items and a backpack stuffed with supplies, you stand before the capsule-shaped elevator. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before stepping into the tight, enclosed space, and enter, sealing your fate. The doors close behind you, and without giving you even a second to prepare, the elevator descends rapidly, taking you towards your new life but not granting enough time to fully shake off the old one.

Not that there was much to shake off, considering you had willingly made the decision to join the Pocket Spouse program. Nothing was holding you on Earth, least of all luck, so you decided to seek it elsewhere. And as it happened, you chose to start your search on a planet inhabited by sentient, enormous, transforming robots who, apparently, had quite the fascination with humans. An extreme new beginning, but after hearing only good things about the living conditions and the way humans were treated with care, you figured — why not, if it meant living in luxury?

Of course, you had considered various scenarios in case the rumors turned out to be a sham. You could end up with anyone. A fetishist, a collector of exotic pets, a hoarder of toys. That was the unknown, stressful factor that the speed of the elevator gave you no chance to tame. The decision of which robotic spouse you would be assigned to also did not belong to you, so all you could do was hope for a stroke of luck that you’d end up with someone normal.

You don’t even have time to take another deep, reassuring breath when the capsule comes to a sharp stop, and almost immediately its sliding doors open.

You’re greeted by a metallic face with distinctly feminine features. Beautiful in its strange, alien way, but also serious. One look is enough to tell you that you’re dealing with a bot who is strict and has no tolerance for nonsense, but your first impression naturally shifts when your eyes and her optics meet. Her metal face softens almost instantly, easing your stress just enough for you to regain feeling in your legs. You step out toward the bot, onto a small platform designed specifically for a species of your size, and with each step, the bot seems to grow to an unsettlingly immense scale.

The room is small — or at least it seems that way as you try to translate its dimensions into the standards of the giants who inhabit this planet — and carelessly sterile in dark gray tones. There’s no doubt it was put together in a rush, without much thought, simply to exist and serve its function. Its barrenness is unsettling. So much for a luxurious life of doing nothing?

The bot straightens and pulls a datapad closer as she finally speaks. “[Name] [Last Name], I presume?” You still can’t get over how easily the metal of her face bends and flexes when needed, as if it were made of rubber.

“Exactly.”

She nods her helm. “My name is Elita One. I am the head of this mining sector, and I also hold responsibility for every pocket spouse assigned here. And unless there is a change in management, you answer to me, you listen to me, and you bring all future requests or orders to me.”

Oh. So you got assigned to the working class. Fine, you’ll adjust as soon as you get proper living conditions. “Alright.” The lack of warmth in her demeanor discourages you from wanting to engage in any future interactions, but if she’s your only lifeline to protection from potential mistreatment, you’ll treat her words as gospel. “Nice to meet you.” You smile and extend a hand toward her. She stares at you hesitantly for a moment before finally reaching out a single digit to complete the greeting.

“Likewise.”

Elita doesn’t withdraw her servo, though; instead, she straightens it and clasps her digits together, gesturing for you to climb onto her palm. “For safety.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You accept the invitation, though a red flag starts waving in your mind. You don’t remain on her servo for long, as Elita smoothly and carefully transfers you onto her shoulder.

“I advise you to be careful,” she warns. “Miners rarely interact with pocket spouses, so they might try to touch you or snatch you up in their servos. Do not try to stand, do not lean over, and above all, do not excite them. A simple wave of your hand is enough to send them into a frenzy. Understood?”

Alright, now the stress is back. You hadn’t expected such strong reactions towards humans, especially since this trend od getting pocket spouses was no longer new. “Wait. I thought pocket spouses were already a well-established concept on your planet.”

“Not in these parts,” she sighs. “On the surface, the sight of humans may not cause much of a stir, but things are different down here. For us miners, pocket spouses are a rarity. Only the best can afford them.”

Oh, so even among a highly advanced race of sentient robots, there was still a harmful caste system in place. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you stammer, because what else is there to say in this situation? When she shoots you a sour glance, you decide to change the subject, hoping to save your image from seeming callous and naïve. You clear your throat. “So, I assume you already have your own pocket spouse?”

She gives you a pointed side-eye. She saw right through your plan.

“Of course, I do. Do I need to repeat myself about being careful, or is everything clear?”

“Clear as day.” You don’t need to see her faceplate to know that this human phrase is unfamiliar to her. Feeling her impatient side-eye on you, you awkwardly correct yourself, “Yes.”

“Good. If you have anything else you’d like to know, now is the time to ask. I assure you, you won’t have time later.”

“My spouse. What are they like?”

“Spouses,” she corrects nonchalantly, not even looking up from her datapad, throwing you completely off.

“Spouses? Do I get one for free?”

Elita does not appreciate your attempt at humor. She sends you a sharp look.

“In a manner of speaking. Officially, a pocket spouse is assigned to a single bot, but there are cases of sharing. Or, if by some miracle, a human ends up with a conjunx. But I haven’t heard of such cases.”

Conjunx? That’s a new word, and it means absolutely nothing to you, but you decide to store it in your memory for later, too distracted by the fact that you’ve been assigned to a pair.

“Okay, I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No. I think? I don’t know yet, you caught me off guard.” You take a deep breath. You’ll manage. Somehow. “So, my spouses. What are they like?”

Elita’s expression darkens, and that, in turn, unsettles you. That couldn’t be a good sign.

“What is it? Did I get assigned to some creeps?”

“Worse,” she huffs. “D-16 is a decent mech and an exemplary miner, and officially, he is your spouse. But Orion —” she grips the datapad tighter as if restraining herself from an outburst “—Orion is the most foolish, irresponsible, and reckless bot on all of Cybertron. And if you think I’m exaggerating, you’re gravely mistaken. He attracts trouble like a magnet and throws himself into it because he is incorrigible. I almost pity you, really, because you couldn’t have gotten a worse match. Even Darkwing would have been a better spouse.”

But… as if fighting her own thoughts, she adds, “For all their recklessness… they worked very hard to have you, and I know they will treat you well. Perhaps clumsily at first, but well. That doesn’t change the fact that Orion has an empty canister instead of a processor, so if he does something idiotic, and he will, you are to report it to me immediately.”

Galncing at the datapad, she adds "Do you want to know anything else? We don't have much time for idle chatter."

"Just one thing. You mentioned that there's already a human in this sector. Can you arrange for us to meet sometime soon? It’d be nice to have occasional contact with someone like me."

"We'll see what can be done," she replies warily, clearly displeased with the idea. Her answer makes it obvious that there's a high chance you’ll be left hanging rather than meeting your fellow human, but you’re not giving up that easily.

"Thanks," you say. Out of politeness, feeling an even stronger urge to stay on her good side.

"Shall we begin?"

You take a deep breath. You’re doing this. You’re meeting your extraterrestrial partners, cementing your future on this planet. Your hesitation lasts only a moment — just a brief weighing of pros and cons, an instant of fighting the urge to turn around and run back to the elevator. Less than a second is all it takes for you to give your answer.

"Yes, I want to meet them."

"Be careful," she warns sharply, one last time. "I've worked too hard for this job to lose it now because of human irresponsibility."

Elita takes a step forward, and you have to grab onto her helm to keep your balance, but thankfully, an exaggerated optic-roll is her only reaction to the excess contact. The next steps aren’t as shocking; by the third, you’ve adjusted to the rhythm of the giant leading you to a set of sliding doors, which she opens with a button on the side.

Your pocket spouses certainly know how to make… an intriguing first impression.

Caught off guard by the sudden opening of the doors, they literally tumble into the room and land on the floor, shooting you a lightning-fast glance before scrambling to their pedes at record speed, straightening up as if nothing happened. Their excited grins grow quickly and they’re clearly contagious, because you feel your own lips curling into a smile.

They look masculine and young, as much as you can say that about beings whose tissues don’t age. What grabs your attention most is the bot with yellow optics. You haven’t seen such a unique color among their kind before. Maybe you haven’t met many bots yet, but you could swear most had blue optics. Interesting... You make a mental note to compliment those bright, captivating optics later.

Your gazes meet, and the mech with the unusual, beautiful optics parts his lips slightly. You get the feeling he wants to say something, but excitement completely paralyzes him.

"Well, that was a stunning performance. Was eavesdropping worth it?"

