#decepti-lost

[designation-d-16]

It had been an interesting series of events for Pickaxe that culminated with him waiting for his dear friend in the shadows of the entry to the mines. He held a small knut in one servo, absent mindedly rolling between his digits. He was excited to show him the relic, and gab about the colorful experiences he'd endured that day. Hopefully Megatron wasn't too tired to have his audials talked off...

Megatron comes back from his shift mostly unharmed today but dusty as always. He coughs a little and wipes some dust off him. He puts his pickaxe aside and heads off to the quarters section but he pauses when he spits Pickaxe. He squints to make sure he’s seeing correctly.

[ghostlyvisage]

It had taken a bit to get to Cybertron safely, Ghostspire having avoided questions and avoided answers. He continued with Hatchets lessons as best he could to try and give the mech some normalcy until Alchy could get his sight back. He had made sure they both washed and were clean of any infections before the femme stormed on the ship with all the wrath of a worried medic.

She hadn't even bothered knocking before bustling in, hauling whatever medical equipment she could carry as she took in the sight of the two.

"What the frag did you two do?! Land in a ditch and roll around in spikes!?" She wasn't quite shouting yet, and Ghostspire gave a long-suffering sigh. His frame was aching, his face hurt like pit, and by the Thirteen, he needed to desperately work on his ship in the safety of the Enclave.

@decepti-lost

[withoutalice]

Hey Alice!

*waves wildly*

How goes it? Wanted to let you know that I admire your creativity... that is all!

Omg hi! *waves wildly back*

I'm going awesome actually, i hope you're doing great too! Thank you so much for the kind words 😁

[hunky-horror-husband]

Miners were a dime a dozen, dispensible cogs in a well oiled machine. They didn't require vigorous programming, they were created to serve one sole purpose. Mining. No need for reading, no need for writing, simply sturdy burly frames suited for labor. All brawn, no brain. As such, they tended to partake in the same derelict hobbies. When the whistle blew, they gathered at the bars. They frequented the gladiatorial arenas to watch the fights. They gambled their earnings, and returned to the mines. If one or two went missing? Didn't matter. They were mass produced and replaced within cycles.

Pickaxe didn't stray from the stereotype. He loved the drudgery, he loved the fights, he loved to gamble, he loved to drink. Known somewhat as a card shark, he tended to collect the salaries of his fellow comrades with a flick of the wrist and a fanning of cards. Other than that, he laid low - another undiscernable face in the crowd.

Upon tonight's whistle, his pedefalls shuffled along with the rest of his sect. He'd meander with them to the barracks before cleaning off the day's grime, and heading to the arena. There were talks of new gladiators, increasing the fervor of the big rigs who ran the place. Axe didn't care, money was money and this was a fresh opportunity. He liked the raw power, the gore. It was a spectacle, and an escape from the drudgery. He only wished he held the capabilities of entering the arena himself. A pipe dream that only manifested itself in lucid dreams after a heavy night of drinking.

He set off to the arena, his day's earnings tucked discreetly away. They'd be trippled before the night was over. While he wasn't literate or terribly bright, he appreciated the art of odds, probability, and statistics.

He didn't pay for seats, he'd stand in the crook of a threshold, casually observing from a proximal distance. It was easier to hear the elitists spouting off the pertinent information needed to place his odds. It also helped to get an unobscurred view of the fighters pre and post fight. One of the headliners, a mech dubbed Overlord was highly favored against an unknown Megatron. Overlord was a force to be reckoned with, a vision of brute strength and unrelenting violence. Idolize much Pickaxe? Ha. If posters were allowed in the barracks... we'd leave it at that.

There was still an hour before the gates to the arena would be open to the public. Maybe he'd bide his time near fighter's entrance - not too close to attract unwarranted attention.

((I hope this was okay! It can always be re-written!))

It is quite dark outside of the arena. Some mechs are loitering in a convenient crook of the arena entrance; casual observers, pretending to not overhear the elitists discuss fighter's odds. Typical. The arena is preparing to open soon, but there is still time to spare...

Overlord glances around the entrance of the arena and spots a particularly burly looking miner mech, and chuckles to himself in amusement.

He casually approaches, trying his best not to draw too much attention to himself.

"Hey there...looking to take in the fights tonight, I see."

The mech was caught off guard; probably not expecting someone of Overlord's stature or size to approach him. But the mech kept his cool, glancing around at the others entering the arena.

Overlord raised an eyebrow and squinted his eyes at the smaller mech, almost as if gauging him.

"Do you usually watch fights without betting? It seems like a waste of time, doesn't it?"

[honestlyvan]

Back in March I found your blog cause I was looking for some good xc3 meta. I ate that shit up. Then I saw you were into Transformers and while I've never really been into them I figured I'd give it a shot after seeing some of your stuff about it. I am now obsessed, especially with the idw stuff. What have you done to me.

B)

See, this is incredibly funny to me because among my other robot friends I am infamous for being as close to an IDW'05 antifan as there is among us. I fucking slammed face first into that continuity and bounced off it hard enough to break something permanently.

I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, though. IDW'05 went on for a long time, has a lot of branches, and people who are far smarter than me writing meta that actually deals with the themes of those comics rather than being mudslinging and competence porn like what I wanna write.

[scraplette]

Omg OK so went to TFNation (great time 20/10) got to catch up with @decepti-geek and @decepticonsensual which is always wonderful and miss them already. DC gifted me with a fabulous fic just left me gobsmacked. DC really is a master for their craft.

Talked about some great AUs with Decepti-geek. I'm always awestruck by how much thought and care they put into their AUs.

Tabled with Rheic (my working account is @CraftyScraplet if you want to have a look) and that is always a wonderful experience. I'll post more about it on my other account.

The thing that left my brain buzzing is how MTMTE/LL would've continued if it hadn't been cancled. I went to the Lost Plots panel and I'm reeling. Bless my friends for asking if I was OK cos it did feel like an actual wtf moment.

(I'm kinda just all stream of conscious at the moment because I can't think of a clearer way to get my thoughts across. I'm so sorry)

The ending for mtmte/LL always sat a bit oddly with me. Rung is my favourite, and while I was disappointed at his death I had sort of been prepared for it. I'd made my peace.

What left a bitter taste was his final wish(don't forget me) and everyone failing horribly at that(YOU HAD ONE JOB) that hurt.

What Roberts had planned was going on a new quest to find Rung...

(from what I remember it involved Rung leaving a key or clue to finding him and the crew would've started to remember him)

I'm gutted. Just arrrgh what could've been! May this info launch a thousand AUs! I've bought the new notebooks he released so maybe there is more info but just that info at the panel left my brain buzzing for the rest of the day.

[bitter-limelight]

“I had this same one when I was little!” Crowed Daniel with excited delight as he picked up one of the tin horses lined up on top of a glass cabinet, alongside soldiers, carts, and canons. He smiled as he felt the little toy in his hand, remembering the shelf he kept his on, in front of a collage of western pictures he had cut out of magazines.

Marius beside him laughed gently, picking up a tiny soldier. “Very nice,” he appraised, setting it back down in exactly the same spot he had plucked it from. “Did you have this many?”

“Almost! My grandfather bought them for me when I was 6, the Christmas after they found me playing dress up in Mom's house coat, the one with the feathers? I guess they thought it would straighten me out if I had more soldiers and cowboys to play with. Obviously not very effective.”

