#orion x megatronus

[spreadwardiard]

More than Affection

Death had a single mission in the living realm: to find a Champion worthy of bearing the Matrix of Leadership so that they may restore the proper balance of their world. He did not understand mortals, nor their emotions, despite how much he cared for them, and so was left awed and confused when his spark began to react unusually to the one he had chosen as his champion.

Based off my friend @lets-try-some-writing's fantastic AU: Death's Embrace: Part 1 and Part 2. Please read these first as they give so much context to what is going on in this AU.

Orion Pax, the Thirteenth Prime, the walker of the void between the living and the dead, the ferry of sparks to their Father's loving embrace, the manifestation of all that death was, was a wise mech in many ways, but there were so many things about the children of Primus he had yet to understand. Just when he thought he had it all figured out, that he understood the living children as well as he needed to; his chosen champion of change flipped his understanding entirely on its helm.  He had missed the exact moment that Megatronus of Kaon ceased to find him unnerving, but he had not missed when his champion's affections turned to something… foreign and unidentifiable. 

This new feeling that radiated from Megatronus’ very spark whenever he was near came upon him without warning one evening when he had come to the Champion with notice of an imminent raid. He had, in his usual fashion, emerged from the void in the shadows behind the champion, who had been hunched over his desk, composing what Orion assumed was his next speech. Orion had thought nothing of it when he leaned over with his palm braced upon Megatronus’s shoulder and whispered in his audial, “Prepare yourself, my Champion. The enemies of our order have come to destroy us. Their wrath knows no bounds, and carried by command, they shall have no mercy. Flee while you can champion, take your followers, for they are coming."

Megatronus had not reacted the way he had expected him to at the news. His chosen Champion was prone to act with haste and righteous fury, yet the emotions that came from his spark were unknown to the walker of the voids. Affection, he understood, and there was a strong undercurrent of that familiar emotion underneath this strange feeling that Megatronus was refusing to allow through his EMs. Another oddity, Megatronus was not one to shield others from the truths of his emotions unless it somehow benefited him to do so, and Orion could think of no benefit to obscuring any form of affection for one’s companions.

Megatronus had then asked him a question he had never asked before; “When will I see you again?” 

Megatronus had acted so entirely out of character throughout the encounter that Orion almost feared something catastrophic had already happened. There had been a strange melancholy tinting that question that he could not quite interpret, but knew that it was directed towards himself. It made no sense to him why, when Megatronus’ main concern should have been to alert Soundwave of this new information and flee. 

His chosen champion’s odd behaviors around him only seemed to increase from that point forward. Those who had taken heed of his warning and fled alongside the Champion had sought refuge deep in the abandoned mines of Kaon, where no light from the nearest star could reach. He had paused after he had stepped from the void. Lingering in the shadows, he observed the forlorn look upon Megatronus’ face and a strange, twisting unease in his spark that he covered with a veil of false confidence. 

Glancing around all the bots collected in this shaft, Orion could not understand why. Everyone of note had been present, and even many of those Orion had yet to acquaint himself with were there. Soundwave had been at ease with the situation, and none of the others appeared to be nearly as concerned as their leader. It was… odd… 

What was even odder was how Megatronus had responded to him when he finally stepped out of the shadows to stand at his side. Instead of his usual greeting, Megatronus had taken him by the wrists and examined his frame as if he were expecting him to be damaged, and only after he was satisfied that Orion was perfectly intact did that strange unease in him die down, to be replaced by such a strong wave of relief that it had stunned the walker of the void.

His chosen champion had never examined him in such a manner before, nor had he ever embraced him in the manner he had afterwards. He had been pulled flush against the champion and held tightly against his warm chassis. Megatronus had held him there until his relief shifted into that same, mysterious emotion from before, only this time, a bit more open in its presentation. Megatronus did not seek to hide nearly as much of this strange… ‘more-than-affection’ feeling from him as he had their previous encounter. 

Orion did not understand any of it, but the warmth he experienced while being embraced lingered far longer than he had expected it to, and he found himself often recalling how pleasant it had felt to be enveloped in his Champion’s arms. However, Megatronus did not embrace him upon his next visit, and Orion had been disappointed in that fact, though he did not recognize his disappointment until he had returned to the void, feeling colder than normal.

The odd behaviors and feelings continued. It became quite common for the Champion of Kaon to rest his servo upon Orion’s shoulder; a gesture that Orion reciprocated eagerly, often accompanied by a gentle smile or curious tilt of his helm. Though foreign to him, the progression of his champion’s strange, shifting affections felt natural and satisfying in a way he could not describe.

It did not feel especially strange when Megatronus took his servo for the first time, one evening, as they sat together in the dark, speaking of nothing of consequence; though it was strange to him why Megatronus had been so nervous before he had done so. But his champion had eased as soon as Orion had shifted his digits, to allow them to intertwine with those of his champion. Megatronus had held his servo until Orion had felt drawn to return to the void, where he swore the warmth of Megatronus’ touch had lingered even as he ushered the latest wave of Primus’ children back to his loving embrace. 

For reasons he did not entirely understand, he had found himself visiting his champion more frequently, and staying late into the recharge cycle. Some cycles, they discussed their revolution and their various plans regarding their upcoming moves. Such conversations were not especially noteworthy. 

But there was one night that Orion still could not shake out of his helm; where Megatronus had looked directly into his optics and recited a piece of poetry about a captivating Archivist from Iacon, who’s optics were so enchanting that he wished he could peer into them forever and who’s derma he’s dreamed of feeling against his own. It was the most emotionally raw and vulnerable he had ever seen the champion, or anyone for that matter, at least in person, and it had left him forgetting to vent entirely until Megatronus had finished the piece. By the time he had remembered he needed to vent to appear living, something strange was churning in his own spark, bubbling up along with his already present affections in a confusing jumble of feelings he did not comprehend. He had been rendered speechless by the poem, and had resorted to reaching out to take Megatronus’ servo into his own and squeezing it tightly to show his approval. 

It was not long after that, that Megatronus had begun to sense his presence, even before he materialized from the void. He was uncertain by which mechanism Megatronus employed to detect him, but it became noteworthy when he arrived one evening to find the champion and his most trusted mechs seated around a table, upon which was a map, discussing their upcoming plans. Orion heard the voice of his champion even before he had begun to materialize his frame in the shadows.

“You need to move.” Megatronus had interrupted whoever was speaking with a firm order, and the room had gone eerily silent at the sudden shift in tone. 

“What? Why?” The confusion had been as evident in the mech’s voice as his disappointment had been. Clearly he had been excited to have a seat beside the Champion of Kaon. 

“That seat is taken. Get up, or I’ll make you get up.” It had been that moment that Orion had stepped out of the shadows and every set of optics in the room rested upon him. He had regarded them all curiously, unsure of what exactly it was he had been sensing from them as he had silently made his way to Megatronus’ side. It had been then that Megatronus had shoved the mech beside him forcefully from his seat and offered it to Orion.

When he took the mech’s place at Megatronus’ right, his Champion saw fit to lace together their digits, and place their joined servos on the table for all to see. Orion saw no reason to withdraw, and so had simply enjoyed the warmth seeping in from his champion’s palm and the strange sensations that very warmth sent to his spark. It mattered little to him that so many stared at them in silent recognition of some unspoken declaration that only Orion seemed unaware of. Megatronus had flawlessly picked up the conversation where he had interrupted it as the mech he had removed from his side took a seat at the opposite end of the table. 

Truthfully, Orion could not recall any of the specific details of that particular meeting. He had been too focused on trying to interpret the jumbled emotions welling up in his spark, that same “more-than-affection” that he sensed from his champion, though he still could not decipher the meaning of it. He knew that he found the sensations agreeable, pleasurable, even, and he knew that he wished to seek out more of this strange feeling that he could not call by name that only Megatronus seemed capable of making him feel. 

When Megatronus first placed his servo upon his waist, the warmth that radiated from his touch had seeped so deeply into him that his very spark could feel its comfort; and when his champion tugged him gently against his side, Orion eagerly leaned into the warmth that spilled into him at each point their frames touched. 

None of it made sense to him; the feelings, the newfound desire for warmth, the strange behaviors that had now become anticipated and comforting... He enjoyed when Megatronus touched him, though he did not know why it felt so different from the touch of any other mech. He found himself, somewhere along the way, almost craving the warmth that Megatronus provided him with his touches, and actively began seeking it out, sometimes even finding himself tucked against the champion’s side before being prompted. 

