#in some continuities mecha can be off world for millennia

[transingthoseformers]

I have a very funny imagine in my head about how alien slang is introduced into the Cybertronian language(s) throughout the war, to the surprise of the mecha who don't regularly interact with non-transformers

[lets-try-some-writing]

Immortals

Cybertronians are ancient beings, but even they age. Their frames deteriorate, and if that isn't what puts them in the grave, then eventually their sparks grow weary and fade. It is the way of things, and with time, every Cybertronian reaches the end of their road. All accepted this reality, but with the passage of time, a few mecha have found that they simply do not suffer as the rest.

Megatron more so than others.

[Please note this is a solid 10k nightmare that was also posted on Ao3 so be ready to READ if you click on the read more.]

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Death was by no means a new concept for Megatron. He was raised amidst it, lived relishing in it, and now wandered through the remnants of places that once flourished. In a way, it was part of him just as much as he was part of it. He brought death wherever he went, as such it was only fitting in a rather poetic sense that death spared him its embrace. He offered so many sparks to satisfy the appetite of the void, why would it not reward him by refusing him the chance to perish in peace?

For several long vorns, all he did was wander the stars after being freed from Unicron’s control. He had no purpose without his cause, and he had no desire to see any suffer as he did under the great devourer. Whatever urge to conquer once plagued his spark was long gone. In its place… he felt the desire to instead try and find himself again. So much madness and devastation. He forgot who he was, and he desperately wished to recover that lost sense of self. 

He wasn’t entirely sure when the decision was made, but at some point during his wanderings, not even a millennia after he fled to the stars, Megatron meandered his way back to Cybertron. There was no hiding who he was, nor did he really bother trying. What was the point of that? Everyone was bound to know him based on his face alone regardless of whether or not he went through the trouble of filing down spikes and rusted armor plates. He fully expected to be met with raised blasters and blades, however, he was instead greeted by familiar faces and smiles.

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“Look who crawled in from the asteroid belt. While you were off doing who knows what, I Starscream was given a senatorial seat!” Starscream stood as proudly as ever, a slag-eating smile on his face as he gestured toward the badge on his shoulder. Megatron could only be thankful it wasn’t a crown or gaudy cape the seeker had chosen as his designator of profession and rank. 

“I can see that, Starscream” Megatron hissed as the seeker continued to preen with pride. Beside him, Soundwave and Optimus stood. The former refused to even look at Megatron, an unsurprising reaction when all things were considered. The latter merely smiled as kindly as ever, his frame still bulky and unsightly, no longer the smaller more mobile form that he possessed before their Primus forsaken war. 

“It is good that you have returned Megatron. I believe there is much to discuss.” The Prime stated simply as if Megatron hadn’t fragged off for almost a millennia and then sauntered back to Cybertron still carrying the burden of the many lives he ended. Then again, if the Prime allowed Starscream of all mecha to have a seat of power, perhaps Megatron being greeted kindly was not totally out of the question. Optimus was always a soft sparked fool.

“You aren’t going to try and blast me to bits, Prime? One would think after a war as bitter as ours that the people would demand justice.” Starscream scoffed, Soundwave twitched from where he was looking over a datapad, and the situation as a whole grew somewhat tense until Optimus replied. 

“The war is over Megatron. You are no longer leader of the Decepticons, nor am I the sole leader of the Autobots. Things have changed, amends have been made. I will not say there is no lingering bitterness, but there is a second chance for you if you wish to take it.” A long silence reigned as Megatron considered. The world around him was not the one he knew or wanted, but it was Cybertron, it was his home. He had no intention of lingering for long, but what was the harm in remaining for a time?

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Arrangements were made and Megatron took up a job as a simple poet. His spark demanded he climb the ladder and try to wrestle some form of control away from the senate that formed in his absence. However he did not trust himself to not abuse that power should he gain it, not when the power of Unicron still tainted him. He remained quiet, contemplative, and docile as he worked on his various philosophical writings, largely uncaring of the world outside. Too many new faces, too many strange places with new names that were once locations he considered ‘home’.

Most only recognized him from their history lessons and thus treated him fairly normally. A few of the older bots wandering around sneered or hurried away in fear, but as a general rule, Megatron was left alone when he did go to the cities for whatever reason. He had no need for fuel, Unicron’s taint made the inherent necessity of energon null and void. It was disturbing at times, but he preferred it that way. It meant he was not required to head to cities often to restock. The newness of Cybertron was unsettling, and he was perfectly content to remain far away from the cities out in the renewed spire forests near what was now titled New Kaon. He didn’t want to or rather didn’t trust himself to get involved in the changing state of his homeworld. Thus, he kept quiet, held his helm low, and focused on himself. 

The only ones he interacted with were old companions and enemies, mecha he knew well from war. He never left his hideaway out in the woods save for when Optimus dragged him away to do something or other or give his opinion on a legislation. The Prime seemed to have made it his life mission to redeem everyone and everything if his growing collection of reformed Decepticon and Autobot advisors said anything. Still, it was a comfort in a way. It made Megatron feel… normal, especially once he finally began dealing with old wounds. 

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“Megatron: Abandoned the cause.” Soundwave sat beside him on his porch, looking up at the stars above. He had not spoken to his former second-in-command since his arrival on Cybertron. Neither was willing to speak to the other despite how much it ate away at them both. It hurt too much.

“I know,” Megatron replied simply. There was little else to say. What could he say? Soundwave gave everything to their cause, believing in Megatron and what they fought for. Then without warning, Megatron abandoned that cause, leaving all their efforts to waste away and Cybertron to fall under Autobot rule, at least technically. The senate was composed of mecha from all factions. Optimus was a fool, but he and his inner circle were good about trying to have a wide variety of opinions. 

“Megatron: Left Soundwave to rust. Left Shockwave in Autobot servos. Left loyal followers to be captured and imprisoned.” Again, his oldest friend spoke and Megatron repeated his prior phrase.

“I know.”

 Soundwave sat still beside him, his visor keeping Megatron from knowing what expression he was making. They said nothing for what had to be at least a long thirty or so kliks, both lost in their thoughts. The stars shone above them, a testament to the glory of their world when the skies were not blackened with smog and the fumes of burning cities. He could still smell the plasma in his olfactory sensors, he could still hear the screams in the dead of his recharge cycles. Despite that, there was peace to be found just… sitting and observing with his dear friend as if they were both still young and hopeful. 

“Will you stay? Will you abandon us again?” A soft and grim voice called out to him in the gloom of the cycle. Megatron hummed, feeling his thrusters warm a degree as he considered again retreating to the stars. This world was not home anymore, but those he cared for remained. It would not do for him to leave them for good, not after the torment he dragged them through in the name of freedom.

“I will Soundwave. Until there are none who care for me, I shall remain.” Spindly digits reached out and gently touched him. Megatron did not need to look to appreciate the weight on his arm where Soundwave offered a degree of comfort. They needed each other, more than anything else, they needed familiarity.

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Time was something Megatron did not often pay close attention to in his quiet dwelling. His servos were occupied with his written works, his mind consoled by the occasional queries sent to him by Soundwave and Optimus, and his spark was eased as he watched the forest around him thrive. The anniversaries of Cybertron’s restoration were his only true method of keeping time. First, there was the 691st, which Optimus dragged him off to in order to show the people how much old wounds were healing. Then there was the 843rd where Starscream threw a tart at his helm and spurred on one of the most impressive fuel fights Megatron had ever seen.

The 927th where Soundwave scared Optimus’s favored medic so badly that the spymaster was nearly met with a blade. The 1034th where the Earth team Megatron fought against during the last days of the war threw all their collected blackmail at one another. Then there was the 1130th where a whole batch of younglings managed to convince Megatron to tell them a few stories…

Vorns passed and yet not once did it seem that anyone he cared for changed at all. Starscream was still a glitch, Soundwave was as dutiful as ever assisting the Prime and his senate in handling internal affairs, and Shockwave remained a genius in science once he was allowed to roam on parole. Knockout was doing something or other and evidently making a great profit off it, and the Autobots Megatron recognized seemed to be doing just fine. The world changed, but the mecha he knew stayed the same for the most part, that is save for the odd paint change such as Starscream’s botched attempt to sport gold for a short time. 

They were constants, stable reminders of who Megatron was and what influence he had aside from the pure devastation he wrought. But of course, that mindset did not last. Not once he made the decision to visit the rebuilt city of Iacon on a whim. When he arrived, Optimus sat with the elected senators discussing policies and other things that Megatron had little care for. However, as he looked around, concern and a degree of shock were quick to worm their way into his spark.

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“Did you really invite him to assist in these matters, Optimus? I can’t exactly patch you up like I used to if he goes off the rails!” Ratchet, the Prime’s loyal lap dog, raised his cane into the air with a scowl as he gestured toward where Megatron stood in growing horror near the door. He hated the fragger with a vengeance, yet he couldn’t help but wonder… When did the medic get a cane? When did his plating dull so much? At what point did his joints begin cracking every fourth step?

“I did not invite him, old friend. However his presence is welcome, he has much he can contribute.” Optimus smiled gently and gestured for Megatron to take a seat in an empty chair a few seats down from him. Megatron obliged, albeit with a degree of hesitation as he examined the rest of the senate members. 

Most were new faces he did not know well aside from what he gathered from the data Soundwave occasionally sent him for review. However, those he did know were… different. Perhaps the celebrations clouded his judgment, but now that he saw them without the atmosphere of cheer and remembrance, their differences were stark and clear. 

“Finally done with your self-imposed exile Lord Megatron? I am sure there is some position I could have you fill serving under one of my officers.” The urge to chuck something at the arrogant seeker was strong, but any retort died on his glossa as he observed his former officer. Starscream had gotten a frame change long before Megatron returned from the stars, and it never really struck him how drastic the differences were until that moment when he really looked. 

Starscream’s plating was darker, no longer lustrous, and a sure sign of nanite failure. His wings, which he religiously held high throughout all of his youth, now dipped to a degree due to tiredness in what were once strong cables and hydraulics. His face was sharper, still polished and shining, but covered in small nicks and creases in the metal from long vorns of continual activity. What was most startling to Megatron was the way in which the seeker sat. No longer did he hold himself as if he were attempting to impress everyone, instead he sat perfectly composed, still proud, but with an air of earned respect. Shockwave and Soundwave were not much better off. Both sat slightly hunched in their seats, their armor dulled and any exposed components appearing far frailer than they once were. 

