#by the third hour on the first day I had 3 MEGATRONS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thanksjro · 4 years

Text

The Transformers #23- Chaos Theory Part 2: Everything Ever is Whirl’s Fault, and He Didn’t Even Do Anything This Issue

Before the war, Orion Pax is watching the news. Turns out Nominus Prime got blown up earlier in the day, as Blaster reports from the scene of the crime. We get our first mention of the Militant Monoform Movement as we take a gander at all of Orion’s awards.

Turns out Orion went to college. Wonder what tuition’s like at the Institute of Higher Programming.

An incoming storm messes with the reception, and in walk three guys looking for trouble Whirl. Whirl’s currently in custody, seeing as Orion doesn’t take too kindly to beating suspects within an inch of their life.

General rule of thumb: anyone calling Whirl “popular” or a “friend” is either trying to kill him, or has made the attempt in the past.

So these guys are trying to get Whirl out of jail, using the power of persuasion and being generally threatening. Orion Pax is too much of a good egg to be swayed by such tactics, however, so they’ll have to up the ante.

In the present day, Optimus is having a brooding session in the engine room- I’m only assuming it’s the engine room- and Ratchet checks in.

I suppose “frazzled” is a word we could use, Ratchet, sure.

Optimus feels as if his decision on whether Megatron should be executed or imprisoned for the rest of time is going to be biased either way. Dang, almost sounds like putting it to a vote with the leader of the Autobots would be a better way of handling this, huh Optimus? It’s almost as if you’re compromised here, and we need a little friggin’ democracy going on.

Ratchet asks why he hasn’t consulted the Matrix on this whole situation, breaking out the quotation fingers whilst referring to its wisdom, but Optimus ain’t too sure about all that either. When Optimus first got the Matrix shoved into his body, that shit hurt. It hurt a LOT, and he’d interpreted that as a sort of warning that carrying it was a huge responsibility. Way bigger than taking care of a dog. Now he’s questioning whether or not he actually wants the responsibility.

Hey, if you’re having second thoughts about being Prime, you ought to give Bumblebee a little more room to work and be the leader of the Autobots like you wanted him to be, and maybe consider handing the Matrix back over to Rodimus-

Oh who am I kidding? His martyr complex would NEVER let that happen.

Back in the past, Wheelarch and Springarm are waxing poetic about how cool their new boss Orion Pax is. He’s strong, and heroic, and making a difference in the world, and he’s got just the most beautiful blue eyes-

Anyway, they arrive back at the precinct to discover where all the criminal scum have gotten to- Orion already bagged ‘em.

You know, I think tying suspects to poles in the ground in the office section, packing the room so tightly they can’t even sit or stand comfortably… I think that might be a touch illegal, Orion. Unethical, if nothing else.

A bit later on, Springarm wants to know just what the hell that was all about. Orion’s been thinking about Megatron’s writing, and how he thinks the Senate is institutionally corrupt, and that visit from Whirl’s “friends” is starting to make him think that maybe the guy had a point. It bothers him.

Springarm turns to his faith when he’s feeling bothered by deep questions like whether or not the world government is is enacting a caste-system in an attempt to control the populace.

This just in, the future space pope is a goddamned atheist. Perhaps this is why interfacing with the Matrix hurts him- it relies on a mutual respect between itself and its Prime, and there ain’t nothing less respectful than thinking of the thing as a literal ornament.

Orion thanks Springarm for the advice, but he’s going to work through this without spiritual guidance.

In the present, Optimus meets with Rodimus, and asks a question he’s never been able to ask before: how did it feel to interface with the Matrix?

Well dang, Rodders, tell us how you really feel!

It should be noted that Rodimus does have some level of faith in the gods, the Matrix, the Knights of Cybertron, and several other Cybertronian legends and myths- which sort of makes the MTMTE Knight Quest look like a bit of a crusade, doesn’t it? Does believing in the Matrix let it bond more seamlessly with the bearer? Methinks it just might.

Back in the past, Orion Pax gets back from patrol to find the precinct has been broken into, and his two motorbike boys aren’t doing so hot.

Oh man, Valve’s going to be pissed.

Moving real stealthy-like, Orion moves to the holding cells, where he catches those guys from earlier trying to spring Whirl from jail. Well, two of them anyway. The third guy is behind him, and shoots him in the back.

Luckily, Orion’s old body-frame includes a backpack, and this move doesn’t kill him. He sweeps the leg of his assailant, shoots Whirl in the leg so he can’t escape, then runs to his trophy case to grab the fancy gun someone gave him. Wonder what it was for.

Alas! It’s not loaded. Which you ought to expect from an award gun, unless you loaded it yourself before you put it in the case. Which he didn’t, clearly.

Three versus one, and the solo act doesn’t have any weapons. What’s a guy to do?

This is deeply silly. I adore it.