"Ahem, no... we weren't eavesdropping," Orion defends himself, though his gaze remains fixed on you.

"Forgive us, Elita, you just caught us off guard when you opened the door so suddenly," D-16 adds, having suddenly regained control over his body.

They step closer, as if hypnotized, drawn to minimizing the distance, but Elita halts them with an outstretched arm. They stop, but their lovestruck expressions make it clear that their minds are already revolving solely around you.

"Ugh, pull yourselves together," Elita scolds. "You won’t lay so much as a digit on your pocket spouse until you’ve listened to the protocol, so focus."

"Mhm, yeah, yeah."

"Now do you understand what I was talking about earlier?" she directs at you. "I wish you Primus' patience with these two airheads."

"Oh, come on, they’re quite charming," you remark — but it turns out to be unnecessary, as the eruption of joy at hearing your voice is nearly impossible for even Elita to suppress.

Both of them surge forward, their excited cheers and cooing echoing through the empty room, bombarding you with loud adoration.

"Didn’t I just say something about getting them worked up?!" Elita hisses at you, but the sharp tone doesn’t sit well with your partners, their expressions suddenly sober as they feel the instinct to stand in your defense.

"Elita, leave them alone," Orion intervenes. "They’ve done nothing wrong."

"I knew this would happen," Elita sighs. "Enough. Let me recite the protocol so we can all go our separate ways, because I don’t have time to babysit all of you."

She looks at the two mechs before her to make sure they’re listening, but it quickly becomes evident they have no intention of cooperating today.

"Primus, focus! Do you think I have time to waste? Unlike you, empty cans, I have a ton of work to do and I'd like to finish it before my shift starts."

Still seeing their dazed, absentminded expressions, Elita decides to escalate.

"Do I have to take your pocket spouse away for you to finally pay attention?"

Orion snaps out of his trance first, alarmed at the idea of you being taken away.

"What? No, no! We’re listening now, boss."

"Next time, there won’t be a verbal warning. I’ll smack you both on the helms, and that’ll be the end of your pocket spouse respecting you."

Of course, a reprimanding servo-to-helm contact was unavoidable when it became clear they were drifting off again. But after the protocol was recited, a datapad signed, and you were informed that regular supplies of human fuel and clothing would be delivered to you, the long-awaited moment of your "eviction" from Elita’s shoulder finally arrived.

She steps closer to the two bots, who extend their servos with interlaced small digits toward you so you can transfer safely. Grabbing your bag, you carefully step from her shoulder onto their servo, at last entering physical contact with your spouses.

"You have a few clicks of free time before your shift starts," Elita informs them. "And if you’re even a nanoklik late, I swear you’ll be pulling overtime."

She gives you one last soft, almost sympathetic look, so out of place with her previous authoritative tone before leaving, closing the door behind her.

Two pairs of optics focus on you.

You gaze into them, sinking into the moment, finally understanding what Elita meant about their fascination with humans. Because looking into their dazzling optics, brimming with excitement and adoration, you find yourself experiencing that same fascination with their alien race, even though you’ve met other bots before.

You can truly call yourself a pocket spouse now, completely leaving your past life behind. And you sincerely hope this one will be better. That Orion and D-16 will make it so, though you have no guarantee.

"Hello," you say warmly.

"Hi," they reply almost simultaneously.

D-16 can’t hold back any longer. He extends his servo toward you, eager to finally acquaint himself with the texture of your body, but he hesitates the moment he feels you shiver ever so slightly, struck by your fear.

"Ah, I’m sorry, don’t be afraid," he says.

A bad start. A very bad start. He worries he’s already tainted your budding relationship, that his reckless excitement has scared you enough that you won’t give him a chance to open up. But you quickly soothe his fears.

"It’s okay, really. You can touch me if you want."

Their youthful, boyish excitement returns, softening their handsome metal faces — and your heart along with them.

"Just be careful," you remind them. "Humans are quite prone to accidental squishing."

"We’ll remember," D-16 promises. "We’d never hurt you. Right, Orion?"

"Of course. You’ll be completely safe with us."

"Alright, I believe you." Not entirely. You want to believe them. But if what Elita said was true, then they would stay true to their word if they worked so hard to be assigned a human. Only fools would deliberately destroy the fruits of their labor. "So? Do you want to touch your pocket spouse?"

Your pocket spouse. Your. Theirs. Theirs and only theirs.

It’s a dangerous thought for a miner, because the concept of ownership had been limited to just a recharge station and the locker next to it. Everything else was shared. Shared washracks, shared habsuites, shared berths for resting. There was no room for theirs.

But you were theirs. Truly, undeniably, and tangibly theirs. Only theirs. And they wanted it to stay that way. Theirs to touch, theirs to give attention to, theirs to talk to and compliment. Not for Jazz, not for Wheeljack, not for Sideswipe, and no longer for Elita. Theirs. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time because you were burdening them with responsibilities they had never known before. Theirs. They couldn’t rely on anyone else anymore.

They exchange a brief, knowing glance. Theirs. They cannot ruin this. They cannot make mistakes. You have to like them, just as they instantly fell in love with you, and see them as good spouse material. They will show you that they can take care of you. Their pocket spouse. Theirs. Only theirs.

"What’s wrong? You don’t want to?" you ask teasingly, snapping them out of the traps of their own thoughts.

"Oh, Primus, of course we do. Very much. You have no idea how much," Orion confesses.

They were both brave, but it’s Orion who makes the first move. His servo finds your back, pressing against it with a single digit. Soft. Oh, so soft.

Once, he asked Elita what her pocket spouse felt like, and that was the answer he got. He didn’t understand it then. What was softness? What kind of sensation was it? What could he compare it to? But now… now he knew that softness was you, and you were softness. And if he could, he would never let you go.

"Wow, incredible. D, this is incredible, unlike anything else. You’re… extraordinary!"

He gently strokes your back, and you allow yourself to wrap your hand around his massive metal finger, which Orion welcomes with a beaming, delighted smile. How was it possible that your servo was even softer? Or maybe somewhere else, you were even softer still. He’d heard that humans and Cybertronians were compatible, and though he knows it’s not exactly proper to let his mind drift into impure, carnal territories so early in the relationship, cannot stop himself from dreaming of drowning in your softness. Wants to be surrounded by it. Wants to be suffocated by it. Wants to feel it after every shift, wake up in it and recharge.

Impatient with his partner’s sluggishness and selfishness, D-16 clicks his glossa.

"Move your digit, Pax, it’s my turn now."

It takes Orion a few nanokliks to pull himself away from his indecent thoughts. He doesn’t want to let you go, doesn’t want to be more than a few centimeters away from you ever again, but he knows D will smack him on the still-fresh sore spot left by Elita on his helm if he doesn’t pull his servo back. So he does. And immediately, he is consumed by an overwhelming sense of loneliness and emptiness, as if his life has suddenly become incomplete. He already wants to come back to you.

D-16’s reaction is similar. Awe at the new but pleasant texture manifests in his slightly parted intake and quick strokes across your back, searching for and discovering softness. Where your hand meets his digit, an incomparable warmth spreads, giving him a sense of completeness. You, him, and Orion. Three puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly, finally reunited after years of separation.

"I’m glad you like me," you laugh. "That’s a good start, huh?"

"It was good the moment we saw you," Orion says. "Really, we couldn’t have imagined a better pocket spouse."

"You’re too kind," you reply. You know they’re speaking from excitement, their minds weaving intricate visions and fantasies about life with a pocket spouse — visions that might not be so rosy in reality — but you don’t want to ruin it for them. Especially since you want to find a good life here, too. You want to be happy, regardless of the expectations they unknowingly place upon you. If they want to play house, you’ll join them. If they have a human fetish, you’ll indulge them in that too. "I think we’ll be happy together, won’t we? I’d like that."

"We will, for sure!" Orion assures enthusiastically.

"We know we’re just lousy miners, and you won’t have any luxuries," D-16 adds, earning a sharp elbow to the side from Orion. "I wasn’t finished, Pax." He elbows him back. "But we’ll do our best to make sure you have a good life with us. We’ll do everything for you. We’ll get… almost anything, but if you need something from the city, just say the word! Orion or I will get you food, clothes, whatever you need."

"Thanks, you’re sweet," you say, touched by their words. "I know I can’t do much, but maybe I can repay you somehow?"

