#hush of iacon

[planetformer-central]

Getting back into the swing of things with some merformers OC art. I'm trying to follow the muses for once.

[yandere-wishes]

Hi!!

I have a question... what do you think sentinels prime punshiments would look like? :3 what would be the worst one?

｡˚ ❀ ˚｡ He's so evil and sadistic...so why do I love him so much?!?!

𝄞 Real Men by Mitski

❀ The Icon of Iacon

❀ He loves the rogue sparks that fly inches from his face as he burns or rather "engraves" you. Sentinel uses his torch to engrave his name (Or rather a pretty cursive signature) somewhere on his darling's chassis. Similar to what he did to Megatron. He'll trail his digits over the resplendent scar later on. Making sure he feels every dip and curve of his name across her armor. Every shiver and shutter that runs ramped through his beloved darling's frame.

❀ Sentinel Prime isn't a gentle bot. He prefers to not see himself as barbaric just determined, steadfast. That's why he plucks the tires from his darling's body, not because he's cruel but because he'll do anything to keep her by his side. Although it's hard to find an excuse for how he relishes in the warm energon that coats his digits as he thrusts them into her open lacerations. Hard to find the right words when he's trailing open-mouthed kisses between gaping iron and savoring her ethereal taste as he eagerly licks her gushing wounds. Not cruel, no immoral...just in love.

❀ Her alt mode is rendered utterly useless. Pretty shiny thing that can't move. It leaves his darling ruined emotionally. She can't bear the state she's in. The grotesque useless thing she now has to transform into...

❀ So Sentinel rips out her T-cog. He does it to preserve her mental state, he swears. Does it so she won't have to turn into the form she's come to despise so wholeheartedly...And maybe if he's allowed a moment of selfishness he'll confuse in hushed tone whispers that he may have also done it to prevent her from running away.

❀ Although the procedure entirely depends on how his darling behaves. If she's sweet and docile, only ever trying to escape from his golden grasp. Then he'll take pity on her and permit her to remain unconscious through the whole thing, he's only doing this for her after all, he doesn't want her to suffer but it's necessary to keep her safe. Things are always "necessary" with him.

❀ However if his darling is feisty headstrong and constantly putting up a fight, a constant threat, metallic rose throne at his side, daring even to try and harm him. Then he'll definitely rip her T-cog straight from her chest, making sure she feels each wire snap, the grotesque unnatural expansion of her metallic chest. The rigorous pop of your diodes. The gory crunch of circuits snapping, forced to release the precious organ. He wants her withering in the pain. Looking into his optics and finally understanding that he owns her.

❀ The thing about a bot like Sentinel is that they can so easily look in a mirror and only see justice and golden paragons. Blood-soaked rhyme and reason that always ends with them draped in innocence relishing in the thing they want most. Bots like Sentinel, bots whose deific power ripples through every vein of a planet. Can never be painted as monsters, as wretched. They have too much authority and excuses to be anything but wholly perfect.

❀ You'd been so used to internal pain. The righteous crack of sparks, blunt anxiety cascading through your circuits. Maybe it's cause there isn't much that can harm a Cybertronian, not much that dents and rips celestial steel. But with him, everything is outwards. The churn of a nervous stomach is nothing compared to the rippling agony of a broken leg. Sentinel rips the pain from your metallic viscera, baths you in your own ichor, bedaubs you in pain as he calls you his "sweet little lover".

❀ "I hope Primus sends you straight to Unicron!" You can't help but scream between tears and traumatized sobs. You straighten your spine, knees folded to your chest. Your energon pools beneath you, pouring from his latest mauling. Open-ended wires spark as they make contact with your blue essence.

❀ Sentinel only chuckles, sky-hued optics playfully darting to the ground. 'Dear Primus, I don't believe in you'... but all he offers his darling is a sweet sugar-laced smile and a saccharine peck on the cheek.

❀ Sentinel will never admit it, it's hard to show such benignity when you rule an entire planet, but maybe -just maybe- at the end of the cycle his favorite misery to besiege upon you, is when he grips your chin or cheek and tugs you towards his lips. Savouring your ethereal taste. When he guides your servos to his chassis, pulling you closer till both are one. When he can just hold and kiss you. Just be with you. A romantic scene framed eternally by Cyerbtron's setting sun.

❀ If you close your optics, you can almost pretend to be in love...

[travelersspark]

Cybertronian!reader(gn)x bumblebee who has a Wall-e and eve relationship 👀👀 yk the reader acts like eve doesn't really talk and bumblebee being a total sweetheart, like the first time where eve said wall-e's name for the first time and he's like awww🥺 yeah thats them

I love this ! I'm not sure which version to go with but imma do TFP post season 3 for setup ♡

𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚

TFP!Bumblebee x GN!Cybertronian Reader.

A light whirl of the nightly life on Iacon sounds in your ears as you stroll down the walkways of the city. Cybertron. Your home. The place you always loved and never want to leave. Iacon being your home residence and workplace. As well as being a high inscriber your duties are simple. Nothing much to truly say. Hence why you enjoyed your job. You never really had to voice your opinions and ideas , you just had to transcribe.

Write any information presented to you and do diligence for the order of cybertron. You were complacent about your role and never questioned much about it. Moatly since no kind of threat seemed to be at large. Luckily you seemed to have some free time to yourself finding you optics set on a small rest spot near a open residence. The sound of communication drowns out the silence of the starry sky above. ❝ Y/N ? ❞ a voice called out as you turn to find where such voice came from.

Your optics set on a tall yellow and black cladded bot not to far off in the distance , passing through a crowd of other bots seeming to be in some sort of hurry. A faint hint of confusion spreads across your face plate as he approaches. His voicebox sounding hoarse and tired. ❝ I've been looking for you ! Finally got time off from patrol so... ❞ Servos planted on his hip plates as he spoke a bit of hesitancy in his voice as you watch. ❝ I was um. Wandering if you be free to go with me to that um- scrap. ❞ He mutters under his breath as he claps his servos and sighs. Optics pointed to the sky as a light blushing glaze comes across his faceplate.