Thinking quickly, Orion drags Springarm’s headless body into a closet. This isn’t necessarily a smart move, but give it a second. As the three thugs discuss murder-based puns, Orion prepares to enact a Roberts’ writing essential.

Corpse desecration.

Riding his coworker’s lifeless body through the precinct, he runs down his attackers, stabs one of them in the throat with one of his arm cannons in front of all the ‘bots currently in the cells, and goes to find Whirl.

Whirl, who knows to get going while the getting’s good, warns Orion that the Senate has eyes everywhere, and if he so much as touches Whirl his whole life is gonna get turned upside down and inside out, and not in a fun way. And he’d know.

Smash cut to the Grand Imperium, home of the Senate, where everything is blue and gold, fear tactics are at play on the political stage, and everyone is suffering from a nasty case of same-face syndrome. Senator Proteus is about to enact the Clampdown, a strict rule of martial law that will, under the guise of protecting the people and weeding out terrorism, in actuality allow the Senate to hoard power like a bunch of dragons.

Then Orion shows up, after fighting off the entirety of the Senate security force, while carrying a one-legged Whirl.

Got a nice shot of some bird ass, and Orion’s honkers are halfway out. I wonder if this particular chunk of fan-service was specified in the script, or if this is purely Milne.

Sentinel calls off the dogs, and Orion has his say. He throws Whirl on the floor, introducing him to everyone as the cause of every problem ever. Well, not really, but pretty close.

Orion, you can’t just say a guy caused two people to die and then not expect to have to deal with the repercussions of pummeling his psyche at some point down the road.

Orion goes on to mention Megatron, bringing up his writings and how they revealed to him the dark, ugly underbelly of the Senate that he’d been blind to until that point. This is still the guy who arrested drug addicts for using and tied them to a pole, by the by. He’s less than 48 hours into this Megatron kick, and still got a lot to rectify within himself.

Orion coins the term “Autobots”, reclaiming a friggin’ slur the other races in the galaxy have taken to calling the Cybertronians.

I wasn’t kidding.

The Senate members are starting to get rowdy about being called out on their bullshit, and have Orion removed from the building, but not before he can ask Megatron’s three questions:

1. In whose interests do the Senate exercise their power?

2. To whom is the Senate accountable?

3. How can the populace get rid of them?

No answers are given, as he’s taken away. He did use Megatron’s name, by the way. His full one, with the “of Tarn” attached and mentioned where he worked. Smooth moves, Orion. Now Megatron’s going to be targeted for politically-charged murder.

In the present, Optimus Prime’s made a decision on what exactly to do with Megatron- and his decision is to let Megatron decide his fate, because freedom is the right of all sentient beings, and part of that is getting to choose your fate.

Megatron picks death, like, immediately.

Optimus gets the Matrix back from Ratchet, who he left its care in- he wanted to be sure that he was still the person he had been back when he made that speech to the Senate. Glad your crisis of self went well, Optimus.

Back in the past, Orion Pax meets with a senator in front of the Ark-1 memorial, very secret-like. See this senator’s seen all the nonsense that goes on in the Senate, and he’s about had it. Forget what all Megatron wrote about, it’s way, way worse in reality. He can’t prove it, but the attack on Nominus Prime was an inside job, so that the Senate could get their hands on the Matrix and figure out how it creates life.

I know, it’s crazy.

Things will probably pop off very soon, so the Senator’s taken the liberty of modifying Orion Pax’s chest cavity while he was passed out receiving repairs.

So the guy made a little hidey-hole for the Matrix in Orion’s body, so that he could one day be Prime.

Hey.

Hey, Senator.

Consent is sexy, man. Don’t be like that.

#transformers #jro #the transformers 2009 #issue 23 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing #overthinking about robots

36 notes · View notes

forgedmedic-blog · 6 years

Text

gift fic for @scremlin because I also love my mutuals <3

G1 ratchjack that got way longer than I expected it to so it’s under the cut

Wheeljack was busy again. By Wheeljack’s standards, “busy” meant that the engineer locked himself in his lab and didn’t emerge for anything – or, most importantly, anyone – for what was often days at a time.

The first day Ratchet found the door closed, he sighed to himself and went back to the medbay, knowing it’d be a fruitless effort to try to speak to or get Wheeljack to open the door at all. Sure, he missed the other mech’s enthusiastic chatter and the mischievous flashes of his fins whenever he made a particularly terrible joke, but he had hopes that whatever was being worked on in there would be worth the silence and the time apart.

The second day was more of a shock to the system, but then again, Ratchet had grown used to it. He had the company of Optimus and Jazz and Ironhide, whenever his friends were around, at least, and there was always young First Aid in the medbay to talk to and to train. One day, he’d retire and Aid would step into the position of the Autobot Chief Medical Officer, and he’d be able to put his pedes up and relax; not that he could envision himself relaxing anytime soon. The war raged on, and Ratchet knew his skill and experience when it came to saving lives was unrivalled.

