swiftyangx12

[swiftyangx12]

SHHHHH——Keep quiet...🤫🤫

[swiftyangx12]

Jett from Valorant!

[swiftyangx12]

when yo turret kills the enemies for u

[swiftyangx12]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (19/?)

Saw this post ^ immediately thought of seekers :,) Just a short thought about change

———

Starscream had come to notice a quirk of yours - your tendency to just… lie down.

It usually happened after solo training. A satisfied look on your faceplate, you’d lower your frame to the grass. There you lay, spread-eagled on the ground, staring up at the sky and drinking in your fill of blue. The only reason you weren’t still in the sky was your drained fuel tanks, and even then, you strained your frame until mechanisms protested just for another moment in the air.

Starscream had come to fetch you yet again, probably because you hadn’t showed up to refuel. It still surprises you that he would bother with something so inconsequential when you’d seen him tell others to just starve and leave precious fuel for others if they cared so little about their own maintenance.

“I’ve told you countless times that the chemicals in the Terran plants are a nightmare to remove from your paint. It’s almost like you want your wings to be splotchy.”

“I don’t,” You say, but make no effort to move, optics fixed on the wide, wide expanse of the cerulean sky. Similar to the colour of your paint. If you flew high enough, would you’d blend in with the sky? Allow it to hide you from the war below? The only thing keeping you tethered, really, was Starscream. Not that you weren’t grateful for your connections with other mechs - TC, Skywarp, Bee, Ratchet. But try as hard as you might to muster any modicum of emotion for them, it simply wasn’t coming today. That only compounded your guilt, weighing your exhausted frame further into the ground.

You wave a lazy servo in the general direction of Starscream’s voice, resigned to rejection yet hoping to make light of it anyway. Anything to soothe the ache of loneliness in your spark.

“…You could join me.”

Starscream’s emotive EM field prickles irritably. “Were you listening to a word I just said? The stains-”

“I’ll polish your wings so good after this. Promise.”

“…What could possibly be so pleasurable about… lying on the ground?”

“Join me and find out.”

A pause.

“…You’re vulnerable to attack, you know.”

“Not with you around.”

There’s another beat of silence and you think he’s just going to leave you there in a huff. Possibly with an irritated command thrown over his shoulder to be back in the next joor. And it would be more than you could really ask for, that he would allow you your moment of peace even if he didn’t quite understand it.

Unexpectedly, the grass rustles beside you.

“This is beneath me,” Starscream mutters, but he tentatively lowers his frame to the ground, next to yours. Feeling your gaze on him, Starscream tilts his helm to better study the expression on your faceplate, the apertures of his optics whirring quietly to focus on you. His optics glow brightly even in the daylight, and something unnameable in their ruby depths warm you even more than the sunlight on your plating.

You look at him for a klik longer before turning your optics back to the sky.

Blue. Blue. Blue.

You knew your optics had been changing colour and you didn’t know why.

Maybe later, when you were less… whatever this non-emotion was. Empty? When you felt less of whatever this was, you would be pleased that it reflected a growing harmony with Starscream. But right now, it forced you to confront just how much you’d changed without even realising.

Who had you been before?

How had you turned into… this?

Like this, the piercing blue of the sky reflected against colour of your own, you could almost imagine the pure cerulean that they used to be.

“Do you ever wish you could just… fly away?”

“I can’t,” Starscream says bluntly, but it lacks bite.

“I know, I know. But… just… do you wish you could?”

You can feel his optics on you, but you don’t turn to meet his gaze.

“…Why? Do you?”

“I mean, I won’t.”

You almost laugh, then. Sidestepping the question just as he had done.

“You won’t,” Starscream repeats, optics narrowing.

Finally, you turn your helm to meet those blood-red optics. Turning away from the blue of the sky to see the red of his optics reflected back in yours.

“Not as long as you can’t.”

His optics bore into yours. Searching. Even so, not commanding your attention as much as asking for it.

Unable to tear yourself away, you startle when you feel the warmth of his servo over yours.

The question on your faceplate must be clear, even as you grip his servo tight.

But it’s Starscream’s turn to avoid your gaze, his optics trained on the sky.

You trace the shadow of a bird in his optics as it soars over you both. Free. For a klik, his optics glow with a rippling sheen of cerulean blue, and you could have sworn you caught a glimpse of a mech who didn’t know he would become Starscream.

You squeeze his servo gently, and after a beat, feel him squeeze back.

If change is inevitable, then at least you’re changing together.

Previous /

And some more amazing art from @jackalackqwq !!!!!! Thank you!!!!