To you , Bumblebee was like a close friend. Close enough to kind of be the real you. Yet you still never really understood him. Yet you enjoy his company in a way. A light laugh escapes your lips as you watch him uncomfortably fidget. Soon his gaze meets yours as his faceplate shows signs of amazement and confusion.

❝ Did you just.. laugh ? ❞ He exclaimed as your optics dart away and you turn flustered. Bee wasn't having it. He laughs quietly to himself as he moves close. ❝ You laughed ! I knew your voicebox wasn't broken ! ❞ He teased as you profusely shake your head , trying to hush his excitement. He cheered for a moment before you hastily covered his mouth with your servos as the gap between you two closed. After a second you back off quickly , akwardly. Bee sighs as he rubbed his neckplate as he grunts clearing his voicebox. ❝ There's a bar not to far from the central area. Probably about maybe a couple of paces down from here. I was thinking... maybe we could go and have a drink ? My treat by the way. ❞ He mutters the last bits as you blankly watched him. His optics narrow trying figure out your next move.

“ Yes.. ” your voicebox called out as Bee backs up in awe. A slight chuckled comes from you as you begin to walk waving him along. Bee's backplate wings flutter before he follows behind. His optics and mouth slack-jawed open during the whole walk. Your definitely gonna have alot of explaining to do...

There ya go! Kind of short but sweet and cute at the same time ! ♡

[theforestghost]

MegOP Week 2024 Day 4

Day 1: Peace Fandom: Transformers Animated Prompt: Optimus is the reincarnation of the 13th but does not know it. Rating: G

Optimus stirred slightly, recharge lingering in his frame as his optics slowly came online. The room he was in was dark, a low purple glow from the ceiling lights giving away nothing but shadows. Beside him, Megatron remained deep in his own recharge, large engines purring in a familiar hum that nearly lulled Optimus right back under. He resisted however, moving his helm to look up at the mech he was comfortably laying against. 

Megatron laid on his back kibble, one arm under Optimus’ helm as a pillow and the other laid across his waist like a weighted blanket that he knew from experience he could not move. In fact, this weighted blanket had a habit of holding him tighter whenever he tried to move too early in the day cycle. Optimus didn’t mind though; he loved these domestic starts to his solar cycle. Megatron clearly didn’t mind either since the large warlord always grumbled about Optimus waking far too early and dragging him back into a cuddle session until mid cycle at least. 

Optimus turned to face Megatron and carefully moved his servo to the other’s helm, gently tracing over the features with a barely there touch. Despite how much Megatron enjoyed waking late, the warlord was a surprisingly light recharger and would awaken at the slightest jostle. So Optimus had picked up a habit of quietly admiring his lover during these early cycles, watching his slumbering faceplate and sometimes daring to run a digit along his frame. It was therapeutic in a way. 

Optimus didn’t understand why he found such solace in Megatron. Just a couple of stellar cycles ago, the two of them were at each others throat cables. Their only goal had been to defeat the other and in the end, Optimus had succeeded in capturing Megatron. Not like it had actually lasted long since the moment his trial was held, Megatron was free and just vorns later, Optimus had been captured by him instead. Though he did have Ultra Magnus to thank for that loss. His assault on the Decepticons had hit Optimus as well and Megatron had taken advantage of the attack to capture Optimus. Things had gone by quickly after that.

Optimus had eventually defected, becoming Megatron’s new strategist. They’d restarted their assault on Cybertron, specifically in Iacon where Optimus was caught by Alpha Trion and told about his identity as the reincarnation of Thirteen. Optimus hadn’t believed the old mech until he’d had the Matrix of Leadership forced into his spark chamber and recalled every single memory of the mech. His inner turmoil over that had been stressful to every bot around him and eventually Megatron managed to remove the Matrix and free him. Optimus still had the memories of Thirteen but was no longer under the influence of his “siblings”.

A large and warm servo came and rested on the back of Optimus’ helm, making him look up at Megatron who watched him with warm crimson optics. Optimus let his own servo rest against his cheekplate in turn, smiling up at his lover who hugged him close. 

“What has woken you so early?” Megatron mused, his tone soft and hushed, thick with recharge. Megatron began stroking along his back struts with his free servo and Optimus let out a soft purr at the feeling.

“Nothing important.” Optimus said, laying his helm against the side of Megatron’s chassis.

“Your field says otherwise.” Megatron replied.

Optimus scowled slightly before letting out a soft ex-vent. “I recalled the time I had with the Matrix,” he explained. “It’s hard to believe that you removed it just two solar cycles ago. I still feel so raw…”

“I would think you would.” Megatron said. He gently pressed his field again Optimus, letting it embrace the younger mech in a way Megatron knew he enjoyed immensely. “The artifact is one of great power and whatever or whomever is inside put a great deal of stress on you, both physically and mentally. I would be more surprised if you did not feel raw.”

Optimus said nothing, just buried his faceplate into Megatron even more. The warlord turned his frame to face Optimus, embracing the smaller mech completely. Optimus was a cuddler and Megatron knew he found great comfort in touch and affection. Something Megatron himself had no issues in offering to his little one whenever he needed it.

“Can you stay here with me?” Optimus muttered against Megatron.

“I do not see why not.” Megatron hummed, resuming his stroking of Optimus’ back struts with his digits. 

He enjoyed peaceful day cycles like this.

[birthdaycakeplate]

Ambiguous Ceasefire AU

Everyone’s favorite trope- Megatron gets high in the medbay and flirts with Optimus ✨

(I cannot proof read this or I will die)

————————————-

“It’s processor damage, Ratchet-“

“No, it’s processor lag. Stop fretting, Prime. He shouldn’t of been drinking that slag with an injury like that.”

“It’s a common practice, stumpy. Decepticons do not have ze luxury of pain patches jou hoity-toity Autobots do.”

“This is peace time, Strika. He could have waited for me to get to him after he comm’ed for me! Overcharge interferes with medication.”

“Please don’t raise your voice, Ratchet. He’s likely very sensitive.”

Megatron made a pathetic noise of agreement. Though it was too great a chore to open his optics and see for himself who was yelling back and forth at one another over his helpless, prone form, he could at least summon the strength to wave his servo in a silent plea to be spared.

