#⤙ setInterval( EVENT | Honesty M!A Jan2025 ) ⤚

[prevailinghatred]

"I cannot allow..." something makes Optimus's words die as he sees his nemesis closer; something seems... off. Still, he does not let his guard down; his blades remain drawn, stance ready to spring him back into action.

— @atlas-ordained

01/19/2025 - 01/23/2025 ⋆ Honesty M!A Jan 2025 no longer accepting — just answering late

Megatron wasn't quite sure what compelled him to join the battle this time, even despite knowing he was compromised. It was foolish and maybe a little reckless, to think that perhaps he could quietly watch it all unfold in front of him without him feeling compelled to step into the fray when inevitably his incompetent lackeys crumbled like so much dust before the Autobot's advances.

He was cursing himself now, as he strode into the midst of the turmoil, his fusion canon blazing as he fired weak blasts at all who dared approach him too closely, doing much to keep them at a safe distance and defend himself from revealing more than he ever intended. But Optimus is a different beast entirely, and no weak blast had ever deterred him the way it would deter others. Megatron leveled his canon with the Prime's faceplate — but Optimus was already charging towards him with his blade drawn, intending for hand to hand combat. Seemingly seeing through Megatron's plan to stay sniping at them all from afar.

Reflexively, Megatron drew his Energon mace in the place of his left servo, already cocking his shoulder back to swing it as hard as he could into the other's frame. A good swing would demolish most anything, and rend a smoking hole in even the most resilient armor. For most mecha, the mere threat of such certain destruction would be enough. But he's misjudged the speed with which he could swing the mace, and the distance between them is closed way, way too fast.

With Optimus this close, Megatron slowly lowers his swing before it could even begin, and he moves for him as a mech possessed — slowly and methodically, like a zombie. Though his every wire is screaming in protest, and his processor was working as fast as it could to think of something — anything! — to say that wouldn't be too revealing, he sees himself reaching for his face with both hands. He's holding his breath as his fingers brush across the other's protoform just as they had in years long past, feeling rushing away from his touch as he began to panic in earnest.

This isn't his Optimus. He knows that. But even still, a long-held truth tumbles from his dermas anyway.

"I never told you how I felt back then. But I wonder now how much it would've even changed. I... I know you don't feel the same, and never have. No matter how I wish... differently..."

The look in his optics is agonized, as if the words stabbed through his very Spark; and perhaps they did, because this was something he had never ever intended to say. And to have the words forced out of him in this context —

He ripped his hands away from Optimus when the spell was broken and he'd regained control of his faculties. One last terrified look at him, wildly searching the Prime's face for some derision or disgust that he knew he'd certainly see in light of this unwilling admission, but he doesn't linger long. He's gritting his jaw hard, his every strut tense with humiliation and self-disgust as he turned from him.

Then he's transforming into his jet alt. and thundering off at full speed, the resultant thunderclap of the sound barrier being broken the only indication Megatron had ever even been there.

[prevailinghatred]

New chair, new stasis cuffs. What, did you think he was joking about sitting alone in his habsuite for three days?

[prevailinghatred]

ooc / COMMENTARY || The way that's the first time he's said sorry on this blog, y'all... Damn. It's the first time he's felt like he's done something truly, unforgivably wrong. That he would dare to care for Optimus even after everything they've done to each other...

[prevailinghatred]

" why are you here? " cue a weary, but slightly curious look. " why are you ... looking at me like that? "

01/19/2025 - 01/23/2025 ⋆ Honesty M!A Jan 2025

Optimus was the last mech he wanted to see in his present state.

This was a thousand times worse than that accursed 'heat' virus that had struck the multiverse some weeks ago. He far and away would've much rather rolled around in berth with random mecha for whom he had no feelings, than be put in a position to reveal damaging secrets.

He fights his own processes as the Prime approaches, but though he attempts every manual override he knows, he can't stop his arms from rising to meet him halfway. His large servos cupped Optimus's face with such tenderness, fingertips retracing patterns they hadn't recalled in time untold as if they were fresh data he were committing to memory, as he angled the other's helm up.

— Fear.

Megatron can feel it seizing his spark in its icy-cold talons as he looked upon Optimus now. And likewise, he knows the feeling is plain on his face and in his field, but still he can't force his hands away from the other's face. Can't force his pedes to step away. And worst of all, can't stop his glossa from forming those awful unspeakable words that always rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind whenever he merely thought of Optimus.

"I l—"

He did the only thing he could think of that might allow him to circumvent saying it, but which technically fulfilled the parameters of the virus — ultimately communicating the truest intent on his processor.

He lunged forward, practically clashing their denta together in a ferociously aggressive kiss that drowned the words before they could slip out.

And all the while in his mind, he's panicking. He can't stop himself. It's like he's not in control of his own actions.

( Primus, not like this. Please, not like this — )

Positively burning with shame and self-loathing — Megatron dropped his hands from his face and took a large step away from him, keeping both hands upraised in a placating gesture.

"I am so sorry," he's in damage control mode now, the words pouring out in a feverish rush.