He distracted himself from the growing stab of loneliness by working far harder than he should be through taking stock of the contents of the entire medbay. First Aid hovered anxiously nearby on the third day, servos clasped in front of him as he quietly ventured that perhaps Ratchet should sit down and take a break, and refuel a little too while he was at it. His visor flashed in soft concern as he spoke, but his efforts were to no avail.

On the fourth day, Ratchet listened. He refuelled, sat down and took a break as instructed, and went back to the sealed lab with a cube of energon clutched in his servos. Wheeljack was just as bad as him when it came to working without pause, and he hoped the engineer would at least stop long enough to refuel.

He ended up leaving the cube outside the lab. Sounds could be heard from within – evidently Wheeljack was hard at work doing something, probably building a crazy gadget that would work for a short time and then explode in a series of dramatic bangs at the most inconvenient of times.

Ratchet could well recall the time the weaponised human communication device the engineer had made had gone up in a shower of sparks when they’d been trying to recharge in peace together. Life with Wheeljack as a mate was by no means uneventful, but he wouldn’t swap it for the world. They’d been together for a long time, and despite a few arguments and clashes of opinion were still just as passionate about each other, even if he wasn’t much of an openly affectionate mech. Behind closed doors, it was an entirely different story.

The Decepticons attacked on the fifth day – or rather, they came a little too close for comfort to the Ark. Optimus rallied the Autobots and they went out to patrol perimeters and drive Megatron safely away, and naturally Ratchet was recruited to go along. First Aid, being an avid pacifist, wasn’t the type to go into the field, and this wasn’t exactly a situation that would require the might of Defensor. Aid was perfectly capable of handling himself and the medbay. It’ll be okay, Ratchet told himself as they left the base. It isn’t like Wheeljack is going to blow himself up, right?

In short, Wheeljack did just that.

Ratchet wasn’t expecting to receive a call from First Aid in the middle of kicking Decepticon aft, but he answered it anyway.

::He what?::

::There was an explosion. Whatever he was doing in there…:: First Aid sounded like he was both frustrated while simultaneously trying not to laugh. ::He blew it up. It went up in his face, and he staggered in here demanding you – he’s not seriously injured, just a little sooty. Just get back here as soon as you can before I give in to the urge to cuff him to the medical slab.::

There was a definite giggle in the younger mech’s voice by the time he closed the comm channel. Frustrated and worried, Ratchet was relieved by the time Jazz had fired a barrage of parting shots in the direction of retreating Decepticons, and after checking that everyone was largely uninjured was quick to return to the Ark. He hadn’t seen Wheeljack for five days, and now the mech had gone and wrecked whatever he’d been working on and gotten himself singed in the process. Despite how ridiculous the whole situation was, it was so undeniably Wheeljack that Ratchet couldn’t find it in him to be upset, not this time, at least.

When he finally swept into the medbay, passing a harassed-looking Aid, Wheeljack leaped up to greet him immediately regardless of the indignant huff that came from the junior medic. “Ratch’! Missed ya.”

“Sit down,” Ratchet chuckled, but squeezed the engineer’s servo warmly regardless. “You’ll give Aid a spark attack. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Wheeljack’s indicators flashed indignantly, but he didn’t argue as he reluctantly sat on the slab once again. He’d learned a long time ago that when Ratchet was in his domain – in other words, the medbay – it was impossible to do anything else but let him work, and the medic in question was still proud of that fact. “I’m not even hurt,” he protested. “My mask shielded me from the worst of it. All there is to even fiddle with are a few cables in my neck. They don’t hurt. At all.”

“Lie back,” Ratchet said sternly, seeing and deciding then and there that the slightly sparking cables needed immediate repair. He pulled his patch kit out and got to work, skilled servos carefully closing tiny holes that exposed far too delicate wiring. “You’re ridiculous, y’know that? What am I going to do with you?”

Wheeljack shuttered his optics and relaxed back on the slab, thankfully going still as Ratchet worked. Both mechs were well aware that a single slip could prove to be far more damaging than his current injuries. “Oh, I dunno.” He chuckled softly. “You could tell me you love me, maybe, and we could get some energon later. I’ve missed seeing your grumpy face.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Ratchet protested. He made a tiny weld to seal the wound, venting quietly as he set his tools down. “I just worry about you, and I missed you these past few days. I had no one to drag me away from work, and no one to –”

“No one to cuddle you at night, I know,” the engineer laughed, and sat up as Ratchet began to pack his tools away. He rubbed at his now repaired neck, his smirk almost audible in his voice as he spoke. “We can make up for those days later. I’m gonna give my project a few days before seeing how much of it I can repair.”