These bots sounded far too over involved, and Megatron just wanted to sleep…

He shifted to find his bearings and a tremor ran through him as a searing sensation nestled deep in his abdominal plate screamed at him in protest. He conceded with a hiss, falling back against the padded slab beneath him.

“Hey! Stop moving!”

Megatron flinched at the sudden shouting.

“Let him.” Said the thick accent.

“He has to learn his lesson.”

“But it’s not his fault- you said he was trying to numb the pain.”

‘Not his fault’.

If Megatron’s glossa weren’t impossibly heavy and he had a slice of a processor left to think with, he knew he’d be quite inclined to chat with the more forgiving of the three voices above him to help him make sense of things.

He liked having a sensible mech around.

“He’s an idiot, but he was also desperate, you two.”

Megatron took it back.

Sleep was clearly not an option anymore, nor was a moment’s peace of the burning hole in his tank keeping him on high alert.

Through sheer force of will -and the need to assert himself, especially as an incapacitated warlord- Megatron cracked an optic open to address the spinning room at large.

In seconds, the colliding world of colors and far too bright lights came into a hazy focus, morphing into a sight more arresting than his first view of the Iacon tower in 4 millennia.

Before him stood a stunningly vivid mech, painted in blues and reds, silvers and yellows, and peering down at him with such captivation.

Shielding him from the blinding light in his optics with his curiously cocked helm.

Or perhaps, Megatron thought, that was concern etched into his smooth features- rather unsure of how to behold the colossal mech laid before him.

Megatron had built an empire with… ‘physical persuasion’ and his dashing charisma, and this new recruit was clearly feeling out of his depths at the sight of his glorious leader. Even in the pathetic state he was in -which Megatron could tell by his aching joints.

He was simply too magnificent a mech.

“Megatron?” The young recruit spoke his name, and in an instant of clarity, as Energon rushed to Megatron’s helm -and with it, the euphoric tendrils of some unnamed emotion- Megatron realized in wonder and awe that this was no recruit he’d ever seen before- because the blue mech wasn’t one.

“….M-Megatron?”

He was a guardian sent by Primus. That was a halo above his angled helm.

“A holy architect of the AllSpark.” The helicopter murmured in a hushed voice. Lying there in worship.

“You are a messenger of Primus?”

Wide optics stared back at him.

“No- Megatron, you’re not dead.” That little billed helm shook.

“This is Cybertron.”

“I don’t think he thinks he’s dead and gone to the well of AllSparks.” Ratchet mumbled somewhere off to his side. Dialing in another boost of sensor blockers to rush Megatron’s sensor net and effectively muddle his already vacant processor further.

With the new surge of pleasure came another ping of inspiration, as Megatron’s sharp denta gleamed and curled back into the first genuine smile he’d fostered in ages.

The little angel looked at him, terrified.

“You are a messenger, here to give me strength to stand and weather these injuries to fight another day. I can feel myself returning to my full glory from just your presence here.”

“That would be the cortical patch.” Ratchet spoke again.

“You’re high. Feels good, don’t it?”

The angel began to shake his helm more frantically at Megatron’s blatant leering.

“I’m not a… a… u-um. I’m…”

“When I raise my sword again, fair Virgo,” Megatron’s rumbling vocalizer broke with the roughness of recharge attempting to take over him.

“Know that it is you I pray to victory for.”

Laughter burst throughout the little makeshift medbay as Strika heaved her vents empty. Ratchet struggled similarly.

Megatron did not mind the boisterous -frankly bothersome in this moment of rare beauty- laughter, as the angel’s blue faceplates turned kissably red all at once because of it.

Perhaps he was shy and unused to the thunderous sounds of war. The battlefield was always full of raucous mechs, and untouched by the appearance of a creation so pure and precious, did not know how to shelter one from it.

Megatron attempted to reach up and pacify the frightened thing by freckling each cheekplate with a gentle press of his lips to them, but found himself immediately knocked back by the weight of his own unresponsive limbs.

“Megatron!” The little mech reached out and grabbed his paw of a hand, barely able to grip one massive digit, squeezing for some kind of confirmation that Megatron was ok.

He was out, though. Giving in to the impressive cocktail of blockers Ratchet had calculated he’d fall victim to several minutes ago.

The laughter continued until Strika was on her knees on the floor, scrambling to string a sentence together.

“It’s processor lag…” Optimus reminded them.

———————————

Megatron had been subjected to the recording Strika had taken ten times over -or what little he could make of it over her deafening cackling. The wretched glitch.

Why he hadn’t permanently demoted her right then and there with his fusion cannon was entirely Lugnut’s fault, with his endless litany of loyalties Megatron needed to take into account.

He had to admit, while he couldn’t see most of what he and Optimus were up to by the end of Strika’s wheezing attack, he could not deny that that was his voice on the other end of the recording, promising his spark away to his former rival and crooning over him like he was the one bleeding out on a medberth.

Not that Megatron would be worried if he were…

At least their entire Earth teams hadn’t bared witness to the display, as they had when it’d been Blitzwing and Bumblebee accidentally confessing to one another. And that had been fairly explicit in its presentation, too.

So it could have been worse…

Optimus, with his flushed face, wasn’t looking at him like he shared that opinion anymore, though….

————

Actually, Optimus is gay as fuck right now and he wants to do that again please, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, you know how his insecurities are

[flipping-the-coin]

[Inquisitorial Report: Subject - Megatron of Kaon]

[Authorization Level: Alpha (Elite Guard Selective)]

[Listed Authorizations: Head Elite Guardsmech Smokescreen]

[Assigned Inquisitor: Hush]

[15 Vorns after Cybertron’s Restoration - Ten Stellar-cycles into assignment]

═════════════════

It has been a quiet three stellar cycles, at least by Megatron and Orion standards. Megatron and Orion did some traveling around lower Iacon and spent time at the shops to celebrate their conjunxing anniversary. They were disgustingly romantic as always and got some iced energon which they shared with comically small spoons. They also danced under the light of Luna 1 on the roof and shared a few kisses. I got a few pictures of their whole date because it was, admittedly, rather cute. I left them on the table for Megatron to review. He actually smiled when he saw the pictures I took. I went to great lengths to get excellent images of Orion. Megatron isn’t the greatest photographer and the last one that was hired to take some anniversary pictures for my targets fled the scene a moment after arriving. 

