#IDW Transformers fanfiction

[shinyportalsandthings]

Welcome back to hyperfixation station!

Just posted a Transformers Megatron x Reader fanfiction: High Voltage.

Rated E

You are a U.N.C. Space Marine and inadvertent crew member of the Lost Light. When the notorious Megatron is named co-Captain against the will of the crew, you find yourself loathing him more each day. But you can’t deny a growing attraction even as you want to punch him in the face.

No use of y/n.

[zeropro]

This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore. >postapocolyptic_cryptic on ao3

[Drew this scene from Chapter 3]

[the-decepticon-apologist]

Me trying to remember the plot for the TF fanfic I was writing after I haven’t touched it for 7 months:

[violetaquadelight]

Not so Different, but Different Enough

I love how similar Idw Hot Rod and Tfone Orion Pax are in their youth(Although the other one is more reckless than the other but still are somehow similar in terms of personality.) The difference lies in the fact that Hot Rod/Rodimus has Optimus Prime to be compared with, while Orion does not. Orion might have had some self-doubts, but he achieved greatness earlier compared to Hot Rod, who, even after becoming Rodimus, still struggles with insecurities and self-doubt.

[therocketeer0501]

Who is this sassy lost child. Screamer has his work cut out for him here. Just practicing comic layout. Anyway here is my first attempt at illustrating my upcoming fic Emptiness Machine.

(Based off of that one scene in Toy Story with Buzz and Jessie where she does that backflip and it makes his wings flip up I love that scene it’s so cute.)

[iszapizza]

IDW how’s it feel to have written the best love story ever told

(I’m sorry I had to get this out of my system byeeeeeee)

[3ic95id864pg]

Unicron And Primus [Twitter:@Startheskeleto1]

[starlightloona91]

What was that megatron?🤨🏳️‍🌈

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ Silent Stars — Starscream x GN Autisitc Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

Starscream being addressed as just "Screamer" by scornful Decepticons wasn't a coincidence. The mech was known for his shrill shrieking and near-squaking shouts, from indignation to pride. He was widely noted for how loud he gets, and this carried into his relationship with you. He yelled at the TV, at neighbors, not a thing was safe from his boldly proclaimed opinions. After suffering a few bouts of overstimulation because of it, you'd sat down your Conjunx for a conversation. You tried to be gentle, noting that you weren't mad, but explaining the damage loud noises gave you.

Today was the day after, and you picked up that you hadn't seen Starscream as much as you usually would. You'd have been more worried, but you could see him walking around the home, doing small tasks. Not wanting to interrupt his focus, you had your attention on the TV, the channel on your current media fixation. You heard the familiar heavy steps of Starscream going about his day, but you tried to give him space. "Human," he whispered from behind the couch you were sitting on, so quiet you couldn't even hear. He whispered a little louder, "Sweetspark"

You turned with a little 'hm?', meeting his crimson optics with your gaze "Yes, hon?". "I need to ask about your wants for your refuel this evening" Starscream whispered, scooting in a little closer. Dinner is what he meant. "Hmm, I think the same meal as yesterday" you said "There should be some leftovers, I'll heat that up later". Starscream shook his helm, beginning to stand. He went into the kitchen, and you heard the familiar small beeps and whirls of the microwave starting.

"Star, honey, could you come here?" You asked, and your Conjunx immediately sped-walked back to your side. He kneeled before where you were sat. "Yes?" He asked, voice still almost too soft. You cupped his faceplates with your hands as best as you could, leaning in to press a small kiss to his nose. You smiled watching the tension melt from his frame. "You can still talk to me" you said, petting his cheek with your thumb "I love your voice, Star. It's just all the yelling I had trouble with"

Starscream vented a soft sigh, looking up at you "I'm still not used to these.. fragilities" he admitted, speaking at his normal volume. "It's not 'fragilities', love, just boundaries" you gently corrected. "Whatever you call them," Starscream began with a little huff "How am I supposed to know when it reaches a point, hm?". "You could just ask" you said "I'm not gonna lie to you, babe, I'll tell you anything". Starscream still seemed mildly suspicious— honesty and vulnerability were practically foreign words to Decepticons, Ex-Cons or otherwise— but he gave an understanding nod even still.

"Then tell me, my little one," Starscream began, slowly standing "May I join you?". You nodded, patting the cushion beside you. Starscream sat, holding out a servo. He paused mid-air, looking to you in a silent ask of permission. It took you a second to realize what he was alluding to, but you were soon scooting up to his side and leaning against his frame. The Seeker immediately took the opportunity to gently wrap around you as much as he could, chin atop your head and arms holding you as close as possible without being restrictive. You gave an amused hum, returning the hold with one of your own around his waist.

After your bonding, he made you promise not to tell a single spark that he could be as clingy as a hungry scraplet, so moments like this were for you and you alone. He tilted his helm to give you a kiss atop your head, engine rumbling a low purr when feeling you lovingly pet his frame. "Make me aware if anyone breaks these boundaries of yours, dearest" Starscream mumbled "I'll snap them in half". You chuckled a bit, giving his chassis a soft kiss "I appreciate the idea, but remember what we said about fights on earth". "Yes, yes, I recall" Starscream huffed, fondness in his expression despite his attempt at an exasperated tone.

"Seriously though, thank you. It means a lot" you said, nuzzling into him a bit more. He hummed, optics lazily watching the TV as one of his servos moved to cradle your head "Anything for you, My Spark"

"Even your nest?"

"Especially that"

"Evennn.. your energon?"

