#this is how bulkhead lovers can win

[t-a-a-1]

Counting Stars

Pt.2: The Wait

TFP Optimus x Female Reader

Summary: After revealing to Optimus that you are carrying his sparkling, he convinces you to stay under the Autobot care. However, after the sudden appearance of an old lover of yours, Optimus faces difficult challenges as he tries to win you back and learn how to prepare to be a father at the same time.

A/N: Lots of yearning, jealousy, delusions, craving, fluff. All that good stuff.

4K

Counting Stars

Pt.2: The Wait

There is a clear difference between carrying a sparkling and dying. 

You weren’t sure which one you were doing.

Everyone was treating you like you were about to perish. Everyone has always been careful around you. But now they are extremely aware of you. Every step you take, breath, look, smell, nothing was too insignificant. 

“You shouldn’t be carrying that.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t eat that.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go there.”

The autobots treated you like a doll. Although the thought sounds amusing, it really wasn’t. 

“I just want to go for a drive. I’ve been inside for two weeks. I need to get out.”

Bulkhead moves his helm from side to side. He was  the third bot you asked about going out. 

“What if we crash and you get hurt?” 

You knew he was making up an excuse to not take you for a drive. Because what kind of Autobot would be such a bad driver?

“I am a human! I need the sun and see pretty things or I’ll get depressed and die!”

“Can you just watch the sun and pretty things on TV?”

Crossing your hands in front of your chest, you huff, showing your clear satisfaction. 

“I am sorry (Y/N) but you are carrying the only sparkling Cybertron has seen since millennials. If you weren’t having our species’s only hope, I would be more lenient.” 

Bulkhead’s voice sounds apologetic. You know that he was telling the truth. Maybe they all missed hanging out with you but couldn’t do much due to current circumstances. 

“I am being serious. I need to go out.” you say looking at the bot. “I’ll seriously die.”

You were exaggerating but you didn’t know until how much you could last without going crazy. 

“Well, maybe we can wait until Optimus is back and hear what he thinks.” Arcee steps in, trying to see if she could alleviate the situation. “You know, so no one wants to get in trouble.”

“Prime isn’t even around.”

A simple talk couldn’t fix everything. Although you and Optimus were in speaking terms, you wouldn’t say that things were the way they used to be. Things were still awkward and tense between the two of you. 

“You need to understand him, he is also going through biological needs not seen eons ago,” Ratchet speaks up while still typing on his large computer. “He is nesting for you and the sparkling, he can’t control it and he is trusting us to keep you safe while he is away.”

“Oh so you care about his biological needs but not about mine? I see how it is.”

“It’s not that, it's just–”

Ratchet turns to look at you. 

“Alright, maybe you are right.”

The medic-bot notices the color of your skin. It’s pale. Not in a natural way but in a sick-manner. Your belly has grown and you look tired. Mentally, you must be going through a lot. The weight of the survival of an entire civilization is on your shoulders and you are yet to know if the sparkling will be born healthy. 

“Only for 30 minutes.”

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Optimus was able to satisfy his biological needs only after he found ten dandelions. It was extremely hard to bring them to base since they were delicate and were easy for its tiny petals to crumble. He had found several but would have to go back and look for more since most would lose their petals on the way. 

He also found some pretty rocks. He wasn’t sure which one you would like most so he brought all of them. 

“So you are here to stay with (Y/N) for the rest of the pregnancy?”

His olfactory sensors picked a familiar smell. A human one but it was none of the kids. It was a scent he wasn’t fond of. One he very much wished did not exist. 

“Yes, as a Special Agent, I was assigned this duty. Which I am glad for, I want to spend time with (Y/N) as much as possible.”

Special Agent Alex. Fowler’s Co-worker and your childhood best friend. 

Optimus’ sensors were on alert. All of his instincts warned him. 

“Potential male threat detected. Human male may potentially steal sparkling and partner. Action Required: Keep human male away from mate.”

“May I inquire about your reasoning behind your sudden … presence without invitation?”

He didn’t waste any time as he walked towards the center of the hangar. His tall demeanor did not seem to phase the secret agent. 

“Hey, Prime! Sorry for not announcing it before,” Alex waved knowing that he would get more of a reaction out of Optimus if he pretended that his hostility does not affect him. “But I am just doing my duty. (Y/N) was originally supposed to be transported to a secured area under my watch. But since that didn’t happen, I’ll be staying here.”

“(Y/N) is currently protected by five Autobots at all times. She’s safe here and does not need your guarding.”

“That may be right but (Y/N)’s child is a matter of national security. I can’t let the Autobots have complete control over humanity’s first human-alien hybrid child.”

Optimus closes his servo, fighting the urge to smash the human like a mosquito. 

“My sparkling is no human experiment.”

“I am not saying it was,” Alex looks directly at Optimus’ optics. Unafraid. “What I am saying is that the child would benefit from having all the resources this world can offer. That child, no matter what it may be or look like, would be more human than Cybertronian. It will grow here. Learn our languages, history, traditions and culture.”

Alex smirks, about to deliver the final hit. 

“It’s not like there’s much to learn from Cybertron after all,” he says. “I may raise that child myself.”

Everyone could hear Optimus’ gun engine turn on, about to point directly at the agent. 

Until you showed up. 

“Alex?”

He immediately put away his weapon, pretending that he wasn’t about to harm a certain individual. He couldn’t do it, not after seeing the smile on your face. 

Not after you jumped into his arms, hugging him as he spinned you around. 

“Alert. Action Required: Eliminate threat. Keep human male away from mate. Alert.”

His processor telling him commands wasn’t helping the feelings in his spark. 

“You have always been beautiful but pregnancy suits you so well. It’s going to make my stay here all the more pleasant.”

Alex has always been a flirt.  But you never took it seriously. At least not now. You used to love the compliments during the time of your relationship. Years ago. 

“Are you staying here?”

You ask excitedly, in a desperate need of a friend your age. A human friend who would understand your need to get coffee and see the sunsets. 