Daniel looked around this space, in awe of how deep this store ran. Marius had taken him, an evening trip during one of their visits to New York. They had stayed the night before in a little cabin far away from the urban height of the city the night before, and were making an adventure of exploring this town now. As a mortal Daniel hadn't cared much for winter, but now as a vampire he loved it. It was dark by 5 pm, so they were awake in time to see movies, hunt among the crowds, pop into the smaller shops usually long closed by sundown in the summertime.

This one was an antique store, Marius said, but Daniel had marveled first at its size and layout. A three story split level style house has been converted into this space, further divided out into cubbies, corners and little books. Every inch of existing space was used to show wares, and even some space that didn't quite exist, with folding screens and paper barriers being used to create false walls. Here could be a corner showing dinnerware in stacks on buffet tops and carts, then right beside it racks of dresses and doilies. Just walking around was an adventure, and Daniel liked the music playing softly overhead, singing along quietly to a tinny version of Miracle out of Nowhere.

It was 1998, and Daniel was doing very, very good. That's what Marius said at least, on the regular, and it's what Daniel believed. He knew that sometimes he got lost, either for real or just in his own head, but not anymore. He was painting with Marius some nights in their home in Norway, beautiful if messy pieces with rich, touchable textures, all taught by Marius' hand. Sometimes too much by his hand, as Daniel would mutter about his critiques and go paint on something he shouldn't instead. But not here; he would behave here in a shop, and behave very well.

Hand in hand he and Marius walked, Daniel pulling him around a corner to see a Christmas display in a center booth, the highlight of which was a tree. A large, artificial tree bedecked in a mess of silver strand tinsel off each branch.

“Oh man, I remember that stuff. Mom hates it!” Said Daniel as he ran his fingertips over the thin strips, the sparkle of it attractive to him even if it was cheap. “We would fight over who got to put it on every year, and it kept falling all month. Mom said it was gonna ruin her sweeper but she bought more every year!” At his side, Marius listened, and Daniel liked that he listened. Curious after a moment though as he looked at the tree Daniel asked, “is it Christmas?”

“It's December 12th, 1998,” he answered, sounding very matter of fact as though he always had this information on the forefront of his mind, ready to speak. “So very near Christmas yes.”

Daniel thought on this, and frowned. “But we just hunted for shells on the beach,” he protested. “And lit a fire? At low tide?”

Marius' face was ever calm as he told Daniel, “that was in June, my love. Six months ago.”

Daniel didn't like this answer because eir made no sense. He wanted to call Marius a liar but that made even less sense; Marius was kind, and very honest with him. He's never caught him in a lie, and Daniel was quite good about detective deception. So he just sighed, and shrugged, and wandered. Past the Christmas displays he went, down the cluttered makeshift aisles, the floorboards old and freaking underneath his Converse sneakers. Parasols hung from the ceiling along with red lanterns, a folding table held a turn of the century Singer. Then a large cabinet caught his eye, a huge, handsome thing, made of oak, tall as he was. Each door was carved in thick, beautiful designs, inlaid with scrolling geometric metal.

“1922!” He whistled, looking over his shoulder to Marius. “Art nevouz! Isn't it beautiful?”

“It is,” his companion agreed, admiring the piece himself. “Excellent condition. This could be lovely in your room for holding your paints and extra parts, Daniel.”

Daniel was taken with the idea, having such a pretty antique for his things, the sort of thing he might have seen in his grandmother's house, but then Marius opened the doors to check the hinges, and Daniel found himself confused. Inside more items were kept, specifically a set of dishes, beige ones, rimmed in green, with orange, green and brown flowers set into the center.

“Oh…we had these,” he said with hesitation, picking up a small plate. “Only…” only these one's were worn in some spots, the glaze chipping away. Only these had some rougher edges, a hairline crack in one. But he remembered them new when his mother bought them, when he was in high school, and eating inunerable family dinners on them, awkward and stilted conversation. Hardly anything to have good memories about but it made him feel strange all the same.

“...why are these here?” He asked Marius, holding the plate up and looking to him with trust.

Marius let out a slow breath and took the plate, looking it over as though it would help him parse out an answer. “Because Daniel, they're over 30 years old now. That's vintage, more or less. Same with the vinyl records in boxes and the phonographs, same with the pillbox hats and pearls. People like things that are…I think the term they're using now is retro?”

“But this isn't retro!” Daniel protested. “This is just…this is just our stuff. We used this-”

“In the sixties, yes. And it's 1998 now, Daniel.” He handed the plate back to his young one, and Daniel knew he was meant to put it away, but he just held to it, then looked around, seeing all the items that Marius has mentioned. Record players and 8 tracks tapes alongside the housecoats his great aunt would wear, photographs in sepia and black and white, posters from Woodstock.

“...when did this happen?” Asked Daniel, and Marius wrapped his arm around his shoulders, finally easing the plate from his clutch.

“Sometime between now and then. Somewhere along the way they stopped speaking Latin, and then stopped knowing Rome as a place and knew it only as archeology. It happens slowly, slowly, and then all at once.” He kissed Daniels temple, and Daniel found himself leaning in to him, feeling wholly unsteady now. “But you, Daniel, you will never wear or fade or crack. You'll be vibrant and alive forever, now, with our blood. Do you understand?”

Daniel nodded, though he only understood a little. “If it's Christmas then I have presents to buy,” he said into Marius' shoulder, and he was glad Marius didn't press him to name who he could possibly need to buy for. He just let Daniel set the tone of their day, and followed his lead.

[witchofthesouls]

Hi there! I wanted to ask about the Rudis ask, if you could comment more about the TFP-Soundwave option? All your fic ideas are lovely! Have a nice day :) !!

When it comes down to it, I just really want to delve down into the mythos that the Aligned universe gave us.

TFP in general seems to pull a lot of influence from Ancient Greek and Roman culture and mythos as well as pulling from Judeo-Christian roots.

I mean, there's so much going on, and yet... It feels undersold or fallen wayside. Even though it's all right there!

The War kicked off exponentially when the High Council named Orion Pax as the next Prime

The Autobots on Earth fell apart without Optimus

Questions about the role of the Matrix of Leadership: Is Orion Pax and Optimus Prime completely separate entities?

The Primal Artifacts and their immense power (and Megatron's willingness to desecrate a Prime's corpse)

Smokescreen getting worked up when Ratchet question Optimus' decision to destroy the only thing that could revive their homeworld

Fucking Unicron sleeping in Earth's core

And this is just the top of my head.

So being a Prime isn't just a leadership position, but has some deeply religious/mythical divine status akin to a mortal God-king.

And the sheer fact that Megatron managed to oppose an actual Prime chosen by the damn Matrix itself, just shows how much of a force of personality and charisma the guy is as well as how much faith he inspired in his own people.

There is so much more that could have been done, especially since people are biting for more lore on Decepticon culture. Like FUUUUUUUU-

There seems to be a fandom take that Decepticons are either atheists or deeply reject religion as opposed to the very pious Autobots. That doesn't seem to work in the Aligned universe.

There should be sects and cults surrounding the Thirteen Primes, especially with the theme of the triads and duos: Prima and Megatronus. Megatronus and Solus. Liege Maximo, Megatronus, and Solus. Prima, Alpha Trion, and Alchemist Prime. (Like where's the rest of the myths and parables? )

Shoot, secret ones!