[swiftyangx12]

[ Look at my DNI before interacting with my blog, please ]

[ Transformers Animated ]

[ Cybertronian Reader ]

Sentinel: How did none of you hear what I just said?!

Jetfire: I've been zoned out for the past two and a half hours.

Jetstorm: I got distracted about halfway through.

Reader: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.

[swiftyangx12]

If I Could Do It Over…

A one-shot for @echoblaze5.

Happy Birthday! :)

“Oh, and this is Rodimus Prime.”

“Rodimus?”

Ultra Magnus’s gaze snapped to the indicated mech, his optics widening in disbelief. That was not a name he had heard in a very long time.

Not that this hadn’t been a day for such surprises. Arriving on this alternate Cybertron, the young Optimus Prime—who Ultra Magnus was glad to finally be getting to know after a seeming eternity of wariness—was eager to introduce the Wrecker commander to one of his older mentors: Kup.

The name had thrown him, as Ultra Magnus was aware that the Kup of his universe—a Wrecker—had passed on long before he’d had the chance to lead the unit. The old mech, knowing Wheeljack, was already well-aware of the source of Magnus’s shock and gave him a gentle if firm reminder that this was a whole other universe—different people, different lives. He was likely to run into more ‘bots whose alternates who he knew to be dead in his reality, especially since this Cybertron never died.

But… Rodimus?

The mech before him was relatively petite, as most Cybertronians from this universe seemed to be—and, admittedly, most were when compared to Magnus in any case. He was slimly-built, unlike any Wrecker had ever been—but there was the fiery golden mark across his chest, the rows of exhaust pipes like bracers on his forearms, the prominent winglets on his back, the bow…

Yes, despite all of the stark differences—this was a Rodimus, alright. And a Prime, nonetheless?

Oh, the Rodimus of Magnus’s universe would have been riding that ego boost for years…

“Ultra Magnus?” The young Optimus, his guide through this new universe, snapped the Wrecker commander from his thoughts. “You alright?”

“Ahem.” Magnus quickly straightened his posture and nodded. “Yes, of course. My apologies.” He extended his left servo. “It is an honor to meet you, Rodimus Prime. I am Ultra Magnus.”

“Ultra Magnus?” The young Prime swiftly tensed, shifting back a bit. It was his turn to go wide-opticed, his grip on his bow tightening.

And Ultra Magnus, immediately realizing his mistake, withdrew his servo and stepped back to give the young mech some space.

“Easy, Rodimus.” Optimus stepped forward and raised his servos. “Easy… I wasn’t sure about him either at first, but he’s okay—really. He’s a totally different person from our Ultra Magnus.” He put on a smile. “Heh. He’s actually the commander of Wheeljack’s unit, the Wreckers. He’s not a ruler, he never was—he’s a foot-soldier, stabilizers on the ground. He’s-… He’s more like an older version of me, than like our version of him.”

Rodimus seemed surprised at that, then cast a wary glance up at the Wrecker commander.

Ultra Magnus, uncertain of what else to do, found himself thinking back to when one of Miko’s young interns seemed similarly frightened—and he raised his right, prosthetic claw and shrugged as he helplessly awkwardly waved.

And… Rodimus huffed out a disbelieving laugh, his shoulders sagging in relief as he smiled and raised his free servo to wave back.

“Well, I’ll be-…” He then lowered and extended that servo. “Honor’s all mine, sir.”

“No need for formalities,” Ultra Magnus assured the younger mech, reaching down and clasping his servo to shake it before letting him go. “I am merely a visitor to your world.” He offered a small grin. “Here to assess… and potentially apologize for… the actions of a certain member of my unit.”

Rodimus snorted, placing his bow on his back and crossing his arms. “Anyone tell you about how he blew up an intensive-care suite, yet?”

“That’s lacking context!” Optimus says quickly.

“I was right down the hall. Whole building shook,” Rodimus went on, glancing at the elder Prime with a mischievous grin. “Kup was visiting me, swore up a storm. Next thing we know, Field-Tech Ratchet’s stolen the Magnus Hammer—and Jazz and this alternate Wheeljack are accomplices-”

“It was that, or leave the Hammer with Sentinel,” Optimus insisted, exasperated.

Rodimus pointed at him. “That, I grant you—but his teammates did commit grand-theft gavel.”

As the two young mechs start to bicker, with Rodimus being far more playful, Ultra Magnus raised his good servo to his mouth to try and fail to stifle a chuckle. Then, he lowered it and smiled wistfully as Optimus crossed his arms and huffed while Rodimus closed his optics and laughed.