“Yes, you won’t have to be lonely anymore,” Alex puts a hand on your head, giving you a soft head pat. An act Optimus was never able to do casually. Putting hands on you without consent in any way did not fit right with him.  “I’ll stay as long as you have me.”

“Yes! You can stay in my room!”

You seem to enjoy the affection. The agent gave you a certain warmness Optimus couldn’t give you and his processor is starting to write codes unfamiliar to him. 

“I am highly against that–”

“Alright, I’ll put my things in there,” Alex’s voice was louder than Optimus’ as he was closer to you. You were too excited to pay attention to the rising anger of the bot. “But tell me, where were you? I was waiting for you and got kinda worried.”

“I’ve been inside here for two weeks and Ratchet took me for a quick drive.”

“For two weeks? That’s not healthy for you and the baby, you need to stay active and get enough sunlight.”

“That’s what I told them but they wouldn’t listen to me.”

Everyone around you noticed your evident happiness that they didn’t mind the comment. You were right, they weren’t taking your needs into consideration. It was even more evident by the sudden change of your mood. 

“Well, from now on I’ll be taking care of you,” Alex moves his hand to caress your cheek. “And I’ll take you on regular drives and trips.”

“Do not touch my sparkmate–”

“Also I brought you a gift!”

He looks down at his backpack as Optimus’ voice subsides. Opening it quickly and showing the content inside it. 

“My favorite chocolate!” you take the pink box from his hands. It was an expensive brand and hard to find. Not available anywhere in the city.  “Thank you! 

Optimus quickly thinks of the things he got you. Dandelions, flowers, rocks. Would you love them just as much? Will you jump in excitement and hug him? Will you see him as fit enough to be your provider, protector and Sparkmate?

“Analysis Complete: Human Male wishes to bond with Sparkmate and steal Sparkling. Activating Sparkmate Protection Codes. Eliminate offering. Keep Sparkmate secluded.”

It’s like he couldn’t control himself. It was fear, confusion and jealousy that overtook his processor. 

Without any announcement, Optimus walks towards you and takes the chocolate box using two of his digits. You watch him with amusement, not understanding his actions. And without any previous warning, he crushes the box. 

The Autobots don’t say a word, flabbergasted at their leader’s actions. 

“I- I am–”

Optimus wanted to apologize but he was so surprised by his own doing that no words left his dermas. 

The room is silent for a few seconds until sobbing is heard coming from you.  Normally, you wouldn’t cry but your hormones have been acting differently, making you more emotionally sensitive.

You run to your room, Alex quickly follows by until the two of you disappear from the hangar. 

“Sparkmate in distress. Advance with caution. In case of Sparkmate rejection, proceed to program Offline codes.” 

Optimus looks at his servo. The pink chocolate box is destroyed. It was a nice gift. Delicate, gentle, genuine. And he destroyed it. All that was left was the result of his own selfish actions. 

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.

.

He didn’t know how to approach you. Nor knew if he should. His processor was begging him to go talk to you. 

His pedes hang from the cliff as he sees the stars in the sky. Its a view Cybertron was unknown to.  His home planet, with all of its technological advances, unique traditions and indescribable views could never have this kind of beauty. Yet, it can’t compare to the delicacy of your eyes.

Hearing heavy steps walking towards him, he knows it wasn’t you. Most of the time, he couldn’t tell when you were approaching him, your steps were too small to be heard. Either that or he would smell your scent. 

“You know, the right thing to do is apologize, right?”

Arcee was not one to open up easily. That was something she had in common with Optimus. 

“It would be simple if I knew she would want me to,” he responds, seeing the motorcycle sit next to him.

“... Are all male bots this stupid?”

“I believe so.”

There was silence but it wasn’t awkward. They didn’t need to talk to understand each other. Optimus is a great leader but somewhat stupid when it comes to relationships. It is of no surprise, however. Cybertronian and Human relationships are very different. Cybertron culture is more reserved, sometimes even completely political. As a species living for so long, it’s more about companionship. A long lasting friendship. Finding a Sparkmate was completely rare. Something not everyone would get to experience. 

Humans however … Due to their short lifespan, they were more prone to fall in love and out of love rather fast. 

“My processor has been programmed to do things I deemed as primitive for our kind,” he says. “Sometimes I can’t control it.”

“Then just tell her that,” Arceee puts a servo on his shoulder. Physical contact wasn’t common in Cybertron either. But he didn’t mind. “And apologize … a lot.”

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You started to overthink. A lot. 

Optimus had feelings for you. Of that you were almost certain. You think ‘almost’ because now you weren’t so sure. 

Optimus would live for many years after you are gone. Maybe one day he will finally find the one, his Sparkmate. Where would that leave your child? He has told you that he will be responsible. But is he doing it out of duty or because he has love for his sparkling? You didn’t want him to believe that he is being forced to stay. 

It was a stupid thought. You knew that. But the thought still lingers in the back of your mind. 

“Prime is gonna kill me whenever he finds out I took you out of the base.”

It's always nice to get out of the base during the night. Especially with someone who saw you as an individual instead of just a ‘carrier and savior of an advanced robot race.’ He also drives nicely, not too fast, not too slow. Alex used to be a mechanic, his love for cars was always evident. Even as he drives, you can tell that this is all he ever wanted to do. 

“You know he won’t even kill a fly.”

“Yeah and that’s why it’s so fun to tease him.”

Alex tried to diminish the tension of the previous situation. He didn’t know why Optimus did what he did. But he feels a bit guilty for teasing Optimus as much. Maybe if he hadn't pushed him to his limits, he wouldn't have done such ugly act. 

“Can we go to the beach?”

You ask randomly. 

Alex smiles.

“Sure.”

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.

.

When Ratchet informed him that you had gone on a night drive with Alex, he immediately went to your room. 

Why?

It was something even he couldn’t understand.

He knew he wasn’t going to find you there. 

Yet, his processor couldn’t understand how you weren’t here. He needs you. Now. His every circuit aching at the thought of you leaving his side. Carrying his sparkling and with a male who had successfully stolen you from his servos even if it's just for one night. 