So hear me out, what if Megatron was the rallying call for the Decepticons because the Fallen was considered the patron of the oppressed? He was the Prime of Chaos, the closest to the Unicron by Primus' own hand, the Undefeated.

It was said that he and Solus were lovers, so is it too much of a step that they were the First Conjunx?

I am the one within all of you, little brother.

From Prima to Thirteen. From those forged within Solus and those that rise from below. In the deep Wilds touched by none and the very spark of our fledgling civilization.

Amalgamous may share the claim to Nature with his beastly shapes, but I am the Shadow to the Light, the unfettered Instinct without Rationality, the Unmaker upon our Creator, the Beast of Madness that dwells within everyone and everything. 

Even you, quicksilver and trickster, cannot deny my Domain. Not even Prima, the Eldest of us all, can deny my power.

-- excerpt of a WIP where Megatronus Prime answers Liege Maximo's questions on his wanderings and leeway to everywhere

Megatron walking away from the High Council would cement his position among his people -the downtrodden, the lower castes, the lost and forlorn -the "Uncrowned Prime." He had purposely invoked the Fallen's name since he needed the ferocious strength to force change in society. Megatronus is the only Prime to remain victorious against all foes; his siblings didn't force him to yield, Megatronus Prime willingly laid down his arms and exiled himself.

It would explain the fanatical devotion and outpour of support against Optimus, the chosen official Prime, especially with the religious angle of Prima slighting Megatronus once more should the Matrix be explicitly connected to the first Prime. And then there's the fact that Prima was a founding father of Cybertronian civilization, so there's the slant of "rebel and tear down the established regime!"

The very name of the Decepticons could have been a hail to Megatronus' companionship with Amalgamous and Liege Maximo, both Primes were mainly tricksters. (In the gladiatorial clades, they were often invoked for victory.)

TFP Soundwave isn't just the Decepticon, he's Megatron's Decepticon. Whatever Megatron wants, he does. Soundwave put down Airachnid when she tried to set the Nemesis off Earth.

I've seen takes where Soundwave is deeply in love with Megatron or the ghost of the old Megatron, and that's why he stayed even when there's nothing left but dust. I've seen a take where Megatron sets fire to Cybertron as a "love song" in a style to mimic how Megatronus and Solus changed Cybertron.

I have yet to see a deeply faithful/religious Soundwave seeing Megatron as a Sign from his chosen God/Prime to hold the match, prep the gas, and start a firestorm. He essentially used his rudis as kindling upon the altar of Megatronus Prime; Wilds and Passion and Madness Incarnated. (And seeing the Decepticons take back cities and planet, Dark Energon zombies, and Megatron's multiple resurrections from the dead or near death, Soundwave's fucking deep in devotion.)

[primeguarded]

Civil War had gripped Cybertron, a tumultuous unrelenting battle that seemed endless. Energon was becoming more and more scarce, their precious home was dying. Most chose to flee. That wasn't an option for the one eyed miner. He didn't exist, in theory anyway. While his frame and mind were physically there, his identity had been swept from him long ago. And truth be told, even if he were offered transport in the mass exodus, he'd refuse it. This was home. If he was destined to die here, then so be it.

The thriving mine that had once been a massive source of energon, where he had his first assignment as a miner, had long been since deserted after the horrific mining accident that took everyone but him. Now it was home once more. Both factions had come to scout the perilous outpost, but gave up after the high levels of radiation and collapsed shafts proved to be too difficult to navigate. They just hadn't found the entrance Axe had created, drilling deep past the debris of the collapse. It was an arduous process, often leaving him overheated and exhausted, but it was what it took to survive.

It was growing far too hot to stay down in the tunnels any longer. With the mine being defunct, there was no ventilation. And when the heat crept up like this, it clogged the vents even faster. Axe was in dire need of freon. That wasn't happening any time soon. And so, he surfaced. He allowed his frame to collapse heavily to the ground, and found himself blinking up at the moonlight. Being underground for so many orns, it was easy to lose track of time. He appreciated that his only optic wasn't being blinded by the sun. This was a fitting time to power down - his frame shuddered with exhaustion. Wearily, he felt himself drifting off.

@decepti-lost

It was one universe after another. Right after things were going the right direction, whatever force that thrust the young girl into a completely different world, sent her here. Keleey had been to Cybertron before, once guarding the key that held the wisdom of the Primes in her hands.

But this Cybertron was much more dilapidated, so much more damaged. And judging by the noises of gunfire and lazers from off in the distance, she came to know why. As she came into this world, her small form immediately hit the ground ungrateful, as the force from multiverse hopping spit her out. A sharp cry escaped the human as her body collided with crumbled rock near the mines.

She stayed there for a moment, completely unmoving, exhausted. Just a few minutes ago she was helping an alternate version of her Guardian and the Autobots find the Allspark, fighting to keep control of it. Now she was put into another battle.

But one thing Kelsey realized as she slowly stood up and brushed her bloodied knees odd was...she didn't know how she was breathing. Last time she was on Cybertron she had to use a suit in order to breathe in oxygen.

The thought ceased however as she heard someone groaning nearby. Kelsey started to sweat, feeling the heat of the planet's ecosystem mixed with the fires from battle. And then she saw a broken down bot. The girl's eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, but she closed it. Instead she slowly approached the bot, like a rescuer approaching an injured animal, despite Kelsey being so so tiny compared to the bot. He was clearly hurt, clinging to life. What the hell could she even do? She was human! She had nothing with her to fix a Cybertronian.

"Where are you hurt?" she finally blurted out, getting right to the point, used to seeing bots like this.

[crumblycrust]

Tray and the Lady of Webs - Told by Ol’ Brubin

It was during Tray’s travels that He ventured neath the earth to hide from that blinding brother of His, and it’s my understandin’ that’s where Tray met the Lady. She was one of those underground elves that you see every once in awhile. She and Tray fell in love, but she was part of some kinda conclave that didn’t take kindly to folks from the surface. She and Tray got separated, and her conclave leader, some kind of matron, did some dark magic that made the good Lady into some kinda spider centaur. As if that weren’t horrible enough, Our Lady was displayed to her conclave as an example to them of what betraying the matron meant.

Now, this is the point in the story where I have to say that our Lord in the Shadows hates cowing down to authority. Whether it’s His candle headed brother or even Him now that He’s a god, Tray doesn’t want us to blindly listen to authority. So this matron’s punishment enraged our Tray like you wouldn’t believe.

Tray snuck through the conclave to the cage where our Lady was imprisoned and she yelled at Him “stay away my love, I’m not as I was.” Tray stopped a little ways away from the cage and apologized “I’m sorry I got you into this, I should’ve left when it clear no one but you wanted me here.” He approached the bars slowly while He spoke “As long as you’re still you then I’ll love you as I have, never doubt that.” When our Lady stepped into the dim light with tears in her eyes, Tray almost gasped at the sight, but caught Himself. He slipped through the bars and comforted the Lady as best He could. She hugged Him back, almost lifting Him off the ground. The two of them stood hugging for some time as I understand it, crying into each other’s shoulders as they worked through the emotions of what had happened to her. They resolved to stay together until they could get her out. Our Lady worried for a bit that Tray would be found staying in her cage, but if there’s one thing we know about Tray, He’s very good at hiding.