"Just having you here is enough for now," D-16 says, smiling softly, enchanted by your question.

"Will you touch us again?" Orion asks, only to immediately receive a frustrated elbow. "What? They asked first."

D-16 pinches the bridge of his nose, unable to believe his partner’s tactlessness. Orion’s talent for making things worse had to affect you, it just had to. Just like every fragging time, it would fall on his shoulders to get them out of trouble, and in this case, to make sure you saw them as normal and worthy of being your spouses. They cannot mess this up. At any cost.

Which is why D is surprised when he hears your soft laughter. He lifts his servo from his faceplate and looks at you hopefully. So their relationship wasn’t ruined by Orion’s loose vocalizer?

"Of course. Come closer," you say, encouraging them further by crooking a finger.

Two massive faceplates move toward you simultaneously until they finally touch. They’re so close that you can stroke their cheeks, and so you do, slowly running your fingers over warm, living metal, drowning in their proximity. Orion and D-16 press into your hands, leaning into the comforting, though foreign, softness — now only theirs. Not for perching on Elita’s shoulder anymore. For them. Theirs to be petted, theirs to be embraced.

They could spend a lifetime in this room if it meant constant cheek-stroking and being spoiled by you. Oh, how they couldn’t wait for your shared life. Waking up with you. Coming back to their recharge stations after a hard day’s work, knowing someone was waiting for them. Spending time together. Telling you about Megatronus and Sentinel, showing off their merch, sharing every detail of their lives, and begging you to tell them about yours. About your planet, your interests, your human life — so they could make your life here as good as possible, desperately vying for your affection.

You will like them. You must. Because they already adored you, unconditionally devoted to their beloved pocket spouse. Theirs.

Relaxed and overwhelmed with contentment, they let their engines hum louder.

"Oh? You like this that much?" you ask, totaly not planning to exploit the bots’ ability to purr purely for your own selfish pleasure.

"Very much," Orion rumbles.

"You’re the best," D-16 adds.

For a moment, they open their optics, their gaze focused on you. And the trust flickering within them, the fervor of emotions burning away reason convinces you that you chose well by deciding to become a pocket spouse.

[revelboo]

Oh my god, I physically NEED a B-127 fated mates fics. He’s so much of a lovable dork, my heart can’t!

I caved… y’all can have the excited, yappy puppy. 18+ 🌶️

The Coma Kid

TFO B-127 x Reader

• Tires humming on asphalt, there’s a faint anxiety humming in the back of his processor that’s there wherever he’s under the open sky. A lingering unease that he can’t shake no matter how long it’s been since he left sublevel fifty. Since he left Cybertron. And like he always does when he’s nervous, he talks. Even if it’s just to himself, because he can’t admit to Optimus or anyone else that he’s afraid, can’t even put it into words just to himself. That wide open spaces make him feel so small. So lonely. “This is fine. Totally fine. Absolutely okay,” he says, the sound of his own voice a comfort as it shatters the silence. Because if he says it enough, it must be true. Convincing himself. “I’m okay.” Even if he’s not, he can still smile and keep saying it until he believes it.

• Hair sticking to your nape with sweat, you lean against the rake and work the knots out of your back. Listening to a squirrel fussing from one of the nearby trees, and the peace and quiet is a nice change from the city. Everything feels slower here, more laid back. No stress. No traffic. There’s a faint prickling through you as you stand there that’s almost like that electric taste of lightning on the horizon, a breathless anticipation that whispers a storm is coming even though there’s not a cloud in the sky. That draws your attention to the road.

• Speeding along empty roads, patrolling for Decepticons, he realizes he’s slowing even though he hadn’t meant to. There’s a spark deep ache inside him, pulling at him and he follows it without thinking. Because it echoes through him like a memory. Something familiar. Like the first time he’d met Orion and D-16. Before everything has gone so wrong, when for a short time he’d not been alone. He’d had friends and everything had been perfect for the first time ever. “Where are you?” He mutters and then he spots one of the little organic natives to this world. Little, fragile things. He’s seen them before, but Optimus has forbidden all of them from interacting with them. “I can feel you. Are you calling me?” And he’s transforming without meaning to, seeing you turn toward him, your wide eyes meeting his optics. “Can you feel that? You can, right?”

• Rake falling from your shocked fingers as the car passing by comes apart. Becomes a giant, yellow robot and strides towards you across the lawn, hands outstretched. Hear it talking as it comes at you, reaching for you. A strange feeling of familiarity running through you as you stare at it, that sense snaring you. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” Those big hands are almost on you when you snap out of that warm haze paralyzing you, because that lulling sense that this is okay is a trap. As soon as you break free of it, you scream and run.

• “Wait-wait.” Lunging, suddenly desperate to catch you, to not lose that sense of belonging, he swipes at your much smaller form. “I said I won’t hurt you! I promise!” You’re fast and he dives, a servo snagging your leg and you go sprawling. Allowing him to drag you back to him by a leg even as you start kicking at his hands with the other. “Stop, it’s okay. I promise it’s okay.” Looming over you, he picks you up and nearly drops you when you try to throw yourself out of his hands. Curling forward around you, feeling the frantic beat of your heart and that sense of home and belonging singing through him as he cages you in his servos. Doesn’t understand what this is, only that he’s never going to be alone again. Never letting go, no matter what. “We’re okay now.” Servos pressing you close to him even as you struggle.

Next

[bird-in-the-space]

The Mysterious Painter of Cybertron

Imagine being reincarnated as a transformer on Cybertron and becoming a painter.

Warnings: death, reincarnation, mentions of cybertron's caste system, a bit of discrimination, a bit of lazy writing, and mentions of the war.

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

- Imagine spending the last moments of your life in the hospital, listening to the beeps of the life support and watching life pass by through the window. You already bid your goodbyes to your family and friends, who grieved and hugged you for the last time. After years of fighting cancer, you decided to put an end to it and admit defeat. You rather fall into endless sleep than spend more time of your life in a hospital, bedridden, and going through chemo after chemo. It was sad, but you were at peace with your impending fate. 

- You have spent your time wisely before coming to the hospital. You experienced everything you wanted. You drew and painted the last of the art pieces you could and witnessed firsthand the people’s joy and awe at seeing your art. Your life as a painter had come to fulfillment. There was now nothing else you wanted to do. You were content and ready to travel to the unknown. 

- You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of the sunlight on your face and smelling the scent of the flowers near your bed one last time. You took your last breath, feeling yourself pass, unable to open your eyes any longer. 

- You imagined many things you might face when your soul finally left your body and you wandered into the unknown realm of the dead. However, you did not expect to hear sounds and open your eyes to a completely different world, filled with mechanical beings, in a body of a giant robot. 

- You barely had time to process what was happening. You and many others were greeted by another robotic being, who welcomed you as a new generation of transformers on Cybertron. 

- It clicked sometime later that you had reincarnated or been born into a new life. But strangely, you still remembered your previous life as a human. 

- However, you were not frightened by the new situation. You decided to take your previous name as your designation and embrace your new life in this strange world. 

- You marveled the strangeness of this new world. It was unlike anything you had seen in your life as a human. Everything was mechanical and you had a unique ability to change shape. It was beautiful. The culture, the history, everything was new and you wanted to explore all of it. But like all beautiful things, there were ugly sides to this world. 

- You found out Cybertron operated on a caste system. You were given a job based on your alt-form, and though you did not end up with a bad profession and were treated well by your new colleagues, you could not help but feel sadness and watch how the lower-class bots were treated. You saw how they were forced to work in dangerous places and how they were treated like lesser beings, even if their professions were one of Cybertron’s vital sources of energon, the sustenance, and the lifeblood of transformers. 

- It reminded you how humanity used to operate, and unnoticeably still did even in modern times. 

- You wished you could do something to change that, but due to your own status in the system— your options were limited. Even if you were not part of the lower class, you weren’t part of the higher class either. You were somewhere in the middle. 

- You utilized your skills and knowledge from your previous life, which earned you a safe position. You learned new necessary skills to survive in the system, helping the less fortunate whenever you could. 

- You made many friends, even a few from the higher class, who did not view the lower class the way most did. 

- After some time, you began to yearn for your previous home and the beauty of organic nature. Cybertron was beautiful in its own way, but you did not deny your desire to share the beauty of organic fauna and flora, especially when these transformers knew very little about them. 