Where had his proud warriors gone? Megatron had not experienced any signs of wear and tear, so why should his officers be dealing with it so seriously? If they were being overworked, he would have words for the Prime…

And yet, seeing how Ratchet all but hobbled along with his cane as he grumbled his way to his chair, Megatron began to doubt it was Optimus’s doing. The others at the table were perfectly fine, almost exuding youthful energy with how vibrantly their plating shone and with how energetic their voices were as they put forward ideas and debated. 

“Let us continue, shall we?” Optimus guided the conversation along with expert precision that left Megatron slightly bewildered. The Prime was always an excellent speaker, but now he seemed older, wiser perhaps. His optics were tired even as he maintained his smile and welcomed the late arrivals. 

Megatron sat in silence throughout the meeting for the most part. All he could do was watch and finally see how much those he knew had degraded. He struggled to believe it, especially when his armor still glinted and his spark hummed with power. This wasn’t right, it couldn't be right. How could those he knew be falling to pieces while he endured? Perhaps he was overreacting. Optimus seemed fine after all. 

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After the revelation of his compatriots' degradation, Megatron made far more frequent trips to the cities to visit them. Death was nothing new, and yet he could hardly comprehend it in those he once saw as functionally immortal. Cybertronians did not wither as other species, it was not in their nature. However, given time, their frames would break down, and should that fail to bring them to their end, their spark would weaken and putter out at some point, regardless of the newness of a frame. 

Most simply never bothered trying to hold themselves together once their frames started to fall apart if they lived long enough to reach that point. Self-repair systems could keep a mech up and running in prime condition for millions of years. As such when they finally started to show signs of aging, it was often taken as a sign and allowed to be. No matter how many components were replaced or how many times mind and spark were transferred, once the original frame started to crumble, it was only a matter of time. Some like Ratchet could last far longer than others for any plethora of reasons, but sooner or later, death would come for them, one haunting step at a time. 

After that meeting, Megatron knew it would happen eventually. He knew sooner or later those he cared for would start to fall one by one. Even still, when he came to visit Shockwave and found the mech dead in his laboratory, his spark long had gone out and his frame undisturbed due to his lack of friends… Megatron found it hurt more than he thought it would. 

Shockwave’s funeral was a short and sweet affair. Those who knew him from before the war bid their final goodbyes, a few loyal Decepticons offered condolences, and surprisingly, the Predacons who had taken to ruling over the still undeveloped west came as well. They knelt before Shockwave’s gray and lifeless frame and offered quiet words of thanks to the scientist for giving them life. As Shockwave left no will behind, there were no objections when Predaking took the body of his creator to be laid to rest in the lands he had dominion over. A great scientist, a master geneticist, and once upon a time, a true friend. 

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“Thank you for all you did Shockwave. I do not know if this is what you would have wanted, but I doubt you would have minded this outcome all that much.” Predaking had taken care to ensure that Shockwave’s memory was properly upheld with a memorial engraved with abstract images of the scientist weaving life from mere bones. Megatron appreciated the effort, especially once blue crystal flowers began to grow around the headstone of his old companion. 

He hoped Shockwave would have at least found a degree of satisfaction in knowing that his creations endured. The reforged Predacons held little love for their creator, but Shockwave was the one who gave them life, and their appreciation was quite clear in their efforts. The memorial was spotless and the newly emerged Predacons that climbed from the Well were all brought before Shockwave’s grave at least once.

Megatron liked to think Shockwave would have been pleased to know that his life served as an example to his creations. Last Megatron checked, there were a few Predacons who had opted to follow in the pedesteps of their creator, aiming to be scientists and researchers like Shockwave. There seemed to be an underlying urge to surpass him amongst all of the newly forged Predacons. Megatron personally found it rather amusing. None would ever be as brilliant as his head scientist.

“Rest well Shockwave. I will return to visit you soon.” Megatron smiled as he watched younger Predacons meander around, observing him in silence. He sighed and patted the memorial once before turning to leave. A growing heaviness weighed down his spark, but he paid it little mind. His old comrade would want him to be strong. Shockwave always despised it when emotions overcame rationality. 

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It really shouldn’t have surprised him when the old bag of bolts finally offlined. But it did despite the fact that it was a long time coming. Ratchet’s death was devastating for many of the Autobots, but Optimus more so than any other. It had been a rather sudden thing apparently. According to Soundwave, Ratchet had bid Optimus a good recharge cycle and then passed quickly sometime during the early groons of the cycle without warning. No one suspected much until he failed to arrive for his shift in the clinic. At that point, it was Ratchet’s apprentice and caretaker First Aid who came to check on him only to find his frame lifeless but still warm to the touch. 

Ratchet was a cranky glitch who, while often right in matters of science and medicine, was not the most pleasant to be around. Despite that, hundreds of former Autobots came to his funeral. Ratchet was buried in the forests of Southern Iacon, as per his will. Optimus was too large to be part of the procession carrying the medic’s coffin, but that did not stop him from bidding his companion farewell with the most saddened and sorrowful song Megatron had ever heard from the vocalizer of his former foe. 

The medic was given military honors and his will was seen to. Megatron only came to the funeral partially to spite the fragger with his own continued functioning but largely so that he could be there for the Prime. Bumblebee and other mecha Megatron knew were close to Ratchet stayed for several groons, but they eventually left after their coolant stores ran dry. Despite that, when the other Autobots cleared out and the last came to bid their farewells, Optimus Prime did not move from where he stood at the side of the freshly made grave, his sword dug into the ground and his expression firm as he gazed resolutely ahead. 

Even when acid rain rolled in from the Rust Sea, Optimus did not so much as twitch. He remained quiet, standing guard over the grave of his comrade in what Megatron could only imagine was one final act of loyalty. The rain did not hurt Optimus much, not with how sturdy he was built, but as his paint melted and was washed away by brutal winds, Megatron decided to linger.

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“These rains will continue for cycles, Optimus. How long do you intend to remain here?” Megatron stood beside the Prime as the wind howled as the rain assaulted his frame. It didn’t hurt, his armor was touched by the Unmaker. Next to nothing save for the strongest of weapons could damage him. However, Optimus was not the same. The Prime was hardy, that much was true. But he was still mortal in the end, at least in frame. The rains chipped away at his paint and had to be aggravating with their sting as acid puttered against increasingly sore plating. 

“I will remain until I have fulfilled my promise.” Megatron raised a brow at the Prime’s words, watching on curiously as Optimus started to hum quietly, his blade still driven into the ground and his stance firm. 

“And what is that promise?” He questioned cautiously as the wind picked up in severity, battering his and Optimus’s frames with a greater vengeance. The Prime remained quiet for a long few kliks, seemingly lost in thought before at last, he replied.

“It was one of our rites we performed during the war. We made many promises that cycle, not all of which we were able to fulfill. But one of them was that should one of us fall… the other was to stand guard one last time.” Megatron said nothing as the Prime continued to stand, his expression stoic and strong. Optimus and Ratchet’s relationship was something Megatron never fully bothered to look into. It was not relevant to the war, and after his return to Cybertron, it simply was not important. Whatever their connection, they never made a show out of it.

Still, it was quite clear that their bond, regardless of its type, ran deep enough for Optimus Prime to wish to endure the long watch, unmoving until their final rite was complete. It was sweet in a sense, but Megatron found himself more uncertain than anything else as he observed the slight crease around Optimus’s optics. Reaching up to touch his own face revealed nothing of the sort, and for that reason, Megatron worried.

Optimus’s frame was biologically far younger than his due to his reforging at the behest of the other Primes. Combined with the Matrix ensuring the Prime could not die due to his spark puttering out… there were worrying implications. How was it that Optimus and so many others were aging when Megatron did not? Was he like the old medic in that death was taking its sweet time getting to him? Or was there something else, something far grimmer to be concerned with?

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After Ratchet, things seemed to fall apart far faster. Almost as if a switch had been flipped, suddenly Megatron could see the differences in everyone. 

Soundwave became frailer, even reaching the point where he physically required the aid of symbiotes to function. His sight grew weaker and his senses poorer so that he could either find himself confined to using a cane or getting symbiotes. Soundwave was quick to choose the latter. Megatron’s former spymaster was not pleased in the slightest when he was offered a few young symbiotes without carrier units, but he accepted them begrudgingly. Often he would shoo them away during Megatron’s visits, usually complaining off and on about how energetic they were. Deep down though, it was quite clear Soundwave cared a great deal about them. They were too high energy for his tastes, but the former spymaster tended to them dutifully and they in turn showered him with assistance when it was required. 

Even still, Megatron was always somewhat distraught when he visited. It was not hard to realize that he simply… did not age. It had been millennia and Megatron felt no weaker in spark, body, or mind. He had no need to visit a medic to confirm it. He could sense it in his very core whenever he took Soundwave’s arm to help him walk. They were almost the same age and yet Soundwave had a cloud of death lingering above him at all times. It was harder to accept than he thought it would be when he watched Soundwave trip and break his leg for the first time from a simple fall.

Speaking with his dear friend in the hospital was optic opening for him to say the least.

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“I apologize for not catching you, Soundwave. I was not paying close enough attention. I thought the fall would not have affected you so greatly.” Megatron stood by the berthside of his former spymaster. Soundwave for his part lay still in the berth with his arms placed at his sides and his venting was so shallow that it was downright disturbing. He looked so very thin from where Megatron towered over him. His wrists especially seemed two kliks and one stiff breeze away from breaking like a rust stick. 

“Soundwave: Understands. Megatron: Has not fully comprehended situation.” Megatron gave his companion the most befuddled look he could manage, and in response, Soundwave laughed. 

It was a broken and raspy sound that led his vents to hitch in what had to be a painful manner. Soundwave’s symbiotes were quick to flock around him, wiping down his vent filters and adjusting his berth settings so that he was sitting up a bit more. The little things were worried sick, but Soundwave merely hummed and waved them off with one stick-thin arm. They obliged and stepped back after a moment. It hurt Megatron somewhere in his spark to watch the scene. Less than a millennia ago he wouldn’t have put it past Soundwave to be able to eliminate him in the arena. Yet now he laid in a medical berth, his leg welded back into place but his frame so small and fragile looking as to make the repairs seem far from satisfactory. 