"You already have my innermost energon, so yes"

"Eve-" you began, getting cut off by a kiss to your cheek. "All of it" Starscream said, mildly seriously, a reassuring but kind firmness "My own frame, spark, and whatever else you desire". Upon hearing the microwave beep faintly, you glanced up at your Conjunx "Then can you get my dinner for me?". Starscream grumbled, upset that he had to detangle from you, but he did just that. Once standing, he gave a big stretch of his arms "Yes, fine, you cunning little scraphead". You grinned, watching as he walked out. You called out to him, "It's why you love me though!". Starscream couldn't help but smile as he made sure the food was to your precise liking. He called back, "Never change, you hear me? Not for anything in this wretched galaxy"

[cherryteapink]

Small headcanons if the seeker trine cared when you were sick (Love relationships)

Starscream

He said that you are a stupid and irresponsible organic person, which he has never seen in his life.

- Well, tell me, why did you go outside without a hat? - the searcher said with irritation, looking for something about a cold in the datapad, you just shrugged your shoulders.

- Well, I decided that I look stupid in it! - you answered, knowing that Starscream would only look at you with that look like "oh Primus, what an idiot you are.."

Of course, Starscream without Shockwave's help will cook soup and cover you with many blankets, even if you contradict that you will be very hot.

- Open your mouth! - Starscream raised a spoon with a bitter mixture to your lips. To which you grimaced and shook your head.

- I won't! - you hid under the blanket, sometimes it still gave pleasure to tease him like that.

The Seeker flashed his red optics and had other methods, he started tickling and when you started laughing he quickly shoved these drugs into your mouth, to which you grimaced in disgust, but to compensate he kisses your forehead.

Skywarp

"Maybe we should cut off your leg to lower the temperature?"- Skywarp said with a laugh when you started to cover yourself with a blanket and cough.Of course, he got the answer from your frowning expression and you started to tell him that you will treat yourself.

Of course, Skywarp won't leave you alone, of course he won't know how to heal you, so of course he'll try to heal you under your instructions, and of course he'll make jokes. So that you do not get upset during the illness, he will tickle and joke. Since Skywarp is a very tactile bot, he kissed you, to which you said he was an idiot, but he grinned wildly and said that human diseases are not contagious to him.ourself.

Thundercracker

Thundercracker will worry about you and take care, he will do everything himself. Reads everything on the Internet that is necessary to lower the temperature, will bring you everything you want. Want a soft pillow? He will bring two. Want a sweet cupcake? No questions, he will bring a cake.

-Y/n, don't get up, you're not fully recovered yet! - Thundercracker said worriedly when you stubbornly wanted to get out of bed to drink milk.

- But I don't want to lie in bed, I'm bored! - you groaned and looked at him with a pout. To keep you from getting bored, Thundercracker will try to watch any TV series and while watching, pat your back and sometimes from time to time fix the blanket that fell off your shoulders.

[woradat]

Throne and fall #1

PT1 (here) -> next

NOTE - based on scenario: throne and fall

SUMMARY - An unlikely political alliance: a labor protest leader like Megatron and a sly senator like you who offered him an apple - maybe he knew it was poisonous but still chose to take it because the poison was not fatal (pre-war, au-ish)

PAIRING - megatron x reader, various char x reader

·

·

He didn’t know why he had come

Some ancient instinct buried deep within his spark—older than rebellion, older even than obedience—had murmured you shouldn’t. This was a mistake. A trap, carefully lacquered in the civility of the elite and polished to a shine so brilliant it blinded those foolish enough to look directly

The room, if it could be called such, did not appear on any schematic. It had no designation, no records, no function. It was not meant to exist. And precisely because of that, it did

Cradled in the unseen arteries between Senate foundations and the planet’s industrial underbelly, it hovered like a secret. Not quite above, not quite below. Suspended in power’s blind spot

And tonight, he stood at its center

The scuff of metal across the floor marked his presence—ungilded, unapologetic. The scent of oil and oxidized labor clung to him with all the intimacy of a second skin. There were no sigils, no ceremonial trims, no apologetic polish. Only the brutal honesty of his frame: battered, unsanded, engraved by hardship and carbon soot

He was an eyesore. He was a statement

And then you arrived—two minutes late, not by accident but by design

Of course you did

You stepped into the room as though it belonged to you, which it might as well have, moved like someone accustomed to being watched. But you only performed for an audience when you wished to

Tonight, you performed for him

armor was so meticulously sculpted it bordered on artistry, your plating so finely burnished it seemed a crime to breathe near it. Every panel caught the light with curated indifference, daring anyone to look—and reminding them why they shouldn’t

You were not beautiful

You were engineered

Elegance draped across you like a verdict. The subtle gestures, the ornamental excess, the glinting details no one needed—they all whispered of wealth, of legacy, of a world where extravagance had long since divorced itself from utility. You were not built to survive. You were built to command

And he? He was built to break things

You sat without waiting. Of course. A minor act of rebellion dressed as poise

Your voice slipped into the room like high-grade energon poured into crystal. Cold, clear, and far too expensive.

“You look… better than I expected” you drawled, tasting the words like they were laced with mild poison—palatable, but only just

“Crude, yes. Rough about the edges. But sometimes, raw ore holds more potential than the trinkets forged from it”

He stared. That frown came not from insult, but from disbelief. How could contempt be spoken so sweetly? How could condescension sound like courtship?

It was almost impressive

He did not return your smile

“How kind” he replied, his voice like gravel “What do you want?”

You reclined slightly—just enough to imply boredom, just enough to suggest danger

“Because I was tired” you replied airily “Of everything. The speeches. The processions. The hollow hymns to a system long since embalmed in corruption and paraded about like a sacred relic. Tired of pretense. Of preening Senators who couldn't differentiate virtue from vanity even if it were welded to their foreheads”

You gestured, idly, like flicking away dust that didn’t dare settle on you

“I’m weary of watching power drip like stale lubricant through the cracks of a world pretending it isn’t dying. But most of all..”