- It made you think of your previous passion for arts, so you began sketching and painting during your free time, using supplies your credits allowed. 

- You painted whatever you could from memory, painting flowers and landscapes you painted before. You considered applying yourself as a student to a research institute, but due to your status – you couldn’t. 

- Your friends were enamored with your art pieces. Even your friends from the higher class were intrigued. They suggested you try selling them, and the idea appealed to you. Perhaps you finally found an opportunity to support the bots in the lower class. Unfortunately, you had to drop the idea when you failed to sell even one of your art pieces. The idea of a nameless middle-class bot painting such pieces simply did not gain any attention. 

- It was a low blow to your esteem, but you then found a way to overcome that through one of your friends, who was a higher-class bot. By putting their name on your paintings and claiming to be the artist behind them, your art finally gained attention and started to sell. Wanting to help the lower class, you and your friend agreed to donate the funds to support charities and the less fortunate. 

- They did feel bad taking the credit for your work, but you did not mind, since you finally found a way to help the lower-class bots. It also provided you with more art supplies, allowing you to continue painting and making new art pieces. 

- Even if your friend was the one who gained the fame and the marvel for your art, you were happy. Some researchers even became interested in organic life, which was a win for you. 

- You sometimes wandered into the sectors and levels where the lower class lived, painting portraits of flowers and landscapes into the empty walls of the streets. It was your way of giving the lower class something beautiful to look at. They would look at you with suspicion whenever you came, but then gaze in wonder when you painted something they had never seen before.

- Whenever some of them mustered the courage to come and talk to you, asking about the paintings, you would happily tell them what they were and their meanings, which would leave them even more in awe. 

- You were considered strange and even your name felt unusual. However, you were then regarded with respect, for your artistic skills and kind nature toward others. Some thought you were some kind of researcher due to your knowledge of the organic flora, but even so, the paintings you created on the walls and concerns of what they considered slump were left untouched. 

- It was silent appreciation and you even noticed some of them chase away vandals who attempted to ruin your work. It warmed your spark, even if not all of them appreciated your small gifts of art. 

- Unknowns to you, your small paintings would last even when the war between Autobots and Decepticons arose. Some of your artwork could be found left untouched even if everything else around them lay in ruins. No one would know what happened to you, the strange artist behind them. Your name and figure would become things of mystery, but those who still remember them and you would leave them alone and even mark them as a zone of neutrality.

[jweekgoji]

You can do Transformers Earthspark Megatron x Female reader where both were conjux but are divorced, the reader is only with the autobots so as not to be in the cells also that both had a sparkling but who is with the weckers, let's say that the relationship between Megatron and the reader was nice at first but everything changed in the war, Megatron treated the reader and her Sparkling badly, let's say that now the reader doesn't like to be around Megatron especially when she sees how he treats Twich like a daughter, but Megatron still wants to have something with Reader

Megatron/Femme!Reader [TFES]

tw: brief mentions of past trauma, past toxic relationships, guilt. additional tags: Cybertronian!Reader, Femme!Reader word count: ~1,9k a/n: I liked how they handled Starscream and Megatron's dialogue in s1, too bad it was wasted.

You had no right to be angry with the terrans. Born in this strange world, far from the home planet, they had no idea who they were or what their fate would be. To most humans, they were nothing but a threat. To your race, they were the only ray of hope for the future.

So why can't you still look away from them without a twinge of anger deep within your spark? Why is it that every time a small, scarlet terran tries to learn more about you, you throw that sharp, irritated look in her direction?

Another, yet another, long, languid day at the former G.H.O.S.T base, which has received a small rebranding, now completely at the disposal of the Autobots. You are completely focused on the monitor screen in front of your optics, your fingertips gently pressing each key.

You have no desire whatsoever to spend your entire attention on this useless waste of time. You would gladly leave this Primus-damned planet if you could.

And yet, you're happy to forget about everything around you for a second. That constant, loud laughter under your pedes when one of the Malto family runs past you, chasing after one of their siblings. Arcee tried to crack a joke or two whenever you two passed each other. Prime, for some reason, has decided that you need his painfully pathetic speeches about how if you need any help, you can always go to him.

It would seem that only Elita, of all the veterans, could understand you in any way.

You would gladly spend cycles alone with any of them on an island far from civilisation, only if it meant you would never have to see him again.

“Will you teach me some new moves in the air?” Twitch sits on Megatron's shoulder, looking at the older mech with her those big, yellow optics. “That moves with your arm cannon really inspired me!”

The little Terran blatantly thrusts her arm forward, automatically, activating her own weapon. A quiet scoff escaped from Megatron as he watches over the drone, noting her usual excited and very determined expression. Out of all the group, she seems to be taking the leader's role the most.

“If you promise not to shoot anyone here,” he gently reaches for Twitch, using his pointing finger to lower her arm cannon down, a soft smile plastered on his face.

The crimson terran's optics are focusing on Megatron's own, before she quickly glances towards you, the miniature pair of rotor wings bristling in admiration.

“And— we can take (...) with us too! I heard you two were an amazing pair back on Cybertron!” Twitch carefully stands up before starting to circle around in the air.

It's hard not to notice how much the young terran seeks to hold her deep respect for you, despite the clear ignorance you show her every single time she tries to speak with you. That naive childish adoration is cute, in some way, reminding you of the time when your own sparkling was once as bold and trusting as her.

You really shouldn't hold the grudge against her just because you feel that twisted sense of jealousy because of what you dreamed of so much, but never had the chance to get it.

Megatron's red optics track the terran across the room, only to lock onto your frame, once you were mentioned. He felt a pang of regret every single time he saw you. The memories of your shared past never left the impact on his mind, even though he tried so hard to get over it. For both yours and his sake too.

‘It's been countless solar cycles, Megatron. Don't make it harder for her,’ Optimus' words ringing in his mind. If only it was that easy.

He should have just focused on his own job, dealing with what is left of his past troops, the leftover of G.H.O.S.T's impact, but would it actually help him? To dig his own sick guilt and remorse somewhere deep down, in some naive hopes that everything can just magically go back to how it was? To pretend that it's fine to forget and run away from your past mistakes?

No, it wouldn't be fair to himself. Not to mention, everything he did against you was never fair to you in the first place. Shaking his helm, Megatron tries to reach for the terran, tell her that it's not the time now, and later, he will give her all his time and attention to guide the young one in her path.

That was, until Twitch wrapped her tiny servos around your own, looking up at you with those same optics she gave to Megatron, as if hoping she could somehow warm up your cold spark to her, to make you forget of whatever held you down from accepting her.

Poor thing. Thinking she is somehow the core source of your problems, even though she has no idea what exactly she has done, except for just being born in the wrong place and time.

“Please? I promise to listen, ma'am!” Twitch slightly, tightens her hold on your servo, the smile still as innocent as ever.

The tension is palpable. For just a moment, the three of you don't let out a single word. Everyone was focused on you, and only you stood in the center of their attention.

You sigh, looking towards the young terran right next to you. It will pain you to deny her, you think, but it is for the best as you try to reassure yourself once again.

“Twitch, you shouldn't—” Megatron tries to step out towards you and get the terran back away from you, only to be interrupted by your own voice.

“I'm afraid I can't help you with that for now, Twitch,” you say, using this calm, soft motherly voice of yours. “But be aware. Not everyone here deserves your trust.”

That smile slowly drops from Twitch's face as soon as she sees you pulling away from her, her little servos grasping the air, once where you were standing. That look you gave her somehow reminded her of her own mother.

Dot would come back after a long day of work, welcomed by the whole family, and despite how tired and overworked she was, she never dared to let them know about it. Muscles tense, aching and begging for rest, and constant headache from dealing with some people seem to never leave her alone. And yet, she still kept her smile. Still has the strength to use that sweet voice of hers every time she speaks to the young Maltos.

Even then...why did you look with nothing but hatred and disgust towards Megatron?

The quiet shut of the door left only Megatron and Twitch standing in the room. The little one slowly stepped down on the ground, blinking a few times in confusion. She still couldn't take her gaze away from the door, as if hoping that you might come back and join them after all.

“What...what did I do wrong?” she asks quietly, the question hanging in the air.