Megatronus stopped attempting to hide this strange feeling with his EMs entirely after Orion had materialized at the foot of his berth late one recharge cycle after leading home the latest batch of sparks, waking the champion with just a single request on his glossa. “I wish to bask in the warmth of my champion’s embrace.” 

Megatronus wordlessly invited him into his berth by lifting his arm and once Orion had climbed in beside him, he was pulled snugly to the champion's chassis, held firm, back struts flush against the champion's frame where the most wonderful warmth emanating from Megatronus seeped into him, soothing in him discomforts he had not even been aware he had felt at all. Megatronus’ mighty arm held him firmly in place, and similarly, Orion’s grip on his champion's servo, where he had intertwined their digits, only further served to anchor the two of them together. 

Orion spent many recharge cycles lying in the champion’s berth, secure in a warm embrace. It gave him joors upon joors to think and attempt to dissect the strange ways that Megatronus had affected him since he had detected that shift in the champion’s emotions. Never before had he been content to simply lie in place when there were so many things he should be observing and tending to with his free time. But this new emotion in his spark grew heavy and manifested as a persistent desire that gnawed at him to return to the comfort of his champion’s side the longer he stayed away, and he had found that these periods of rest somehow eased that strange… almost pain he came to expect from separation. 

And when they were together… It mattered not whether they were lying in berth or standing side by side, Orion found his artificial venting matching that of his champion’s vent for vent, and it was becoming more and more common for the entire universe to melt away in his awareness when the champion addressed him, and when Megatronus drew him close and looked into his optics his spark would pulse so strongly that he feared it would break free of the frame he had constructed around himself.  He would have been frightened by the intensity of the feeling had he not been aware that his champion felt exactly the same way, and was not concerned. 

For all the eons that he had walked the void, he had never felt anything remotely close to this. It was unfathomable to him. He could pick out individual aspects of this larger emotion; such as affection, anticipation, fondness, security and excitement; however these were only small facets of the massive new emotion that had taken root in his spark. When he tried to analyze them all together it simply became a too large and confusing to comprehend, especially if he attempted to factor in how not just his own behaviors had been altered so drastically due to this emotion, but his champion’s as well

He understood that Megatronus had become important to him, more so than any other who walked the living realm, but it had nothing to do with the quest he had sent his champion on and everything to do with how the champion made him feel. Like he was… wanted; like his presence was enjoyed. Something he had never cared about before.

 His last encounter with Megatronus had resulted in the most tempestuous reaction in his spark yet. The bulk of the visit was relatively unnoteworthy. Mechs were packing up their camp in the mine shaft to relocate to a safe house in Tarn. Once again, Megatronus covered his anxieties with false confidence as he directed his flock and collected his own belongings. Orion assisted him in packing and when he had felt the call to return to the void, Megatronus stopped him from stepping into the shadows with a quick, desperate grasp to his wrist.

Megatronus pulled Orion gently back towards him and drew him into a tender embrace. Orion leaned into the warmth provided by his champion, his optics shuddering offline almost on instinct as he rested helm upon his shoulder, his face nuzzled into the crook of Megatronus’ neck, content to feel his claws drawing soothing circles on the plating of his lower back. He could spare a few more kliks…. 

He was just about to regretfully pull away from the embrace when he felt Megatronus lightly touch the side of his digit to his chin, in a gentle, unspoken, request. He allowed Megatronus to guide his helm, and when their optics met, Orion’s spark twisted in a strange anticipation at the look he was receiving. His champion looked… nervous, unsure, like he wanted to say something, but underneath it, he felt a strange yearning emanating from the him that Orion couldn’t interpret. Megatronus’ shifted his touch, from Orion’s chin to cup the side of his helm and Orion instinctively nuzzled into the warmth of his champion’s palm and let his optics fall closed as that confusing, yet pleasant jumble of emotions swirled around in his spark. 

And then, without warning, time entirely stopped as he felt Megatronus’  hesitantly press together their derma. He froze stiff as that feeling in his spark suddenly detonated with what felt like the power of a super nova. It surged through him like lightning, and each gentle movement of his champion’s warm derma against his own only sent more fuel to power the fire burning in his spark.  It was nearly overwhelming. He didn’t know what to do, how to respond, or what he was feeling. The only thing even remotely comparable had been the overwhelming understanding that had struck him when his purpose had become known to him. Only this… this was new, it was wonderful; exciting! He’d never felt so…. Alive. He wished it would never end. 

Megatronus pulled away suddenly his field felt off, and instantly Orion felt nearly frantic as awareness snapped back into place abruptly. His servos shot up with urgency and caught the champion by his helm to keep him from retreating any further. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready for it to be over, and Megatronus was upset by something he must have done incorrectly.  When Megatronus’ confusion seeped into his field atop the dejection he was trying to cover up, Orion gently guided his champion back to him, where he clumsily pressed their derma together once more. 

As if he had flipped a switch, his champion surged with confidence as he crushed Orion tightly to his frame, and Orion’s spark soared. The first kiss had been a gentle, almost innocent  brushing of derma, but the second… Megatronus kissed him as if he were starving; hot and passionate, with dentae and glossa. Orion did his best to keep up, tried to mimic and match Megatronus’ technique but he could barely focus over the way his champion had him entirely enveloped in his field, drowning him in the intensity of their combined sentiments. Megatronus seemed to care little that Orion was inexperienced and clumsy, merely chuckling when Orion accidentally clanged their dentae together. He simply had taken charge and kissed Orion until his processors were nearly scrambled with how fiercely it had his spark pulsing with that emotion he could not name. 

When Megatronus pulled away the second time, he was venting heavily, as if he had just come from battle.  He pressed the crests of their helms together gently and this time, Orion was at peace with their separation, his spark thrumming with contentment at their closeness.

“Orion… I-” But the champion cut himself off, though Orion did not know why. It caused him to tilt his helm, in curiosity, as he could tell that whatever Megatronus had wanted to say was of great importance to him. But he had simply smiled, in a melancholy sort of way as he loosened his grip, allowing Orion the space to pull away from him, if he chose to do so. and asked, in a forlorn tone, “When will I see you again?” 

Orion finally understood that Megatronus must have suffered that same… almost painful sensation that he did when they were separated; the one that gnawed at him with memories of warmth and touch and that… feeling in his spark that made him ache to return to his side. He let one of his servos fall from his champion’s helm, to lace together their digits, in the manner he had grown to find comforting.  “I shall return to your side once I have restored those lost and wandering to their eternal sanctum of rest.”

Megatronus’ seemed to find reassurance in his answer, and he smiled, the lazy one that Orion usually only saw when they were lying in berth, and Megatronus just a groon or so from falling into recharge. “How is it that you always know where to find me, my archivist?” 

Orion had smiled at the question and tightened his grip on the champion’s servo as he spoke his response; “The void is but a veil upon which you are always visible to me, my Champion. There is nowhere in the vastness of all that exists you could hide where I could not find you.”

Orion left soon after, with another gentle kiss from his champion graced upon his derma just before the void and strengthened its call to him. Though he noted with some concern that he… did not want to. He wanted to stay with Megatronus, to convince the champion to put off his relocation efforts for just one more cycle, so that they could hold each other in berth and kiss until Megatronus was forced into recharge. 

 The void felt colder than it had during his last retreat, though he knew that that was an impossibility. Something had changed in him to make it feel this way. He did not know if it was something he should be concerned with or not. At its worst, it seemed a mild side effect of… what that kiss had done to him. 

Orion knew, theoretically, what a kiss was, but he did not fully understand what they meant. He knew it was something mortals engaged in with those they felt a great deal of affection for, but he did not understand exactly what had changed between Megatronus and himself to suddenly warrant such an act. They had been feeling these emotions for nearly a vorn now. Something had to have changed. Right?

Somewhere along the way, a great many things had changed, including himself. He was feeling things he knew he was not programmed to feel, even if he could not name those feelings. He knew that now, suddenly, a living being was more important to him than the rest, though he still did not know why. And suddenly he found himself understanding those sparks that lingered near to those they were close to in life, for when he now came to the void, he longed for the warmth of the one he had left behind as well. 

