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✢ //Either with Rodimus or Senator Shockwave?

It was more important that the Senator get to and from his meeting safely than Orion bothering with his own superficial appearance. It was just a dent in his forearm, and frankly the kind of thing he’d usually be sitting in the Enforcer barracks’ washrack with a suction cup trying to pull out after a particularly rough shift.

Shockwave apparently took immense offense to it.

“It’s really nothing,” Pax insists awkwardly, trying to subtly angle the offending arm away to hide the impact area from Shockwave’s disapproval. “I didn’t even feel it. It was some youngling trying to stir up trouble, you know how it is.”

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✢

“It’s fine, Rodimus. Leave it be,” Optimus insists, rolling his wrist to try and work the stiffness out of it. “Most likely I overdid it today with my axe. Some rest and a hot-pak and grease, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

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“Megatron?”

He’s not saying anything.

He’s just standing in the doorway, his optics locked on and his servos curling into fists at his sides. It was cuter when they were both a whole war younger, but that twitch in Megatron’s jaw and the way he opens his lips to suck air in over the atmospheric parser in the roof of his mouth spells trouble.

Immediately violent trouble, even if the origins are affectionate. ‘Cute aggression’, Dorothy had called it.

Optimus gets an arm under himself to push himself upright a moment too late. Megatron’s full weight is on him, the lancing hot pleasure-pain of a hard bite to a sensitive area causing the longhauler to crash back down to the berth with a groan. He’s half expecting the tank to try and bunny-kick him with such a clamp on his throat.

“I, uh, I missed you, too? Ow.”

At the sound of the berthroom door sliding back, Optimus wearily onlines an optic and lifts his helm just enough to see over his forearm, finials pricking up. He’d been dozing on his undercarriage, comfortable on his mostly-sparse berth on top of the padded comforter Rung insisted he take.

“Hnm. Megatron?”

There was something to be said about this, here, the picture of Optimus Prime laid, dozing, on his undercarriage. Normally, Megatron would have many things to say about such, and yet, none of them came to him in the moment.

Just.. Optimus, on their oversized berth, dozing. He could even see the dim glow of Optimus' optics from here- like Megatron had activated his proximity sensors.

He thought, perhaps, he could be excused, then, for coming over to lay on top of Optimus, and biting down on his exposed neck, right in between his helm and his shoulder.

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✢ @autobotmedic

“I did not conceal it from you on,” ouch. “On purpose, Ratchet.”

As the medic’s digits probe inside the gash in his lower tire for shrapnel, Optimus struggles to keep his leg from twitching and fidgeting to escape the unusual sensation.

“I didn’t realize the extent,” he tries to explain, despite the futility of hope in the face of Ratchet’s exasperation. “Punctures or small cuts usually seal themselves off, right? I didn’t think it was so pressing…”

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Send ✢ to discover that my muse has been hiding an injury.

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Send “✘” for your muse to run their fingers along mine’s scars!

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Optimus glances both ways before leaning over, optics squinted up in a broad smile.

“You’re my favorite. Don’t forget that.”

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hear me out on this chat

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The best gift a father could ask for!

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“What if we replaced my tires with skis?”

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I just lost my best friend and romantic interest to the corrupting influence of power. surely I can seek comfort and support from my other close friend, warcrimes cop

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He’s groggily puttering around in the kitchen, trying to find a puncture to pop open a shelf-stable ration cube.

When he can’t find one, Optimus folds his mask back and sinks his oversized fangs into an edge to rupture it and swallow the mixed fuel down.

He’s too tired to bother being polite about it.

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“Do you really think— do you really think that I would ever try to do that.” Optimus asks, hurt briefly flashing over his field and making his fins flick before he squares his shoulders again. “You and I are on the same side, here. My only intention is to protect Rung. I am increasingly concerned about security risks.”

His servo on Megatron’s elbow moves up to give his shoulder a squeeze before dropping away.

“Not just for Rung. For you, for the Combaticons and Justice Division, for Sunstorm, for Elegy— How many mecha who don’t know and can’t understand are going to see what you’ve been doing here as establishing a base of operations, rather than you trying to settle some of your more volatile followers? What happens if there are strangers who come here for Rung and they won’t accept him as he is, and Helex, or Vortex, or anyone —rightfully— takes exception to that? Because I do not want to see that happen. I do not want you at risk.”

“Megatron,” Optimus redirects, gently taking him by the elbow to pull him aside from the general hubbub of after-meal chaos. “We need to speak privately. I have received some. Interesting. Information from Rewind— I believe you are familiar with Rewind?”

"I am more than familiar with Rewind." He tipped his helm, brow furrowing- of all the mechs he thought to hear from again, it wasn't that one.

He thought Rewind and Chromedown had gone and fucked off for some sort of long -deserved- honeymoon, or something to a similar effect. "Why, what's the matter? Has something happened?"

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The convoy truck shifts his weight back and forth on his pedes as he mulls over how best to explain. He does the same thing when he idles in alt. mode, bouncing slightly on his tires.

“Rewind and his partner were doing research on Caminus, in an attempt to preserve what could be uploaded or transferred as the planet has been undergoing collapse. Some of the Camien refugees are…”

Optimus glances around Megatron, spotting Rung cluelessly trying to spoon bits of dessert into Elegy’s mouth.

“…They brought more than just a few old files with them. There’s tapestries. There’s hardcopy. There’s paintings and a statue. There is an entire sect of a religious order with— images. Recordings. It’s him.”

“Megatron,” Optimus redirects, gently taking him by the elbow to pull him aside from the general hubbub of after-meal chaos. “We need to speak privately. I have received some. Interesting. Information from Rewind— I believe you are familiar with Rewind?”

"I am more than familiar with Rewind." He tipped his helm, brow furrowing- of all the mechs he thought to hear from again, it wasn't that one.

He thought Rewind and Chromedown had gone and fucked off for some sort of long -deserved- honeymoon, or something to a similar effect. "Why, what's the matter? Has something happened?"

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i drunkenly scheduled a friendly brawl with an acquaintance of mine and we both completely forgot about it. that is until we were sitting next to each other in class and both of us get google calendar alert that reads VIOLENCE AGAINST LEW i about lost my fucking mind. what do you mean violence against me.

and then i fucking remembered i completely shitfaced told him to send me an invite to the brawl and even more that i insisted to type something into the notes of the meeting to make it look "less worse" and he opens the invite and it just says PREMEDITATED. most sinister calendar event ever created i laughed so hard i cried

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mmmmmmmmmm papa optimus is angyyyyy (I am severely dehydrated)

I really wanna post the fic but I know I must wait or I'll fall into madness trying to finish both DeceptiBee and SecondBee at the same time...