#optimus prime/you

[asimplearchivist]

' 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕘𝕒𝕫𝕚𝕟𝕘 '

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄, 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ✴ ⤏ you find optimus musing about the past while surveying earth's celestial sphere. you try not to let your personal feelings impair your ability to comfort him. pairing ✴ tfp!optimus prime/reader | (past) tfp!optimus prime/elita one word count ✴ 9.9k a/n ✴ ⤏ everything happy always happens in the first season, sometimes part of the second season if you’re lucky. this takes place right before the omega keys arc hits full swing but right after optimus receives the message from alpha trion via the star saber. (around/between “legacy” and “alpha; omega”.) it’s the moment of serenity before the storm, you could say.⤏ I've had this fic gathering dust in my drafts for years bc there should have been three more parts between it and 'yosemite falling,' but I'm updating my docs to word files in preparation to transfer everything off my old pc to a new one (which I haven't had a new pc in nearly fifteen years so I'm anxious as hell bc I don't handle change well but I'm also excited so???) and I figured 'what the hell, I'll go ahead and post it since I've been trying to clean out my drafts anyway. ⤏ the word ‘inamorata’ (italian, I believe) is legitimately perfect for optimus referring to elita one and you can pry that out of my cold, dead hands. t r y m e. (and yes, this also implies that optimus knows latin because he’s a giant n e r d .) ⤏ I also used lots of nods and references towards @ss-shitstorm’s backstory for op and elita in fortuna primigenia because she is optilita god. (the only striking difference is that ‘bee isn’t biologically theirs - they just kind of took him under their wing when he was still fresh off the press.)

Something was off.

You sighed softly and opened your eyes, taking in as much of the darkened hangar as you could before you yawned. The kids were sound asleep, as was the Autobots’ newest recruit (who had somehow managed to curl himself around the haphazard circle of sleeping bags and cots in a rather impressive imitation of a cat), and when you looked over you saw that Ratchet was still tapping studiously away at the main terminal, optics dimmed and distant as he worked. When your eyes adjusted you could see that it wasn’t the Iacon encryptions, but what appeared to be a personnel file. You saw a small picture of Smokescreen on the upper left-hand corner and figured Ratchet was either reading in on Team Prime’s most recent addition or filling out a medical file. Either way, it was way past the medic’s bedtime.

You looked back to the slumbering foursome, taking in how Smokescreen’s doorwings fluttered minutely in time with an occasional ex-vent. You smiled warmly at the sight. The newest recruit hadn’t quite found his place among the Autobot family yet, but with how well he got along with the kids you figured it’d be no time before he wormed his way into the elder soldiers’ hearts. You just hoped he wouldn’t take to Miko too much, because you’d sensed a mischievous streak in him the moment you’d found out he’d managed to convince Jack to pull a Miko.

It’d gotten Optimus the Star Sabre, but...that wasn’t the point.

The girl had wanted to hit off Smokescreen’s arrival with a bang, in the only way she thought suitable for someone who knew nothing about Earth - introducing him to slumber parties. He’d been all for the idea, jumping headfirst into the activities it entailed despite him not knowing a single thing that was going on. He’d loved the movies you four had picked out, and had picked up on the concepts and plots surprisingly quickly.

Ratchet hadn't been too enthused about all the ruckus going on, as one would expect, but Optimus had made it a point to soothe him when the medic would begin to grumble too loudly. It was a brief reprieve for the other Autobots, who’d been rather tense of late and needed a little night of fun, and it served to better acquaint them with their newest addition. Bumblebee seemed to get along with him fairly well, and Arcee seemed to regard him with a constantly exasperated but amused air. Bulkhead...acted amiable enough on the outside, but you worried about him. His near-fatal injury and subsequent recovery had hit him hard, and had hit his spirit harder. You’d thought to call Wheeljack to help lift the green ex-Wrecker’s spirit, but...you didn’t think the others would be nearly so inclined to welcome him back so soon after his day trip with Miko. And you’d seen the way Bulkhead’s demeanor would fall whenever he thought no one was looking - you hoped that he would bounce back soon.

You slowly sat up, being careful to make as little noise as you could manage as you slipped out from beneath the blankets and rose to your feet. You padded silently past the recharging Autobot, holding your breath when he twitched and made a soft noise. He settled down almost immediately after, doorwings flaring and closing slowly. It almost reminded you of a butterfly at rest.

You relaxed when you got closer to the main computer terminal, breathing out softly as you reached out and placed a hand on Ratchet’s pede. He jerked minutely under the unexpected touch, peering down until his optics found you. 

He ex-vented, straightening and returning his attention to the screen. “I’m almost finished. Go back to sleep.”

“You can finish it in the morning,” you murmured back, patting the warm metal beneath your palm affectionately. “A couple more hours of recharge than usual isn’t going to hurt you, Ratchet.”

He paused, his mouth pursing briefly, and you worried that he was just going to shoo you away and keep working. He surprised you by ex-venting long and low, hitting one last button and closing the file before letting his servos fall from the keyboard. 

“Fine,” he muttered, tone weary and all too telling. “Fine.”

You smiled gently. “Get some rest, you stubborn old mech. You’re going to need it if we’re keeping the overgrown puppy over there.”

He scoffed softly, but you didn’t miss the curve of a smile he was trying to hide. “You should as well. Who knows what diabolical plot Miko has devised for tomorrow’s activities.”

“I hope she doesn’t drag out the Monopoly board,” you muttered, smirking up at him. “We may as well kiss another Autobot goodbye.”

You shared a stifled look of amusement before you both cracked and chuckled.

“Sleep well,” he said, turning and walking quietly towards the open corridor.

“Sweet dreams, Ratchet,” you returned, watching him go. A sense of peace settled over you and you gave the hangar a visual sweep. Everything was quiet.

But...something still felt...off. You couldn’t put a finger on it, but…

Well, you were still a bit tired. You wondered if you could catch a few more hours with Optimus - you were already mostly awake, but being able to hear his spark whir and his engine rumble beneath his plating always helped soothe you back to sleep.

Optimus wasn’t in his quarters. Everyone else was (even Ratchet - you’d checked), but the Prime was nowhere to be seen. It was odd because Optimus was always somewhere within the base doing something - the only time he wasn’t was when he went on patrol, but he always let you know when he was leaving and would sometimes invite you to accompany him if it was somewhere with little to no risk-factor. But this was unusual. He’d just...disappeared.