Days became weeks, weeks became months, and as they stayed in the cage of our Lady’s imprisonment, the bond between the two became stronger and stronger. As Tray says: “There’s always another way out of the room, you just have to find it”. It was quite a complex room He was in, but we know Tray isn’t one to give up, especially when it’s to help His love gain her freedom. Our Lady learned the abilities of her new form, and it held multitudes. After she had recovered from the ritual itself, she found herself to be stronger than she was before, and while she had grown a lot of bulk in the form of extra legs and a large abdomen, those were not without their uses. Our lady found she could create webbing, and her legs allowed for a level of maneuverability that seemed impossible for her size. With their understanding of their position and what abilities they have access to, the two of them created a plan.

Though many of those who passed by her cage everyday looked at her with disgust or fear, there were many that looked at Our Lady and her new form with pity and compassion. It was because of these sisters that Our Lady’s not yet immortal form did not perish in that cage. Tray played on these sympathies and took the form of another underground elf to convince them that the way the system worked was wrong. Our Lady was not the first time this punishment had been served and it would not be the last unless there was a change. Tray made these trips to inspire rebellion sparingly, as without him Our Lady would’ve been lost, alone in that cage as many before her had been. Even with these rebellion meetings coming along slowly, they reached a boiling point. When the revolt began was when Our Lady and Tray broke free of their cage. As Tray ran, He called to Our Lady to follow Him. But she saw her sisters fighting each other and could tell that they were going to lose if they didn’t get help.. and she had a God with her. Tray resisted at first, knowing that He was not a fighter, His powers of deception and skullduggery were second to none, but a blade held high in a rallying charge was not meant for His hand. When this point was brought to her, Our Lady responded: “then it will be my hand that rallies those who would resist their oppressors, with or without you.” To this Tray could only smile. “As long as you are you, I will be by your side.” So they joined the fight. Though not one for the battlefield, Tray found the hiding places of the conclave, taking down combatants with precision strikes before they joined the fight as Our Lady fought along with her sisters to free them from their impending defeat. With each enemy she killed, knowing that her love and her sisters behind her, Our Lady came into Her powers. By the time that She came to face the matron in what could only be called a throne room, backed by who would become Her followers and Her love watching from the shadows, She stood as a Goddess before a mortal. And while the matron was a powerful sorceress, Our Lady’s speed and strength along with Her new godly form made short work of Her former tormentor.

After conquering Her former prison, our Lady and our Lord Tray spent some time in the underground finding others who had been cursed, freeing them to helping them to lead the charge against those who cursed them, like our Lady before them. In the aftermath of that campaign, Tray felt a need to return to the surface. But our Lady’s work was not done, so the lovers who had birthed a new goddess and had changed the nature of the underground world had to separate. The bond they still share is strong, even though they rarely meet up in our day and age. You see the broken cage up on my alter to Tray? Our Lady is why that’s there. Tray has been known to not look kindly upon those who forget Her in their prayers to Him. She is a part of Him and He is a part of Her, I think folks down below have an umbrella or a dark corner somewhere on their alters to Our Lady, as an acknowledgment of Tray and a place that He could find His way back to Her if She should need Him.

[gowithplana]

👁‍🗨 - what is a secret that your muse hasn’t told or is hiding @forged-through-flames

Optimus isn't drunk.

He struggles to drink enough to actually be topped off. Getting so over fueled he's drunk? It rarely happens. But Rodi is tipsy enough and he has trusted him before.

So he plays with his cocktail. The two hidden for just one breath, on klik, while watching the Decepticon delegates cut a swath through other delegates on the dance floor.

Garnering crowds of curious onlookers when they hold still.

" I almost left you know." Murmuring it iver the rim of his drink.

" I still do. Dropping it all to go to New Kaon. Sign up for a repair crew. Get lost in the stars and planetoids. To wear the Decepti-brand with pride. To embrace something that would embrace me. None of this mincing about with words and money and appearances-" He downs the rest of his drink.

Adjusting his modest cape and checking his fin clips. Then he plasters on an easy half smile. Sweeping back into the party. Surrounded by guards and sycophants instantly.

[designation-d-16]

The incessant screeching of alarms quickly engulfed his systems, overwhelming in their boisterous cacophony. The mine was under siege, the target of an unannounced attack - most likely at the servos of the enemy. Debris rained upon them, the helpless workers who diligently rode the wave to the end as the terrain above gave way. Echoes of clatter, of agonizing screams reverberated in tandem with the sirens -the picture of chaos as explosions sealed their fates. Protocol dictated that if such anomalies occurred, planned or otherwise, the mine would begin a series of self-destruction. If the cons couldn't maintain the stronghold, then no one could. It was all or nothing. Do or die.

Violet orbs quickly scanned the amber hued tunnels. Another explosion roared in close proximity - another shaft gone. Radiation sensors sprung to life - an indication that time was quickly running out. He narrowed his optics, shadows of the fallen danced across the landscape. The putrid smell of spilled energon intermingled with the gasses of the now leaking ducts. A group of young miners sprang into view, an exodus of fear heading for the light, like a moth eerily to a flame. He cursed beneath his breath - intakes whirring to life - another failsafe precautionary life support. He knew better. Those that escaped would be scrapped by the enemy that lay beyond the tunnels. There was no escape that way. They'd be captured and mutilated into piles of scrap. And if somehow their sparks were spared, it would be excommunication from the deceptions - a fate worse than death.

A disabled cart lay on a siding - overturned for repair. While useless for transport, it would provide a safe haven until the siege was completed. Cowardice? Perhaps. However, the benefit of life was far greater than the clutches that lay in the afterworld - if there even were such a thing. Pickaxe denounced any sort of divinity - particularly the allspark, well of sparks, or whatever nonsensical entity others blindly followed. Palaver. Another set of commandments for the feeble minded to commit themselves to. Memento mori - we all must die. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

The ceiling rumbled, then poured violently down around the overturned cart - hailing debris as a shaft from above crumbled. System failures scanned across his screens - blinding his limited field of vision. His intakes were clogged, slowly suffocating his system. It was beginning to fail. His quarters were cramped, but it was enough of a refuge from the maelstrom to suffice. The mine wasn't the only thing that was dying. It was time to power offline, or risk never escaping. And so he'd surrender for now, wrapping his brawny arms around his legs, and initiate the process of shutting down.

Silence.

Dormant he lay for whatever span of time elapsed. The mine had gone silent. The alarms, the cries, the explosions… eerily replaced with tranquil noiselessness. It wasn't until something cold, something sticky, began seeping through the welded seams that cradled him. He'd survived. The bot who'd fallen atop his effective safehold had not. It was their leaking energon that roused his systems into reboot. But now that lifeless bot presented another problem - the added weight to the already heavy cart. Amathyst orbs illuminated the darkness as he slowly regained awareness. How was he going to get out, and what would happen when he did?

Radiation levels pinged through his head - an utter annoyance that would quickly lead to an unrelenting ache should they continue. The only solution would be to pull that cord. He wasn't a medic, just a young grunt who'd been sold at auction to work the mines. Yet, there'd be a simple enough remedy once he'd clear the cart. He crouched, and with every ounce of strength he could muster, he lifted both the cart and his fallen comrade to freedom. His freedom. The other didn't matter.