He found that this newfound understanding helped him to ease some of the Precious sparks back to Primus’ embrace with greater ease, though he was not certain what exactly he was doing differently. He sometimes wished he could seek their wisdom as he guided them along the path home, for he knew what he felt was experienced by the living, and perhaps they would be able to at lease identify for him what he was experiencing. But such a thing was not possible. The living, once passed into the void, could not speak. 

He was left with more questions than answers by the time he sensed none left who needed to be guided, and he felt so much colder than he remembered being. The warmth he had soaked up from Megatronus was just a memory, and he felt that strange almost pain biting at him to return to the champion, as he had said he would, once his duties were seen to. But these questions needed to be answered. He needed to know what was happening to him, what strange, mortal influence had taken refuge in his spark. 

He could not ask his brother. Alpha Trion was unlikely to understand and certain to pass judgements upon him for engaging so deeply with Primus’ children. It felt… wrong to ask Megatronus directly, even though logically he knew Megatronus would likely have the answer. He did not even know where to begin to search the archives for the information he sought. 

There was one mech, however, that had made it a point to teach Orion more and more about how to appear… ‘normal’ and alive. The first mortal that had paid him any attention at all. He would go to Ratchet for the answers he sought. If anyone would be able to explain to him what this feeling was, it would be him.

[menori-ori]

doodle of orion and megatronus hehe

[flipping-the-coin]

[Inquisitorial Report: Subject - Head Archivist Orion Pax]

[Authorization Level: Prime]

[Listed Authorizations: Optimus Prime]

[Assigned Inquisitor: Jazz]

[Three deca-cycles into assignment]

═════════════════

Listen, OP.  We need to talk.  Is there any particular reason why I wasn’t briefed that there's a whole other inquisitor here? She does her job pretty well for the most part, didn’t notice her at all till she climbed out of the slaggin’ wall and started cleaning up the hab!!! I don’t know what’s going on in the new training methods that Smokescreen is running, but I am pretty fragging sure that the person you’re spying on is NOT supposed to know you exist. Megatron definitely knows she’s here. Seems like he’s fond of her. I saw him leaving out a slagging snack for her before he escorted Orion to the Archives! What the actual frag, my mech? WHY WASN’T I TOLD SHE WAS HERE?! Now that that’s out of the way: onto Orion. I can’t get my servos on his medical records, they’re sealed up tighter than a stripped screw on your oil pan, but he takes some medications every cycle, one is some kind of sedative, that he takes before recharge (probably to help with nightmares, if I am guessing correctly. He’s had two since I’ve been watching so far, and they seemed pretty severe), and the others are mainly used for field suppression and anxiety. His field is… I dunno how to describe it…. It’s messed up, OP. Something happened to him cuz his field is different than I remember. When he’s out in public, it’s like he doesn’t even have one. He was always a bit reserved in expressing himself, but now it’s like he doesn’t have a field at all. But when it’s just him and Megatron in their hab, sometimes Megatron encourages him to let his field out and… Primus, OP it’s like slamming into a wall at mach 2 how thick his field is. I’ve only felt it a couple of times, It’s overwhelming, so I tend to stay back from the vents as much as I can when he’s emitting, and rely on my cams and audio. I hope you don’t mind. 

It doesn’t seem to bother Megatron at all, though. In fact, he seems to enjoy it. But he was always a little weird, so I’m not really shocked he’d find comfort in something that feels so… smothering? (That’s probably not the right glyph, but I’m going with it.) He dotes on Orion Pax even more than he did before the war, and I gotta admit that it's a little humorous to see Lord Megatron dutifully preparing fuel every morning like some kinda housewife on those old Earth sitcoms.

Anyway, Orion is well cared for. Megatron attends to him dutifully, and Orion happily returns that favor to his Conjunx. As strangely as they present on the outside, their relationship dynamic seems quite healthy, if not a bit codependent. They touch each other a lot more now than they did before the war. I haven’t seen them go through any form of serious disagreement, and the minor one they did have was discussed and rectified (Megatron was frustrated with Orion for not putting the lid back on the rust sticks.)

Orion is odd, and his habits reflect that. I’ve watched him pick up more rocks than I can count on his treks to and from the Archives, and chemical analysis shows they are just… rocks. Sometimes they are in strange shapes, but usually just… rocks. He is very fond of crystals, though as far as I know, he only has two he cares for personally; a small potted one he keeps in his hab, and another, more rare aquamarine cluster that he keeps in his office at the Archives. I’ve heard him singing to that one, a couple of times now. Seems it's very important to him. 

He rarely brings his work home. Seems he tries to keep work and home life separate as much as he can, though he does discuss things from work with Megatron at length some cycles, especially if he has to deal with the Council in any fashion. If I can be blunt… Orion Pax is not fond of most of the Council, and when I say ‘not fond’ I really mean ‘he fragging hates them.’ Seems there's been issues with Council Members intentionally goading him into emotional responses.

On a typical work Cycle, Megatron comes online before Orion, and busies himself preparing their fuels. Orion usually comes online just before the fuels are ready, and Megatron sometimes brings it to him in berth. Sometimes Orion wanders out to the table and they refuel together there. Megatron helps him prepare for work. Once at work, Orion tends to finish his official duties relatively quickly. He spends at least two joor a cycle assisting and mentoring his apprentice, Red Alert. The two seem to get along well enough, but there’s some strain there I haven’t quite worked out yet. They both are anxious things around each other, but their working relationship seems warm and friendly. He spends his fuel break on comms with his Conjunx.  Afterwards, he spends most of his time, ah… poking around in data he’s probably not authorized to be poking around in. Mostly military records from the war and things in the Decepticon Archives. Before the end of his shift, he spends a joor or so helping the archivists tidy up and organize everything before he goes home. 

If Megatron doesn’t pick him up from work and escort him home, he meets him at the door. Regardless, they spend a great amount of time being lovey-dovey with each other once the door closes, talking about how much they missed each other, which can last for quite some time if they kiss their way to berth… or the sofa… or a wall. Once they finish with that, they tend to relax together, usually wrapped up in each other in some fashion until one of them, usually Megatron, goes to prepare fuel.  

After they fuel, they either retire to berth or settle to watch something on the holoscreen. Unexpectedly, Orion seems to prefer watching horror, suspense and thrillers. I expected him to be a ‘romcom’ sort of mech. Go figure. 

Their berth-time habits are a bit much, honestly. Megatron almost always has some new poem to recite for Orion. Most of the time they’re about how much he loves Orion, how beautiful he finds him to be or ah… what he wants to do to him, if you catch my drift.  Sometimes they fool around for a while after that, but once they settle in berth, they’re always as close to each other as possible. Sometimes, Orion will read aloud while they are snuggled up together. He reads a very slowly, but that seems to help Megatron fall into recharge. Sometimes Megatron reads to Orion, though, there’s really no way to tell how it will end up. 

On the cycles he’s off duty, both he and Megatron recharge later than normal. Orion seems to enjoy doting on Megatron on his off cycles, especially in the earlier joors. He’ll prepare fuel for the two of them to share in berth. Their behavior during this period of the cycle can only be described as playfully silly. After fueling, they flirt with each other in the strangest way I’ve ever seen. It starts with playful nudges and jabs and ends with them grabbing and tickling at each other until Orion inevitably ends up subdued, either beneath Megatron’s weight or by being trapped in an embrace. There’s plenty of laughter from both parties during the whole exchange. 

After that, once they’ve cool off from their game, Orion leads Megatron to the washrack where they thoroughly groom each other. I honestly am not joking when I say those two can’t keep their servos off each other. They will find any excuse to touch each other. Anyway, after grooming they tend to break apart for a while. 

Orion works on his pet project of translating what little Kaoni literature survived the war for a few joor, sometimes asking Megatron for assistance in his glyph usage. He takes his work very seriously, though I highly doubt the Council will allow his translations to be integrated into the Archives as he wants. Megatron usually interrupts him at some point, with pleas for attention or reminders not to work too hard, usually with a snack in servo. 