It was irrational to think so, because you knew he wouldn’t have left without pretense - but it was something about how quiet the silo was, dark and empty besides the kids (and Autobot) slumbering in the hangar. You could almost hear Bulkhead snoring from where you were, the sound still ringing in your ears since you’d wandered through the hall leading to each of their quarters. (It’d just about scared you to death, the entire corridor dead quiet then filled with an inhuman roar unlike any you’d heard before - it was only after you’d plastered yourself into the nearest corner, trying to keep your heart from beating itself out from between your ribs, that you realized it sounded like Bulkhead.) But the silence, nigh oppressive in its grip, reminded you too much of the long three months that Optimus had been under Megatron’s influence as his past self, memories gone in wake of spending the energy of the Matrix of Leadership on forcing Unicron back into stasis.

You had a sudden, irrational apprehension bubble low in your stomach, and you began to search the base.

He wasn’t in the corridors, or the relic vault, or the energon refinery. He wasn’t in the storage room, or any of the other massive, unused warehouse-type rooms. He wasn’t even in Ratchet’s private lab, which had been your last idea. You even checked his quarters again, just in case your eyes had been screwing with you and you hadn’t actually seen the gargantuan red and blue titan lying on his berth. The entire base was lacking one Prime, and you were getting worried enough that you were starting to consider going to wake Ratchet up to help you find him when you reentered the main hangar and your eyes alighted upon the large metal platform that served as an elevator of sorts, along with its human-sized counterpart that Fowler used when flying in.

Maybe…

As you climbed the ladder up to the platform and sized up the elevator, you crossed your fingers and hit the button with an upward-pointing arrow. The doors slid open smoothly and without a sound, fortunately, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you cast a brief glance over your shoulder at the kids to make sure they were still asleep. Satisfied to see that they were, you stepped inside and folded your arms as the doors shut again. The machine rumbled to life quietly, and the sudden tug of gravity had you drumming your fingertips anxiously against your arm as you ascended.

A few moments later, it stopped. The doors opened once more and a cool gust of air made you shiver. The night was dark and it took a few moments for your eyes to adjust, but when they did you paused. The sky was an inky black, moon a sliver of a crescent but glimmering a bright ivory all the same. It cast a ghostly silver glow across the relatively flat top of the silo, the sand and stones washed out from their usual rich red. It was a bit difficult to distinguish anything of the horizon from the dark skyline, but the glimmer of metal gleaming under the moon near the edge of the mesa caught your attention.

There he was.

You breathed out softly, suddenly feeling not so confident. He was fine. He was probably just taking a moment to himself, enjoying the peace and quiet. You wished that he was resting, but you understood that having much privacy in the silo was sparse when you had three other giant mechs (now four) and one femme occupying it. Optimus had always been quiet by nature, so it made sense to you that needing it occasionally would be part of it, too. (...It made you wonder why he offered for you to go along with him on his patrols alone, honestly. That was probably the only me-time he ever got, save for moments like these.)

Your worry satisfied for the most part, you debated on returning to your makeshift bed and trying to get a few more hours of sleep. You were tired, and your eyes were heavy, and you weren’t sure why you’d woken up to begin with.

A heavy ex-vent, audible even from where you stood, caught your attention before you heard a soft, low rumble that was unmistakably Optimus’ voice. No one else was out there, so the fact that he must’ve been talking to himself made you pause. His words were unintelligible, and you pondered on whether you should leave him be or confront him. But the note of sadness in his tone made your decision for you.

You padded across the mesa, shivering as the breeze picked up a bit and tugged at your hair teasingly. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing the flesh of your arms with your palms and trying to keep your teeth from chattering. The closer you drew to the Prime, the more distinct his voice became - but you quickly realized that he was not speaking English. It could’ve only been Cybertronian. You’d heard snippets of it before, brief mutterings and stressed exclamations from the others. And you could only describe it as music.

The tones and harmonics of his voice seemed to rise and fall and mingle as he spoke, rolling and chittering and rumbling through syllables that held no meaning to you. It sounded like he even used his engine to add depth to the sounds, his voice cutting through the air with its deep bass. It seemed deeper, somehow - it sounded as though it were coming directly from his chassis and pouring out of his vocalizer.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

You were suddenly struck with the desire to learn it, but you reasoned that it would be practically impossible. Mechanical beings such as the Autobots were simply more capable of producing more sounds that humans could, in that they could use more of their already more flexible vocals than humans were able.

But the thing that struck you most about Optimus’ indecipherable words was how mournful he sounded. The subtle whistles and whirs and trills descending through the syllables were distinctly sad, and you finally stopped walking when you were a few yards behind him.

"Optimus...?"

He stopped abruptly. You watched as he stilled, his digits sinking into the sand beneath them slightly. He slowly turned, and you swallowed when his optics, dim but still brilliant in the dark, focused on you.

"Sorry," you blurted, shame flaring in your face as you dropped your eyes and clutched at your arms. "I - I couldn't find you earlier, so I just - I wanted to make sure you're okay, but I can - I can go now, if-"

He murmured your name, a gentle serenity against your fluster. It calmed you embarrassingly quickly. "...you are not disturbing me. I was...merely pondering aloud." He turned his servo over and made a gesture for you to come closer. "Please, sit."

You did as he bade you, shuffling forward and settling in the dirt a healthy distance away from him. His servo came to rest in the dirt once again, and you were enraptured by the subtle motions of him tracing circles in the fine, dry grains.

"...difficulty sleeping?"

You blinked, craning your neck back to look up at him. His expression was curious, and mildly sympathetic. "Hm? Oh, uh..." You brushed your hair back out of your face, inwardly grimacing at how oily it felt. "I...I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. Thought I'd find you. I...I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," he responded. "I did tell you that you could seek me out should you ever need me, did I not?"

"Yeah," you said, biting back the urge to 'sir' him. He'd told you before not to worry about formality with him. "I just...I didn't want to irritate you if...y'know. I didn't want to overstay my welcome."

"You could do no such thing," he assured you, his tone almost frustratingly soothing in how it instantly relaxed you. "You are always welcome to confide in me."