And here, your gaze fixed on him

“–I’m unspeakably bored of living in a world where voices like yours are only heard when they shatter glass ceilings”

A pause. Heavy. Deliberate

“And I wonder, my dear anarchist-” you whispered, almost intimately

“Megatron of Kaon, tell me.. how loud are you willing to become?”

Megatron stood still, though confusion crackled at the edge of his thoughts. This high-caste bot—this senator cloaked in influence both within and outside the chambers—spoke as if they hated the same world he did. But he dared not believe it

Was this an invitation… or bait?

“You speak as if you understand me,” he said, voice low “But have you ever stood in a mine, even for a single day?”

“Never” you replied, tone as cool and crystalline as high-grade energon “And I never will. But I know enough to say that your labor fattens the bellies of Senators so full they could roll from one committee meeting to the next”

“And out of the goodness of my spark…” You stepped around the table, slow, deliberate, until you stood beside him—then stepped closer still “I wish for you to learn”

You moved like you were sculpted for movement—graceful in a way that wasn’t learned but engineered. Even from a distance, you looked untouchable. Up close, you were impossible

He could smell the delicate trace of luxury-grade oil, could see the etched gold lining your frame—filigree and flourish designed not for function but for the sheer audacity of having more than anyone else. Things bots like him only ever dreamed of owning. If the world were different, he might have felt ashamed to be standing beside you

But not tonight

And he could see it now—clear as a burn mark. That look in your optics, the way your field brushed against his, cold and precise. This was not interest. Not in the way others might dream of it. This was selection. Evaluation

You weren’t here to join him

You were here to use him

Measuring him

And for a fleeting moment, he surprised himself by not resenting it

“What exactly do you expect me to learn?” he asked carefully. The miner choosing his words like stepping across a tightrope—one strung between you and something he couldn’t yet see. He didn’t know whether you’d be waiting at the end… or set the rope alight and let him drop

And you wouldn’t warn him if you did

“You have power” you said, so softly it almost sounded like admiration “I heard your words echo through the below. You speak like someone who has never tasted true authority”

“Words that stir the masses” you continued

“if left without aim, without art, without the elegance of control… are nothing but grenades with no target”

He didn’t speak—not because he misunderstood, but because no one had ever spoken to him like that. Foremen had called him trouble, fellow laborers called him a dreamer but you—you—said he had power

And you dared to stand beside him and mean it

He glanced at you, optics unreadable. But a flicker of something uncertain crossed beneath their steel

You leaned in, voice a whisper spun from steel threads and fine silk

“In my world, a ‘promise’ means nothing unless it comes with collateral. But for you…” you purred, “I’m willing to make an exception. Once”

You smiled

There was nothing kind in it

“And if you fall” you said sweetly “I’ll cut the rope myself—before your fall trips me into the chasm with you”

The words rang truer than anything he’d heard all day. More honest than any leader he’d ever met. Crueler than any vow he’d ever been offered

And he liked it

Not because it offered hope—but because it offered truth

He still wasn’t sure if you stood beside him… or if you were carving him into a weapon to be shattered on command

But he was beginning to understand: The system he fought wasn’t just built from steel

It was built from people like you

[tigressaofkanjis]

My biggest pet peeve in Transformers media and fanfiction sometimes is that Transformers aren't treated as aliens. They are referred to as aliens, they obviously are aliens, but they never feel like they are aliens because they are always written or seen as having all human mannerisms or features usually. Human posture, human noses, human mannerisms, humanoids...

What about TFA's cat noses or TFP's helm noses? One of the reasons I think those two shows have peak designs is because they have this lack of uncanniness to humans design wise. I'm not looking at a human being as a robot, I'm looking at an alien robot, ones that have claws, ones that have different body types that blend with their vehicle modes, ones with horrific mutilations and designs impossible by human standards. I love seeing that type of stuff in Transformers because to me, it makes them feel alien without completely changing the premises of similarities to where we can't compare their culture or likeness to humans. The films (mostly 1 and 2) showed off this as well.

Another thing I really would like to see in Transformers media is non-human interactive qualities. What do I mean by that? One thing I've noticed is aside from techno-organic species, regular Cybertronians do have a few qualities found in animals. Engine humming I believe was once used as a form of purring in the films and in some of the cartoons. Humans can't purr; cats can, and that small detail is always interesting to come across because it's like "wow, they have this feature that shows off a trait found in Cybertronians. That is so cool." You have them with multiple voice boxes for mechanical, natural, and human-like tones which is also an animal trait. Bumblebee is self-explanatory in most universes being able to still make sounds yet not talk. They have sensors across their body that don't act like the basic human receptors. Most animals can do more than just feel through certain points of their bodies. They can taste, smell, or even hear a hundred times better than a human being throughout various body parts, and Transformers have been hinted to have this ability too, especially through their servos. It's stuff like this that expands upon their existence as aliens.

They have extreme durability, their body morphs to extremes and can also double as a moving weapon (most obvious of course), some of them can make ungodly roars and creature-like noises to warn or show their threatening demeanor (Megatron's dinosaur-like growling), some can have two rows of teeth (a flat base in front and fangs hidden behind), and some of them have mimicking animal-like features (Starscream's bird-shaped feet with visible expansion the same as organic foot padding with similar distributive weight physics in a few universes) despite having no beast mode. There's probably more I can't think of on the top of my head in canon, but all those things are not heavily used as they should be to make them feel alien. They can still hold some relation to the humans they interact with, but I think a lot of Transformers are more than just metal "humans", you know?