Orion was so fragging sad after he failed to get anyone willing to take pictures. So honestly I am just happy I could help. Orion is a good mech deep down. I didn’t think so when I first got here, but then again, I didn’t think Megatron was capable of love either. I don’t believe that anymore. I’ve been here almost a full vorn and I have seen more than I would have liked to. But through those experiences, I can safely say that their affection is genuine. Orion’s name has been slandered for no real reason and Megatron, while formerly a mech worthy of being jailed, is no longer who he once was. I can’t look at wartime pictures of Megatron and see the same mech who sits hunched over at his desk in the afternoon to write poetry. 

Don’t worry, I left a note with the pictures. I forged a document that stated I was a photographer from a company I made up which I have named ‘Melody Photographics & Landscaping’. Megatron grinned and smiled up at my vent when he saw it. I think he appreciates my efforts. I know Orion certainly did. When he got the pictures he was ecstatic and gushed at Megatron for a half groon about how lovely the photos came out. Of course then he praised Megatron for a long while for being able to find a photographer and for surprising him with pictures after their anniversary. But I am just happy to see them happy. It’s kind of strange, but after being here so long, their joy has begun to infect me.

I know that protocol dictates that I am meant to get my memory files uploaded and then wiped, but I would like to keep these ones, at least until my mission is complete. Sure I’ve seen some things, but I’m happy with that. There are enough good memories to drown out the scary ones.

On another note, ‘Melody Photographics & Landscaping’ has now been ‘hired’ by Megatron to work around the outside of the hab. I forged all the documentation so don’t stress about it, Head Guardsmech. I’ve got some new paint lined up and I plan to begin working in the garden and fixing up the exterior of the hab going forward. Orion is affiliated with the Prime after all. His reputation is tied to our Lord Prime’s. It’s only right that I help fix everything up. I already have a bunch of building material purchased and ready to go. I will begin work once I introduce myself under my alias and get information about what Orion would like the exterior of the hab to look like.

I know it is risky, but I plan to use this alias business of mine to assist Megatron and Orion going forward. I know I am not supposed to be too involved, but I am tired of sitting around. Besides, the sheer level of disrespect thrown at my targets is ridiculous. Few mecha are willing to serve them in public establishments! So if no one else will do it, I will. And before you tell me it's foolish, I have logical reasons behind the choice as well, at least aside from saving our Prime’s reputation. If I am the one supplying them with services, then I will know exactly what they are doing and I will be able to give better reports. With that said, I could use some additional funding going forward. Not much mind you, just enough to buy some tools and more paint. 

Oh, and before I forget, Carnage has begun staying with me more often! He comes back far more frequently now and he loves to recharge directly on my chassis. I am not sure why exactly, but I assume it's because a cyber-feline’s hearing is better than my own and he enjoys the sound of my spark. I don’t actually know if he’s a he, but it felt weird to not have some sort of designator for him. I didn’t want to keep calling him an it after he spent so many long nights curled up at my side when I was lonely. 

Actually, Carnage has shown me a few interesting things about the hab and the surrounding area. Firstly, there are a few exotic crystals nearby that the records list as being extinct. I have already excavated them and am cultivating them quietly so that they can be put in Orion’s garden once I get permission to get working. Carnage also showed me a store that had a new visor that I may or may not have bought. Sorry, but the one issued by the guard really just didn’t meet my needs. My optics are… incredibly sensitive to anything and everything. Boredom wasn’t the only thing that led me to clean Megatron’s hab obsessively. 

Dust hurts. At least now with my new visor, it doesn’t burn as much. I can see without as much suffering on my end. 

 Lastly, there are tunnel systems, not the ones for the Primes mind you, running beneath a good chunk of Iacon. I think they were sewers connected to the old factory districts from before the war. Most have collapsed, but a few are still in decent enough repair to traverse. One of these tunnels leads directly to that engraver’s house. I’ve found a whole stash of illegal drugs down there. I fully plan to examine that engraver further once I have a free moment. This is getting ridiculous and I refuse to put Orion and Megatron at risk of catching something from fumes. 

I read in one of the archive’s files that creating drugs like circuit breakers makes nasty fumes that can make mecha seriously ill. I don’t know if that’s what the engraver is doing or if he’s just a distributor, but I would like a warrant to begin looking into him as well. For all we know, he could be affiliated with some underground network. I think it was Megatron who said it, but in his words, “The black market is always open for business.”

Oh, and before I forget, I think you will be happy to know that Orion Pax has stopped freezing up terribly at depictions of the Prime. He doesn’t need to shield his optics from the billboards anymore. This is huge��progress! Although I must admit I agree with Megatron when it comes to those things. They are gross . Our Prime just looks wrong on them. Who allowed the senate to purchase rights to our Prime’s image? I don’t want to point digits at the Primal Steward or the Council, but I think you should look into that because it’s not only disrespectful, but really fragging uncomfortable to look at considering Optimus Prime is a holy figure. 

I saw one billboard just the other cycle with our Prime’s image smiling alongside one of his quotes while holding up a cube of energon. It was an energon advertisement. For Primus’s sake, our Prime hasn’t even been dead twenty vorns and he’s already being used to prop up businesses. Can we at least remove the ones around lower Iacon? It’s not like anything will get sold down here anyway. Megatron agrees with me on this front. 

No I don’t talk to him directly, but I have made a few noises while he was discussing the billboards by himself. He took that to be a sign of my agreement and honestly, he wasn’t wrong to make that assumption. Megatron wrote a whole article on how disrespectful and wasteful it is to have Optimus Prime literally everywhere across Iacon. How many memorials does he need? He’s holy, yes. I will fully and gladly acknowledge that. But he isn’t some prop to be piloted. Please, look into the situation. I implore you, Head Guardsmech.

That’s all I have to report on for now. Megatron left some more pre war documents out for me, so if you don’t mind, I’ve got some reading to do. I am halfway through a selection of Ascenticon legislation proposals. 