You sighed softly, dipping your head in an attempt to hide your smile. "Thanks, Optimus. Really. That means a lot more to me than I can say."

"You are more than welcome." And God, when you looked back up and caught the subtle smile playing at the edges of his optics and mouth, you swore you felt all the blood in your body rush up into your face. "I am here for you, always. Even when it may seem as though I am occupied with other things."

You nodded, his gentle words relaxing you. You shifted closer to him minutely, wondering just how a small, insignificant being in a world full of people such as yourself could've ended up with the privilege to know Optimus and have his support and confidance.

And then you remembered his sorrowful tone from mere moments earlier.

"...You know, I...you can come to me, too," you said tentatively, trying to look at him steadily but failing when he tilted his helm slightly and God he looked absolutely ethereal in moonlight- "I mean, I know I'm not the best person out there for advice, and I probably wouldn't be much help in the long run, but...I like to think I'm a good listener." You bit the inside of your lip and reached out, pressing your palm against the flat planes of the digit nearest you. "I'm here for you, too."

He studied you for a long, silent, nearly suffocating moment, optics taking in your face and form, expression unreadable. Then he ex-vented, long enough that the warm air gushed over you and made you shiver. His demeanor softened and you relaxed with he gave you a warm, grateful look. "I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you."

"You're more than welcome," you echoed with a ghost of a smile, your insides fluttering as he returned it.

After a split moment, you tore your gaze from his and exhaled, taking in the landscape stretching out before you for miles. The moon cast a silver glow across the desert, making it look otherworldly with the long, inky black shadows and subtle traces of nocturnal life stirring. The stars were breathtaking so far out from town, speckling the sky like iridescent dots of paint glittering against the dark expanse of night. A breeze picked up from the east, making you shudder minutely. Optimus turned his servo up on its side, shielding you from its chilly grasp.

"So..." You nibbled your lip, trying to break the silence. "...what do you think of Smokescreen?"

Optimus seemed to stew on your question for a while before responding. "...He seems to have much potential. But...he is young and has much to learn. Earth poses a challenge to him, as well as learning to be discrete among humanity. He doesn't yet understand that there can be dire consequences to war. But..."

You quirked a brow. "But?"

"...But I find his outlook to be good for morale, though unfortunately it seems to be having a negative effect on the others. They consider him naive, and while it holds merit, he is more than that. He still has hope. He still has courage, though it has the tendency to be...misplaced." Optimus paused for a long moment, looking thoughtful. "It gives me faith that there is still a chance we can end the war."

You nodded, folding your hands together and twiddling your thumbs. You studied the gooseflesh on your arms, soaking in his words. You felt his gaze return to you.

“And what do you think of him?”

You directed your gaze to the sky, tilting your head in thought.

You liked Smokescreen, in all honesty. You liked him a lot. He was zealous and bright and energetic and had such a sunny outlook on the world, looking at Earth as something new and fun and adventurous. He’d already made several inquiries to both you and the kids about humans and your culture, listening intently to every answer and explanation. He seemed to absorb everything he heard from everyone, and he was always eager to learn and help the other Autobots with even trivial things. 

Honestly, it was...refreshing. He was fresh meat, you could say, but you hadn’t realized just how exciting getting to know an alien could be - not to say that the others weren’t, just that they’d already had a basic understanding of the high points of human culture when you’d met them (no thanks to Agent Fowler, in all likelihood). You hadn’t had to explain the process of eating or sleeping or going to school to them (excluding the Satan's Waterfall Incident), but Smokescreen was a whole other ballpark. You’d worried he would have a processor crash when he’d asked why ‘those tiny round organics’ were so different, and were they related to you humans? Having to explain a human’s life cycle had never been on your list of ‘Things To Expect When Making Alien Friends’, but Ratchet had mercifully been there to help translate it into something comprehensible to the greenhorn Cybertronian. Luckily he hadn’t gone into the production of said ‘tiny round organics’. You weren’t looking forward to giving a being several hundred years older than you The Talk.

“I think he’s going to fit in well,” you said finally, looking back up and meeting the Prime’s gaze. “We’ll just need to catch him up on Earth stuff first.”

“Jack has made a good effort thus far,” Optimus said, “but Smokescreen still has much to learn of Earth and its inhabitants." He raised an optical ridge. "I have noticed you've been educating him on some things.”

You flushed. "Yeah, I, uh...he always comes to me with questions, for some reason. I'm not really the best person to go to for stuff like that but I try my best."

"You seem to do fine," Optimus told you. "He has come to me, as well, but it seems that he struggles keeping himself composed when in my presence."

You laughed a bit at that, easily perceiving the puzzlement in his tone. "Optimus, he worships the ground you walk on. You're his hero. I can understand why he'd get so flustered around you."

He blinked, optics rounding minutely. He genuinely looked surprised.

"What, did you think people don't admire you?" you asked, a dubious half-smile twisting your lips. "You're inspiring, and honest, and gentle...all of us respect you. It's hard to be as good of a person as you are and we all look up to you because of that. It's hard not to like you."

His optics brightened significantly and he looked away, engine rumbling quietly. He was obviously at a loss for words.

Humble, too, you thought with a soft smile. And entirely too cute.

You gave him time to recollect himself, continuing to take in the quiet, peaceful air around you. It struck you as odd, sometimes, how different things could change between night and day. You were actually chilled, where you'd be sunburnt and struggling for breath had the sun been out instead of the moon. You'd be able to see distant cars on the highway, but instead you could see the faint glow of Jasper City's lights on the horizon. It wasn't enough light pollution to harm the starfield above you, thankfully, and you began to pick out the constellations you knew of that you could see.

Sirius...Ursa Major...Ursa Minor... Your eyes lit upon a familiar row of three stars, and you grinned to yourself. Orion.

"Did you know we have a constellation called Orion?" you asked, glancing up towards the Prime next to you.

"I have heard of it," he responded, seeming to have finally regained his bearings. "Though I have never taken the time to find it myself."

"There," you said, pointing and directing his gaze towards the general vicinity of the formation. "Those three stars in a row. His body is kind of shaped like an hourglass, and his arm's above his head holding a club. See it?"

"...I do." He tilted his helm, seeming to take it in. "It has to do with Grecian mythology, does it not?"