Megatron clenched his teeth, trying to suppress his own anger— no, he had no right to be angry. That was the truth after all, isn't it? None of the terrans knew what actually happened before, when he was the leader of the Decepticons, the infamous warlord responsible for the deaths of thousands, if not much more, innocent lives.

He deserves to feel that pain; the cold truth will always hurt, no matter how much he tries to numb the harsh, stabbing feeling inside his spark. Hearing it from you, for some reason, always felt the worst.

Slowly, he lowers himself to one knee, looking down at Twitch, as if silently trying to apologize, for what had happened. No one was supposed to be involved in this conflict.

“Don't trouble your mind with these thoughts, little bird,” Megatron gently lifts her chin with a single digit, making the young terran look up at him. “I promise to come back to you as soon as I can.”

If only he had told you the same before and reassured you with the same care he held deep for his mentee.

It was so confusing. Watching every single day, how soft and attentive the ex-warlord can be for a sparkling that were not even his, and yet, abandoning his family for his own cruel ambitions.

Standing outside the autobots' base, you at least had some bits of privacy that was left up to you. No one to judge, no one to stare with these sorry optics, with nothing but pity in them.

Primus seems to be especially disappointed with you today, taking away the only peace and quiet you had for today.

“You can hate and despise me however you want, I would never have held it against you,” the familiar, deep voice is quick to disturb your thoughts, but this time, somehow softer.

Megatron takes a few slow steps, stopping right behind you, but not daring to come any closer. He would be grateful if you even stayed to listen to him without running out the first second you spot him in your proximity.

There is a brief pause between the two of you, followed by nothing but your sinister silence. Not even a single drop of respect for him, as you didn't even look back at your ex-conjunx.

“But please,” the word sounds so foreign coming from him; for a moment, you even amuse yourself thinking he really changed. “Don't take it out on them.”

You feel your right optic twitch at that.

“Is that the only thing you wanted to talk with me about?” you finally speak, turning to face the silver mech who stood tall next to you. “And you have the audacity of asking something from me?”

Such hypocrisy. It doesn't help you feel any better at all once you notice those guilty red optics staring at you, as if reminding you of how small you will look to others, no matter how hard you try to hide behind a mask.

Like you ever needed their pity for you.

The silver mech studies your face. Tired, war-worn, so exhausted, just like his own. You're barely holding back from collapsing from all the responsibilities on your shoulders, both as the ‘autobot’ and the carrier first. He should have never left you alone, but that would be pointless to think about now.

“I won't...try to defend my past mistakes, and I know that there is nothing I can do to erase all the pain I caused to you and to our sparkling,” optics lowered to the ground, expression hardening, trying to gather his own thoughts, before meeting your gaze once again.

“All I want is to let you see how I have changed,” Megatron steps closed, hesitantly, he continues. “Would you give me a chance to make things right for you, my dear?”

A silence.

Megatron feels a flicker of hope in his spark. Lips curled into a small frown, trying to hide his own uncertainty. Cycles before, back in the past, when the war between the Autobots and the Decepticons hadn't struck the Earth, he would have snapped back. He reminded you of your own place underneath him, so you would never even have a single thought of defying him.

But he would never hurt you again, never raise his voice at you— just let him keep you safe from the remnants of the war he once caused; he promises you that. If only you let him show you that.

But then you step back.

“Starscream was right about you,” your voice now, filled with nothing but coldness. “You will always be the same tyrant who once betrayed those who trusted you with their own spark.”

[gardens-light]

I've seen the Tamaran Reader asks, and now I keep thinking about a human reader who has the same abilities as Raven from Teen Titans. How would the TF One bots react to a Reader who is the offspring of Trigon? (Ravens Dad)

I've had a lot of fun writing the Tamaran headcanons, exploring how the TF One bots would react to someone with alien abilities and a powerful lineage. But adding in the dark magic and demonic heritage of Trigon? That takes things to a whole new level! "I can already imagine the mix of awe, fear, and curiosity they’d have—especially with how controlled (or not) the Reader is over their powers. Hope you enjoy these headcanons!

Transformers One x GN Demonic Reader Headcanons

Sentinel Prime

Sentinel first encounters you when his Cybertronian communications detected an anomaly within their very own planet, a strange ship crash-landing outside Iacon's borders.

Gathering his elite guards, expecting some kind of rouge invader within the old wreckage, which was cloaked in some kind of mystical energy- something that Cybertronian technology struggled to analyze.

But instead, he finds you- a hooded, quiet figure meditating within the ruins of your vessel. Barely reacting to the Prime's approach, only your glowing eyes flickering up at him. (A gaze that secretly unsettles him)

How your power radiates from your very presence, an unnatural, eerie force that Sentinel clearly didn't trust. His authoricating voice sent demands at you, his suspicion raising as you remained quiet. Only simply answering, "I am not your enemy."

Sentinel would be deeply conflicted about his attraction to you.

He obviously values logic, strength, and Cybertronian supremacy, and you're none of those things—an outsider, a being of magic, something he cannot categorize or control.

He’d deny his feelings at first, trying to keep his interactions purely diplomatic. But something about you intrigues him—your silent confidence, your ability to read his emotions before he even speaks.

The relationship would be tension-filled—arguments disguised as 'debates,' standing too close, eyes lingering too long. Eventually, his obsession wins out, and he gives in to the forbidden attraction.

He doesn’t fully understand your powers, and that frustrates him.

Despite himself, he enjoys the way you keep him on edge—how you challenge him, see past his arrogance, and forcing him to question himself.

The first time you use your dark energy, Sentinel instinctively raises his shield, bracing for impact. If you levitated debris, he’d bark, “What kind of sorcery is this?!” He would also try to rationalize your abilities as a form of science. (But deep down, it unsettles him.) His tactical mind would see the advantage of such abilities, though he’d never admit it.

Your relationship would be a constant push and pull—Sentinel struggling to maintain control, while you remain unshaken by his authority.

Starscream

Starscream finds you unconscious, drifting in space just outside of Cybertron's orbit, after escaping from an attack from your homeworld.

Initially, at first glance he thinks you're some lost, pathetic organic. Tempted to leave you to your fate- but it was something about the energy radiating from you made him hesitate. Bringing you to his hideout to the far outskirts of Iacon, among the rest of the High Guard that Sentinel Prime labeled as 'traitors'. Starscream studies you, couldn't help but be fascinated by the dark aura surrounding you.

When you waken, you immediately use your abilities to retrain him. Forcing the Seeker onto his knees, bounding his arms behind his back. Your calm voice only giving him one warning, "don't try anything."

Starscream simply laughs off your warning, gazing at you with his usual unbothered and cocky bravado. But secretly... he's shaken- not just by your power, but by how calm and composed you are, despite the situation.

Starscream adores the mystery that surrounds you.

He’s constantly trying to pry information out of you, wanting to know what you are, how your powers work, and what you fear.

At first, he sees you as a tool, someone with immense power he can manipulate to his advantage.

But over time, he becomes genuinely attached, fascinated by your calm, no-nonsense attitude—so different from his own dramatic nature.

The first time you'd levitates objects, his wings snap back in shock If you created portals or shields, he’d reel back in awe. Unlike Sentinel, Starscream wouldn’t fear your powers—he would be excited by them. “Such raw potential… if I had such power, I would have ruled Cybertron long ago…”

He would constantly test your limits, baiting you into displays of strength, trying to see if there’s a weakness.

He secretly tries to impress you, despite you already stating that you're never phased by his boasting. That infuriates him… and makes him more obsessed.

He’d be clingy in secret, never admitting how much he craves your presence.

Whenever you touch him gently, even just brushing his wing, Starscream's processor can't help but short-circuit a little. Causing a low purr to escape from his engine, (which certainly wasn't him enjoying your touch or anything.)

The relationship would be volatile yet deeply magnetic—filled with sarcastic banter, stolen moments, and Starscream’s desperate need to continuously prove himself to you.

B-127

While exploring Cybertron's wastelands, (you can't expect this mech to never secretly adventure to the surface, after experiencing it.) his scanners starts detecting an unknown energy signature, heading deeper into the ruins of Cybertron's forgotten past. Bee's optics widen, as he sees you simply levitating in deep meditation.

