#starscream's vocaliser

[ask-a-bot]

Starscream, Why your voice so annoying and whiney?

Rude. I am going to track you down and make you eat your words!

Starscream's vocaliser was damaged when he was just a sparkling. Snf. And he is inclined to whine and tantrum, anyway.

I was just about to thank you for standing up for me.

Oh. My apologies. I did intend to defend you.

Well, you did a slag job of it!

Do not swear at me.

[wildstreak]

Soundwave's passiveness when it comes to other's mistreatment of Ravage has become an object of discussion lately. Here are my two cents:

Perhaps it is my bias towards the magnificence that is Soundwave's superiority, but I argue that his lack of direct action to counter both Starscream and Shockwave when the mistreatment happens does not display a docility in Soundwave's character that is worth criticising.

For one, we know that Soundwave is very calculative. He acts only after consideration of every possible outcome and never on impulse.

Considering that Starscream clearly outranked Soundwave back then as well as Starscream's volatile temper, Starscream would have definitely considered it insubordination if Soundwave were to oppose him over something that does not obviously benefit the Decepticon cause; speaking up for Ravage would have been seen as more of a personal matter than a professional matter. Furthermore, although it would mean the revival of vital Decepticon personnel, it would also mean less resources for the larger Skywarp who has teleporting capabilities ("What?! You want to start with the smallest one?") in addition to a personal connection with Starscream. Thus, risking Starscream's ire for the alternative might have led to both Soundwave and Ravage sustaining even more injuries which would be the worst possible outcome in light of their lack of resources and Ravage's already severe comatose state. Therefore, knowing all this, Soundwave rightfully kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself until he was certain he would be able stand up for Ravage without repercussions i.e. when he himself took over the Decepticons as leader, such that no one else would be able to rebuke him for his decisions.

When Shockwave came into the picture, Soundwave fell back on his familiar position as a follower, placing Shockwave in charge. Although there was no official transfer of leadership, it is easy to see that Shockwave outranks Soundwave since his arrival to Earth from his commanding and decision-making attitude towards Soundwave and the sudden reduction in Soundwave's initiatives (he no longer has plans of his own). One could even argue that Soundwave took so long to overthrow Starscream because of his preference to follow rather than lead, as evident in his utter lack of leadership opportunities in other continuities. One could also argue that he contacted Shockwave so quickly to rid himself of the mantle of leadership and pass it to someone else. With Shockwave's rank in mind, when he threatens to toss Ravage into the incinerator, Soundwave is once again put into the difficult position of choosing between Ravage and his superior. Naturally, he is bound to hesitate; he wouldn't outright pull a blaster on Shockwave, who also happens to be his "brother" in arms. Soundwave isn't going to rip out Shockwave's singular optic like he did to Starscream.

However, it is worth noting Soundwave's body language. When Shockwave first grabs Ravage, Soundwave's shock and some indignance can be interpreted from his braced position (bent legs, partially raised arms, awkward head position as if surprised). The unexpected callousness of his "brother" could have contributed to his hesitation. Additionally, instead of depicting him standing obediently aside to allow Shockwave to do as he pleased, this reaction demonstrates Soundwave's displeasure and disagreement with Shockwave's behaviour. This is not a subservient subordinate allowing himself and his team to be walked all over, this is a soldier that is so respectful and logical to a fault also momentarily caught off guard.

Following that, in the subsequent panel, Soundwave's arm is outstretched, as if he is reaching out to Shockwave to stop him. Of course, he doesn't, because Shockwave is now his superior, but you can almost here the frantic scramble of incoherent protests that might have stumbled out of Soundwave's vocaliser if he was any less disciplined of a bot. Therefore, I assert that Soundwave would have loved to protest against the mistreatment of Ravage. However, he is held back by his obligation as a member of the Decepticons rather than their leader as well as his comprehensive considerations for the best course of action.

Simply put, to criticise Soundwave for being passive without considering the difficult situation his faces and the complicated background behind it lacks the nuance that would justify his behaviour. That being said, one could certainly go down to the root of the issue which is Soundwave's preference for being a follower and his lack of daring, which I believe is a far more valid argument.

[smuttybookwyrm]

you can ignore this ask, but if you want to write it, tfp starscream x arcee with arcee spiking him? hints of hate fucking and brat taming would be great.

sorry it took so long, ive been finishing up the school year and starting work again lol. anyways you have no idea how thrilled i was with this ask i love starcee hatefucking. ~~

"Look at you, you're pathetic."

All Starscream could do in response to Arcee's taunt was whimper, writhing as her digits plunged in and out of his valve.

"What would your soldiers say, if they saw you like this? At my mercy?" Arcee growled in his audial.

"M-!"

""M" what, Starscream?"

"More!"

Arcee laughed, her servo stilling as Starscream rolled his hips against it, his vents whining desperately.

"You want more? What, do you want my spike?"

His face screwed up as he looked away from her, a futile attempt to keep his dignity intact.

"No, you'll look at me and answer my question. If you don't, I'll leave you here, high and dry. Do you understand?"

He nodded his head in acknowledgement, looking back up at her, a haze of lust painting his faceplates.

"I'll ask again. Do you want my spike, Starscream?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good boy."

Arcee unlatched her plating, spike pressurizing immediately, almost painfully.

Starscream whimpered when he saw it, his hips rolling back down on her digits, crying out as she removed them.

"You want this? You want autobot spike?"

He nodded frantically, shrill whines emitting from his vocaliser.

"Words, Starscream. Use them."

"Please! Please I want-!"

She cut him off with a quick thrust into his soaking valve.

[bougiebutchbitch]

megatron looking completely caught off guard when starscreams like NO. NO YOU'RE THE PERSON I DONT FEEL SAFE AROUND had me lmfao like genuinely what a good characterization moment, he just straight up hadnt considered it whatsoever. for all his kindness with the twitch and the rest of the terrans he's still a bit of a right bastard. love it. 10/10 megatron.

YEAH YEAH YEAH. He's the perfect 'redemption pathway' Megatron. He genuinely has the capacity for kindness and cares greatly about a few bots! He and Optimus are disgustingly cute! He's a grandpa with a whole buncha grandkids! And he's like. I have drunk the Kindness and Goodness Kool Aid! Let's share it with my old comrades! :D

Without ever once considering for a moment that Starscream wakes with a shriek stuck in his vocaliser and the memory of Megatron's hands around his throat, five nights outta seven.