Evenings depend on whether Orion has a social call or not. I didn’t actually realize he had any friends, considering his reputation, but it seems First Aid and his gardener, ‘Melody’ (who I am 99.9% sure is the SPY I WASN’T BRIEFED ABOUT on HER off cycles) are fond of him, and come over for energon and goodies on some of Orion’s off cycles. Sometimes they gossip and sometimes they discuss literature. Orion Pax has no clue that his gardener lives inside his walls… 

When he doesn’t have guests, he spends his evenings engaging in his various hobbies. He’s very fond of the crystals in his garden and will sometimes help the gardener tend to them. (all things considered, it seems this gardener is his closest friend. I wonder if she feels as weird about spying on him as I do?) He also really enjoys calligraphy and often transcribes Megatron’s poetry in the most exquisite of glyphs. He was good at calligraphy before the war too, you know? Though he didn’t practice it as much back then. I’m glad to see he’s still getting joy from it. The crystal thing is new, though, I never saw him do anything like that before the war. When it’s time to refuel, they have a brief conversation that essentially boils down to whether or not they can bear to part from each other’s company, which decides if they order fuel for delivery or not. 

It also seems like both he and Megatron enjoy the human inspired ‘jigsaw puzzle’ as well. Some evenings they work on one together while watching something on the holocreen or chatting. They have quite the collection, and always new ones seem to pop up. I think Megatron orders them as a surprise because Orion is always excited to see it. They only work on these together. (They work on these during the work cycle evenings as well, sorry OP I forgot to mention that. It’s just so common to see that it slipped right through my processor until I was specifically thinking about Orion’s hobbies.) 

As for his general interests, I’d say his number one interest is his Conjunx, if I’m to be honest. Megatron is the single most important thing to Orion Pax. I haven’t even been here that long, and I can see that plainly. If something can be done with Megatron, he will do it with Megatron. He chooses Megatron over all of his other interests and hobbies EVERY TIME. He has joked with Megatron several times that it is to ‘make up for lost time.’ He knows more about Megatron than probably anyone else in the entire universe including Megatron himself. In fact, Megatron often has to encourage or remind Orion to pursue his other interests. 

Other than that, he has a pretty wide range of things he’s interested in. He’s deeply invested in Kaon: the language and culture, as well as preserving what’s left of it. He has twice now brought up the topic of wishing to live in Kaon like they had originally planned to, before the war. Also, he enjoys crystals and their tending, calligraphy, poetry, holofilms, jigsaw puzzles, and politics (he has OPINIONS, let me TELL YOU). He spends a good deal of time reading about a variety of topics, such as history, mythology, poetry, romance, etymology, cyber-geology, crystals and their assorted sciences, mineralogy, medicine, politics, pro-Decepticon and Neutral works, graffiti and street art, erotica, memoirs, mystery, cyber-biology, and self-help. 

He has some less prevalent, superficial interests as well. I’ve either heard him mention an interest in these topics or heard him give some factoid that only someone with some level of interest would know. I admit, some of these come from my pre-war history with him, (considering the ah…. Extremely wide scope you’ve given me, I think it’s relevant): theology, earth plants, drawing, hymns??? I dunno how else to describe it… Ancient songs, gladiator subculture, sparklings and their care, semiology, symbology, linguistics, justice, psychology, ethics, fuel preparation recipes, turbofoxes, warframe maintenance and first aid, archival sciences, relics, decryption, urban exploration, and dance. 

That’s about all I got for ya OP. I wasn’t lying when i said he’s a pretty boring mech. He has a few quirks about his romantic life, but other than that, he’s kinda a nerd. Just like he was before the war. He’s just… more clingy and has medical problems now. As with the last one, I’ve enclosed a journal entry. Same as last time, I have no idea when he wrote this. Honestly, I just picked one at random. 

═════════════════

I had an appointment with Ratchet this cycle that once again did not go very well. I truly am trying my hardest to understand what he wants from me. It seems no matter how I answer his questions, he is displeased by my words. I fear for him. His hatred of Megatronus and his disgust with me seem to be mixing with his grief for Optimus Prime, driving him mad. 

Megatronus has repeatedly pleaded on my behalf for another doctor to take my case, but Ratchet insists that I am too volatile and dangerous to be seen by anyone else, which… honestly, may be true. I cannot always control myself, especially when I feel backed into a corner or feel Megatronus is being threatened. When I fear for his safety… I cannot control what I do anymore. I am so terrified of losing him that I can’t control myself. 

Before the war, it was the opposite. Megatronus protected me from dangers, and I had little reason to believe I had the power to protect him from much of anything. He was so righteous and strong… almost like a deity in my optics. Though I never worshiped my champion in a traditional manner, I nonetheless found myself deeply devoted to him and his cause. 

His touch has always been different from the touch of any other to me, even before I realized that I wished to belong to him. The first time he touched me was merely a servo upon my shoulder as he greeted me and welcomed me to Kaon. I cannot even recall what he spoke to me considering the nearly explosive reaction my spark had to that simple touch. 

Of course, I had no frame of reference for what affection or love felt like, so all I really understood was that I liked it when he touched me. His touches were always patient and gentle, a stark opposite to whenever Alpha Trion would touch me, with little concern for my comfort and completely lacking in any sort of tenderness. I was accustomed to my comfort being disregarded by those around me, but Megatronus cared. 

I think he must have sensed it, somehow; how repressed and unhappy I was. I had buried so much of myself in my attempts to please my Sire that I barely had any personality when we initially met. Yet he enjoyed my company regardless and urged me to pursue what I wanted, instead of what was expected of me. I had no way of knowing, in the beginning, that I would ultimately realize that he was what my spark wished for above all else. 

There are so many moments I should have realized it… I can still recall how eagerly my spark pulsed with excitement and trust the first time he settled between my thighs… the way his field wrapped around me like a promise as he teased me to ecstasy with digits and glossa… I was so deeply in love with him, yet so oblivious of my own emotions. How foolish I was to not see it for what it was. 

I am no fool, however. I know exactly who my lover was and is. I knew that he made a living via extinguishing sparks. I knew that he was known for his brutality in the arena. I witnessed more than enough of his gladiatorial matches to know the violence he was capable of. If I am honest… I think part of his allure is that violence, that he never has turned upon myself. To be loved so dearly by one who is known for their violence, to draw out the gentle in one that most see as a monster… to be touched so lovingly by servos still stained with the energon of his foes… I cannot even begin to describe how that feels. 

I knew he would start a war the moment I came online strapped to that table in the tunnels. I could feel him trying to cover up his panic to soothe me as he tried to rescue me from my inevitable fate, and I know that he continues to view it as his greatest failure that he did not reach me in time. My champion started his war far sooner and with far more brutality than he wished to because THEY TOOK ME FROM HIM. He still dreams of that cycle I was taken… and how he felt my agony and terror.  

Some cycles I ponder what would have happened if he had reached me in time. Would the war have continued if I had been allowed to stand at his side the way I wanted to? I do not know, but I do know that he never would have lost himself to madness. I know that Cybertron never would have been rendered uninhabitable. I know that our war would not have reached the stars had I been at my lover’s side. 

We had promised each other eternity and were ripped apart after only a vorn. He grieved for me, and I felt every bit of his anguish. I was there when he spiraled into brutality. I was powerless as I felt his spark grow colder and colder as his rage took hold of him. Our separation was painful for Megatronus. Both physically and mentally. To have our bond severed so forcefully wounded his very spark. So very few seem to understand that ache as we do. 

I begged to be allowed to comfort him.  I understand that many believe comfort is the last thing Megatronus deserves, but it would have stopped his rampages. If only he knew I still lived. He would have at least had hope. Instead, he saw a new Prime, wearing his deceased Conjunx’s frame and speaking in his voice like an unholy abomination. Optimus Prime spoke lies about willingly accepting the Matrix, of duty, and freedom, spoke as if he were me, when my love could see and feel so clearly that he was NOT. How could they not expect Megatronus’ wrath?

I know that many hold contempt for me for continuing to stand at his side, but how can they expect anything else? He was the ONLY ONE who saw through Optimus’ lies. He was the only one who fought to FREE me, though he was under the impression I was gone. He still wished for my frame to be laid to rest properly, not to be desecrated by the Council’s puppet Prime. He fought for me… How can they not understand that? He was the only one… 

He and I have tasted each other's sparks in the most intimate and forbidden of ways. We have been a united being in both spark and frame. Megatronus did nothing during the war that I did not predict and try to stop. I could feel him spiraling deeper into madness the longer the war dragged on, and along with that, his moral standards fell away. I am not proud of the things my lover has done. There are many things I wish I could have stopped. There are memories of him that are terrifying, disgusting even, especially after he began his dark energon consumption. He forgot who he was, just as I had forgotten who I was before I knew him. There were so many times I thought I had lost him for good…

But then Unicron awoke, and I got the chance to live again. I saw that my Champion was still there, merely buried under millennia of grief and war. And he still loved me as deeply as I loved him. He feared that I would not love what he had become… but to me, he will always be my Champion, for I understand him as none other does, and he likewise is the only one who truly knows me. I know his spark as clearly as I know my own, and I cannot condemn him for his actions while spark-broken. He fought for me just as hard as I fought to get back to him, if not more so. His actions were simply much more visible, and affected far more than necessary. 

