#his spark is young but his processor old

[tf-ore]

Come back

Even as a shadow

Even as a dream

(Click for slightly better quality)

[yandere-wishes]

hey whenever you can, can you make some yandere d-16

❥༄ؘ I'll do you one better Anon!! How about Yandere D-16 vs Megatron

𝄞 Somebody That I Used To Know (Slowed)

✿˗ˏˋ ✴︎D-16✴︎ ˎˊ˗✿

.☘︎ ݁˖D-16 can't remember when exactly he first noticed the erratic pulsing of his spark straining against his metallic frame when you walked into the room. Just that, after all these cycles, it had remained constant, enrapt. Pulling him to you.

.☘︎ ݁˖D-16 has a tendency to pick at things he likes, things he finds bizarrely blissfulas. He wishes he could leave them alone, leave the questions locked under his tongue and the paint free of servo marks. But he can't, indifference only gets you so far, and while he tries to follow protocol. He can't always let things go. He can't let you go.

.☘︎ ݁˖He watches as you chip away at sedimentary rock, coated in soot as you trek for the liquid lifeline. He can't help but think you look like a princess from those old spark-tales. Circuitella. Dainty and disheveled. He wonders if he should offer to carry your jackhammer on the way back to the barracks. He wonders if his voice box can even form words in your presence. He settles for trailing behind you. Optics darting between the stone walls and the back of your helm. Orian laughs and laughs and laughs. D-16 can't help but see the humor in it all. Irony too early to land.

.☘︎ ݁˖He didn't mean to drag you to the surface. It just so happens that on that exact day, there was a forgotten crate. And in that exact moment, you'd decided to personally deliver it to the surface train. It just so happens he grabs your servo, pulling into the shadow of the crates. Tucked away beneath him. Heading for doom or glory or a grotesque third.

.☘︎ ݁˖D-16 is obsessive, longing for his darling from afar. Desperate for a sliver of your attention, desperate for the shadow of your presence. He can't help but watch you, optics trailing over your gorgeous features. He can't help but dream of the taste of your lips and sturdy touch as he chips away at a vein.

.☘︎ ݁˖He secretly collects little pieces of your essence. Keeping them locked in his chest chamber right above his spark. Chipped paint, a piece of metal from your plating, tiny parts of an old drill you once used. He needs you in ways he can't understand, ways that claw at his processor and spark like the wild beasts Megatrouns used to fight. Needs to hear your voice as you complain about a stiff joint or your breathy giggle as you laugh at him and Orian arguing again.

.☘︎ ݁˖He wishes he could collect stickers of you. Stick them across his frame and watch the iridescent glow under Cybertron's sun. Wishes he could decorate his measly possessions with your radiant smile and sparkling optics.

.☘︎ ݁˖Is it weird that I LOVE the thought of D-16 collecting stickers? Mostly of Megatrous but also of the other primes, famous racers, sentinel prime, etc.

.☘︎ ݁˖The thought of Sentinel Prime having touched you, having stolen a part of you (let alone a part of him) leaves him teetering on lava rage, leaving his spark breaking in ways he didn't know it could.

.☘︎ ݁˖D-16 is still a child, young and new by Cybertronian standards. But age isn't gauged by online cycles now is it? It's measured in accomplishments and opalescent dreams. So maybe the little Sparkling voice screaming in the back of his helm isn't too far off. Crying that by stealing his T-cog, your T-cog. Sentinel screwed up something in your circuitry. Maybe you were always sparkbound. Maybe you were the incarnation of Solus Prime and he, Megatronus. Maybe you where always destined to be together.

.☘︎ ݁˖These thoughts burn his processor during the treacherous trek back home, back to Iacon. Can you even call he even call that cage a home? D-16 hovers closer to you. Growing bolder, even daring to leave his servo on your shoulder pad. Daring to hold your servo and drag you out of danger.

.☘︎ ݁˖"Thanks, D" you chirp cheerfully and he thinks his spark might just erupt. "Yeah it's nothing" he mutters jogging after Orian leaving you behind with a giggling and concerned Elita-one.

.☘︎ ݁˖After "retrieving" Megatronus's T-cog from Sentinel he swears on Primus himself that he shall fuse you with Solus Prime's T-cog solidifying your love. Bounding you to him through every incarnation.

.☘︎ ݁˖D-16 is tragic in every way. His fall makes Cybertron shake, his new scarlet optics send a shiver through the universe. Obsession and subjugation. Anger and Hate. D-16 burns away, you feel it when you kiss him over Sentinel's corpse. The monster in his place bites your lips trying to devour every inch of your. Conquer, Conquer, Conquer

.☘︎ ݁˖Even if Orion Pax/Optimus Prime tries to protect you. Keep you in Iacon safe from the bot he once called brother. There is no way he can stop the newly evolved warlord from hunting you down. D-16 had always been loyal to his obsessions, tearing through everything to feel them under his servos. Although back then -when they'd been happy under a blanket of lies- D-16's obsessions had simply been holographic stickers of tragic heroes. Now it's bloodstained domination. Conformation to a macraber freedom. He's no longer a little minor bot tolling away, he's Megatron now. Hungry monstrous thing raging wars until he has both his darling and Cybertron in his grasp once more. D-16 had always told Orion that he thought you nothing less than a princess. And maybe it has always been true, after all, princesses are a tragedy too.

.☘︎ ݁˖Optimus can't help but shed a tear at the thought as he watches D-16 Megatron roll away...

⋆༺𓆩𓆩Megatron𓆪𓆪༻⋆

✮ Upon your recapture, Megatron isn't too gentle. He's rough and angry. He's betrayed -again- it pricks at his spark like daggers. The first thing Megatron does is force Solus Prime's T-cog into your chassis. He promised you he'd bound you to him, didn't he? Promised you'd be together in every incarnation. And unlike every golden leader before him, Megatron intends to keep every one of his promises.

✮ He loves the sight of you writhing in pain beneath him. Runs his clawed servos over the the raw wires fusing and the circuits crunching into each other. The look of utter pain in your optics has his spark racing like the first time he saw you in the mines. He can't help but kiss you deeply, greedily swallowing your essence.

✮ You can taste his anger on your tongue. You roll the pulp of rage around your mouth swallowing the sadness, the desperation. Letting the taste burn the roof of your mouth. He calls you traitor and darling between each breath. And you can't tell if he wants to kiss your spark or decollate your helm and mount it on the wall of his new ship.

✮ Megatron suffers in shades and flavors that haven't been invented yet, you feel them swatch against your lips in every single one of his raging kisses. He isn't above leaving marks and dents across your armor. He likes you better this way broken and beautiful. Tragedy in every way

✮ He used to hate seeing you scared and defenseless. Now such a precious sight leaves him intoxicated, spark buzzing with overt excitment. He likes this power, feeling you tremble each time he raises his servo. Your life is laced between his digits, he loves tugging it harshly showing you how he controls you in every way imaginable. He likes being the monster that princesses fear. "Circuitella" he whispers under his breath, he knows you don't get the joke.

✮ Megatron likes to kill through you. Intwined digits holding a blaser, his claws on your digits pushing until the trigger releases and the bullets impale the target. He trails open-mouthed kisses across your back afterward. Sharp teeth sinking into the metal of your neck. He pulls you closer locked between his arms. When did he get so big? You remember when he'd been so utterly small. Little minor bot, where is he? Megatron never notices your melancholy optics or the whirl of your processor as it tries to distance itself from the physical world. All he cares about is your body wrapped within his. About the sweet taste of your metal and paint on his tongue.

✮ Megatron's love is lave upon open wounds, painful in every way. Where D-16's love had once been saccharine energon goodies and shy iridescent kisses. But D-16 is dead, he died with Orion all those centuries ago. Only Megatron remains. Lord Megatron, the one who keeps you caged, overpowers you with rough kisses and says "I love you" while pointing a blaser to your spark.

✮ I guess it's worth mentioning that D-16 would never harm his darling in any way but would absolutely avenge her if someone so much as left a scratch on her. Megtran punishes his darling for amusement and also because he loves her submission and fear. But I guess a little D-16 still lives inside him cause he will rip apart anyone who so much as touches his darling.

✮ Sometimes, when the lights are low and darkness begins to play it's ploys. You swear you see D-16 looking at you. Easy smile and bright sunny eyes. Body still tiny, with no pain engraved upon it. But illusions are always so quick to shatter, their precious shards melting under reality's brutal wight. D-16 withers away and in his place Lord Megatron stands. Piercing Claws and teeth gleaming under the dim light. He's gentle when he touches you laying something on your armour. Thin smile as he admires you, ethereal little you before leaving. You always check to see what he's left. It's always an iridescent sticker from his old collection...

[guardianofnightmares]

Forbidden

At that moment Bumblebee finally realized that he couldn’t keep the paranoid thoughts locked inside his processor anymore.

He desperately needed to speak to his friends, consequences be damned. He had to make sure that he’s not glitched in a processor. That what he got himself into was a right course of action for any good-natured Bot.

... or, rather, for any sensible Prime.

Hence why, after making a deep inhale, a minibot finally forced the dreaded words out of his intake:

"... is it wrong that I feel... bad for the prisoners? That I... periodically... h-help them?"

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Hello everyone, long time no see). Can hardly believe it's been a whole year since the last @blitzbee-week event and man, was I glad to participate in it once more. All of works were submitted on time to an event chat, but, unfortunately, I am uploading them here only now (full-time job drains me up).

Anyways, here is my first drawing from BlitzBeeWeek event Promts List. I think it will be fair to mention that this and next couple of my works will be dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". I will leave a link [here] for anyone interested to give it (and an existing teaser) a try. And yes, I am, in fact, going to finally upload first chapters pretty soon, it's happening, guys))). Thanks a ton for everyone who left their kudos there throughout a year, you have given me courage to put this behemoth of a story on paper and actually work it through.

As for the current entry for an event, I will provide part of a draft to one of chapters which is related to a depicted scene. It'll be "hidden" under a cut line for anyone wishing to get a more... fleshed out picture of what's going on here. Hope you'll enjoy reading it)

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“Bumblebee… are you listening to me?”

It was beyond confusing for Ratchet to see a younger Bot acting so out of touch with reality. He’s hunched over a console, helm resting in one servo while a wielding tool was twirled slowly in digits of another. Bumblebee looked so tired, clearly not caring about a task at servo, nor about an advice coming from his elder friend.

White and red Autobot knew how cheerful Bumblebee got each time they met via video calls, clearly waiting for a chance to talk to old teammates, even if these calls didn’t last long. That’s why him being so silent and lost in own thoughts was that much more worrying to witness. 

Upon being prompted again, the young bot finally raised his optics, the weight of his gaze almost making Ratchet flinch in surprise - to think that a recently promoted Prime was capable of behaving so out of character was indeed an alarming sign of change. 

The truth was, the minibot couldn’t help but to act all secretive, as if he’s done something wrong. 

Because, all things considered, he has. 

Minibot was well aware of what his actions could lead up to. All those rendezvous and revelations were such a dangerous subject to talk about, something that surely could lead him to being court marshaled if he’s caught by anybot. And what’s even worse - Bumblebee wasn’t certain whether telling friends what’s been troubling him was a good idea. 

Surely they’d not rat him out… but would they continue interacting with a yellow Autobot if he shared said secret with them? Wouldn't it be more mature of him to leave mechs oblivious (in order to protect them) and let his fears to silently fester in his processor?

... yet, to his shame, a minibot felt his resolve to keep his intake shut breaking upon seeing a haunted expression on Ratchet’s faceplates. Bumblebee wished he hadn’t looked up into the wise optics of his, those that seemed to read him as an unlocked datapad. How could he play it cool when a medic was looking at him in such a manner?

“…kid?” Now Ratchet was truly worried for his companion. He wasn’t even certain he’s ready to hear an explanation, but knew in his spark that he had to get to the bottom of a problem for minibot's sake.

At that moment Bumblebee finally realized that he couldn’t keep the paranoid thoughts locked inside his processor anymore.

He desperately needed to speak to his friends, consequences be damned. He had to make sure that he’s not glitched in a processor. That what he got himself into was a right course of action for any good-natured Bot. 

… or, rather, for any sensible Prime. 

Hence why, after making a deep inhale, a minibot finally forced the dreaded words out of his intake:

“… is it wrong that I feel… bad for the prisoners? That I… periodically… h-help them?” 

… a fleeting moment or relief at voicing his concerns instantly evaporated, changed to regret once he saw Racthet’s optics widening beyond usual capacity and heard Optimus sputtering and coughing on his energon ration off the camera. 

Such reaction made Bumblebee hide his helm between shoulder pauldrons in a clear sign of dread - so much for the support coming from teammates it seemed. 

“What?” Optimus asked after standing up from a table he’s sitting next to, the stool screeching audibly after a mech span in it. “Help them? What do you mean by that, Bumblebee? Are you alright? Do they… force you to do something for them or..?”

Minibot didn’t answer any of those questions. Wasn’t able to do it under the searching gaze of an elder mech’s optics which seemed to pin him to his own stool. Bumblebee felt like energon was going to freeze in his lines and tubes from a rising horror. Time seemed to stop for him, not unlike inner mechanisms in a frame of his. He couldn't utter a single sound, words swimming in a jumbled mess that was his processor.

What could he possibly say in his defense, now that his teammates knew of his secret? That there was a proper reason for him to feel pity for the inmates? That he was the only one to keep those mechs alive because nobody else did? That perhaps, Primus help him, all this time they were held in prison, somebot tried to take them out of game by starving them to their deaths?

A yellow Bot clearly hasn’t thought the conversation through, just as he always did, hasn't prepared himself for such a reaction even, and now that mistake was biting his aft. 

But then… then minibot heard something that immediately tore him from a panicking state he got stuck in. 

“I’ll take care of it, Prime.” Ratchet announced in a calm tone, breaking the tense silence which settled over the video call. Bumblebee was so stunned that he didn’t register those words right away, looking dumbly at warm optics of a mech on the other side of a call line. 

“But-“ 

“Optimus.” Medic cut off his commanding officer in a stern but good-natured manner, showing that he knew what he’s doing. Trusting the judgement of an older Bot, red and blue mech nodded to him and stepped away from a console, giving both of his friends some room to talk to each other. 

Young Prime could hardly believe what he’s been witnessing in front of him. Afraid to hope that his situation might’ve not been so dire after all. Baiting his breath, he watched red and white Bot turning to him again and leaning closer to a screen.

“Bumblebee, tell me, what’s happening back on Cybertron.” Ratchet asked his young friend, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, ready to tentatively listen to everything minibot’s about to say. 

And that’s when Bumblebee understood, felt it in his spark which gleefully thrummed in his chest that his old teammates were not mad at him - only worried for his well-being. Said realization made the built up over orbital cycles tension leave his frame and gave him courage to answer as honestly as he could.  

“You don’t know even half of what's going on, guys,” He stated after a breath moment of silence, then scooted on his chair closer to a screen as well and continued speaking in a hushed tone as to not to be heard by anyone else on his side of a video call. 

While retelling the recent events, which took place in Tripticon Prison, young Prime couldn’t help but periodically glance at a screen to his right side, a list of main convicts taking up most of its surface. 

Their stern gazes seemed to burn a viewer with hostility. Evil, cold, sparkless optics on unsightly faceplates. That’s what fellow guards always tended to whisper to each other either in fear or in bold mockery while walking down the hallways.

But to Bumblebee the very same pairs of optics, those he'd looked into more times then any of the local mechs, more then his friends even, told another story. Each time he saw Decepticons, bound and stripped of their weapons, there was no rage in their expressions, nor malice or contempt - only an eternal tiredness, hopelessness... and resignation with Fate.

Warframes. Mighty mechs being brought to their knees and stripped of their pride. Truly a sight which made minibot feel more miserable then three inmates he tried to take care of.

“Bossbot… Ratchet… please, come back here as soon as you can," Recently promoted Prime finally said as a conclusion to his speech. "I… I am afraid I won’t be able to handle this situation on my own anymore.”

[fandom-lover2]

Sacrifices - Pt 2

Word Count - 2146

Part One

Part Three

Optimus was grateful for his battle mask, now more than ever. Only his optics could show his panic.

And, knowing Megatron as well as he did, Optimus knew Megatron could see it, and smirk across the warlord’s faceplates telling Optimus Megatron was getting the exact reaction he wanted.

4 Decepticons, 4 glass canisters, 4 vulnerable humans, 4 keys.

Optimus was surprised it had taken Megatron this long to locate the humans. While he had done everything in his power to ensure they would remain safe and undetected by the Decepticon intelligence, Soundwave’s methods were far superior then any of them could ever imagine.

Starscream stepped forward, wordlessly handing over the case that held you to his master.

Optimus lost the battle of not looking down at you, and when your eyes met his optics, his servo clenched around the Star Sabers hilt.

For someone so close to death, you seemed unnervingly calm. But your eyes, your eyes showed the truth.

Acceptance. You had accepted you were going to die.

Optimus almost stumbled back as his words repeated in his processor, over and over again.

“You speak as though your life means anything to me.”

You had accepted you were going to die, because Optimus had told you as such. He had declared loud and clear for you to hear that his own desires would always be put above your life. Had announced that your life, your future and your dreams, were nothing to him in the grand scheme of his existence.

He was going to let Megatron kill you, open your cage and let Cybertron’s atmosphere kill you slowly, painfully. He would watch on without so much as a flinch, perhaps even turning his back and begin the process of rebuilding his home.

Home? Was Cybertron still his home?

After all he had done to his planet, all the loves lost in his war, was this metal shell still his home? Would it still welcome him back? Or was it you, and your vibrant planet that now held his spark.

Things were happening around him, but Optimus could not look away from you.

Starscream taunted the Autobots, clawing at Jack’s prison. The young man, how much he’d grown since their first encounter, stated clearly for all that he was willing to die for Cybertron and the Autobot cause. His brave, little companions agreed with his statement. And, Optimus knew you felt the same.

Even after all he’d said to you, done to you. Even after the pain he had caused, you were still right there, willing to give everything up. For the team.

The team he had told you you were not a part of.

Behind him, Optimus could feel his fellow bots moments from losing control. Weapons aimed, battle stances ready.

Would they stand down if he told them to? Would they continue with the mission if he decided that 4 human lives were not worth the restoration of Cybertron?

“Perhaps we should oblige them?” Megatron taunted

How fleeting human lives were. What was considered a decently long human life span was nothing but a blink of the optic for a Cybertronian. If the humans did not die today, they would die eventually. The humans would die long before the Cybertronians had aged a year and they would be left to mourn their friends. Since arriving on Earth, Agent Fowler was their third human liaison. The first died decades ago, the second grew too old to work. Fowler was nearing that age now, when he would step away and a new human would fill his shoes.

And yet, these four little humans had had more impact on his soldier’s lives then any other human had.

“Optimus.”

The prime was pulled back to the present, called back by your voice. He looked at you, into your steady gaze.

“Don’t.”

How silly you were, thinking you could change his mind.

It wasn’t a question, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Your life was not worth Cybertron, Cybertron was not worth your life.

He felt sick, horrified at himself that you had thought he wouldn’t fight with everything he had to save you. He hated himself that he’d allowed you to even have a moment of hesitation about what your life meant to him.

From the moment the space bridge portal had opened and he’d seen you and your fellow humans, he knew what his decision would be.

Nothing, not Cybertron, not his life, not The Matrix, nothing would mean more to him than you.

“If my decision dooms the future of the Autobot cause on Cybertron, so be it. But I will never forsake our human allies.”

Optimus speared the Star Saber into Cybertron’s surface with more force than was needed and began to step back, rejoining his fellow Autobots. Without so much more than a glance, they began to disarm themselves.

So, they were all in agreement then.

One by one, a key for a human child, until all that remained was one. Smokescreen held the final key, and Megatron had you. Wordlessly, Optimus held out his hand, a signal for the newest member of the team to hand over their final hope.

Each step towards his enemy, he felt heavier and heavier. This was it. The last hope for Autobot life on Cybertron, and he was giving it away for a human. Giving away the hopes of his people and his planet for one single human.

Optimus was before Megatron, the only space between them your cage. Optimus kept his eyes locked on Megatron, his battle mask up. He couldn’t look down at you, wouldn’t. He didn’t want to see the confusion, the concern, the uncertainty. 

It should have been relief, it should have been a sigh of relief. It should have been, but it wasn’t because he had made you believe you would die on his planet and now you could not comprehend why he was saving you.

He had failed. Failed you. And now he was failing his mentor, his people, his fellow Primes.

But, he was saving you.

He held out his key in one servo, and extended the other in expectation. Megatron extended his servos in turn, holding you out in one and wrapping his digits around the key with the other.