It's so delicious!

[olive2read]

Starscream ground his boot into Soundwave, the sharp heel strut gouging a dent in his plating, and Soundwave couldn’t prevent a small burst of static from escaping his vocaliser. Laserbeak would normally be perched in that spot and, without her, his chest plate was so much more sensitive to the pressure the Seeker was exerting. It didn’t feel good, exactly, but it felt right, and necessary.

Starscream grinned down at him and repeated the motion, his optics flaring brightly as Soundwave emitted another crackle of static. His boot fit so perfectly in Soundwave’s anterior cavity, nestled between the attachment points of Laserbeak’s harness. It felt as though his spark had moulded his frame with this precise scenario in mind. The thought of that—that he was right where he was meant to be, his root mode being put to the best possible use—froze Soundwave’s logic processors and pressurised his spike. The dull clank against Soundwave’s panel brought a wicked gleam to Starscream’s optics and he pressed his boot down harder still.

[ivycorp]

The permanent honeymoon KOBD

Living as a Decepticon on Nemesis held its pros and… well, cons, pun unintended. 

On one hand, the ship was well equipped, the energon was plentiful, there was a place to recharge, and if one liked routines, the lull of chores and battle allowed a particular feeling of safety of certainty.

On the other hand, it carried a huge chance of being slagged on the field, either by Autobots or their own supreme commander by accident, and there were also some unexpected events that very few mechs considered before actually encountering them first hand.

One of those was the medical staff, which everyone had interactions with, for better or for worse. It was good to have them, but witnessing them together made one either groan internally or externally, depending on the seniority in the command line. 

Nobody would risk offending the CMO without rank to pull it off - one tended to live rather… short, when that happened. 

Starscream had the most recent pleasure of sustaining damage in battle, as the chatter filled the OR.

"Darling, pass me the clamp, if you don't mind?" Knock Out said, holding out his servo expectantly, as his assistant readily handed over the prepared equipment.

"Thank you, love, I knew I can count on you to be ready for me," he continued, innuendo heavy in his words; Starscream was trying very hard to not roll optics too hard, should they get stuck in that position and the visit would drag on longer than necessary.

"We work so well, don't you think, commander?" Knock Out asked, voice filled with adoration, as the clamp was placed and the operation started drawing to a close. The seeker looked down and grimaced.

"You do an… adequate job, I suppose," came the reply, through gritted denta and last dregs of patience, as Starscream tried to erase the memory of the last mega-cycle.

These two were sickening in their love, honestly, the seeker just wanted to leave at this point. 

"Coming from you, it's a compliment, so thank you, commander o'mine," grinned the medic, as his husband started the cleanup. A few moments later the last of the panels clicked in place and the Decepticon SIC nearly leaped out of the berth at that sound.

"Oh no, not a chance, you are on a strict berthrest," a servo shot out, preventing that particular maneuver from happening.

"I will go back to my berth and rest then, shall I?" Starscream snarled, venom dripping from the vocaliser so heavily that most mechs would scurry away in fear.

Unfortunately for the seeker, being a CMO had its advantages - one of which was being immune from officers throwing around their weight. Even Megatron would relent if necessary - of course, to be fair, in his presence the shameless flirting usually was severely scaled down.

"I would rather you rested for a complete solar cycle where I can monitor you, commander - we both know you have a record of not listening to my recommendations," stated Knock Out matter-of-factly, as he made sure the patient did not move anywhere, motioning with one of his servos at Breakdown to come closer as backup.

"There is much to be done, medic, but I promise I will abide by your words this time," quickly reassured the flier, as the chance of escape started getting slimmer. The red mech smiled sweetly, as his partner braced the seeker's side, cutting off the way out bodily.

"I'm afraid it's not enough in this case, the work I did on you is quite delicate and could unravel upon any strenuous activity - I am putting you officially off the rota for a solar cycle, with strict limit of movement restricted to medbay," chattered Knock Out, typing out the form as he spoke, not bothering to look at Starscream who started to panic like a cornered animal.

"This requires approval of a senior officer, and I won't sign this off!" The seeker shouted, only to freeze when a soft ding came from the offending datapad, followed by another one soon after. 

"Well, it seems I just got Soundwave's signature AND an official approval to detain you by force if necessary, co-signed by both our lovely TIC and our glorious leader," he laughed, as Starscream's face fell. If it was just Soundwave, there would be a slim chance of talking things out, but there was no way Megatron's signature could be overwritten now.

"I believe it is enough backing to ask you politely to stay here and rest - I will clear you off tomorrow after a check-up," promised the medic, humming to himself softly.

The medbay darkened, as the equipment was cleared away and stored for future use; a soft duo of farewells was shared, as both Knock Out and Breakdown left for their quarters, locking the medbay behind.

Starscream did not have the clearance to overwrite CMO's lock, so all that was left to do was praying for mercy.

As a loud slam was heard right on the other side of the wall, along with a "Oh darling, you should have told me you were this charged up - you need only ask!" filtering through the thin wall in the medic's voice, the seeker groaned and covered the audials, hoping to cut off all audio input.

Breakdown let out a desperate "Knock Out, love of my life, please, don't tease me today," Starscream considered the conversation shared with Soundwave about this exact problem, proposing insulation similar to the laboratories as a solution.

"Knock Out and Breakdown relationship: officially recognised. Their behavior: successful deterrent from reckless battlefield engagement or on-ship accidents. Medbay: at a manageable turnover rate. Staff accidental injuries since arrival: significantly lowered," explained the TIC one day, when the seeker pressed the matter after a short visit with a lot of flirting happening throughout the entirety of it.

Starscream had to agree, as the walls shook and the enthusiastic sounds were filling the otherwise quiet medbay - the seeker promised to think twice before doing another dangerous stunt again.

How could these two remain so energetic after such a long time being together, the SIC would never know…

*********************

Another one prompted by this post of @paraxodicalundressing

[eldritchships]

🌹🌹 two back at ya!