He can still smell your scent in your room. Even after he had mass-shifted to enter, the room was still too small for him. He touched the bedsheets and began to miss the moments he has shared with you before in it. 

Where are you?

He needs you now. He needs to hold you, to know that you are safe. To express how much he adores you and the sparkling. 

“Sparkmate Status: Missing. Sparkling Status: Missing. Safety Status: Unknown. If Unable To Locate, Proceed With Solitude Activation Codes.”

He used his Comm-Link to call your cell phone. But nothing. He tried again. Nothing. 

It wasn’t until the 30th time that he understood … You didn’t want to be with him. 

You didn’t want him. 

You didn’t want him.

You didn’t want him. 

His servos tremble. 

Optics feel heavy. It’s strange. Having blue liquid come out of his eyes. He had cried before. For different reasons. This was pain, in its purest form. In a way words can’t describe. Proof of it were his subsided pleas of air as he had forgotten how to breathe, something he didn’t know he could do until he saw you. 

His spark aches. It hurts. Everything. 

Everything …  His everything is gone.

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.

.

It was about a 10 hour drive.

Watching the sunrise was always a beautiful experience. Feeling the warm sunlight touch your skin energizes you. It made you forget the previous negative emotions and you began to have this strange yearning. 

For Optimus.

You wanted to be with him. Wishing he could  be here with you along with your unborn child. 

Maybe he had over reacted but knowing Optimus he probably has a good reason for destroying the chocolate box. Was he taking care of your weight? What if chocolate is toxic for sparklings? You wanted to talk to him and make things better–

Oh. 

You were right. You do need the sun. 

“Let’s build a sandcastle.”

Alex could sometimes be like a child, which was fun. There was never a boring moment with him.

“Let’s build an Autobot, instead!”

You let yourself touch the sand and immediately feel something moving inside you. It feels strange. It doesn’t hurt but feels very uncanny. Nonetheless, you smile as you put your hands in your belly. Your sparkling may be more human than you think, also enjoying the activity and fresh air. 

“Do you think will look like his father?”

You ask Alex as he tries to make a small square with his hands, using water from a water bottle. 

He looks at you and then down at his little project. 

“If the child were to live on Cybertron then I would prefer for them to look like Optimus,” he says, trying to think of a delicate way to tell you his opinion. “But since they will be living on Earth, then I genuinely hope they look more human.”

You know you will love the child no matter what. But Alex had a point. What kind of life will the child live if he is too different? Humans can be cruel, especially to those who are different. 

“If something happens to me … will you take care of them?”

He lets out a heavy sigh and looks at you again. His mood had been ruined but it was a question you were meaning to ask. 

“You know childbirth is difficult as it is and well, I am assuming giving birth to the first Human-Cybertronian child would be even more so.”

“You know we’ll have the best doctors in the world for that day,” Alex starts to mold more rectangular boxes as he stacks them up. Meanwhile you have started working on the head. “And if anyone can come out alive out of that it's you.”

He makes a pause and a small laugh escapes from his lips. 

“Besides, didn’t you fuck a 20 feet tall alien robot? You did that and came out fine. Childbirth should be a piece of cake.”

Without any notice, Alex’s mouth is filled with sand. You had thrown him a sand-ball and he started spitting it out and washing his mouth with the remaining water. 

“Hey! It's true!”

“Yes but you didn’t have to say it like that!”

“I don’t blame you, if Arcee would give me the chance, I would hit too–”

You throw more sand at him and he also retaliates. A sandy-battle unleashed as the wind was in your favor. Alex was gentle enough to only attack you below or above your belly. His ‘projectiles’ are extremely small compared to yours and between giggles and laughs, the battle continues until both of your hairs and clothes are covered with sand. 

And then, Alex’s phone begins to ring. 

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.

.

“Where is he?”

The sun is still rising. The groundbridge could not stop time. But the time in California and Nevada were the same. 

You run towards Ratchet who is still by the groundbrige system, Alex close by.

“At the top, he is doing better now that I told him you were returning but …” The autobot medic pauses, not finding the right words to describe the situation. “I think you should go and see for yourself.”

You didn’t hesitate and made your way towards the rooftop. Of course, you didn’t run but you moved as fast as your pregnant body could. 

It was a good workout, you were losing your breath as you made your way to the elevator. If you had been in better shape, you would have taken the stairs. 

As you wait to arrive at the top, you could hear the beats of your heart palpitating against your chest. Overthinking is a talent of yours. Many stupid thoughts crossed your head. Thinking that Optimus was too angry at you for leaving the base without permission. You were ready to accept your punishment, whatever that may be. 

Instead, as you arrive at the top of the cliff, there are more questions than answers. 

You find big rocks, with a weight of more than a ton. Two rocks standing vertically and one on top of the two laying horizontally. Like a small house made out of giant rocks, enough space for a single Cybertronian. One that is around 20 feet tall, blue and red that turns into a truck.

Optimus is there but he is too busy spraying dandelions around his small house that he didn’t notice your presence. 

It wasn’t until he turned around that his optics shine in excitement. He almost runs towards but reminds himself to be gentle. Reaching out a servo, you expected him to hold you but he doesn’t he pulls away, using all of his strength to restrain himself. 

“I am glad to see you are safe.”

He says in a soft voice, the relief in his voice is evident and you feel the need to jump into his servos and be embraced by him. But just like him, you stopped yourself from doing so.

“I am glad you are safe too,” you tilted your body a little, your attention directed to the rocks behind. “Ratchet said you were acting … strange.”

Optimus also takes a look at his creation. He wished he could do better but its the best he could do with his limited resources. 

“Yes, you could say so.”

“May I ask, what is going on?”

He has been meaning to tell you but he doesn't know without getting nervous. He didn’t know how you would react. Will you think of him as weird? Disgusting even? But he can’t run away any longer. You are the sword and he is against a dead end with the only option being moving forward.