For a moment, neither one released either, but then Optimus’ grip on the key lessened just a smidge and Megatron opened his servo.

Not expecting the sudden weight, you fell to the hard metal surface of the dead planet. Optimus lunged to grab you, your canister bouncing once before he managed to grab you.

Luckily, the glass did not shatter, but within you winced.

Optimus barely had the chance to look you over before a second ground bridge opened and Decepticons rushed through.

One Autobot with an occupied servo could not take them all. Spinning, Optimus sprinted to the safety of his team, disposing you with the rest of the trapped humans.

The Decepticons surrounded the Autobots, blasters raised and keeping them in place as Megatron, Starscream, Knockout and Soundwave activated the Omega Lock with the Keys.

Everyone watched, transfixed as the mechanism powered up.

A keypad appeared, and Megatron selected something. With a shake and a shudder, the circle shot out a bream of blue light, the energy streaking across the expanse of the barren landscape and encompassing the ruins of the Iacon Records Halls.

Optimus watched in amazement as the building began to rebuild itself, within a few seconds transforming from the blackened ruins to the once sparkling tower Optimus once knew.

It worked. The Keys worked. Cybertron could be restored, would be restored. His home would be restored again.

Bumblebee said something, the humans making various noises of amazement, you remained silent. Briefly, Optimus flicked his optics down to you.

You were seated in your cage, hand raised to press against your forehead. Red stained your fingers, blood leaking from a cut.

Megatron must have caused more damage than he realized.

He needed to you get and your fellow humans off this planet. Who knew how much oxygen you had in those canisters, and what would happen once Megatron used the Keys to begin widescale restoration.

“This conflict is between Autobots and Decepticons.” he started. If he wanted to get Megatron to listen, he’d need to tread carefully. “Allow me to return the humans to Earth.”

“Oh I wouldn’t recommend it.” Megatron started, turning to address the Autobot leader. “They’ll be far safer here.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you spoke up.

“Is the Space Bridge locked on target?”

“Per your instructions, Lord Megatron.” Starscream bowed.

“Excellent.” Megatron purred, turning back to Optimus and locking optics with him. “Why rule one world, when I can rule two…”

Megatron was a sadistic, megalomaniac, power hunger monster, but he could not be this insane? Could he?

Far above, a ground bridge opened up. Megatron turned back to the consol and hit the activation button. Once again the Omega Lock powered up, and shot a beam of raw energy through the swirling green vortex.

“No.” Optimus could not find any others words.

“What’s he doing?” you asked, struggling to stand. When your guardian did not answer, you changed it to a demand. “Optimus, what is he doing?”

“If the Omega Lock can restore Cybertron, then it will do the same to Earth, right?” Miko asked before Optimus had a chance to speak.

“No. It will cyber-form your planet in favor of its new matrix. And destroy all indigenous life in the process.”

There was no reason to sugar coat it, not after all you children had been through. You deserved the truth.

“Such raw power.” Megatron began to ramble. “What should I call my new domain, New Koan? How about Gilded Earth?”

Optimus knew Megatron was taunting him, and it was working. He’d given up the chance as restoring his planet and you were still in danger. In fact, now you and every human on your planet were at risk.

Optimus looked to you human companions, held by their guardians. They fought against their glass prisons, spewing threats at the warlord, like it would make him change his mind.

Megatron laughed at their attempts, his followers joining his as they watched the scanners display how much of Earth was being lost.

Optimus looked down at you, and found you already looking up at him, fear marring your face.

It was a lot easier to face your own death than to stand by when facing the deaths of all those you love and care for.

Optimus’ processor was bombarded of all the times he’d heard of the humans mention their families in passing, every meadow and lake and mountain he’d stopped to admire for just a moment on his patrols. He saw the hill you and he had spent a late night sitting on, looking up at the clear night sky as he retold stories from Cybertron before the fall.

All of that would be lost. And, once the oxygen ran out, you would die too.

Optimus took a moment to plot his course, and then he charged. Slamming away a Decepticon, he raced towards the Star Saber.

Ripping it from the ground, he arched it through the air to disable two more Cons before racing to meet a roaring Megatron. Their swords collided, bouncing off one another. Megatron had size and strength one his side, but Optimus had something to fight for.

With a clean slice, Optimus literally disarmed Megatron, but he didn’t have a moment to waste. Every second the battle drew on, more of Earth was lost.

Optimus moved faster than he’d done in many cycles, deflecting blaster shots and leaning right so Starscream’s missile sailed past him.

Using the treacherous seeker, Optimus used his body to vault himself into the air, gaining the momentum needed to swing down, embedding the Star Saber deep into the Omega Lock.

He had not the explosion to be so big. It blasted him back, sending out a wave of fire all around. It was as he was airborne that he prayed someone had managed to grab ahold of you before the force sent you flying.

Hitting the ground in a roll, Optimus righted himself instantly and looked around. The rusted structure was now blackened by the flames, small fires dotting the charred circle. He did a quick headcount, finding all his Autobots and humans accounted for.

Ratchet spoke to him over the comm link, sounding desperate. Optimus was just as urgent in his request for a way back to Earth. If Ratchet was still able to contact them, that meant the base was still intact. Who knew how much else of Earth was still organic.

Securing his sword to his back, Optimus followed his team through the Space Bridge. He needed to make sure you received medical attention.

[mossyscavern]

I still have tears to shed

_____________________

D- sorry, Megatron needed a break from his troops shenanigans.

What better way to do that than go somewhere where he won’t be bothered? Outside. It’s not the best place to go… but it’s better than having to deal with high guard now decepticons.

He just needed to breathe.

To think..

To calm himself down as to not-

‘Is that… sniffling?’ He wondered, looking around for the source.. he slowly crept around, hoping that this ‘intruder’ is somebody he doesn’t know, he already knows he’s hurt too many bots already.

But when he does turn a corner… he really didn’t expect this.

It’s bee. Bee’s crying, little hands trying to wipe away the flowing tears and trying not to sob. This concerns Megatron for he’s never seen him cry… then again, it’s not exactly healthy to not see a sparkling not cry.

With a deep breath from his vents, he slowly stood up. “Bee?”

He call out, making the sparkling squeak, wipe the tears quickly before looking up smiling. “Hi megs!” He says. Megatron didn’t like the fact that he’s hiding that he was crying.. it’s not right!

“… what are you doing out here? And by yourself nonetheless?” He asked, arching his optic ridge at the now nervous sparkling. “N-nothing. I’m fine see!” He exclaimed, pointing to the smile on his faceplates.

“I see, and what of the dried streaks on your faceplating.” He asked, tilting his helm. This almost faulted the sparkling’s smile, but still held strong. “What streaks?” Bee asks.

Megatron sighs and sat down with bee, servo ped’s crossed. “You shouldn’t be hiding your tears.” He says, closing his optics before opening again.

“It’s not something young sparks should do.” He adds. From the corner of his optic he can see bee frowning. “Why not? You do it-.”

“I’ve always done it as a minor… I’ve always hid my negative feelings, but by the time the truth about sentinel came about, well.. you know the rest.” He explained, servo clutching into a fist.

“Bottling things up until they burst isn’t healthy, not even for younger sparks.. take my advice and… not do what I did before all this.” He advised, picking bee up and held him in his arms. “So, tell me about your days, including the bad ones.”

Megatron asked, waiting. He assumes he’s done or said something right, cause bee’s sobbing uncontrollably while trying to tell him about his bad days.

At some point he let bee cry between his shoulder pad and neck guard, telling megatron his bad days from sub-level 50, being held by sentinel (reminding him to kill the bastard again) and to that time when Megatron left without him.

His cries died down to hiccups to quiet sniffles, wiping away the rest of his tears he tiredly looks up at megatron. “What about your bad days..?”

He asked. “… I’m not ready to engulf those around with my sorrowful fury, for they’ll also spiral into their own fury of sorrows.. by primus never let anyone know my pain on that damned day.” He quoted.

An old poetry from his data pad he had used to read about betrayal, blinding fury and sorrow, he added his own spin to that quote from his processor

After a few kliks he realised it was a little too quiet for his liking, he looks down and saw bee recharging, pressing his faceplate against the mech’s chassis, with the occasional quiet beeps and little mumbles here and there.

He blinks his optics and smiled, it’s a small one but a smile nonetheless. He got up carefully, assuring himself he won’t stir the sleeping sparkling.

While inside it turns out the troops recent shenanigans involved bee’s ‘disappearance’ in the med-area and they’ve been looking for him for some time.

Megatron confirmed that the situation’s now handled without giving details and that he’ll hold onto the sparkling until further notice before walking off.

When seated on his throne, he looks down at the youngling cradled against his chassis, saw the little yellow bot yawn and snuggle against him.

Megatron swore his spark melted and held the sparkling even more. This is one of the only few things that makes megatron still feel like his old self again…

He’s not loosing that again… and he’s not loosing his baby either.

_____________________

… i did say I’m not done with it forever.

The uh… inspiration is from both this image (eepy bee and megatron) and this image (oh no bee’s crying!) and the au is baby deceptibee by @yuukirita

I… just wanna try my hand at baby deceptibee… hope it’s ok.

[bones4thecats]

Hi I see you’re request are open can I ask of transformers animated Optimus x female bot Vaggie reader , she use to be an elite guard but after she spare the life of an decepticon she was punish by her superior (sentinel spark mate) by cutting her optic and taking away her position

TFA! Optimus Prime w/ Vaggie-Bot! S/O

Character: Optimus Prime (Transformers Animated) Requester: 🩰Anon A/N: I'm gonna call you 🩰Anon, unless you're one of my other Anons. Which if you are please tell me and I can change it! Anyways, I hope you liked this! Also, there is no mention of the Lute-ified Cybertronian being Sentinel's sparkmate, but if you want her to be, you can imagine it. ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Mentions of body mutilation, attempted murder, death, murder and trauma ⚠️

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Optimus Prime ══════════════════════════╝

⚔️ Graduating alongside your old friend, Napier, you began to serve your Captain, Supersonic. Who, despite the fact he had a large processor, was a very good leader when it came to any kind of military issue

⚔️ Now, many cycles after your first day alongside the two Elite Guard members, you were now working with a space-bridge repair crew lead by your sparkmate, Optimus Prime, you were happily watching over Sari while her father worked

"Hey Y/N!" The young girl yelled from the ground.

"What's up, Sari?"

"Why do you have that patch on your eye?"

⚔️ Your one good optic widened as you reached up and felt the metal patch covering your opposite optic. The straight-edged black metal with a rose-red x on it making your digits repulse slightly

"It's a long story, you really don't wanna know." You said nervously.

"No! No! No! I've wanted to know as well!" Bumblebee said, standing up from behind the human child.

"Know what?" Bulkhead asked as he walked in.

"What happened to Y/N's optic."

"Oh yeah! Me three!"

"Now, now, you guys. If Y/N doesn't feel comfortable telling the story, they shouldn't have too." Optimus said as he laid a servo on your shoulder.

"I concur." Prowl said.

⚔️ Sari, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead all awed as you smiled gently and laid your servo on Optimus', assuring him that it was fine for them to ask you since they were far more innocent with the cost of serving underneath Ex-Captain Supersonic

⚔️ Motioning for them all to sit down, even having Ratchet join in right before you began the tale, much to his fake chagrin. You felt Sari finally situate her blanket around herself and lean into the large pillow she held to look at you and listen

"It all started during one of our patrols to check for any rogue Decepticons..."

»–•–«

⚔️ Walking side-by-side Napier, you smiled and nodded along with her rambles. She was speaking about how troublesome some of your previous classmates at the Autobot Academy were since they were joining your regiment under Supersonic

"Lieutenants Y/N and Napier."

⚔️ Turning around, you saw one of your Captain's mechs bowing lightly before standing and telling you that the titular mech wanted you and her to speak with him in his office

⚔️ Nodding along with his words like you did with Napier, the three of you walked down many halls towards the golden-office, stopping only until Supersonic allowed the door to be opened

⚔️ Sitting down with his pedes up on his desk as he sharpened his axe-like weapon, you bowed alongside your friend

"Captain Supersonic."

"Ah, just the two I wanted to see! We have an incident that needs immediate care."

"What seems to be this 'incident'?" Napier asked.

"There are some Decepticon signals being caught on this planet- uh... what was the planet's name again?" He asked the Bot who had escorted you both there.

"Bov 05UC, sir."

"Yeah! Bov 05UC. You two need to go there and arrest them, bring them back, and you'll be on my good side even more! How does that sound?" He said, leaning back to continue sharpening his weapon.

⚔️ Staring at Napier, you nodded before announcing your agreement to the departure

"Alright! You are both needed in the ship in... a megacycle. You might wanna get packin'."

"Understood, sir." Napier said.

"Have a good rest of your cycle, sir."

"Yeah, yeah. Get out."

»–•–«

"Wow! He sounds like a big scrap-head!" Bulkhead said.

"Well, you're not wrong. Captain Supersonic wasn't the most polite Cybertronian back home. I remember one time he literally came to me injured during the war and expected me to treat him like some prince! He was beyond arrogant with his title." Ratchet admitted.

"Anyways, Y/N, do continue," said Prowl.

"Yes, well, when we arrived on the planet, that was when the incident occurred."

»–•–«

⚔️ The sound of swords clashing was all you could hear besides the screams of the inhabitants of Bov 05UC running away from the fighting

"Y/N, that 'Cons getting away!" Napier yelled, pointing her sword at a runaway Decepticon.

"I got 'em!" You yelled back, chasing after the enemy.

⚔️ Landing from the jump before the alleyway, you watched the short Decepticon turn around. It wasn't a grown Cybertronian, it was a young one... a sparkling...

⚔️ Sorrow filled you as you lowered your spear from attack mode from seeing their fearful optics

⚔️ Stepping towards him, you hushed him in an effort to keep him safe and quiet so that Napier or another guard couldn't hear you sparing his life

"Go. Run now!" You whispered as the little one ran off.

⚔️ Hearing steps behind you, you were shocked to see both Napier and Captain Supersonic there. Napier then grabbed your arm, pulling you towards her, before striking you down with her own sword

⚔️ You screamed in pain as she stabbed your fallen optic into the ground

"Decepticon-sympathizing filth like you has no place in the Elite Guard." She said, ripping your title and honor away from you in a single action.

⚔️ As the two walked away, you struggled to walk off. Only to be found by a random Cybertronian, one you didn't recognize. They kneeled before you with a shock-filled expression before covering your energon-bleeding wound with a large cloth from their carry-on compartment

»–•–«

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! So your friend, who you grew up with just- tore your optic out and took your position away from you like it was nothing! Who does she think she is?!" Sari yelled.

⚔️ Optimus looked at you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side as you smiled and patted Sari's little head with your digit

"It's fine now, Sari. I have a great life now. I have a real family. You guys care about one another like nobody ever did back in the Elite Guard. Well, at least the subgroup that Supersonic once led."

"You keep talking about him in past tense, did he like retire or something?" Bumblebee asked.

"Something of the sort..." You nervously answered.

⚔️ Ratchet stood up after you drifted off topic, finishing your answer honestly himself

"He went offline during another battle against Decepticons. Though, those ones were forced to be obedient against their will. Napier, by what I remember, was sent to prison for attempting to kill her fellow soldiers during a state of rage-driven madness."

⚔️ Sari's eyes widened as she looked back at you and Optimus

"You also said that you have a real family now... do you consider us family?" Bulkhead asked.

"Of course! Prowl's the oddball, Ratchet's the grumpy old-mech, Bee and Bulk are the younger siblings, Sari and Isaac are basically like the friends of the unit-"

"And you and Optimus are like the parents!"

"Huh?!" "What?!"

"Too much?"

"Just a tad..."

[cozzzynook]

bumblebee was born with door wings.

It was known throughout Autobot territory that having anything relative to something deemed decepticon labeled you an automatic target. Sparkling or not, Autobots were not as kind as the history archives liked to preach and Bumblebee knew this first hand. Discrimination was a factor Bumblebee was far too familiar with seeing as he was born with door wings though he could not fly and had a ground alt mode. His alt mode was that of a car built for speed, he was no Blurr but he could rival him with how fast he could go. His driving was practically like flying once his wheels hit the pavement.

Not to mention his slender frame rivaled that of a seeker, he wasn’t bulky like a grounder something that put him at a disadvantage. He was not tall either, making him a prime target for bullying inside sparkling centers where all the other bitlets were not only bigger but stronger.

The overseers of the center always turned a blind optic to his bruises and dents. Not sparing him much energon since they didn’t like looking at his bright yellow painting even when his black paint came in albeit late since his frame was never given the proper nutrients to grow.

Bumblebee spent his early protoform days in a sparkling center since his creators were offlined when he was only days old after his emergence. His creators were not lucky. It was a high act of treason for an autobot or grounder to bond with a decepticon and seeker even if the war had ended, Autobots did not take lightly to such unions.

They were hurrying to get to neutral territory when they were caught and offlined. He was left to rust in his carriers gray arms before being found by a traveling bot who dumped him into a sparkling center out of pity for his fresh young spark.

Sometimes, on the nights his stomach rumbled and his door wings were once again scratched and painfully bent he wished the traveler had left him to gray. His young processor saw things weren’t going to get better at the sparkling center what with how all the others were adopted and he was sneered at.

So one night he snuck into the energon storage with a pouch and grabbed as much as he could before leaving. Life on the streets weren’t truly different for him save he was beaten less but he did have to hide more. Many bots gave him looks that made his tanks turn and he did his best to steer clear of them.

He knew to be weary of decepticons and autobots alike seeing first hand how cruel autobots could be all because he was born wrong and he knew from listening to the overseers how cruel decepticons could be. He wasn’t one to care for reading history or reading much in general but he did put it to use after teaching himself to read that decepticons had a point in their early cause. Even his young processor knew the counsel should’ve listened to their demands and reached an agreement. That could’ve spared so many pointless deaths including his creators.

He knew never to speak on his thoughts of course because Autobots spoke of being the side dedicated to peace while showing they had a pretty messed up definition of what peace actually was.

“Hey! Get lost!”

Scurrying without looking back Bumblebee was off.

His time running from bullies showed him he was fast and life on the streets taught him he could be even faster. Taking energon when absolutely necessary, speeding off with anti virus medicine that no bot would waste on him, dodging Elite guards who tried to take him into custody so he could be placed in a sparkling center. Yes, Bumblebee learned he was fast and he was good at utilizing it well into early adulthood when he would dodge servo happy mechs who wanted to touch him.

He wasn’t blind he knew his frame was desirable. He was small, lithe, and curvy in all the right places that left mechs and even a few femme’s glancing his way. At first it annoyed him. Being looked at meant trouble and as much as he wanted the attention, any attention when the days were crushingly lonely, he didn’t want to be damaged because someone thought they’d be doing him a favor ripping his door wings off again.

The first time it happened he was still a sparkling in the center. An overseer thought they’d be helping both of them by removing the ugly nuisance from his back. His memory file painfully kept the scene of him screaming energon murder as he laid in a puddle leaking his life away. The looks other overseers gave him after they were reattached made his circuits and mesh quiver even to this day.

“Look out!”

He turned his helm away from the mech sizing him up like a fresh cup of energon in the sunrise with his arms covering his chest plates when his optics met sight of large ship hovering in the sky before missile fire rained down on them.

He’d never run so fast in his life, transforming mid jump over a graying frame that laid on the ground before high tailing it. There was no stopping, no corner unfazed by the many mechs and femme’s running to safety and no where to go where the screams of innocent mechs and femmes alike were cut off only to be replaced as the process repeated over and over.

He was exhausted by the time the ship left. The autobot insignia was hidden but word later got out that it was an Autobot elite guard ship hunting down two notorious decepticons who were hiding in their area. They hadn’t managed to capture them so the group decided to take them by surprise and ambush them.

No apologies were given to the mechs and femmes permanently disabled by the elite guards reckless decision. Those that died were labeled a “tragic loss” and were used to encourage bots across Cybertron to join the Autobot forces to help snuff out any more decepticons so another incident like this would not be repeated.

Bumblebee remembers feeling an array of emotions when he heard the broadcast. He remembers seeing the poster with Ultra Magnus not long after covering the area and bots believing the nonsense. He seemed to be one of the only few bots who saw something wrong with all this besides those permanently disabled. Neither he nor they said anything though. It would be disastrous for them, the outcasts and undesirables, to speak out against it. They were already hated by their people for being different Bumblebee knew the mechs and femmes who were permanently damaged would no longer live the same life. They’d be just like him.

Tossed to the side.

Bumblebee suddenly felt like his body was covered in the life energon that splattered on him as he raced to survive the onslaught. He felt his optics sting and the late night break in to a “communal” cleaner did little to wash away the long gone life energon.