Orbs winced as the warning continued to drone incessantly on. Heavy digits wrapped around the handle of his own axe. With a quick swing, it was wielded into the side of his head. He released a guttural cry, and plunged his digits into the open hole that now wept the life force of his own. They danced along until they grazed the offending cable. It snapped with a quick jolt. That settled that problem, but how the scrap was he getting out of here?

Persistence.

If there was anything Axe learned in his short life, it was persistence. With it, you'd get what you wanted. Without it, you ended up like the remnants of the fallen that scattered the remains of the tunnels. Dog. Eat. Dog.

It was another immeasurable amount of time that passed, filled with wandering, digging, and ultimately cannibalism. There was no fresh energon to sustain upon. Gruesome? Yes. Effective? Also yes. The husks of the other miners also served other purposes. Armor. Suspected trap? Toss a body. Dangling scaffolding? Shield. Hungry? Food. Desperate times? Desperate measures. He didn't know what awaited beyond the mine, or if he'd ever see it. Until he did.

He collapsed in the rays of daylight - gasping in the air that surrounded him. The radiation had begun poisoning his circuitry, and infection threatened that wound upon his head. He was in poor shape, but he was free. The lone survivor. He was weak, terribly so. The living Hell he'd endured and ransacked his systems. He'd need a medic. Desperately and soon.

//forgive me for the copy/paste - figured it would be a good starter. reply needn't be nearly as verbose, I was in a wordy mood. I'll be much briefer from here on out.

Megatron was the only one who went to check for survivors. He stepped cautiously towards the old mineshaft and was surprised to see a Energon covered frame of someone. He carefully approached.

“Who’s there? Do you need help?”

He’s a bit quiet but he tries to speak soothingly. He knows a cave in is quite the event to survive through

[ghostlyvisage]

Ghostspire had let Hatchet rest as long as he could, gathering everything he possibly could carry on his frame and in his subspace. He had already received the grounded order, a violent twitch having gone through him at it. He had done everything he could, making sure nothing would get stolen before he had to wake Hatchet up.

He knocked on the mechs door, voice tired and muffled.

"Hatchet, we need to get going before they come to inspect the ship." Ghostspire had already answered there questions, but who knew with enforcers. They could turn on you with the flip of a shinax and most didn't even bother having a good reason to arrest you other than they were paid to.

"Grab whatever you can carry, alright? If you have a subspace use that as well."

@decepti-lost

[heliopauseentertainments]

The Unlucky Marriage of Drift & Ratchet

This is unfinished, just the first chapter, but is based on a prompt from @decepti-thots​.

On AO3 (where the rest will be posted when/if finished because Tumblr is not built for chapter work).

Continuity: IDW1

Relationships: Drift/Ratchet, Drift & Rodimus, Megatron & Rodimus, implied past Drift/Rodimus, some background/minor relationships, ambiguous relationships

Characters: Drift, Ratchet, Rodimus, Megatron, Chromedome, Rewind (so far)

Warnings: Alcohol use

Summary: In which a captain's duty to officiate bonding ceremonies is a problem.

—

“Rodimus, what is this?”

The datapad was dangled in front of Megatron’s face by a speedster that had dramatically draped himself over a shoulder, likely with the express purpose of being annoying. At least since he was seated at his desk, Rodimus hadn’t had to jump this time to clear the distance. Unfortunately, this method of document delivery also meant the datapad wasn’t being held completely still. That made reading it next to impossible.

“Some stuff.”

“I can see that, yes.” He reached out and took the datapad from Rodimus’ grasp before holding it closer to his optics. He probably should have put on his spectacles, but this worked just as well. “But what is it specifically?”

“A conjunxual license application.”

Megatron sputtered, nearly dropping the damn datapad. Oh no.

“A what? For whom?”

“Calm down. Not for you.”

Oh, thank Primus.

“It says right there!” Rodimus, still using his co-captain as furniture, reached over and poked the document with the tip of his index finger. “Use your optics! I know you’re not blind yet.”

Indeed, upon closer inspection, it did seem to be as Rodimus had said.

A conjunxual license application.

For Drift and Ratchet.

“Oh, finally.”

“Finally‽” Now it was Rodimus’ turn to sputter, wriggling on his perch and slapping Megatron in the back of the head with the fin of his spoiler for the fifth time today. “What do you mean ‘finally’?”

“Now Magnus will stop writing them tickets for unlawful fraternization and I don’t have to void them for being unenforceable.” Come to think of it, Megatron thought, that was probably why they were bothering to file the paperwork anyway. He set the datapad down on the desk in front of him, reaching out with his left hand to grab a light-pen from the little desk tidy that Minimus had given him for his creation day. Very handy.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? Signing it, of course.” What else could he be doing with it? Drift and Ratchet were their—well, Rodimus’ friends. The least they, as the captains, could do is assist the crew in their happiness. Sure, it was really only a formality given that, to their knowledge, there were no other Cybertronians in this universe and the ship’s command crew was the closest thing to a government they had. “I see no reason to deny the application.”

“But—“

“But what?” The light-pen was put back in the desk tidy. “Don’t tell me you have some sort of objection.”

Why would he? Sure, Rodimus had told him about the whole fiasco with Overlord and Drift, but that was long behind them now. This universe was about a fresh start, not dwelling on the past, even if was something everyone on board the Lost Light struggled with.

“Well, no, but….” Rodimus trailed off, but Megatron only looked at him out of the corner of his optic, a silent indication that he would relatively patiently wait for an answer.

“But as the captain I would have to officiate and that’d be kind of… awkward.”

Megatron breathed a resigned sigh. At least this time Rodimus didn’t say “mad awk.” While he didn’t know the details of the history between the speedsters and the medic—he would, in fact, prefer to keep it that way—he could accept that it would probably be the most comfortable for everyone involved if Rodimus did not participate in any official capacity.

“Luckily for you, I’m here. I’ll do it.” Look at that little problem just solve itself. Teamwork. He reached over to pat his co-captain on the arm, at least as much as he could reach with the odd angle.

Besides, it ought to be straightforward, no matter the strange history between everyone aboard.

All four Acts would be done by the pair in private—that’s their business and he really did not want to know—and Megatron would just sign the paperwork at the party, shake their hands, and leave. That was how it had worked when he commanded the Nemesis and whenever he had happened to be present at a Decepticon base when someone there filed an application. Should be no different here, he thought. He knew he was what Rodimus would call a “buzzkill,” but those celebrations weren’t for him. He’d always been uncomfortable at such… personal functions.

“You?”

“Yes. Now get off of me.” Wait. “Please.”

—

“Drift, are you sure this is what you want?” Ratchet had left the door to his washrack open when he had gone inside to get cleaned up for the “big day” so they could keep talking. It was as though the medic had sensed something was off in Drift’s manner today. Frankly, he wasn’t sure how he felt about being… perceived like this.

“Of course, why….” Drift paused as he sat with a mirror in hand to touch up the paint under his optics, his voice trailing off in a moment of doubt. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, for one thing, you’ve been painting over the same spot for the past several minutes without even letting it dry.”

Damp, partially dried red paint clung, coagulating, to the end of the brush in his hand.

Red.

He could practically hear Rodimus’ voice. Talking about revenge while being repainted, red and gold disappearing under purple and black.

When Drift didn’t reply, Ratchet continued, perhaps a little louder than necessary to be heard over the spray of solvent in the shower.