Of course, Bee couldn't contain his excitement and curiosity. Immediately rapidly asking a million questions, despite you answering with short and simple explanations. Bee somehow found comfort in your gentle, yet monotone voice.

He’d be adorably persistent, trying his best to make you open up about your powers, how they work and where you've came from. The first time you lift something with telekinesis, he gasps dramatically. “That. Was. Awesome! Do it again!” Bee wouldn't be scared at all—mainly excited and curious. He’d probably ask too many questions—“How does it work? Do you get tired? Can you lift me?”

Your friendship would be built on patience—you teaching him about meditative practices, while he taught you about Cybertronian culture. (At least his personal favourites of Cybertronian culture.)

Bee would always try to make you laugh, even when you insists you doesn’t need humor. But when you do actually laugh at one of his jokes, he freezes, then immediately melts into a happy mess.

The first time you touch his faceplates out of affection, his systems heat so hard that his optics flicker.

Your soft and intimate moments would be him offering you small trinkets, showing you his favorite spots on Cybertron, and playing music or singing something for you whenever you seemed stressed.

Your first kiss would be awkward but sweet—B-127 wouldn't quite understand of what to do, but would certainly be eager to try again and again.

Orion Pax

Peering through the many shelves within The Achieves, Orion spots you searching for information on civilizations. At first, he assumed you were just another scholar, but as he slowly approaches his optics widen once realizating you wasn't Cybertronian. Of course he's startled yet... intrigued.

Orion gives you a warm smile once your gazes met. "Are you... looking for something in particular? If so, I'm happy to help if you require some assistance. I'm Orion Pax, by the way."

You return his smile, hugging a book. And before you knew it, the pair of you spent hours discussing the intersection of history and mysticism.

You enjoyed Orion's thoughtful nature, while he couldn't help but be fascinated by your ancient knowledge and cryptic insights.

Orion would fall for your intellect before developing an emotional bond���drawn to your wisdom and unshakable presence. And when you use your abilities in front of him for the first time he's both awed and analytical.

*Your abilities... they defy all known science." Yet instead of fear, Orion would see the moment as a potential for knowledge and coexistence.

Romance would be a gentle and deeply emotional bond, built on trust and shared knowledge.

Orion would write to you as often as he could—letters filled with poetry and reflections on your conversations.

You'd both take care of the slow-burn relationship, you both may be hesitant to act on on your feelings until one quiet moment changes everything—a brush of hands, a long gaze, an unspoken understanding. The first time you touch his spark casing, Orion couldn't help from but shudder—not from fear, but from the overwhelming depth of your connection.

D16

You were originally a prisoner, Sentinel Prime accused you of being a threat against Cybertron and it's people (since you saw through his lies and refused to bow to his whim), and that your unknown powers was 'proof' of the dangers you could bring. D16 first lays optics on you as he tries to fix one of Orion's messes.

For a moment, D16 just sees you as another victim of oppression and decides to free you, expecting you to join his cause of freeing Iacon from Sentinel's rule.

"Unlike you, I am not a 'wanna-be' solider. My goal is to merely survive till I escape this strange planet." You coldly spoke, giving him a brief thankful gaze before leaving.

He can't help but frustrated- you're clearly a powerful being, someone who possesses the strength crush anyone with a wave of your hand, and yet you remaned... neutral? This would cause D16 to constantly challenge you, trying to understand you.

The first time you use your abilities, D16 watches intently, analyzing everything you can do in major detail. He wouldn't be scared nor see you as a tool, but someone who's quiet strength and wisdom should be greatly respected.

He would be intensely protective, claiming he doesn’t care, but always secretly ensuring your safety.

The arguments would be deep, philosophical debates about war, peace, and fate.

When you touch his faceplates softly, he tenses—unused to such gentle affection. A passionate, almost dangerous romance would ensure, a connection of raw and electric, built on mutual respect and challenges. D16 would never say "I love you", but you'd see his actions scream it—standing in front of you in battle, ensuring you never feel trapped.

[pinkpinkmermayyy]

Part 1 of the Transformers One Tangled AU!

thank you so much @sassycandypoetry for helping me with the different parts and concepts of the tangled au, so here's part 1! Part 2 might have more time until it comes out due to school but I hope ya'll enjoy this first part!

tw for this part: childbirth, kidnapping

Also here's some vocabulary I might need to clarify for those who aren't that informed on cybertronian terms:

Groon: an hour

Cycle: a year

Jour: a month

Helm: head

Servo: hand

Digit: finger

Also, when the text is in italics, Starscream is narrating

let me know if I missed anything else!

taglist: @punkeropercyjackson @aishabellasbigblogofeverything @akifandragon

(also let me know if you want to be on the taglist or if you want to be removed!)

---

This… is the story of how I died…

No no, don’t worry, this is a pretty fun story, especially when you compare it to my previous missions, but the truth is, it’s not even mine. This is the story of a mech named Bee.

And it all starts with the Earth’s sun.

A long time ago, cycles before the fall of the Primes, it was discovered that a single drop of sunlight had fallen from the Earth’s atmosphere and onto the organic planet. From that drop of sunlight grew a magical, golden flower. It had the power to heal the sick and injured, and upon the discovery of this powerful resource, the Primes sought to protect it and make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong servos.

Alpha Trion in particular was responsible for this flower. Flowers, in general, have never been a part of Cybertron’s ecosystem, so he’d come up with the plan to create a secret room as a part of the Prime’s headquarters where oxygen was always present, and a device was placed right above the flower that acted as a sun for it to receive the proper nutrients alongside the H2O that Alpha Trion fed it. The flower was protected, and it never fell into the wrong servos.

That was until Sentinel betrayed the Primes and allied with the Quintessons. After killing the Primes, he immediately took the flower along with the sun device and kept it to himself, using it selfishly to stay young and healthy forever. And all he had to do was recite a simple incantation.

“Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine,” Sentinel sang, sitting on one knee as his hands orbited around the plant, glowing a bright yellow-golden. “make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine.”

“Heal what has been hurt, change the fate’s design. Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine, what once was mine…” He felt his scratches and injuries heal along with any signs of rusting smooth over, a cool tingling sensation on his frame, and he smiled in satisfaction.

You get the gist, he sings and suddenly he’s all new, creepy right?

Sentinel was able to keep this plant a secret and away from the public eye, but that all changed when a certain miner couple were in dire need of a cure, and heard of the flower and its properties.

D-16 kneeled near his and Orion’s shared berth, holding on to Orion’s servo. His lover looked over to the grey miner weakly, barely managing to smile, as if still trying to bring his spirits up despite his condition. D-16 smiled back to reassure Orion knowing fully it was false, and affectionately kissed the back of Orion’s servo.

 It started 6 jours into Orion’s carrying period, with a weak cough and warm face plate. Then it was a nasal voice and watery eyes, a sneeze here and there. The miners just thought it was a case of short circuits and insulation damage due to the freezing temperatures of the mines, and even the sick weren’t allowed to leave their shifts. But then one day, while digging for more energon, Orion had collapsed, leaving D-16 in a terrible panic as he frantically carried him back into their small shared room. Of course, Darkwing had ordered them back but D-16 ignored it, leaving the larger authority figure to mutter about how “miners shouldn’t be getting carelessly knocked up.”

Now it was 8 jours into Orion carrying his and D-16’s sparkling, and there was no sign of him getting better. When one of the medics assigned to the miners grimly told D-16 that Orion and the sparkling would die and that there was no cure for his condition, he collapsed into a puddle of tears. He never told Orion this; he didn’t want to burden his lover even more, and he couldn’t even look Orion in the eye to avoid crying again.

He coped by working endlessly, mining even when their shifts were over. The other miners noticed but didn’t dare to speak to him, worried they might provoke him to snap. Elita-1 was the first to break this silence, bearing more than sympathy and “sorry”s for D-16.

“What is it?” D-16 asked, his gaze lowered as the pink bot walked over to him. It was late at night, and most other miners were taking advantage of the time they got to rest, but D-16 mindlessly swept the floors to keep him busy. She gave him a pitying look before continuing, something D-16 didn’t appreciate. Elita got straight to the point.

“I think there’s something that could save Orion and your sparkling.”

D-16 scoffed, not looking up. “Last I heard the medic said he was going to die and I just have to deal with it,” he said in a cynical tone.

“I’m serious, D-16. if you want to at least try to save your conjux, follow me.”