"Yeah," you affirmed enthusiastically. "His full name is Orion the Hunter, and I think the Greeks considered Sirius to be his dog. He battled a bunch of monsters, including Scorpio, but...I don't really know much else." You looked back up to him. "Did your old name just happen to translate to Orion or was it the closest equivalent you could find?"

Optimus' optics lit up slightly at the question. You wondered if he enjoyed discussing languages or if he just liked answering questions in general. "My original name in Cybertronian stood for ‘hunter of peace’, or so I’ve been told. Orion Pax was the most basic translation that could be made.”

You smiled at the knowledge and, recalling the rumble of his native tongue from minutes earlier, you hesitated. “Could you...what does it sound like? In Cybertronian?”

“I spoke Iaconian before the war began, seeing as it was where I was placed after I was forged. I learned Cybertronian Standard after the war began, which became the normal method of communication to prevent misunderstanding.” He shifted minutely, resetting his vocalizer, before letting out a low trill of syllables overlaying each other in a smooth, pleasing roll. "That is my name, in Iaconian, and in a self-identifying context."

Your brows rose with interest. "Does that mean you have different dialects? And different meanings for the same word?"

Optimus' expression warmed. "There were many dialects before the war, but the provinces had their own primary languages. Standard was used for trade and political interactions. And yes, some words or phrases change slightly depending on who is saying them. For example, my name would sound slightly different if Ratchet were to say it as opposed to one of the others because of how long I have known him as my oldest friend." His optical ridges pinched slightly, mouth pursing in thought. "It is...difficult to explain. But Cybertronian is incredibly complex compared to many Earth languages."

"Well, that's probably because you have a different vocal range than we do," you supposed. "I...I heard you, earlier - I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything, believe me - and it's not like I could understand anything you were saying anyway," you amended hurriedly. "But I noticed you were using your engine to make sounds, too."

Optimus dipped his helm, optics glowing in praise. "That is a very astute observation. We use it for filler noises of varying sorts."

Relieved that he didn’t seem to have taken offense to your (half) accidental overhearing, you sagged with a soft sigh. You found it in yourself to smile up at him dorkily. “That’s so cool. There’s so much about your culture that I don’t know, and...” You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “It’s kind of overwhelming to think about. I mean, Earth has over seven thousand languages, not to account for all the people and cultures that speak them. Every country has their own dos and don’ts and there’s just so much for just one person to handle. We’re lucky if we can learn more than one or two languages.” You looked out towards the stars again, wondering if you could see Cybertron from so far away. “And then, to think about your planet, too, on top of that…”

He hummed softly. “...Part of what I enjoyed most about being an archivist,” Optimus rumbled, “was that I never stopped learning. There was always new information, or old data waiting to be discovered in the Hall. I was often teased by my coworkers for leaving late and coming early so I would have time to myself among the tomes and files.” You glanced up at him and saw that he, too, was gazing at the starfield stretched out above the both of you. “I...was devastated when Iacon fell, and further still when the Hall did. It felt as though the last vestiges of home - the last semblance of assurance and safety - were taken from me.” He was silent for a moment. “But coming to Earth has helped, in a way. There is still much to learn, and I’ve enjoyed reading what I can about your planet. It...fascinates me, how vastly different everything here is to Cybertron,” he admitted, his optics flashing faintly. “I enjoy being here, despite...despite our circumstances.”

What a nerd, you thought, stifling the creeping sense of sadness low in your belly. At least he didn’t hate his arguable prisonhouse. (You couldn’t say the same for the others, though - particularly Ratchet.)

“I know it’s unlikely that it’ll ever happen again,” you began slowly, tentatively. His optical ridges quirked in curiosity. “But I’d love to see Cybertron if I ever got the chance. You always make it sound so beautiful.”

Optimus, while he looked somewhat pleased with your confession, deflated visibly. “There isn’t much to see, I’m afraid,” he responded quietly. “According to Arcee, time has rendered it in a worse condition than we left it.”

“Still,” you were quick to rebut firmly, “it’s your home. Even if I could just see a snippet of it for myself, it’d be worth it.”

Optimus regarded you a long moment, optics shuttering in thought. Then, his mouth lifted the slightest of margins. “Should that ever happen, unum parvum, I will be the first to show you.”

Something in the way he rolled the ‘r’ in the distinctly foreign word gave you the impression it was Latin or of Latin descent, but you wouldn’t doubt it if it was some sort of Cybertronian word, either. And even though you didn’t remark upon it, for some reason it still flustered you. So, out of your head as you were, the first words that came to mind were the ones that left your lips (unfortunately). “It’s a date, then.”

As soon as you said it, you felt the bottom of your stomach drop out and your face was engulfed in invisible flame. Much to your shock (and relief), however, Optimus merely chuckled - actually chuckled, which - while you were delighted to hear it coming from him for once - didn’t help the butterflies in your stomach at all, dammit-

“...will be sure to keep it in mind, should Alpha Trion’s message hold merit,” he said.

You recalled the events that had happened not too long prior, how the Star Sabre had begun to glow an ethereal blue and, with it, Optimus’ optics. He hadn’t elaborated on it any further than what he’d already shared - the Omega Keys and the possibility of being able to restore Cybertron (at least, not with you or the kids).

Despite your tendency to let the Autobots’ private, important matters lie, you had to admit that you were extremely curious. It could mean the war as you and they knew it.

“What did he say?” you inquired.

Optimus’ mouth pursed and he seemed to consider his words, his digits twitching beside you minutely. “He gave me the information necessary for the acquisition and use of the Omega Keys, but shared little else.”

You narrowed your eyes. Something in the way his optics shifted when he spoke didn’t sit right with you, but you had no right to demand answers from him. You trusted him, and you wanted him to trust you, too - and that included knowing when to keep your mouth shut and your suspicions to yourself.

His shoulders dropped, though, cutting off any words you could’ve said. “It...troubles me,” he admitted, ex-venting heavily. “It seems there has been such little time since my...lapse in memory, and yet so many things have happened since. Time seems to be slipping from my grasp, and…” His digits twitched, as though on reflex. “...there’s little I can do to retrieve it. I have tried accessing the memory banks stored within the Matrix, but it seems that restoring my full memory until I forced Unicron back into stasis overwrote what I experienced on the Nemesis.” His expression pinched. “I would have been able to access the relics much sooner had I been able to remember.”