:O Two coming right up! The first one is ES!Megatron and Flatline after the space bridge explosion in the Warzone flashback, and the second is an excerpt of TFA!Shockwave reintroducing Flatline to his Longarm form.

He remembered the first time he had met those optics, burning into him with a honed edge as Flatline had sworn he could be useful, presenting a case for his own life before a sparkless warlord. Those red optics didn’t have the same fire now, only a deep regret.

“I tried to make him see reason. He chose to stay, no matter the cost.” Megatron paused, the words hanging in the air like a leaden weight. His jaw clenched, and his helm fell, equalising his gaze with Flatline’s smaller form. “I’m sorry.”

Flatline stared back at him, his lips parting as his vocaliser strangled itself. In his peripheral vision, he saw Starscream’s optics widen and the Seeker turn, looking at the wreckage with new realisation. Megatron half-turned, frown etched deep into his faceplates, but Flatline shook his helm. The pulse reader on his chest hitched, the quiet beep-beep-beep becoming faster and faster as the helicopter blades on his back flared. He leapt around Megatron, running towards the space bridge. A thick grey forearm hooked around his torso, and he yelped in surprise as he was pulled back.

“Let go of me!” Flatline shouted, writhing and kicking his pedes as they left the ground. Flatline was heavy for a bot of his size, but it still meant little in comparison to the strength of the (former) Decepticon leader.