“Megatron: Has not aged a cycle since Cybertron’s restoration. Forever youthful. Frame still strong. Mind still sharp. Spark still powerful. Megatron: Untouched my time.” Soundwave gestured toward Megatron’s shining armor, particularly his shoulder plating and his optics with one painfully thin digit. The symbiotes made noises of agreement from where they huddled nearby but otherwise said nothing as Soundwave continued. 

“Soundwave: Not like Megatron. The others: Not like Megatron. We age. We decay. We will die.” Megatron paused as the words registered. His spark flared in his chassis in denial. Logically he knew Soundwave was right. He was different on a fundamental level now. Whatever Unicron did to him changed him, made it so that unless he was cut down, nothing would touch him. Shockwave had already fallen, it was only to be expected that others would soon follow… 

“That won’t happen yet, not for some time. You still have strength in you, my friend. I know you can endure.” Reaching out, Megatron was as gentle as he could be in taking Soundwave’s servo and holding it. The former spymaster shook his helm slowly as he grasped Megatron’s far larger digits with such pitiful strength that Megatron felt true fear worm its way into his spark. Soundwave had always been by his side, ever since the beginning. To lose him-

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Soundwave: Will one day offline. Megatron: Will be left alone.” Soundwave lifted his other arm and with both servos held Megatron’s far larger one. There was a hint of desperation in Soundwave’s field as he pulled himself up as much as he could and began to speak again. 

“Soundwave and others: Will not be here forever. Megatron: Will endure?” Silence reigned for a long moment as Megatron’s spark flared in pain and grief. He did not even wish to consider losing Soundwave… but now he knew it would one cycle be reality. It was going to tear him apart, but he refused to leave Soundwave without comfort.

“I will try.” 

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It hurt to think on Soundwave’s words, even if Megatron knew he was right. His fellows were aging, younger mecha were taking their place. Soundwave was quickly forced to retire after the incident with his leg, and a younger model bearing the same designation was swiftly pushed into the vacant position. The original Soundwave taught his younger namesake as much as he could, but he was weakening and many of his cycles were spent in his hab in the center of Iacon where he could still be of use if need be. 

Starscream was not much better. 

Over the vorns, he and Starscream had largely reached a strange agreement that bordered on true friendship. Megatron would visit Vos off and on, and in return he would be welcomed and treated as a guest, sometimes even helping Starscream run the city he had dominion over. But it became painfully clear that Starscream was weakening. He still looked his finest at all times, but more tasks were delegated to his younger assistants, and his flights were shorter and less in sync with those he traveled alongside. Starscream’s steps were slower, his wings held lower, and his voice deeper and with an undertone of wisdom, Megatron never expected to hear in his former officer. 

At some point, Starscream had Conjunxed a Speaker from a colony world, one whom Megatron only knew as Windblade. Megatron missed their ceremony since no one informed him of it, but from what he knew, she was far younger and tended to handle rulership when Starscream could not. Supposedly the Conjunxing was merely political, but Windblade seemed to genuinely care for the ailing Lord of Vos, if only in a manner not too dissimilar to an Amica. They even took on a whole gaggle of sparklings of their own to raise, a surprise to Megatron who all but expected Starscream to try his best to be an immortal ruler for as long as physically possible. 

The named Aerialbots were highly skilled due to Starscream’s training, but their existence and excellence only served to further show Starscream’s age. Every vorn his sparklings grew stronger and his Conjunx took more control. It was a slow and sad decline, one that Starscream surprisingly handled with grace. By the time he actually sat down to speak with Starscream one-on-one around Cybertron's 5491st anniversary of restoration, Megatron found himself even more distraught.

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“Thank you for coming to visit, Megatron… I worried I would not be able to see you again.” Starscream’s voice was deep and rumbling from long vorns of use. His usual snark was nowhere to be seen as he gazed up at the skies, taking occasional sips of his energon as he observed the Aerialbots performing feats of flight above. His optics were dim and his plating dull, and yet he still smiled softly as he watched his five sparklings soar through the skies in perfect sync. Megatron wanted to be awed by the display and pleased with Starscream’s success in teaching, but he couldn’t let go of Starscream’s words. The seeker he knew would rather find him dead in a gutter than talk to him for any reason that did not have an underlying benefit.

“They remind me of Skywarp and Thundercracker.” Starscream mused as the Aerialbots performed a perfect roll, leaving twisting trails of smoke behind them. Following his gaze, Megatron had to admit it was impressive. And yet… it wasn’t Starscream and his trine. They were new, not mecha that Megatron cared to know or was particularly attached to. 

“You have taught them well.” Megatron settled on commenting as the Aerialbots performed a few twists that Skywarp and Thundercracker performed with far more eloquence alongside their trine leader. If Starscream shared that opinion, he said nothing as he merely hummed and continued to watch for a long few kliks. 

“They are good mecha, Megatron. They are young and just as arrogant as any other seeker, but with time, I know they will do well.” Confusion radiated off Megatron in waves until he saw the wistful smile Starscream had plastered on his face. It seemed so… wrong for the ambitious fragger that Megatron both loved and hated to be bearing anything close to a smile of contentment and peace. He seemed older, wiser, and more ancient than Megatron despite the fact that their ages leaned more in Megatron’s favor in regard to experience. 

“Why did you call me here, Starscream? You have always been ambitious and a pain in the aft. Seeing you like this is unsettling.” It took a moment, but as Starscream registered what was said, he chuckled in what was almost a fond manner before he put down his energon cube and turned to face Megatron properly. Starscream had always been a spindly thing, but seeing him so small was a bit of a shock, especially so soon after really seeing Soundwave’s state. The cape the Lord of Vos wore did give him a bit of extra bulk, but beneath it all, he was thin, weak, and aging. 

He was no longer the Air Commander Megatron relied on for so many millennia during the war. 

“I doubt you’ve noticed much until now considering your circumstances, but I’m old Megatron. All of us are. Even Prime is getting on in vorns. We are all tired, and all those little things that meant so much even a millennia ago simply no longer matter.” The Winglord coughed somewhat harshly, causing him to grip the table and shake for a moment. Megatron reached out to assist but was waved off as Starscream collected himself and continued. 

“I’m out of time. Windblade will be the next Winglord and my sparklings will assist her in leading. I tell you this because I want you to keep an optic on them, just to make sure they stay on track. The Aerialbots are arrogant little glitches just like I was. They will need someone to remind them of their place every now and then.” As if to prove his point, the five Aerialbots hooted and hollered as they flipped overhelm, diving toward the ground and shooting up at the last possible moment. Pretentious and arrogant indeed.

“I understand. I won’t be soft with them though.” Starscream laughed again, this time with more of the gusto Megatron recalled. Only it lacked the malicious undertone he was used to, a fact that threw Megatron for a loop despite being well aware that Starscream lost most of his aggression vorns upon vorns ago. Megatron just hadn’t been able to see it amidst the cloud of his thoughts. 

“Give them a few beatings. The little glitches will need it once I am gone.” No more words were exchanged between them as Megatron abruptly stood and marched off. Starscream frowned but did not stop him. A hint of regret prodded at his spark, but he paid it no mind. He had no interest in hearing his former Air Commander discuss his death, not when Megatron was not acutely aware that he would likely never be faced with such a prospect.

Not anymore. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Starscream’s prediction was right. Within the next half vorn, the Lord of Vos passed away quietly in his gardens, held aloft by a thin hammock so that he could feel the wind gushing past his wings as his spark, at last, went out. Megatron attended the funeral alongside Soundwave and Optimus. Both his companions offered words of condolence for the loss and offered Windblade their sympathy. Megatron followed in their pedesteps and even went so far as to give Starscream’s grieving widow a few old trinkets he’d kept around from his former Air Commander.

He was unsure if it did anything, but Windblade offered her thanks all the same. Megatron merely felt… nothing. Even deca-cycles afterward, he was void, cold, and unfeeling. He didn’t want to feel. It hurt too much to think about the newest absence in his life. Shockwave was one thing, but Starscream was another. 

He tried not to contemplate the loss of another familiar face or the increasing number of new ones that took Starscream’s place at the odd meeting he attended. Instead, Megatron spent more of his time with those who remained, clinging to Soundwave and oddly enough even Optimus as much as he could. Occasionally he would fly to Vos, and as per Starscream’s final request, beat around the Aerialbots to remind them that they were not in fact as amazing as they thought they were. It was humorous to a degree, but largely sorrowful above all else. The defiant look in the optics of the Aerialbots was far too similar to Starscream for Megatron’s liking. 

He tried to only come to Vos when required, but when he was there, he always made sure to walk past the statue dedicated to Starscream, usually leaving some random piece of jewelry behind as well. He liked to think that a younger Starscream would have been both pleased and offended, and that alone made the effort worth it. 

Then as if to pour acid into the wound, a mere twenty vorns after Starscream’s passing, Soundwave passed away in the comfort of his home, surrounded by his symbiotes. Megatron hated himself for not being there, he despised that he was not made aware of Soundwave’s passing until he returned to his residence and only became concerned due to a lack of messages, resulting in him reaching out to Optimus. His spark screamed in denial, grief, and rage. However, there was nothing he could do aside from bite back tears when Soundwave’s funeral was held and his last will and testament read out. 

Soundwave wanted his frame to be cremated and his ashes turned into gemstones to be given to each of his symbiotes and to Megatron. It was such a small thing, but when the eldest of Soundwave’s symbiotes came to him and offered him a small black jem already within a pendant and ready to be worn… he wept softly and held it close. He didn’t want to believe that Soundwave was gone, not while he remained pristine and not so soon after Starscream. Optimus was his only comfort in the following few vorns. The Prime took up the position Soundwave left in Megatron’s life, and soon enough, Megatron retreated to his hab in the forests and received reports once a deca-cycle.

For a long time, Megatron could not bear to leave his place hidden away in the forests. He warded off wandering mecha who came too close and convinced Optimus to give him the land so that none could intrude and break him from his reverie. He hated the new faces, he hated the new sights. It was so different and always changing on the surface of the world he once called home… and yet he did not change with it. Forever a remnant, a relic of a war that ended millennia earlier. 

He did not weep when he was informed of Knockout’s passing, then of Arcee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and countless other names that he recognized as both Autobot and Decepticon in origin. He did not attend their funerals, nor did he visit what remained of his former comrades. No, instead he stayed hidden away, unwilling to deal with it all and instead trying to comfort himself by wearing the pendant made of Soundwave’s ashes. 