‘How can they live with themselves?’

Bumblebee asked himself this question countless times as he took what energon he could find before leaving the half destroyed town. It wouldn’t do him any good staying there not when bots were looking for another to take their anger out on. Many of those bots were joining the military and hoping to become Elite guards themselves. Bee figured it was misplaced hope and a need for safety.

He got it, he really did.

If he could blend in he would but sadly he can’t. He never could. Not with his yellow paint, door wings and femme like frame. He wasn’t proud of the way he learned to use these things to his advantage. It wasn’t always a guarantee he could scrounge up some energon without getting caught and since he was no longer a sparkling but a young grown mech, he needed to be careful not to get caught. He didn’t want to end up in a detention center.

It was hard at first. Truth be told it was still hard. Going to half decent but mostly seedy bars working for his keep to have a place to rest his head and keep energon in his tank. He wasn’t stupid. He knew this arrangement was not only dangerous but temporary. Eventually his luck would run out within twelve cycles and he’d be asked to accompany the bar owner to a more..private room. He always left immediately after saying he would meet them down there.

It led to him traveling a lot more than he originally planned but he eventually found some semblance of settling when he entered a camp full of seekers. There were a few grounders like himself, most likely mated to some of the seekers. He stayed clear of them seeing them just made him think of his creators and his processor just wandered to trying to remember what they looked like. So he tried to keep to himself no matter how lonely he was. He wanted to chat and get close with others, by nature he was a friendly mech and loved talking but he couldn’t risk doing so. Not here.

Not when he was always at risk of being hurt or…used.

“You know you don’t have to be so distant. It’s different here,” a grounder spoke, “a lot of seekers here just want to online peacefully and us grounders just want our sparklings and mates safe.”

The mech tried to put a servo on his shoulder but he flinched away, standing straight a moment later he looked anywhere but the mech and scurried off. His circuits were nervous for cycles after that encounter. Other grounders started coming to him trying to talk and soothe him as if he was a sparkling in distress and not a grown mech himself.

He didn’t need them trying to creator him, he was fine on his own and had been all his life cycle. They could frag off snd creator their own sparklings. It made him so irrationally angry every time they tried to take care of him he wasn’t some bitlet that needed consoling he was a grown mech that entered carrier heats alone when he was just a youngling living in a back alley. He was mech who survived the acid rains in the dumpsters or bots back garages in corners to not he seen. He’d kept himself from being interfaced by older bots all on his own.

He didn’t need them! He never needed a creator before when he was a lone sparkling and he doesn’t need one now as a grown mech.

“Aren’t jou a little young to be drinking jour sorrows away?”

“Aren’t you a little fragger for bothering someone in a corner who wants to be left alone?”

Okay so maybe he had a foul intake but he was justified, he wanted some peace to wallow in a bar he wouldn’t be asked to interface for shelter in for once he wanted to relax not this.

“Quite ze mouth on jou little one. Careful. Jou don’t seem ze type to be good in a mech on mech brawl,” the mech laughed in his foreign accent. He blamed the high grade in his systems for making him think it was attractive as well as warming his pleasure sensors.

“Yeah well you don’t know what kind of mech I am so frag off and leave me alone,” okay maybe he sounded bratty but he just wanted the mech to go away.

“Suite jourself,” the mech said with a slag eating grin in his vox. It made Bumblebee look up from his glass he was going to give this mech a piece of his processor until he looked at the mech. He was tall, really tall. Arms thicker than Bumblebee’s frame with a beautiful jawline that could offline. His face plate was a shade of blue he could never grow tired of seeing with the most beautiful red optics he’s ever seen. In the back of his processor he knew that meant this was a decepticon mech former or not he wasn’t sure. All he knew in that moment looking at the beige and purple painted mech was that he was beautiful, stunning, a sight he was truly gifted to behold.

His intake was left partially open as he swayed on unstable pedes before grabbing the counter to balance himself. His high grade filled helm was hard at work rushing energon south as his private plating grew hot. He could feel his valve growing wet with sticky energon slick and he knew he had to get out of there.

His seal was still in tact thankfully but with how attractive the mech before him was he wasn’t sure how much longer that would be the case.

“Oooh? Nothing to say hummel?”

Bumblebee made a face at the name worry tinting his blurred optics as he gazed at the mech but the small part of his processor that was logic won out and he stumbled away from the mech. Forcing himself to be silent as he left the bar. He didn’t have a place to call his yet but the archive building always had a room they let mechs and femmes stay in who had no hab suite. Here in the camps shanix wasn’t as big a need like in the capital and their surrounding cities and towns. He still had less than the average bot but he had enough for fuel and thats all he really cared about.

He was just at the archive back-way when he stumbled and lost his peding. The rush of cold air didn’t turn to concrete and vaguely he could feel two warm servo’s on his hips before being lifted into cool arms. The bot that helped him was a mech and a muscular yet lean one at that. They were quite large with how far from the he was but he didn’t feel in danger. He couldn’t identify what he felt if he was honest.

Warmth. Comfort. Soft. His body wasn’t on edge for the first time he knew of. He almost missed the word he’d been unfortunate to experience until now.

Safe.

The mech holding him managed to make him feel safe when he didn’t even know them.

“Jou shouldn’t get so full on high grade especially since jou aren’t a regular size for that kind of high grade.”

‘Oh great, this mech again,’ he would’ve rolled his optics if he didn’t have such a helm ache.

“Put me down,” his vox was half static as he tried to get feeling into his frame. His servo’s wouldn’t listen to his circuits telling them to move and his digits just hung limp against the mech’s chest plates. They were thick, made for flight and battle. Oh how his private plating pulsed with life at the mere thought.

‘Why did I have to like em big?’

“And vhere vould jou go hmm? Do jou live here? In this little hole?”

Bumblebee had enough energy to get upset at the incredulous tone but not much else. He wanted to helm butt the nosey mech but he didn’t have the energy to.

“Not your business, put me down,” his venting wasn’t even and his frame was getting hot from all the high grade and his valve’s pulsing. He hoped the bot couldn’t smell his arousal, he really wanted to frag the mech but at the same time he didn’t want to risk getting sparked or a virus.

“Are jou sure jou want me to put jou down? Jou could barely stand on those little stabilizers just a moment ago. Jou think jou can make it inside?”

“Why do you care? Just let me figure it out on my own and go away!”

He was starting to lose his temper and his valve was starting to leak with every passing word from that thick accent. He wanted the mech and he wanted to feel his spike breaching his valve and breaking his seal but there would be consequences to that and the mech was most likely a decepticon. He didn’t get a good look at his chassis to see the insignia but Bumblebee knew he had one.

“Feisty little mech hmm?”

“I’m not that little,” with a sudden burst of energy Bumblebee managed to catch the mech off guard as he twisted in his arms. Lifting a servo to try pushing the mech away he was restrained faster than he knew possible.

“Interesting, jou have quite ze speed I’ll give jou that hummel,” the mech smirked unfazed, “but i’m faster,” he said leaning in face plate to face plate.

“What do you want from me?”

“Jou are interesting.”

“I’m not a pleasurebot,” Bumblebee glared, servo transforming to a stinger canon. He has never offlined another bot in his life cycle but he was willing to blue screen one on their aft if he needed to.

“I never saw jou that way little one. I simply think jour interesting. I’ve never seen a bot with yellow paint or wings as beautiful as jours especially since jour a grounder.”

That made Bumblebee freeze.

No bot had ever called him interesting, let alone beautiful. And his door wings? Well, they were betraying his vulnerability full throttle as they flicked and postured nervously. A tint of eagerness in how they didn’t pull away from the mech’s direction. Vents stalling for a nanoclick as his optics focus on honesty and want in the red optics bewitching him.

“you..you think i’m…”

He couldn’t get the words out his vox couldn’t form a single sentence and his optics betrayed him by blurring with leaking fluid.

“i..don’t..,” that ache in his spark coiled something fierce vice grip holding him immobile in the mech’s arms. Those red optics didn’t pity him, didn’t judge him, understood him.

“I vant to, hummel,” the soft blow of air from his derma’s cooled the heat clouding Bumblebee’s fave plate, he wanted more, so much more. “I vant to touch jou, show jou just how beautiful jou are, hummel.”

His derma’s wisp the tip of his audial and brush against the mesh under his optic. Bumblebee could feel his horns flicking with excitement, with need, reacting to the mech’s touch. He wanted more. Needed more.

His own dermas inched forward, soft vent brushing blue mesh as his optic lids fluttered, chest plates pushing out slightly to touch the mech more. He could feel his breast mesh beneath his plating grow aroused perking to rub uncomfortably, begging to be set free. He wanted this mech to touch him, caress him, feel him.

He needed him.

Needed to be more than just a no bot fading to the background for safety. Hiding away from bots who wanted to lend him a helping servo, never staying in one place for long out of fear. His overseers still had him listed as a criminal for running away with a lot of energon and the seedy bar owners and patrons he served high grade to wanted his valve and seal for their own disgusting servos. He dodged plenty elite guards who identified him as a survivor to the raid on the small town he once inhabited.

Turns out they not only used it to make the towns people enlist and join the autobot ranks, they down played the damage truly dealt. Hid how many sparks were snuffed out and how many bots were permanently damaged because of their horrible decision. He had an idea of what they would do to convince him to keep it under wraps and he wanted no parts in that.

All the running, always watching his back, never able to trust another bot or simply talk the way he wished he could. He wanted nothing more than to be a normal bot.

His derma’s touch the beige helm before he realizes, thats all it takes for the mech holding him. He’s being carried somewhere, their entering the deepest parts of the seeker district where some of the more dangerous mechs cohabit. They come to a building he recognizes as a seekers home. Its built for a lone mech instead of a trine and Bumblebee feels his nerves jumble as they enter inside.

His optics wander the room as he notes paintings hanging from the walls beautiful and perfection in every sense of the word. Molding clay in a corner with stone and hammers opposite of them. Paint lies in a cupboard far too high for him to reach but perfect for the mech that shifts to cradle him.

A servo brushes so gently across the side of his helm holding his jaw to tilt making him look up. Red optics are warm to him now. A color he thinks he’ll forever find comfort in so long as its this bot before him.

He’s shy now, blue coating his cheeks as he feels the heavy thrum of the mechs spark pulsing through his thick armor. He’s a war build seeker that much he’s sure of, his gaze wanders to purple wings and his own flutter at the sight. He can’t help it. They’re so big, much bigger than his own and they could fly. He wished his could fly.

“Jour wings are beautiful,” the mech whispers, olfactory sensor rubbing his, asking for permission that Bumblebee grants him.

The kiss is slow, searching, fluid, curious.

They both want to get a feel on one another, servos tightening around his waist, his arms hooking behind the beige helm, stabilizers hooking beneath the large chassis. Digits digging into the armor when he feels dermas press harder onto his own. The mesh is soft, so soft he almost thinks the mech freshly glossed them just for him. He feels the cool shift in the mechs frame grow warmer, the shift in metallic wings fluttering. He’s vaguely aware of the bot taking him to the berth. High grade heightening his sensor nets while lowering his fire walls and the logic in his processor.

He feels his private plating heat unbearably, his vavle spasming as his back hits the soft sheets. His wings fan out in a desirable display and his hips rut against the mechs strong upper thigh that rests between his legs sinking into the berth. Their dermas part and Bumblebee flicks his optics open their hazy drunk on pleasure he knows will only grow. He’s faintly aware of the room growing in heat from their warming frames, the windows begin to fog and his olfactory senses pick up the scent of energon slick and transfluid, it makes him look down.

The mech on top of him has his private plating retracted he has no valve that much Bumblebee realizes as he feels his own private plating tremble in anticipation. But the sheer size of the mechs pink and blue energon transfluid dripping from his engorged black spike with bioluminescent purple and blue lines in an attractive pattern he wants has glossa to lick and trace, has Bumblebees private plating snap open.

He looks away in shame as his pathetic spike shows itself. It was small even for someone his size he wouldn’t dare compare it to the large spike about to penetrate him. He’s sniffling upset already thinking he’ll bd mocked, wings insecure as they shift awkwardly. But the beige and purple mech doesn’t allow him to wallow. Those purple wings flare to capture his attention and the icy digit lifts his head to look at him. Warmth enraptures those beautiful red optics and he’s left starstruck.

Subconsciously he’s aware of his servos lowering to hold both sides of the mechs face plate, feeling the seductive jawline move as the mech spoke. Words uncharacteristically gentle aimed his way has his chassis quivering and his optics warming in leaking fluid as he whimpers a pitiful whine at the mechs words.

“You’re a carrier,” the words are understanding, careful, sweet even, “I’m a sire mech, hummel,” Bumblebee didn’t really know much about sire mechs he only knew they couldn’t carry like he couldn’t sire. He had to know all that being a carrier entailed since he was one but he never bothered to learn much on sire mechs. He knew regular bots could spark bond and have a piece of their sparks enter-twine before going into a protoform. That was the norm of how their species reproduced.

And then there was mechs like him and the mech above him, the rarities who carry in tanks and sired through transfluid and spark energy. A carrier mech could end up sparked through either just like a sire mech could spark a mech using their chamber or transfluid. Usually the two types only stuck to each other simply because they were not only made for each other but because it was easier that way since a regular bot would have complications with either types and regular bots didn’t like their types.

“I’m sorry,” it felt right to say for some reason. He didn’t live a life he wished for others to experience and so he assumed the other mech may not have as well.

“No need to apologize hummel, jou did nothing vrong. Especially since i get to have jou here,” the mech said lowering himself. That thick spike dragging up his thigh plate made his hips rut and a smirk pulled at blue dermas that leaned back down to kiss him. His servo’s moved on their own, holding the mech’s chassis and shoulder optics fluttering as his neck moved back, wings spread out in invitation across the sheets. Hips lifting to rub his vavle along the thick pulsing spike that dripped transfluid onto his seal. He felt his valve squeeze on nothing and his grip tightened as he whimpered. He wanted the mech, this mech right here who showed him kindness he often ran from and rejected.

With him it felt different.

Maybe it was the high grade working in his systems, maybe it was the unparalleled beauty he saw in the mech that left him wanting more or maybe it was the growing heat that curled and coiled in his tanks with each touch the mech provided him. He didn’t know and he didn’t bother to care.

He just knew one thing.

“Spike..please,” he moaned as their dermas disconnected with a trail of liquid connecting them. His shinning optics took in the purple tint of the mechs cheeks and he felt his cheeks warm. This large mech was blushing at the sight of him, spike pulsing and hard because of him. Dripping the most delicious smelling transfluid onto his valve, all because of him.

“Hummel, are jou sure?”

“Yes, please,” Bumblebee pleaded, “break my seal, claim me as yours, mecha.”

There was a softness, a vulnerability that was partially guarded as the mechs red optics glossed slightly. A cool vent that left Bumblebee reaching up to pull the other closer as his wings lowered to stretch then spread in invitation. A shy invitation with shy confidence on Bumblebee’s part as he initiated a soft tender shaky kiss. Feeling the mech return it, servo holding the space between his door wings as he tightened his stabilizers around the mechs waist.

Digits slide to his valve and wait, he pushes his valve closer to them and the mech answers his welcoming. Sliding the first clawed digit inside breaking his seal. He gasps in pure pleasure, the mech inhaling his air sliding another inside. Twirling his digits slowly, working the fresh folds open careful to stretch them as slick pink fluid coated black clawed servos.

The dermas kissing his neck cables nipped at them, those sharp denta sent a shiver down his spine. Oh how he wanted the mech to open his chassis and bite his teat glands. He knew he couldn’t lactate but he wanted the mech to have the fun of trying.

‘Maybe I really do have carrier protocols that can be activated.’ That in itself was a surprise since he swore to himself he would never have a sparkling let alone take care of one.

The sudden pulse from his valve had his optics clouding for a nanoclick. The mech holding him had slipped two more digits inside him, he was impossibly tender and completely thorough in his stroking. He felt that sudden spike in heat wracking his frame his vents were starting to have trouble cooling him down and the mech bit a little harder when he felt the small bot in his arms gasp in pleasure.

“Jou like that? Hmm? Have I found jour bundle of nerves?”

Those skilled claws lightly rubbed the bundle of nerves and he felt his interior node spasm at the soft touch. His helm fell back at the sudden rush of slick fluid that spilled into the mechs servo. He felt his legs lock tighter and his hips rutting in tune with the mechs digits his own digits dug deep into the mechs shoulders scrapping his paint. And before Bumblebee could apologize he saw the mechs wings twitch in appreciation.

“M..mecha..your wings..so..ahhhh so beautiful,” he moaned. He wanted to touch them but he knew he didn’t like others touching his door wings so he was sure a full seeker wouldn’t want a mixed bot touching his own and Bumblebee didn’t think he’d be granted permission.

“Blitzwing.”

“H-huh?”

“My name, mein designation is Blitzwing,” the mech now known as Blitzwing, soothed to him pressing his helm against Bumblebees.

“Blitzwing,” the name felt like honey and riches on his tongue. He found himself repeating the designation over and over again as his valve pumped out slick fluid into the mechs servo. He felt so good all over, his frame may be hot and his tank felt like it would burst at any moment spilling out of his valve but he could care less. He chased that feeling, the unwinding bundle that threatened to swallow him whole as he bucked his hips keeping pace with the beautiful mech before him.

With the beautiful mech named Blitzwing that his optics just couldn’t get enough of.

“Hummel,” his groan was delicious to his audials but when Blitzwing pulled his servo back he whined like he was struck with pain.

“I vant to be inside jou, mein hummel, please,” Blitzwing moaned lining his spike to Bumblebee’s valve, “can I?”

When Bumblebee didn’t say anything Blitzwing pulled back ready to comfort him but Bumblebee’s stabilizers pushing him forward so the head of his spike could slip inside him, well it made them both groan.

Bumblebee’s valve was hot and soft to the touch, sucking Blitzwings spike in like a bot starved of the most delectable energon known in bot history. Blitzwing almost overloaded from just being inside the yellow minibot alone. He tried inching in slowly, allow the yellow mini time to adjust to his impressive thick spike but the yellow bug kept squirming and wiggling trying to lower himself onto his spike that he bit his lower derma to keep from thrusting in all the way.

“Careful zere hummel. Jou may rip something,” Blitzwing groaned as he almost bottomed out, servo curling around the yellow mini’s curvy mesh waist while the other held the back of his helm, Blitzwing watched the curve of his spike imprint the mechs tank. He felt his spike twitch spurting hot transfluid inside the soft meshy organ. Oh it felt so good to be fully sheathed inside the mech nestled in his arms.

His beautiful face plate was overwhelmed with pleasure, chassis heaving heavy vent after heavy vent in an attempt to cool his frame. His hips were twitching on his spike, he could see how full the mech was, so full of him that he almost slipped and overloaded inside him.

He didn’t want to hurt the neutral bot especially since he just broke his seal but he did want to make this experience last as long as possible. He wanted the mech in his servo’s to be ruined for anybot else. He didn’t want the yellow beauty to find comfort or solace in another mech or femme like this that wasn’t him.

He carefully cradled the mech closer pressing them chassis to chassis, covered spark plating to covered spark plating. Sucking what little air the mech had blowing cool air into his intake as he slid his glossa inside. Roaming every inch of the mechs intake when he felt servo’s hold his wings.

The sensation made him jolt in surprise.

This mechs touch, his small servo’s, his tiny digits, feeling along the expanse of his purple wings, feeling along the groves and long healed dents was the best feeling he’s ever had in his entire life cycle.

Blitzwing was so embarrassed his cheeks shaded complete purple as he moaned loudly, overloading inside the little mech who arched his back strut with impossible flexibility. Overloading slick fluid that sloshed and poured free from his valve mixing with the transfluid that dripped onto the sheets and down Blitzwings thigh plating and knee guards.

Blitzwing felt his wings fan out and stand at attention the same as the mech in his servo’s. He felt his processor crash for a moment, frame shaking making him thrust into the yellow mini’s interior node pushing him to overload once more. The sweet cries and moans coming from the bots leaking intake had his spike pulsing at attention and he couldn’t help himself.

Half crashed with his processor fritzing from overheat and excessive pleasure he kept thrusting. Their spark chambers thrumming at racing pace as they tried to connect through both the bots armor. Blitzwing had never been very vocal when interfacing save for some dirty talk but he couldn’t stop the moans and pleasurable grunts and growls as he soaked up all the attention his hummel was giving not just him but his wings as they interfaced.

He hadn’t touched the bots wings since one did not touch a carriers wings without permission. One didn’t touch a sire’s wings either but for this mini without question he made an exception.