He wondered if his Rodimus had similarly driven his Optimus up a wall, during their long voyage through space… before everything went wrong…

Ultra Magnus’s face fell, then he sighed before putting on another grin. “Shall we continue with the tour? I’m certain that more stories will come to mind as we go, and I would be thrilled to hear multiple perspectives.”

Rodimus was elated, Optimus sighed but smiled fondly as he shook his head… and the dull ache in Magnus’s spark lessened, just a little bit.

…

…

…

Ultra Magnus did not see Rodimus Prime again for some time, after the day of their first meeting.

Not until those strange ships appeared in the sky over that alternate Cybertron, and a wave of devastating attacks brought the first great test to the tentative Autobot-Decepticon truce.

Not until he heard that name, a name that sent chills down his spine and awoke a deep, dormant fear mixed with fury in the Wrecker commander for reasons that he… didn’t even know.

Quintesson.

…

They hadn’t expected reinforcements.

Help, maybe—a familiar flash of white and grey on certain battlefields where the team that had changed Earth, Cybertron, and the multiverse forever had touched down to face the enemy.

The other Wheeljack, they knew, would be there.

They hadn’t expected his other team, from his home universe—nor the gunships, manned by veterans of an ancient and terrible war beyond their comprehension.

Rodimus had heard that the other Cybertron was under reconstruction, that it was barely getting back onto its feet. How was its people so ready to mobilize for battle?

Maybe because it was all they knew, after eons of constant Energonshed.

“Team Prime”, as Wheeljack’s home team was called, turned the tide.

Wherever they seemed to touch down, the squid-like invaders hellbent on colonization and slavery were torn to shreds.

Even their Optimus Prime, retired and weary, emerged from his archives with the full force and fury of a demigod—Star Saber in hand—to wipe out entire fleets of them.

Rodimus couldn’t even imagine what their war must have been like. He could still picture how that alternate Ultra Magnus had looked at him during their first meeting, like he had seen a ghost, and each time got a sinking feeling in his tank. What could rattle Cybertronians who were capable of all of this like that?

He’d asked Kup as much.

The old drill-sergeant looked at him with a grim expression, then signed and said-

“If there’s another Wheeljack, another Magnus, another Optimus… then… maybe there is another Rodimus too, kid.”

Rodimus knew Kup said ‘is’.

He heard the ‘was’.

But he pushed those thoughts, that talk, out of his mind as he and his teammates fought off some Quintessons that had managed to make landfall in the abandoned industrial districts.

There were a lot of them packed into those ships; their bodies were fragile, but they had numbers as well as enslaved creatures brought from other worlds they must have taken over.

Rodimus wished he didn’t have to take them down, too—but his back was against a wall, literally, and everything was coming at them so fast that the Prime could barely think at all.

His whole team was battered.

Red Alert’s skirt-like protective panels had been ripped off, leaving sparking wires and forcing Hot Shot to support her despite her insistence that the pain was not too great and that he was only making himself a bigger target. He himself was missing one of his grey winglets, and had tried to joke that he was fine because his service career had yet to cost him an arm and a leg.

Red Alert wasn’t impressed, especially since Brawn had actually somehow managed to lose one of his forearms somewhere in the fight. He was mostly unfazed, just extremely ticked-off.

Ironhide hadn’t taken much in the way of physical damage, but he had to lower his shields to move—and he was getting tired, his power was taking its toll on him with the mech constantly trying to provide cover for his ailing teammates.

Rodimus wasn’t in much better shape. One of the Quintessons had managed to take a chunk out of one of his knees, and he was bracing himself against that wall at his back just to keep upright. He was exhausted and overwhelmed, and he didn’t really see an end to the onslaught.

They were cornered, no backup-

Rodimus felt his playing crawl.

His whole frame went rigid as his optics widened.

No, no. They had gotten rid of all of it.

They checked, double-checked, triple-checked.

He was cured. He was okay, now. It was over.

But Rodimus couldn’t move, so they were wrong.

His mind raced.

The Cosmic Rust, it-

“Prime, snap out of it!” Ironhide shouted, and Rodimus flinched.

He flinched.

He could move?

Rodimus gasped, his head spinning as he came back to reality just in time to see one of the larger beasts raise a massive paw over his head.

CRACK!

Rodimus had closed his optics to brace himself for the impact, but it never came. He opened his optics and looked up, surprised, to see a gold, silver, and blue hammer planted into the ground by its handle and holding the paw at bay.

In front of Rodimus stood a towering figure, blue with massive plates of armor on his shoulders.

Rodimus instinctively froze up again, his optics wide as he opened his mouth to explain himself, apologize, try to at least get his team spared of whatever disciplinary action was planned for-

SLAM!