I am told I am selfish for not allowing the citizens of Cybertron the execution they feel they deserve, but has not Megatronus already perished at the servos of my own sparkling for his crimes? Was he not tormented by the Unmaker before an act of divine intervention brought his spark back to life? Is he not still bearing the weight of his crimes by being restricted more than any other citizen of Cybertron? Megatronus has already been and is currently being punished for his crimes. He wears the frame to prove it. 

I don’t care what they say about him, I know his spark. I know he speaks true when he says he wants nothing more than peace and freedom for all Cybertronians. I am proud to be his Conjunx, not ashamed, as so many insist that I should be. He is one choice I will never feel shame for and one I will never regret choosing. I promised him eternity, and I meant that. 

[Report Received: Visibility Status - Seen]

[kingcrackarttf]

They explored each other after this.

I saw this movie the day it came out, and I just haven't posted any of my stupid sketches of em yet lol.

[giantenemyrobot]

Here

[tftessa]

Megatronus forgot to mute his mic again...

[driftsart]

Wip

[gl1tt3r-gutz-and-r0b0tz-sl]

Here's the prewar designs of them.

I need to get my ships out of my system before I do unspeakable things to them in my fic😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Fixing colors:

[artxssa]

[Orion Pax & Megatronus]

Do you think I´m spooky?

[muaan]

Gay!!!!!!

[lyris-sketches]

Shhh, quiet, hyperfixation is starting :3

[spreadwardiard]

I currently have 4 megop fics I am actively working on, in various stages of completion. info under the cut for those interested. 

The first three are for my Crossing the Line Au where Orion Pax refuses the Matrix of leadership:

A porn with plot fic where Orion steps into his role as coleader of pre war Decepticons very publicly. porn wise i just really wanted to play with some lite kink with a little painplay (very lite omg)and biology and write some prostate milking lmao. its in the final drafting stage, should be ready any day now

Megs and Orion go back to Iacon before the senate meeting. probably will have some porn in this, im thinking some bottom mega will be nice. still in the first draft, no where near complete yet.

post senate late war fic from Starscream's pov about how much he hates Orion Pax. first draft stage, no where near completion, this one just keeps getting longer.

This last fic I am working on is some good old pining post war angst. I am low key mentally torturing poor Optimus in this fic. I feel so bad. Still in the first drafting phase too. Idk if this is going to be a one shot or multi chaptered yet.

[fallenneziah]

D-16 likes doing crossword puzzles, and he has to force Orion to sit still for once and do them with him. But then ends up hogging the crossword puzzle so Orion just sits there happily and watches D pleasantly distracted. He thinks it's cute.

[flipping-the-coin]

[Inquisitorial Report: Subject - Megatron of Kaon]

[Authorization Level: Alpha (Elite Guard Selective)]

[Listed Authorizations: Head Elite Guardsman Smokescreen]

[Assigned Inquisitor: Hush]

[15 Vorns after Cybertron's Restoration - Six Stellar-cycles into assignment]

═════════════════

This is Hush reporting in... again. I guess I don't' need to be as formal anymore since its just you seeing my report Sir. I suppose I should start with what I have seen so far since I last reported in. I apologize again for my unsettling behavior unfitting of my station. I was rattled by the Steward's condition, but I am back in action and ready to serve!

Now regarding my report for this stellar cycle. Thus far absolutely nothing of interest has happened, at least by the standards of the parameters for potential corruption I was trained with. Megatron got a virus, a very minor one according to what his scans said, and Orion Pax promptly took a few days off work to care for him. Let it be said that Megatron is rather clingy when ill. He worked every cycle of his condition for what it was worth, gaining as much affection as possible from his Conjunx. His condition wasn't contagious or even enough to warrant a cycle off work, but Pax was insistent on tending to him. My Caretaker never took a cycle off for me when I was infected with virus's, nor did the guard care much. We have a duty... still it was nice to see Pax and Megatron being domestic without all the sap, well at least the normal amount.

Pax made Megatron some purified energon slices with unsaturated drizzle on top to help him fight off the virus, and by Primus, it looked delightful. Megatron had to be shooed out of the kitchen numerous times so that Pax could finish the meal, and quite honestly I do not blame Megatron for attempting to sneak a taste. Megatron did manage to sneak a small dip into the drizzle pot and snag a taste, even though it earned him a light prod from Pax in response. The face Megatron made had me even more curious and interested in the dish. I am not saying that merely as flattery, no it looked delectable from my cameras. When I snuck down to the kitchen after Pax and Megatron retired to their berth, I took a little taste from the pot he used and I was right. It was delicious.

The dish tasted nothing like the nutrient cubes given to us during training or the energon my Caretaker gave me during my development. It wasn't exactly like the fine dining the council members engage in, but it was... forgive the cliche, Megatron is wearing off on me... It was filled with love? I suppose that is the only way to describe it. The dish felt like it was made with the intent to soothe wounds. I took was little I could scrape out of the pot and shared it with Carnage. My feline seemed to like it as much as I did. Carnage has been a relief I must say. Without Carnage I would be far more bored in my hiding place. My feline is very patient and will sit on my lap for groons at a time, and I have even seen Carnage catching the micro-mice messing with the garden outside. I plan to try and begin tending to that garden now that the inside is reasonable.

But that is off topic. Don't worry, I cleaned the dishes. I saw no point in being too subtle. Somehow for all his observational capability, Pax has yet to notice my presence and assumes everything is Megatron. The former warlord doesn't seem at all guilty about taking MY work and claiming it as his own. However I am LIVING in his walls and messing with his things, so I can't really be upset. Besides, Pax always seems very happy when he notices the cleaning that I do. After what happend with the Steward... I don't mind him thinking it was Megatron who did the work. He needs happiness after all that. Yeah... after the Steward's next visit I think I will work on the garden for Pax, to try and give him somewhere nice to visit. I heard he likes crystal gardens.

I also looked up the recipe he used to make the energon and I am near certain it is Kaoni in origin. I couldn't find it in the Iaconian database and since the other city state databases are incomplete, I did a little digging and I can only conclude its Kaoni considering Pax's attachment to the culture. I believe I will try to learn the recipe when I have time, it was too good to NOT learn it. When I find a Conjunx of my own I fully intend to make them that dish. If Megatron liked it, that means it is worthy of being shared.

Right, back on track. Orion Pax took a few cycles off work as I said, and I believe I stated that Megatron was very clingy. Well he wasn't clingy in the normal sense really. He wasn't the whiny cling seen amongst sparklings, no it was more mature but just as ridiculous for one unused to Megatron and Orion's antics. Due to the virus, Megatron was extra lethargic so he cuddled with Pax for most of the cycle, using him as some sort of living stuffed turbo fox. It was arguably rather sweet, if a huge waste of time that could have been used for productive things. At some point Pax did slip away though to do some pick up and he DID IN FACT leave Megatron a stuffed turbo fox to cuddle instead. I didn't even know Orion HAD one. I thought I knew everything in this hab, but it seems he either just bought it or has been hiding it in his berthroom somewhere, since that is the only place I refuse to explore too deeply.

It was really quite... adorable? Maybe that's the wrong word, fascinating seems more apt. It was fascinating to watch Megatron hold the stuffed mech-animal for a while before grumbling and going to retrieve Pax to cuddle him again. I almost swiped the stuffed creature, but I did not. Pax would have noticed. However seeing it gave me inspiration so I've been collecting scraps recently to try and attempt some sewing of my own. I liked the little thing when Megatron held it, so I have been trying my best to replicate the stuffed toy. Carnage has helped in that regard. I have a few of my first attempts in here with me, they make good helm cushioning so now I don't need to recharge on totally hard vent floor paneling. I don't believe my first attempts have been very good... especially since one accidently got caught in my plating when I left the vents and fell by Megatron's berth. I forgot it was there so when he woke up he startled quite badly before slowly grumbling and putting my botched creation back in the vent for me.