“Ah, Hummel,” he felt his vox growl dangerously as another overload was building in his tank and circuits. Even with his ice powers blowing cool air on the air from his pistons it wasn’t enough. The windows were steaming, the berth was creaking as the metal frame slammed the wall making an ignored crack. The bot in his servo’s was trying to meet the rhythm of his thrusts his valve puffy and stretched out. Pink and blue energon surrounding it as their fluids mixed.

Blitzwing tried to stifle a particularly loud roar by biting so hard into his derma he spilled energon. His spike impaled the yellow mini’s interior node over and over until his little hummel overloaded with a loud cry of static before dragging his digits down Blitzwings wing plating then frizzing out into recharge. His frame spasmed in reaction to Blitzwing overloading inside him completely unaware of the large mech falling to his side and crashing into recharge after roaring loudly accidentally turning his thrusters on and firing his pistons. The last thing Blitzwing saw flashing across his hud before completely falling into recharge was that his processor had activated the protocol every seeker dreamed of.

His conjunx programming.

Neither mechs were in a rush to online their optics. Blitzwing was heading back into recharge when he felt his frame being moved and his arms lose the small warmth he’d held throughout the night cycle. His processor immediately took that as a threat making his optics shoot open and his pistons blare to life ready to shoot when a startled yelp rung in his processor and a flash of yellow dropped down.

He was quick to catch the little mech before he hit the floor boards, yanking him back into his arms as his optics searched for the threat. When he saw the berth room was empty save for the two of them he tilted his helm confused.

“Hummel, are jou okay?”

The mech in his arms was shocked and looked pretty shaken up though Blitzwing noted how he leaned into his touch instead of scurrying off.

“Hummel?”

“Stop calling me hummel. Thats not my designation.”

“Then what is jour designation? Jou never did tell me.”

“…”

The yellow mini looked down, face plate shifting to a hurt expression. His optics weren’t entirely clear but it couldn’t have been from the high grade. His scans showed the two worked it from his system during their first shared overload. His protocols were buzzing with worry something that didn’t show on his face plate but it did in his optics and closed off em field.

Deciding he would wait for an answer Blitzwing pulled the mech back onto the berth careful of sore stabilizers and his exposed puffy valve coated in dry transfluid and energon slick. He laid his back strut and wings comfortably against his pillows making sure the mech was comfortable against his frame. He could see the paint transfer on his thigh platings and he couldn’t stop the grin on his dermas. Em field motioning towards the mini he felt him jump slightly at the outside emotions.

“..b-127.”

His vox was low, it didn’t feel right to Blitzwing. The mech before him seemed so closed off, so closed in on himself Blitzwing was surprised he hadn’t split a circuit open. He knew the little mech had fire in him, that much was proven when he told him off at the bar. Sure he could be shy but that felt right. This. This didn’t feel right. And a designation like B-127? Thats not a real designation but he knows the yellow mech isn’t lying to him. So why was that his designation?

“B-127? Thats quite an odd designation for jour creators to give jou little one.”

“My creators offlined when I was few cycles old. Thats why I never got more than a sparkling center entrance number.”

The little mechs voice was cold and wavering as he spoke no matter how much he tried to stifle it Blitzwing could feel his em field howl with distrust, pain, longing, loneliness and sorrow at such a deep spark clenching grief. He was sure he could guess the type of life cycle the younger mech was tormented with. He knew well what the door wings on his back meant. The moved acted as wings a seeker would emerge with. He didn’t have the build of a grounder yet he knew the mech couldn’t fly. Sure he had a chassis like a grounder with no cockpit but that was it.

His plating was not build like that of a battling autobot but that of a civilian. He thankfully wasn’t framed like a pleasure bot but his natural frame was close. The yellow plating on his stabilizers went just above his mid thigh. His pedes had a small sharp strut to them and his hip plating wasn’t protective in the slightest. His tanks had no protective save for his back strut, the black plating blended well accentuating his curves that led to his yellow door wings with black opening handles just below the low window. His neck cables and upper chassis were exposed but his spark casing and tit glands were covered thankfully. His helm covering was yellow with black covering his audials, he had a strip of black on his forehead. That made Blitzwing get a good look at the antenna that drooped with his bots sad expression.

One he didn’t like.

“Jou didn’t vant to designste jourself?”

“Why should i? Not like anybots gonna call me by it.”

“It can be for jou, yellow one.”

“Yeah? And what if I don’t care about having a designation?”

‘Stubborn,’ Blitzwing smirked shaking his helm, “i think jou do but if jou prefer to be stubborn about ze subject.” Suddenly Bumblebee was pressed against the sheets. Blitzwing spike impaling him making the lingering transfluids sloshing inside of him slide back into his tank. His optics automatically began to haze as he felt some of the large mechs weight pressing him down. He never knew he would have a pleasure pressing kink, it was something he hoped the mech wouldn’t realize.

“Vhat if I told jou I wanted something to call jou other than the assigned numbers ze center gave jou. Hm?? Vhat if I vanted something better to moan during our bouts of interfacing? Hm? Ve seekers like spoiling our mates. Especially by calling their designations so every bot who hears us vill know who ve belong to.”

Blitzwing said the words as smooth as an icicle. They chilled him to his core in a way he felt heating his tanks just like the previous night cycle.

Bumblebee couldn’t stop his back strut from arching into Blitzwings middle plating. His valve slicking hot energon makes it so much easier for Blitzwing to pull his hips back, the tip of his spike keeping Bumblebee’s valve stretched as he made some excess transfluid and energon slick that was mixed together squelch out before it was roughly shoved back inside with a powerful thrust.

“Jou deserve a beautiful designation to be moaned in jour ear, hummel.”

Bumblebee felt his tank lurch and his gestation pouch pulse. His optics blew wide open at the assault on his interior node, lifting his helm to open his intake and defy the mech laying so comfortably on top of him. Ready to argue his words and the use of his magnificent spike that cured a loneliness he’d never known could be filled until Blitzwing slammed into his interior node again knocking his processor and vox off from their regulatory.

The mech was stroking him so deep with every pump of his spike he was sure that Blitzwing intended to hit the bundle of nerves on his interior node and even try slamming into his gestation pouch. The realization made his valve pour and he couldn’t stop his digits from digging into the sheets and as he arched perfectly into Blitzwings frame.

Blitzwing glued his frame to the mech below him and he decided his mating code picked a perfect mech to match him with. Sure he wished he could’ve gotten to know the mech better and know him for longer but if his sweet expressions were anything to go by. The parting of his dermas as static slipped free, his seductive arch, his tight little valve that went from relaxed to squeezing his spike like his spark depended on it. Every hum and whine and mewl the mech let out was far too great for Blitzwing not to bend down and steal for himself like the selfish decepticon he is.

“Nnnnnghhhhh,” those noises were music to his audial’s. He couldn’t help but open his optics as he kissed the yellow mech depely. Seeing up close for the first time just how beautiful the mech truly was. Smooth faceplate, glossy painted frame streaked with his colors with an incredible curvy femme like frame to pede. Not to mention his door wings.

Blitzwing wouldn’t ever admit it to any other mech besides himself and maybe his hummel but those wings. He watched those wings twitch with sad expression for literal joors as the yellow mini sat at the bar drinking high grade too high for his frame. He wouldn’t have really cared if it were another mech about to be taken advantage of. He knew what the bar tender wanted by giving the mech such expensive and tasteful energon. He hadn’t really cared until he saw just who the mech was.

He didn’t really know the yellow mini outside of seeing him in passing since the day he wandered into town. Expression blank in a way all too familiar to his own when he used to live in the slums of Vos and Kaon. He didn’t have a place to call his habsuite or home after his creators offlined. Surviving the cruel streets taught him to look as reserved and untouchable as possible. The same look he once adorned on his face plates was the same look the yellow mini possessed as he went about in town.

Many tried to chat with him and each bot was either rudely turned down or he shut them down before walking off. He intrigued Blitzwing at first, his first time seeing the mech up close he was in his alt mode. Seeming to be cruising to himself far from the other grounders who drove and raced together. Blitzwing admired the sleek form of his alt mode as he watched him from afar, vox stolen along with his helm and processor as he watched the yellow mini transformer into root mode and walk into the archive halls. Those wings were pressed flat on his backside, one that Blitzwing admired in its entirety as he took in the shapely aft and slender stabilizers that had small heel struts holding casual grace as they moved.

He was star speckled when he first saw the mini and ever since he kept his optic out for him. Engine almost purring at every chance he got to see his cute little aft bent over as his door wings bobbed in natural response. He never saw himself having a thing for grounders but seeing as the mech was half grounder half seeker he was more than happy to make an exception.

So seeing the little mech all alone at the bar with a cup of high grade had been a gift he was not willing to pass up. No he wasn’t intending to berth him but it had been a welcome surprise. One he wasn’t planning on letting him escape from. He was more than happy to show his hummel all the ways in which they were perfect together and if it meant starting in the berth room, well.

He was more than happy to get their odd courtship started.

“Ah! Ah! Bli-bLitzWing!”

“Go ahead, hummel,” Blitzwing moaned into his intake, glossa sliding inside for a quick taste before slipping out, “I vant to hear all of jou. Every whimper, every gasp, every whine. Go ahead. Don’t hold back on me. Mein hummel,” Blitzwing uttered against his derma, ever the secret romance bot, “Let me feel jour body tremble.”

With a loud optic leaking static cry Bumblebee felt Blitzwing intwine their digits together digging them further into the sheets. Spilling energon transfluid into his valve and gestation pouch as it burst from the round tip of his spike. Filling his tank quite noticeably as it swelled from not only his humungous spike imprint but the sparkling fluid drenching him with pure creation.

He couldn’t focus his helm circuits long enough to know the difference between opening his intake or his valve that greedily drank as if his life energon was at stake. His vox wouldn’t shut off no matter how many times he tried to shut his dermas and even the sheets he bit down onto wasn’t enough to stop the pleasured cry as he felt his spark chamber crack open.

The loud rumbling hum of a spark too big to be his own roared behind him. The life wisping energy of his untouched passionate bright orange spark began to mix in perfect harmony with Blitzwing’s mixed hues of orange and red life spark energy.

The two were in awe and amazed by the colors of each other’s spark. Blitzwing would never have guessed the yellow mini had orange in his spark or that a spark could even be pure white. Sure he’s heard rumors but thats all he thought they were rumors. He never believed they were real for a second but oh how wrong he was.

‘Orange and red? I’ve read about them but I never thought I’d see a bot with one! I never thought I’d see another bots spark at all to be fair…’

While Bumblebee and Blitzwing were awed at the sight of the other mechs spark and the beauty of the others essence, they completely forgot one important detail.

Their sparks were merging, becoming one, permanently.

The two mechs had just permanently sparkbonded becoming conjunx and hadn’t even realized until their energies permanently sat mixed within one another and their chassis closed.

Lingering specks of energy littered the air around them. Their digits were seemingly glued as their frames melted to each others. Bumblebee could feel a wave of warmth, confusion, anxiety and the ache of an overthinking helm in the pit of his tank and in the center of his spark. He reached his em field to touch it and the feelings burst to life with a static screech of his vox as he felt electricity burst from within.

His valve clenched tight around Blitzwing’s spike making the mech shake. The larger had been caught off guard by the sudden pleasure and discomfort around his spike after such an optic stopping moment as seeing a spark as ethereal as this. By Primus his spark put the stars in their galaxy to shame. He felt the symphony of the arts floating around his helm and the urge to paint his now bondeds spark on canvas to capture its immortal flawless core.

He needed to build. To craft such perfection and magnificence for him to behold in and out of the mechs presence. No not the mech presence, his mechs presence.

The yellow mini was not just a random bot anymore. This yellow mini who captured his attention without lifting a digit or batting an optic his way, was his.

And oh how he feared the clicks passing by as his affections and fascination grew.

“Hummel,” the mech groaned, digits clasping the mini’s tighter as he felt jolts of electricity stinging the core of his spark with fear and a warmth he’s never been granted past his creators.

“We bonded, oh frag we bonded!”

The panic settled in the form of his vox and vision glitching with fuzz and discolored sights in leaking optics that burned to his over working vents. He could not bring himself to release Blitzwing but he couldn’t bring himself to stop panicking.

“I just bonded with a mech I don’t even know! Oh frag I’m bonded to another mech! Frag, frag, frag!”

“Are jou telling me jou think jour on the femme attraction hummel?”

The raised taunting mesh above red optics annoyed Bumblebee especially when he could see the smugness in Blitzwing’s expression, though he refused to acknowledge his wanting to comfort the hidden fear in the mech he grasped tighter. Not because he cared and felt grounded by something as simple as touch but because he was running on high energy. He could delude himself for the moment he’s earned it.

“Shut up,” his cheek curves were blue with energon as he avoided that stiff smile, “its not that! I just don’t know you.”

“Vell ve are bonded now. Ve have all eternity to get to know ze other,” Blitzwing said accepting this a bit easier. Sure he was freaking out on the inside but the use of slightly taunting humor and the pretty mech still beneath him helped soothe him. That and he was still pumping transfluid inside the little mini and he was becoming fascinated with just how vast their size difference was. He was aware of his war frame being bigger than most bots but he was so used to being around other war frames and average sized bots, even heavy weight bots, that he forgot about mini bots.

Though now that he looks at the mech he didn’t exactly fit the form type of a mini bot. His protoform was far too…curvy and slim in all the right places to be a mini. They tended to be more round and husky, stout really. They were perfectly balanced in being heavy weight to make up for their short stature. But this mech didn’t seem to be stout he wasn’t even chunky. He was just curvy and little too slim.

‘Kind of like…oh..’

It would be best not to ask.

‘It vould be best to wait until ve’re more familiar vith each other to talk on our pasts..though I’m sure I know ze answer..’

“This isn’t funny! Do you have any idea what we’ve done?!”

“Jes.”

“And you’re just okay with that?!”

“Jes.”

“You don’t even know me!”

“I know enough. I can spot a good bot from a bad bot and jou hummel are a good bot.”

That seemed to catch his hummel’s attention. He was glad for it, he could feel a warmth grow within their new bond. A pulse of something thready beginning to form and a piece of his spark broke as he pin pointed the emotion.

Praise.

His hummel had never received praise or appreciation before.

‘Just how lonely a mech are jou?’

His mating protocols were kicking into gear. His instincts spurred him to drown his bonded in the affection he so desperately craved and needed. There was an abundance of emotions and needs both physical and mental that his hummel had never received. So many things were empty inside his hummels spark and the memories he barely touched were only of pain and basic mecha comforts. The care and affection he sent out through their bond was unrecognizable to the mini and as he heard sniffling and felt shoulder struts shake at the rush of overwhelm and confusion from below, he did his best to guide and comfort him through the torrent of unfamiliarity.

It took two joors to get his hummel to calm and by then the lunar and solar cycles events and lack of fuel had caught up to them. He wanted to get his hummel and himself fuel but the tiny servo resting on his spinal column had stopped him. He knew then he was weak for the pretty mecha as he curled around him drifting into recharge. Though the nights recharge was not helpful.

After bonding bots will share certain memories through the conjunx endurea bonding and it will be completely solidified. There would be no surgery or repairs capable of undoing their bond. Blitzwing had felt it necessary to share this information with his hummel who responded by loosely holding his larger servo between their chassis. He didn’t meet his optics but closing them and leaning close did more than words could.

Currently he was shifting an optic back at his hummel, he was sitting at the large table watching nothing but that was to he expected. Blitzwing knew a lot of memories of his life cycle were not at all pleasant. Sure he had moments where things were good but the horrors he committed in the great war. The painful experiment he went through granting him the ability and title Triple changer along with his long held curiosity and attraction to his hummel before meeting faceplate to faceplate.

Well, he was surprised his hummel was still sitting at the table let alone being in the same home as him.

Blitzwing attributed that to shock and his hummels own personal history of horrid memories one would like to leave behind. The care center, the casualties autobots often caused, the discrimination and hatred he faced on cycle to cycle basis. Coupled with having to survive on the streets while hiding carrier status at such a young age. Blitzwing stood no chance in shutting down his protective protocols the moment they onlined from recharge.

The yellow mech was finally able to escape his arms because his tank rumbled for fuel which is why they were in the fuel room. If his protocols deemed it safe Blitzwing would be carrying his mini mech around as he prepared them an early cycle fuel. He learned from the mini’s memories he never received a home fueling. Blitzwing was determined to change that no matter how much it tugged at his spark to think he could still taste his carriers home fueling while his mini mech has not.

“Here, jou need fuel and zis vill help jou feel better.”

“Thanks,” his vox was tired, empty, overwhelmed with his past and Blitzwings important memories through the ages he’s been functioning. They both were having a tough time seeing what the other had been put through. Neither were having any luck being separate for more than a nanoclick—another side effect of their newly formed bond.

Blitzwing hadn’t been making their morning fuel for a full eight clicks before both their frames grew cold from lack of touching the other. He was sitting beside his hummel before he’d realized he still needed to make his own morning fuel.

“Here,” he felt something warm press against his dermas, smooth liquid tickles the sensitive mesh filling his olfactory senses making his tanks growl. He opened his dermas allowing the energon blend to slide down his pharynx with a soft groan.

“No, jou must fuel,” Blitzwing took his own energon and held it to the smaller mechs dermas, “drink.”

The flush of blue to the minibots cheek plating was adorable. Blitzwing accidentally activated his internal cams taking in the slow rise and fall of his chassis watching his intake curl around the cup as he finished the last of his energon.

“Jou’re beautiful.” Blitzwing spoke without conscious, his words deepened the blue along his hummels cheeks to color his entire face plate. “I vill imagine this face in the midst of every battle, I vill gaze at jou every lunar cycle and every solar break. For I vant jou to be the ethereal that greets me every dawn und every dark that guide me through every trouble that aggrieves me.”

“You-you liquid tongued mecha! Stop it,” his hummel exclaimed covering his optics with black and yellow digits. “We aren’t in the heat of interfacing you don’t have to play smooth with your vox. I’ll frag with you again just not until I can walk properly on my stabilizers.”

Slowly inching his hummels digits away, Blitzwing locked optics with him, “I mean every word I say, whether in ze berth or not. Jou are mine now mini one und I make it a goal of mein to spoil that which is in mein possession.”

“Oh yeah? Well last I checked I’m my own bot conjunx or not so stop trying to velvet vox me,” the yellow mini spoke with fire that ignited Blitzwings spark.

“I hope to see jour fiery spirit more often, hummel.”

The curl of blue derma was enough for Bumblebee to try frowning at the larger mecha but the sound of their tanks growling made him look away with a huff.

“Let us properly fuel then ve can talk more, hm?”

“Fine,” his hummel said with defiance that turned liquid when Blitzwing pressed his dermas to soft grey mesh on his hummels forehelm.

The cute static and beep was much appreciated on Blitzwings part, though not so much on his hummels part who swatted him.

Halfway through the solar cycle and the freshly bonded conjunx were relaxing in each other’s arms. Content to feel the others spark thrum while talking things through.

It was obvious between the two Blitzwings home would be shared and the room Bumblebee was staying at would be given back. They spoke on Blitzwings status as a decepticon and what that meant for Bumblebee.

“Jou von’t be forced to join the ranks but jou vill be vith me if I am ever called for battle, should there be a battle. Jou von’t ever have to fight if jou don’t join but I vould feel better if I could train jou to defend jourself. Neutral or not, being vith me brings danger that I vill do anything to keep jou from.”

Bumblebee felt assured oddly enough. Sincerity flowed through their bond and he reached out in acceptance. He knew Blitzwing was high ranking from his shared memories and learning he’d been living in small towns like this for almost three million stellar cycles. After Megatron gave the call to hide Blitzwing did just that as he awaited for Megatron to call upon him once more.

“Truthfully I am not so sure I vant him to call me. I rather like living in peace especially since I have jou now, hummel.”

“What does that mean?”

A raised brow and Bumblebee specifies.

“Hummel. What does it mean? You keep calling me that so it has to mean something.”

“It is ze german vord for bumblebee. An insect found on certain planets. I once ventured on an insecticon ruled planet. Jou remind me of the few I witnessed fluttering about. Especially when jou bob jour wings.”

That made Bumblebee blush and as his optics grew wide. His intake fell when he felt the form of a memory tug at the back of his processor. He was confused on what it was until he felt Blitzwing smooth a digit over his servo and he looked into the large mechs optics.

He felt himself lean in and his processor opened allowing the image of a large insectibot with his colors bob and flutter around a gigantic organic planet before landing. He had to admit Blitzwing was correct in the resemblance, though he didn’t have any fuzz or fur on himself he did have similar antenna save for the sharp quality.