A prosthetic claw slammed into the beast’s face and threw it back into the Quintesson horde, crushing half a dozen of the creatures beneath it.

It was the alternate universe’s Ultra Magnus who looked up, a scowl on his face as he hefted the Forge of Solus Prime. “This planet is defended. GET OUT!”

Rodimus watched, stunned, as the Wrecker commander launched himself into the fray and began absolutely decimating the forces he had thought not even a minute previous would be the end of himself and his team.

Ultra Magnus was ruthlessly efficient, able to wield the Forge in just his prosthetic claw when needed so that he could equip his blaster and send entire groups of Quintessons straight to the Pit with a flash of blue light and clouds of smoke.

It was unbelievable, watching a Magnus on the front lines—getting their hands dirty, fighting to protect instead of being the one protected…

It made absolutely no sense!

“Go!” The commander suddenly barked, glancing back at them. “Evacuate! I can handle this!”

“I believe him!” Hot Shot agreed right away, scooping an indignant Red Alert up in his arms and turning his back. “Come on, let’s go!”

Hot Shot ran off with Red Alert, Brawn quickly following behind them. Ironhide made to support Rodimus, to take the Prime and follow, but the smaller mech quickly wrestled away.

“Prime!”

“Get the others to safety,” the Prime insisted, gripping his bow. “I’ll cover you, and him.”

Ironhide’s optics widened. “Are you outta your mind?! Rodimus, he told us to go!”

“I’m not leaving him!” Rodimus pressed, his optics narrowing. “Go! That’s an order!”

Ironhide did not look happy. He hesitated, shifting his feet uneasily. It always made Rodimus grateful to know the other mech had his back.

He’d really matured, since they first met.

“‘Hide, go,” Rodimus pleaded. “They need you.”

Ironhide sighed, then nodded and ran off.

And Rodimus turned his focus back to the battle, narrowed his optics, aimed his bow at a beast that was coming up behind Ultra Magnus, drew back, and fired.

The Prime lost track of time, after that. He stayed leaned against that wall, firing at anything that entered one of the Wrecker commander’s blind spot’s and downing it in a single shot and a burst of flame and smoke.

That seemingly unending horde thinned, and thinned… and then, it was gone.

And Ultra Magnus was there, his Forge on his back, down on one knee and offering a servo.

That wild, livid look was gone; he was the kindly commander again, his expression grim and his optics sad. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get you outta here.”

Huh. Rodimus had never actually heard the Wrecker commander speak with the ‘Wrecker accent’, as he’d heard Wheeljack jokingly call it once. Maybe it came out when he was tired.

Honestly, the Prime was too tired to care.

He reached up shakily and clasped the servo offered to him, and felt the last of the tension leave his frame.

Somehow, he knew that it was safe.

…

…

Ultra Magnus wound up actually carrying Rodimus back to his teammates and personally escorting them all to the nearest med-center for treatment. He was adamant; not in a ‘angry superior officer’ way, more like a ‘Kup wasn’t mad, just disappointed’ way that Rodimus was far too used to.

He stuck around, heard all of the diagnoses and prognoses, and Rodimus watched his shoulders sag and heard his sigh of relief as he closed his optics and smiled as the field-techs confirmed full recoveries.

He actually cared.

He was there, and he actually cared.

“… You came for us,” the Prime murmured as much, not meaning to.

He hoped that, with all the fuss, the commander wouldn’t hear—but Ultra Magnus turned to look at him, then walked over and actually took the seat beside his berth. It was far too small, comically small, and it made Rodimus smile.

Then, he sighed. “You were there. You fought for us. And… you didn’t leave me behind.”

“Neither did you,” Ultra Magnus reminded him quietly, then he huffed. “That was reckless. You were tired, injured. You could have been killed.”

“I’m a Prime. You’re a Magnus.”

“That’s just my name, Rodimus,” the large mech stated. “In my universe, it is the Primes who are burdened with leadership over Cybertron, as decreed by Primus himself.” He shrugged his huge shoulders. “A commander, I would say, is similar in rank to the Primes of this reality.”

“… We’re the same rank.” Rodimus let that sink in. “And… Ultra Magnus-?”

“Just my name,” Ultra Magnus repeated, patient. “Magnus is not a rank, where I come from.”

“Just your name,” the Prime said. “… Huh.”

“And even if it wasn’t, the responsibility of a leader is to those they command—and I am not even of this universe,” Magnus argued—gentle, far too gentle. “You’re still so young. Your world is thriving. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, kid. Don’t throw it away.”

“… Rumor has it that I could live my whole life, and you and Wheeljack won’t have changed much. You guys age… slower,” Rodimus noted quietly. “Is that true?”