He managed to get away with his behavior for roughly a dozen vorns before Optimus seemed to have had enough as the next thing Megatron knew, the Prime was on his doorstep and promptly invited him to visit Iacon. The prospect caused his spark to ache, but the familiarity of the one he once knew to be a foe and long before that a friend…

He couldn’t find it within himself to object, not after seeing the weariness around Optimus’s optics. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“You are the Master Archivist now? How are you managing such a position alongside being the head of the Council?” The archives were deep and dark, just as they were back when Megatron was still but a gladiator and Optimus not yet a Prime. In the back of his processors, he was nearly certain the archives would have been renovated to match the newest trends, but it seemed Optimus had kept the pre-war aesthetic. It was a comfort despite the mix of good and bad memories that befell him in response.

“I imagine you have not been keeping track of current affairs, but I have not been head of the Council since Ratchet passed. I handled some affairs for them from here, but otherwise, I have focused my efforts on keeping our history preserved.” The Prime walked softly despite his towering frame almost matching Megatron’s. Many of his gaudy outer plating attachments had thinned and his frame overall seemed somewhat weaker, but it was nothing as prominent as the frailty Starscream and Soundwave showed before their deaths. Optimus’s words almost didn’t reach him amidst the storm of it all, but Megatron still found it within himself to feel a degree of shock.

How out of touch was he?

“What of your scout and the rookie you took a liking to? How do they fare?” Megatron asked, partially to try and distract himself but largely to try and get Optimus to speak on something Megatron actually knew. The yellow nuisance and the elite guardsmech rookie were two mecha that Megatron despised for their efforts during the war but also held respect for due to their show of skills. He didn’t care for them, but if they got Optimus talking and discussing subjects that didn’t cause Megatron’s spark to flare in distress and loss, he would take it. 

“They are just fine. Bumblebee has long since risen to the upper echelons of the ranks of Enforcers and Smokescreen has been focused on integrating the Wreckers, DJD, and Elite guard all into one cohesive unit. He’s had limited success so far, but he is trying his best.” The Prime smiled as he led Megatron to the heart of the archive and stood before a console. For a moment, he looked just like Orion Pax, the brother Megatron thought lost to him so long ago. It hurt, it ached. 

“I brought you here because I do not wish to see you suffer alone. This burden you bear is great. As such, if you would allow me, I would be here to help you endure it for as long as I am able.” Optimus reached out and gently grasped his arm, pulling him a little closer so that he could see the screen. On it was an image of him, Orion Pax, Soundwave, and Ratchet before everything went to slag. They were all smiling, save for Soundwave who projected a smiley face on his visor. Tears he had long tried to suppress clouded his optics as he clutched Soundwave’s pendant, unable to hold back any longer. 

“I do not desire death, but I do wish that I would not be left in this state, untouched by time while all I know fades away before me.” His words came out between harsh sobs. Optimus merely held his servo and drew him into a comforting hug, understanding filling his field. Why was it that all he had left was the mech he once hated the most? Why did his companions have to wither while he did not?

“All will be well Megatronus. This reality that plagues you is not one you need to endure alone. I am here, and I will remain until my end draws near.” Optimus’s ominous final statement flew right over Megatron’s helm as he wept and truly felt the grief of all he lost for the first time. His cause, his Decepticons, Shockwave, Starscream, Soundwave, Knockout, and so many others. All of it was gone, and nothing remained save for echoes, shadows, small trinkets, and the odd mention of them in the history books. 

He hated this, but at least he was not alone.

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

He took comfort in Optimus for many long vorns. The Prime understood him and was the only one who really knew who Megatron was. Often his routine for the following few millennia amounted to retreating to his abode in the forests where little ever changed and going to Iacon a few times a vorn to visit Optimus and teach the sparklings his former foe gave lessons on history to. Surprisingly, the little ones did not fear Megatron when he stood before him. Whatever anger from the war still remained only seemed to linger among the first generation of forged bots who came from the Well. Most war veterans were dead or too old to care, and for that reason, Megatron did not mind teaching at the archives as required.

Time was a blur for him for the most part, a mess of emotion that largely consisted of grief, reminiscing, brief flares of joy, and apathy. Lots of his time was spent in his hab, writing down his experiences, his poetry, and his wisdom. Those things he brought to Optimus who in turn published them under Megatron’s name. He would have preferred he remain anonymous, but the Prime insisted, and Megatron did not have the spark to say no when Optimus was all that remained.

There were moments of joy and comradery, but overall his life was a mess. Optimus helped and proved to be an anchor, but the way of the world meant that when Megatron finally saw, it was too late to do much of anything.

As with his old comrades, Megatron remained unblemished whereas Optimus suddenly grew to be frailer. Optimus was a Prime, the Matrix kept his spark ablaze and youthful, but it did not maintain the vitality of his frame. As such Optimus rather quickly deteriorated. At first, Megatron said nothing. It was not his place to speak on such matters. He assumed that Optimus was merely biding his time, enjoying the familiarity of his frame for as long as possible before going to get a new one, as was customary amongst Primes who lived long.

They were functionally immortal. Why would they not wish to continue on when all it would take was a quick frame change? Megatron understood better than ever why immortality was a curse more than a gift, but despite that, he still could hardly believe his optics when Optimus continued on, never getting a frame change even when he obviously needed it. The Prime’s armor fell off in droves, leaving him thin and emaciated to the point of requiring one of his younger archivists to guide him around. Then his vision began to fail so much that whenever Megatron visited, he often needed to read things out to Optimus if the print was too small. 

Even still, he said nothing for vorns. He was positive Optimus had a reason… up until the Prime tried to go fetch a datapad for Megatron to review only to instead trip, fall, and break his hip in three places. That was the final straw for Megatron. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“Why won’t you get a fragging frame change?!” Megatron demanded as he marched into Optimus’s office, noting with grief the stabilizer that was now welded onto the Prime’s hip to keep it in place. 

“Because I have no need of it,” Optimus replied simply as if he weren’t using reading glasses and didn’t require three pillows just to sit upright in his chair. Megatron growled in outrage, anger boiling within his core to cover for the fear and sorrow that threatened to break loose. 

“You are falling apart, Orion!” He all but screamed, his fists shaking as he tried to make his point. Optimus merely put down his glasses with a sigh and turned to face him, suddenly looking so much more tired than Megatron remembered. His old foe always had an air of exhaustion around him, even when they were both still young. But the mech before him was wearier, darker, and seemingly so done with it all that even his spark lamented life. 

“I know, and I allow it to be. I am tired Megatronus, I have lived long enough and I want nothing more than to rest with my loved ones in the Allspark.” White hot rage ran through every fuel line and processing unit in Megatron’s frame as he marched forward and grabbed Optimus’s servo, holding it gently despite the way a dark part of him wanted to crush the weakening limb. 

“You want to abandon Cybertron? You archivists? Your position? Do you really want to leave it all behind? Are you truly so selfish as to have me endure this reality alone!?” He wasn’t sure when his tears began to fall, but as his wrathful questions poured from his vocalizer, he knew Optimus had already made up his mind. The Prime met his gaze calmly and squeezed his servo in that fond manner only Orion did back before the war.

“I take no joy in this, but I wish to make this singular choice for myself. I want to rest.” Sorrow, rage, denial, and so much more drowned out all logical thought as Megatron tore his servo away and fumed. Memories of the High Council and Orion’s ascension to the rank of Prime plagued him as he marched off, saying only one final thing before he left the archives for what was going to be a very long time.

“FINE THEN! FRAG OFF AND DIE FOR ALL I CARE, PAX!” He slammed the archive doors behind him and took to the skies in a rage, unwilling to heed the messages Optimus sent to him. He couldn’t handle them, not right now. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Megatron retreated back to his hab and fervently refused to so much as look at any messages from Optimus for vorns on end. He didn't want to hear it. He didn’t want to listen to Optimus’s slagging reasoning for essentially offing himself.  The Prime was a selfish fragger and always had been. He could be the one to wait until Megatron was good and ready to come back, at least, that was Megatron’s thought process as he fumed. 

Optimus wanted to leave him alone. The Prime was the only other living mech who could essentially go on living forever just like Megatron. Why did he have to decide to abandon him? Why did that hurt so much? Why couldn’t Megatron move on already?

Thoughts plagued him, his anger simmered into remorse, and by the time Optimus contacted him again after a lull of a whole three vorns… he, at last, returned to Iacon. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“Orion…” His voice echoed in the near-silent room. The only other sound was the tortured venting of the mech before him. Optimus Prime lay on a simple berth in a small hospital room. There was a pile of audio recordings beside him that he had evidently listened to quite frequently if the marks all over them were any indicator. But aside from that, the most notable and startling part of the situation was just how far Optimus had fallen.

He was stick thin, even slimmer than Soundwave was before his death. His plating was all but gone and his limbs were so frail that Megatron doubted the Prime could raise his arm for more than a half klik at most. Despite that, he seemed content as his dull and useless optics remained uncycled while still managing to look in Megatron’s general direction.

“You came…” Optimus murmured, his voice so gravelly and filled with static that it was hard to hear at all. Megatron moved to his ailing companion’s side and gently took the servo that reached out for him. This time he held no anger in his spark, and instead he felt nothing but regret. Vorns he could have spent enjoying the closeness of a former foe and friend were lost because of his bitterness, and now all he had was a few short kliks at best. 

“I did. I’m here Orion.” A weak smile met his words and never more did Megatron wish he was capable of aging. He wanted to have been able to age alongside his fellows, to banter about the woes of growing older, and to have the slagging peace that all of his fallen fellows seemed to have right before the end. 

“Thank you… for coming… one last… time.” Optimus’s optics flickered and his field crumpled. He was out of time. 

“Sire, rest easy, we will take care of things.” Bumblebee came forward from wherever he was previously loitering in the room and took up Optimus’s other servo. The former scout was aged as well, but it did not show with how kindly he cradled the dying Prime’s servo in his own. Megatron did not even bother trying to fight back tears as Optimus continued to smile so hopefully as if he were but a youngling again, just so pleased to be with those he loved.

“I know… you will both… endure… I know… that one cycle… we will… meet… again.” Optimus’s voice started to fade and Bumblebee began to sob. Megatron held himself upright, wishing he could spill out the millions of apologies that he had rehearsed during his trip to Iacon but knowing he had no more time to utter them. Optimus was fading, and if he could hear the words Megatron wished to speak, he would not have the chance to respond.