“Jou remind me of them. Though zey aren’t anyvhere near as beautiful as jou mein hummel.”

There was silence for a long time as Bumblebee replayed the memory on a steady loop in his brain module. Blitzwing sat patiently enjoying the awe on his hummels face plate until the silence was broken.

“Bumblebee.”

“Hm?”

“My designation,” Bumblebee uttered with some hesitant but budding confidence, “my designation is Bumblebee. I want that one. I want that to be mine.”

His vox was small, personal, mystified.

Blitzwing felt a warmth in his spark grow that he didn’t know possible. The care he held towards his hummel grew and he knew then he this was truly it.

His hummel. Bumblebee.

‘This is the mech I vant for the rest of my life cycle und the next.’

He was never one for smiling but for Bumblebee he knows it will be easy.

“A beautiful designation, mein Bumblebee.”

It felt like cyberhoney on his glossa and he knew then he was sparked further.

“I guess being with you won’t he so bad, Blitzwing.”

The delicate kiss on his dermas further cemented his revelation and Blitzwing rested a servo on the back of Bumblebee’s helmet pulling him closer to deepen it.

He did not want to interface with his hummel. He just wanted to feel him and his em field reflected as much and so did their bond.

Blitzwing was more than happy to feel the sentiment returned.

-

First & foremost Free Palestine & Free Sudan & the Congo. Please share their stories & protest so that the cruelty they face may be stopped.

Second - I did not expect to make this story so long in the beginning. I hope all who read it enjoy.

[cyberapid]

Carrier Instincts

Bit of a swap but I got an itch so Optiratch with Bumblebee son

Bc that’s their son yes

Also fudged the bond and creator coding stuff so If it’s completely wrong just idk ignore me :]

Pt.1 Pt.2

—•—•—•—•—

Many cycles have passed since the emergence of their once tiny, yellow, youngling. Bumblebee is now a nearly grown Bot, so Optimus and Ratchet have found that their Carrier and Sire coding isn't fully offline but rather a secondary instinct- if rarely used at all these days.

The situation Ratchet finds himself in contradicts this idea though, as his frame seems to react even before his processor.

His optics and audio receptors booting up simultaneously brings the sight of his yellow youngling clutched between his arms and soon after the sound of sad chirping, the poor Sparkling- Bot- seems to be desperate for some type of comfort which his Carrier attempts to give with soft rumbles from his engine; something he knows soothed the bot when he was young.

It does the trick as the chirping subsided and his creations optics reboot, bright blue peers up at him and his spark twists at the pitiful sight,

“It’s alright. I’m here-“

A shift from the other side of their comically large berth pauses the old mech as his bonded seems to pull out of recharge slowly, optics flickering a familiar blue but there’s no real evidence of him being awake as his servo clumsily pats their younglings head. The scraping causes Ratchet to wince- There’s definitely some paint transfer from that. It doesn’t seem to bother the Scout who grumbles in contentment from his Sire’s halfaft attention.

“Enough of that,” Optimus’ Servo is pushed to the side as Ratchet turns himself and their Creation to the side, away from the clutches of the half awake Prime who grunts behind him tossing a clumsy arm over the two and slipping back into recharge.

Bumblebee's helm rests against Ratchet's chassis and continues to purr quietly, content. Ratchet returns his call with a deep rumble from his chassis which causes the smaller bot’s optics to flicker off and ease into his carrier's embrace. Ratchet slips into recharge soon after Bumblebee does. They continue to rest well past Ratchet’s preferred time to begin his work. Yet the older bot can’t seem to bring himself to care, even as the nagging in the back of his processor chides himself for his lack of productivity- a smaller but far more dominating directive squashes any thought of disrupting his Creations recharge. Even if his bonded has long left their berthroom with a chaise kiss to his helm and an affectionate pat of their creations helm.

He only allows himself up once his youngling struggles against his grip which he loosens, reluctantly, allowing for the mech to roll off the berth.

“Will we talk about last night?” His question is met with a noncommittal chirp and pedes kicking around nonexistent dirt on his clean berthroom floor, “No, I’m presuming.” The Yellow bot slips from the room, though not before pulling playfully on the bond between him and his carrier, appreciation and love seeping through their connection- vague confusion prods through from the Sire which quickly morphs into happiness, enjoying being included.

[gardens-light]

Finding Peace

Taking shelter in an abandoned petrol station, tension builds between you and your family. As blame and arguments raise- not like you didn't feel guilty enough already. You didn't ask for this- any of this! You just wanted to help Optimus. And it's not like the Autobot leader didn't have problems of his own. Being hunted down by humans for reasons yet unknown was bad enough- but ignoring the yearning of his Spark has slowly become problematic. Occasionally shaking his helm attempting to get you out of his processors, trying to convince himself that a 'Sparkmate' was nothing but a romancide idea that the younger bots came up with. Or is it?...

Content: Minor coarse language. Event's take part in Transformers- Age of Extinction. (Leading to major spoilers in Part 4.) Optimus x Human F/Reader. Fluff. (Reader insert.)

Sparkmate Series- Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

"Well... on the bright side." Tessa's voice lowly spoke, while sitting upon a dusty bar. Playing with some fairy lights. "You two have finally met.."

"Where's he from?"

"I told you. He's a driver from Texas."

"Texas?" Cade scoffed at Tessa's words. "Where? Dublin, Texas? Shamrock, Texas? So why does he sound like a leprechaun?"

Shane's brows knitted together, as he leaned against the bar. "You'd get your ass kicked in Ireland for saying that."

"Well we're not in Ireland, Lucky Charms. We're in Texas." Cade's attention turned back onto Tessa. "So he drives? What's that supposed to mean? Like he drives for a living?"

"Yeah... at least he makes a living."

Tessa's words caused Cade to fall silent. His eyes flickering up to you, frowning as you tried to avoid him.

"How old are you?" Cade challenged, approaching Shane.

"Twenty."

"And my daughter is seventeen. So as far as I'm concerned, this can go two ways." Cade leaned on the other side of the bar, glaring at Shane. "One, I punch you in the mouth right here, right now. And you call the police on me."

"Dad!-"

"Or two. I just call the cops on you because this is illegal. She's a minor!"

Steady... Steady... your thoughts wandered, while trying to focus on making a 'house of cards' out of beer coasters.

"We're protected by the 'Romeo and Juliet laws'-"

"We dated for a little while." Tessa explained, cutting Shane off. "I was a sophomore, and he was a senior. It's fine."

"We've got a pre-existing juvenile foundational relationship. Statute 2705-3." Shane took out his wallet, showing Cade the small card stating the law. "We're above board."

Cade sighed, "Romeo and Juliet, huh? Do you know how they ended up?"

Just... one more coaster...

"In love-"

"Dead." Cade turned to you. "And you, Y/N?"

Shit...

An unamused expression fell across your features as the coasters came tumbling down.

"Don't look at me like that, young lady. How long have you known about this?"

Cade rubbed his temples as you silently responded with a small shrug. "Well tell me. Days? Weeks?-"

"Months."

"Months...? And you didn't think that I would of wanted to know about this?-"

"Dad. Tessa is a full grown ass adult." You groaned. "She's capable of learning from a mistake or two."

"I trusted you. Both of you-"

"To what?" Tessa butted in. "Never have fun. Take a risk. Be a normal teenager like you?"

"I am your father, okay!" Cade firmly spoke, turning his attention onto Tessa. "And I've been busting my ass to take care of you and your sister!-"

"Oh so is that why I'm busting a gut trying to juggle two jobs?" You scoffed. "And here I thought, I'm the one who took care of this family."

"Is that what you were doing when you continued working on that damn truck?" Tessa spoke to you. A frown forming upon her lips, "all you had to do was report it.-"

"You know I couldn't do that-"

"And now we're forced into hiding. And my life is over! So 'thank you', Sis. You've taken 'real good' care us-"

"None of this would of happened! If you just kept your fucking mouth shut!-"

"Don't talk to your sister like that!" Cade stepped in.

"Sure Dad. Take her side... you always do."

"Y/N-"

"Look! I get it!" you raised onto your feet. "I know I'm 'the disappointment', 'the let down'-"

"Sweetie, I've never said that-"

Your eyes wandered over your dad's disappointed expression. "You didn't had to..."

---

Sitting upon the petrol stations' roof, the gentle breeze of the cool night air felt refreshing against your skin. Soft chirping of crickets eased your headache, your eyes gazing out into the dark empty road. The sound of small grunts and sighs caught your attention, briefly gazing over your shoulder. Rolling your eyes, once seeing Tessa struggling to climb the ladder with a mug in hand.

"What do you want?" you sighed, turning your attention back onto the road ahead.

"I thought- ouch!- that you could do with a hot drink."

The sound of the metal roofing warping and creaking, under Tessa's feet suddenly felt loud. As she approached you, taking a sit upon the roof's edge, leaving a small gap between you.

"I made your favourite." She kindly spoke, handing you the hot beverage. "I couldn't make it exactly to your liking, but it's the thought that counts. Right?"

Her weak smile faded as you remained silent. Speechlessly accepting the mug from her and holding it in your hands.

"You're not a disappointment." Tessa spoke after a brief hesitation. "For if it wasn't for you, we would of lost our home ages ago."

Tessa bit her lip before continuing, "I... did tell a friend about the truck. B-But I honestly didn't think he would believe me! If I knew- I wouldn't of..."

Your side glance caused her voice to trail off into silence.

"Well... what I'm trying to say... is that I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Sipping the hot beverage, feeling the gentle warmth fill you inside. Tessa followed your gaze, a small smile returning to her lips.

"You're worried about him. Aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yes." Tessa teased. "Like a lovesick girl."

You returned her smile, playfully pushing her away. "Oh shut up. You're talking nonsense, I'm just concerned about him. That's all."

"Uh-huh?" Tessa raised an eyebrow. Seeing a glimpse of you trying to hide a shy smile behind the mug.

"So... What's Dad doing?" you asked, trying to change the subject.

"Playing with some drone that he stole from the one of the guys. Dad's convinced that they would of truly killed us."

Tessa's heart sank as she watched you pull your legs close to your chest, hugging your knees a little while resting your mug against them.

"B-But that's just Dad's crazy thought." Tessa's guilt weighed on her heart a little more. Starting to wish she never said anything.

"Everything would of been fine, if only I watched what I was saying." You buried your head, resting your forehead against your knees and hiding your face. "I-If I didn't panic..."

"Shhh. Shhh." Tessa cooed, closing the gap between you. Placing her arm around your shoulders and resting her head against yours. "It's not your fault. You have a big heart, Y/N. Never be ashamed of that."

She gently pulled away, cupping your tearstained face and making you face her. "You are a rare treasure, and that Transformer better know that."

Finally smiling through your tears, Tessa rested her forehead against yours. The sound of a horn blaring in the distance broke the silence, while bright headlights burned the darkness away. You quickly raised onto your feet, causing Tessa to catch the falling mug while the hot beverage spilled onto the ground below.

You placed both hands against your chest, while gazing at the oncoming truck. Feeling it flutter with joy, as the sound of a faminular engine came to your ears.

Tessa rose onto her feet, giving you one last soft glance before leaving. A knowing smile forming upon her lips. You've got it bad...

Optimus carefully reduced his speed, as he walked out of his altmode. Trying to slow the pulsing rhythm of his spark as he approached you. Being mindful of each step he took, so it didn't appear like he was in a rush to be beside you again.

"Optimus..." your voice was low. Trying to hide the excitement within your tone.

"My deepest sympathies for your home." His soothing tone washed away the doubt and worries, that had been building up inside you. "And for leaving you so promptly. But I had to confirm we weren't followed."

You speechlessly nodded, trying to hold a relaxed expression as your eyes took in the sight of him.

Oh my...

Rust and dirt no longer coated his exterior, instead deep blue metal plates framed his chrome fisque, like pieces of armour. Your heart skipping a beat as your eyes wandered over him, taking in every detail of his broad shoulders and strong biceps.

Red flames danced across the gauntlets, but it was his torso you couldn't look away from. Your cheeks matched the warmth of Optimus' spark, as you gazed at his chest plate. Hands clutching onto your shirt, stopping the urge to reach out and run your fingertips over his toned form. Knowing that your touch wouldn't just stopped at that chromed waist of his.

"Loving the upgrade." Forcing the words out of your mouth, after swallowing your nerves.

Optimus got down on one knee, as you edged a little closer to the side of the roof. His blue optics studied you for a moment.

"You've been crying..."

Something inside him ached a little, as you temporarily turned away from him.

"It's nothing." You assured, brushing the dried tears off your cheeks. "I've just been... a little worried that's all."

"And I admittedly have been concerned about you."

That little sentence erupted butterflies in your stomach. Simply gazing up at him with wondering eyes.

How the stars sparkled in your eyes almost caused Optimus to choke on his own breath. Warmth begun to build beneath his metal plates, as his yearning spark called out for you.

His head tilted slightly as his scanners picked up something. Your body froze as he slightly hesitated before reaching out to you. Optimus' servo curled into a relaxed fist, your eyes peering down at it as he gently placed the knuckle of his index digit under your chin. While his thumb rested against your cheek.

His spark skipped a beat as a loving sigh slipped out of your mouth. Enjoying the cool touch of his metal against your soft skin.

Optimus carefully turned your head from side to side, studying your features. His scanners picking up the bruise that begun to form upon the bridge of your nose.

"That bastard hurt you." The small underlying anger within his tone caught you off guard. "I promise... I'll make him pay for what he's done to you."

"Optimus." You cooed, placing your hand on the back of his servo. Bringing it to the side of your face, resting your head against his digits.

His fans tried to push the warm air out of Optimus' vents, as the heat beneath his plates begun to build. His spark aching with a yearn he could no longer deny.

Closer... The word played on his processors. Causing him to fully kneel against the concrete ground, leaning in a little more.

Your loving eyes met the soft glow of his optics, as his servo slowly trailed down towards your waist. His thumb tracing the curves of your thighs, hips and waist.

The butterflies in your stomach tangled your nerves, your heart fluttering against your chest as a small gasp slipped from your lips. Eyes lingering over his features before closing, as you rested a hand against his chest plate.

As your heart matched the beat of Optimus' spark, syncing in harmony. A beautiful glow enveloped the pair of you, creating a warmth that made you almost forget about the world, as your lips ghosted over one another.

"Mr. Leader of the Free Galaxy is back!" an unknown mechanical voice caused you to quickly jump away from Optimus. "I knew you'd make it! I never doubted."

Crosshairs... Optimus' processors sighed. Trying to hide his disappointed expression as the leader faced his joyful Autobots. The sound of their roaring engines calming, before stepping out of their altmodes.

"We've got your warning." Drift greeted, "we've been waiting."

"Hell yeah! Boom time!" Hound cheered. "We've got the gang back together."

Drift tilted his head to the side, as his blue optics switched between you and Optimus. Smiling to himself as his processors picked up, the afterglow that slowly faded from the pair of you.

Optimus cleared his throat before speaking, "Autobots. The humans have asked us to play by their rules. Well... those rules have just changed."

"Humans, bunch of backstabbing weasels." Hound groaned, causing the ground to shake as he disarmed. Throwing heavy weaponries onto the floor.

"Hound, find your inner compass. Loyalty is nothing but a flower in the winds of fear and temptation."

Hound raised a brow at Drift's wise tone, "what the hell are you saying?"

The blue Autobot smiled, "it's a haiku-"

"Cut the crap! Before I drop a grenade down your throat."

You backed away from the edge of the roof, as Drift unsheathed his swords. "Try it" he challenged, "you'll be dead."

"Oh please do it." Hound taunted. "I wanna see you do it."

"You know what?" Bumblebee's radio buzzed, "it save us so much time."

Optimus gave you an unimpressed expression, as you gazed up at him, raising an eyebrow. A small chuckle left you as he speechlessly gestured to his Autobots. As to say, 'look what I have to put up with.'

"Well raise your hand, if you're thoroughly disenchanted with our little 'Earth vacation.'" Crosshairs spoke, while circling the petrol station. His green optics studying you, "so who's the spy?"

"Whoa! Whoa! Put those things away!" you yelped as Hound and Crosshairs immediately withdraw their guns, and pointing them at you.

"Stop, Hound! Both of you!" Optimus commanded, stepping in front of the building.

Both Autobots gave their leader a puzzled expression, as he continued. "Y/N, risked her life for mine. We owe her..."

Drift gave Bumblebee a playful nudge, discreetly pointing at you and Optimus. While Hound and Crosshairs briefly looked at one another, and turning their attention back onto their leader. Watching him stepping aside, and silently encouraging you to return to the roof's edge.

"Has there been... any sign of the others?" Optimus asked.

"No..." Hound sighed, withdrawing his weapon and settling himself upon the ground. "We're all that's left."

"They're picking us off, one by one!" Crosshairs explained.

"We're the pathetic, dirty foursome." Hound joked, "and you make five."

"Is this our best-case scenario?" Shane's teasing voice questioned you. Your eyes gazed at him, watching the Irishman climb onto the roof. "Autobot witness protection?"

"Hey Lucky Charms." you spoke, placing a hand upon your hips. "You're welcome to leave at anytime."

"Well, for the record, Super Sister. I'm not hiding with you." Shane gestured towards Optimus, "I'm hiding out with that big guy."

Tessa and Cade followed Shane's lead, as the three of them approached your side. All looking at the Autobots and they chatted among themselves.

"Sensei, with your fate unknown Bumblebee has held command." Drift's optics gazed at the yellow scout.

Bee fist bumped the air, while Drift rolled his optics. "Despite his complete and total lack of anything resembling warrior discipline."

An annoyed whirl weeze out of Bumblebee, as his optics narrowed on his comrade.

"He's like a child-"

"This 'child' is about to kick your ass!" Bee's radio buzzed. Landing the first hit against Drift's helm.

"Cage fight." Hound whispered to you, slightly leaning against the petrol stations' roof.

"What's the matter with them?" Tessa lowly asked, reaching out for your hand.

"They're on edge." You briefly explained, allowing her hand to slip into yours. "Who could blame them? They're being hunted."

"Am I the only one who sees through this puppy-dog act of yours?" Drift taunted Bee, while holding him in a headlock. "It's beneath you."

"Yes, I've been waiting for them all to dispatch each other." Crosshairs cheered. His servos gently clapping, "so I could take charge with no trouble at all. Just me. Reporting to me."

"Well, it sure looks like you've been missed." You said to Optimus.

"Autobots, humans are hunting us down. We need to know why."

"Listen..." Cade spoke, stepping towards Optimus. "I don't know why, but I might have an idea about who..."

---

"This drone I stole recorded footage of an Autobot raid." Cade explained.

You placed an affectionate hand upon Optimus' knee, as he sat cross-legged upon the floor. His servo clenching into a fist, as the dragonfly-like drone projected the video footage.

"It's in pieces, but watch what happens here." Cade pointed out, "they ripping them apart."

"That's Leadfoot." Hound spoke, as he placed a part of his helm over his spark. Feeling the saddened energy sink within his chest plates. "Savages."

"And later, this truck comes to haul him off to K.S.I. Kinetic Solutions." Cade continued. "They're creating defenses, aerospace, government contracts. They designed this drone."

"So these government guys are hunting you down, and then passing you of to this K.S.I?" Shane questioned.

"Do you know anything else?" Optimus asked.

"Only that their company headquarters is in Chicago." Cade spoke.

Perhaps... There's a chance of the Autobots being taken there. You thought.

"No way to get inside without a battle." Hound thought out loud.

"What if you had some human help?" everyone looked at you.

"Sweetie, no." Cade protested. "Besides, what are you two partners now?"

"Dad, we're targets now too." You spoke, feeling his worried stare on you. "We need to know why, or we'll never get our lives back."

"Y/N. You have done more than any of us could've asked for." Optimus kindly spoke. "I do not-"

"I'm coming." You gently argued. Seeing Tessa's encouraging smile from the corner of your eye.

"It's going to be dangerous." Drift warned, as he lend towards you.

The blue Autobot stiffed as you placed a comforting hand upon his knee. Giving him a warm smile, "you're important Optimus. Therefore, you're important to me.

A suttle warmth radiated from underneath Drift's metal plates.

"Autobots." Optimus spoke, as he raised onto his feet. "I have sworn to never kill humans."

"Big mistake." Hound mumbled

"But when I find out who's behind this. He's going to die..."

Tag List

@ursamajor17

@crowleysthings

[noodleblade]

All those years of expertise made piecing together a new Breakdown almost a game. There was a terrible, exhilarating pleasure in the exercise. A guilt and desperate want coiled in his tanks as his processor wove together all its knowledge of anatomy, surgery and medicine.

Or, a post-canon Knock Out attempts to bring his partner back from the dead. [Frankenstein kobd au]

fic below the cut

Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.