Ultra Magnus sat back in his chair, letting out a sigh. “So I’ve heard.”

“Then, why throw away a life that’s meant to last so long for one that will be over so soon?”

Ultra Magnus raised an optic-brow. “Is a life less precious because it lasts for less time?”

And Rodimus’s optics immediately widened. “No! I mean, I-… I never thought so, but-…”

“He did. Him and his council,” Ultra Magnus decided. Rodimus could hear the clear disdain in his voice. How could someone come to hate themself, their alternate self, so much? Were they really so different? “Funny, coming from mechs so old. But they could say whatever they wanted. It wasn’t like they were putting their lives on the line.” When Rodimus snapped to attention at that, Ultra Magnus actually grinned. “Heh. Apologies. Councils and I do not have the best history.”

Rodimus blinked, surprised. “No kidding?”

“No, no.” Ultra Magnus shook his head. “No… I was a member of the Elite Guard, once. I thought that I could change a corrupt system from the inside—enforce the laws justly and fairly, interfere in the systemic oppression, work my way up and try to sway the Council as one of their trusted defenders, make a real difference—but I was alone and targeted and bound to be taken out any day.” He shrugged. “Then, I eventually abandoned my post—to follow a new leader with a new idea for how the world could be… after an extremist lashed out at the Council, even slew a member. It happened on my watch, and not for the first time, because I knew what they were like behind closed doors.” He met Rodimus’s optics. “Sometimes, I found that my reaction time was… just a bit too slow, for certain council-‘bots.”

“… Shame,” Rodimus remarked, shrugging, prompting both of them to start chuckling.

Rodimus’s laughter ebbed out naturally, and he glanced at Magnus with a look of surprise that melted into a warm smile as he relaxed again.

He had to see this alternate universe for himself, someday—once they’d fought these high-and-mighty squids off—to see what else was different.

If this kind (if feral) commander was their version of Ultra Magnus, how bad could it possibly be?

…

…

…

Ultra Magnus found him staring at a translucent wall of names… Well, one name in particular.

There was something unnerving, seeing the fiery young Prime washed out in that calming blue light from one of countless holographic panels—his arms crossed, and his expression troubled.

“Rodimus?” The commander asked quietly. “Jazz told me that you stayed behind on the tour, after you came to this place in the memorials.”

“They’re holograms,” the young mech murmured.

Ultra Magnus nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because we still don’t have all the answers,” Ultra Magnus confessed. “We still don’t know who is all dead, or… just missing, and still trying to find their way home.”

“Yeah.” Rodimus reached out, his digits pausing just before they could touch the panel—the name he was so transfixed by.

And Ultra Magnus sighed.

“… I had a soldier under my command, once—a long time ago,” he began softly. “And he was a lot like you, but a different mech. He was young, and reckless—feisty, stubborn, hot-headed. But he was also selfless, brave, loyal, and driven.” He found himself smiling. “That kid, he could be a real pain sometimes—but he had a truly good spark. We all knew that.”

“He was a Wrecker,” Rodimus noted the emblem beside the name.

“Yes, he was.” Ultra Magnus nodded. “… When the time came for Cybertron to be abandoned, for the Ark to depart with as many survivors as possible, the Decepticons came at us with one final, devestating attack. They intended to destroy us all. And… I realized that someone would have to stay behind, to hold them off while the others made their escape. And us, the Wreckers… we all already knew that it would be us. We were the ones who were sent to die fighting the battles no one else would—of course, it would be us.” He took a deep vent. “But… I made a call.”

“A call?”

“… I’d lost so many soldiers—dead, missing. I was about to lose the rest of them, and die myself. I was helpless to stop it.” Ultra Magnus closed his optics. “But I could do this. And… if I could do it over again… I know that I would do the exact same thing.”

Rodimus turned to face the commander. “What did you do?”

Ultra Magnus opened his optics and gazed down at the young Prime, his expression grim.

“Magnus?” A young Wrecker with golden flames sprawled across his chest looked up, battered and winded but a grin still on his face. “Heh. What’s the plan, chief?” A large servo came to rest upon his shoulder. “Chief?”

The commander crossed his arms.

“Just as the doors were about to shut, I grabbed that soldier and threw him onto the Ark,” he confessed. “He was the youngest of us left, he had so much life left to live—so much fight in him, so much passion and spark. Hope. He hadn’t resigned himself, yet. So, I decided… he couldn’t stay with us—not there, not to die. I could heard him banging on the door: yelling, screaming. He was furious, and scared… He didn’t want to be the last of us, the last Wrecker standing. But that was the choice I made for him.”

Rodimus stared at Magnus. “You saved him.”