D-16 looked up to see Elita walking away, and he begrudgingly followed her, catching up to her quickly. “Where are we even going?” 

She ignored him, leading him into the archives, going deeper and deeper through the aisles of Cybertronian knowledge. She only stopped until she had reached the edge of the room, something D-16 didn’t even think existed due to how vast the Archives seemed. 

These shelves were much less pristine and shiny than the shelves at the front of the Archives room, and the books were tattered and nearly falling from their spines. Elita carefully picked up a light green book in a similar condition, and the author that was listed on the bottom of the cover was scratched out ominously. Elita slowly flipped the pages to the one she desired, which featured a hazy illustration of what seemed to be a plant with yellowish petals. D-16 had never seen anything like it.

“I was afraid that they would find this book and censor it but it’s still here, and this,” she said, pointing to the illustration, “may just help you.”

She squinted her optics to whisper out the blurry text. “‘During the 15th and 16th centuries on Earth,’ which is about 10 stellar cycles before the fall of the Primes,” Elita added for D-16’s information before continuing, “‘a drop of sunlight from Earth’s sun fell onto the planet’s soil, and a golden flower grew from it. It is said that the flower could heal all illnesses and injuries, make both bots and humans younger and even reverse death, and the Primes preserved that flower before Sentinel Prime took on the task of protecting it after their demise.’”

“Sentinel Prime?” D-16 said in disbelief. “B-but, how have I not heard of this before?” 

“The book was probably banned after traveling to other planets became illegal. The author was either imprisoned or even executed due to this,” Elita said matter-of-factly. 

D-16 stood up, brows furrowed. Why would he keep such a life-changing resource away from everyone? This could help millions! It might even help…

D-16 realized why Elita brought him here. “But how? How the hell would a miner like me be able to get a plant that is probably highly guarded? And steal from Sentinel of all bots?”

“Just think about this D-16, would Orion do it for you if the roles were switched?”

D-16 paused, pondering over it. 

If he had been the one to get sick instead of Orion, and there was a chance to save him even in the most dangerous possible mission, Orion would have done it. He’d risk losing his life and a limb or two just to save D-16 because he loved him way more than any God, even someone like Sentinel. D-16 slowly nodded in defeat.

“I don’t know about how to use the flower,” Elita started. She smiled, facing D-16 and putting a palm on his shoulder plate. “But the book never said you had to retrieve it alone.”

—

D-16 and Elita ran for as long as they could, not even realizing the rest of Sentinel’s guards had lost them amidst all the panic and chaos. D-16 panted heavily, careful to not drop the flower and blow his whole operation. Their masks made it hard for them to see, the cutouts for their eyes barely giving them sight.

When they finally reached the entrance to D-16 and Orion’s small home, the grey miner looked back at Elita-1 with pure gratitude in his optics.

“Thank you, really. I didn’t think you cared that much about saving Orion.”

Elita-1 smiled back warmly, despite how panic-stricken she had been just a few moments ago. “I know I seem like I only care about my job and being promoted, but I care, truly I do.” 

She then playfully hit D-16’s shoulder plate “But that’s the last time I’m doing something like that, so tell Orion NOT to try to die on us again once he gets better.”

D-16 chuckled. “Sure thing Elita.” She then descended from the premises, as D-16 unlocked the door within the mine shaft’s walls and closed it behind him as he entered.

He felt his spark ache when he saw Orion on the berth, tears streaking his cheeks as he tried to sit up, to no avail. D-16 remembered that Ratchet told him that the illness would become extremely painful for the sick bot in their processor, abdomen area, and hinges, and that was what happened now. D-16 felt awful for leaving his lover here alone for groons, but he knew Orion’s health would become better now with the mysterious plant.

D-16 placed the flower on the table next to the berth, hastily grabbing a spare bottle of liquid energon he had saved and an empty bowl. He poured the energon into the bowl, flinching when a couple of drops spilled. He then set aside the now empty bottle and held the flower slowly, his servos shaking. He didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to use it and didn’t want to accidentally kill the flower, so he submerged it into the bowl as slowly as any bot could move.

To his amazement, the flower started glowing, the golden color from it dissolving into the energon and changing from a vibrant blue to a golden yellow.

D-16 sighed, walking over to Orion with the bowl full of golden energon.

He looked to see if Orion was still awake. He was, and he was looking right at D-16, his eyes filled with pain. D-16 spoke softly.

“Orion, this is going to make you feel better. All you need to do is let me feed you, m’kay?”

Orion nodded, too exhausted to speak, and D-16 kneeled in front of the red-and-blue mech. He reached his servos towards Orion’s open dermas, who consumed the drink until the bowl was empty, the petals now dry grey husks.

D-16 just prayed that Orion’s illness would be gone by morning, as his lover finally fell asleep after hours of excruciating pain. The grey mech lay beside his sleeping partner, and he gave him a small peck on his cheek plate before succumbing to exhaustion as well.

—

It was nearing daytime, and Sentinel strode through the golden halls before any other bots in the building woke up. He held onto his arm and winced slightly in disgust, noticing the rust that had grown on it. 

He of course kept it a secret, but before he betrayed the Primes and took away the flower, he had caught a disease known as Cosmic Rust, where the victim’s body would slowly rust away into nothing. It also made the bot age much quicker than others and could even make it possible for bots to die of old age. There was still no cure for it, so he resigned himself to using the flower’s ability to heal all ailments to subdue it before it returned weeks later as a painful reminder of his curse.

This was the cycle Sentinel had been living by for decades now, but when he reached the room where the flower was kept, the guards were knocked out, the door was wide open, and the flower was gone.

—

The first thing D-16 noticed when he went online was that Orion was absent from his side of the berth, making the grey mech immediately jump to his pedes. He rushed out the door, only to find Orion happily laughing alongside Elita-1 and other miners, walking around and standing on his pedes with no struggle whatsoever. The palm of his servo held his large abdomen as he chatted with the other miners before noticing D-16 walking outside their shared home.

Orion looked over to the shocked D-16, his radiant blue eyes shinier than ever, and gave him a large smile as he waved.

“Mornin’ D!” His voice was bright and loud like it had always been before, and D-16 felt a huge wave of relief and gratefulness wash over him. 

He ran over to Orion and gave him a large hug, managing to be gentle on Orion’s belly before lifting him and spinning him around, placing him down on the floor after a moment. Orion laughed more before D-16 gazed warmly into Orion’s eyes and kissed his dermas passionately. His optics were shut tight, and Orion closed his as he leaned into the kiss before they both pulled away.

—

The days after that were blissful after months of stress and devastation for D-16. Because Orion was now 8 and a half jours into his carrying period, he was dismissed from work until after the sparkling was delivered (to the higher-ups' dismay), relieving D-16 of any more worries about how Orion would fare in his state while mining. The only downside was that Darkwing handed him exceedingly dangerous and strenuous work due to his frustration, but it didn’t bother him as much as it should have. 

That was, until when the sparkling was about to be born. D-16 had dropped everything and ran straight out of the cave, racing towards his home and staying right by Orion’s side as he groaned and hissed out in pain, squeezing his servo in his as he felt a sense of dreadful déjà vu creep up on him upon seeing his conjux’s frame. Other miners crowded out the door but D-16 only allowed Elita-1 and a medic she had hastily called, while everyone else remained curious about the whole situation.

After groons of tension and spiraling intrusive thoughts that invaded D-16’s mind as he stayed by Orion’s side, the sparkling was delivered. While the medic held the fragile and wailing sparkling in her servos, D-16 caressed Orion’s face plate, thanking Primus that Orion was safe and okay. The medic told the couple that she’d clean the sparkling up and return him to them after a groon and a half, and she left, leaving D-16 and Elita-1 to tend to Orion.

—

Sentinel Prime rarely saw to the birth of new sparklings that were sired and carried by miners, but this one, in particular, was very peculiar. Nothing about him was alarming regarding his health, in fact, he seemed much brighter than normal sparklings. His optics were a radiant blue, similar to his carrier’s, and his armor was a beautiful golden yellow. He didn’t cry excessively like other sparklings, instead giggling and smiling almost all the time, a trait that would’ve been annoying on a grown mech or fem but was very endearing on the sparkling. 