He really does know I am here. Its not really a problem though so long as Pax remains unaware. I don't think he would take kindly to me, no matter how badly I want to tell him his datapad organization is an absolute plasma pool. Anyway, as I was saying before I got off track, Megatron was highly clingy. The only other notable thing about his illness was that he seemed to develop a momentary obsession with one particular channel on the holoscreen. It was some sort of documented case that went down not long ago. Apparently mecha have been trying to explore the tunnels and have all vanished for the most part. It was ridiculous, especially since the show depicted all the 'haunted' locations on Cybertron as if it weren't merely war time ruins. It was all a bunch of scrap and it seemed Megatron agreed with me. He spent some time laughing at and correcting the show even as 'experts' explained the spiritual significance and ghostly presences in areas.

It was interesting, but thankfully Megatron got better within a few cycles and Orion was back off the work. It was more dull without the entertainment, but there was much to clean after the whole incident. Megatron certainly didn't clean scrap while ill and Orion was rather occupied playing the role of living doll. My organization efforts were also upheaved with Orion doing the energon preparation. I have spent at least three deca-cycles just reorganizing the storage room and the living room. For whatever Primes forsaken reason, Megatron moved the rug while he was sick so now the wonderful artwork is CLASHING with the furniture. I think he wanted something soft beneath his pedes, but he RUINED the organization of the whole space! Once my sewing skills are less... debatable, I intend to sew up a proper rug and decorative set of pillows for the couch to make the room work again.

Apologies for the ramble Sir. Not much has really been going on. But, thank you for listening to me, and for... helping me deal with what I saw last report. I will get back to work and keep you updated. It would be nice if I could have some funds though to use for my own purposes. Its getting hard to sneak out all the time for supplies, especially since Carnage needs energon too.

═════════════════

[Report Received: Visibility Status - Seen]

[Note from Head Elite Guardsman Smokescreen:

Your report has brightened my cycle significantly, Hush. Keep up the good work and watch dutifully. Still be careful to not have Megatron spot you directly if you can. Its simply best he does not know too much about you even if he is aware you are there.

I will always be here to listen Hush. If you struggle with what you are are seeing, reach out to me and I will give you a replacement for a bit while you come back to yourself. No need to suffer without reason, and since you have done so well, I will grant your request for some funds. Take care of your feline and please be sure to not startle Orion Pax if you can. He is rather sensitive to guardsmen.]

[midnightbears]

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian fem reader & other characters.

#TAGS: trauma. talks of character death. hopelessness? mentions of prostitution. no appearance of canon characters because this is an intro. hunger games reference!

#NOTES: hi! still alive, just not writing for kny atm because my head is like a powerpoint presentation with all my hyperfixations and i can't write for requests when it is on another slide. hope that makes sense. this is the first chapter of my megatron x reader, a strangers to lovers to enemies featuring pre-war cybertron, a magnanimous amount of lore, a lot of non-cannon stuff like sparklings and stuff because i can do whatever i want, and my flickering motivation to finish it. i don't have a specific transformers i'm basing the timeline off, so we will see. i thought of publishing it on ao3 or smth but i have better judgement so i just figured i would upload the first chapter on tumblr. the new transformers movie was soooo good and it inadvertently rekindled my transformers obsession. enjoy? let me know if you like it, i would appreciate it if you have questions or anything :) THIS BITCH IS LONG SO BEWARE

part two | part three | part four | part five

"Y/N, my optics hurt."

"I know, sweetspark, I know."

This place reeked. Pure flowing smoke and vapor, stinking energon, and the smell of the gray coal and ash that powdered the laborers' and miners' bodies like scintillating glitter filled the pavements of that day—such fragrant poetry. 

The barely perceivable light that shone down could not even be called proper illumination in the first place. Every once in a while, the wells of your optics danced up to gaze toward where the sweltering sunlight was supposed to be.

Still, your spark did nothing but wail at you when, each time, all that you caught were mountains upon mountains of pitch-dark vapor, dull particles of dust from the mines, and the visualization of the austere whispers of despair and anguish among the workers of one of the mining towns from one of Cybertron's Primus-forsaken satellites, Nuna 5PY.

Even if you turned to look towards the downtown streets, the particles infiltrated your vents and blistered your optics.

Some workers used gas masks, while others retreated to the mines, where the synthetic stench wasn't as foul, but most were forced to return to work. They snatched up energon everywhere they could, recharged in fits and starts among their screaming. You seriously needed to leave.

As Vaportrail coughed onto the city street, you held her small servo. Even with the torrential acid pouring last night, the smog got to her well before the rush hour. 

You realized things would not improve today, so you hurried in fear of the younger developing tear-streaked optics and a headache to match. It saddened you that Vaportrail would never know what a normal life would be like. It was as though they had collectively given up years before she was born, which was unjust to her and all the future sparklings. 

You grabbed her and pulled her into the cart. Traveling was enjoyable, but not at the price of introducing additional hazardous particles into the environment. 

Mining Outpost R–02 was one of the towns from Nuna 5PY, where unnamed members of the lower classes labored interminably, tediously. The gloomy, smoky shambles of a metropolis required the Communication Grid to communicate with other areas and locations simply. It was no place for a sparkling. 

The infant cybertronian lay quietly on the sulfurous mine carriage attached to the railway, more vulnerable than the glass that was painstakingly constructed for the masses of the High-caste buildings and just as giddily colored.

You wondered if her peds are dirty; how would you know? You pondered what she ate back when Starlight was still living in this downtown slum; where did her mother get energon to nourish her? 

Your servos were callous from several scars and defects, and a part of you ached to sweep her up in her arms and shelter her eternally. But. How could you ever live with yourself if you didn't allow such an innocent being to live a tranquil life?

"I'm sorry about your carrier," You told the sparkling wistfully, making sure she was comfortable for the long ride from here to where your late best friend wanted her youngling to go if something ever happened to her. You gave her a small pad which contained personal information like her name and situation, along with a plead for somebot to take her to safety, "Cybertropolis is a nice place, just make sure you reach the police station safely, they'll know where to take you." 

"Thank you," Vaportrail squeaked out, her knees pulled up to her chest plate. 

The train inevitably started, and you walked in tandem with the slow speed of the carriage just to get a good, final look at the sparkling's dainty, cheerless face. Vaportrail would surely be a problem when she got older because all of the mechs would swoon over her—deservingly so.

With those optics and a grin as charming and gauzy as that, she was the very picture of the youthful beauty who had once bored the name of Starlight. You believed she was the sweetest femmeling on the planet.

"I love you, okay? And I'm sure your carrier is so proud of you. Good luck!"

Eventually, you had to withdraw from the train, which only allowed you to stare at the vanishing small frame of a waving Vaportrail, whose response had been forever lost in the sad, sepulchral winds of the town. 

Despite that, you could still stare at the sparkling's naive, callow features and find colossal gratitude and admiration in its place, which made a lump form in your voicebox and squeezing palpation beat inside your spark chamber.

With Vaportrail gone, the smell of blazing smoke burned your olfactory sensors and induced you to cover them with your suitable servo. You had never before realized that the shrilling blare of the injectors, the drills, the massive excavators, and the wheels of the trucks could be so overwhelmingly loud, either. From the corner of your optics, the flashes and instants of the sparks that aimlessly flew around whenever metal met metal brought you out of your bewildered daydream. 

But then you turned and saw the portrait of shattered ambition, lost hope, undetermined origins, opaque bitterness, damaged honor, futile dreams, and wavering will that assembled the cybertronians of Nuna 5PY.

It was a blow to the back of your head.

Starlight was dead.

If you closed your optics, you could still see the glow on her metallurgical protoform, the spark that no longer burned, and the sound of her laughter that still reverberated in your audio receptors and processor.

Oh, you missed her desperately. 

She'd spent her days as a young and daring cybertronian who didn't let the vacillating shame of her prostitution career ridicule her or anything she was. A good, pleasant, and kind femme that thrived and existed, only for some mech to tear her from her home and forever close her laughing optics. She was a femme, a friend, a sister, and a carrier.

She was someone.

"Oi, femme!"

You knew that whoever was calling that word in such a degrading manner was referring to you and you only. You were aware that you were one of the few femmes working on that hellhole.