“So, uh, I know it’s bare bones but it’s the best we have for now.”

Knock Out, without looking, could feel the uncomfortable wince Bumblebee gave at the arrival of their “new medbay.” Even he could see it was not quite up to the standard that had initially been promised.

‘Empty storeroom’ would be a better descriptor. 

Crates and dust filled most of the space; three medslabs in various states of disrepair were being used as shelves for additional storage. Wires hung from the ceiling, sparking at the cuts as the auxiliary power attempted to light the secondary overhead lights. Rust had started to eat away at the enamel paint of the support beams. It was nothing a buff and repaint couldn’t fix but as of now, it only added to its dilapidated aesthetic.

Knock Out couldn’t say this was what he envisioned his life would be like when he joined the Autobots. Then again, with most of Cybertron looking even worse than this, the medbay and the conjoined rest of their new headquarters looked pristine in comparison. The Autobots were dead set on restoring Cybertron to its former glory and it meant reconstructed efforts and a proper headquarters. 

Or really, reacquainting themselves with their old command headquarters back before they had fled Cybertron. 

The old Autobot base in Iacon had been heavily damaged by time and war. Knock Out was surprised Megatron hadn’t flattened it to the ground before departing. As it was, he was thankful the structure remained.

While the entire building needed to be patched and repaired, and all of the equipment was probably defective and defunct, it was more secure than any other building currently on Cybertron. It still had all its walls, it had a functioning roof, and- most importantly -it had a nearly intact medbay. Not many other structures on Cybertron could claim the same. In the few short cycles since taking back possession of their old base, most of the refuse and grime had been cleared away, making it mostly livable - far more so than the fading light of the Nemesis as structural cracks made the ship a ticking time bomb to collapse. 

It wasn’t perfect, but nothing really would be. Not for a while.

Maybe Ratchet had the right idea in staying on Earth.

“It’ll take some time to clean up,” Ultra Magnus added stiffly, as if it weren’t already apparent. 

The words drifted in and out of Knock Out’s audials as he walked further into the cluttered medbay. He peeked between the crates to see some monitoring equipment shoved against the walls. They all looked outdated, probably wouldn’t even turn on. They were pre-war and seemed to have been forgotten to the past, much like most of Cybertron had once the planet died. It was amazing that they survived in any capacity; even if they were nonfunctional, they could at least be scrapped for parts. 

Knock Out was not unfamiliar with the process. Before the Nemesis and its shiny, new tech, he and- they had scavenged for a lot of equipment. Being on their own had made them crafty and resourceful. It made them survivors. 

Some survivors, Knock Out thought bitterly, desperately ignoring the cold, empty space next to him. 

“Smokescreen can help you clear this out,” Ultra Magnus continued in his curt professional tone. There was a small beginnings of a protest from the young mech but a stern, quiet reprimand must have been issued because it was silenced before becoming anything more. 

Knock Out could feel optics on him- waiting for him -so he gave a quick affirmative nod and a muted hum. It would take them ages to clear this out, not to mention most of it was probably scrap. He did not relish the task nor did he feel particularly motivated to do…anything. Joining the Autobots had been survival instinct kicking in but now that the adrenaline was gone and quiet had taken over, Knock Out wondered what there was to even survive for.

“We’ll leave you to it then,” Bumblebee quietly said and there was a shuffle of pedes as they left through the medbay doors. 

The doors shut with a sound thud. Quiet echoed in the weight of their exit. Knowing a certain young speedster had been left in his care, the silence couldn’t last long-

“So, where do we begin, Doc?”

Knock Out turned his helm and for half a nano-klik, his spark stalled at the flash of blue, before his processor came back to him and he realized it was too warm a hue, too shiny a finish, and too alive a mech. Disappointment was quickly overcome by grief that was immediately squashed and quelled for apathy. There was no point getting misty-eyed in front of his little reluctant helper.

His optics raked over Smokescreen leaning against a not-so-modest stack of crates. Despite his relaxed, “cool-guy” pose, Knock Out watched how Smokescreen’s doorwings twitched in eager anticipation, his digits tapping idly as he waited for Knock Out’s response. He was not a mech known to sit still for very long or holding much patience.

“Don’t care,” Knock Out threw out flippantly, mildly amused how expressive the young mech was as his eager smirk shifted to disappointment. 

“Right,” Smokescreen muttered with a small pout. His disappointment at Knock Out’s lack of enthusiasm only quieted him for half a klik. “So, are we just tossing it all out, or…?”

Knock Out let out a lengthy, dramatic sigh. In truth, it came out more tired than he cared to admit. He finally turned around, leaning his hip against the cluttered medslab. He looked at his clawed digits in a show of disinterest. 

“We’ll start sorting it into stacks. Anything broken or rusted over, toss. Anything that looks marginally salvageable, I’ll look through. Once we clear off a corner, we can start organization-” Smokescreen let out a complaining groan but Knock Out continued, “-and sanitation unless you would enjoy a rust infection when you inevitably end up on my medslab.”

“Fine, fine,” Smokescreen huffed, shuffling his pedes in his reluctance to actually work. “Honestly, if it gets me off patrol duty with Sir Rules and Regulation, I’ll take whatever you got.”

Yes, Knock Out had heard Smokescreen’s numerous complaints about their newest Second in Command. 

“Being a good little soldier means following your commander’s orders. That’s why I chose an occupation that allows me to be my own boss.”

“You suggesting I become a medic?” Smokescreen grinned. “Oh! I can be your assistant!”

As soon as the words were out of Smokescreen’s mouth, any remaining banter Knock Out held died in his intake. He turned, busying himself with a crate of welding patches, half of which were rotting away with rust decay. 

“I’m not looking for an apprentice,” Knock Out muttered. “Better ask Ratchet.”

Smokescreen let out a soft grumble but didn’t press further. He may not know the source of Knock Out’s shift in tone, but the kid knew how to take the hint and- most of the time -knew when to keep his intake shut. That much Knock Out could appreciate out of the young, rash speedster. It's what made Smokescreen a marginal step above the rest of the Autobots, at least by Knock Out’s records. 

It’s not that his time with the Autobots had been entirely bad. Despite his short stint in the brig, they had been painfully cordial with Knock Out since taking him in. With Ratchet deciding to stay on that horrible dust and rust planet, their need for a medic superseded any ill feelings towards him. They were still there; the distrustful looks from Arcee and the downright obstinance from Wheeljack. It still beat whatever awkward friendliness that Bumblebee attempted to broach with him or the downright militant authority Ultra Magnus made every interaction. None of these were as bad as Bulkhead, who opted for the worst option: sympathy. 

It had taken the ex-wrecker less than one solar cycle to corner Knock Out in the halls of their new headquarters to…to… apologize? Sympathize?

“I’m sorry about Breakdown. ‘Know you guys were close and-”

Knock Out hadn’t let it go any further than that. He had cut Bulkhead down with a sharp smile and deadly thank you. Bulkhead didn’t have the mettle to bring it up again and quite frankly, Knock Out was fine with that. He was tired of the pitying glances and somber looks. 

Smokescreen was the only one to act as if nothing had happened. Then again, Smokescreen was the only one that had never known Breakdown, only catching a few glimpses of the walking puppet he had become. It was perhaps the only reason Knock Out could tolerate the younger bot. 

“So,” Smokescreen started again, “medical device or torture equipment?”

Knock Out turned to see the speedster holding up a rusted to scrap Energon Infusor. “Depends on whose servos it’s in.”

It was a rather basic device, used to give localized shots of med-grade energon to a damaged site in order to jumpstart self repair. It looked more dangerous than it was to the untrained optic, appearing not too dissimilar to a rudimentary blaster.

Smokescreen snorted a small laugh, gently setting the instrument back into the box. “Right, figure in yours it’d be both.”

Smokescreen also wasn’t afraid to be blunt with Knock Out and go tit for tat. Knock Out found he far preferred that over the wide optics and grim expressions every time Knock Out said anything. Smokescreen, as naive and innocent as he was, had a semblance of a sense of humor, even if it bordered on childish at times.

It took them nearly an entire solar cycle before they managed to clear off half the medbay and unearthed a set of doors on the other end. 

“Doctor’s quarters,” Smokescreen whistled impressed as the doors opened to reveal a large habsuite. “Lucky. It’s twice as big as mine.”

“Interesting choice of words, kid.”

“Not like that!” Smokescreen yelped. “The room is just big. Scrap, even Bee’s isn’t that big.”

Knock Out was tempted to tease the speedster about how he knew the details of their new leader’s hab but decided Smokescreen could embarrass himself enough on his own. Knock Out didn’t need to tease him much further, lest he ruin the only somewhat amicable relationship he had.

“It’s for multiple berths. All of the medical staff are supposed to rotate here between their shifts.”

“Oh,” Smokescreen murmured. “That would explain the two berths. Oh! What if you pushed them together into a mega-berth? That’d be pretty sick.”

Knock Out genuinely couldn’t keep the laugh in on that one, chuckling as the younger bot’s door wings fluttered in excitement, pleased by the positive reaction.

“Yes, I suppose I could do that.”

Most likely, he’d just leave it as is. The medical officer berths were already large enough, fitted for larger frames than his own sleek style. On the Nemesis it had been more than enough to fit himself and-

“Let’s call it here for today,” Knock Out suggested, turning pede and walking out. He could hear Smokescreen shuffling to catch up. “I’m sure Ultra Magnus, if not our dear leader, expects a detailed report.”

“Of all the garbage we found?” Smokescreen groaned. 

“Inventoried and categorized alphabetically too.”

Smokescreen just groaned louder as they headed towards the command center. 

—

Nights were quaint. Homey. Every evening refueling was done communally; all the remaining Autobots gathered in the open mess hall and, despite its great size, all squeezed together at one long table. Knock Out had not been surprised to learn their sense of family extended to even refuel schedules, but was a little shocked he was expected to do the same. Like a good newly-instated Autobot, he ducked his helm and stuck as far to the edge of the table as he could. 

This evening was no different. Knock Out watched with distaste as Wheeljack baited Smokescreen and Bumblebee with exaggerated tales of heroism. His booming voice reverberated in the otherwise empty hall, though no one seemed to mind. Bulkhead chimed in with equal bravado while Arcee rolled her optics with a small grin. Ultra Magnus hung close, scoffing at every inaccurate detail through sips of his energon but ultimately making no corrections. Knock Out kept himself as far away as he could, unfortunately still within audial range but distinctly alone. Aside from his brief report with Ultra Magnus on their less than ideal medicinal supply levels, the group had turned inward, leaving him alone. It suited Knock Out fine. It was just a simple reminder he would never really be one of them.

He sipped his energon in light, even intakes. The movement was more mechanical than for actual consumption. Knock Out had a distinct lack of hunger, despite his HUD showing him his fuel levels at all times. He maintained them as needed but the action always felt forced. 

Then again, everything felt forced. And it was exhausting to keep up appearances. Not that it mattered now, with all optics glued to Wheeljack. 

“We had our backs against the rubble. It was do or die,” Wheeljack boasted. “Bulkhead and his rescue team were still on their way and it was just me and Seaspray fighting for our lives.” 

Knock Out had heard about enough of this exaggerated, drawn out tale and stood from his seat. The medbay was calling, or more accurately the berth in the medic quarters. He passed the rest of the table; Acree looked up to watch him pass, the rest far too engrossed to pay him much notice... until Wheeljack caught sight of his glossy red finish. 

“Leaving the party so soon?” Wheeljack interrupted his own story. “I was getting to the good part with ol’ Breakdown.”

Knock Out froze, optics darting over to meet the self-proclaimed Wrecker. He couldn’t tell by the mech’s cocky smile if the gesture was supposed to be genuine or a biting snipe but Knock Out took it like a stab to his spark. 

No one, with the horrid exception of Bulkhead, had the gall to bring Breakdown’s name up to Knock Out. The entirety of the Autobots had been happy to forget he had ever existed. Knock Out had been fine with that and hadn't wanted the alternative. They didn’t know his partner and they never would. Knock Out didn’t want false sympathy and he didn’t want to share Breakdown’s memory with any of them. Breakdown…was his. No one else’s. They didn’t have the right to speak his name, the history to lay any claim to him, the years of pain and anguish and affection and companionship to ever speak of him.

And yet, Wheeljack did so with that smarmy smirk plastered across his faceplates, begging Knock Out to react.

Anger that had been coiling around his spark lashed out viciously, his denta bared in a vile snarl. 

“Keep his name out of your mouth or I’ll be happy to remove that glossa of yours.”

Instantly, the room turned cold. In his periphery, Knock Out could see both Arcee and Ultra Magnus brace themselves for a fight. Bulkhead put a servo on Wheeljack’s shoulder to pull him back. 

“Knock Out-“ Acree began but Wheeljack cut in. 

“What, Sweetspark?” Wheeljack grinned, ready for a fight. Keep your cool. He’s trying to egg you on. “Thought you’d be happy to hear old war stories about your buddy before he lost his helm and turned rogue-”

Knock Out had not seen the work Airachnid had done to Breakdown, only the product pieced back together by the vile humans. They hadn’t even bothered to properly patch up their shoddy welding job, displaying the slash scars like a mockery of the body they had found. Wheeljack couldn’t possibly have known Airchanid had literally chopped off Breakdown’s helm, but it still hit too close, still hurt too deep. 

“Don’t speak about things of which you do not know,” Knock Out threatened with a sharp hiss.

 Arcee stood up at his words, blaster ready at the draw. Knock Out narrowed his optics. Of course, the Autobots would stand for their own before him. Disgust rolled down his frame as he relaxed his strut. He turned his helm from Wheeljack and the rest of the Autobots who all watched him with silent worry. 

“Just make sure you tell it right,” Knock Out said, keeping his voice light and jovial, despite its cutting undertone. He needed to leave. Get out before he truly did something he’d regret. He was supposed to play the good Autobot. It was the only card left in his hand. “After all, I distinctly remember Breakdown knocking both your afts down.”

With that, Knock Out turned and walked out. As soon as the doors to the mess hall shut, he let the remaining composure drain from him. His servos curled into tight fists as rage burned through him. 

He wanted to scream and yell and rip anything that laid in his path. This was not what he wanted from life, not how he pictured his happy ending. He wasn’t supposed to be here with the Autobots, subjected to their distrust and scrutiny. He was supposed to be with his partner. Breakdown was supposed to be here with him, by his side. They were supposed to survive together. Always together, never apart. 

This wasn’t the future he had been promised, the life he had fought for.

Deep, aching loneliness ate away at his rage, leaving him hollow. Knock Out let his fists loosen as he scrubbed his faceplates tiredly. Quietly, he shuffled towards the medbay, through its clutter, to the rusted, dark sleep quarters. He fell into the nearest bed, trying not to think about how big and vast the berth felt, how it was never like that before, how it shouldn’t be like that, how it was never supposed to be like that. 

He had lost his patience for their jokes, their jests, the false sympathy and condescension concealed as kindness. He was tired. So fragging tired. 

But it didn’t matter. On the morrow, he would rise and continue forward. Grin and bear it.

There was no other choice.

—

Knock Out did not relish scouting duties any more than he did cleaning up the medbay. The only benefit was being able to spin his wheels and get out of the cramped confines of their newly re-established headquarters. It would have been even better if-

“How far out is this place, Mags?” Wheeljack’s obnoxious voice boomed over their shared comm link. Knock Out held back a sneer as the white and green vehicle sped up beside him. Behind, Bulkhead and Smokescreen followed close leaving Ultra Magnus in the front of their scouting convoy. 

“A little further,” came a short, curt response. Ultra Magnus truly was not one to waste words. 

“Where are we going?” Smokescreen chimed in, his tone doing little to hide his impatience. 

Ultra Magnus took a moment to answer, clearly displeased to be debriefing while on the road but deeming it necessary. 

“An old Decepticon stronghold. Long abandoned, probably right before the war took us off-world,” Ultra Magnus explained. “Arcee found it the other day and our mission is to sweep the building for information, supplies or anything else of importance.”

“Oh yippie,” Smokescreen grumbled. “Dumpster diving.”

Wheeljack and Bulkhead broke out into sniggering laughs while Ultra Magnus started a lengthy rant on the importance of maintaining proper stock of supplies. Knock Out blissfully tuned them out, lowering the channel until their voices were barely a whisper.

The empty wastes of Cybertron were anything but peaceful, but the quiet they offered was one that Knock Out found himself craving more with every cycle he spent with the Autobots. He didn’t want to be a part of their laughter, their banter, their happiness. Despite all they lost, they kept moving and Knock Out just couldn’t understand why. Or how. 

He was only pulled back from his thoughts as Ultra Magnus’s rear lights blinded him in their deep red glow, the hauler coming to a stop. Smokescreen, who had probably not been paying attention, came to a screeching halt just before crashing into their mission leader. He flipped out of his alt form with a slightly embarrassed look which only deepened as Wheeljack joined him, slapping a servo on the kid’s back with a laugh. Bulkhead knocked them both on the helm as Ultra Magnus scoffed at the display. No one paid Knock Out much mind as he came out of his alt and surveyed the building before him. 

“Quite the stronghold,” Bulkhead said, optics scanning the building with distaste. “‘Bet it's armed to the Pits.”

“We’re going to split into groups and take anything of value. Bulkhead and Wheeljack, I want you two combing through the armory and stockrooms. Take everything you can and we can sort through it later. Smokescreen, you are coming with me to the Command Center. I want to make sure any communication memos or intel haven’t been left behind. Knock Out, you’ll sweep the medbay. I’ll leave it to your expertise. Smokescreen will join you once we finish up in the Command Center. Everyone clear?”

Before anyone could speak up, Ultra Magnus’s comm went off. The old Leader of the Wreckers blinked as he checked his HUD. He held up a single digit as he began to walk away for a semblance of privacy. Knock Out heard him mutter a quiet, “Yes, Bumblebee?” before he went out of range. 

“Guess we’re on hold,” Knock Out hummed, optics scanning the others. “Anyone know any waiting games?”

Immediately, an air of tension was cast over the group. As much as they may play as if Knock Out was not present, it was difficult to ignore him. Knock Out would give it to Smokescreen though, the kid tried his might as he set about whistling a poor rendition of an Earth pop song, optics surveying the stronghold to avoid acknowledging the rest of the group. A few cycles had passed since Knock Out’s confrontation with Wheeljack but evidently it had left its mark. Bulkhead only cast him one pitying glance before settling beside Smokescreen, armor clamped down tight. 

Knock Out let out a quiet scoff and turned to walk off. A quiet cough had him stopping at once. 

“Hey, Red.” 

Knock Out didn’t even have a chance to pretend he hadn’t heard Wheeljack as a black servo clapped him on the shoulder. “A word?”

Knock Out narrowed his optics and gave a controlled nod of his helm, glossa pinched between his denta. Over Wheeljack’s shoulder, he could see Bulkhead pulling Smokescreen away, distracting the kid to give them a moment of privacy. Knock Out held back his sneer. 

“Look, about the other night,” Wheeljack started, voice low and lacking its usual bravado. “I know he is a sensitive topic for you.” Wheeljack couldn’t meet his optics, focusing on Knock Out’s shoulder tire instead. “‘Shouldn’t have brought him up. ‘Shouldn’t have egged you on. I was being kind of a crankshaft about it and it wasn’t right.”

There was a pause for silence. Knock Out didn’t take the opportunity to speak, watching as Wheeljack’s faceplates twitched. Clearly the wrecker wanted to be absolved of his guilt but Knock Out couldn’t find it in him to be charitable.

“I didn’t know y’all were like that. You know, partners and all. Like me and Bulk, I guess. ‘Surprised you didn’t leap across the table and clock me.”

“Believe me, the temptation is still there,” Knock Out hissed. 

Wheeljack let out a laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. He squeezed Knock Out's shoulder and Knock Out wanted nothing more than to slap it off, but he stayed his hand. “‘Wouldn’t blame you if you did.” Wheeljack let out a sigh, using his other hand to rub his optics. “Look, this is my fragged up way of sayin’ sorry, alright? I’ll keep his name out of my mouth. You’re one of us now and it ain’t right for me to treat you like you aren’t. I want us to be square. So…we good?”

No. 

“Peachy.”

Wheeljack didn’t look surprised by Knock Out’s less than keen response. Thankfully, he didn’t press, releasing Knock Out’s shoulder and taking a step back.

“Alright. Good. If…slag, if you ever want to talk about it. Well, Bulkhead’s always free and… I guess I am too.”