There would be no comfort from his dear old friend, and so all Megatron could do was listen and obey. 

“One day… an Autobot shall rise… from our ranks… and use the… power of the Matrix… to light… our darkest… hour.” The Matrix pulsed, its light shining through Optimus’s thinned armor and causing his optics to glow.

“Until that day… till all… are… one…” And just like that, Optimus’s frame went still, his venting ceasing and his spark chamber opening so that the light of the Matrix could bathe the room. Megatron did not stay. He carefully allowed Optimus’s lifeless servo to rest at his side and allowed Bumblebee to do whatever he wanted with the slagging relic as he stepped outside and flew back to his hab in the forest.

He did not care to linger, and as soon as he was home and the door firmly shut, he collapsed against the wall, weeping and clutching Soundwave’s pendant as if his life depended on it. 

“Forgive me Orion… forgive me….” 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Megatron stopped bothering to keep track of time at all after Optimus’s passing. He stopped writing, he stopped doing much of anything. He left his hab with only Soundwave’s pendant and a datapad Optimus gave him vorns prior to read from. Once he had those two items, he merely… wandered. 

He contemplated ending his life by blaster or blade, but he found that reprehensible considering how pathetic it was compared to his comrades who died content and with honor. And yet he also had no desire to really continue living. As such Megatron fell to marching on, wandering the forests, seeing the sights of Cybertron, and avoiding cities like the plague. On the off chance he met another mech, he was quick to fly away. 

Loneliness ate at him, but he disregarded it. He could have left Cybertron and fled back to the stars, but he couldn’t bring himself to. That felt… disrespectful in an odd way, especially after all his comrades did to care for the world he walked. A strange sense of duty kept him firmly planted, and the rational part of his processors explained it away as him keeping his promise to Starscream. He was, by continuing to be present, ensuring that if things really needed to be looked at, he could come to handle the issue. 

At least that was what he told himself as cycles bled into one another and countless deca-cycles were spent laying flat on the ground staring up, unmoving and uncaring of the world around him. 

He wanted to be left alone to wallow, and for what could have been but a handful of vorns of countless millennia, he was allowed to do just that. But of course, Optimus’s final words had a way of following him, and eventually, he was greeted by a new and old face while resting along the edges of the Rust Sea. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“You’re Megatron, right? Megatron of Kaon? Lord of the Decepticons, the great and mighty slag maker, the Herald of the Unmaker, and Champion of the pits? Do any of those ring any bells?” A young mech, one likely not older than perhaps millennia, stood above where Megatron lay on the ground uselessly. He sat up quickly and waved a servo dismissively, agitation blooming in his spark as he moved to gather his datapad and leave. But that didn’t seem to be enough for the pesky thing to leave him alone as quickly the orange, gold, and red youngling stood in front of him, stopping his path.

“Got any time to spare for an adventure?” The youngling asked with a big smile that seemed slightly unnatural to Megatron. He grunted and tried to sidestep before Bumblebee of all mecha hit his leg with a cane the former scout had evidently acquired. 

“Been looking for you for quite some time Megatron. We have a situation on our servos that requires somebody with actual experience to deal with.” The yellow scout scowled as he glared at the youngling who sheepishly whistled, seemingly uncaring of whatever distress he was causing. 

“Something’s gone wrong with Cybertron’s core. The Well is turning up empty with less and less sparklings every vorn. We found some of Optimus’s old texts talking about the ‘Knights of Cybertron’ and we could use your assistance hunting them down.” Surprise was quick to override agitation at the mention of the fallen Prime. Megatron stopped trying to get away as Bumblebee tried to speak only to be interrupted by the youngling before him.

“Bee’s got it mostly summed up! My designation is Rodimus Prime! Just got the Matrix, not all that long ago and I’ve already got a crew ready to go and find these Knights!” A Prime? Megatron could feel his brow raising in cautious curiosity as he looked the mech over. He didn’t at all match any prior Prime Megatron knew of, but then again, it was a time of peace. Odd things happened during peace just as they did while at war. 

“According to Bee, you’ve just been wandering around for the past few millennia since you can’t die. So what do you say? Want to go on an adventure and shake things up? I’ve got stickers!” The stupidity was astounding, and yet Megatron found himself compelled. It had been so long since he’d really attempted to connect with anyone, and quite frankly, Cybertron held too many painful memories to continue hanging around. He kept his promise to Soundwave and Starscream as much as he was able. 

Maybe it would do him some good to leave for a while. If nothing else, he might find someone out there to kill him in an honorable fashion.

“Only if I can be co-captain of this expedition.” He settled on a compromise, not fully trusting the so-called Prime before him. Rodimus seemed only partially let down before he gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up and grabbed Megatron’s arm. 

“Then let’s get going! Cybertron won’t save itself!” Rodimus smiled, Bumblebee grumbled, and Megatron sighed. Whatever was going to happen, at least he wouldn’t be alone.

[roseymoseyberry]

The Prime’s Intended (3/?)

Not gonna really be around tomorrow so here we are.

Thanks for all your support for the previous chapters!!! It means the world to me.

Title: The Prime’s Intended

Series: TFP post-war AU where Optimus didn’t die

Ship(s): Optimus/Ratchet

Tags/warnings: Big Awful Public Wedding AU, Established Relationship, outing a relationship without consent, and just a lot of dealing with bullshit from paparazzi/media/etc. Mentions of sticky interfacing, but none on screen

Fic Summary:

“A photographer spotted us leaving your quarters this morning.”

In which paparazzi out Ratchet and Optimus’s relationship, their PR consultant plans them the biggest and most extravagant public wedding they never wanted, and Ratchet has to deal with suddenly becoming the Prime’s conjunx-to-be.

Chapter Summary:

“But! If that is an issue, I have several back up options. For example, there’s the Observatory which would be a phenomenal choice as well. We should be able to fit nearly as many guests--”

“Are there any small options?” Ratchet interrupted, hoping to cut all this nonsense off at the start. Spinmaster blinked, optics cycling, momentarily taken aback.

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |

“—Now, while the entrance to the Hall of Records is ideal aesthetically and in terms of space, the fact is that some of it would be outside, which is a security risk. I’ve already spoken with some contacts I have among the enforcers, so we should know within the next two days if they could secure it or not. As long as that security can be handled, I believe this will be the location you will want to pick.”

Ratchet refocused his optics again, having drifted when Spinmaster had waxed poetic about the potential bonding venue for several long minutes. If the medic never had to hear about picturesque views and romantic balconies and all the decoration possibilities again, it would be too soon.

“But! If that is an issue, I have several back up options. For example, there’s the Observatory which would be a phenomenal choice as well. We should be able to fit nearly as many guests--”

“Are there any small options?” Ratchet interrupted, hoping to cut all this nonsense off at the start. Spinmaster blinked, optics cycling, momentarily taken aback.

“Something intimate perhaps,” Optimus added, better at speaking Spinmaster’s language than Ratchet would ever have the patience to master.

That had a large smile back on the coptor’s face, though he tapped his chin and hummed as he swiped through page after page on his datapad. “Yes, of course, something intimate. The best option in that case then would be… Watts? Do you have my backups?”

Spinmaster’s minibot assistant was at his side quickly, digging through her subspace to produce another datapad. Ratchet felt concern creep into his processor as he considered the fact that Spinmaster had needed not one, but at least two datapads to hold all the possible venues and their information.

“And there we go! The Celestial Temple has recently been rebuilt and would make for a wonderfully intimate and spiritual venue,” Spinmaster said as he brought up some photos and sent them to the datapads sitting in front of both Ratchet and Optimus to view for themselves. Ratchet had rolled his optics at the idea that it could be considered anything close to spiritual, but the images did seem to speak for themselves. What had formally been the Council’s chambers had been converted to something more fitting to the name. “It’s been remodeled by the mecha from Caminus and I’m certain they would be more than happy to let their Prime use it for such a grand occasion.

“And this is the most intimate venue you have?” Optimus clarified at the same moment that Ratchet noted the vast seating area surrounding the center pedestal. At least a few hundred mecha would be able to fit.

“Yes. So much so that I would have placed it much higher were it not for the fact that we would have to make some significant cuts to the guest list. But I’m sure we can make due if you feel this is a better fit for your vision--”

“Wait. Wait wait wait,” Ratchet interrupted again, not the least bit put off by the twitch of Spinmaster’s optic. Not when dread was rapidly building in his spark chamber. “Guest list? What guest list? We haven’t made any--”

“Not to worry!” Ratchet was starting to think he would see Spinmaster’s fake smile in his nightmares. “I’ve already created one for you and we’ll be getting to that next. Nothing set in steel or any invitations sent, and there is plenty of wiggle room depending on what I hear back from some of my contacts and whatever alterations you may want to make.”

“‘May’ want to make?” Ratchet asked, incredulous. To think that this pretentious slagger had the ball bearings to make their guest list--

“Spinmaster,” Optimus started, as if sensing the fight building in his partner and trying to cut it off at the pass, “in light of the variations in seating room for the venues, let’s jump to the guest list before making any decisions.”

“Absolutely, Prime. You’re very right,” Spinmaster said as he flipped through his original datapad. “Then if you would skip ahead to the third information packet on your datapad, you’ll find the list.”

“Third? What’s the second one then?” Ratchet grumbled.

Spinmaster, however, answered with a chipper, “Time of day, of course. I always love a morning bonding, but! First things first. Or, in this matter, third things first.”

By the Allspark.

Ratchet absolutely hated Spinmaster.

Still, he swiped to the appropriate info-pack and opened it to find a seemingly endless list of names. Ratchet scrolled through it, optics scanning, and after going through nearly a hundred names, he had only recognized two, and they were hardly anyone he would consider friends.

“This list is quite exhaustive,” Optimus commented, sounding perfectly neutral even though Ratchet could hear the wariness in it.

“I hope you at least recognize some of them, because I don’t know any of these fragging mecha,” Ratchet said as he continued to scroll. There were more now that he recognized, but all of them were Autobots with relatively high ranks. He liked most of them well enough and there were some he would have considered inviting.

“Most of them are neutrals who had high standing in their city-ships.”

“So you actually know them all?” Ratchet asked, staring at Optimus with wide optics.