“We don’t have to do this, you know. It’s just a formality.”

That was true. It was just a formality. It wouldn’t have changed how they lived except for a few bits of paperwork. And no more tickets for fraternization. That was probably the only reason Ratchet had originally suggested just marrying and being done with it.

“I know, I know,” Drift said, unsure if he could even be heard over the roar of solvent. “I… I still want to.”

—

“Rewind,” Chromedome started, settling down in a chair in the back of Swerve’s bar while the minibot fiddled with the camera on the side of his head. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for the circus.”

It looked like he was swapping out for a different lens, but Chromedome couldn’t figure out why. The regular one was perfectly fine for most purposes.

“Circus? It’s just a wedding.” Sure, it was the first one to happen since they had left their home universe, but it wasn’t particularly special. It was a long-time coming and really was only to formalize something that had already been the de facto situation. It was still a good excuse to have an occasion though.

“Yes, it is, but there is one thing that you’re forgetting, Domey.”

“Which is?”

“Guess who’s officiating.”

Oh.

“No, you can’t mean—“ That would explain why Rodimus had taken a seat at the bar and was slumped over what looked like at least three half-empty cups of high-grade. Actually, no, Chromedome thought, even if this captain were officiating, there was a chance that would have happened anyway.

“Oh, yes, I do. This is going in my cringe compilation.”

[tsulilan]

I wrote a thing for it

Cri’ik coughed dirt into their sleeve, trying to do it as gently as possible. They didn't quite understand why they felt the need to do it discreetly. Perhaps it was the weighted stillness in the air that established the need for reverence. Perhaps it was because they didn’t want to go through the trouble of comforting their Master’s concerns. Either way, Cri’ik wanted to respect it.

They sat on an ammo crate, their soaking cloak wrapped around them heavily. The rain had slowed, and still, was coming down in delicate waves. Funny, Cri’ik thought, that it was the worst during the battle. It was as if the sky was fighting alongside them.

Troopers surrounded Cri’ik, passing on all sides, rushing to the Med Tent or to Captain Aero to file paperwork or to Force-knows-where. Either way, every one of them seemed to have somewhere to go, even if they created it themselves, just to have something to do besides sit down and think. Cri’ik didn’t blame a single one. They understood the need for distraction. They partially wished that they could do the same, instead of sitting here and watching the Lieutenant drone on and on about casualties and armory costs. Truthfully, they were entirely exhausted. They didn't understand how Master Vey could be so alert, how any of the Clones could still fight. It had been days of fighting after a month and a half on this outpost.

Of course, this battle was not the first Cri’ik had ever been in. They were almost fifteen now; they had been a Padawan for almost three years, and a Commander for two. They were well acquainted with the war zone. But this one was something else. They had won, of course- Cri’ik could only name a few battles they had lost- but at what cost did their victory come?

This battle, it seemed, was especially brutal. The flat horizon of Crait made it difficult to find cover, and so many Troopers- some they were friends with, people they knew- were left alone in the open, and were lost to the rain. Cri’ik was used to this. Losing friends got easier. It was never easy, of course, but it got easier. They were just relieved it was over.

Crait’s terrain was deceptious. Underneath the blinding white salt flats lay a deep sea of carmine soil, as red as blood. Dreadfully, it was difficult to tell the difference between the blood of fallen men and the exposed mud smeared across the land. Even more horrifying was the mire that caked their gear- Cri’ik’s and the troopers’ alike. Despite Cri’ik’s best efforts, they found it impossible to ignore the likelihood that what stained their robes was not only the natural pigment of the planet.

The rain died down slowly. Cri’ik sat next to their Master still, Lieutenant Fawn listing off numbers and stats before them both. The sky was pink now, as the sun set slowly. The clouds were aglow. It should’ve been nice to look at; instead, Cri’ik just felt tired. They didn’t know how much more they could take of this. All they wanted was to be back on Coruscant, back in the Temple Gardens, in a clean, dry set of robes. The pink sky was sickening.

Cri’ik looked blankly across the bivouac. The moving men were just noise, and everything was too bright. They drew a knee up to their chest. The fighting was over for now. Their leave would start soon. Soon, they would be away from all the blood, and death, and guns, and red. They just had a little more to wait, and then they could rest, away from the exigent red.

Ok that's all back to life

[thanksjro]

Robots in Disguise (2012), #1-22- A Recap, For Reference Purposes

Before we begin with “Dark Cybertron”, a lightning round style recap on the 22 issues that took place in the sister series to MTMTE, Robots in Disguise; just so we know what’s up with all the folks who didn’t hitch a ride on the Lost Light.

Here’s the Story So Far, since it’s been a minute.

Now for the nitty gritty.

Cybertron is a literal hellscape, as established in The Death of Optimus Prime, the very flora of the planet trying to murder anything that comes within a few miles of the surface. This has caused a massive economic slump in the tourist trap towns, who surely will not survive without the summertime revenue. Truly, life is cruel and not worth living.

Bumblebee narrates, as we show off all the weirdoes who live on Cybertron now. Bumblebee tries to greet a new batch of arrivals, as Metalhawk actively attempts to make him look like Satan incarnate, because all the NAILs have gone full ACAB at this point.

A robot who looks like he’s wearing a beanie commits vandalism and is then subjected to violence via Decepti-cop.

This is more or less the flavor for RID as a whole. You have been warned.

Prowl breaks someone’s hand just because he can. Blurr is made to arrest someone for disturbing the peace, even though he’s, like, basically the only guy on the Autobots who isn’t a cop. Bumblebee doesn’t believe in democracy.

Ratbat is the leader of the Decepticons, even though Soundwave is right friggin’ there. We establish that the military state is in full swing. Prowl commits a microaggression against a Senator. Ratbat gets pissy about his guys going out to beat people up, not because it violates his moral sensibilities, but because it benefits the Autobots.

Probably that you’re killing people by remote control, in as horrified a tone as he could manage, because that’s FUCKING EVIL. Seems pretty straightforward to me.

Prowl says to cancel the memorial for the Lost Light, because he thinks the Decepticons are up to something. Which they are.

Everyone hates the Autobots. Like, everyone.

Ironhide runs away from a murderous hedge and smashes into a wall. Prowl has a talk with a mysterious individual about his feelings during a romantic sunset.

Metalhawk releases hat guy from prison. He and Bumblebee have a little chat, during which he tries to gaslight the little guy. Bumblebee explodes Horri-Bull’s head in front of at least 30 people.

Except he actually didn’t, because the chips don’t actually work. T’was a ruse! Starscream enters the narrative. Ratbat used to be an actual person and not just a bat. Sideswipe wants to shoot someone. Bumblebee tasers a man unprovoked; guess he’s picked up a little paranoia from that time he got shot.

Starscream calls Prowl ugly, then spills the beans on Ratbat’s plan to kill Bumblebee at the memorial, solely because he thinks Ratbat is an idiot. Needlenose and Skywarp beat up a NAIL to work through their emotions.

Bumblebee shows a snuff film to hundreds of people at the memorial. Skywarp tries to frame a NAIL for murder, but Prowl says nuts to that idea, through the power of dramatic irony.