“Cybertron hasn’t had a sparkling in milenia so to ensure its safety, my processor activated primal codes,” Optimus says. “It makes me do things that may be antiquated.”

Not understanding fully, but if you had to come to a conclusion, Optimus may be going through something similar to animal mating rituals. Which is not so far fetched since Cybertron used to have Predacons before Cybertronians appeared. 

“Is that why you destroyed my chocolate box?”

“Due that we haven’t concluded the Conjunx Ritus, my processor doesn’t consider you as my Conjunx Endura yet, although I consider you my Sparkmate” Optimus blinks multiple times as he only does when he is nervous. “I identified Special Agent Alex’s actions as threatening to steal you and my sparkling.”

“Me?”

“Yes, although those reasons are more … intimate ones.”

Your heart beats faster as the sunlight reflects on his paint-job. He looks beautiful. You once again remember how incredible and extraordinary of an individual he is. There is no one like him in the entire universe and never will. You feel delighted to know that you are in his presence, being able to admire a side not one has seen yet. 

“Oh,” you look away after realizing you had been staring at him for too long.  “And that?”

You point at the rock structure and Optimus optics quickly follow. 

“After you left, I went to look for you at your private quarters,” he kept looking at the rocks and you wonder the struggles he had to go through to carry them to the top. “Not seeing you there activated my Solitude Codes.”

He walks towards the rocks, there are a lot of dandelions. Some of them died. Others are alive. There is some sort of yearning in his optics as if he belongs there. Its a sorrowful yearning, as if he was made to do something that he wishes to not do. Yet, he knows he would be skillful at it. 

“I felt the need to build this.”

“And do what?”

You ask, not wanting to walk closer as you thought that maybe you would be overstepping his boundaries. 

“Wait,” he answers. 

His back faces you. Not being able to see his faceplate, you can only tell how he feels based on his voice box’s tone. He just stands there, looking down. 

“For what?”

“For you to come back.”

He answers so longingly that it makes you almost shed a tear. For a moment, time stops. There is no wind, no sound, no scent, nothing. But just him. As if your entire world had become just him.  

“... And if I didn’t come back?”

He slowly turns to look at you. A soft smile, of  love. There wasn’t any desire in it. It was pure. Genuine. As he is in love with your soul and wishes to spend eternity with the thought of you. With your existence, whatever that was. To be one until the heavens and the earth collide. 

“I would wait until you do.”

And for a second, the Prime no longer was. But just a spark. In his purest form. His faceplates open, he wants to say something but it's lost in words. He had given up so easily. Realizing that he has yet to find the right words to express his love for you. A love so vast that not even the best poets or writers could ever put into paper. 

If he could go back in time and stop himself from becoming a Prime, he would. Because being an archivist would have made him more eloquent, maybe then, he could describe to you a small fraction of his endless adoration. 

“Prime–”

“Guys!” Alex came out of the elevator, screaming and ruining the moment. “Sorry to interrupt but we have a message coming from Megatron!”

He tilts his head outside the elevator, blue eyes staring at the two of you. Noticing that he interrupted a romantic scenario, he just pointed a finger at the two of you. 

“Prime we need you, please make-out quickly!”

And with that, Alex leaves as soon as he appeared. 

“Well, now that you are here, I won’t be using this,” Optimus walks towards you and bends down on one knee. He is still too tall but you appreciate that he tries to see you faceplate to face. Using a servo, he caresses your hair and your soft skin. With so much adoration and devotion. 

  “I don’t have much time but I realized I haven’t thank you yet for carrying my Sparkling.”

He wants to hold you. Craving it. He wishes he could have time to tell you more. To whisper in your ears sweet things. To read to you the most lovely of poems. To just rot in a bed, indulging in nothing but love. 

But he can’t. Not now. 

“Creating a new life with you has been the greatest honor of my life.” 

He stands up, walks past you. Leaving you at a shock, at a state of awe. 

“Now, let us go,” he says. “Some things can’t wait.”

He'll wait until you call him by his first name again.

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A/N: It was fun to write this. Optimus panicking and not understanding the changes he is going through. I think on this he has accepted that he may not win you back but that won't stop him from loving you and his sparkling. Meanwhile you are falling for him all over again.

I wrote this because y'all liked the concept for Counting Stars and supported it a lot! So thank you everyone so much for the support.

This was a one shot and I continued it because there was lots of love but I don't have a certain story-line. To be honest I don't know how to continue it.

For the next chapter (if there is one) I was thinking that Megatron accidentally sends Reader to the Dark Dimension where Reader meets Nemesis Prime. In this dimension, Optimus loses Reader and his Sparkling, transforming him into an evil being.

Meanwhile in Reader's dimension, Optimus is losing it. Slowly spiraling into madness at the thought of never seeing Reader and his Sparkling again. Destroying everything on sight, the Autobots fight to keep Optimus at bay.

The plot would end with Optimus and Nemesis fighting to see who would keep Reader.

That storyline would take around 2-3 chapters and it would conclude this story.

But that is just a thought, I still don't if I'll continue this since I really need to focus on writing the next chapter for 'The Darkest Hour'

And I am currently working on a oneshot bayverse Optimus fic too so please look forward to it!

Again thank you for reading and sorry for any spelling and grammar mistakes.

See You in the next story!

Previous:

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[bioticgoddess]

Of The Voide (#2 - an original work)

Here ya go. The next installment of the Of the Voide Story. Like I said, it’s an original work. So don’t steal my stuff but you’re welcome to share. :)

Please enjoy!

The Seti’Veth System: Cor’seti Station

The space station orbiting the planet Cor’seti was always a questionable decision. It wasn’t really neutral territory, being well within the jurisdiction of the Coalition, but they didn’t exactly police it. Meant that people like the crew of the Ashewake could dock and resupply. Right now, they needed the rest. The Krimmoran contract had been a bust and then they’d had to deposit the younger Voidekeine girl back with the flotilla. Her field tour ended early, much to her temporary shipmate’s relief.