Knock Out couldn’t think of a worse act of torture, including getting hit by a literal train again. This conversation was already painful enough, he didn’t really need a repeat event to talk about his feelings. With slagging Bulkhead. He didn’t want to reminisce about the past, he didn’t want to share his memories. He wanted to move on. But for all the steps it felt like he was taking forward, tethered hooks would pull him right back and remind him: Breakdown is gone and you are all alone. 

Knock Out watched Wheeljack make his quiet retreat to Bulkhead and Smokescreen. Bulkhead raised both optic ridges which Wheeljack answered with a muted shrug. Knock Out had to avert his gaze as Bulkhead wound his arm around Wheeljack’s neck, bringing him in close.

The absence of Breakdown never felt more palpable than now. Knock Out swallowed the static build up in his intake and cast his eyes out to the waste and ruin of Cybertron, biding his time until Ultra Magnus returned. 

–

Knock Out had never been in a base quite like this Decepticon bunker. Clearly, it had been built in the midst of war, the layout haphazard and prioritizing security over functionality. Even getting in had been a hassle with its giant iron doors blocking the entrance. Ultra Magnus and Bulkhead had worked on the doors for nearly two breems before their commander finally conceded to Wheeljack’s suggestion of explosives. 

Thankfully, it had done the trick, as well as blowing up the remaining armaments that had somehow survived Cybertron’s death. Once the smoke cleared and Ultra Magnus deemed the facility safe for entry, their squad made their way through the rubble. 

It was a dismal, grim sight. Knock Out had seen this scenario thousands of times before on both Cybertron and his home city on Velocitron. Offlined and rusted away mechs lined the walls, crumbling blasters still held in their hands. Impact blasts and bullets riddled their chassis, their spilled energon staining the ground they died protecting. Their efforts wasted and their memories long forgotten. 

The youngest of their group winced and averted his gaze while the more seasoned veterans moved through without a second glance. Perhaps by habit or maybe ingrained programming, Knock Out scanned the deceased. 

His background processes cataloged their injuries and ventured estimates to the cause and time of their deaths. Knock Out ignored these readouts, more interested in a secondary scan that pulled up their Decepticon identification badges. He had been downloaded with the latest roster when onboarding the Nemesis per protocol but now found a sickening fascination in watching their status change from MIA to DECEASED. 

Knock Out felt the grim reminder of when he had watched Breakdown’s status change, though back then his scans had been confused by the parasite inhabiting his frame. Knock Out, in the privacy of his own hab and once Silas had stopped screaming, manually changed the status to DECEASED despite the program’s insistence his partner still lived. 

He was the last of the group to reach the end of the hall, his squad waiting patiently.

“‘You know any of them?” Smokescreen asked in tactless curiosity. 

Bulkhead and Wheeljack had both reached out to nudge him but Knock Out spoke first.

“No, I was stationed on Kalis before taking a position off-planet.” 

In truth, he and Breakdown had fled Cybertron and the war entirely, stealing a small cruiser and going planet-hoping for a few thousand years before joining back up with the Decepticons once again. But no one in their group needed those additional details. 

Ultra Magnus cleared his intake, drawing their attention. “We’ll split here. I’m sending you the building schematics from what the Iacon records held before the building was converted. Proceed with caution and alert our channel if you find anything.”

They all gave quiet nods and split. Wheeljack and Bulkhead took the diverting pathway to the right while Ultra Magnus pulled apart the doors to the command center for himself and Smokescreen to slip through. Left alone, Knock Out pulled up the blueprints.

The medbay was not centrally located. Knock Out was surprised when viewing the schematics that the medbay was in the lowest level, isolated to its own floor deep underground. It was atypical of what Knock Out had experienced throughout his tenure with the Decepticons. It wasn’t advisable, not when the medbay was one of the more crucial facilities in any base of operation. Knock Out skimmed through the rest of the floor plan, trying to find a reason for its isolation, but ultimately found none. The only silver lining was an elevator with the sole purpose of transport between the medbay and the main floor, bypassing the several floors between.

He took said lift down, marveling that it still worked. Then again, Bulkhead and Wheeljack had been working on reestablishing Iacon’s powergrid for a while now and it appears their hard work had paid off. Knock Out didn’t have the spark to thank them for their efforts, but he certainly didn’t mind the luxury of it all. He only questioned the structural integrity of the elevator halfway down but cast the thought away as quickly as it had come. Self-preservation held little important to him as of late and he didn’t want to think about the circumstances of that any further.

Knock Out expected a disaster upon entering the medbay. He expected it to be in a similar state as his own: filled to the brim with rust, dust and piles of scrap. He expected boxes of useless equipment and records of mechs no more. He even braced himself to find the entire level caved in and destroyed.

He was not expecting to find a graveyard. 

Dead, lifeless shells of armored plating and wires greeted Knock Out as he stepped off the lift. Lifeless optics greeted him, unmoving and ever watching. His optics scanned the room, and once again, his medical protocols scanned for signs of life even though Knock Out knew there had not been a living spark in here for vorns. 

Sure enough, his HUD flashed before him for visual feed findings. 21 mechs: all deceased, their status neatly updated as it identified over half of the mechs he had scanned. Before it could begin running through the initial visual diagnostic reports for each individual mech, Knock Out shut it down. There was no need for such extensive data. Not when it took only a mech with half a functioning processor to see these mechs had not fallen in battle or had come to their injuries; they had been sent here to be butchered. 

Each of the five medberths were lined up with deceased mechs in various states of disrepair. Disrepair may have been a gross understatement. Limbs were missing- amputated, not removed at the joint socket but sawed off haphazardly and violently. Quite a few had their chests and stomachs cracked open with hydraulic spreaders. On Earth, Knock Out had heard of a similar tool dubbed The Jaws of Life. In this case, it looked as if the tool had been the deadly finishing blow for the mechs on the slab. 

From their wounds, their internals spilled out in a sea of rotting energon and corrosive rust. In just a furtive glance, Knock Out saw several integral parts had been ripped out and removed. Most prominently, their t-cogs. 

Thick cables were used to strap the mechs to their slabs. One had tried to rip it off, dying with their hand enclosed around the restraint. Another seemed to have tried to wriggle out, the cable being pulled so tight it had begun to dent the armor plating, tearing into their frame. 

All this told Knock Out was these mechs had been alive at the time of their unfortunate surgeries and they surely perished during their operations. With enough energon loss and organ removal, it wouldn’t take long for them to offline. 

And those were just the mechs on the berths. Many were thrown to the floor, broken into pieces with their wires pouring from their severed corpses. One was missing a helm, which Knock Out looked across to find poised on one of the countertops, a dried pool of energon gluing it to the surface. Its optics had been surgically removed, mouth still agape and missing several sections of denta. 

It was not all that laid on the countertop. Clear acrylic containers lined the counters and shelving units, each filled with various Cybertronian parts: mismatched optics staring at all corners of the room, denta and glossa pressed together into its own monstrous smile, digits and wires tangled in knots. Whole arms and weapon systems were stacked in rusting piles, the energon from their detachment still staining the plating.

This was no medbay, never truly fitted to be one. It was a chop shop.

Knock Out had heard tales of such medbays before. Supplies were limited during times of war and scavenging was not unheard of, even in-house. When too many resources would be needed to save a life, it was sometimes more efficient to snuff them out and take what could be used to save another, more important, one. Clearly, the medic in charge here had not been adverse to such tactics. Judging by the vast supply of decaying parts scattered across the medbay, they may have even enjoyed the task. 

Clearly, it had not ended well, Knock Out thought as grayed white and red plating caught his optics. He trekked forward, stepping over crushed and dismembered frames to look down at what he wanted to assume was the CMO of this facility. A flight frame, somewhere between Starscream’s slight, angular build and Dreadwing’s bulkier, armored specs. This one now laid deceased, unseeing optics staring at the ceilings, intake crushed by the mech collapsed on top of them.

Knock Out leaned over to peer at the other mech, a tank-former with a giant, gaping hole in the center of their chest, right through the spark. Knock Out could see the exit wound. Whatever had pierced through had been serrated, the edges of the hole jagged and torn. It reminded Knock Out of his own rotary saw. In haste, it could leave quite the ghastly wound. 

Funny enough, the tank mech seemed to be mostly whole- aside from the hole through the chest. If anything, his plating was pristine. Mint condition for resale or repurpose. Perhaps this one had been a commander of sorts, then again, Knock Out would be a little surprised to see a grounder is a leadership position. 

Not that it had mattered all that much in the end. 

Knock Out knelt down beside the macabre pair, entangled for eternity- or until the Autobots got around to clearing out this bunker and leveling it to be reused for Cybertron’s reconstruction…but that didn’t have the same poeticism behind it. 

Then again, Knock Out was creating romantics out of naught. The medic and the brute, he had heard that tale before and couldn’t help apply it to the duo before him. At least these two had the good fortune to leave the mortal plane together. Some weren’t as lucky. 

With a sharp nudge, Knock Out managed to push the tank off the medic. It resulted in a horrid screech of metal on metal and a hefty crash as the tank fell to its side, curled beside the medic. In the dim light, the tank’s plating could almost be mistaken for blue, especially in contrast with the faded medic’s red.

Sticky, sharp static balled in his intake. Knock Out pulled from his crouch and took a step back. He shuttered his optics and took a deep, steadying intake. 

Breakdown was dead. His body was thrown from the Nemesis and rotting somewhere on Earth. His spark was now back with the Allspark. He was dead, gone. 

Knock Out needed to get that through his processor; to stop looking for his partner when he knew he was gone; to stop searching for a hope that he wasn’t alone; to stop chasing a non-existent ghost. 

Onlining his optics, Knock Out stared down at the tank. In truth, this mech and Breakdown looked nothing alike. Aside from the bulkiness of their frames, the similarities sharply declined.

Where Breakdown had been formatted with six heavy tread tires, this tank had thick tracks that compacted along his shoulders as opposed to being dispersed along the ligaments. Rather than Breakdown’s coppery orange faceplates, this mech’s was covered, leaving two slits for the optics to peer through. Even the coloration of their plating, that blue Knock Out had seen really giving way to a deep purplish sheen on black. It would take some reconstructive surgery to make them appear anything alike. 

Nothing a little paint wouldn’t fix. It wouldn’t even take much to reshape the abdominal plating. If I break the chest armor into six pieces, I can remold it to Breakdown's frame specs. The tracks would have to go but finding the right tires wouldn’t be too hard with all the parts available here-

Knock Out blinked, his frame stalling as he stopped that thought-tree sharply in its tracks. What the frag was he even thinking?

Creeping dread crawled across his plating, its sickly tentacles carrying a deathly chill. He had to avert his gaze in case those thoughts tried to branch again.

“Primus, what is this?”

Knock Out turned his helm to see Smokescreen standing at the threshold, digits gripping the frame of the elevator shaft opening. The young speedster’s optics were blown wide as he took in the violent sight. Panic and terror filled his optics as his processor slowly grasped the scene. 

Knock Out almost pitied the kid. A late bloomer into the war, he hadn’t seen much of the darker sides. He never saw the starvation, the infighting, the point where all hope was lost and morality had to step aside for survival. 

“Chop shop. Organ harvesting,” Knock Out hummed, his own spark still hammering heavily in his chest. “No longer operational. It seems our little grim reaper here met his match.” With a forced smirk, Knock Out added, “They never take it well when you tell them they are being scrapped for parts.”

“Really?” Smokescreen croaked, his voice weak and shaken. 

Knock Out raised an optic ridge. “It’s a joke, kid. They don’t usually tell-”

“No,” Smokescreen muttered, optics tracing along the walls of the medbay, “they really scrap living mechs for parts?”

Primus, the kid looked like he was about to purge his tanks. Knock Out stood up and approached. Softness…was not something he was accustomed to. Reassurance even less so. But the last thing he wanted to do was watch the little hero wannabe make an even bigger mess of this disaster zone. 

“War isn’t all battles and glory like your pals want you to think it is. There is very little time for celebration when you are trying to find enough energon to make it to the next battlefield or find enough parts to keep your partner whole.”

Smokescreen said nothing to this and simply bobbed his helm. Apparently, this scene was too much for him. 

“If you need to step outside, I can take care of this,” Knock Out lowered his voice. “I won’t be long. Everything here is rotting and broken.” It’d be a miracle if he could salvage anything.

Smokescreen gave another soft nod of his helm but didn’t move. Knock Out wondered if his joints were locked up.

“Did you ever have to do this?” Smokescreen asked quietly after a moment. 

“Do you want the truth?” Knock Out asked, cocking his helm to the side. 

Smokescreen gave one more muted nod, unable to meet his gaze. 

“Yes,” Knock Out whispered. “And worse.” He had cut open living mechs for parts; he had tortured and maimed prisoners in order to find precious resources just so he and Breakdown could make it a few more cycles; he had siphoned mechs of their precious energon just in the hopes of keeping Breakdown’s spark going. “Not that it did any good in the end,” Knock Out muttered, more to himself than to Smokescreen. Breakdown still perished despite every rotten thing Knock Out had done to keep him going and every terrible deed he’d done as an act of vengeance. In the end, it was for nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Smokescreen said quietly, a trembling servo reaching out to touch Knock Out arm. “It ain’t much, but I’m sorry.”

The instinctual urge to bat him away was quelled with the sickly hue crawling up the kid’s faceplates. 

“Go purge your tanks,” Knock Out waved off gently. “Maybe ‘medic’ isn’t your calling.”

Smokescreen gave him a wiry grin. “Just give me a second and I’ll be good.” But as soon as the words left his mouth, a shudder wracked through the racer’s body and he clapped a hand over his mouth. A moment passed before he let out a shaky exvent. “I take it you get used to the gore?”

“Most of the time,” Knock Out shrugged. “Cutting people open for a living will do that to you. Just take it easy. I won’t be long.”

Leaving Smokescreen at the threshold, Knock Out turned back to the room. He took a steady invent as he went back towards the center, trying to shake off the chill crawling over his plating. 

He avoided looking at the tank and medic in the center of the room, leaving his back to them as he searched through the chop shop. He grabbed a few tools that he thought he might be able to clear the rust from and snagged the datadrive from the medic’s console. It was brittle and probably a dud but the Autobots wouldn’t be able to say he hadn’t tried. He even managed to find a few patch kits that looked in adequate condition. 

He avoided taking any of the harvested parts. The Autobots would surely throw a fit if they knew where the materials had come from and even Knock Out could agree that they were not that desperate.

But…if it did turn to that, Knock Out knew where he could find the right parts.

Once he grabbed what he could, Knock Out wheeled out of the chop shop, grabbing Smokescreen and taking the lift back up to the rest of the base. All the while, he ignored the dead, blank stare of the tankformer’s corpse. 

[crazycatgirl420]

Not Magic, Science Part 3

Danny stared at the young CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Mr. Drake-Wayne was five years old when the Fentons stole his dna for tgeir clone kid project. The Fentons didn't use accelerated aging, their notes said there could be developmental risks in doing so and they wanted their own little genius to be perfect.

Danny was exactly five years, nine months, and six days younger than Timothy Drake-Wayne.

Five years ago Timothy Drake was eleven years old, with his own photogarphy gallery and charming rich old ladies at galas.

When Danny was eleven he was starstruck at space camp and building model rockets in his bedroom.

Wayne Enterprises was interested in working with FentonWorks too mass produce ecto-fueled vechiels, as well as exploring ecto energy more. Danny let Mr. Drake-Wayne's voice wash over him, professional and commanding, confident.

Everything Danny should have been, everything Danny was supposed to be. No wonder his parents were never proud of him, he was a pale imitation of Timothy Drake.

"Before we go that far though, what exactly is Ectoplasam?"

Danny knew that question was coming. He came prepared but his slide show felt very childish compared to everything Mr. Drake-Wayne had presented. He clutched his usb, and plugged it into the presenter's laptop.

"Everything that lives creates Ectoplasam. It is the energy of emotions, the spark that fuels life. Everything that lives, must then eventually die, and with death is the release of the remaining ectoplasam in their body. The ectoplasam would then disperse into a demension known as the Infinte Realms, where it either forms an Ecto-Entity or is cleansed and released into a living relam as a new lifeform. This process can take from a year to a thousand years to complete. The FentonWorks Ecto Processor takes the Ectoplasam in the air and turns it into useable energy-"

Ectoplasam was fascinating, but so was the teenage clone trying to be professional. It had been so easy to find the files, to find who and how, then why made itself perfectly clear not long after.

Tim couldn't really call the kid his clone anymore. Sure that's what their invesitagtion had been sparked by, an uncanny valley look-a-like on the cover of Damian's News in Zoology magazine. But Daniel Fenton wasn't made to replace Tim. No, he was made to be the perfect Heir to the FentonWorks bussiness and research, just like Tim had been for Drake Industeries.

The slide came to a silly photo of a cartoon ghost, Fenton hastily trying to skip it, and the following slid being a cutesy diargam of the Ectoplasmic life cycle. Fenton blushed, speaking a bit quicker on where Ectoplasam comes from and how it cycles through all demensions, before skipping to a more plain info graphic.

Tim wasn't sure what to do, or if he really should do anything, regarding the cloning issue. The ones who had done it were dead, the boy himself wasn't a bad person. Frankly it was more like meeting a cousin than anything.

"We are in agreement then?" Tim asked, standing to shake Fenton's hand. "There's plenty of time to discuss the contract another time, with lawyers. Wayne Enterprises looks forward to working with you Mr. Fenton,"

"Of course Mr. Drake-Wayne," Fenton nodded. "Thank you for seeing me today,"

"Would you join me for lunch?" Tim asked. "I'd like to talk more in a more casual setting,"

Fenton hesitated, fidgiting with the usb between his fingers, before nodding.

Tim had hope lunch would go well, it'd be nice to have another tech-minded person to talk to.

[crying-fantasies]

Terraformers AU: Parental coding/protocol

Masterlist

Parental coding is something new for many mechs in my tf AU! in the sense that they already have something called mentor coding.

Mentor coding is the information makes activate when they are in charge of a young bot or a protoform, like in the new version of IDW tf comics where older bots adopted recently forged bots when they get out of Vector Sigma, any bot could've mentor coding but how they use it or what they do with it varies from one another, like Codexa (OP's mentor/mother) that loved OP so, so much, or Starscream's mom, who used her coding to use SC to her own benefit.

It's something similar in my AU! Most mechs have the normal mentor coding (the one above) and the mechs that spark bounded with an organic (specially humans) tend to have a derivative of the original mentor coding, called parental coding that was discovered by Perceptor (Percy scanned and Brainstorm almost dissected Rodimus) when he first noticed his strange behavior.

Parental coding is almost the same that the original one, but what makes it start is not the willing act of the mech downloading it or initiating it, they just get it and it's still debatable whether it happens when the spark makes contact with the organic partner or with the Terraformer sparkling.

When Rodimus had Sunset many just thought that he was being overreacting, like okay the kid is way more like a organic now but his derma will get harder with time, for Rodimus is a big no, he will protect his kidand and his conjunx, and it's normal to some point for a normal mentor but thinking that Rodimus can be quite exaggerated everyone passed it as normal before one human said that Rodimus looked like a first time father, apparently Rodimus is denominated as a sire since his parental coding (instincts) takes over him to protect his family as a whole.

Then there was Jazz, whose coding didn't hit him as hard as others in his relationship with his sparklings, it happened with his conjunx, when Mariah was old enough to ingest energon by herself he was... trying to impress his partner more times than ever, the very same Jazz admitted his desire to have another bity soon and that desire was showed by his natural cool and suave behavior multiplied by 5, the strange idea of reproduction engraved in his processor even when he knew it was impossible and what he needed to do was go with his conjunx to a hot spot, still, he and his conjunx enjoyed the outcome of his parental coding.

When Blurr had his first sparkling, a human baby, he goes with the flow of it, normal mentor coding kicking in his processor, guiding him alongside the videos about human parenthood, but when Ferventi Typhoon was forged? Every sense was thrown out of the window, even his own conjunx for a few years was almost ignored, his list of importance going from his sparklings in the very top, then his conjunx, then their necessities, then him and so on, many of his friends laugh when they remember this since he was the most self-centered mech they had ever meet, and now they see him carrying the little beans and acting like those kiddos are his whole world, he's been hit hard by his coding once again when Ripley and Ty were old enough to be out of the house and then his list changed again to center on his conjunx, he knew they couldn't conceive with sex/interface but couldn't take off the idea of his processor much like with Jazz.

Prowl, well, it's something that he will forever keep in a corner of his mind and deny to the very end, his coding seem to have activated since he meet his future conjunx, developing a sense, or urgency, to provide, did he found supplies or consumibles? He gets those for later, did you mention to be in need of something? The very same thing appears and oh surprise, Prowl has it in his servos and doesn't have a necessity for it, you can have it, he wasn't exactly subtle even if he believed that he was, this gets worse when you are finally his conjunx and it escalated when Chainbreaker was forged, he didn't develop that "need to sex/interface" ("sexy times" like Brainstorm called it) to try to proliferate but it could also have relation to be in charge of CB and be in alert all the time by his own past or whatever organic being CB created.