The Prime hummed as he continued to scroll. “I have met most of them, yes.”

“Any names you do not recognize are conjunx or amica that will likely be brought along,” Spinmaster explained readily and Optimus nodded in understanding.

Ratchet was horrified. Primus knew that the medic met countless Autobots over the millennia, patients’ names locked away in his processor to be pulled up as needed. And certainly he was aware that Optimus knew a few more than even he did. But all of these names – all these neutrals that Ratchet had never had the time or reason to meet, but they were the kind of mecha that Optimus had to know now.

Scrap. There was no way Ratchet would be able to keep up socially with his lover. Would he have to now that he was officially out as Optimus’s partner? Primus might as well just strike him where he stood if Ratchet had to learn all these names and attach them to faces before the bonding ceremony.

That was far too many mecha that Ratchet didn’t know who would be in the same room as him and Optimus when they merged sparks.

Spinmaster must have noticed the concern twisting Ratchet’s face because he was almost immediately at the medic’s side, eager to comfort as he said, “No worries though. I know it must seem overwhelming, but the list is easily organized and you can search within it to make sure that any guests you want to be there for your big day are accounted for. There’s even a tab to separate out guests by faction, former or current, so please feel free to check through the Autobots and let me know if I’ve missed anyone. ”

While that didn’t make Ratchet feel any more comfortable about the massive number of mecha he didn’t know attending, he tried to be accommodating. This wasn’t about him, after all. This was politics. This was problem-solving. This was—

Next to the Autobot tab was a Decepticon (Former) tab.

“What is this?”

With a glance, Spinmaster saw Ratchet’s screen and was immediately making comforting gestures, explaining, “I should have mentioned that this is a preliminary list and as such includes some names that I have not confirmed can be invited. The majority of the guests who were formerly Decepticons are dependent on the security of the venue chosen and on what I hear back from some contacts I have who socialize with them--”

Ratchet only half listened to the placating words as he opened the tab and scanned the list, his spark coiling and heating with outrage with every Decepticon he recognized.

“—and I know that it may be a little uncomfortable, but considering Prime’s desire for greater integration, I thought this would be a lovely opportunity--”

Ratchet thought for a moment that he had glitched. Because surely that wasn’t right, it couldn’t be--

“Soundwave?! You have Soundwave as a potential guest?!” Ratchet roared, lifting and brandishing his datapad angrily.

“In terms of potential gains versus risks, Soundwave would make for a good guest choice,” Spinmaster replied, his smile slipping before he simply replaced it with that damned look that said ‘I’m pretending to understand’. “He is a highly recognizable figure who has been nothing but well behaved and who keeps to himself. Having Soundwave there would show Prime reaching out for those wayward mecha, which is exactly what we want. And then, let’s be honest, the likelihood that he would do anything disruptive is infinitesimally small. Low risk with high reward.”

Ratchet sneered at the thought. Once the city was settled enough that Optimus felt it safe, he had decided to release Soundwave from the Shadowzone. It was still too kind-sparked a gesture in Ratchet’s opinion, but it had worked out better than he had expected. Once on Cybertron, Soundwave wasted no time flying off into the ruins in search of his self-exiled Megatron. Whatever he found out there, in those weeks before returning, must have proven to Soundwave once and for all that yes, the war was over. Megatron had admitted defeat and dismissed the Decepticon army.

Soundwave returned and said – breaking his silence as he did – that he recognized the Autobot victory.

And then Soundwave had all but locked himself away in some small apartment with his remaining cassette, seemingly satisfied to live alone with Laserbeak and detached from the rest of the city. He did not involve himself in politics that Ratchet was aware of or that Optimus ever mentioned.

Soundwave was also, at one point, a mech that Ratchet had considered a friend. It was long ago and forever marred by the war but it was a fact that Ratchet could not deny.

“Fine,” Ratchet grunted. “Depending on the security, I suppose I can allow it. I’m already putting up with hundreds of neutrals I’ve never met anyway so why the frag not throw in a couple mecha who used to want us dead? I can at least recognize them.”

Spinmaster was grinning again, completely ignoring the ill-will as his rotors arched high on his back and he immediately started talking at length about the security measures they could take. And, more importantly to Ratchet, he felt Optimus release an ex-vent that he had been holding.

Ratchet shot him a look, ridges raised and optics cycling narrower, and Optimus at least had the decency to look apologetic.

Decepticons! At his bonding ceremony!

It was only the first day of planning and already Ratchet wanted to just go back to his office and never emerge again. But Ratchet reminded himself that surely he could manage it. He had agreed to this and he was going to see this Pit-destined ceremony through.

This was important for Optimus.

Ratchet told himself that over and over again as he returned to his datapad and continued his scrolling. This was for Optimus. This was for Optimus. This was for—

Ratchet saw red.

“Starscream is not coming,” he said, his volume barely raised but his tone definite.

Spinmaster barely caught his exasperated ex-vent.

“Starscream is the most politically significant former Decepticon--”

“--And he’s not coming.”

“If the ceremony happens at the Temple, security will be easy, and of course all guests will be checked for weapons, so there would be no need to be concerned--”

“I don’t care!” Ratchet snapped, heat pouring out from between his plating as he got to his pedes. He didn’t have Optimus’s height or weight, but Ratchet was no slight mech, and he knew how to use his heft to his advantage, towering over the spindly copter. “It will be a cold day in the Pits before I let Starscream be invited to my bonding ceremony!”

Spinmaster’s optics cycled a little wider and then he turned his helm slightly, glancing over at Optimus. “Sir?”

And then Ratchet turned his optics towards Optimus as well, furious when Optimus had the nerve to look conflicted.

“Don’t you dare take his side on this,” Ratchet warned. “Starscream has gotten too close to offlining you more times than I care to count, so I’m not going to let him be in the same room as your exposed spark.”

Optimus in-vented, clearly preparing himself before replying, “The same could be said of several former Decepticons, including Soundwave.”

“Sure, but at least I understand how Soundwave tics.” Ratchet turned to fully face Optimus, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s a dangerous weapon, but he’s just that – a weapon. Without a cause or a mech to aim him, Soundwave is harmless. So unless Megatron drags himself out from whatever rock he lives under out there with the intension of ruining our bonding ceremony, Soundwave will just show up and then leave, likely without a damned word. But Starscream? Starscream?”

Optimus frowned. “I’ve worked with him before, and he’s become far more stable--”

“So you would put him in a room with my exposed spark on display?”

That gave Optimus pause.

“I would never let you come to harm, Ratchet,” Optimus insisted, tone grave as he reached out his servo to grasp Ratchet’s arm, his thumb caressing his plating soothingly. Despite the very fact that they were literally planning a bonding ceremony, Ratchet’s systems still balked at the show of affection in front of Spinmaster and his aid, panic prickling at his processor.

Ratchet realized it was the first time they had wittingly exposed their physical affection around other mecha. He wanted so badly to relent, to relax and let Optimus hold his servo and reassure him, but a sickening nervousness kept Ratchet’s arms crossed over his chest.

How would he ever be able to merge with Optimus for an entire world to see when he didn’t even dare accept simple physical touch in front of an audience of two?

“It’s not my spark I’m worried about,” Ratchet groused, though even he could hear that some of the anger had faded as fear had him withdrawing into himself. His gaze shifted away. “I’m worried about yours, you idiot.”

“I know.” Optimus’s hold tightened, comforting, and his tone made it seem as if he knew far more than just that.

A moment of silence passed. Optimus didn’t relent. Ratchet huffed tiredly.

“You really need him to come.”

“I do.”

Ratchet sunk back into his seat, arms still crossed, frown still deep, but he relented, saying, “Fine. Invite whoever you need to. But I have one condition.”

Spinmaster appeared at that, unwelcome and with victory written across his face.

“Of course! I want to make sure that you both feel comfortable on your big day.”

“I want Red Alert to head the security team.”

The smile froze on Spinmaster’s face as he managed, “Well, ah, I’ll see what I can do, but the security team has already--”

“I agree with Ratchet,” Optimus interrupted, giving Ratchet’s arm one last squeeze before turning his attention to Spinmaster.

“But sir--”

“Red Alert will be put in charge of security. Now, since we want the smallest venue possible, let us go over the guest list and make the necessary cuts.”

It was a small comfort, but Ratchet couldn’t help feeling that little bit better when Spinmaster looked so put upon. “Of course, Sir.”

“Good. Ratchet, while Spinmaster and I make cuts, will you check to make sure all the guests we want are accounted for?”

“But that will mean even more mecha to cut--”

“It’s our bonding ceremony, isn’t it, Spinmaster?” Optimus’s tone was stern, making it clear that the planner would not win that argument. Not without making an aft of himself.

With one last huff, Spinmaster nodded.

“You’re quite right, Prime.”

And so the two of them got to work, flipping through thousands of names. They talked and debated, some names going easily while others were discussed at length, every political pro and con explained to reach the final conclusion. Ratchet at first tried to follow along, but by the tenth name that he didn't recognize and at least the third space colony he knew by name and little else, he tuned them out. The Decepticon page was abandoned without a second thought -- if Ratchet was going to relent to fragging Starscream being at their bonding, there wasn't going to be anyone else to bother mentioning. Starscream was as bad as it got since last he checked, Megatron didn't have an address.

So instead he flipped to the Autobots and read down the list. Truthfully, here at least Spinmaster had done a fair job, though that likely had more to do with the fact that Ratchet had interacted with the upper ranks more than most any other Autobots and thus most of his friends were among them. Their political importance was the more likely reason for their position on the list.

Each member of Team Prime was also accounted for, though again, likely not for the personal connection. They were in their own ways celebrities to some extent. Not nearly to any sort of degree where they couldn't live the lives they had set out for themselves on the burgeoning planet in relative peace, but nevertheless. It wasn't uncommon for their faces to appear on tabloids now and again. Primus, even Ratchet had graced a few himself.

It had never bothered Ratchet much. It was all nonsense and rubbish.

It had never actually been about his personal life. Not like it was now.

Not like it was going to be.

[alteredphoenix]

Daemon Familiar Prologue (Original Fiction)(WIP)

A/N: This is a chapter I found in my current USB drive under the folder for Daemon Familiar, the saga of some of my OCs such as Airi and Iryna, among others; you may be familiar with them in passing from the art I’ve done of them. The date on this is listed as 02/11/2019, around the time when the conceptual process moved away from how it began as a Tales of Berseria fanfic to its previous incarnation as a story with demons and magic and all manner of beings fantastical that, in some iterations written down in one notebook from 2018-2019, would be removed altogether and pave way toward an endgame that involved the world becoming Earth in the 1800′s or 1980′s.