═════════════════

[Report Received: Visibility Status - Seen]

[Note from Head Elite Guardsmech Smokescreen: Hush, are you serious? You are far beyond mere spying now. If you were anyone else, I would have pulled you back and had you sent to a Chaplain. However, considering Megatron has tolerated you so far and even seems to appreciate you, I will leave you be. Just, be careful. He’s unpredictable.]

[doyourequirefirstaid]

The days blend together. Shift after shift, First Aid and Ambulon piece the wounded back together, repair labourers injured in the clearing and rebuilding efforts, treat old forgotten wounds that had been left unattended in the wake of the constant fighting. Sometimes they share shifts, and sometimes they're scheduled separately.

When First Aid is working alone, Ambulon holes up in their apartment with the day's fuel ration and the few holos and datapads they've managed to scrape together. When Ambulon works alone...

At first, Aid had also stayed home. Cleaned and fretted and tried to refuel, but all it ever did was allow him time to think until he was sick with worry and despair. After that, he had tried running the errands that Ambulon couldn't, but there were only so many - not even a few in a day, but a few in a week - and he'd be right back in the apartment again, wearing circles in the flooring and being sick in the small washracks. He was getting desperate, plotting various reckless escape routes he and Ambulon could take to get out of Iacon, when he started hearing whispers about the ghosts outside of the city.

...A still and silent spectre, heralded by ice and leaving death in its wake. It only moves when unobserved, trailed by swarms of unusually subdued scraplets. Several outposts have sent frantic, cryptic messages mentioning the figure, only for their communications to be abruptly cut off from Iacon;

...A mourning wraith, shrouded in a cloak with inky tears spilling from its empty sockets as it wanders the wastes, crying out for someone or something. Some of the Decepticon staff discuss its frame and hidden helm kibble in hushed tones, but something about the ghost carrying swords causes their whispers to end in quiet frustration;

...A hulking figure, grey as a corpse and lit from within by a sickly green glow, and rarely seen. Someone says that, of the few times it's been spotted, it was always dragging away bodies from ancient battlefields, moving deeper into the wastes. Another says it's sent from Unicron to destroy all Cybertronians for killing His brother, Primus, with their war. This last ghost frightens him the most, makes something twist deep in his spark.

First Aid continues to listen when some mecha mention shrines near Iacon's walls. And when Scalpel hesitantly asks him to come with him and some others, just to go see, First Aid follows. He lingers at a shrine to the Weeping Revenant; he listens again as a worshiper quietly tells them that the Revenant is an avenging angel, a little god willing to protect those who beseech it. First Aid kneels; lights a candle; timidly nicks his smallest finger and lets it drip into the dozens of other slender, pink-stained candles at the base of the shrine.

Primus either truly is dead, or has left them all alone in His shame and disgust. First Aid feels some small thing inside of him finally break, and he kneels a while longer, occasionally wiping coolant from his mask and visor. Only when the internal alarm signaling the end of Ambulon's shift chimes does he stand, wipe his face, his hands, his knees, and slip back inside the wall.

[thehuntsmaster]

PRE WAR. WIRES OF FATE I.

violence, death, duh. Scorne, a security officer which cogless mail drone Rivet (P-22) had thought for a while but tonight this friendship is over as she witnesses a darker side of Scorne murdering the Politician along with his employer by his side.

Night had fallen over Iacon, and the city’s luminous towers gleamed like stars above the darkened streets. Most of Cybertron’s denizens had retired for the evening, but not Rivet. Her small frame moved quietly through the deserted streets, her optics flickering with uncertainty. She had no delivery to make tonight, no assignment or errand. But her thoughts were tangled in knots, pulling her back toward a name, a figure she couldn’t shake from her mind.

Scorne.

It had been weeks since she had completed his mission. Since she had stood in that dim waste management room and accepted his dangerous proposition. He hadn’t contacted her since. No more late-night messages, no more threats or orders. But his presence lingered in her mind, heavy and inescapable.

She wasn’t sure why she was drawn to the Archives tonight. Maybe it was the silence of the city, the way the world felt hushed and secretive after dark. Or maybe it was something deeper—an instinct that pulled her toward the imposing building, as if her spark could sense something wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be here, wandering the streets after curfew, but her curiosity and the restlessness gnawing at her had led her this far.

As she approached the massive building, the first thing she noticed was the presence of guards at the entrance. That was strange. The Archives were typically open to the public, but now they were heavily guarded. Something important was happening inside, something that required secrecy and force.

Rivet’s optics narrowed as she crouched in the shadows, watching the guards pace back and forth. It wasn’t just any guards—they were Seekers, large and imposing, their presence unmistakable. She had no business with them. And yet... something inside her pushed her forward.

What was going on in there?

Her optics darted to the ventilation shaft on the side of the building. It was narrow, but she could fit. She hesitated only for a moment before slipping toward it, her small frame allowing her to pull herself into the vent with ease. The shaft was dark and tight, but she moved swiftly, following the faint hum of voices that echoed through the vents.

It was quiet at first. Just the low murmur of muffled conversations. But as she crawled further into the maze of ducts, the voices became louder, sharper. She could hear something... off. Not just conversation, but the sound of struggle. Of fear.

And then, the cries.

Muffled, desperate cries. The unmistakable sound of someone in pain. Her spark clenched, and she pressed forward, her mind racing with questions. Who was in there? What was happening? Why were they crying out?

The vent led her to an overlook above one of the higher chambers in the Archives. Carefully, she peered through the grates, her optics widening as she took in the scene below.

In the center of the room, a figure was on his knees—bound and gagged, his once-proud wings pinned to his back in submission. Sigil. His green and purple armor was marred with fresh dents and energon stains. His blue optics were wide with panic, and he strained against the restraints, trying in vain to free himself.

But it wasn’t just Sigil. There were others. Scorne was there, standing tall and menacing, his massive frame towering over the kneeling Seeker. And beside him, another bot—Xeon, the politician Scorne worked for, a cold smirk playing on his lips as he watched the scene unfold.

Rivet’s spark froze as she watched, barely able to process what she was seeing. Scorne wasn’t just standing guard. He was leading this... this interrogation. No, not an interrogation. This was an execution in all but name.