“Flatline, please. He’s gone.” Megatron implored, speaking more firmly.

~~~~~~~~~

"You have a faceplate." Flatline's surprised tone increased, and his servo on Longarm's cheek gave a soft squeeze, affirming itself. "A working, standard faceplate." Longarm's posture started to lean away, but Flatline gave a short, single laugh and gently pulled with the hold he had on Longarm. Longarm looked Flatline up and down as the grey bot was guided towards the sofa, optics narrowing in slightly sceptical understanding. Flatline's fans kicked up, wings fluttering as he turned the both of them around. One careful but firm push dropped Longarm onto the sofa, and his helm tilted up, his optics meeting Flatline's.

"You're incorrigible, aren't you?" Longarm told him. Flatline remained standing; he might have seemed nervous from an outside perspective, but they both knew the truth. The giddy anticipation alighting his systems was rendering him nearly unable to move. Longarm silently extended a servo, both an aid and a consent. Flatline took a deep breath and moved forward, straddling Longarm's lap. His own servos, which might have shook if it weren't for the fact he was a surgeon, cupped Longarm's helm. Flatline stared into those pretty, innocent-looking blue optics, a charming mask for his deceptively brilliant Shockwave. Flatline released another exhale and surged forward, capturing Longarm's lips in a kiss.

Every star system paled in comparison to the supernova of kissing Shockwave for the first time. Not just a sweet peck to his helm or pseudo-jaw, but pressing flush against his form, leaving no oxygen between them.

[keaalu]

Remember Me, chapter 10

Title (chapter): Remember Me (10)

Series: Transformers, G1-based “Blue” AU

Rating: PG-13

Notes: a further miracle has happened, as Skywarp still isn’t dead! Amazing. Slipstream wishes he’d been let in on the plan, though, because seeing his sire also captured isn’t good on his mental health. Speaking of mental health, Starscream’s isn’t all that great, either.

------------------

…

You know, I think-

I think I might actually still be alive?

Consciousness tiptoed back to Skywarp with the usual flurry of damage alerts. He couldn’t quite put a finger on the point at which just being online segued into becoming aware of his surroundings, but he did immediately know that he didn’t actually hurt quite so much, any more. Small blessings. So long as no critical failure warnings blared in his helm, he was well practised at ignoring little spots of discomfort.

He brought his optics online to find Hook peering warily down on him, still holding the targeting grips of a low-intensity gamma scanner.

The crane’s expression tightened into one of vague disappointment. “Good of you to finally rejoin us.”

Skywarp grunted and shifted his shoulders. Thank Primus – the staples were gone. The pressure on his limbs – and by extension, his wings – had vanished. His wrists were cuffed again, but in front of him, this time. It didn’t precisely give him a lot more freedom of movement, but it was vaguely more comfortable. “Thanks for letting me, I guess?” His voice still had an annoyingly pathetic, watery quality to it from the shock delivered so close to his vocaliser.

“It’s not me you should be thanking.” Unwilling to remain in grabbing distance, Hook stepped back to watch while the Seeker shakily sat himself up and let his thrusters find the floor. “Much as I would have enjoyed being allowed to permanently offline an odious thug like you, Megatron has one more job for you.”

The teleport glanced at him from under hooded brows. “What kinda job.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell you, in time.”

“Great. I’m sure I can’t wait.” Skywarp pushed himself all the way up onto his feet, measuring his balance. He felt a little wobbly still, gyroscopes struggling to keep up, but he figured it coulda been worse, seeing as Primus only knew what Hook had been actually doing. And if he did end up falling down, he could probably take a lurking Conehead with him.

His chassis had picked up a new ache – that low abstract sort of pain of surface-damaged nanites. He gave himself a brief once-over; there were a few bright spots of luminous ink here and there, and laser-engraved lines etched into his enamel, but everything felt suspiciously normal. He gave the scanner a wary look and could see a small, overly-detailed wireframe of his model rotating slowly on a holographic plinth at the far side of the sickbay.

So that was what Hook had been up to – getting a good thorough look at the new schematics. Skywarp felt mildly violated by the idea the crane had been looking at his intimate bits, but successfully held back a shudder. He figured this was the closest the medic had ever got to a New Vosian, seeing as Seekers didn’t generally hang around on the mud ball, these days, and certainly not within grabbing distance of bored Constructicons.

And Hook had at least kind of repaired his shattered inspection glass, in the process, with a neatly-shaped piece of recycled metal, spotwelded carefully into place. Perhaps not perfect, but if it kept him from damaging anything under the crystal Megatron had smashed, Skywarp wasn’t about to complain.

Somewhat camouflaged among all the other dings and scrapes, the teleport noticed that someone had hacked an obscene glyph into his paintwork. Although it carried a variety of modifiers that cast judgement on his dubious heritage, his worthless family, and even the substandard quality of his build, it basically screamed

--Traitor!--

in unnecessarily large characters, gouging all the way through every layer of paint and polish to the ceramic layer of his armour. It spread almost halfway across his upper torso.

Looked like Thrust’s untidy handwriting. So not only graffiti’ed, but by a mech with no idea of penmanship either. Great.

Skywarp tightened his jaw, biting down on a snarl. Against his black exterior, the bright silver composite of his substructure glittered almost as brightly as if he’d had a neon sign implanted there. It’d take more than a bit of polishing to get that out. And he’d be walking around with a slur on his fuselage, for all to see, until such a time as he could get it filled.

Thrust stood smirking on the other side of the medical berth, and flicked his fingers in a goading come-on-then gesture.

“Oh really.” Skywarp arched a brow and leaned subtly towards him. “Fight me, says the mech hiding out of reach on the other side of the berth.”

Thrust advanced three steps before Hook decided he’d had quite enough, thank you.

“If you’re going to brawl, again, take it outside my sickbay.” The crane grabbed the closest wingtip and steered Skywarp into an about-face aggressive enough that he tripped over his own thrusters and fell onto Ramjet. “Perhaps you slack-jawed nimrods would like to finally take our guest down to his accommodation, so I can actually get back to work?”

---------------

Slipstream didn’t like the quiet, much.

Trapped down in the belly of the old warship, there was something oppressive about it; like the air itself had grown heavier. What were his jailors up to? He couldn’t help the persistent thought it meant someone was cooking up some new horror to spring upon him, and they didn’t want him to know about it until it was too late.

Not that he’d be able to do anything about it.

At least Dirge had got bored of using him as his personal punching bag, and was mostly leaving him in peace. (Slipstream accepted it could equally be that he’d been told if you kill the slagging hostages before we’re ready I will boot you out an airlock as well, you useless waste of good tin. But so long as Dirge stayed away? Slipstream didn’t really care why.)

Their routine had grown fairly stable. Someone, usually Ramjet, would deliver Skydash off to him and the two youngsters would sit quietly in the corner, huddled up, conserving energy and emotions. At some unpredictable, unspecified interval, someone – again usually Ramjet – would come back and take the sparkling away again, leaving Slipstream alone to worry what was happening to her.

To be fair, while the younger mech didn’t precisely like Ramjet, he felt a lot more comfortable about it when the white jet arrived to collect Skydash than he did seeing any of the others appear from around the corner. Compared to Dirge, Ramjet seemed overwhelmingly bored by the whole situation. Slipstream sort of almost trusted him not to do anything too hideous to her? After all, even though she was sad and subdued (and full of complaints about a bucket, of all things), Skydash didn’t seem completely traumatised by the situation.

Slipstream hadn’t quite figured out if he felt brave enough to talk to Ramjet about it, yet. If the mech was having second thoughts, he probably wouldn’t talk to an Autobot.

Not yet, anyway.

The sound of approaching chaos drew Slipstream’s attention. Raised voices, the clatter of heavy feet and clash of plating being crunched together. Someone was coming. No; multiple someones.

One of the voices was particularly familiar – and it wasn’t Dash.

Primus.

Alarmed, he rocked up onto his knees, automatically priming his systems in case he’d need to defend himself, just in time to watch an unnecessarily large group of Decepticons march Skywarp past.

It was obviously intended to be unnecessarily theatrical, if the number of ’Cons hustling him along was anything to go by. The exchange of insults by both parties was loud and particularly obscene. Skywarp looked like he’d taken a trip or two through the mill already, but it didn’t appear to be slowing him down.