“And the other Wreckers, they looked at me—and… for the first time, I felt like they saw me—not just another stiff officer sent to boss them around and order them to their deaths. There I was, ready to embrace death with them,” the large mech remarked, walking over to a bench and sitting down. He clasped his hands, servo and claw, together before him and gazed at them. “We held off the attack as long as we could, but the Decepticons eventually left us to have chase. We survived, battered… alone on an empty world, unsure if it had meant anything at all.” He shrugged. “What else could we do, after that? We salvaged ships and scattered, hoping to find the Ark and reunite with our lost comrades.”

“With… your Rodimus,” the young Prime finally addressed the ‘elephant in the room’, as Magnus had heard the humans put it. “… Did you?”

“… Over the eons, I found scattered survivors—and eventually, some were from the Ark,” Ultra Magnus explained. “They told me that the main ship had been lost, with separated sections, drop-ships, and escape pods scattered across space. Some had been destroyed during the scattering.” He shook his head. “No one knew anyone’s fate. Since the war’s end, many have returned to my reality’s Cybertron—following the hail.”

“But not Rodimus.”

“No. He remains… lost, as do many Wreckers.”

“… You think they’re dead,” Rodimus finally surmised. “And worse, that it’s your fault.”

“Only because it is.” Magnus’s shoulders raised. “It was my job to protect them, all of them—and time and time again, I have failed.”

“… You can’t fail unless you try.” Rodimus moved to sit down beside the commander. “And with what I’ve heard over the years, it seems to me like… not a lot of people before you did, and no one else seemed to want to take the job from you. If it wasn’t you trying, who would have?” Magnus glanced over at the young mech, surprised. “You did what you thought was best, what you believed was right—and maybe it didn’t work out, but… in the end… you only did it because you cared about them. Whatever happened, they knew that.” The Prime looked at him, and he smiled. “It’s in your optics, and written all over your face… That makes you leagues different from our Magnus.”

“Hm.” Ultra Magnus offered a weak smile in return. “So I’ve heard.”

“And isn’t that an understatement?” Rodimus huffed, sitting back a bit on the bench. “Kup always knew what was wrong, he was warning me—and I knew he was right, but… what could I do, y’know?” He crossed his arms, and Magnus could see how tightly he held himself. “I couldn’t leave, they probably wouldn’t even let me—and if they did, I’d have nothing. Couldn’t desert, I’d be on the run forever—being hunted by my allies, my friends.” He squeezed himself even harder, and Magnus actually raised a servo and only barely restrained himself from reaching out—worried that the young mech would hurt himself. “But it was so much pressure, and I was tired.” Rodimus looked at the ground, visibly uncomfortable. “I was expected to be the best, to live up to an expectation—a legacy—of someone who wasn’t even dead: just a disappointment, and for what? And if I failed, I would be a disappointment of a replacement for a disappointment. What would they do to me, after what they did to him? But it’s like they wouldn’t even let me fail. They just kept pushing, pushing, pushing—and they watched me, and shipped me out as quick as they could, and-“ He took a sharp vent. “And I actually did disappoint them.” His tense little frame seemed to deflate. “Heh. Team Chaar, they wiped the floor with Team Athenia. I was in intensive care for-… And then, their golden boy was back and so many things happened, and-… And now, I don’t even know what to do with myself. I have a job, I have duties, but… the pressure’s gone. And it’s like I’ve forgotten who I am without it.”

“… I know the feeling,” Ultra Magnus said softly. “Peacetime, it-… It feels so unnatural, to me. It’s like I’m not made for it anymore. With my reality’s Optimus retired, much responsibility is in my hands.” He gave a somewhat incredulous smile. “I sit at a desk in an office most days, coordinating reconstruction and doing paperwork. And-…”

“That’s not who you are,” Rodimus surmised, all of his previous apprehensions now amusement.

Maybe the young Prime finally understood that Magnus wasn’t his Ultra Magnus, he was truly a different mech… and he, perhaps, had chosen to find some of the stark contrasts entertaining.

“No. It’s not, it never has been,” Ultra Magnus said. “I should be happy, and I am. But I’m also-"

“Restless.” Rodimus knew it right away. “Because the pressure is still there, but it’s a different kind now. The pressure to be… normal, about our absolutely-very-totally normal experiences so that we don’t look nuts.”

“Heh. That about sums it up,” Ultra Magnus agreed, and he glanced up at the glowing panels before him. “… Wheeljack coming home helps. He’s always known when I’m not myself, and has acted accordingly—in his own way.” He gave a small shrug. “No masks, not with him.”