“Optimus…” You blinked, taken more than a little off-guard at how readily he’d cracked his armor open, even if it was only just a sliver enough to see into his inner thoughts. You just hoped you could offer something worth his time. “...I think in some ways it was for the best.”

That seemed to catch his attention, as his optics refocused on you almost instantly.

“I mean,” you started, your face warming, “I would rather you have a tiny gap in your memory over you not remembering anything at all. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if Jack hadn’t been able to access Vector Sigma in time? Or missed the opportunity to restore your old memory?” You rubbed at your arms, not wanting to dwell on the possibilities of what could have been. “Even if we had managed to have gotten you back without using the Key, I don’t know that things would’ve turned out the same.”

“Most definitely not,” he agreed.

“But…” You dipped your head, studying the sand beneath you. “Everything happens for a reason. We were still able to accomplish what we have since we got you back, and I feel like you’re still as strong as ever, even if you are missing a few memories.” You risked a glance up at him. “And, for what it’s worth...I’m just happy you’re okay, and there wasn’t any severe damage from expending that much energy. It could’ve turned out so much worse, and I think we were blessed to scrape by with such little trouble.”

“I didn’t have the impression that the time I was absent constituted as mere trouble,” he rumbled. His optical ridges were furrowed in worry. “You were all in danger, severely so, and I wasn’t there to…”

“Optimus,” you pressed gently. He fell silent, watching you attentively. You swallowed. “What’s done is done; what’s gone is past. You can’t dwell on what’s happened because even you can’t stop and alter time. As cool as you are.” You squeezed his digit in hopes of it being a comforting gesture. “Just focus on all the good things that have happened since then. We got a new Autobot, and we managed to get ahold of some of the relics. You got your memory back, and you’re home with us and not with the Decepticons.” You tilted your head slightly. “I think we’re blessed, despite the circumstances. I feel blessed.”

Optimus studied you for a long, long moment, optics shuttering and flickering as he thought intensively. After a while, he lifted his helm back up and studied the horizon once again, and you felt that that particular branch of the conversation was now closed. The air shifted, and you shifted closer to his leg in hopes of getting a little warmer.

Silence followed, peaceful and still. You studied the stars, picking out constellations you weren’t normally able to see due to sheer light pollution, even finding your zodiac sign among the glittering expanse at one point. But even though you’d seen his tight expression ease somewhat after you’d finished talking, Optimus still seemed...off. Absent, maybe. Distant. His optics were dull, unfocused, and dimmed. His demeanor was not his usual careful neutrality. Instead, he just seemed...empty. And it worried you.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, sincerely. He blinked, optics brightening somewhat as he turned his helm to gaze down at you. “You still seem…” You pondered on the right word, nibbling the inside of your cheek before settling on the simplest word that came to mind. “...troubled.”

Optimus remained silent, gaze unwavering. He only returned his optics to the horizon before you both, still oddly emotionless. You began to worry for him in earnest, apprehension bubbling low in your stomach, before his digits clenched minutely on the sandy earth beneath you. In a voice softer than you had ever heard from him, he murmured, “In all the centuries that this war has stretched its hand into, this day remains to be one of the worst that I have known.”

You blinked in surprise, not having expected anything quite like that. You didn’t know what to say, wondering if it had to do with the events in the past week - Smokescreen arriving, the Star Sabre. Maybe it had to do something with Alpha Trion’s message? You’d never heard such plaintive despondency in his normally soothing rumble. It caused sadness to reverberate through your body in an instinctive, sympathetic response.

Optimus, fortunately, did not discontinue his train of thought in lieu of your lack of a reply. “There have been immeasurable losses on both sides,” he continued, softer still. His optics were distant again, unseeing. “So many lost to the tides of bloodshed and hatred - enemies and friends alike. Family.” His helm dipped minutely, the light in his optics fading until you could scarcely make out their glow in the dark. “Inamorata.”

Never before had you heard that particular word, nor were you certain it was even English, but something in the way he said it - the enunciation, the tone, how it left his glossa and lip plating - struck you as deeply intimate and plainly implicative of its only possible meaning.

You lowered your eyes to the hem of your shirt, plucking at the cloth and thread stitching. “I didn’t know you...I didn’t…” You bit your lip. “I...I’m so, so sorry, Optimus.”

He fell silent for a long time, and you were too saddened to risk seeing his expression. You could feel it in your gut - saying the wrong thing, or doing the most minor action could tip this over the edge and result in more hurt than good. Better to let him address it than risk you bungling it up with your...self.

“Your sentiment is greatly appreciated,” he said finally, genuine and quiet. “More than you know.”

You finally plucked up the courage to look at him, and found that his optics had regained some of their normal light. His face was drawn, though. Restrained. As though grasping at his self-control more than he usually did.

You suddenly felt very, very small in comparison to the massive servo resting on the ground between you and his seated form, the long, flat digits dragging shallow but broad furrows into the dirt.

“What was she like?” you asked finally, not knowing what else to say. You almost regretted speaking as soon as the words had left your mouth at the resulting ex-vent that left his frame and washed over your body. You shuddered at the warmth of it, your flesh prickling at the sharp contrast against the cool night air.

You almost didn’t expect him to answer your half-hearted attempt to divert the conversation away from the obviously traumatizing event he’d probably been dwelling on, but he tilted his helm back and focused his gaze on the stars twinkling silently above the both of you.

“She was...everything.” He paused a long moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. “She was brilliant, and bright, and always had an anecdote to offer. She always seemed to smile, no matter the situation.” His optics dimmed suddenly, optical ridges lowering minutely. “I found that she was also a fierce and dedicated warrior when needed.”

You clasped your hands loosely around your arms to fight against the chill of the night seeping into your flesh, studying his demeanor and movements. You’d never thought that Optimus would’ve had someone, even before the war, but now that thought just made you feel ridiculous. Of course Optimus’d had someone - who wouldn’t have wanted him?

“How did you meet?” you asked, trying to fight against the sudden tightness in your throat. “Was it still when you were an archivist?”