Depending on the universe in fanfiction and who you encounter who writes it or not, you have several things that are always cool to see. They have to sparkbond (merging of hearts) above everything else to create a sparkling's life force with interface as just the extra for physical coding features. I've seen people use the non-canon heat cycles which are, of course, our fandom way of making a type of breeding euphemism akin to an animal's cycle. You have the common phrasing of nuzzling, heightened senses, armor and certain parts of the helm acting like fur or ears where it raises and flattens per their mood, and some Transformers have limb dissonance where if necessary, they can convert between bipedal and quadrupedal stances (best example is Bulkhead and Lugnut from TFA who have long arms but short legs and they have the bulky structure where they could possibly run like an animal briefly and the physics of it would work).

So, you have all these different things a common Cybertron most likely would be able to do or have but a human couldn't, and it's never utilized to their full potential. I would like to see people address the nature of Cybertronians as alien and not be afraid to make them alien. I think that's the biggest flaw in our franchise is that everyone is scared of making the Transformers not the humanoid "norm" and getting ridiculed for it. Like, they're aliens, you can make them act however animal-like or completely batshit insane as you want them. You can give them powers, animal-based senses, and behaviors hidden among a human thought process. And technically, you wouldn't be wrong to what they could be as a living creature in the universe by doing so. They aren't humans; they look humanoid, but they aren't us. Why should they have to be in every regard?

Thank you for reading my TED Talk.

[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!!!

[absoluteminimum]

“Do we have a deal?” Shockwave asked. “My expertise in exchange for yours in this matter?” Affirmative. Excellent. Shockwave anticipated many interesting things to come from this arrangement.

[kitkatorin]

RAAAAAA FIRST PART OF THE TARN FIC IS DONE

I think I'll post it in about 3 parts. Full thing will be on AO3 at some point. Just hoping I can get these random ideas I have into a cohesive storyline.

Also I hope I wrote the Cybertronian reader bit ok ;;;; never really done it in a published work before

「ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛ」

ᴛᴀʀɴ x ᴄʏʙᴇʀᴛʀᴏɴɪᴀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Part 1/?

Word Count: 2.8k

SFW (for now 👀)

Cybertronian GN Reader, Decepticon aligned

CW: Violence, mentions of death, torture, coercion/subjugation, mind control if you squint, Tarn monologuing

---

A lot can happen in a couple million years, especially when it's primarily occupied by war. Some things you can recall as if they happened in the last cycle, others were filtered out by your central processor as trivial information that wasn't even worth the effort of digging back up. Sure, you may not have always operated impeccably to all of the Decepticon ideals to the nanobyte in all that span of time, but you at least considered yourself generally loyal to the cause since Declaration Day.

So Primus only knows how you ended up on The List. Well, Primus and the Decepticon Justice Division, of course.

The lonely outpost you were surviving out of with your ragtag group of fellow 'Cons was overrun first with sheer panic at the sight of the Peaceful Tyranny on the short range scanners. There was no talk of fighting back, no negotiating. Maybe running, hiding, or escaping if that was even possible. But those desperate prospects quickly dissipated when the ruthless enforcers were first sighted treading down the halls.

You were forced to experience the horrors you only heard as hushed rumors. You watched your comrades - one by one - slashed, gutted, and mutilated in unimaginable fashions. How many did Megatron's posse victimize to learn just how far they can go with their creative, tortuous theatrics? One was savagely stripped of their plating and kept conscious enough to witness the evisceration of their own inner components. Another had their servos shredded like junkyard scrap in the bladed chest cavity of the one called Tesarus. One was left to convulse in agony as their faceplate was gouged by the deathmask belonging to another named Vos. The last was incinerated in a furnace interred in Helex's torso, leaving barely a pile of smelted slag in their memory.

The sheer intensity of the experience skewed your chronosense, confusing moments for eternities watching your friends suffer until their sparks were eventually extinguished and what little was left of their bodies littered the room. By some obscure methodology or maybe a cruel twist of fate, you were the last one to remain barely functional, though you didn't expect that to last much longer. You laid with your faceplate pressed against the cool floor while searing electrical burns pervaded your frame. Somewhere in your peripherals, heavy pedes treaded around you in a slow, calculated pace. Your systems were long since exhausted to even bother identifying the source, but they eventually crossed into view.

"Such a pitiful state you find yourself in." It was Tarn who spoke as he stood over you. You figured this was his personalized monologue to you before your own demise, as even your spark seemed to shudder within its chamber just at the sound of his slate-smooth voice. "Self-preservation is such a capricious thing. It is undeniable, of course, that we possess the innate drive to mitigate any threats to our life. But what place does it serve in the struggle of morality? One may think that fleeing to fight another day grants the future prospect of redemption, that they can somehow still prove themselves valuable to the cause in another way." Tarn paced meditatively before stopping directly in front of you. He took a moment to scan your weakened frame through malicious crimson optics.

"When we align ourselves with the Decepticon cause, do we not commit our usefulness to Megatron's will? We aim to put our faith in his decrees without fallacy, for doing so ensures that our service in life or our sacrifice in honorable death in a defining moment of loyalty furthers the Decepticon creed."

Your spark increasingly resonated to a precarious frequency as he spoke; panic quickly flooded over you, but your body could do little to rectify it. Tarn clasped his servos behind his back and languidly approached you, taking in the fear that permeated your electromagnetic field.