“Kup let me move into his place,” Rodimus said in return. “It was supposed to be temporary, after I got discharged from the med facility—but I’ve got a room now, and a routine. He calls me on it, when I’m not talking. Makes me open up.”

“… Perhaps we’re not meant to be normal,” Ultra Magnus offered the possibility. “Even if it gets us the occasional odd look, perhaps our peculiar little families make a fair point.”

“Heh. You might be right, there,” Rodimus conceded, then he frowned. “But… you really think it’d be okay, to just… be a mess, after everything that happened? To not try to fake it anymore, just… accept that what happened happened?” He glanced up at Ultra Magnus. “That… the thing that everyone said was an honor, a privilege… was just a lot of pressure and responsibility I wasn’t ready for, and that I got hurt, and that… it really seems like they didn’t care, and that hurt more than any of the injuries? That they used me, and threw me away just as soon as they decided I was broken?”

“I think it’s the only way you’ll ever know peace, kid,” Ultra Magnus told him gently. “You’re not broken, but the war isn’t over for you as long as you’re fighting yourself.”

“… And your war isn’t over until you know for sure what happened to the rest of your Wreckers,” Rodimus surmised. “All those unknowns.”

And Ultra Magnus found himself nodding. “Yes.”

“Hm.” Rodimus looked down at his crossed arms… then he sighed wearily, closed his optics, loosened his grip on himself… leaned over, and rested his head on Ultra Magnus’s side. “… Frag, those old ‘bots really sucked.”

Ultra Magnus blinked in surprise, then he gave a small smile as he carefully wrapped one of his arms around the smaller Autobot.

…

…

…

Rodimus was visiting the alternate universe again when he heard all of the alarms in Iacon go off at once. He glanced over at Ultra Magnus’s desk as the commander stood and glanced up as a screen projected into the air, detailing the disturbance.

“A large craft has entered the atmosphere, and it’s about to touch down in the landing field just before the Hall,” he realized, then he grabbed the Forge and slung it onto his back before he raced out of the room.

Rodimus, naturally, grabbed his bow and followed the Wrecker commander.

All of Team Prime and the visiting Earth Team from Rodimus’s own universe had gathered just outside by the time Ultra Magnus and Rodimus had arrived, and Rodimus moved to join the ‘bots from his reality as the members of Team Prime all braced themselves.

“… Wait,” the alternate Arcee blinked, lowering her fists as her optics widened. “That’s-…”

“An Ark section,” the alternate Bulkhead realized.

And Rodimus’s Optimus looked at them with huge optics. “That’s a PIECE of your Ark?!”

“Dudes, don’t break the kids again,” a human who had been introduced as ‘Miko’ teased her reality’s Autobots, a mischievous grin on her face.

The craft landed, and everyone remained on-guard as the ramp lowered and there was a hiss and white cloud with the decompression.

Footstep rang out, then a large figure emerged from the mist—their green armor glinting, light catching against scratches and dents—as one blade was brought up to rest against a shoulder while another remained in a relaxed grip at their side. Their blue optics glinted, and they smiled.

“Hey, fellas!” A voice crossed the distance as more mist cleared, gradually revealing more figures behind the initial one. “You miss us?!”

For a moment, no one said anything.

Rodimus didn’t know what was happening.

He just focused on that green mech, and finally noticed the emblem he wore: like an Autobot’s, but different. It had a hammer incorporated…

Oh.

“Springer!”

A flash of white and grey suddenly crashed into the green mech like a speeding starship.

“Whoa!” The green mech nearly lost his footing, then his optics lit up. “Ha!” He wrapped his arms around the smaller Autobot, closing his optics as he returned the embrace. “Well, that answers that question! Heya, ‘Jackie!” He pulled away slightly, his smile turning devious. “Fraggin’ runaway. You have any idea how worried we’ve been?”

Wheeljack just stared at him, then Springer huffed and pulled him back into a hug.

The alternate Bulkhead charged forward as well as the other passengers of the craft spilled out, choosing to approach one in particular.

“Moonracer!” He greeted cheerily.

“Hi, ya big lug!” She held a servo out, Bulkhead grabbed it, and she promptly flipped the massive mech over her head like he weighed nothing.

“Whoa!” His back hit the ground, denting it and causing a tremor, but the green mech was largely unfazed. “Whoa! Haha! Still got it!”

Moonracer placed her foot on his chest, crossing her arms and giving him a look. “Traitor.”

“Yeah, I know,” the green mech said, still grinning, then glanced away. “Miko, get over here!”

“Just a second, Bulk!” Miko waved him off as she gazed up at a large mech with propellers on his shoulders. “I’m talkin’ to this Captain Quint-type beast over here! He’s totally sick!”