Seated at the bar, black and blue hair pulled off her face in a series of braids, Zaffre Branwen took another swig from the mug. At least they’d had Corinthian Red Tea - most folks mistook it for brandy or some kind of whiskey until they tried to steal a swig, then they got trouble. Which was exactly the last thing she needed. Her base tint alabaster-gray skin was covered in what looked like paint splatter marks of black and a darker blue-gray. Terrans might have said she looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. Others would have wondered when last she’d bathed. It was the usual variance of bullshit levied at all  Voidekeine. They were all as spotted and splattered as she was, though that alabaster base color could be as black as ebony - like her co-pilot and engineer Tagetes. His spotting was mostly shades of lighter grays.

He’d known the woman for decades, since they were kids using repair mechs to sneak from their assigned frigates to the Ag-ships to beg for cocoa pods so they could harvest the chocolate from within the fruit. He’d stowed away on her little transport ship one year when she’d swung through the Flotilla to drop off some supplies she’d been asked to ferry home between Contracts. Had they not been acquainted all those years, it was a near guarantee she’d have wasted the ammunition and escape pod necessary to send his ass right back home.  

“Alright Boss,” he stood behind the black and blue-haired woman. “We got watchers,” he whispered, the blue portion of her long hair brushing his hand as he put it against her back.  It was well rehearsed theater to make onlookers believe they were about to flit off for a lover’s tryst. 

He stood a full foot taller than she was and his proportions were emphasized by his armored vacsuit. He wasn’t comically large - though on the taler and broader side for their species, he couldn’t compare to the Krimmora or the Omari (an amphibious, crocodilian  race) or any of the other more massive denizens of the galaxy.  But he had a winning smile that, despite being a Voidekeine, disarmed everyone. Casually he raked a hand through his short mop of silver and pink  curls. The turn of his head towards the corner table indicated the direction of their new admirers. 

Sighing, she downed the remaining tea in one long slow draw and signaled the bartender to come over. “Vaun, can I get a couple canisters to go,” she pointed to her now empty drink, “And wrap up those meals too?”

Behind the bar, a tall red-skinned Corinthian gave a subtle nod, the same one he gave when a customer entered or paid their tab or tipped well. It was neutral but the affirming wink he tossed to the woman was emphatic. Vaun himself rose a full head taller than Tagetes when he rolled his shoulder and spine up and revealed his full stature. But he was spindly, the result of spending his youth in Corinthus-3’s low gravity. Like it’s sibling moons, Corinthus-3 was a mining concern and major source of metals and metalloids. Corinthus Rex, the heavy-gravity world around which the lunar system orbited, gave rise to a much stockier offshoot of their species and was, by all accounts, a more diverse and lush ecosystem. 

Most only bothered to visit the moons as they lacked the bone density, muscle, and cardiovascular development necessary to handle the central world’s gravity. Much like the Security vacsuit wearing group watching the two Voidekeine. 

Though to call the organization “security” on Cor’Seti Station was a joke. At best, they were thugs pretending they had the authority of the system behind them. At worst a cartel that the Coalition - who’s giant war ships were currently in orbit around the station - ignored because it meant that they didn’t have to actually police the station. They could focus on the parliamentary conquest and assimilation of the Seti’Veth System. 

“Auck’ver’im,” Vaun’s lips barely moved as he set the pack insert filled with her requisition down on the counter. “Crell’mey’rah.”

“Universal translator seems broken,” Zaffre tapped the small, hexagonal chip icon painted on her suit’s armored breast-plate. “But I got ya.” Index and forefinger pressed together, she saluted him with her left hand. 

Tagetes had taken the moment to put the oddly heavy pack in his rucksack. He knew they were lying about the translation device being offline. Despite his accent, when both Zaffre and he spoke he’d heard Universal Common and not Flotillaspeka. The Corinthian’s change to his native tongue had been deliberate. “You get enough tea,” he chided, his glance at Zaffre a cover to watch as the men sitting at the shadowed table rose to follow them. They certainly weren’t being subtle. “Wanna help me carry this stuff?”

Hands on her hips, close to the blaster pistols and the clip keeping her helmet in place, she shrugged. “Nah, you got this Tag,” rolling her head and stretching her neck, she took advantage of the reflection off one of the other shop windows to get a better look at their new friends. One was tall, full gear, possibly a Coalitioner. He didn’t look like he’d come off some broken down frigate or was born on a station. Nope, shoulders were too square and he moved through the crowd like he everyone owed him. The two on his flanks she wasn’t sure about. They could have been Coalition or natives, if the latter was true then they’d been hired. Probably sold out to one of the big Capital ships monitoring the station approach. “Any ideas why we’re so popular?”

“You did snipe that last target,” her silver and pink haired companion suggested. His free hand absently coming to rest on his own blaster as they took the turn leading to the docs. It would be longer this way; going through the slums meant they’d be more likely to disappear in the crowd. Their gear was carbon-scorred and pock marked with years of fire fights and falling from too-high up when a jetpack’s booster failed.

It was a slow trek.

The pair took turns taking covert glances in reflective surfaces to track their shadows, going down a dozen alley-like maintenance corridors, or through doors between bulkheads that shouldn’t have existed. They managed to lose their unexpected attachments as a result of going through the twist and turns of the station’s slum. They cut down through the old maintenance shafts and ladders instead of hopping on the lifts. It was like being home in the Flotilla, the way the station creaked and groaned with the artificial gravity generators and the air cyclers. If it was quiet, they knew something could be catastrophically wrong. The Voidekeine had grown accustomed to living in an environment that hummed with the lives of people and machines. To ask them, either might have said that ships and space stations had souls of their own because of the care put into building and maintaining them. 

Their peaceful walk didn’t last long. 

The three thugs, the likely Coalitioner at the forefront, barred their access to the Ashewake. Zaffre grumbled under her breath, “Fuck.” 

“Zaffre Branwen, Tagetes Patch, you’re a long way from the Flotilla.” Definitely Coalition. His accent was sterile and his words clipped short like the hair he probably had shaved stupidly close to his head under the polished helmet. Neither of them had clocked how clean he looked. 