"Sign it," Xeon commanded coldly, his voice devoid of sympathy. "You don’t have a choice, Sigil."

Sigil’s optics blazed with defiance, but his hands were trembling as the data pad was shoved into his bound hands. He tried to resist, tried to shake his head, but Scorne stepped forward, his optics narrowing.

"Do it," Scorne growled, his voice low and threatening.

When Sigil hesitated again, that’s when Scorne struck.

Without warning, Scorne’s fist collided with the politician's faceplate, the force of the blow sending the mech sprawling to the floor. Rivet’s breath caught in her throat as she watched in horror, her hands gripping the edges of the vent carefully making her descend trying to get closer as Scorne continued his brutal assault.

The blows came fast and hard—Scorne’s fists hammering into Sigil’s frame, each punch sending echoes of pain through the chamber. Sigil tried to shield himself, but he was helpless, his body folding under the relentless strikes.

“Sign it,” Scorne repeated, his voice now laced with venom as he delivered a savage kick to Sigil’s midsection, sending them skidding across the floor. Sigil’s frame crashed into one of the bookshelves, and the data pad clattered to the ground beside him.

Rivet flinched as Sigil’s beaten body slid toward her hiding spot behind the rows of dusty tomes. Her optics were wide, her frame shaking with the effort to remain silent. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. This wasn’t the Scorne she had known—the cold, calculating bot who always seemed to be in control. This was something else. Something darker, more vicious.

And then it happened.

As Sigil struggled to lift his helm, his optics dimming with the weight of his injuries, they locked onto hers.

He saw her.

Rivet’s spark nearly stopped as their gazes met. His optics—once filled with pride and defiance—now held only fear. Fear and a silent plea for help. But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t call out for her. His mouth was gagged, and all he could do was stare, his optics begging for salvation as his life ebbed away.

Rivet wanted to run. She wanted to bolt from her hiding spot and disappear into the vents, pretending she had never seen any of this. But she was frozen. Frozen by the horror, by the guilt of witnessing something she couldn’t stop.

Sigil’s optics dimmed further, his gaze still locked onto hers as his frame shuddered one final time. And then... nothing. His optics went dark, his body falling limp against the bookshelf.

Rivet’s whole frame shook, tears welling up in her optics. He was gone. And she had done nothing.

Scorne loomed over Sigil’s body, his optics cold and unfeeling as he stared down at the fallen mech. He didn’t notice her. He didn’t notice the small, insignificant bot trembling just feet away from him, hidden in the shadows. All he saw was his work, his mission.

“Let’s go,” Xeon ordered, his voice flat, as if he were discussing something as trivial as a broken tool.

Scorne gave a curt nod, his optics narrowing as he looked down at Sigil’s lifeless frame. Without another word, he turned and followed Emirate Xeon out of the chamber, their heavy footsteps echoing in the silence.

Rivet didn’t move.

She couldn’t. She stayed there, crouched behind the bookshelf, staring at Xenon’s broken body. The silence in the room was deafening, and the reality of what had just happened washed over her like a wave of cold, suffocating dread.

This was who Scorne really was. Not the bot she had hoped he might be. Not the one who had hesitated when she challenged him. He was a killer. A brutal, merciless killer.

And she had been complicit.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rivet’s body moved on its own. She stumbled forward, her optics locked on Sigil’s lifeless form. His optics were dim, his frame motionless, and the realization hit her like a physical blow.

She had seen everything. And now, she was part of it.

Her hands trembled as she reached out, gently closing the politician’s optics with shaky fingers. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to make sense of any of this. But she knew one thing for certain.

She couldn’t stay here. Not with the knowledge of what Scorne had done. Not with the weight of the truth hanging over her.

Without another word, Rivet slipped back into the vents, disappearing into the darkness.

[tiftaf-the-world-jumper]

Ambrosia and reunions; a short story snippet

“Need some help with that?” The yellow and black mech questioned as he approached a pair of quarreling bots seated on a park bench.

“Not currently my good lad. But thank you very kindly for offering.” The old hooded mech answered as he looked over the dented wrists of a rather tired looking gold and red fembot.

“Uncle- I’m fine. It was just a week in the hospital.” The femme sighed in irration at the mech whos visage was obscured by his cloak.

“You bruise from a iv treatments so easily. Hm. I have just the home remedy for such an occasion…” The elder said with a small chuckle.

“Uncle, I’m fine.” The gold and red bot groaned. “I don’t wanna deal with your smelly homemade ointment.”

Bumblebee tilted his head curiously with a concerned look. “…who is this?"

“You do not recognize me lad?” The elder replied with a grin as he removed his hood. “Perhaps you should visit my archives more often.”

Alpha Trion??
The old hack actually survived the war?!

"...Alpha Trion?!” Bumblebee’s jaw dropped to the ground as he saw that he was actually looking at the old Autobot archivist in person. “But-...how?!”

“Shockwave fell for the oldest trick in the book. I idled my engines to feign being terminated. The fool tossed my ‘body’ out a waste shoot!” Alpha Trion cackled. “It wasn’t long before I made my way out of Iacon and hunkered down in a Kaonite library!”

“As one does, apparently.” Trion’s gold and red niece said sarcastically.

“I’m an archivist my dear. Where else would I reasonably go other than an archive?” The elder replied with a shrug and a playful wink.

“But what’s with the cloak?” Bumblebee wondered aloud.

“My lad, when one gets to my age one tends to get cold rather easily. The cloak holds back the chill. And I suppose that the air of mystery it provides is an added benefit.” Alpha Trion answered.

“He mostly has it for the dramatic flare.” Holos said. “His internal heatin’ systems work perfectly fine.”

“Hush you~!” Trion faux scolded her good-naturedly.

“Holos, why’d you call him uncle?” Bumblebee wondered aloud, his curiousity getting the better of him.

“… because he’s a member of the original thirteen? Which both my parents were members of? He’s literally my uncle.” Holos explained with an exasperated look on her face. “Did you honestly think that I had be jokin’ about that and the fact Optimus is also my uncle back when we were both on team prime?!”

“Holos-“ Bumblebee rolled his eye as he looked at the girl with a small smirk. “No. I didn't. I just figured it was some sort of endearing nickname for someone as old as...him.”