Sourly, you turned your helm to the source of the voicebox and found your boss—if he could even be called that—staring at you rigorously from across the street. Other mechs were beside him, and in their hungry optics, you could see hunger, amusement, a blatant lack of respect, and other things—all of it for you.

"You said five minutes. Start moving your aft before I tell someone to move it for you."

The group of despicable mechs started laughing at the humorous, unique, spectacular, utterly not-ever-done-before knee-slapper comment. You wondered what comedians told to get a chuckle or two out of their audience nowadays. 

You detested yourself when you started walking back to the mines with crystal-clear coolant forming in your optics and with the words caught inside your voicebox.

Even the clicking of your battered timer had a languid touch in the fading light of their (your) chamber as if it were a spark-beat at rest. The perpetual rhythm of it became more of a white noise inside the transparent yet spurious safety surrounding your beguiling, chimerical space bubble. 

The memory of the lingering perfume of Starlight's aromatic utensils saturated you far more intensely than it did only days before, making you want to pound and bang your head against the wall until you ran out of energon inside your body.

Your spark chamber was wrenched apart in the core by a hollow cavity. It had been there for forty-eight groons. Faithless and cynical, the pit that took form inside of you pulled you to the very depths of your revolted mind.

You were immobile, your bare servos lying at your sides and your digits tinkering with the berth. Everything within the room drove you crazy and made you want to tear out your optics under the scrutinizing, deep-rooted omnipresence of both the carrier and the sparkling.

Vaportrail was not napping on her carrier's bed; her small chest plating was not rising and falling according to her mellow, smooth breathing. You remembered how she would spring from Starlight's berth just to greet you after every single burdensome solar cycle of nothing but suffering under the cruel comments and sometimes spiteful actions of mechs and their superiors. 

You knew and understood that she left for a better life in Cybertropolis, yet you just can't comprehend why you are not hearing her dulcet giggles and her voice as soft as a feather.

"Y/N, look at me!"

You turned your helm lightly toward the soft-spoken sparkling from your spot on your berth. 

One of your stabilizers was crossed over the other, your servos snuggly behind your helm. Due to your horizontal position, you were seeing Vaportrail in a somewhat awkward manner, whispering something to her carrier excitedly, which made you turn your whole frame so you were resting against your side, lifting your helm with your right servo.

"What is it, V?"

Vaportrail, who had her mother's laughing optics, stood proudly atop Starlight's berth beside her laying figure, servos on her hips and grin on her dermas, meekly waiting for you to look at her so she could show her spectacular stunt.

She was no bigger than a mining pickaxe, which is why she was never let out of Starlight's and your’s shared chamber. She was still tiny, even for a youngling her age, but that was not unusual, as the impoverished environment and the mediocre energon didn't do much to help anyway. Primus knows what could happen to someone so small and so weak.

Her confident, puffed-up stand made you laugh casually, as while typically Vaportrail was a modest sparkling, never one to demand attention or directly ask for what she wanted, whenever she got like this and let out her inner childishness for the silliest of things, both you and Starlight would get tons of laughter out of it.

"Go on! Show Y/N what you've been practicing," Starlight encouraged.

When you nodded at Vaportrail, signaling that your attention was entirely on her, her optics lit up. She walked towards the end of her carrier's berth, planting her peds at the very ends before turning around. 

Vaportrail crouched, and with a slight push from her servos and an impulse from her peds, she successfully rolled forward in the berth, landing on her bottom before scrambling to get up and putting her servos up in the air, muttering a small 'Ta-da!'

You had smiled warmly, watching Vaportrail giggle to herself giddily. Starlight clapped for her and swarmed her in a big hug, proud of her sparkling and happy that she had gotten her little trick right. Honestly, you were a bit jealous. You wished you could be this happy by doing something as simple as a gymnastic maneuver.

Vaportrail cheered along with her carrier, excitedly thumping her peds against the surface of the berth. Then she turned to look at you, her optics gleaming with happiness. "I did it! I did a forward roll!"

"Oh, did you?" After your rhetorical question, you languidly returned to your original position, lying with your back plates on the berth and your servos behind your helm. You cheekily turned to Vaportrail and Starlight, a sly, good-natured smile pulling at your dermas; you closed your optics. "I wasn't looking."

"Y/N!"

Both femmes happily laughed at the moping undertones of Vaportrail's voice.

"Just kidding!"

That day was a long time ago, at least it seemed to be; it felt like it. Those words were spoken in the same chamber you slept and resided in. That comical stunt was performed in the berth across from yours. They were not here anymore. Even if you wished they were back together, that deceitful dream would only be achieved by death.

No one can pursue their dreams or be free enough without it. Freedom is for the rich because dreaming costs money.

Starlight wasn't there to hold her youngling and hug you when you needed it. You weren't hearing her voice either, singing lullabies to help you both fall into a much-needed recharge. Her presence was so needed, so sought; in places like this, femmes like her were what one needed to forget about the harsh burden that was the act of being alive. To think that only forty-eight groons before she was still living, she was still here. 

Her memory made you miserable because best friends comprehend you like no other. Starlight was overly protective and brutally honest—as if she ever needed that. You felt so enraged and resentful at not being there to protect her that you feared you might break. 

Although you dug Starlight's grave, blatantly refusing to let the body of your best friend turn into waste parts or scrap metal, a part of you still suppressed the image. One day, you would properly weep for her, but first, you had to accept that she was truly gone. A part of you would never be able to accept that Starlight would never appear, skipping around a corner to tease you for falling for her clever joke.

‘How can she be dead?’

Harsh knocks against your metal door made you jerk from your position on the berth.

"08, are you in there?!" 

The boisterous tone of the mech standing behind your door made you remember that you were still real and breathing inside your crude, undeserving, unworthy existence. Your bubble-turned crystal cocoon inevitably started collapsing at the reminder that life could still go on without Starlight because, after all, no cybertronian knew who Starlight is—was. No cybertronian knew who Starlight was. The world moved on without her.

Without thinking much, you got up from the cold berth, chills flourishing in your metallurgic skin before walking the small distance towards the oxidized door and swinging it open. You would not have considered the thought of opening (being too engrossed in your self-pity and wallowing in grief, you know?) in the first place was it not for the genuine undertones of chipper motivation that were painted over H–01's usually harsh, asperous voice. 

Wait, why was he at your door anyway?

His hulking, rusted frame was as corroded as ever, and it was honestly a little sickening to look at. Despite the awful veil of dust and ash that littered him, the grayish, crimson, and dull turquoise glares of his deteriorated paint job could still be peeked at; his wheels were decaying, and his melancholic optics had lost their love for life— as had everybot else's.

Ancient as a cosmic star and twice as intelligent, with his towering structure and terse personality, H–01 was by far one of the town's most elderly seniors—and, may you add, one of the most cordial. 

You remembered the day you first arrived here, back when you were still an inexperienced femme in life, gullible, back when you dreamed dreams. 

After an accident in your old work establishment,—one of the mech coworkers had stepped over the line with you, resulting in a mining pickaxe protruding from his knee plate and a lot of energon spilled around— you had been sent to Mining Outpost R–02, and H–01 quickly took it upon himself to become a mentor of some sort as you shared letter unit. 

You recalled that he laughed as he had never before when you told him the story of why they had banned you from your previous workplace. Later, you met Starli—

"08?"

You blinked owlishly, and realizing that he was calling out to you, you grounded yourself and met his preoccupied gaze.

"What did you need?"

He frowned at your mediocre attempt at lying. H–01 was by no means stupid, and sadly, you didn’t give enough credit and didn't acknowledge how easily he could pick apart your facade, layer by layer, until your shell was utterly ripped apart.

"Kid, I may be rusty, but I'm shrewd enough to know that you're not well." You became conscious of how absurd you must have seemed in his words. He continued. "I'm sorry about your friend and her sparkling."

There it was again, that funny feeling, that blow to the back of your head. You felt your spark wail painfully, and your limbs tensed up, your optics frantically searching into H–01's face plates for any sign of mockery. You found none. You almost crumbled at his sincere words until your response was unwillingly driven back to your tanks when the piercing siren started blasting across the halls of the chambers.

Instinctively, you covered your audio receptors at the discomfort. At the same time, H–01 merely stared into the speaker device right up against the wall, a bit far away from them. From the corner of his optics, he saw many of the workers exiting their chambers, each of them confused, some of them covering their audial receptors as well, and others staring, irritated and visibly vexed at the gadget that was currently stripping them of their much-needed recharging hours.