With Bumblebee it was more or less kind of mild, when he started to take care of Rosalinde everything was fine and his mentor coding was working as usual, no changes when he married you or when he spark bounded, when Blood Horn was forged Bee did notice the need to keep his family more safe, but that was normal right? Indeed, but it wasn't normal to storage so much organic food or make something similar to a nest in his resident area (he did a mess of blankets and pillows) where you couldn't even move with the little sparkling I your arms while Rosalinde tried to escape such a mortal trap (she kept on sleeping every second since it was so comfy), getting food there and overall being quite a good conjunx.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Please continue the Smokescreen story.

(Gore-tober Day 4 - Peaceful)

Will do!

Prompt here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

“He won’t last at this rate.” Ratchet proclaimed as he hooked up the spark stabilizer to the Matrix. Optimus sat still on the medical berth, the container placed firmly on his lap as the connectors to his spark chamber and the relic within were attached to the delicate life fluttering within its glass confines.

“If we don’t get him a protoform, his spark will go out within the next three cycles.” The doctor sighed as he took scans and began the process of collecting Smokescreen’s memory from his processors. Arcee didn’t know much about medicine, but even she could tell that they were lucky to have even that much. Smokescreen’s frame was devastated, his limbs torn to shreds and his body contorted in ways it shouldn’t have been. She didn’t like looking at what remained of his face, it reminded her too much of Tailgate as he hung in Arachnid’s grip.

“Can he be carried by a surrogate to extend his predicted lifespan?” Optimus asked seriously as he ran his digits along the container, humming a soft tune as he did so. The Prime looked… sullen. Arcee couldn’t blame him. Smokescreen was young enough that saving his spark wasn’t impossible, but he was also likely too old to be carried for very long.

“Perhaps. But that is a last resort that I prefer we not fall to. Carrying the spark of a grown mech is-” Ratchet trailed off as he finished drilling connectors into what remained of Smokescreen’s processor. The team as a whole tensed as the implications hit them. Even Bulkhead seemed to know the ramifications of carrying a spark.

The only bots strong enough to carry a spark were Ratchet and Optimus. They had the right frame specs and their sparks were in the upper echelons signature wise. But Optimus carried the Matrix and Ratchet was older than what was safe for such a thing. Arcee would have offered her services, but she was far too small a bot to take care of a spark as bright as Smokescreen. There really was no other choice except to get the rookie a new frame if they didn’t want to risk Optimus accidentally killing him or Ratchet offlining as well in an attempt to support a spark aside from his own.

Her servos clenched into fists as she watched those gathered look between each other and the container sadly. Optimus’s optics cycled in on it as he brought it closer to himself, a song softly flowing from his vocalizer in an attempt to comfort the fragile life in his care. Bumblebee’s door wings dipped low as he placed a servo on the container as well, his field wrapping around those present in grief. Ratchet simply sighed and went about his work in silence while Bulkhead muttered a soft apology.

“You shouldn’t have had to do that newbie… I’m sorry it ended up this way.” Bulkhead leaned against the wall, his face in one of his servos while his other remained in a tight fist. Arcee for her part stared at all those present in disbelief and growing rage. Were they all just going to let him die? Were they going to lose another teammate because of the Decepticons?

“I will stay with him and do my best to ensure his passing is comfortable.” Optimus, seemingly having read her thoughts, spoke gently. His entire frame seemed to radiate grief, but he did not appear inclined to do anything aside from keep Smokescreen’s spark ablaze. Arcee wanted to scoff. What was the point of keeping his spark stable if he was just going to putter out?

She couldn’t allow that. Not again. She wouldn't lose another partner. 

“Do we still have the coordinates for the Nemesis?” She broke the solemn atmosphere as she stepped forward, her expression resolute. The team regarded her sadly, but Ratchet nodded all the same.

“We do. The Nemesis hasn’t gone far since Smokescreen…” The doctor bit his lower derma and stepped back to his console to continue his work. Bulkhead and Optimus were too occupied to pay her much attention, but Bumblebee seemed to perk up.

“You think… we might be able to get him a protoform in time?” Bumblebee’s question had those gathered finally paying Arcee the attention she needed. Her digits twitched and her spark blazed with determination. Starscream made clones of himself, there had to be more protoforms on the Nemesis being held in stasis. Arcee was the smallest, and she’d managed to get onto the ship before. If she could get on and grab just one protoform, they could save Smokescreen before it was too late.

“I’ve snuck onto the Nemesis before. I can and I will do it again.” She stared up at her fellows in defiance. She would not allow Smokescreen to die without at least trying to do something to save him.

“Cee, are you sure you can do that? Megatron must be on high alert after the Omega Keys.” Bulkhead put forward his concerns, but Arcee could sense hope in his words. He wanted to believe there was a chance, and looking around at the increasingly bright faces of the team, they wanted to believe it too.

“I can. Just let me try.” The team exchanged glances, silence overcoming the base until Optimus nodded once in assent.

“I give you permission to try. Ratchet, prepare the groundbridge.”

—----

Arcee ran as fast as her legs would allow her to as soon as she got through the portal. She had no real map of the Nemesis, but based on what she knew, the protoforms would be near the Vehicons quarters. A timer ticked on her wrist, a reminder of her limited time. They would lose the Nemesis’s coordinates within a half an hour. She had to be quick, and that meant stealth was largely out of the question.

“INTRUDER!” A Vehicon screamed as Arcee threw herself into her alternate mode and pushed her engine as hard as it would go. Her tires skidded across the ground as she pushed herself down every hall she could find in a desperate attempt to locate the protoforms she knew the Cons had. 

“SHOOT HER DOWN!” It might have been Knockout who gave the order. Arcee couldn’t be sure as she started to zigzag to dodge the fire of her enemies. The timer ticked on her arm, signaling she was running out of time as she continued her frantic search. A shot hit her back, forcing her to begin moving by pede somewhere around the fifteen minute mark. 

It burned, but she couldn’t afford to waste time returning fire. She kept moving, her every system screaming at her as she ran faster than she had ever done before. She was no racing unit, and her frame reminded her of it as she at last skidded into the section of the ship holding the protoforms. 

“Finally.” She panted as she looked up at the stasis locked protoforms. She stumbled back up and reached out to input the command needed to release one. A quick hack cut precious seconds off her timer, but before long the protoform dropped to the ground, lifeless but in pristine condition. She grit her denta as she hurried to it and pulled it along by its arm. She had underestimated how large it would be.

“You aren’t going anywhere, two wheeler.” A shot flew past her helm and Arcee stopped dead in her tracks as the slag maker himself stepped into the room with all the egotistical grace of his station. A frantic message to Ratchet had her counting down the seconds until the groundbridge would open and she could flee with her gains. Until then, she had to buy time.

“The gaurdsmech needs a new frame? I imagine his tumble from my ship did inflict substantial damage onto his pitiful body.” Megatron grinned, seemingly content to take his sweet time taunting Arcee as he moved forward. The Vehicons stepped back and Arcee dragged her gains close to herself. Her field flared in warning, but Megatron merely smiled wider.

“You Autobots must be quite desperate to send such a small bot to steal from me.” The warlord mused as he pointed his blaster at Arcee’s helm. She steeled herself, her frame in front of the protoform protectively. If all else failed, the team could retrieve the protoform over her dead body. 

“Go rust.” Arcee cursed as she readied her only free arm, her blaster lining up with Megatron’s. The warlord sneered, and Arcee prepared to be blasted into slag as the groundbridge bloomed behind her. 

“I’ve got you covered!” Bulkhead stepped through and blocked Megatron’s instinctual shot. The Decepticon leader roared in outrage as Bulkhead picked her and the protoform up and threw them both threw the bridge. She grunted as she hit the ground hard where the blaster shot hit, but she paid it no mind as Ratchet rushed forward and grabbed the protoform, not paying her a bit of attention. She didn’t begrudge him that as she stumbled to her pedes once more and closed the groundbridge behind Bulkhead as he entered. 

“Thanks for the help Bulk.” She smiled as the Wrecker tumbled in and rubbed his scorched plating. Evidently, he hadn’t escaped Megatron’s wrath unscathed. 

“Hold still! If you move he may become unstable!” Ratchet’s command echoed in the base and Arcee rushed over to watch as the medic carefully paid out the protoform and imputed the medical commands needed to open its empty spark chamber. Optimus for his part stood still as a statue, the connectors keeping him hooked up to the container holding Smokescreen’s spark glowing in response to his emotional state. 

“Come on Smokescreen, don’t reject the frame.” Ratchet pleaded as he lifted the container and ever so gently lowered it so that it hovered over the protoform’s spark chamber. Arcee could have heard a pin drop with how tense the base was as Ratchet unlocked the container. 

Not a spark said a word as they all watched in terrified but hopeful awe as Smokescreen’s spark fluttered from its container and was promptly caught in the protoform. The moment it was in place, Ratchet slammed the protoform’s spark chamber closed and stepped back. Optimus grabbed the container and Arcee moved closer to watch with rapt attention. This was it. This would decide Smokescreen’s fate. 

The air was tense enough to be cut with a knife as the protoform remained still for a worrying few kliks. But then, just as Arcee began to fear the worst, it began to shift. Protomatter began to alter, facial structures started to emerge, and within another klik, the base of Smokescreen’s old frame was easy to see. Bulkhead cheered, Arcee smiled and leaned on a nearby wall, relief flooding her spark as Ratchet praised the Allspark. Bumblebee, who had remained dutifully by Optimus the whole time, whirled in joy as Smokescreen’s vents fluttered and his systems hummed to life.

“He’s accepted the frame. He will be alright.” Optimus confirming their collective relief caused Arcee to smile wider. Smokescreen would live. He hadn’t been lost like Cliffjumper.

She’d done one thing right.

[melishade]

Number 15?

This ask game

Peaceful Timeline. Megatron and Maria bonding.

He didn't understand why this human had a fascination with him. But...she did. Every time he stepped into the cabin, the three year old cried out with excitement. She constantly toddled over to him. Followed him around until she couldn't walk anymore or until Optimus or Ymir came to get her. Honestly, the walking scared him for a moment. She wanted to run wherever her feet could take her, so they had to keep an eye on her.

But today was different. He was tasked with watching her while Optimus and Ymir went down to the village once again. They took shifts. The shifts were necessary. It gave all of them breaks. It allowed equal share of the work and split time between them taking care of Maria. The child...this frail little thing that continued to look at him without fear.

"Mama?" Megatron shot up from the chair when he heard a whimper from Maria's room. He walked over to the child's room and opened the door to see Maria awake from her nap, eyes full of tears and lips softly trembling.

"Your mother isn't here right now," Megatron informed her, "She's down in the village with Optimus."

"...oh," Maria could only let out, "But I had a bad dream."

"Did you now?" Megatron asked as he walked into the room, "I doubt someone like you should have anything to fear."

"...I don't like the dark," Maria confessed.

"The dark?" Megatron couldn't help but be annoyed. It was something so simple. How could he not be annoyed? But his annoyance showed on his face, and it made Maria cry more.

"It's scary!" Maria yelled at him. "It's cold! I can't see!"

Megatron thought it over. "I see. This is about the fear of the unknown."

Maria stared in confusion.

"You cannot see or hear, and as a result, you are afraid," Megatron explained, "Simple in theory. People fear what is not understood."

"...I don't like it. I want it to stop," Maria pleaded.

"I can't make it stop," Megatron told her truthfully, "But I can teach you to be brave to overcome it."

Maria whimpered at that. Nervous at the thought of being brave. Megatron noticed this and sighed to himself before sitting on the bed.

"I suppose you are fairly young for something like that," Megatron remarked, "I can stay-!"

Megatron yelped when Maria tackled him into a hug. He wanted her to let go. He was going to try, but she was so clingy. Her small chubby hands were snagged around his waist, and she cried in his chest.

"I don't understand you child," Megatron confessed to her, "You fear the dark, but you do not fear me? Don't I look scary to you?"

Maria shook her head. "Meg is safe."

Those words made Megatron's undead spark stop. Safe? He had so much death on his servos but this human called him safe? Being believed to be safe...he never imagined such a thing from something so frail. Megatron adjusted his seating on the bed, allowing Maria to cling to him tighter. He had no idea how long he was going to sit there.

==

Optimus didn't know how to properly respond to the sight before him when he and Ymir had returned to the cabin. His processors...couldn't properly compute it. Megatron was resting next to Maria on her bed. She was clinging to the side of the former warlord's holoform and snoring softly while Megatron was resting against the wall with his eyes closed. By the Allspark, he wished he had a camera!

(So I'm working on #5 now, but everything else is free game)

[tid-liddell]

Til this month is over, I wanna post everything I prepared for it. Including telling more details about Vita and Kicky, more percisely, the way they meeted...

*It was an usual day in Iacon's orphanage. One of its pupils, Kicky, was sitting at its yard where other sparklings were playing and running around there, looking at the datapad with intriguing information for her: very soon Rescue Bots Academy would begin enrollment for the new course. After such a long time since the first Cybertronian’s ped had stepped on Earth, the secret of iron giants was disclosed, and inhabitants of both planets started their partnership with each other, despite the doubts of people of these two worlds. Hundreds of transformers attended the Academy, but not every bot could repeat the success of the Griffin Rock's heroes. A sudden thought occurred in femme’s processor - she'd got two ways: either keep feeling exceedingly bored in this orphanage or grab this chance and go for the journey.

*The day of going to the Academy had come. In the first lessons Kicky showed a big potential also helping her classmates, especially Vita. It seemed like the femmes were made for working together.

*After a hard, exciting long day the recruits decided to have a rest and tell more about themselves, about their hobbies and families. When it was Kicky's turn, she was trying to not take the theme of rumors about her creators’ destiny and seemed a bit nervous and also suspicious for Vita. After her the red femme told about her family, their autobots friends and her purpose of learning in the Academy. The story for her creators impressed her classmate quite a lot. The orange femme got a thought that maybe she wouldn't treat her with a prejudice like sparklings from the orphanage.

*Every night Vita used to call her creators and brother on communicube before recharging to tell them how she was doing and how was her day

*The next days  when having free time Kicky was spending it by walking around the Academy and more deeply learning about the Earth’s culture and arts, and also started collecting different things, especially the most valuable ones for her were vintage ones. Vita tried to study well, she had a wish to discover more about this planet, but not only for education purposes, she had a soft spot for Earth's culture. At the time when our femmes were studying in the Academy, Earth technology could recreate  various celebrities' for different purposes, concerts using these innovations got quite a popularity. The red femme had been dreaming of visiting those concerts, especially one rock band's..

*Since the two recruits were getting along well, one day Vita introduced Kicky to the world of rock music. After she told her about her wish, later Kicky could take her classmate for a walk. The young femmes could visit a couple of big cities, after mentioning hobbie of Vita’s carrier they once watched a movie in a drive in theater, and of course, some “holographic concerts”. The young medic most of all had been striving to visit one to pay tribute to one earthling, the one Bulkhead was telling about with warmth in his spark - the soloist and guitarist of robo-themed rock band, Miko Nakadai. After it Vita couldn't not shed a tear, because, obviously, the musician died of old age many years ago…

*When seeing that her classmate bursted into tears, Kicky surely sincerely felt sorry for her and quickly tried to sooth her by hugging and… smoothing her cheek, not expecting it herself. Yes, Vita felt better, although at the same time with it faceplates of future rescuers got fully covered with blue blush and the femmes themselves were in a stupor, but returned at the Academy.

*Kicky had seen that Vita used to tell about her staying in the Academy to her family. She felt a bit jealous that her friend had a family she could trust her feelings with.

*One day it was a simulation test where the recruits had to act readily and wisely to save people from catastrophe. This time they got only one try. Before it this team always capped them with the best results, practically the same were the real missions. However   Kicky couldn't stop thinking of her gone creators and Vita’s friendly family, which distracted the orange recruit. Just breaking away from the thoughts, the femme saw a projection of a family, where the parents were on the brink of death right in front of their little child. Feeling overridden, the orange recruit ran to rescue them  first, not even having in mind that there was a way to save the family and the other people at the same time. The test failed. The indignant voices of other rescuers sounded and hearing that they mentioned Kicky’s name, she shamefully ran away. Vita was angry with the failure, but seeing her partner running away from the hall, followed her.

*After finding her partner, the red femme apologized for the situation and said she didn't have to feel guilty. The orange femme finally spilled out her spark to her partner, and explained her actions by never having a family and how it felt to have no relatives, the sparklings in the orphanage never a family to her and… she spilled out about her creators. Vita found out what the orange femme was afraid to tell about,  said that anyone in the universe deserves a second chance, reminded why she decided to go to this place and hugged her. A bit later, the two future rescuers decided to confess to their classmates about the orange recruit's past, holding their servos for confidence. Oddly enough, after Vita’s speech the sparklings quite calmly accepted and forgave their classmate, however considering how they were holding their servos, started to suggest that there's something more than meets the eye between them.

*Later this evening, Vita met her partner at the rooftop of Academy, watching the beautiful sunset. Kicky was thankful to her for making her feel not alone anymore. Taking her servos, Vita uttered: “I'm happily to be your family” not even noticing how their lips touched each other. Realizing what happened and being in a little stupor, young femmes laughed not even realizing it was just a beginning…

If you don't know about this AU, you may read the comic there(PLEASE SEE THE TRIGGER WARNINGS AT THE DESCRIPTION BEFORE READING)

[cheerful-sixears]

Running To Your Heart When You're Thinking Of…

STATUS: Unfinished; will most likely remain unfinished. [why? because it was started at a horrid time of my life. plain and simple.]

FANDOM: Transformers: Bayverse

PROMPT: “I pushed everyone away because they weren’t you”

SONG INSPIRATION: Sleep Token-Aqua Regia 

PAIRING: Ironhide (Bayverse) x OC (Self Insert)

After a long, strenuous drive through the city, riddled with anxiety and emotional struggles, Killian arrogantly thrusted the vehicles’ passenger door open and whimpered in a very stressed, overwhelmed manner. He said nothing as he walked over to the old, roughed-up barn on the abandoned property that he, strangely though in Keely-fashion, claimed as a “safe space”. It was an unusual choice, but it held strong feelings of safety to him, and that’s what mattered in the end. The vehicle behind him began to shapeshift-rather-transform and knelt down behind him, placing his brutish arm around Killian’s person as a barrier to keep him from moving any further away. Keely grumbled  and stomped his foot, his muscles tensed and braced with clenched fists. He turned around with an almost irate, yet pleading expression, “Just let me go, please? It’s not like you wanted to stay here, anyway,” 

The mech snorted with an irritable whirring rumble, almost offended by the young man’s words. Ironhide, his assigned guardian, stood upright for a moment, leaned down further to Keely’s

 level and held back an annoyed, rumbling growl-at least attempted to-but in the end it seemed to have slipped, “I do not understand, why are you so angry at me? Why do you push everyone away and expect me to make it better? I am your guardian, not your-” Before he could finish his heated retort, Killian stomped his foot again, and bared his teeth in what looked like….agony. Sheer agony. The emotional pain that Ironhide began reading brought a sudden ache to his own spark.

“I pushed everyone away because they weren’t you.--Optimus? Ratchet? Bumblebee? I don’t want them. I want YOU. I have this aching in my chest….it’s not physical pain…it’s this…weird, sickening feeling that i get everytime you’re around. I just want to be with you….You ever get that sensation? Where someone is literally your life because you only live to see them smile? Laugh? Maybe even cry?....You’re that person, Ironhide. You’re MY person….” At this point, Killian was sputtering and sobbing. He was near incoherent at the end of his desperate point made. Gasping, tearful and shamefully covering his face with visibly shaken hands, his anguish and anger spilled from his trembling lips in bursts of sorrowful whimpers and gasps.

Taken aback, Ironhide swallowed hard. His chords were strained as he attempted to form his next words with caution. He was lucky his previous sentence was cut short. He knew then, from experience, his words would’ve caused more damage than good. He was an expert in combat and weapon’s specialist, but a spark-mate? He never thought twice about that…with a human. It never once crossed his mind, until he thought about Killian’s words. His optics traced Keely for further emotional analysis, but he wasn’t Ratchet, so that was pretty pointless. Empathy was not his specialty, neither was human emotion, but something nagged him in the back of his processors. It was a desperate voice within the workings of his spark. It yearned for him to speak, to catch the young man before he fell. It desperately spoke the obvious phrase, “save him.”