“I don’t joke about-…” The gold and red knight started to argue before before thinking better of it. “Maybe I’m just really tired and sore right now. Sorry about the grumpiness.”

“I have this lovely home remedy that could help alleviate-“ Alpha Trion smirked as he began to repeat his earlier sentence before Holos cut him off.

“No. Nobot wants to hear about the ointment.” She insisted. “It’s really greasy and smelly.”

“I-uh… what is it made of?” Bumblebee asked a bit too inquisitively as he saw the look of disgust on Holos’s face.

“Ambrosia!” Trion said cheerfully.

Holos facepalmed despite her dented palm and wrists. “Good Lord you’re absolutely ridiculous. It’s made from the Cybertronian equivalent to vaseline and shae butter. Not ambrosia!”

“That ‘tis what you think. You have never seen me make the ointment, therefore you cannot for certain claim to know the contents of it.” Alpha Trion pouted as he crossed his arms.

“Uncle Alchemist and uncle Onyx has seen you make it.” Holos deadpanned.

“They relaid that info to me. Also yours smells like rotten fish and stale energon.”

Trion grumbled something about her not having any whimsy under his breath in response.

Bumblebee couldn’t help himself from chuckling as he watched the two bots interact with each other, his curiosity not fully being sated quite yet.

“Wait what’s it really supposed to be for?”

“Bruised and or dented platin’. It also can soothe chapped and dry protoform n’ mesh.” The Knight explained before adding;

“Modern products actually smell nice and aren’t that greasy and gross feelin’.”

“My dear niece, oh you wound me so!” Alpha Trion said dramatically. “My home remedies are so much better than those candy scented follies!”

Holos simply rolled her optics at her uncle. “It does the same stuff but better. Get over it.”

[planetformer-central]

I've been working on oc refs to take a break from requests. Its surprisingly fun.

[frostbittenfemme]

@photobombingcryptid It’s all hands on deck at the South Iacon Mercy Memorial Hospital. Waiting rooms are filled to the brim with patients, some of whom have minor injuries while some have injuries of a more idiotic variety and of course there are those with illnesses. Yet even with how busy it is the staff in the hospital always keep a look out for certain people of interest. The red horned copter that has just entered the building being one of them. Each and every staff member employed at the hospital follows a strict protocol when one of the copters appears. Rule number one being do not engage unless it is an emergency.

As soon as Blaze is sighted a chorus of hushed panicked whispers fill the air. “Do we treat him?” “No its not an emergency. We wait for Doctor Wildrider.” “But the pit is swamped.” Until finally one very tired fed up nurse whistles at Blaze. “You’ll have to go to the ER. She’s down there.”  Much to the shock of his colleagues who let out little gasps as they mentally prepare for the worst. The tired nurse however simply pages the coding system; ringing out an alert. [CODE ROTARY – INCOMING EMERGENCY ROOM] The emergency room is the busiest room in the hospital; medical staff are rushed off their pedes as they whizz around from room to room carrying supplies, grabbing paperwork or even moving patients. In the centre of the room stands a little blue medic bellowing commands. “Get that suspected overdose patient into Trauma room one! Get a tox screen and a full energon workup and then flush their system!”  Wild yells, pointing to one of the exam rooms. A nurse rushes over to speak to her which prompts Wild to yell another command. “Steel! You have an incoming RVC get your aft out into the ambulance bay for handover.” Immediately the other medic does as commanded. Wild goes to grab patient files only for a group of medical interns to be stood like little ducklings hiding behind its mother. “Why are you lot just standing here?! Transport patients for imaging, run labs! Be useful and don’t kill my damn patients!” She exclaims making them scatter. When she hears the code she lets out a somewhat relaxed exvent. She wonders which of her boys will grace her with their presence.

[mnemoiisms]

"I am honored to be the catylist of an unexpected reaction" Primus, who was the eldest here? He remembered watching Zeta's coronation from Pious Pools before residing in old Iacon. All he knew of Shockwave, is he was around when Megatron set the ball of war rolling. Something, he too, had been around for. Hm, some things may be better off left in the dark.

"Engines were not something I ever had much specialty in. Let alone anything space faring. Give me a processor, and I can work out its forging millennia based on the higher compounds of its living alloy, and thus the probable frame type. But if it isn't something I might encounter as a medic, not a clue" He'd been on the cusp of graduating, before Zeta's ensemble poached him for a better use of his skills. Something about a new set of procedures. Very hush hush.

"Not to worry, Shockwave. Unless we are both in padded lounges with snacks, I am not picking your processor. I may not understand peoples passions, but I enjoy listening regardless. Who knows? It might be useful trivia down the road"

" You're an ancient relic, indeed, " he said, " you make me feel young. "

When was the last time Shockwave took to his flight-form? Far too long and hardly did in the first place. Not that it was much concern, his frame ran hot lugging around a condensed fusion reactor off his elbow and tampering he had completed on his spark chamber.

" They're the standard ignition sequence you might see in a quantum engine, I'm sure you know all about it. " ' Planet-uprooters', detonators, all the likes. For him the possibilities were endless. " Pathopsychology? Please tell me you aren't choosing me as one of your studies. "

[thenamesblurrito]

so i guess i forgot to post these guys for two months huh

Sunstorm: the Academy is unlike anywhere Sunstorm has lived before. He and his trinemates Bitstream and Hotlink were transferred from their group home in Tyger Pax to the Safeguard Aerie in Iacon just after their youngling upgrades. Now Sunstorm is somewhere new again, this time without his trine alongside him. Having good roommates like Makeshift and Blurr helps, as does making friends like Riptide and seeing his aerie siblings like Skywarp and Acid Storm around campus. He’s most encouraged by kind teachers like Star Saber or Wing, who support his personal faith and interest in orthodox history. It’s nervewracking sometimes to be constantly alert for some new supernatural danger, and occasionally he wonders, if so many other myths and legends are appearing from nowhere, why don’t the Guiding Hand appear to save them too...?