The workers of the 8th unit, otherwise known as the H unit, approached the oldest mech from their division, questioning themselves about what was going on. Their optics wilted, and there was a slight lolling to their helms, drunk with weariness after a session of an endless cycle of mining.

"01, what's going on?" One of them asked rather loudly, trying to shout over the siren, coming up to them just as you got used to the loud siren and pulled your servos away from your audial receptors. 

You moved out of the entrance of your chamber to shut the door behind you, joining H–01 by standing beside him. They shared a brief glance, one filled with puzzlement, the other brimming with uncertainty. But before anyone could share their answer or even make a single move, the horrendous blaring of the alarm stopped. 

The speaker against the wall went completely silent, and a single red light started beeping. The Cybertronians looked at each other, baffled.

Someone talked via the speaker.

:: Attention, all workers. You are summoned to the patio at this instant. Once you reach the area, stand in your respective branch line and don't question your current predicament; ignoring this order will result in immediate offlining. I repeat: ignoring this order will result in immediate offlining ::

I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave.

That was what you were thinking when you, H–01, and the others walked among the congregation of cybertronians—you would have said mechs were it not for the few femme 'nurses' among the outer lines of the crowds, who as far as you were concerned, were the ones who took care of the workers who suffered minor accidents like infected optics, fractured limbs or something along those lines. 

It was not like they counted anyway. Primus knew what they were actually in this town for and what they did to survive.

The patio, used for Cybertronians during their spare time, was circular, wide of range, and littered with damaged devices and compartment containers, a whole mess of passed-down gear and materials. 

Whenever they got their energon rations and stopped here to rest, H–01 would remark that only the fuel granted to them wasn't recycled—well, that and the smoke. The patio boulders formed a patchwork, with stones obtained as useless scraps and waste from renovations resting together as lovely as crystalline statues from the High-caste buildings. It had artistry to it, as well as smoothness. You and H–01 used to sit there together.

You saw the executives of Mining Outpost R–02, violently shove some of the workers towards their specific department, yelling something at them that you couldn't quite catch. Considering the calm and easy-going attitude of the mistreated miners, you could just tell that they were the prissy, fastidious mechs of the upper divisions, maybe the 1st or the 2nd, where they didn't get punished for slacking off or harassing other workers along with the bosses just for the fun of it.

Your unit quickly got on its respective branches and neatly stood in line. You all exchanged terse nods, mentally preparing yourselves for whatever was about to happen. 

In front of you and the rest of your division were the mechs of the 7th unit, and behind them were the workers of the 9th, and so on. Judging by the others' facial expressions, they, too had no idea of why they'd been called here nor could muster up a word, which only fueled your desire to learn what was going on. The patio got tighter, more claustrophobic as cybertronians arrived.

You were the last number in your unit, meaning that you were placed in the furthest spot from your old friend. You lightly reclined your helm backward to attempt and catch a glimpse of H–01, but to no success, as you saw him and all the other mechs, for that matter, focused on the temporary stage ahead of them. 

It held a podium, a small staircase, and fifteen glass balls with electronic chips on them. One for each unit of the Mining Outpost. A chill went down your spinal plate at the thought.

An overwhelming, ominous silence suddenly governed the patio when a mech no one working here had ever seen before climbed up the staircase. The way he moved caused cybertronians to stare at him in fear. 

The mech was brawny and towering, and the way his helm fell over his lifeless, devoid optics and left shadows smeared on his cheek plates made others shudder. He was directly in front of the plain, pitiful microphone stand. However, an almost charming smile crossed his dermas.

"I suppose you're asking yourselves why were you brought in here."

Because of the microphone, his voice, profound and with a baritone tone, boomed across the patio, making you wince lightly at its loudness. You, of course, were desensitized from loud noises due to the continuous straining sounds of the mining machines around you day after day, as everyone else was. However, his statement caused many cybertronians to look among themselves, clearly disturbed.

"Gentlemechs, my name is Bullway, and I've come all the way here from Kaon to offer you a choice. I intend to give fifteen of you the chance of coming to Kaon with me and becoming gladiators."

Hushed whispers and inaudible sentences started falling from everyone's dermas at Bullway's words and what they implied. From the corner of your optics, you saw most of the mechs look at each other in mute amazement at what they had just been offered.

Their superiors, who were at the base of the set-up podium, quickly took it upon themselves to silence everyone with a loud yell, the absence of sound appearing once again.

"Think about it! Money, power, glory, fame, all laid at your digitprints!" Bullway threw his arms out to emphasize his words. "Join me, and all you have ever dreamed of will come true. A life of nothing but recognition! Isn't that what you deserve?! Isn't that what you dream of as you stare at the ceilings of your measly stations?!"

Dreaming cost money. Dreaming cost money. Dreaming cost money.

Almost as if he had read your mind, H–01 subtly leaned his helm forward to take a peek at the workers of the section he conducted. Most of them remained stoic, and he was very glad to see that, but what worried him the most right now was H–08.

His facial plates morphed into that of slight disturbance because as he peered into your face, he clearly saw what could only be described as contemplation, doubt, and consideration, which both bothered and worried him.

Bullway smiled at how he had you under a forged delusion and continued his speech, "See the crystal globes here? There's one for each unit of your Mining Outpost. They all contain chips with your respective electronic signatures. Each vorn you have worked here, your signature will be entered an additional time. You can figure out the rest, so let us begin!"

Each vorn?

You suddenly realized that the globes were not in order because, in the same minute that you let the circumstances sink in, Bullway had already slipped a servo inside one of the spheres and grabbed one chip from it, reading it aloud so everyone could hear the letter and number clearly.

"G–10!"

All of the divisions started looking among each other, searching for the (not) lucky mech, a pregnant silence following suit as the group in front of them all glared sympathetically at the chosen one, who stood frozen in place, optics blinking several times, wishing to Primus that Bullway had read the designation incorrectly and it wasn't him who was just chosen.

You felt a shiver run down your spinal plate when one of the guards roughly seized his shoulder and made him start walking toward the platform, ignoring the mech's begging and lightly dragging him across the patio as everyone stared in horror. Your intake suddenly went dry when Bullway moved to the next globe, grabbed an electronic chip, moved to the microphone again, and read it aloud.

This time it was from the upper divisions, A–07, you heard.

Just like that, another mech was whisked away from his branch line and thrown across the patio. He then ascended the flight of stairs to stand beside G–10, who apparently was still encapsulated in deep denial, continuously shaking his helm in disbelief. It was tenaciously obvious that Bullway did not concern himself with their worries and imminent fear as he once again moved toward a globe and grabbed another.

You wished cybertronians would step outside their own frames and oversee from the outside what was actually happening at that very instant in Nuna 5PY. Plucked from their workstations like flowers in a garden, sent off to Kaon for the purpose of entertainment for the Upper class with the bombastic excuse of 'MONEY POWER GLORY' behind it.

Prisoners inside their own bodies, trapped to fend off for themselves on a planet where no one cared about them.

Electronic signatures continued rolling off the mech's glossa like energon from a wishing well. The mechs that were chosen always did the exact same thing. They stood completely aghast for a few nanokliks, staring at the soot-stained ground in front of them in absolute shock, their frames deflating like rubber balloons, dermas parting in awe at themselves because they just couldn’t believe it.

F–03.

I–11.

D–04.

E–07.

K–15.

O–02.

When they got prodded by one of the guards, they stared at them, silently begging for compassion, but they found none. Eventually, they were pulled out of their place and shoved towards the staircase on the stage, where Bullway gleefully welcomed all the newcomer 'gladiators' just to grab another electronic chip and call out yet another designation, and so repeating the cycle.

C–01.

M–06.

B–09.

L–01.

J–02.

N–14.

Oh, there was still a globe left. The H unit.

The crowd drew in a collective breath, and then you could hear a pin drop. You were feeling nauseous, your servos clammy, your whole frame tense, your processor hurt, and your spark ached. You longed to see Starlight, you wanted to chase after the train where you sent Vaportrail off to Cyberpolis, and you didn’t know how much H–01 was desperately hoping that it wasn’t you, that it wasn’t you, that it wasn’t you.

"And the last one! H–08!"

[orion-ai]

valentine’s day is soon 😖