None of that was what made the youngster’s spark sink, though. It was so subtle, Slipstream first thought it must be his damaged optic playing tricks, and had to replay his visual memory twice to be sure he wasn’t just seeing things:

Skywarp winked at him as he passed.

Actually winked.

So this was all part of some no doubt hastily-constructed terribly-thought-out plan.

Slipstream wasn’t sure if he felt better, or infinitely worse. He sagged back onto his aft, trying to process it.

Talking to Ramjet was going to have to wait.

Dirge hung back and watched the gathering of fellow Decepticons vanish around a corner. “We’re making a pretty nice little collection of you traitors, here,” he drawled. “Just a shame it’s all Skywarps, and no Screamers, yet.” He lounged one shoulder against the wall. “I guess we’ll just have to be patient for a while longer, right?”

“You don’t think he’s so stupid that he’ll come here alone.”

“Seeing as you guys have cornered the market in pure stupidity already?” Dirge shrugged. “Of course not. Or brave enough, for that matter. But if there’s one thing we can always count on the Screamer for, it’s that burning need to prove to everyone how he’s better than Megatron.” He made a noise like clearing his throat, and switched to a passable (if needlessly high-pitched) mimic of the red seeker’s voice; “And make sure everyone knows he is the one true leader of the Decepticons! Which is why he went and joined the Autobots.” He snickered at his own joke. “Point is, him and his bunch of useless deserters are gonna have to do something eventually. I mean, otherwise, someone’s gonna get bored enough to up the ante and start lopping bit off of you lot to post home.” The Conehead snrk-ed. “Maybe that’s your plan all along, huh? Escape us in pieces.”

Slipstream found an interesting bit of floor to focus on. It didn’t sound that much like a joke. “…I’m not sure that would be a very good idea.”

“Well, you should know. Bad ideas run in your family. I mean… case in point?” Dirge thumbed over his shoulder, in the direction Skywarp had been dragged away. He sighed. “Fine. I guess when we finally run out of use for you, we’ll maybe kill you first so as you don’t have to watch us smelt the rest of your family down. Or…” He twiddled a finger in a circular motion. “…whatever it is we gotta do to melt that weird slag you’re all made of these days.”

Slipstream managed a little thank you. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was thanking the Conehead for, but perhaps being submissive would continue to keep him out of trouble. Perhaps even long enough to find out what ill-conceived plan his sire had been working on.

Dirge’s lip curved in a small, amused sneer. “Still polite, huh. Nice to see you’re learning.” He spread his hands, and offered, generously; “Maybe we’ll be able to find a use for you once this slagfest is done, after all. I always wanted a footstool.”

Slipstream watched him go, and quietly resolved that however this ended, it wasn’t going to be as a footrest.

---------------

Skywarp recognised the pokey little cell they’d stopped in front of a lot more than he’d have liked. Intentionally, unpleasantly small – possibly not even double the width of his wings. Enough room to turn around, but not much else. And there was no light; all he’d get was what came in from the corridor, assuming they left it on. The only blessing was the wide front opening.

A crawling sense of unease had spread out to both wingtips. It wasn’t precisely gonna give him a lot of brain-space to work on his plan, not if he was going to have to simultaneously battle the cloying anxiety of being stuck in a little box. He put the brakes on in the doorway. “I think you guys are lost.”

“Naw.”

A big hand came down on the midpoint directly between his wings and delivered a shove.

The limited width of the cell left him no room to pull up out of the unanticipated dive. Skywarp jerked his hands up in an effort to save himself, but not fast enough – he felt his nose crunch against the wall and static shot through his vision. He sagged immediately to his knees with a half-swallowed curse of pain. Why was everyone so determined to flatten his poor face, today.

“We know you little plastic toys don’t do so well in confined spaces,” Blitzwing went on, accompanied by the low fitz of the front screen activating. “So we found you a nice, particularly confined space to overheat in. I figure you remember this place, right?”

Skywarp ignored the taunt. “Aren’t you gonna take these off?” He spread his cuffed hands.

“Ha ha! Don’t be stupid.” Blitzwing wiggled his fingers in a wave, backing up into the corridor. “Toodles.” He disappeared around the corner.

And all the lights went out.

Skywarp waited until the thump of heavy footsteps had faded away completely before venting a long, shaky sigh of hot air. He lowered himself to sit back on the floor. Say what you like about Grounders – it was really hard to fall off a floor.

Okay, Warp. This sucks some serious slag, but you’re alive, right? So let’s just… review the situation. You’re aboard. You’re still mostly functional. You know roughly (ok, very, very roughly) where the kids are. And, they didn’t leave you with a babysitter, so if you play this just right, no-one will know when you escape.

He snorted at himself, and rubbed his temples. Sure, Warp. You got the hard bit out of the way. Now you just gotta escape, find the kids, and get out, without being spotted or dying horribly in the process. Easy peasy.

At least his captors were unwittingly helping him along. The mini tour he’d been given already proved that actually? The Nemesis was pretty unchanged in spite of the vorns that had passed since he was last aboard.

This wing-pinchingly tiny cell, too – he had plenty of not-so-fond memories of being cooped up in here, and had never escaped on his own before. (He consoled himself that he’d just never had a blindingly good reason to. He could totally escape if he really wanted to.) A single highly-dented sheet of sickly purple alloy covered each of the three otherwise featureless walls, with the final side open to the corridor. Subtly crackling energon bars deterred any prisoner from getting too close, but the opening glowed faintly with a forcefield anyway. The annoying tingle of a subspace baffle blocked his view into the quantum universe.

He’d not expected it to be easy, and when couched in terms of spanners dropping into industrial turbines… this was only a little one. Right? If only he could free up enough brainpower to work out how to do it.

He examined his wrists; the cuffs were dented, but a very familiar design – he didn’t like to dwell too hard on the likely fate of the poor glitch they’d stolen them from, but his spark lifted, just a little. These useless fragheads had made a pretty standard mistake. Cuffs were only meant to be temporary restraints, and he’d learned how to hack pretty much all the police-issue ones back home. Thundercracker had said he was the station Houdini, whatever that meant. He could get out of these, no problem.

Dealing with the cuffs could wait at least a breem or two. He had absolute confidence that his former comrades would visit at least probably a hundred times to taunt him, and if he sprang himself free in the first few astro-seconds? They’d spot him and this whole project would be over before it started.

Plus, of course, he was still pretty well slagged, and in no condition to go anywhere until he recharged a little. Escaping was gonna have to wait until he felt a little less sore, humiliated and shaky. While he’d been running hot and scared, he’d not really noticed how depleted he was getting – but now he’d begun to cool, his self-repair had apparently woken up, and a variety of alerts bled static into his vision. “Ngh.”

He turned his attention to his health. His poor nose was a mess; Hook hadn’t even touched it, the sanctimonious glitch, let alone straightened it out for him, and the impact with the wall had compounded it. Using the fingers of one hand, he gingerly nudged it back in place, snarling at himself through the pain. Crystallised energon came away on his fingers, but it didn’t immediately start bleeding again. Small mercies.

Now to top up those depleted batteries. Unless they’d remodelled the place, there was a power cable accessible just under the wall, between the alloy panel and the more solid bulkhead behind. Everyone knew it, and everyone who’d been unfortunate enough to have to spend a few orns down here had used it. It wasn’t exactly high-voltage, but that little bit of clean electricity would get his aching systems topped up well enough.

Using both hands, he ripped up the edge of the panel and sure enough, a well-beaten, seriously-frayed power cable still ran along the floor behind it, held down only with a length of insulating tape and a handful of long-since-broken clips. “Ah, Primus. Thank you for never bothering to fix this, you lazy glitches.” The clips readily gave way to a little tug. Stripping the end, he held it against the charging port on the lower side of his torso until it accepted it, pulling it in, hardware automatically tweaking the bare ends of the wire so they’d fit comfortably.