I hated that particular conclusion, the idea of separating fantasy from reality; it sank my mental health and I found it too depressing to invoke The Magic Goes Away trope. I always liked my fantasy the most when it’s mixed with science fiction trappings - or about as science fiction as you can get into a fantasy setting. After all, the world we live in is pretty boring and mundane; why take the magic away? So I had to scrap that incarnation while still maintaining, quite steadfastly, that the demons must stay; they must be integral; without them, Daemon Familiar would just be another bog-standard sci-fantasy story.

I can’t really get too much into how much this prologue plays into the meat of the story without it treading into spoiler territory (I wanted to say ‘the first book’, but my intention is to write my stories as akin to light novels, so perhaps ‘introduction arc’ would be a better turn of phrase). In fact, I’m not sure if this is what I’d like to finalize; this was written as a possible, potential prologue that would segue into the arc’s endgame that would send ripples throughout the story. But for archival purposes I wish to put it up here, and purposes later on I will decide if this is a chapter I want to finalize, or retool it, or consider it unused and look for another way to introduce the prologue.

Daemon Familiar, shockingly enough, has its origins rooted in mecha. Well, it’s not actually mecha, but Magic Knight Rayearth did play heavily into fleshing out its current incarnation as a story of humans and daemons coexisting in a world without a Demon King for millennia, and how that shaped history. However, MKR helped develop Airi’s familial backstory more (sans isekai); the prologue, on the other hand, was meant to evoke the introduction scene from The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind. I find that to be a much more effective opening than the one in Skyrim that’s been memed to hell and back so many times I get physical, psychic whiplash every time I see it (I would sooner satirize Skyrim’s opening than give it credence where it’s due.)

In this piece, Airi dreams - Maybe. Caught in the veil between wakefulness and sleep she sees Iryna from afar, who greets her, and may or may not remember the conversation afterwards.

-

"Hey.

"Hey—wake up.

"Open your eyes. Look at me.

"Ah. There we go. That's it. Can you hear me? Can you see me?"

She did not, for her vision was a blur and the water, while not abysmal and murky, cast the world in a cool, blue embrace. There were bubbles everywhere: round, clear spheres big and small that caught the light. They did not move. Neither did the water, though she could hear it rushing, roaring, in the distance, quiet and muffled.

She exhaled, yet not a single bubble flew from her lips. She blinked, once, twice, and moved her head up and slightly to the left, in the direction where she heard the voice.

A girl was standing in front of the light, small and backlit.

She tried to sit up. She could not so much as move her arms or legs, feeling them to be leaden and unresponsive. She craned her neck forward, as much as it would allow, and peered at the girl. Shrouded as she was in obscurity, the light caught some of her features: her round, cherub-like face; the bell-shaped dress; the open parasol reclined against her shoulder; her blonde hair.

"Hey, you," said the girl, a touch fondly. "Do you remember me?"

There was a name on her tongue, as familiar as her own, and she parted her lips to speak it. Nothing came out. Even the very thought eluded her. She continued to breathe.

A tired sigh. "Yeah. I figured as much. It's been a while." She saw the girl raise a hand to scratch at her cheek. Or maybe she was tucking away a strand of hair; it was hard to tell. "You look good. That's good, that's good. Hey. Listen. Keep it up. Don't stop taking care of yourself, okay? Take some time to get away from everything; the others can look after themselves. And if they can't...well," she seemed to shrug, "Streya will make sure of it. But you already know that. No point in me telling you this twice."

Her eyelids cracked open a little wider at the name. Again she made to sit up, to no avail.

"Hey, none of that now," said the girl. "Everything's fine. Come on. Do you really believe she'd let them fly off the handle while you're away? You can't be everywhere at once, you know."

She breathed in, breathed out, releasing another stream of water that looked but did not taste nor feel like water. The world was weightless. There was neither grass nor sky to be found. Only the light, shining from some unidentifiable point of origin, provided the necessary luminescence.

She inhaled, deeply, slowly, and tasted the scents floating on the air: Wood smoke. Fresh rain. Clipped grass. Cooked beef right off the griddle. Metal. Exhaust fumes. Wildflowers.

A hint of something, soft and sweetly fleeting, like the start of a fire from the strike of a flint. It was an ember that grew into a tiny flame that spread from the core of her belly to the roots in her chest.

She snatched it, held it, and did not let go.

A gasp, soft and quiet, escaped her. Her eyes became heavy. Focus bled away and drew upon itself in a mire of colors.

The light began to fade.

The girl appeared to be nodding; she seemed to be moving farther and farther away. "I'll come visit you again soon, alright? You just do your thing. I'll be here before you know it. So don't neglect yourself while I'm gone, alright? Don't forget."

I won't forget, she wanted to tell her. I'll take care of myself. She opened her mouth again, and still nothing issued forth. She breathed in the sweetness, the cool mountain air, the tang of extracted sap and stones baked in the hot noon sun. She filled her lungs with it. Her head buzzed warmly and she laid it down upon the expanse of shifting blue and yellow beneath her. The contact set her skin alight with an electric tingling that quickly numbed and settled in her bones.

She closed her eyes and sensed more than felt herself shift onto her side and curl up in a ball. An invisible hand fell upon her head, stroked once and pressed down, down, with a gentle ease that was almost maternal.

She tucked her head to her breast and breathed deep.

"Sleep, Airi," she heard the girl say. "Just a little longer. I'll be back. I promise."

Then she was gone.

Airi breathed, and drifted...

Drifted...

Sank...

[maswartz]

Eltar

For eons the world of Eltar was known for its peaceful inhabitants and for the wonders they created. Eltarians have a spiritual power within them all that grows stronger as they age. They use this power to help find peace within themselves. Using a combination of technology and arcane power they created great wonders and managed to eradicate all major diseases and warfare from their world, as well as destroying social barriers. In the pre-enlightenment era they had four squadrons dedicated to protecting Eltar. On the ground was the Quake Squadron. In the sea was the Tsunami Squadron. In the skies were the Cyclone Squadron. Finally in space was the Meteor Squadron. The squadrons were equipped with mechanical suits about half the size of the Dino Megazord. These mecha were silver and unable to split or combine. These robots would take a crew of ten to pilot. The members of these squadrons were known as Rangers. However after the enlightenment era began the Rangers and Squadrons were phased out. Eltarians use their advanced space travel to visit distant worlds and help spread peace and understanding. They acted as diplomats across the universe. However the history of Eltar as well as the history of the universe itself was changed forever when the warlord Noxturn attacked. A science-mage named Zordon discovered a way to tap into a power source known as the morphing grid granting five Eltarians the power to morph into the universes first Power Rangers. The rulers of Eltar would revive the Squadron and Rangers after the arrival of the Power Rangers. Zordon refused to share the secret of the Morphing Grid to prevent its abuse leading to them finding a new power source to create a new Elite Ranger squadron. After months of battles the Power Rangers managed to drive Noxturn off by throwing him into a black hole. The victory was costly and the Red Ranger fell in battle only for his spirit to inhabit a robotic body his brother had built. Zordon and Zoltar departed Eltar seeking new adventures out in the stars as they continued to battle against evil. The other Power Rangers returned to their civilian lives and lived long happy lives. Millennia later the evil Dark Specter would invade Eltar and destroy much of its wonders, during the battle against his forces the robot rangers were heavily damaged and forced to flee to the world of Liaria where they were repaired and became the Robo Racer Rangers. During the battle many of the Elite Rangers fell. In time however the evil forces were defeated thanks in large part to Zordon sacrificing himself. Eltar would not remain unscathed for long though as little over a decade later the Stellar Empire would invade the peaceful world. Eltar and most of the rest of the universe would remain under Empire control for years until the Pirate Rangers tore the empire down. During their adventures returning stolen relics to invaded worlds the Pirate Rangers make a stop on Eltar and visit Zordon’s lab to honor him and the fallen Zoltar. As before the Eltarians rise from the ashes of invasion and rebuild their world. Eltar remains a major player in interplanetary relations with many diplomats either coming from or receiving some training on the world of peace. For their role in history many statues honoring the Eltar Rangers can be found across Eltar. With a statue for each Ranger residing in their home sectors with a statue honoring the team as a whole standing proud in Eltar’s capital city of Meledon. Powerverse

[chaoschronicler]

Eh fuck it here’s a part of the shitty fanfic I’ve picked back up after three years:

The grass was cool to the body that laid in the twilight of the day. A frail man with arms spread as if to greet the night time’s arrival laid in anticipation for his final breath. Wind blowing gently through strands of grey that still bore a hint of youthful purple. Zor knew that his signal had been received for they would come for what lay beneath him, the ever growing life of a people once peaceful.

Then came a rhythm of fleeted foot drawn ever closer to him. The cry of his name ever drawn through the wind, a panic yearning for him. The old one continued to stare up to the heavens as the boy came in a winded hurry.

  “Master Zor! Master Zor! The flowers are germinating! We must depart! They are drawing ever closer to us!”

  Zor still lying still pondered this, but soon shushed it from his mind. He knew what he was doing and what came for him. The boy was finally upon him, head bent and staring down at his gaze. The boy had a face of an angel that never hinted that he was already of age. Long blond hair drooping down and swaying with the wind. Eyes of emerald piercing into Zor’s own. “Master, please.”

“My dear Demos,” spoke Zor, “I already know of this for it is my wish that this should happen.”

The boy Demos was perplexed. “But why? Why would you do this Zor?”

  Zor, with effort, sat up from the ground. Small plants already peeking out from the ground from once he laid. The old one look at Demos, a stern face on him. “My time has come. I am tired of running from the past. For what I and The Masters have done.”

  Gazing up at the now blackening sky he spoke softly “Do you know how long I have lived Demos?”

  “Yes, Master,” Demos had a hint of sadness in his voice, “For over 1500 years.”

“Do you realize what this does to a man, Demos?” said Zor.

Demos only nodded at this. He knew deep down that Master Zor had lived for many generations. Watching passively as his people the Tirolians conquered countless worlds, the degradation of culture under the unending rain of The Masters and their clone descendants. And most of all his hand in the creation of the Invid scourge.