You didn’t expect him to respond as quickly and as easily as he did. “Yes. Though it was through rather...unsavory means,” he said slowly. His optics perked back up, however, and you could see the faintest suggestion of a smile softening the lines that had appeared from his frown. “She was a scientist, a naturalist, and a part of a group that was attempting to defend the natural flora and fauna of Cybertron, long before the war when the Council was attempting to expand the cities and populated areas to accommodate for newbuilds. They were protesting outside the Hall, and I was sent by my peers to settle them down and attempt to dissuade them from loitering. They claimed I was the most capable mediator and peacemaker, but I suspect that they simply didn’t wish to deal with the issue themselves.”

“Coworkers,” you remarked.

“Indeed,” he agreed lightly. “When I emerged from the Hall, they were already agitated by a few enforcers trying to get them to leave. I attempted to calm both sides, but someone threw a rather sizeable waste bin at one of the enforcers and struck me accidentally. I woke in the hospital where Ratchet worked, and there was a rather irate femme arguing with him.” Optimus nearly smiled, nearly revealed his denta, and his optics were borderline sparkling. “That was my Ariel.”

Never before had you seen Optimus with such an open expression. No longer was he hiding his inward self under layers and layers of armor and formality and restraint; there weren’t any subtle cracks in his demeanor to hint at what was going on in that helm of his. He feelings were laid bare, open and plain as day to see, and it was something you were struggling to comprehend. And it was nothing like you’d ever been able to draw from him.

“She apologized, once she realized I had come back online,” he continued, seeming not to notice your shell-shocked stare. “Ratchet began to lecture her, but I dissuaded him. It didn’t seem that it had been intentional, though I did admonish her for attempting to harm an enforcer. She claimed she’d simply been attempting to get them to leave.” He tilted his helm back, gazing upwards. “After that, she would visit the Hall occasionally. We discussed our respective fields of study, and she was dedicated to her cause unlike any naturalist I had met. She was fiercely intelligent, witty, and wouldn’t hesitate to let one know exactly what was on her mind.” His digits gripped the ground slightly, as though looking for purchase. “She was the most beautiful femme I’d ever met in my life.”

You pursed your lips, wringing your hands before settling them on your lap in tight fists. “Sounds like she was good for you.”

“It took a long time to build a friendship,” he murmured. “We were similar in some ways, strikingly different in others. But some things are best built gradually.” He looked down to you, catching your eyes. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You hesitated, biting the inside of your lip fiercely. You tried to quash the low simmer of emotion in your belly, doing your best to offer him a smile. “I do.”

Optimus’ expression shifted minutely, softening, and he released the ground before curling his digits around you carefully. The warmth seeped from his servo into your chilled flesh and you leaned against the firm metal gratefully. Your face warmed with a mixture of shame and puzzlement. There was a knot low in your belly, but you couldn’t determine the cause.

“It sounds like she made you really happy,” you murmured, half to yourself. Optimus hummed quietly.

“We became conjunx endurae shortly before the war began,” he rumbled, a mite more somber. “Sparkmates, I believe is the term you’re more familiar with. A more intimate equivalent to a spouse.” His thumb pressed into the flat of your back, nearly engulfing you, and he began to rub small circles between your shoulder blades that seem half-minded. “She took on the name Elita One when I became Prime. I...I lost her the same day we fled Cybertron. She didn’t make it to the spacecraft in time. She was defending a medical envoy attempting to flee off-world.” When you looked up in concern at the drop in his voice, you saw him grimace and press his other servo to his windshield plating, the faint echoes of pain plainly written on his face. “I felt it, before the reports ever came in. The feeling of my spark being severed from hers, shrinking and dying...it was the worst thing I have ever experienced. Worse than...worse than anything, in all of the war.”

That was something that had never occurred to you before, as obvious as it was. Ratchet had explained the concept of sparkmates to you briefly at your curiosity, and you’d been enraptured by the idea that two mechanical beings with such a unique core as a spark would combine them and, essentially, give pieces of themselves to each other. Over time, the sparks would gradually grow into each other until, potentially, they would be nigh indistinguishable from each the other. But you’d never thought about what would happen if one passed before the other. Ratchet had stated that if sparkmates had been bonded for a long enough time and one of them passed prematurely, it could endanger the surviving spark and potentially drag it down with it.

But here Optimus sat, and that in itself was an assurance that he’d come out of it mostly all right. Physically, at least. The emotion was palpable in his voice, the air felt unbearably heavy around you. His optics had dimmed and his servo was still pressed tightly to his chassis. You wondered if it felt like ghost pains - like when someone lost a limb and their brain still tried convincing them it was there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because you honestly didn’t know what else to say. You’d never experienced anything quite like that, couldn’t offer any advice or true sympathies - this was one thing that you couldn’t help him with, but...a part of you was grateful (and more than a little humbled) that he’d still decided that he trusted you enough to share his pain, no matter how old and scarred over, with you of all people.

Optimus seemed to withdraw from his inner thoughts, optics shuttering as they refocused on you. He dropped his other servo to rest on his thigh, the flat of his thumb dropping to the small of your back.

“It was a long, long time ago,” he responded finally, voice more even than it had been. Still, you didn’t miss the lingering, subdued inflection. “It has become...bearable. But…” The corners of his mouth upturned, just so, and you felt an odd, warm prickle - something like static - brush against the back of your neck. It made you shiver. “...being here helps more than one might would think. And...you…” He paused, thoughtful. He dipped his helm. “...you have shown me that it would do no harm to take time to myself, to reflect and decompress, and...I owe you deeply for that. I had forgotten how.” His optics glowed with the smile he would not outwardly show. “You’ve reminded me how to meditate on the past without dwelling on it, when I thought I had lost all meaning of it. Thank you.”

Your face felt as though it were on fire. You floundered for words, mouth dropping open and closing several times before you settled on clenching your teeth together and clutching your shirt for dear life. “I…” You swallowed. “...you’re welcome,” you managed feebly.

Optimus’ engine rumbled, the sound comforting in and of itself, and he returned his gaze to the stars again. You let out a soft exhale, shifting to slump against the solid curve of his thigh. He adjusted his servo accordingly, draping it lightly over your frame to protect you from the chill. You closed your eyes, resting your cheek against the cold metal.

Something occurred to you, silly in that you hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“...You were talking to her, weren’t you?” you murmured.

Optimus was quiet for a while, but you weren’t particularly looking for a verbal answer - his silence was answer enough.