Solomus: it only takes a little bit of exposure for the Unicron virus to take root in Sunstorm, feeding on his faith and his fears and twisting him into a terrible version of Solomus. Imbued with burning heavenly power like the rays of the sun, weeping dross for the lost and forsaken, Solomus decides that Primus has abandoned the world, and thus a new Guiding Hand must shepherd Cybertron to safety. Once he creates the rest of his pantheon, the world will be redeemed. Hush, children. Your new god is here, and he will take care of you.

[vodid]

Do you have any sketches/drawings of Obsidian King AU Sideswipe and Sunstreaker?

not yet!! but i do believe they're next on my list after the rest of iacon (ironhide, rat and chromia)

i have to put a lot more thought into their designs as they're iaconian-kaonite but raised in praxus 🤔 .....wait is that info i'm supposed to be sharing. oh gosh i can't even remember. my server knows the twins' origins but i have no idea if i wanted to keep that hush hush LMAO oops

anyway reason being about the designs is that each kingdom has their own accent color that royalty/high class wear. iacon is silver, kaon has purple biolights, praxus is gold, etc. so uh.... because the twins are from all over the place, i'll have to decide how i want to present them and while i WOULD love to put them in silver, they don't know about their iaconian roots until later on and nobody knows their true kaonite origins soooooooo

i'll have to somehow make them look pretty in gold :')

[ofvaporex]

How many times can one switch frames? Are there any negative affects?

"There's no particularly negative outcomes to retrofits, so long as one isn't excessively transforming to a dangerous degree.

Of course, it also hasn't been studied extensively. Retrofits pre and early war were largely done at relinquishment clinics, and those weren't so much retrofits as they were cheap body tourism. Just hot swapping one spark into another already made body. And in those cases, you often saw all manner of horrific symptoms, though the most common was frame rejection, which often resulted in spark failure.

At the time I was still practicing in Iacon Major, retrofits were primarily reserved for the wealthy elites, and even then it wasn't very popular. You must remember, this was during the hey-day of the Functionist movement and form determinism. What you were forged as was what you should remain.

That isn't to say it wasn't happening. It was simply... hush hush. And only done by the very wealthy.

Preliminary studies, however, of the recipients of retrofits is that so long as they are monitored by a licensed medical professional and stay up to date on the medications that can help prevent frame rejection, results are typically positive.

My primary concern would be that excessive frame swapping could make someone resistant to the medication."

[flipping-the-coin]

[Formal Complaint: Subject - Head Archivist Orion Pax]

[Addressed to Primal Steward Ratchet]

[Sender: Councilmech Overdome - Speaker of Helex]

[Complaint Priority: Low]

[Authorization Level: Mid-Beta]

══════════════════

I would like to begin by saying that I am well aware you must be preoccupied with tending to the seat of our fallen Prime. May Primus's angel rest in peace in his eternal embrace. However I believe what I have seen and heard today warrants my communication to you.

I originally came to Iacon for the regular stellar cycle meeting to discuss the newest politics and treaties regarding our internal affairs and external communications with colony worlds. This incident occurred after the scheduled meeting was postponed on account of uncivilized activity during the initial session. I decided that to best prepare for what was to come, I would require access to a few records pertaining to what we have available on the Mistress of Flame and her ilk. This alone was fairly easy to see done due to my access rank, however the issues began once I entered the archives.

Immediately I could tell something was wrong the moment I saw the usually ever dutiful archivists chattering amongst themselves in hushed tones. Thus, intrigued and concerned, I activated my stealth protocols and listened in on their conversation, of course purely out of worry. I have no interest in spying on mecha for unreasonable purposes, I would never dare. I am completely aware of the fact that the Inquisitors take excellent care of our communications and handle heresy before it can take root. They are the optics and audials of the Prime and I fully believe they would tend to any issues of significance without the aid of a foolish mortal such as myself. Even still, I was morally obligated to find out what was going on for the sake of Cybertronian welfare and safety.

Upon listening the archivists, it became apparent that evidently, Head Archivist Orion Pax had come into work behaving and looking unusual. None of the archivists spoke of what exactly was wrong, but I gathered bits and pieces about engravings and dents. They also mentioned him appearing more confident, but with a hint of a limp. Obviously, I grew concerned at the prospect of the head of the archival order being possibly damaged. Head Archivist Pax is after all a staple of our community and fulfills the divine will of our fallen Prime in his efforts to preserve our glorious history. As such I took it upon myself to shelve my efforts to search for data on the Mistress of Flame and to instead find what exactly was wrong with the Head Archivist.

I wandered the archives for a time and swiftly found Head Archivist Pax working away at his station in the inner halls of the archives. At first glance he appeared as though nothing was out of sorts, however upon closer inspection I discovered quite an uncouth situation.

He was covered helm to pede in engravings and painted sigils. This alone would not be an issue, but none of them were Primacy sanctioned, nor were they of Iaconian decent. He had a large engraving of some sort of constellation running across his chassis, vines up and down his arms, and the marks of Gladiators of all things painted onto his frame in those primitive glyph markers. The code of Iaconian conduct CLEARLY states that such frame alteration is forbidden within the upper levels, especially in places of government operation. Head Archivist Pax could have been granted leeway in this regard if his legal documents showed he had a Conjunx and thus a date of bonding which would in turn allow such engravings to be allowed. However he has no such documentation, and as such his behavior is an egregious breech of etiquette.

I know by now my words must be upsetting enough, but unfortunately there is more. Not only was Head Archivist Pax covered in such markings without forewarning or legal allowance, his frame was also marked with quite a few... dents and scratches that pointed toward less... polite interactions. There were even several claw marks on the paint on his back plating. I do not wish to think of what could have led to such markings being put into place, but considering the light charge I could see on his digits as he worked, I do believe it was likely he was reaffirming his still unregistered bond. I left quite quickly after that and saw fit to inform you of this transgression. The archives are a place of knowledge and learning, not such bold statements and... impolite markings.

Forgive me for taking up some of your valuable time Primal Steward, but for the glory of our Prime, I believed speaking on this matter was best. We cannot tolerate the one whom our dear fallen Prime gave such freedoms sullying his glorious name.

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[Message Received: Visibility Status - Seen]

[Complaint Priority lowered: New status - Minor]