"You would let existential fears override your determination to serve a cause greater than yourself. Your undirected retreat - your cowardly act of self-preservation - was a foolish exhibition of defiance. And look where that defiance brought you now. True, it may have provided you the opportunity to fight again under the Decepticon name. But since then, could you claim that your spark was truly devoted to the cause if you were able to selfishly defy those direct orders?"

Your spark now felt like it was on the verge of combustion. What started as a buzzing hum grew to a deafening ringing in your audials. It burned so viciously in your thoraxal cavity that you wished you could rip your spark out from its own casing. Through all of the brutal torture for however long it lasted, your final undoing would seem to come through Tarn's vicious sermon.

Through the warnings of imminent termination that crowded your visual displays, you saw Tarn stoop on one knee in front of you. The Decepticon insignia mask that he sported was mere centihics from your faceplate, and the glaring optics that peered from within locked with your faltering gaze. He paused with an unsettling silence, perhaps deciding what words he would use to finalize your execution. He had your dwindling spark within his clutches, and at any moment, he could decide to snuff it out. Throughout all these cycles and everything you experienced within them, you never envisioned your end would be a slow and excruciating torture at the hands of someone who wore the same symbol you had proudly branded on your chassis as their face. Regardless, your fate felt sealed as your spark seized with a terminal finality from Tarn's influence, like his digits were closing its grasp on your very life force.

"Though... perhaps your efforts of self preservation has afforded you a second chance at proving your usefulness." Clawed digits delicately grazed beneath your mandibular plate before clasping the sides your chin and angling your helm just enough to force what little focus you had left to conjure solely on him. "After all, redefining one's function beyond their perceived form is a cornerstone to the foundation of all that we fight for."

The noose on your life eased, though it still loomed over you with Tarn's intimidating presence. He removed his hand from where he was holding your faceplate, letting your helm fall back to the floor.

"Immobilize this miscreant and prep them for transport." Tarn stood up to his full height as he issued the command. He cast his gaze down to you and the pathetic state he left you in at his pedes before turning and walking away without another word.

It didn't take long for you to come to the regrettable conclusion that termination might have been better than whatever new plans Tarn now had in store for you. But those thoughts were quickly cut short as cackles of electricity erupted around you and almost instantly followed by overwhelming energy burning through circuits. The image of Tarn striding away was the last thing you saw before your overcharged systems went dark.

---

Indistinct monophonic noise first filtered through your audial feed before gradually recalibrating to stereo fields. What was first nondesrcipt noise was actually a mixture of the lulling hum of running engines and... music? Yes, it was some kind of vaguely recognizable music that was playing, but your processing power was more focused on rebooting your systems than identifying the melody.

As the sounds droned on, your internal visual display became more organized, and external spectrums sharpened to a coherent view. You were on the floor of a fairly lit room, appearing to be an office or personal quarters judging by the furnishings that were immediately visible. There was a moderately sized desk directly ahead of you, and while your optics continued to adjust from the reset, you were slowly able to identify neat stacks of data pad volumes and other memorabilia.

There were several badges of varying sizes - mostly Decepticon, but you saw a few red Autobot insignias in some places - and trophies of a more personal design. Empty sockets of a cranial chamber perched on the edge of the desk met your gaze, and when you recognized what was staring back at you, you jolted in shock. Your awakening tactile sensors alerted you to unexpected resistance - your servos were restrained in front of you by inhibitors.

"Ah, you're back online." The sound of that hauntingly familiar voice sent a wave of dread through your reawakening circuits. Before that, you could have tried to convince yourself that this was all a terrible nightmare, but the undeniable reality was that you were still functional and helplessly bound in Tarn's presence.

"I was beginning to think that Kaon went a little overboard with the voltage." Tarn sat behind the desk, data pad in one hand as he casually propped his helm with the other. Dull pain washed over you as you tried to readjust yourself to see him better. His optics rose from the slate's contents to watch you struggle.

"I had a chance to go through your personnel file, and I must say, you have quite the record." Tarn placed the pad upon one of the orderly stacks and then pushed it slightly by its side to align it near perfectly among the others. His demeanor was ominously relaxed as he had apparently waited patiently for you to reactivate. "If not for a few instances of poor judgment, you would have made an exemplary Decepticon among your ranks."

You didn't want this overly casual conversation with someone who had brought you to death's door. It just further puzzled you as to why he would even keep you alive. The question of "why" and the need to know what he had planned for you formed in your processor, but only distorted static, barely recognizable as any comprehensible words, came stumbling out as you tried to speak them. You still forced yourself to talk despite the initial embarrassment, thinking the lingering malfunction would clear up so you could eventually voice your concerned confusion. Tarn observed your pitiful attempts with an unwavering stare, almost seeming amused by your efforts.

"What's wrong, little dissident? Glitches in your vocalizer?" He chuckled as he leisurely rose from his chair. "It should pass in time, though I do hope you realize that nothing you could possibly say can change your current circumstances." He passively let his digits glide along the desk's surface as he moved before you.

"You should feel honored - as your old companions lay as little more than rusting piles of scrap in a crumbling outpost, you were allowed to remain functional for just a bit longer." With a fluent sweep of his arm, Tarn gestured to the rest of the room you had yet to visualize. "And to be among relics of our celebrated legacy despite your tainted reputation... truly an act of undeserved clemency."

Your stiff actuators were slow to respond, but you managed to turn your head to observe the other sides of the room. Various campaign banners lined one wall, some in pristine condition, others tattered and torn from use on the front lines. You recognized most, but a handful were unknown to you. Beneath them, requisitioned weapons and tools - some still attached to the severed limbs of their previous owners - were displayed on pedestals and in glass cases. Your optics tentatively gazed over the rest of the room that was adorned like a disturbing museum. Even whole lifeless frames were suspended on the walls like any other decorative piece. All the while, soft, decietfully soothing music continued to play in the background. It served as an apathetic attempt at counteracting the horrors you saw, only to further compound your growing unease. It was somewhat of a relief when Tarn resumed so that your attention was drawn away from the morbid furnishings, but that was extremely short-lived.