Brow cocked, she asked in her own clipped speech, “We are on business. My logs are in order.”

“It’s Coalition Senior Inspector or Sir to you, and I do see that,” He grinned slightly, withdrawing a data pad from behind him. One of the hunched shouldered men behind him had had it. “Do you know why I wished to speak with you,” he asked, his tone making the hackles on her black and gray freckled neck stand up.

Shaking her head, Zaffre answered carefully, taking a step forward so she was between Tagetes and the Coaltion man. “‘Fraid I don’t. Sir.” There was no difference in her voice but the man couldn’t say she was being sarcastic. Not that he probably even knew what sarcasm was. 

“Your impulse thrusters,” he grinned like he’d caught her in a trap.

“You mean the one that’s been sputtering? Sir? Yes. Got the credits needed to pay for repairs on my last job...sir,” she nodded, moving her hands like she was doing the math on her fingers. 

Behind his helmet, it was a certainty the Coalitioner was seething. It bled into his careful words, “Good. You’ll be taking it to the ship yards then.” It was an instruction not a question and an assumption she was going to be using Galactic Coalition shipyard The sharpness of his words and precision of his posture broadcast that opinion.

“Yes. Sir,” carefully she moved her hands from near her blasters, last thing they needed was a firefight so near an airlock. Not that she wouldn’t put the lot of them down if they drew on her and Tagetes. Would be the principle and within her rights by every regulation and law she could think of for more than one system and the Flotilla. But this stop wasn’t actually about a busted up and overused thruster. No. This was about making sure they knew that he knew who they were and that the Coalition likely knew too.  “We were going to head for there at 0800 local time. Sir.”

The next several minutes were long. He stared them down, probably taking an inventory of their weapons and both were sure he was about to ask them to strip off the armor plating from their vacsuits and relinquish their weapons for inspection. That he’d detain them for long enough to put them behind whatever schedule her answer put in his head. “Good evening then,” he said suddenly, marching past and making sure to shove Zaffre with his shoulder on the way. 

The two men who shadowed him slinked behind, both keeping distance from the Voidekeine who watched until they were out of sight and the airlock door hissed closed behind them. Like a pair of synchronized binary stars, they slammed their helmets on as a precaution. 

First rule of dealing with an self important prick like the Coalitioner - always presume being spaced or left in a depressurized hold is possible. A glance at the computer interface mounted on her left gauntlet confirmed the ship was still there. The Ashewake hadn’t been impounded or vaporized - thank the Makers. It didn’t mean, however, that they could relax.

Tagetes punched in the command and security codes that opened the airlocks leading to their ship and brought her to life. Voice like rocks through a tumbler, he warned, “We better get the hells out of here.”

“I want this to be a speck on radar in the next thirty minutes,” she concurred, her own voice modulated through the helmet. “We can inventory Vaun’s things in FTL. I don’t wanna be around when The Inspector,” her turned mocking for just a moment before she continued towards the cockpit, “gets that Capital ship or the Seti’Veth Primus to authorize a search and seizure warrant.”

“Agreed,” he was through the doors and hooking the duffel to a wall. In the low gravity, it was easy to put it in the netting with another half dozen or so similar black and gray bags. All but one was marked with the symbol for P3Y-722; the Eck’Ra Home world. 

Over the ship’s intercom, she smiled, “Next stop on our grand galactic cruise, the sunny breaches of P3Y-722. Or as the locals call it Ori Velar.”

[petitelepus]

Bond Over Sparks

This is a commission requested by @fyrestrike, my most dedicated follower. I’m honestly sorry if this story doesn’t match your requirement but I tried my best darling! This story is a continuation from the earlier story!

"Ah!" Fyrestrike gasped feeling Megatron thurst into her multiple times. The femme was over her sensors, feeling the extra charge in her frame that made it at a similar time so sensitive. The warlord kept pounding into her like he was trying to put a sparkling into her that he might have just done that during their last period.

The idea crossed Fyrestrike's mind. Having Megatron's sparkling. The one and only feared warlord's baby sparkling...! It would be magnificent...! Better than any other sparkling ever born after AllSpark...!

With the thought of carrying Megatron's child was almost enough to send her over to the overload. But no, they were the Megatron's words that made her overload all over that spike, "Overload for me my Queen...!" And she did.

And she overloaded and so hard she saw stars behind her optics. Fyrestrike panted hard against Megatron's chassis as she tried to recover from her string of overloads. Round two had turned into a round three and she was beyond exhausted while Megatron had barely broken a sweat. That's a warlord for you.

Warlord. Her warlord. It took a moment to settle in her mind that she was sparkmated now for the rest of her life to Megatron until one or another would die. Megatron reached over her back for something and when his hand returned to her sight he was holding a goblet filled with oil.

"Drink my Queen. You will need strength if you're going to fetch me those pieces." He ordered and Fyrestike nodded and moved to take the goblet but her lover moved the goblet out of her reach. She was confused and attempted to try again, but Megatron wouldn't give it to her.

"Umm...?" She started uncertainly. "Should I fetch them, myself my own?"

"Nonsense, you're not going anywhere just yet," Megatron said and moved the goblet towards her. She raised her hands, ready to take it, but instead of giving it to her the warlord pushed the edge of the goblet between her lips and tilted forward. He was making her drink it. Something in it was awfully submitting to Fyrestrike and she moaned slightly as the delicious oil run down her intake into her tank.

Once the goblet was empty Megatron pulled it away and put it down. He smiled down at his beloved and graced her servos against her cheek. "My Queen, I saw in your memories as you did mine. Tell me, what did the Autobots do to you?"

Fyrestrike went silent as she turned to look at the ground and Megatron let her. This was a show of trust and wanted Fyrestrike to trust him. So when she frowned and looked at him in a mixture of sadness and rage he knew it would be good.

"They tested it on me...!"

"What did they test?"

"The Flier-code, they tested it on me but they deemed me as a failure and ordered me to be offlined so I wouldn't even in an accident end up in enemy's hands..." She grew quiet, understanding probably that it had just happened like the Autobots have feared might happen. Megatron saw through her and with a hand under her chin made her look at him.