You heard him ex-vent, felt the air shift slightly. His digits tightened over your form minutely. “...I still feel I carry a part of her with me, despite her undoubtedly being one with the Allspark,” he explained softly. “It...helps. Death is a distance unlike any other. Today’s date is...it is when I lost her. When we left Cybertron.”

Nibbling the inside of your lip, you peeked up at him. “You must miss her a lot.”

“I do. But I have accepted it. Perhaps one day I will see her again.” He dropped his helm, gazing down into the desert below the mesa. “I...do not possess supernatural beliefs, despite my ties with Primus. But she made a promise to stay with me, once, before the war began, should she ever be parted from me prematurely.” He let out a quick ex-vent that could’ve been a half of a chuckle. “There have been myths of lingering sparks, that those departed would resist the pull of the Allspark and continue to watch over those they care for, though they are believed to be just that. Rumors of seeing shadows of frames out of the corner of one’s optic, or flashes of light that some believed to be sparks have even been recorded in ancient texts - but science as we know it has proved it to be impossible. Still, I…”

He trailed off, if not a little uncertain, and your expression softened. You tried offering him a wry smile. “That sounds like will-o-the-wisps,” you remarked.

Optimus raised a curious optical ridge.

“It’s an old English myth,” You explained. “A lot of people believed that they were spirits of the dead lingering around to guide people - whether it was to good or bad places depended on different interpretations. But they’re actually just little sparks of discharge in the air.” You shrugged, contemplative. “It’s interesting that we have a similar concept of it.”

The Prime hummed in agreement. “Yet another instance where our culture seems to have passed itself off to yours through time.” He paused. “...Sometimes I feel as though she has been with me. Moments on the cusp of recharge, or overwhelmed in a battlefield. I refuse to believe that she is truly gone.”

“That comes with having faith, I guess,” you murmured, chewing your lip. “Optimus?”

“Yes?”

“You know it’s…” You pressed a hand to his palm, wondering if you should say it. You decided that being plain wouldn’t hurt, just this once. “...it’s okay to grieve, Optimus. No one would be able to hold it against you to mourn for your wife.”

Optimus stared, mouth opened slightly. He went to speak, hesitated, stopped. Then ex-vented shakily. “Perhaps in a different context. But...I am a Prime, the leader of the...I cannot…” He shook his helm, mouth thinning. “I cannot afford to leave those under my command at risk because of personal distractions.”

You blinked, brows rising. “Elita wasn’t a distraction - she was part of you, Optimus,” you told him, as though he needed to be reminded. “She was ripped away from you and they expected you to go on like nothing happened?”

He dropped his helm, tilting it away from you. His optics closed, tightly. “Others who had been bonded far longer than I lost their sparkmates,” he said softly.

“That doesn’t matter,” you persisted, sitting up on your knees and propping yourself on his leg. “You lost the love of your life, and you had to bottle it up, just...just because you were ‘obligated’ to a war you didn’t start. That’s bullshit.”

The armor along his shoulders drooped, tightening against his frame as he cracked his optics open enough to peek down at you. Your heart clenched when you realized he looked confused.

You fumbled for words, opening and closing your mouth fruitlessly. The silence was tense, heavy, and you felt as though you could cut it with a knife.

Finally, you gave him as gentle a look as you could possibly make. And, softly, you said, “You deserve to be taken care of, too, Optimus.”

He looked stricken, wordless as his gaze shifted back towards the desert beyond the mesa. The corners of his optics tensed, his mouth twitching downward. He looked so, so sad, and...it hurt every part of you.

A brief silence. Then Optimus rumbled your name. “...may I ask you a question?”

“Yeah,” you answered softly, closing your eyes and dropping your head.

“How do you do it?”

You frowned. “...Do what?”

“Present yourself with such sincerity. Openness.” The flats of his digits pressed into your front faintly. “You make it seem easy.”

You blushed, turned your head downward. You smoothed your hand over his palm. “I know that if I expect vulnerability from people, I should show myself vulnerable. The same applies to friendliness. Making meaningful connections with people means making compromises, even at the expense of comfort and privacy sometimes.”

Optimus hummed quietly, sounding pensive. You heard his vents hitch briefly, before air gushed from his sides. Your name was low on his lips. “...Would you...assist me in being more vulnerable?”

Your eyes shot open and you lifted your head to stare at him. He met your gaze, optics dim and expression tentative. Then a slow, soft smile wormed its way onto your face.

“You already are,” you told him gently.

He blinked slowly, optical ridges rising faintly, before his mouth lifted just so. “...In that case, I...I owe you thanks.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” you responded, shaking your head.

“You had everything to do with it.” His thumb pressed into your back, a pleasant pressure that cemented his looming presence. “You have shown yourself vulnerable, and...in doing so, reminded me how to be.”

You opened your mouth. You closed it. Opened it again, voice weak. “You can’t use my words against me, Optimus - that’s not fair.”

He chuckled. Honest-to-God chuckled. You felt your heart swell.

“Perhaps,” he responded finally. “Or perhaps I appreciate your thoughts more than you realize.”

You tried offering him a noncommittal shrug, face burning. “Yeah, well, give me credit in your book of memoirs when all this blows over.”

Another chuckle, a little louder and a little longer. “I will certainly remember to do so.”

He paused when you yawned softly, trying to conceal the gaping maw of your mouth by clamping a hand over it. When you glanced up at him, mildly embarrassed, his expression was warm with what you’d dare to say as fondness.

“...You remind me of her, at times,” he told you softly.

You heart jumpstarted. “I...I do…?”

He dipped his helm minutely. “You share similar mannerisms, and you seem to have her innate ability to analyze information and offer the best advice. You have her fire, on occasion, as well,” he chuckled. “But at your core, you have a gentle soul, as she did. It comforts me to see that trait remain in people despite everything I’ve endured. Despite everything that has happened to you.” He paused, regarding your dumbfounded expression, then seemed to become a mite sheepish. “But that isn’t to say you aren’t unique to yourself. You are quite unlike any human I have had the privilege to interact with on a personal level.”

“...’Quite unlike’ good or ‘quite unlike’ bad?” you asked, quirking a brow and trying to smile wryly.

He lifted an optical ridge as well, the corner of his mouth turning upward minutely. “I believe you needn’t my say in it - you are aware of what lies within you better than I.”

You tried rubbing the flush out of your cheeks. “Thanks, Optimus.”