"Do not think that you are pardoned. You were specifically ordered to hold the line in that critical operation, but you choosing instead to retreat out of fear cost precious time and energy thay could have been focused elsewhere. Your transgression is inexcusable."

He passed in front of you and stood before a large window to your left. The cold, dark expanse of space was displayed beyond, but the glass reflected Tarn's form within it. Though his gaze was directed outward, the angle of the reflection made it seem like he never lost sight of you.

"But I saw fit to reinculcate your understanding of the Decepticon ideology prior to your exacting your sentence." Tarn turned his helm toward you so that his gaze pierced you from the side of his optics. "After all, it does no good if a sinner does not truly understand the gravity of the sin for which they are punished."

Tarn moved away from the window and paced back toward his desk, passing in front of you again. "The ruthlessness that the Decepticons have become known for is ultimately rooted in a focal aspiration - achieving progressive change through decisive action." He stopped for a moment, pedes fixed in place with an upright, dignified posture that gave the impression that he was directing a philosophical discussion among academy students instead of sociopathically preaching a doctrine to an audience of one.

"Think of how society would have been without Megatron's revolution - stagnant, oppressive, self-destructive. Without his call for change, a call for action, we would be suffocating ourselves in a broken system."

As he continued, you were helplessly inclined to listen. But instead of filling you with the fear that your spark would be extinguished in a mere moment, a numbing daze washed over you that made your lingering anxieties virtually irrelevant. It was like being infused with a sedative prior to an operation, except that your life was not in the hands of a trusted medical professional - you could be subjected to untold machinations of Tarn's design. You were powerless to do anything, and as he carried on in a tone that seemed to effortlessly harmonize with the persisting music, the less you cared.

"Megatron's influence has called many to the cause over the millennia, resonating with those who felt dissatisfied and victimized by blatant injustice." Tarn shifted his optics to the stack of data pads again. "So many individuals, rallied behind the ambition of one..." He let the thought fade with silence, then his gaze suddenly snapped back to you, his frame following as he turned to face you directly.

"I'm willing to think that despite your grevious shortcomings, you still have the capacity to understand loyalty and obedience."

Tarn began moving towards you in an unhurried pace, and you instinctively stiffened like cornered prey as he drew closer.

"Your traitorous legacy could have ended along with your compatriots. But that would have been too fleeting, a viable opportunity would have been wasted."

He lowered himself to kneel over you, as if he were studying you like some fascinating specimen. He was just above eye level as you timorously shrunk back from him in apprehension. Perhaps he was studying you - with those glaring crimson optics burning straight through you - maybe he was able to see the parts of you that weren't publicized in a service record. Maybe he could discern the secrets you thought were locked and hidden away. And as your dorsal plates pressed flush against the wall you shrunk back to, that overwhelming helplessness flooded your systems again. It felt like everything was laid bare for Tarn to exploit; no matter how much armor you had, you felt entirely stripped down to the point where he could see the cables and wires lacing through your protoform. With nowhere to retreat to, Tarn minimized what little space remained between the two of you, bringing his upper half so dangerously close that his subtle passive venting swept across your dermal receptors.

"I intend to impress upon you the very essence of servitude, so you will understand clearly just how gravely you've disgraced Lord Megatron." Tarn's voice couldn't have been louder than a hushed murmur, but it echoed within your own mind like a persistent thought, reverberating with an undeniable intensity that drowned out all other possible notions.

The words "obedience," "loyalty," and "servitude" in Tarn's entrancing voice ricocheted in your cortex to the point that you perceived nothing else beyond that. Or simply because the only other source of sound had automatically deactivated.

"Ah, it seems we've reached the end of the suite." Tarn just barely turned his face in the vague direction of his desk, referring to the now silenced device that was playing his choice musical pieces throughout his discourse.

"How timely." He returned his icy attention to you. "I was thinking it was about time to indulge in a different musical number."

---

To be continued...

[springingsour]

S.S. Drafting Death Scene:

Scene: Possible MC's death. MC was with Damus and Shockwave, protecting him. MC had just released an inspiring speech to Cybertron about the program to stand with citizens and find a way to restore their planet. To recover and rebuild their lives together. But in the room after an assassination attack, they thought that the assassins were aiming for Senator Shockwave, and they retreated to the building. Someone knocks, and MC goes to answer it. It's him- (MC’s not dying this way, maybe…)

_____________________________________________________________

▶︎ • ၊ ၊ | | ၊ |။ | || || ။‌‌‌‌‌ | | ၊ |။ | | ၊ | • 4:05

“How are they…? Anything wrong…?” You leaned closer, hope mingling with concern in your voice as you watched him test his new servos. 

“No… It’s…” Damus flexed his digits, once, twice, effortlessly picking up a tablet that had once been a challenge. He turned the screen toward you, carefully using the system and playing an audio file of your latest composition.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, warmth blooming in your chest as you leaned against him, the two of you sitting in the quiet of the secured hospital wing. Watching him, it felt like a piece of his spark was mending along with the metal.

“[_____]... I— I can’t thank you enough…” His voice was soft, brimming with emotions he seemed to struggle to articulate. The way he spoke, with a hint of vulnerability, tugged at your spark. Even with his single optic, you sensed layers of gratitude and relief.