"You are not a failure, my Queen. You're a success, but they didn't count on it that you had your own will and you wouldn't just blindly follow them like rest of their soldiers do. A success that they wanted to destroy..."

Fyrestrike frowned sadly, but Megatron smiled at her and gently held her helm in his hands. One move and he could easily crush her helm...! But he didn't want that.

"So, you were their mistake, but you are our success. The Decepticon cause will get to its rightful glory with you by my side as my rightfully bonded Queen...!" Megatron made clear that he wasn't having any insecurities in his Queen. Fyrestrike looked baffled but was also amazed at how Megatron spoke about her. Like she mattered and his speech felt overpowering and encouraging in her audios. She found herself quickly pumped up and Megatron saw this.

"Now... My little Decepticon Queen... Will you fetch me the pieces?"

"Yes... Yes, my King." Fyrestrike agreed and jumped on her pedes. Megatron grinned harder and took her outside. As they walked they passed by Blitzwing and Lugnut who knew to stay away. Megatron's orders were in action until he said otherwise. The warlord leads the peach-colored femme outside the mines, trusting in it that he had her full loyalty.

He told her which way the city of Detroit was and Fyrestrike nodded before transforming and taking off. Megatron smirked with success and returned to the mines. Little did Fyrestrike know, he had plans.

On her way to Autobot's headquarters, the femme pondered if she was really going to do this. Was he really going to betray Optimus and others? The only good Autobots who had taken her under their wing when she had barely managed to escape from the Elite Guards? The more she thought about it the sicker feeling she got in her fuel tank and she almost felt like purging the rich oil Megatron had fed to her.

Megatron. Her bonded and partner for life. If she did was he told her to do now Megatron would no doubt win the war. Then, there would be a place where she could be without fear and feel accepted. But what about Optimus and others? What would happen to them if the Decepticons won the war?

Megatron did promise her that her friends would be safe, that they would have their own places in their Decepticon kingdom. That encouraged her to actually betray them. It would be for their own good. The war was ruthless and if the Decepticons won without her by their side who knows what would happen to Optimus and others?

That in mind, she continued forward. She made it into the center of the city to the factory that Autobots had claimed as their own. One she was outside she transformed and entered the building.

The surprise was very evident on Autobots' faces. Like they thought she was a goner. But when they saw her she felt sickly. Like what she was doing was wrong, but she pushed herself forward. It was her new mission after all.

"Fyrestrike, are you alright?!" Bumblebee asked as she walked by him and followed behind her. Ratchet, Prowl, Optimus and rest of the team were close by.

"What happened? Did you manage to escape?" Bulkhead asked and Fyrestrike snapped, "Everything is fine!" She yelled and mechs stared in shock. Fyrestrike never snapped at anyone, never at Bulkhead out of all the bots. When she put in the code to open the chamber where they held the pieces of AllSpark, Optimus spoke out. "Fyrestrike, what's wrong, you're acting out of your character....!"

Little did he know when she pulled out her guns on everyone. "Stand back and don't move unless you want holes in you!" She screamed and backed away with the shards. The Autobots held their hands and servos to themselves, but when Ratchet made a move to lift his servos Fyrestrike shot a warning shot at his pedes. "None of that Ratchet!" She warned him, very familiar with the Autobot doctor's gun-power.

The medic grumbled but lifted his arms in the air in surrender and everyone else followed him. Fyrestrike backed away until she was at the edge of the factory area and was just about to transform and take off when Optimus shouted at her, "Why Fyrestrike!? I thought you were one of us!"

"But I'm not! I never truly was!" She shouted back and became mournful and she cast her optics down in a mixture of fury and sadness. Ratchet made his move and attempted to cast Firestryke into the air where she would be useless but the femme saw past this and shot the medic in the leg. Ratchet cried out in pain and fell on his knees.

"Ratchet!" Everybody called out, but Firestryke's order halted them all from approaching their fallen comrade, "Stay away from him or I shoot!"

The bots did as they were told and reluctantly lifted their arms in the air, but they never stepped away from their medic, shielding him from any more harm. Fyrestrike began to panic. Her former friend was hurt by her. "I never wanted this...! This was supposed to go with ease...!"

"What was supposed to be an easy job!? Betraying us!?" Bumblebee shouted and yelped as the guns were pointed at him. "To repay for my sparkmate!" Fyrestrike shouted and they were baffled. That was obvious from their looks, but Prowl was the first one to realize it. "Megatron sparkmated you...!"

Firestryke didn't even bat an optic. "So what about it?!"

Ratchet groaned, but the mechs didn't make anyway for him to speak, determined to protect their friend. "Kid... It can be canceled...!" Ratchet groaned out but Firetrike shook her helm, "No, I don't want it canceled!"

Everybody looked at her in shock. "What?!"

"You heard me!" She cried out, coolant dripping from her optics, "Megatron gave me a chance to be what I am and I am fairly certain that I'm not an Autobot anymore!"

"B- but we took you in with us! You got our symbol!" Bumblebee yelled and Firestryke shouted, "Don't you think I know that!?" Silencing the smaller Autobot.

Firestryke huffed and continued. "I was deemed as a failure by Ultra Magnus...! Too much of my self-esteem and worth...! So he commanded me to be offlined, but no, I escaped! And now I have a place amongst the Decepticons!"

"They will offline you once you get the pieces to them, you know that right!?" Optimus called out and Firestryke holds in tears as she backed away from the factory. "Everything is better than betraying my sparkmate...!" Fyrestrike cast a sad look at her former partners and muttered single words out of her mouth. "Once the Decepticons win you know I was just thinking what was best of you."

She transformed and took off. The Autobots, expect from Ratchet, were quick to transform and follow her and they were doing a good job keeping up with her even though the city's streets were busy with life and traffic. But then there were lasers shot and Fyrestrike almost stopped midair in her confusion.