Skywarp let his leaden hands fall back into his lap, and let all his motors unwind, melting quietly back into the wall, wings drooping with a little sigh of displaced air. It wasn’t completely totally overwhelmingly dark, and sitting down here, he had a decent view of his surroundings. The small, pinchy cell didn’t feel so overwhelmingly tiny.

Hold it together, Warp. You can hold it together. Just a little longer.

---------------

-he resting?-

Skyfire peered around the open door into Starscream’s lab. The interior was unlit, save for the viewscreen, which flooded the small room with harsh blue light and even harsher shadows. The room’s single occupant sat in front of it – upright, but perhaps only just.

Skyfire wanted to reply with honestly, you know him better than anyone, so what do you think, Thundercracker, but reasoned that it was probably as much a plea for him to persuade their wingleader to get some downtime as it was a genuine question. Wasn’t like anyone in the building could miss the stress still permeating every atom.

Instead, he just replied -don’t think so. see what i can do- and edged carefully into the room.

Starscream sat with his head propped on one hand, staring blankly at the screen. It was caught on the most recent footage Megatron had sent them – Warp taking an absolute slagging, pleading for his life in a puddle of his own essential fluids. Skyfire wasn’t sure what the scarlet mech thought he’d be able to glean from watching it, like this, over and over. Perhaps it was just helping him keep his focus. Perhaps he was just looking for reassurance that Skywarp was probably still alive.

“You’re not even processing anything, right now, Star,” Skyfire said, approaching cautiously with his hands wide. “Why don’t you come and get some rest.”

“Rest? Like Warp is no doubt getting right now? Huh. I don’t need to rest,” Starscream protested, the muzziness in his voice immediately betraying his confidence. He wiped his face with one hand. “I need to figure out how to get him out of there. Him, them. All of them.”

“You’ll be no use to anyone unless you get some downtime.” Skyfire reached over his head and turned the screen off. True to form, Starscream immediately protested, straightening and reaching for the screen – which was what Skyfire had wanted. He carefully caught both smaller hands in his much larger ones, and just held them until the seeker stopped squirming. “So I’m telling you: either you go offline by yourself, or I can sedate you.”

“That’s not even a choice, Skyfire.” Starscream jerked on his hands, but they may as well have been set in iron manacles. “This is too important. I’m not going to be drawn into your little insurrection.”

“Well, that’s good, because I wasn’t requesting an evaluation from you. I’m just telling you what to do.”

The jet muttered something unintelligibly poisonous but slumped back against him. “Fine. When Megatron comes here and kills us all, at least I’ll be awake enough to recognise what’s going on.”

In spite of the protests, Starscream was offline almost immediately. Typical. Skyfire reconsidered what he ought to do; moving away would topple his friend clean off his stool, but attempting to pick him up would probably just bump the fractious seeker awake again.

Thundercracker’s voice brushed his comm. -he resting?-

-finally- Skyfire smiled, sadly, and prepared for what could be a very long night spent standing up.

[drsmokescreen]

thebestdecepticonleader Jazz immediately started walking him back to the cell, ::Is it easier if I comm you for details? Don't want ta say it out loud?:: He can understand a desire for privacy.

Relieved, Smokescreen immediately follows. ::It doesn't matter for you. For reasons I don't have time for, I removed my vocaliser this morning,:: Smokescreen explained. ::The pain chip is about to shut off and I am not going to be in a good mood. I know what's coming. I don't want to be accused of manufacturing an incident for gain.:: Smokescreen knows he's going to be too far out of his mind to make decisions in twenty minutes. ::If I'm allowed medical care, I want repairs only if Prime will not take me anywhere but back to Camp 72 to finish my term.:: Or the war, as it may be. ::Or if he sends me to Highgate.:: He has to be prepared for the worst. In fact, he may be better off sold to Starscream than in Highgate.

[cybertronian-cupid]

mann I’m so sorry for this thirsty ask, but may I request some TFA Starscream with a fem s/o who finds out his wings are sensitive and proceeds to tease him, gushing about how perfect his moans and expressions are? Either HCs or a scenario, whichever you wish!

Anon dear, this is a thirst zone, no need to feel sorry! Why do you think this blog was made for? *cackles* Headcanons it is, hopefully you enjoy them!💥~Gregoria🏩

............................. ....................... ............................

It first happened when he tried (and failed) to offline his old boss for the umtenth time, coming to her house.

He was sulking and flicking those wings of his in irritation, grumbling about how the cables and his plating keep aching because of the constant tumbling down into the river bank.

She offers to help him work out some kinks, and he snorts, playfully warning her to not get thrown off, condescendingly adding he probably won’t even feel anything with those small hands on him.

She asks where she should start and runs her hands over the metal closest to where his wings connect with his back plating and his words come out shakier than before.

She takes notice and applies more pressure, reaching for a short thick wire connecting the two backplates between his wings together. He actually lets out a needy growl at that.

“Hey, Scream?”

He blearily asks what, too lost in his charge spiking, and he lets out a scream when she bites at that same cable, his spike pressurizing behind his panel.

When she stops touching him and he’s holding himself up by his shaking servos, unfocused optics and staticy vocaliser hissing at her to climb back on his back and finish the job, she turns towards him and shyly smiles from the doorframe of her home.

“I can pay better attention to them when I have you stretched on our bed”

If it wasn’t the fact she said she’ll do more, what would seal the deal is the fact she said THEIR bed. It still makes him giddy to claim something and have it be acknowledged it’s his. Well they share it, but still it’s his first .

He mass displaces, still tall enough that he has to duck his head and move sideways through doorways, but he manages to fall on their bed, wings splayed and fluttering for her. He’s handed a pillow to straddle, and he registers he’s looking at himself in their vanity mirror, before his thoughts are lost to the sensation of his wings being caressed.

She starts running her fingers over them, plucking at the small wires and seams like these are strings of a harph, commenting on what lovely expression he’s making.

His spike pressurises and he made a point of really exaggerating his moans when she found a good spot. Just before he overloads he throws her off, turns around and thrusts into her wet cunt in one go. And makes sure to return all her teasing when he overloads inside her, and then onto her body, and once he fucks her throat for good measure.

After that first time he becomes insufferable. It’s always his wings being the first and last thing she has to touch when they fuck. Then again, she can usually get him to fuck her to the point of passing out when she strokes both his ego and his wings at the same time.

He is not nearly as reluctant to switch his role in the bed after he overloads multiple times just by his wings being grabbed and scratched. Her fingernails are blunt enough that he finds the contrast between her grabbing him and then dragging down incredibly enjoyable.

It’s rare for him to outright ask for switching though, so she has to atleast pretend she's the one that wants him to switch.

She really has to hold the reins and boss him around firmly. He gets bratty otherwise.

Once he knows he won't be made fun of for asking? Oh he's a menace, cozying up to her and flicking his wings, looking all cute.

[silverxenomorph]

Day 1 of MegaDrift - The Cause/Badge. Deadlock absently rubbed at his badge, the once constant pain of metal torn from spark casing a mere aching memory soothed by the repeated motion. The heavy presence to his side moved to settle a hand on a shoulder. "Be calm. It will be less so soon enough." Megatron rumbled as quietly as he could. "I'm fine. Just old habits." Deadlock's hand slipped away, falling to his side, as the clipped footfalls of a seeker approached. Megatron's arm swung away. Starscream indelicately cleared his vocaliser. Deadlock pursed his lips and set his expression before lifting his helm defiantly. After all there was a battle to fight and The Cause to uphold.

A little precursor pic to that panel of Deadlock, Megatron and Starscream in the Drift mini with some pre-battle jitters

[ask-a-bot]

I really like your voice. I'm often told my voice is annoying, too loud, obnoxious. There are few that appreciate the beauty of my voice. We have something in common.

That's so rude.

You're rude, Starscream. If you were polite-

People would be even ruder.

I wouldn't.

You're not "people". You're my sire.

[sunriseverse]

i do find it interesting that they have starscream rip out bee's vocaliser though! because in the canon i was introduced to, it was megatron (which i think holds true for other continuities also). a very different feel!

[graceful-storyteller]

Baby Blues - Child of Mine