Sentinel entered the room, prompting the medics to address him formally, not noticing the growing rust on his arm plate that he covered with his other servo. He glanced at the smiling sparkling, who looked up at the blue and gold bot with big doe eyes. The golden color of the sparkling instantly caught Sentinel’s eye, and if it weren’t for his slightly panicked state from the night before he would have complimented it. He offered to proceed with the procedure that only miner sparklings had to go through shortly after birth, which the medics agreed to. 

They seemed surprised that Sentinel would concern himself with such a mild task, but they also spoke amongst themselves about how that makes him more honorable in their eyes, caring for sparklings from lower classes.

Sentinel smirked while hearing their conversation two rooms away from him as he quickly but painstakingly plucked the t-cog from the sparkling’s chest before returning the sparkling back to the medics, allowing him to go on with the rest of his day.

But now it couldn’t seem to leave his processor. That golden color looked so familiar, so strangely recognizable and he was drawn to it. He held the t-cog that he took from the sparkling, debating whether he should throw it away like he did all the others now, wondering why he felt that this sparkling was so important, so significant. It was when he looked back on the empty room that once contained his flower, it clicked for him.

No, it couldn’t be…

But it made sense. Two seemingly cogless bots stole the magic flower from the tower, and anyone could connect that to Orion’s miraculous recovery. He supposed that one of those bots was D-16, while the other bot was unknown. He debated punishing the grey miner with execution or imprisonment, but knowing that the sparkling might have the same healing powers as the plant, a different idea sprung to mind.

Conveniently, Airachnid walked in at that moment, cringing at the larger wound of rust on Sentinel’s arm.

“Sir, your arm-”

“I know Airachnid, I know,” Sentinel responded in irritation, pinching the bridge of his nose plate with his digits. He then rested his chin on his servo, optics looking down in thought.

“Airachnid,” he began, looking up at her. “You know of that new sparkling that was just born today? The sparkling of Orion Pax and D-16?”

“No sir, but what would you like me to do?”

“I think that the sparkling has the same powers as the golden flower, and I want you to check if that’s true. If not, leave him, and I’ll jail D-16 for thievery and treason.” Aiarchnid nodded, taking in the orders precisely.

“But if the sparkling has those powers, bring him to me. That’ll be punishment enough for the thief, losing a sparkling. Besides, no miners could ever properly take care of a sparkling, especially one so valuable.” He added with a chuckle.

All Sentinel knew was that D-16 would pay for stealing his precious flower, no matter what.

—

“What should his name be Orion?” D-16 asked, cradling the sparkling in his arms. Orion thought for a moment and then smiled mischievously.

“How about D-Pax?”

D-16 furrowed his brows in thought and smiled softly. “You know, that sounds pretty good. That could actually work!”

Orion started giggling, to D-16’s confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing, but you haven’t heard the name before?”

D-16 raised his brow. “No?”

Orion smirked, leaning into D-16’s touch. “It’s our ship name.”

D-16 widened his eyes and laughed, putting his arm around Orion while securing the sparkling in the other. “Really?”

“Yeah! Darkwing actually came up with it to taunt us but it caught on, and now he hates it.” He chuckled, kissing his conjux’s cheek before resting his helm on D-16’s shoulder plate. “So you wanna name him that?”

D-16 looked at his sparkling fondly, now sleeping soundly in his arm. “Yeah, I do.”

I’ll give you a hint: that’s Bee.

At that moment, everything was perfect. You’d think that this was the end of the story, that everything just stayed fine, right?

But then that moment ended.

It was night now. D-16 and Orion shortly fell into a deep sleep in each other’s arms, D-16’s servo cradling the back of Orion’s helm. Their sparkling fell asleep in his small makeshift crib, occasionally mumbling incoherent babbles in his sleep, while the light of Luna 1 and Luna 2 shone on the sleeping sparkling.

But suddenly, the moonlight was replaced by a spider-like shadow that cast over the golden sparkling.

Airachnid bent over, one of her servos lightly touching the side of the sparkling while she started singing the incantation. 

“Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine…”

The sparkling’s armor started to glow, and what appeared to be tiny swirls and flower-shaped designs that looked embroidered onto the sparkling appeared as well despite not being present before. Airachnid smiled in satisfaction before she heard Orion stirring and in horror, saw his optics open.

She quickly grabbed the sparkling, jerking him awake, making him start crying for the first time in his life as Airachnid carried him close to her chassis to try to muffle his sobbing.

Orion jumped out of his berth while D-16, now awake, gasped in terror while chasing after Orion, who ran as fast as his pedes could go after the kidnapper.

But it was all in vain. When Orion reached for the door leading outside the mine shaft, the bot was long gone, his baby with them.

Under Sentinel’s orders, she broke in, stole the sparkling, and just like that; gone!

Devastated, Orion, D-16, and the rest of the miners had searched for the sparkling. They also filed a report for the kidnapping, in which Sentinel Prime publicly declared he would be determined to search for the precious sparkling, but of course that was a lie. 

The miners dubbed him the “Lost Sparkling”, and even those who weren’t well acquainted with D-16 and Orion mourned the loss, as being able to even have a sparkling as a miner was rare due to so many complications they could face and how hard it was to raise one in those conditions.

Meanwhile, deep in Sub-Level 50, Sentinel decided to raise the sparkling as his own.

The sparkling (named B-127 by Sentinel) , now 6 cycles old, sat on Sentinel Prime’s lap, his frame much smaller in comparison to the false prime’s. He had his optics closed as he recited the same song Airachnid did 6 cycles before.

“Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine, what once was mine…”

Sentinel felt the rust disappearing off his body and grinned, sighing in relief as the glow faded from the sparkling’s frame. He opened his wide blue optics and looked up at Sentinel.

“Why can’t I go outside?” he asked innocently as Sentinel still held Bee’s small servo on his own. Sentinel’s smile was replaced with a frown and he sighed, stroking bee’s helm.

“When you were born, the Quintessons and thousands of other bots alike knew of your power and tried kidnapping you, intent on enslaving you. But I was able to stop them. The world outside has become a dangerous place, filled with horrible, selfish people. You must stay here, where it’s safe. Do you understand, my flower?”

B-127 looked down, his miniscule antennae lowering. “Yes papa.”

Despite Bee being a beacon of light he was shrouded in darkness by Sentinel, but one day, that was all going to change.

[itnokaotd]

I need a Transformers continuity where it's like X-men, where the conflict stems from their conflicting ideals, AND the fact that they're bitter exes. Like, I need EVERY Megatron and OP fight to have an AGRESSIVE amount of sexual tension. Like, technically their talking about the lives of humans, or the fate of Cybertron or whatever, but it's PAINFULLY obvious that it's about them. I want their begrudging team up against Unicron or whoever to have Wolverine and Cyclops levels of passive-aggressive flirting. And at LEAST one "You're as beautiful as the day I lost you" moment. This is a NEED. A NEED, TUMBLR!!!

[izayuko]

TFP AU AGHATOS

Megatron made his decision: he would have the two sparklings, no matter if it would jeopardize his image as leader of the Decepticons. He knew that simply recognizing them might arouse distrust, but he didn't care.

In the Nemesis, the twins were called “creoles,” a derogatory term for those who, although they carried Cybertronian blood, were not born on Cybertron. As such, they were denied certain rights, considered privileges exclusive to those born on their home world. They were different. They were foreigners, even among their own kind.

Murmurs spread like fire in the darkness. Some silently questioned Megatron's decision, but others dared to go further. They saw the twins as a latent threat, a danger that, in time, could tip the balance in favor of their own lineage, betraying the side that had taken them in.

Megatron felt the pressure from his side. He had to quell any spark of rebellion before it ignited an uncontrollable flame. So he took a drastic measure: he declared that his children would never succeed him. It was an expected decision... but as he said it aloud, he felt the weight of those words as an irrevocable decree.

Inwardly, however, he let slip a thought that he would never admit aloud. Maybe, just maybe, it was better this way. Maybe it was a stroke of luck that his codes had been cracked and Optimus had “abducted” the twins.

Because now, their fate was out of their hands... and out of the Decepticons' reach.

Extra: Do not leave weapons on the table.

No tenía pensado una cronología, solo sacaré ideas que voy desarrollando. Quiero explorar otros personajes u otras versiones de transformers. Una disculpa si la traducción está mal.