"You don’t have to thank me," you replied gently, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. "Seeing you move like this is all the thanks I need. Step by step, Damus,”

He looked at you, his optic shining with something deeper than appreciation. “Yeah… Step by step… I was worried I’d never adjust to these… to these new sensations. But with you here…” he trailed off, his gaze dropping for a moment. “It feels like I can reclaim what I thought I lost.”

“Really…? But to me, you’ve always been strong, even when it didn’t feel like it,” you replied, your spark swelling. “It’s just a matter of finding that strength again. And… No matter what changes about you… You’re Damus and I’m your friend… we all are…”

You hold your servo out for him… Gently encouraging him to take it.

“... Friends… Yeah…” He reached out and held your servo, gently gripping it back as the two of you sat with one another.

A comfortable and peaceful quiet settled over the two of you. You noticed Damus being careful when holding your hand, but no doubt excited as were you at the contact.

“[_____]... I… I need to tell you something,” He mentioned, putting the tablet down as he faced you.

Oh…? What is this…? You internally wonder just what Damus have to tell you, it’s so exciting-

Just then, before he could say more, a soft chime interrupted the moment, echoing from the door. “The others must be here… I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t let you go, and you looked back, a bit surprised. “Damus…?”

“Oh, sorry…” He shook out of it…

And let you go.

▶︎ • ၊ ၊ | | ၊ |။ | | | ၊ |။ | | | || ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ | • 3:21

“Still getting used to it,” He replied, a nervous tone in his voice.

Aww! Did he want to hold servos still?! You gush to yourself. “That’s okay…”

Rising from your seat, you made your way to the door, leaving the room. The only ones who knew of this location were your friends, Skids, Trailbreaker, Soundwave and Windcharger.

Senator Shockwave was still in his recharge recovering... They said that they would arrive at the safehouse all together to keep one another safe.

They are safe, thank Primus. But we need to make new plans to keep one another safe...

You put in the password and the door opens. You were expecting to see the others back and safe, with news of the assassin or anything about the attack.

But instead, you found yourself face to face with… Him.

He is here?! What was he doing here? You embrace him as you smile brightly, "What are you doing here…?! Why aren’t you at-"   

Before you could utter anymore, before you could even register the anguish in his optics, he lunged forward.

You barely had time to register the glint of a purple burning blade before a searing pain exploded in your chest, radiating outwards like a macabre sun. You staggered back, your servo flying to the sword hilt protruding from your chest, a bloom of blue blossoming beneath your digits.

You immediately flared with power that shattered the lights above but... It hurts! The blade burned through your body and Nebula's screams of pain and fury were cut off. Just like that. Everything within you went… quiet. You felt your powers seep away as your spark bled. Your spark had been run through… Your very soul was pierced without mercy. It flickers and flares… Like a candlelight, it starts to die slowly.

His grip on the sword twists, making you choke and cough out energon that floods down your body. You were in shock, pain, and a deep sense of dread filled you as he rested his forehelm against yours.

"… Rest…" He whispered only for you to hear, as he starts to pull the blade out of your body, and your innermost energon pours out as you stagger, your vision blurs and blackens as you feel weaker by the kilk.

No…

▶︎ • ၊ ၊ | || | ၊ |။ | |  ၊ |။ | | || ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ | • 2:48

“[_____]...!? I- I have something to tell you...! I lov-! Oh… Who is it?” Damus followed you, turning the corner to find you… “[_____]? Why is it dark?” 

His excited and bright demeanour died… Something was wrong. He reached out, “[_____]? Is something wrong…?”

The attacker rips the blade from your body… It’s purple pulsing blade coated in your energon… Dripping to the floor as he watches you die.

You stumble back, meeting the wall as your dark blue energon is smeared down the solid wall as you slide down to the ground…

And Damus’s scream of anguish pierced the air as he rushed forward, catching you as you crumpled to the floor. He cradled you in his arms, his new servos slick with your energon as he tried in vain to stem the tide of blue flowing from the wound. The attacker ran off, darting out of the door and into the hallway.

"Get back here! Murderer! Get back! Someone-! Help! Help me! Please!" His voice is raw with grief and terror. "NO! No-! [_____]!" he choked out, his voice breaking. "I've called for help- you're going to be okay! What- what do I do…? What do I do?!"

His spark pounded wildly in his chest as he saw the energon pooling beneath your body. Your metal chest is torn open, revealing your destroyed, charred spark that flickers and whines with loss. Your chest heaves in painful shudders as your systems fail… 

▶︎ • ၊ ၊ | | ၊ |။ | | || ။‌‌‌‌‌| | ၊ |။ | |  ၊ | • 2:01

He fell to his knees beside you, his servos trembling as he reached out to examine the wound. It was deep, and the energy loss was already significant. Panic gripped his spark, and he felt a surge of desperation rising within him. 

"[_____], stay with me," he urged, his voice trembling with barely contained hysteria. He racked his brain, trying to remember the various times he watched you patch them up.

"Let me see... A kit…Yeah, s-some bonds for the wound- You need to turn off your- Primus- I- what do I do?!" He commed for the others... His voice seemed so far away. You couldn't hear anything... It terrifies you.

▶︎ • ၊ ၊ | | ၊ |။ | | ||| | ၊ |။ | |  ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ | • 1:32

But you placed a shaky servo on his, silencing his frantic recital. Your optics, now dulled with pain, met his gaze. "Damus," You whispered hoarsely, "… Ngh…"

The words refuse to leave your lips, you knew that these would be your last. You have to say something.

Anything.

"Please… Listen…"

▶︎ • ၊ ၊ | | ၊ |။ | | || | | ၊ | | |  ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ |─ • 0:50

You made so many promises, and now you are going to break them.