Long Haul tells a fib. Bumblebee and Metalhawk agree to work together. Ratbat gets turned into chunky salsa by Arcee, who will use the excuse of self-defense if questioned. Starscream pulls some fucking bullshit and third-wheels the agreement between Bumblebee and Metalhawk.

Ratbat’s death is played off as a suicide. Blurr is still a cop. Starscream is helpful. There’s a guy who looks like a frog, and I don’t care for what his eyes are doing.

Frog guy explodes, because nature is a cruel mistress.

Wheeljack has a hell of a time trying to answer the phone in the middle of an economic debate. Prowl is paranoid. Starscream handles the housing crisis. Wheeljack visits the hospital and causes a scene. Another explosion happens, killing dozens, including this guy:

You will be missed, Tiddytron.

Wheeljack realizes that the moon is trying to kill everyone, so he shoots missiles at the problem. The Aerialbots fuck off into the wilderness.

The Decepticons get some perks now that Starscream’s a government employee. Starscream destroys the military state through the power of talking over people. Prowl and his cronies investigate a murder at the trash factory.

Bombshell is arrested for thought crime, and spills the beans on the I/D chips not working. Prowl has Dirge on a chain for some reason, and it ends up causing nothing but trouble. Blurr runs every red light in the city to make a citizen’s arrest, and gets his ass kicked by a bunch of construction workers. Prowl has a complex about Spike Witwicky.

Prowl fixes the I/D chip issue and things go poorly for the construction workers. Blurr gets upset about having his ass kicked by construction workers. Prowl is very paranoid, even as he has a borderline pinup panel devoted to his weird robot bellybutton and positively ridiculous cinched waist. I begin to worry about how much I’m learning about Andrew Griffith’s tastes.

The poetry shark shows up.

Arcee reveals a little bit about herself, and I shed a tear as I shake my fist in the general direction of England, cursing Simon Furman’s name.

Metalhawk brings Sky-Byte to a literal trashcan fire to meet his buddies, and they all rag on the Autobots for a while.

Ironhide goes joyriding and finds Sky-Byte Oh Yorick-ing a Sweep’s head. Turns out they have a history. Blurr reveals his dream to own a bar. Metalhawk brings up the fact that setting up a group of folks to have their heads explode if they step out of line is some dystopian bullshit.

Sky-Byte meets up with his old buddy Swindle, and gets the skinny on the bullshit that’s being pulled on this brand-new Cybertron. Everything goes to shit very quickly. Streetwise gets set on fire. Prowl needs to stop. Ironhide commits violence against the general populace, then advocates for the removal of the I/D chips.

Blurr opens a bar, and it’s dinosaur-friendly. Prowl commits property damage on a table, because he’s tablephobic. Ironhide reveals the future.

Shockwave sends an entire race of Big Birds to their frozen demise. Orion Friggin’ Pax comes back into the narrative, in the middle of his giant fuck-off-from-responsibility space adventure. Wheelie and Garnak are here, which is cool, I guess. Jhiaxus yells a bunch, and Orion decides to go to Big Bird planet.

It’s farkin’ cold in here.

Orion and Hardhead talk about Rodimus’ tumultuous relationship with death. Shockwave is the only person in the universe who understands quantum mechanics. Monstructor wakes up from his cryo-sleep. Wheelie and Garnak are grievously wounded, and the patch job seems less than medically sound, since we’ve just put a screw into Garnak’s orbital socket to hold his eye-patch in place. Orion walks into a trap, knowingly and willingly.

Wheeljack does some espionage, even though Mirage is right friggin’ there. Turmoil swings by Cybertron to say hello- the Decepticon, not the emotional state. Drift is outed as a war criminal- well, more so than originally thought. Turmoil has a time machine.

Sky-Byte and Jazz team up for slam poetry night. Blurr tells Metalhawk a story. Wheeljack’s espionage adventure goes poorly. Turmoil gets trapped in a hamster ball. Wheeljack and Metalhawk get trapped in a hamster ball.

The Dinobots and Ironhide go on a camping trip. Starscream craves democracy. Skylynx is a glorified taxi. Slag hasn’t changed his name yet, despite half of the people working for IDW being from the UK. Swoop breaks down IDW Phase Two to its bare essentials.

Prowl sits on someone’s desk, because he doesn’t respect tables. Slag’s face is on fire all the time, and it’s sort of distracting. Swindle bothers Shockwave. Ironhide is attacked by the Dinobots.

Bumblebee sits outside and has some Night Thoughts. Cybertron wants everyone to stick together, and God help you if you don’t. Bumblebee is beginning to develop a complex. Blurr is upset with himself. Ravage and the Reflectors go on an adventure. The time machine isn’t actually a time machine. The time machine disappears.

Ironhide finds the Aerialbots, who have been combinered by the horrors of new Cybertron. Everyone yells at Bumblebee.

We get a taste of Old World Cybertronian propaganda, where everyone talks in the third person, as is tradition. Starscream gets curvier every issue. Again, I begin to worry about how much I’m learning about Andrew Griffith’s tastes.

Blurr causes an explosion in the wilderness looking for Ironhide, much to Starscream’s delight. There is a Titan under the ground, and its very existence is making reality shit the bed. Tailgate’s lies in MTMTE are so extensive, red herrings have leaked into the sister series.

Nova Prime commissioned Monstructor, and Omega Supreme hated it so much he punched it in the face.

Starscream invites a bunch of friends over to see the Titan. Brainstorm is used as a scale for end-of-the-world scenarios. Starscream is revealed to be chosen by the gods.

The Reflectors visit a planet and shit gets weird very quickly. Wheelie is about to have a goddamned stress-induced aneurysm, not that Orion particularly cares. Time nonsense is established. Wheelie-speak becomes plot-relevant. Livio Ramondelli subjects me to his nightmares’ nightmares.

Starscream gets interviewed on national television. Starscream owns a hat that makes him look like a Gundam. Omega Supreme explodes. Metalhawk flip-flops between who he’s defending like a fish on the dock. Starscream yells at Shockwave for being an instigator. Prowl and Starscream make a deal.

Arcee stabs a cat in the throat. IDW settles the debate- at least for their own continuity- and says RIRFIB. Prowl takes a fireball to the face to convince people he’s on the up-and-up. Arcee is smarter than Starscream. This asshole shows back up.

Bumblebee really, really wants to kill Megatron, but politics demand he be taken in as a POW. The fellas construct a conspiracy theory. Starscream tries to lead his peers, but it goes poorly. Not a single medical professional of Cybertronian descent actually keeps track of their patients. Maccadam’s gets several light fixtures ruined by Arcee. Wheeljack gets called a tool. Prowl shows up in his hot new body, decked out with enough weaponry to annihilate a small country and a gun that’s as big as he is.

Starscream gives Megatron a piece of his mind. The Decepticons are rioting in the streets. Prowl shows Wheeljack his toys. Arcee plays her trump card. Bumblebee tries his hand at negotiation.

Bumblebee learns a valuable lesson about leadership. Politics are hell. Megatron is released from prison. Democracy finally gets its day. Megatron enters the Black Room with his whole ass hanging out. Pretty much every Decepticon you thought was dead isn’t actually dead.

Metalhawk gets a taste of how 24/7 news has ruined everything. Prowl is revealed to be the mastermind behind all the bullshit that’s been going on the last few months, and he’s been working with Megatron. Swindle gets run over by a train. Wheeljack’s head is turned into a memory by Prowl. The crazy-making signal out in the wilderness was made by Megatron. Megatron walks in in his hot new bod, carrying his old one like his new bride. And what a pretty bride it is.