"I have a virus. It compels me to act impulsively. I. I've yet to speak to Soundwave about disarming it — for I fear I may yet 'approach' him similarly, as I approached you." He subtly cringed at the accidental implications that he also had feelings for Soundwave. Which wasn't untrue, and again was something he'd been keen on keeping to himself.

"It was never my intention to — oh fuck, what's the use," he's spiraling, and he knows it, slumping to sit on the nearest surface that could support his weight and cradling his helm in both servos.

Humiliation burns hot through his lines, and presses into his field like a physical weight. Maybe he shouldn't be so tore up about a kiss of all things, but the implied meaning behind it ( especially given the provided context ) was what killed him to reveal. He only hoped Optimus would be merciful enough to let him down gently, or otherwise kind enough to pretend this had never happened, and simply walk away.

[prevailinghatred]

[M!A] Over the next three (3) days, when someone comes within arms reach of you, you will suddenly, cherishingly cradle their face in your hands, stare deep into their eyes, and tell them the first thing that crosses your mind.

Will it be something genuine? Something insulting? Will the thought even be about them? We long to hear what you have to say.

Emotional vulnerability wasn't a good look for a mech of such political standing as Megatron. Thus, he tended to keep his personal feelings for others far from the subject's awareness whenever possible. Fondness was exploitable, and poised him to be hurt and disappointed. It had happened before, and would surely happen again if he dared reveal those damning sentiments again.

But then, the coding of the virus was less about his dearest-held feelings, and more about the first thing on his mind when he got near someone. The only problem with that was — it was a 50/50 what he might be thinking at any given time. Often, his sentiments for a person weren't far behind the topic of conversation in his head. In some ways, this was perhaps an unintended consequence of being overly conscious of those feelings in an effort to keep them held inside.

His tanks turned uneasily as he thought of who might learn something new, if he were unfortunate enough to get within arm's reach of them before his antivirus protocols deactivated the threat on their own — by his estimation, in three and a half days. He had to talk to Soundwave about speeding the process along as soon as possible. But then again, the idea of seeing him now and possibly revealing something damaging has him reconsidering his options.

He wondered if he could he stasis-cuff himself to a chair for three days without going absolutely mad. He was tempted to try. Anything to avoid saying the wrong thing, if someone came too close...

[prevailinghatred]

Oh hey, there's Steamtrack, conveniently within arms length of him!

01/19/2025 - 01/23/2025 ⋆ Honesty M!A Jan 2025

"How the HELL did you get in here?!" He's barking at her from the doorway of his habsuite, fists clenched harshly from their positions handcuffed to the armrests of his deskchair as he watched her approach with wild, cornered optics. He supposed there were worse mecha that could've slipped past his defenses and made it this deeply into the Nemesis, though he'd certainly have to talk to Starscream about the lax security around here.

She's coming closer now, and the armrests of his chair barely resist him as his arms rise of their own accord, reaching for her face and pulling her in close as if he meant to kiss her. The armrests give way like driftwood with a wrenching snap of steel, and Megatron remained sitting, holding her face now with his servos. The stasis-cuffs and still-attached ruins of his chair dangle strangely from his wrists.

"I don't know what to make of you and I," he heard himself saying, as if from outside. It's his voice, and his thoughts, as if read off a script. "Strangely, I find myself pitying you in the same breath that I feel... oddly kindred with you."

"I know you want me, or otherwise would not refuse me if I were to ask you for more," he continued on, "But I have no such intentions for you. Is that so wrong, for a mech to say no when it's offered? I wonder, would you mock me... if you knew my deeper reasons why?"

[prevailinghatred]

@silenceofthewave 01/19/2025 - 01/23/2025 ⋆ Honesty M!A Jan 2025

He's summoned Soundwave to his habsuite, and remotely opened the door for it when he was aware it was standing outside, but... Megatron wouldn't be readily seen until it stepped deeper into the room. He sat in his large, comfortable desk chair, both servos stasis-cuffed to the armrests. He shifted somewhat self-consciously, his lips twisting a little to the side as he considered how to begin explaining just what the hell was happening here.

"I — I know how this looks, but don't let me up," he said quickly, knowing Soundwave's first impulse would likely be to rush and set him free. As if Megatron couldn't just wrench his arms up and physically break the armrests even if he couldn't break the cuffs themselves. It's honestly laughably easy for him to get up right now, if he really wanted to.

"I seem to have been infected with a virus which makes me compelled to touch mecha's faces, and tell them my innermost thoughts with little regard for the consequences of doing so. Needless to say, I have no desire to do either of those things. Thus, I've decided I'll sit in my room for three days until such time my antivirus protocol can dispel the code on its own."

He jutted his chin, indicating the key to the stasis cuffs, which sat at the corner of his desk — well away from him. "So unless you have some means to curing me of this faulty coding, or otherwise doing so remotely, I'd suggest you take the key and field inquiries as to my whereabouts for the next few days. Just tell them I'm indisposed, and do not under any circumstances allow other mecha in this room other than yourself."

"Do you have any questions?"