There were days when Starscream doubted that Moonshot was his sparkling. He was such a quiet, placid thing that if Starscream hadn't watched him fall from his open chestplates he'd honestly suspect that he belonged to another bot.

Turbulence, on the other hand, was undoubtedly his. It wasn't just that her first (completely unprompted, honestly Windblade!) words were, “You're ugly Prowl,” or that she absolutely could not handle criticism now that she was old enough to understand it. The evidence of her parentage was clear in the look of pure smugness she sent her younger brother when she built a taller tower, or drew a better picture, or when she become emotional and her vocaliser achieved a truly painful pitch.

Then there was her new and completely bizarre habit of blaming everything on Megatron. Starscream wasn't entirely sure where she'd picked that up, seeing as he did his utmost best not to mention the warlord around his sparklings. Sure, occasionally something would wind him up enough that he'd curse that rusted aft under his breath, but it had been a long time since he flew into a full blown rant about his former tormentor. He hadn't wanted to poison his little ones with thoughts of Megatron, or in any way encourage them to ask questions about him.

Moonshot liked asking questions. He was always reading, always searching for knowledge. Starscream supposed that insatiable curiosity was a trait they shared – although Moonshot seemed to value knowledge for knowledge's sake, whereas Starscream valued the leverage knowledge brought.

“Starscream? Can you check the sparklings are recharging?”

Starscream was about to ask why Windblade couldn't check on the sparklings herself, but then he noticed the way she was clutching her datapad. If the next words out of his intake weren't “Yes Windblade” that datapad would be heading straight for his helm. As much as he did love to antagonise her, even he knew when doing so was a terrible, terrible idea. Windblade could be mean when she was stressed and she'd known him long enough to be able to strike every one of his insecurities with deadly accuracy.

Grumbling more for show than anything, Starscream eased himself out of his comfortable slouch and made his way to the room at the back of their hab-suite. Both sparklings had clearly gotten out of their berths after story time. Turbulence had fallen asleep curled around a handheld game and Moonshot had a datapad resting against his chestplate. Both were deep in recharge.

Smiling fondly, Starscream gently peeled the game away from where it had become stuck to Turbulence's faceplate. He switched off the screen and stowed it away in its proper place. He moved to Moonshot's berth and eased his frame down until he was flat on his back. Recharging sitting up was murder on the neck-cables. Starscream had learnt that the hard way.

Absently, Starscream picked up Moonshot's datapad. He scanned the contents to determine where on his son's painstakingly organised shelves this one belonged. What he saw made him pause.

It was a list. A list of people who had angered or in some way slighted Moonshot. It was a revenge list.

Slowly, Starscream turned off the datapad and carefully tucked it against Moonshot's frame, under his hand. Then he stood back and stared down at his son. He honestly didn't think he'd been more proud of the little cog. Only a sparkling and he'd already worked out that a prolonged and calculated demise of one's enemies was far more rewarding than striking out in anger. Finally, Starscream had found something definitive he and his son had in common – they both knew how to not only hold a grudge but to nurse it.

Overcome with emotion, Starscream leaned back down and pressed a kiss to Moonshot's helm. As always, the deep recharger did not stir in the slightest.

[ivycorp]

Tarn and his made up love triangle, because I need to talk about his crushes on Pharma and Megatron who most definitely are in love with different mechs sorry Tarn

As the mech turned, the doctor smiled and extended a servo holding a freshly removed t-cog, the other holding a cup of fuel.

"Ah, doctor, you didn't have to, you just gave me one this morning," the phase sixer said, nevertheless taking the offering with a pleased sigh. The melody caused the medic to shiver, as the shorter frame pressed itself against Tarn, warm and inviting.

Just as the DJD leader was about to respond to the hint to touch the mech, his comms burst to life - a priority channel.

Megatron was calling him!

"Doctor, a moment, I'll be right back, I promise," he said, extracting the delicate arms (such lovely servos, so fragile compared to his strength) and dashing towards an empty corner, opening the line.

"My Lord, what can I do for you?" Tarn asked, giddiness making his vocaliser glitch a bit.

"Always so direct, that is why you're my favorite, Tarn - don't tell this to Soundwave," he heard in response, excitement so high he wasn't sure he would not faint on the spot.

"Of course, my Lord," the phase sixer rushed to reassure, glad to be a confidante for his supreme commander.

"I have a task just for you, and I expect you to not disappoint me, Tarn," came a low growl over the comm, which made the mech's knee joints actually buckle.

"Whatever you need, my Lord, it shall be done," the tall bot confirmed, trying not to pay attention to the jealous looks Pharma was shooting in his direction.

"Great, I'll see you in my quarters in two cycles then," came the answer, and the line dropped.

Tarn was for yet again thinking about the tragedy of having two relationships at once, as Pharma approached to steal his attention again.

"There, done for today," mused Tarn, typing up his fanfiction as he was used to doing every delacycle or so. Since he arrived back at Nemesis to rendezvous with Megatron, he found himself with more time than usual.

His Lord was a very busy mech, he knew, but it was a bit saddening to not be able to talk to him for longer than a few clicks, as Megatron was recently under a horrifying amount of supervision.

Tarn hoped it wasn't anything bad, seeing how often his commander was in the medbay…

Yet thinking about medicine made him groan internally, as he would be reminded of Pharma, who was somewhere on the planet. He promised to find him once he gets a proper meeting with Megatron - to talk about the List, the mission, maybe he could do something else, closer to him perhaps? - but as the talk was not happening, he could not leave to search for the other.

He was sure the jet was missing him already, even if he did not say it the last time they spoke...

Additionally, with Soundwave's recent extreme adherence to inter-fractional fraternization guidelines (which right now have been shortened to a "Under No Circumstances", underlined five times, with seven exclamation points) he would not be able to call the medic to arrange a meeting without drawing suspicion to himself.

Tarn sighed, resigning himself to yet another vigil around Megatron's quarters, to possibly catch the mech alone to talk. When he tried the office, he found it has been filled with so many reports it was not possible to actually work there, so the chances of meeting the supreme commander there were slim.

He tried going through Starscream, as much as it pained him to do so, but the only response was "Megatron is not available, I will let you know when that changes".

He couldn't really trust the seeker to do it, so here he was, by the door, waiting patiently for his Lord to return.

*****

Meanwhile, in the conference room not far from Megatron's clogged office:

"Soundwave, I said I was sorry, I promise I won't call him ever again, please, don't make me read this!"

Megatron held no illusion of pride at this point, having been either prodded by Knock Out to get his entire medical file updated, as well as all maintenance and upkeep records checked and filled in - he even slept in the medbay, exhausted and tired from weird medications they made him take now that tasted horrible - but he has been forced into going through the report backlog that has gathered in his office.

He managed to stay compliant, as he could feel the punishment was relatively lenient considering the crime, but this?

This was torture.

A thin digit tapped the datapad again, allowing no argument.

Megatron considered just chewing through the pad to avoid reading it, but he had a sneaky suspicion Soundwave would just produce another instead.

And then another one, as punishment for breaking something of his.

The Decepticon Leader surrendered as he took the pad and started reading through "Lovers across the stars - a story of a devoted soldier, his charismatic leader, and their secret devotion" by MusicDrivesMeTowardsPeace.

Even he knew that was Tarn's pen name.

And just a few sentences in, he could already see the similarities in the characters on the page before him.

Stealing a look at Soundwave, Megatron knew the other chose this precisely because of that.

He could only thank the circumstances that he managed to get out of any actual conversation with Tarn so far - the only highlight in the Pit his life has become.

Focusing again on the page to not think about the reasons for all of this (as he suspected his TIC would somehow know if he even thought about Optimus), he started to read.

*********************

Last one prompted by this post of @paraxodicalundressing, related to the reason of megatron's circumstances and pharma's wherabouts

[tfortransformertiddy]

A smol thing :) a one shot from my fic Fissure.