He hummed quietly, stroking a slow circle into the flat of your back. Then he turned his servo over in the sand when you yawned again. “I believe it is time for you to rest,” he told you gently.

“Try to, anyway,” you mumbled, but you crawled into his palm anyway. He curled his fingers around you and you grasped his thumb for support as he cradled you close to his chassis and slowly, carefully righted himself to his feet. Your stomach flip flopped for an entirely different reason then, peering between his flat digits towards the ground that was suddenly very, very far down. Despite this, however, and despite the instinctual fear thrumming beneath your flesh, you knew you were safe. Optimus had never and would never drop you.

But instead of heading for the elevator like you’d expected, he instead stepped closer to the edge of the mesa. You gulped when he lifted his servo and tilted it so you slid slowly against the massive column of his neck. You grappled onto a plate that descended towards his windshields, blinking up at him with your heart rising in your throat. Optimus crouched, turned, and lowered a pede towards one of the small shelves of rock beneath him.

“Optimus?” you pressed, voice hitching into a higher octave as the desert stretched out below you both. “What - what are you doing?”

Optimus hummed, frustratingly soothing. “The elevator is too loud for use at night.”

“So you climb a cliff?” you squeaked, his frame dropping with a slow but inevitable descent and leaving your heart in the roof of your mouth.

“It is something I’ve always enjoyed,” he shared calmly. There was a feline-like quality to his movements, well practiced and assured. Still, it was obvious he was being more cautious - probably on account of you. “I must admit that I climbed many a building I shouldn’t have in my youth.”

“You? Breaking the law?” you said, relaxed just enough to focus on him instead of the ground below you. “Scandalous. What would the others think?”

“I fractured my frame once,” he remarked absently, shaking his helm. “I went to Ratchet for help.” He paused, looked down past you, and his optical ridges furrowed as he considered the available footholds. He steered to the left instead, then took another step downward. “I did not make that mistake again.”

You laughed. “What, falling or going to Ratchet?”

The corners of his mouth lifted, but he did not specify. You laughed again, trying to smother it with your hand. His chassis thrummed and, slowly, he continued to descend the mesa’s side. You peered over his shoulders towards the stars to distract yourself, curling into him as best you could. You both lapsed into a comfortable silence, his optical ridges drawing together in concentration as his optics shuttered and contracting as he focused on his every movement.

It didn’t seem long before he paused, reached up to drape a servo over you protectively, and pushed himself off and away from the mesa. You squeaked as he fell, your stomach jumping into your throat - he landed with a jarring crash, though he allowed his knees to buckle to absorb the impact. You felt woozy, but climbed up onto his shoulder proper as he walked in through the hidden entrance and crept down the corridor with astounding near-silence. You smothered a yawn as he emerged into the hanger, staying close to the edge of the room and lifting a servo for you to climb onto. He lowered you to the ground, and you stumbled on weakened legs before righting yourself. You smiled up at him, hoping you had helped him in some way, to some degree.

The warm glow in his optics and the faint smile on his faceplate told you that you’d succeeded.

You patted his pede quietly. “Goodnight, Optimus. Sleep well.”

“And you as well.”

He stood there as you lingered, hesitating, as you padded across the hanger and returning to your cot. Smokescreen had flipped over at some point, somehow not managing to crush his doorwings in the process, Jack’s mouth was wide open as he drooled, Raf was curled into an unidentifiable ball underneath his blankets, and Miko had lost hers completely, sprawled out like a corpse at a crime scene.

You chuckled to yourself, settling back down and slipping under the blankets with a soft sigh. They were pleasantly cool against your skin, and the cot felt softer than it had before. Maybe it was because you were more tired.

As you pulled the covers over your chest and adjusted your pillow, you cast a look towards the three story metal sentinel in the corner, his optics beacons of light like those fabled wisps of old, silent and waiting. On a whim, you gave him a little wave, offering a shaky smile. You saw the slightest hint of denta before he lifted his servo and returned the gesture before stealing his way into the hall and out of sight like a shadow.

You were glad, because if he’d stayed much longer he would’ve seen how you slowly buried your face into your pillow and wept quietly for him, for everything that had happened to him, for what he’d had to endure for so long without being able to reach out. For the spark-deep weariness that seemed incurable. For the war.

For Elita.

And because part of him would always belong to her.

[zorangezest]

soundwave knows what you are

[mawvax]

watched transformers: one and it was so good it made me draw again. Even my sibling who isn't into tf loved it. i need transformers: two IMMEDIATELY.

some spoiler art below v

Please for the love of everything that has ever existed... watch the movie and support it in cinemas or streaming - wherever - so that we have a trilogy . . .

Future meet Past

THAT scene k i l l e d me. I was in pieces when megatron was born. Completely rocked my world. God I'm so happy to be alive to witness this movie and this breakup again and again in different continuities.

Edit: the “selfish and reckless” line is intended to be Optimus blaming himself for D-16’s drastic change - it’s how I imagine Optimus rationalising how things became so wrong. Sorry for the confusion!

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

tfone humanformers headcannons

[lui-the-cute-snek]

He still has some adjusting to do :)

[ultramaggy-archives]

the angle we didn't get to see. very ✨shiny.✨

[hira492]

"And I need you to know that we're falling so fast We're falling like the stars Falling in love"

I swear sometimes the way they look at each other-

[dxkjf]

Elita please he's trying his best :[

[dorkicon]

bakes my nemesis into a cookie because i miss him :^(

[butterfriedcircuits]

based off my friend's commentary whilst watching the 'Orion Pax' arc of Transformers Prime:

"I'm sorry, but if i woke up from a million year 'coma' and you asked me to call you 'LORD'... you need humbling'

edit: friend is @machinatings <3 they are slowly watching transformers

[0wldn0]

Can't wait for Transformers One!!! They keep me going fr...

[fjordline]

[feild-null]

More people need to remember Hearts of Steel

Like seriously these designs are so cool. It’s such a silly concept but it’s done so well, the aesthetic and lore are just too cool

[yuukirita]

Jazz and Arcee ship it

Also you can tots imagine Optimus bend down to talk to people cuz he's not used to being tall. That and he prob keeps hitting his head on things.

[avastazyana]

5 times D didn't mean it and one time he did.

[flayyr]

how you covet the scorn of the eye of god