We get a literal talking heads sequence explaining just how exactly Megatron survived the events of “Chaos” and why Combiners are the bees’ knees. Prowl isn’t Prowl, but actually being controlled by Bombshell.

Dang, wonder who could have caused that, CHROMEDOME.

Prowl is released from his mind-control, and immediately plays the blame game with Bumblebee. The Constructicons and Prowl have a thing going, and show it off, much to Bumblebee’s horror.

Circuit gets given Fixit’s dialogue for some reason, and I can’t tell if this was an issue on the art side or the script side. Devastator wrecks shop. Megatron laughs at Starscream for being a loser, then crushes Bumblebee’s head like a grape. Ironhide finally shows up to the party, and he brought a veggie platter.

Jazz tries to warn the medical staff about the Combiner coming their way, but no one ever listens to Jazz. Prowl has a crisis of self. Jazz breaks up the two-man act. Megatron let Bumblebee keep his cane, proving that even heartless monsters can respect the Disabilities Act.

Ironhide and the Dinobots save the day. Superion and Devestator get into a fistfight. Prowl reaffirms his complex over Spike Witwicky. Bumblebee says some halfway transphobic shit, and I shed a tear as I shake my fist in the general direction of England, cursing Simon Furman’s name. Arcee switches sides again and stabs Bombshell in the face. Prowl takes a nap. The tides turn.

Ironhide resists Frenzy’s sonic attack through the sheer power of gumption. Skywarp says fuck this and gets out of dodge. Devastator becomes a real boy. 

Bumblebee WILL kill Megatron. Arcee makes it weird. Ironhide helps Prowl figure out his life. Bumblebee never learns. Metalhawk saves his BFF, and gets his arm shot off for his troubles. Starscream uses Metalhawk’s fuck-you-level long arm to kill a man.

Swindle carries a dude twice his size to safety with one of his arms off. Needlenose gets his just desserts. Devastator rips off his head to escape his crippling self-doubt. The Constructicons are having a hell of a day.

You said it, Hook.

Wheeljack saves the day from beyond the grave, that clever man. Metalhawk is killed by politics. Hat Guy tries to fight Bumblebee, and gets mad that he doesn’t remember his name. They’ve spoken to each other maybe once.

Metalhawk is made into a playing chip by Starscream, and also a speech writer from beyond the pale. Starscream tells everyone to get naked or fuck off, then takes off his top. All the Autobots and Decepticons who don’t want to get naked fuck off into the wilderness.

The Dark Cybertron “Prelude" issues kick in.

Shockwave and Dreadwing fly through the photorealistic sky to get to where the Titan is.

Listen here you little shit-

Shockwave shoots Dreadwing to test a theory, because ethics are for nerds.

Back when Shockwave was a hot guy with feelings, Jhiaxus was dealing with the Monstructor thing, then fucked off into space. Shockwave took the opportunity to be better than his teacher in every way, as is tradition. Proteus threw a whole-ass person across the room, because classism. Shockwave revealed himself to be a budding ecoterrorist. Shockwave joined a terrorist organization to further his own goals. Orion Pax tried to appeal to Shockwave’s softer side. Megatron killed the Senate. Shockwave replaced his shitty claws with a gun. Shockwave shot Dai Atlas in the legs and can’t explain why.

Dreadwing comes back to life, thanks to the power of Shockwave’s 14th ore.

Bumblebee has the Big Sad about Starscream being King of Iacon. Arcee doesn’t know what emotional turmoil feels like. Metalhawk’s lifeless body lays in the sun for several hours. Prowl is propositioned by the Constructicons. Arcee tells Prowl’s darkest secret, and it kills Bumblebee. Swoop is having a great time.

Arcee knows about Bumblebee being Hasbro’s golden boy. Prowl uses his manners, but only when no one can hear him. Arcee and the Constructicons get into a fight, with more flaming swords getting involved than you might expect. Slag offers to buy Arcee a drink.

Bumblebee gets a hot new body. Arcee gives herself a stick-and-poke tattoo. In a few hours, the sun will rise.

Pal, you are way ahead of schedule.

Shockwave makes a dramatic entrance.

Waspinator tells a story about the time he killed a servant of God and met death. Orion and pals visit Gorlam Prime. The Dead Universe comes into the narrative again. Wheelie has his arm blown off to keep from getting disintegrated, but he shrugs it off, because life is always awful for Wheelie.

Waspinator gets chased through the desert by Monstructor. Orion Pax acts like a dumbass. A Titan is revealed. Monstructor rides on the time-travel ship like it’s a horsey. Waspinator controls a Titan and makes it teleport. Orion plays fourth-dimensional chess, and reveals that his personal ship is named after his best friend.

Starscream talks to a corpse. Blurr tells Starscream to fuck off. A very good boy enters the narrative. The paparazzi ruin Starscream’s attempt to get underlings to do what he wants. A literal rat enters the narrative.

Starscream talks to Megatron, and I genuinely don’t have the words to explain what exactly is going on with that guy. Starscream takes a gander into the very good boy’s toolbox. The very good boy lays it on thick. Starscream destroys a man’s reputation.

Starscream breaks into Rattrap’s apartment. Rattrap becomes a government employee. Starscream talks to Wheeljack, who isn’t dead.

Soundwave has a flashback to when the Decepticons surrendered after the Chaos event, confirming that Ratbat was universally hated. Soundwave has robo-synesthesia. Shockwave is the perfect Cybertronian- Soudwave hates him for it.

Shockwave calls his teacher. Ravage judges Soundwave. The Decepticons reminisce on the time they resorted to cannibalism. Soundwave thinks mourning is for dumb babies and tells everyone to shut up because he’s big man on campus now.

Nobody deserves it more than you, babe.

The infighting begins, because no Decepticon has the ability to be halfway decent to each other, and they won’t learn that skill for a good while. Needlenose throws Blitzwing across a field and admits to having feelings. Soundwave is abandoned by the Decepticon forces.

Soundwave talks to himself in the Crystal City, then gets his ass kicked by Dreadwing.

In the past, Shockwave calls Bombshell a loser and outdoes him.

Soundwave kills Dreadwing. Shockwave hides in the shadows like a weirdo. Soundwave is done trusting Shockwave. Soundwave grabs Shockwave by the boob and yells at him. Soundwave is a hopeful guy.

In the past, Soundwave stole Ratbat’s brain and put it in a cassette, proving that space-Communism only works on paper.

Soundwave punches Shockwave in the head. Shockwave assumes Soundwave is alone, despite knowing he can contain many small men inside him.

Shockwave explodes a cat. Soundwave fires missiles at Shockwave and hits him in the tit. Shockwave would fuck Microsoft Excel if he could. Frenzy is just happy to be here- no, I didn’t mix them up, the colorist did.

Ravage is a grown-ass man. Soundwave’s synesthesia used to be a lot worse. Shockwave sends Soundwave and pals home. The Titan and Waspinator show up.

Soundwave has a face. Ravage and all the other cassettes are emotional support animals, who are also fully sapient.

Shockwave’s gonna fuck everything up.

And THAT, dear children, is the entirety of Robots in Disguise, up to issue #22. We’re all caught up and ready.