Little did she know, Megatron had sent Blitzwing and Lugnut to follow her and trail after her as she retrieved the pieces of AllSpark. The Decepticon duo shot lasers and flames at the Autobots and she felt distressed. She felt like begging them to stop, but what would that have looked before her new leader. So she kept going. Towards her sparkmate.

[gibsongirlselections]

A Time to Fight

Donald Trump, his supporters say, is a man who fights. Yet that supposed fighting can sometimes feel more like Punch and Judy-style slapstick theater. In the Trump era, only the thinnest membrane separates politics from televisual spectacle, which can make it difficult to gauge how effective the president really is. Is he beating back the left? Or is he just calling them names on Twitter while they pound the pavement to replace him?

Whatever the answers to those questions, one thing is now abundantly clear: the vacancy of a Supreme Court seat has given Trump an opportunity to fight, really fight.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg was a titan of the law, a woman of deep culture and learning whose mind you had to respect even if you were at odds with it. My condolences go out to her family. But her formidable accomplishments make no more claim on her empty Supreme Court seat than Ted Kennedy’s work on health care did on his Senate desk. The people of Massachusetts deserved full congressional representation and the people of America deserve a full Supreme Court. That’s all the more true as we approach what could be a tight and contested election, when judicial deliberation might unfortunately prove necessary. The lawsuits fly…multiple lower courts declare multiple effective winners…for the sake of the republic, the Supreme Court can’t have an even number of justices.

So far, Trump has seemed to relish this fight. He’s pledged to fill Ginsburg’s seat “without delay” and is expected to announce a nominee by week’s end. He’ll likely name Amy Coney Barrett, a devout Catholic who’s expressed some skepticism over Roe v. Wade and who generally takes a Scalia-esque textualist approach to the law. For all the fluff about how Trump was going to nominate Tom Cotton or Jeanine Pirro or the judge from My Cousin Vinny, he appears to be doing exactly as he should. Barrett is careful, unflappable, and deeply professional. She’s a native of New Orleans and a lover of Truman Capote. A former professor and frequent tailgater at Notre Dame Law School, her prior nomination to an appellate court was unanimously supported by her faculty colleagues.

Yet despite all that, she’s probably best known for sending Dianne Feinstein into a fit of ecclesiophobia. After Trump nominated Barrett to serve on the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals, Senator Feinstein grilled her about her Catholic beliefs and whether “the dogma lives loudly within you.” At issue was a law article Barrett had co-authored in 1998 with John Garvey, now the president of my alma mater, the Catholic University of America. The essay is cozily familiar to us Cardinals, an Aristotelian consideration of how Catholic judges should handle capital punishment cases. Barrett and Garvey distinguish between formal and material cooperation with evil. The first is analogous to actually signing an execution order, while the second is more indirect and less clear, akin to sitting on a habeas corpus case that involves the death penalty, for example. They recommend that Catholic judges always recuse themselves in cases of formal cooperation and apply a “moral balancing test” in cases of material cooperation.

The essay is cautious and analytical, a good-faith attempt to work through a conundrum faced by many judges, and not just Catholics. What do you do when the law conflicts with your deeply held beliefs? Even Vox.com took it seriously. Yet the article is also notable for what it doesn’t do. According to Barrett and Garvey, “Judges cannot — nor should they try to — align our legal system with the Church’s moral teaching whenever the two diverge.” Clearly Barrett is no Catholic integralist; if she were, she’d be far more insufferable on Twitter.

Yet that didn’t stop progressives from trying to portray her as some kind of chanting theocrat. And it’s here that political considerations enter the fight. If Barrett is nominated, Democrats are going to spend the next month and a half saying stupid things about Catholics, a demographic they badly need to win on Election Day. That doesn’t guarantee that a nomination battle won’t also hurt Republicans—polls find that Americans prefer that the election winner appoint the next justice—but it does provide a plausible method for piecing back together the Trump coalition of yore. Trump’s method has always been to crash down hard on one side of the culture war. I’m not sure that can get you to 270 twice, but if you’re going to try, then a Barrett pick is as good a weapon as any. Some Rust Belt Catholics might very well be lured back; Trump’s conservative base will certainly be turbocharged.

Progressives do make one convincing argument here, not against Barrett per se but against any Trump nomination at all. They say that for Republicans to ram through a justice would be hypocritical, since Mitch McConnell blocked Barack Obama’s elevation of Merrick Garland back in 2016 on the grounds that any confirmation should wait until after the election. McConnell, they say, must now do the same thing. If he doesn’t, he’ll erode our norms of governance, subordinating them to base partisanship.

The left has lately fallen in love with that word, “norms,” which they constantly accuse Trump of violating. And they have a point. Politics is circumscribed not just by promulgated laws but by unwritten codes and traditions—norms—that govern public servants’ behavior. Burke’s words, as always, haunt the air: “Manners are of more importance than laws. Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe in.”

Yet who’s really trampling on our norms here? Which party is now threatening to use court packing as a political weapon? Which party scarcely bothered to veil their application of a religious test against Barrett? Which party threatened riots, arson, even civil war mere hours after Ginsburg had passed? Which party turned Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation hearings into a sub-Oscar Wilde kangaroo court? And while we’re on the subject of norms, what in the world is “normal” about Roe v. Wade? Where is it inscribed that abortion is a constitutional right while things actually mentioned in the Constitution like hate speech and bearing arms are not? Who thinks a magical legal penumbra conjured up by the Court ought to be able to bulldoze countless state abortion laws? Who really believes that nine ex-lawyers should decide the contours of such a controversial and extraconstitutional issue, rather than the states and the people themselves?

None of this is remotely “normal.” So while I too worry about a culture war so violent it cracks the institutions around it, there will be other times to register those concerns. On abortion, the pro-choicers fired first. Trump ought to join their fight, appoint Barrett, and fasten the bulkhead doors. And if Democrats threaten to pack the court, fine. Write that into every campaign commercial. Mention it on every doorstep.

This is the most important fight of Trump’s presidency. Fortunately for once Republicans seem up to the challenge.

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