Bulkhead blinked. “SEASPRAY?!”

Wheeljack tore away from Springer. “WHAT?!”

“Pip down, ya brat,” the mech with the propellers, Seaspray (apparently), said with a huff as he crossed his arms. “My audials took enough damage from your ‘experimental days’ with those damn grenades of yours.” Wheeljack just kept staring at him. “… What’s the look? You’re givin’ me a look.” He glanced around, then looked down as Miko reached up and gripped her pigtails while she stared at him, “… Now, you’ve all got it.”

Rodimus largely stopped paying mind to that chaos, from then on. Something else gained his undivided attention.

Ultra Magnus was practically rooted to the spot as a red mech with golden flame decals across his chest approached him. “… Rodimus.”

“Magnus,” the other mech greeted, placing his servos on his hips. “You threw me onto the ship.”

“Kid-”

“You threw me onto the ship!” The alternate Rodimus shouted, frustrated. “Do you know how long I went, not knowin’ if any of you made it off-world?! Bulkhead was there until the separation, but-..!” He closed his optics, growling in agitation, then he looked up at the Wrecker commander with a glare, “You threw me onto the ship.”

Ultra Magnus just gazed at him. “… Yes, I did.”

And the other Wrecker just kept giving Magnus that same irritated look… before he huffed in exasperation, shook his head… smiled… stepped forward, and hugged the larger mech.

To his credit, Ultra Magnus looked genuinely surprised—but then, he smiled and closed his optics as he hugged back. “You’re alive.”

“You’re not gettin’ rid of us that easily. You chose us, chief. You’re stuck with us, forever.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

…

The reunion went on late into the night. The Wreckers gathered in the Iacon Hall of Records’ mess hall with Team Prime and the visitors from the other universe, catching up and sharing tales.

There was laughter, crying, bickering over the details, even the occasional brawl. It was perfect.

Rodimus Prime calmed himself down from the last round of laughter and sensed someone sitting down beside him, and he glanced over with a grin… to find his very own alternate looking at him with a raised optic-brow and a smile.

“I hear you’ve been keeping an optic on the chief for me, while I’ve been away,” he noted, crossing his arms. “Good. He needs Rodimus in his life, or it’ll get too boring.”

“… Oh, I don’t know.” Rodimus shrugged, crossing his own arms and smirking. “Wheeljack certainly seems to keep him busy.”

“Still?” The Wrecker asked, shaking his head. “Oh, Primus. Will those two ever get a fraggin’ hint? This has been goin’ on for- Ugh!” He looks at Rodimus. “The Wreckers were the children of divorce for two mechs who had never been bonded, and I was the only one of us actually younger than both of them. That was my life, for thousands of years.”

“Ouch.” Rodimus cringed in sympathy.

The Wrecker Rodimus snorted. “Who knows, though? Maybe things will be different, this time.” He seemed to relax a bit more, though there was still a visible weight to him. “… But he doesn’t seem to have changed much, has he?”

“From what I’ve heard?” Rodimus Prime shook his head. “Nope.” He hesitated, shifting a bit in his seat, then took a deep vent. “… If he could do it over, he’d do the exact same thing.”

“Hm.” The young Wrecker’s optics shone despite the untold stories they yet carried, and his smile returned laced with fondness. “I know.”

“… Do you think he did the right thing?”

“I don’t know, and… with so many years to think on it… I honestly don’t care,” Rodimus’s alternate confessed. “I know that he was trying to do the right thing, and that he did it because he cared about me. That’s what matters.”

Both mechs glanced at the Wrecker commander, who was covering Miko and Sari’s ears carefully with his digits while scolding the cackling crowd.

They exchanged glances, each grinning at their own only-slightly-off reflection, then closed their optics and joined in with the laughter.

[swiftyangx12]

This poll is in response to a post I just saw about a Business Insider article, and it motivated me to conduct a little experiment if you would indulge me

Reblog to stray further from gods light, and also for science 🧪

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@snowsupply look at what I made. Hope you're happy.

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i normally don’t repost tiktoks here but i need you all to see this optimus prime edit posted by a verified account.

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Peter Cullen talking about finding the voice for Optimus Prime with advice from his brother (Larry Cullen) in The Toys That Made Us.

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[swiftyangx12]

Fall into the stars

This was the artwork I've submitted to a special exhibit hosted by my school :3

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Optimus’ cannon blaster paint study.

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Optimus with hands on his hips pass it on

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go to settings > dashboard > interface and turn on show timestamps. please. do this for me i'm begging

[swiftyangx12]

Ratchet was a little bit on edge in the few days after the cybonic plague incident.