~~~

“Could you please make him shut up?” Starscream hissed for what seemed to be the thousandth time, audials straining under the wailing of the tiny, feeble sparkling wiggling in Megatron’s arms.

Sideswipe struggled, pedes kicking out at grey armour while little hands pinched at the digits trying to wipe away the tears staining his pink cheeks.

“I’m trying,” Megatron grunted, avoiding yet another wild swing from a chubby leg. Sideswipe squawked, bottom lip wobbling as he pushed away from the embrace his sire was trying to draw him into.

Another spark wrenching cry made Starscream cringe, wings high on his back as his creation squealed and squeaked, throwing what had to have been the worst tantrum the seeker had ever seen.

Even Megatron, who Sideswipe adored so much, couldn’t soothe the miserable sparkling with some cooing and humming like he usually did.

And now the two sat between their inconsolable creation, feeling idiotic and completely defeated.

Sideswipe hiccuped, squirming in his despairs, before he twisted to look away from Megatron, and right into the red, narrowed optics of his carrier.

The seeker blinked, and stared back into the glistening violet optics that blinked up at him. Sideswipe’s face screwed up, and another rough cry escaped his vocaliser.

“Give him to me,” Starscream suddenly demanded, shifting so he could lean over Megatron, elegant digits reaching for the sparkling now sitting in his grey lap.

“Why?”

“Because he’s my creation too,” The seeker explained scathingly. He didn’t bother to wait for Megatron's approval, bending down with a smirk to pluck the sparkling from his leaders lap before he could protest.

Sideswipe’s cry was cut off, replaced with a chirp of surprise as he was lifted briskly through the air.

Starscream held him to his chest, wings flicking in thought, optics narrowing in distaste at the absolute desolation of Megatron’s quarters.

“Don’t you decorate?”

Megatron scowled, “Forgive me if my time is spent doing more useful things.”

Starscream ignored him.

“This will do,” He mused, thrusters spluttering to life, leaving a considerable black mark on the ground. He shot up to a stupidly high shelf situated on the wall, and blew at the dust covering the surface.

Sideswipe was plopped down on it, and his wailing cut short. Megatron sputtered a protest, scrambling to his pedes as his sparkling leaned over the edge, optics bright with excitement despite his sires terror.

“He’s quiet,” Starscream proclaimed, flopping (gracefully) down onto the berth proudly.

“He could fall!” Megatron growled, and reached up to grasp his sparkling back.

Sideswipe protested, leaning over his sire’s shoulder guard to make grabby hands at the shelf.

“I would catch him,” Starscream said dismissively.

Megatron grumbled, hefting up Sideswipe to lay him on his chest, ignoring the irritated babbles.

“I have a better idea.”

Before the seeker could ask, their squirming sparkling was shoved into his arms, Megatron’s face flat as he settled himself across from Starscream.

Black digits prodded under the grey helmet Starscream had always considered ugly, prying at the clasps until they fell away with a click.

Sideswipe gaped, and he squealed in Starscream arms, wiggling for freedom as black finials uncurled from the top of Megatron’s head, glowing faintly in the dark of the room.

Megatron smirked, even as Starscream stared, grip loosening enough for Sideswipe to wiggle free and make a dash for his sire.

Black hands slapped at his knee, legs struggling to pull himself up over Megatron’s large form. Sideswipe was scooped up, large hands curling gently under his armpits, gentle as they lifted him up towards the crown.

Tiny digits curled around one, and Megatron cringed despite himself. Sideswipe, however, was surprisingly gentle. His mouth was wide with awe, optics enraptured as he grasped at the pulsing finials.

Megatron rumbled a laugh, and rubbed his nose against his creations own much tinier one.

“Yes, I know my sparkling well.”