“Then you understand why I want this.” Spoke Zor. He gestured the boy to sit with him. Demos complied, stooping down to his master’s side.

“Let me tell you something my disciple. I have already set things in motion all before now.” Demos looked at him in confusion. Zor in turn gazed at him. “I plan my death.” he said nonchalant. He gave a big sigh.

“Before this I had agents all over the empire without The Masters knowing. They are loyal to my cause, and allowed me to use them as pawns in the empires downfall.” A sound soon came next to him. A minicomputer rang to alert him of the danger that was coming. “Huh, so the Zentraedi are the first to show. Figures as much.”

Demo’s eyes widen. “What did you do master?”

A small smile crept on the old ones face. “I had them destroy every Matrix and burn every flower they can get. All the while my A.I’s are destroying every information on the Matrixes and my personal notes. I’d figure it would all take a standard day to execute and a little bit after to rally the troops to get me.” The smile finally became a big grin. “Seems that I miss calculated their arrival.”

“But Master!” Demos panicked “What about us? What about all of your disciples?”

Zor raised his hand. “You need not worry. There is a bunker underneath that all of you will go. There is a transport ship and everything. All you have to do is wait it out.”

Demos was even more perplexed on the extent of his master’s plan. How long had he plan this he thought? Zor inhaled a cool breath, taking in the aroma of the blooming flowers. A small tear began to form at the corner of his eyes.

“There is one more thing I ask of my disciples.” He spoke softly. “One more plan that would, or might bear fruit.”

“Anything, my master.”

“My warship. In it contains the first matrix and the flower of life.” Zor looked at him. “I have sent it to a far way place where it would do some good out of all of this. The A.I. Alakin and some of my trusted Zentraedi friends will make sure it will arrive there. I want you and the Disciples to find it when the time is right. Or if it ever finds you, to cherish it, to help it, to guide it till the time of the ancient’s has come.”

With a nod Demos understood, mostly, of what Zor wanted. The old one soon pointed back to the compound. “Go now. The Zentraedi will arrive in fifteen minutes. Just enough for you to make it.”

And with that the young man took off to meet the rest in Zors hide away. The old one watched on till he was sure Demos was gone. Looking back at the sky know shining with stars the tears had finally started to draw down his face. He knew his time had come, the age of the empire is drawing to an end. There were more things to come on the horizon, both good and evil.

“Regiss, my dear, I am truly sorry. But one day things would be all right and your people renewed. Just wait a little longer.”

   The shuttle descended towards the planet, its destination was clear as day. It was not hard for the Zentraedi to find Master Zors outpost. All the signs pointed to it after shifting through the data left behind in the now fragmented A.I. All aboard knew what the mission was, they were uneasy about it as it called for the capture of the first master. High Lord Breetai was to lead this team, one of Dolza’s most trusted subordinates to handle such a mission.

“Childs play,” thought Breetai. “One man to capture he says” his teeth clenched. Even though he was loyal to Dolza and the Masters his loyalty was always with Master Zor. Breetai had to sever that once the empire wide attack hit. “But why did it have to be me?”

The thought was interrupted as the pilot told him that they were there. Breath exhaled but never gave a hint of a sigh within his mind. The six others in the ship prepped their rifles. All of them only had one clip in, they never thought that there would be battle just for one man. The shuttle gave a dull thud as it landed just outside the complex, the sides splitting to spill out the giants.

The compound was a simple one. A few administrative buildings to one corner, a large parade field for mecha, or Zentraedi to get by, and a large hanger that held Zor’s personal ships. All was dark in all but the hanger, its large doors wide open to show the light that was still on. Breetai was a bit cautious at first but a glance in the hanger showed that it was mostly empty, nothing dangerous at that.

There on one of the catwalks stood a cloaked figure. “Well, well! Welcome my guests!” Called the figure. “I was expecting different guests, but since you are all here why not stay a few.”

Breetai soon stride over to the catwalk, it was just at the height of his chest. The man in the cloak got a better look at the Zentraedi before him, his eyes in shock. Zor flipped back his hood revealing the greying hairs. “Breetai!” He exclaimed, “By the Gods what are you doing here!?!”

Breetai growled “We were sent here to arrest you for the crimes you have committed to the Empire. As of now your actions and the actions of your followers have already claimed the lives of thousands.”

“Breetai you must understand that there is a reason for all of this. For what I have done.” Zor pleaded. “You out of all the Zentraedi understand why!”

The look to their commander in confusion. Breetai’s loyalty had now come into question among them. It was known by every Zentraedi that he had served The First Master for many decades. His rise in the ranks came from that service. But so did many of the now traitors. Breetai can already feel the stares boring through him. Anger soon welled up inside from the core of his body.

“It matters not!” he bellowed, “You and the rest of your disciples are traitors to The Empire! I am here to make sure you and the rest of the traitors be brought to justice for your actions!”

“What justice!” Zor cried, “For millennia I have not seen one shred of justice in this empire! There is no justice in subjugating others! There is no justice in the war crimes we have committed! And there is no justice in the genocide of another sentient race!”

Yeah this is a rewrite of Robotech. Back then I thought I could do it better but, eh fuck it. It’s something to do.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I want to throw this idea out there before I get absorbed into Oppy the teacher again. How about situation where the bots are dealing with a hive mind trying to mess with or absorb them? I thought of this prompt when I thought of the Allspark. I mean it is like hive mind in a way.

Well thank you for this very interesting writing idea! Hmmmm so many thoughts.

The Calling

Cybertronians are functionally immortal, but to obtain this immortality they must forever remain connected to their maker to keep their sparks ablaze. As a general rule, it does not affect them during their youth or even during the height of their functionality. However with time, the call begins to ring out... and it is near maddening.

Their sparks are immortal, but what does it mean to be immortal? Is it to live forever? Is it to never feel the pains of age or a breaking body? Or perhaps is it something else entirely? Whatever the answer is for others, for the children on Primus it merely means continuation.

In the beginning the call does not affect them, not when they are so new and impressionable. No, Primus would never call back the little ones he sends forth. They must grow, they must live, and they must experience, each becoming their own person before he feels the need to begin acting. It takes millennia for the call to begin, and at first, it is never loud. It is a quiet song, one that thrums within their very sparks and slowly drowns out the world. None can stop the call, not even the Primes... but it can be slowed.

The call works differently for every Cybertronian, but the rules stay the same. The call comes sometime shortly before or after a Cybertronian has lived roughly a million years. Thus most lower caste mecha never made it long enough to experience the call, but for those in higher castes? It was a real threat. The call would always show itself at first with simple tunes that no others can seem to hear. The mech afflicted may be confused, especially as the song never ends, always continuing its strange chant that differs from mech to mech.

When the call begins, it means the affected must begin to prepare for the end in whatever capacity is available to them. If the mech in question accepts the call for what it is, their best option is to spend time with family, to tie up loose ends, and ready themselves for the inevitable by enjoying what passions they hold dear. For those that wish to endure, there is no real solution, merely ways to slow the inevitable.

Those who wish to continue on must ignore the song and never succumb. However with time the song grows louder and louder, eventually drowning out almost everything else of relevance. To work around this, mecha will throw themselves into some work or study so that they can focus their minds away from the constant song within their sparks. The oldest of Cybertronians are often considered... eccentric at best because of this. Ratchet devoted himself entirely toward his craft and his hatred of the war and their foes. Kup threw himself into training the next generation over and over again to avoid the song. Alpha Trion focused himself on the Covenant and the Archives with such determination that he forced himself to not hear.

The long as the Cybertronians hearing the call do not listen, they can endure... and they can escape the fate that is the call. But with war? It weakens the mind and crushes resolve as much as it strengthens them. More and more mecha fell to the call during the height of the war than ever before recorded. The call would come and it would take them, cutting them off and turning them into something other.

What the call does... it breaks a Cybertronian down. They begin to forget, to stop caring, and to distance themselves from others. First its the small things, little details and memories that are of little importance or minor interactions that would have caused some emotions response prior to the call. Then it moves on to the Cybertronian's bigger experiences, taking bits and pieces of personality with every passing cycle until all that remains is a living husk without a care in the world. The husks are called 'Dreamers', essentially the still mobile versions of those who go Immersant.

The Dreamers aren't really there, not anymore. Their sparks are all but totally one with Primus in all but body. Thus it is a greater mercy than killing them to cover the Dreamers in special robes that speak of their fate and let them wander aimlessly. Energon is offered to them when seen out of tradition, but it is a fruitless thing. Eventually their frames will fail them and they will peacefully return to the world from whence they came. No mech-animal will touch them until their sparks have fled their mortal frames. Even during the war, none touched the wandering Dreamers on purpose as they meandered across the landscape, doing nothing but singing that deadly hymn that ended the lives of so many.

The call comes for every Cybertronian, and now while on earth, it has become harder than ever to ward the call off. War may linger, but the strangeness of Earth and the stress of it all make it hard to ignore the call.

When it comes to the Autobots, Ratchet throws himself into something, anything to keep his mind off the song. Optimus takes it upon himself to delve into the Matrix, to sing prayers to drown out the call, and to plan for every conceivable outcome when not fighting. Arcee directs her entire being into her anger and mission, devoting herself so entirely to the war that when it ends, so too will her shield against the call. Bulkhead keeps moving, never ceasing and always doing something to keep his frame active. It may be small, but those simple actions ward off the sickly sweet song of death. Bumblebee is the only Autobot who does not know the song, he is too young and thus does what he can to keep his teammates happy and focused to assist.

For the Decepticions, Soundwave follows Ratchet's thought process and delves into his work without hesitation, drowning out the song with data and duty. Megatron plans and writes, doing what he can to ward off the song with his work or through the Unmaker's own conflicting music. Knockout continually replaces what the song takes, forever engaging in new activities and developing new quirks to make up for whatever is taken from him by the music. Breakdown tries to focus on others, doing whatever he can to be of use so he need not consider the darkness of reality. Starscream, much like Arcee, throws himself into his quest for rulership to the point where the song hardly reaches him anymore. Arachnid feasts herself on battle, fighting off the song with bloodshed and gluttony. The Vehicons and the Insecticons are too youthful to know the call or too focused on their tasks to heed it.

The call is ever present, and it claims whoever loses focus for even one moment. All it takes is one singular second of mental weakness, and the call rings out, taking away all that once was until...

All are one.