Damus’s spark clenched at the sight of your weakening form, at the stark contrast between you and the brutal, jagged wound marring your body. 

He couldn't just stand by and watch you slip away, not when he had finally found someone who understood and accepted him for who he was.

"[_____], you’ll make it… Okay?" He choked out. If he could, he would cry and sob… but he can’t. “Please?! Someone!?” He cries out, and no one hears his calls for help. 

But even as Damus tried to recover what was left of your spark, you could feel the life draining from your body, the warmth fading from your limbs, your strength washing away as you tried to press against the wound.

You looked up at Damus with optics that had already begun to flicker off, your vents coming in shallow, rattling gasps. The pain in your chest was a distant thing now, overshadowed by the agony you saw etched upon his face.

▶︎ • ၊ ၊|  | | ၊ | | | ||| | ၊ |။  ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ | ── • 0:35

“You’re… Not alone… Okay…? Take…” You feel the warmth of your spark struggling to survive. “Take care of one another…”

What were you trying to say?

What words linger just out of reach? What can you possibly say to him now, when every breath feels like a goodbye? You’re fading before him, and the weight of it is unbearable.

This will shatter him, or perhaps, it’ll build walls so high he’ll never let anyone in again. 

▶︎ • ၊ ၊|  | | ၊ | | | ||| | ၊ |။  ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ | ── • 0:21

Will you be the one to lift him, or will your absence leave scars too deep to heal? Every moment you hesitate feels like a lifetime — a chance lost forever.

What if your words don’t matter? What if they only deepen his despair? 

What about everyone else…? What have you done? What can you do now?!

“You… You are treasured… remember that… Okay…?”

▶︎ • ၊ ၊|  | | ၊ | | |  | ၊  ။‌‌─── | ── • 0:17

Can you find the strength to change their paths, or will this be yet another moment swallowed by darkness? 

Will the echoes of what you say now last, or will they dissolve into silence, leaving him lost in the emptiness of your absence?

▶︎ • ၊ ၊ |  | ၊  ။‌‌─── | ───  ၊ |── • 0:08

“Stay close… To hope… Don’t… push it away…”

You couldn’t speak anymore… why…? Why- oh…

▶︎ • ── ─ ──── ─ ───── ───── ─ • • 0:00

You servo fails to reach his... and falls to the ground... landing in the pool of your life blood...

The colour in your optics... fade away...

Damus’s POV: He held you in his arms, your helm resting against him as he remained there. His servos were stained with your energon. Damus didn’t let you go, even though you were cold and unmoving. He breathed in the quiet moments, the stillness heavy around him. Each passing second felt like an eternity as he absorbed the weight of your absence.

The room was dim, darkness pooling in the corners as he stayed there, staring into nothing. He felt the weight of despair pressing down on him, a heaviness that wrapped around his chest like a vice. The urge to cry was a familiar spectre, rising from deep within, desperate to claw its way to the surface. But as he inhaled sharply, he realised with a painful clarity that the tears he craved were nowhere to be found.

His throat tightened, a terrible ache forming as emotions surged up, battling against the emotional chokehold that had taken hold of him. Memories of laughter, warmth, and love flooded his mind, now tainted by the sharp chill of loss. Every thought felt like a blade, cutting deeper, but still, the tears remained locked away by the senate, leaving behind only the hollow echo of sorrow.

He tried anything, willing them to produce even a single drop, but his body betrayed him.

Everyone betrays him. 

The instinctual release of tears that once flowed so freely was ruthlessly snatched from him by the Senate's cold, calculated servos. They had rebuilt him, reconfiguring his very essence, and in the process, stripped away his ability to cry. Now, a daunting silence filled the space where his grief should have poured forth, leaving him feeling as if he were an open wound without the means to heal.

Frustration coursed through him, raw and unrelenting, as he stood there with clenched fists, the metal of his body digging into itself. No cries emerged—only a profound emptiness consumed the room, a void where mourning should have taken root for the loss of you. The realisation struck like a thunderclap: the Senate had not only robbed him of you but had also denied him the vulnerability of expressing sorrow.

They had stolen so much, severing the connection to his emotions, leaving him to carry the unbearable weight of his grief in isolation. Without the solace of tears, he was forced to shoulder the anguish alone, trapped in a silence where the memory of you lingered, haunting and unacknowledged.

“Come back to me,” he murmured, his voice a mix of desperation and denial. Shadows flickered overhead, the remnants of pain lingering in the air, but all he could focus on was you. He brushed his fingers over your helm, careful and reverent, as if he feared that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile peace.

In the darkness, memories flooded his mind—your laughter echoing through the chaos, the way your optics sparkled when you achieved something daring, how close you got when during practised together, how you stayed with him. These thoughts fueled a flickering hope within him, a stubborn ember refusing to be extinguished. 

“I know you’re still in there,” he whispered, squeezing you gently as if that might bring you back. Outside, the sounds of the world carried on—a cacophony of clanking metal and distant sirens—but in this moment, it was just the two of you. 

He cradled you closer, leaning his helm against yours as he struggled to keep his composure. “I’m not leaving you,” he vowed. Hours could pass, but he would remain here, anchored to the spot, waiting for a spark of life, a sign that you were still battling to return to him. 

Even in the darkest times, he believed in the power of connection, in the bond that transcended even this stillness. A power you were. He would not give up on you. Not now, not ever.

He would not accept this. No matter the cost, no matter the sacrifices he would have to make... He will live with his mistake… And learn from it.

He will find you...

He would not let you go ever again. 

____________________________________________

Soundwave’s POV

He cannot hear you anymore.