“Try not to lock the door next time and shut me out completely,” the medic scolded, optics widening minutely at the sight of First Aid innocently sorting through a stack of datapads, not even pretending that he wasn’t eavesdropping. Young mechs these days. “Oh, and it might be helpful to not blow it or yourself up. I don’t want to have to fix you up because of a silly preventable accident ever again.”

“Alright, doc,” Wheeljack snorted, and stood. He wrapped his arms around Ratchet’s waist from behind and rested his chin on his shoulder. His field filled with the warm affection that so often flowed between them as he meshed it with Ratchet’s immediately offered field. “I promise I’ll do my best not to end up anywhere near the medbay in the future, aside from coming to drag you away from work, of course. Aid’s got this all sorted, haven’t ya?”

“Uh! Yes? Yes, I do. Absolutely I do.” First Aid sounded mortified that he’d been caught listening, and rightfully so. Ratchet hid a snort and reached up to cup Wheeljack’s cheek, briefly bumping their helms together.

He lowered his voice significantly. “Just don’t do that to me again, love. I mean it. I can and will disable your interface array.”

“Aww, even I know you wouldn’t do that,” Wheeljack snickered. He laughed, his whole frame shaking in his amusement. “I’ll do my absolute sparkfelt best to be there for you properly, Sunshine. I missed your frown. A lot. Can’t possibly live without it.”

“Sunshine,” Ratchet grumbled, but relented, sagging in Wheeljack’s arms. The mech would never let his ridiculous nickname go. “Fine. When I’m done here, we can go catch up – in private.” He twisted slightly, directing a poignant glare in Aid’s direction.

First Aid simply shrugged, shameless in how he was listening. “Just go. I’ve got the medbay under control, and none of the reports I’m getting from anyone are saying they’re badly hurt. It’ll be fine.”

Ratchet paused. He stared at the little medic, who met his gaze with that twinkling blue visor of his, and blinked as he gestured at the exit to the medbay. “Go on! Really, I’ll be okay.”

Twisting his mouth into something he figured vaguely resembled a smile, Ratchet reached boldly for Wheeljack’s servo. He tugged the mech forward and out of the medbay, ignoring the smugness that was radiating from First Aid in favour of muttering a quiet thank you.

He had his mate back, neither of them were hurt, and the world was right again. They’d go back to their shared quarters, refuel in each other’s company at last, and finally collapse onto the berth wrapped in each other’s arms, fully sated and content with spending quiet time together, protected from the craziness of their everyday lives for just a few precious hours.

“I love you, Sunshine,” Wheeljack said after a short but pleasant silence as they walked together. “Always have, always will.”

Ratchet glanced at him, then smiled and squeezed his servo. He leaned in and briefly pressed his lips to the other’s mask, then his lips when his mate obligingly slid his mask aside. “I love you too, Jackie. Always.”

Wheeljack may have his busy days, but it was sure as anything worth the wait when they were reunited again at last.

#this is somehow three entire pages in word #i told you it'd be long #i can't seem to write short things #i hope my attempt at g1 is okay i haven't written g1 fic in years #ratchjack #featuring shameless snarky medic first aid #ratchet #wheeljack #i know it's a tfp thing but i love how sunshine is wheeljack's nickname for ratchet #scremlin #first aid #g1 #tf #maybe i should post it on ao3 idk

32 notes · View notes

skyfallofcybertron-blog · 5 years

Text

Transformers Skyfall: Chapter 3. Famous Blue Raincoat.

Singers never forget. Singers record everything. Their minds are filled with the songs of Cybertron. Generations of stories and history; passed down from parent to child. If I wasn’t sparked Minicon; if I was forged pure, I’m sure I would have learned the way that Singers could communicated through the spark. I lacked that fundamental teaching. However, I still recorded everything and stored it safely behind an near unbreakable firewall.

Commander Starscream deemed that was a priority. So, logically, I was taken to Shockwave. To be improved.

Shockwave’s lab was just a creepy as he was. It was a crosscut of every sick experiment or torture that you could think of, but kept in a neat, organized and sterile fashion. Megatron basically let him have free rein to do whatever he pleased. Most bots hoped and prayed to never see his lab in their function. I shifted on my peds; completely overshadowed by the monstrous mech.

"Minicon," He began, his signal red optic staring expressionlessly at my medical records, "Lord Megatron as deemed that your Singer subsets to be an assist to the Decepticons. Your ability to process information at a quick and efficient manner has impressed him. He has instructed me to enhance your Singer capabilities and proved you with upgrades so you can more suitably function as communications officer and spy. Lord Megatron wishes for the process to begin eminently."

I had no time to make a retort.

The pain was unbearable. Everything was removed and deep wired. Parts disappeared. Parts where added. By the end of it, I wasn't sure what was left of me was me to begin with.

I woke up to the world spinning and my audios screaming. I covered them, but the sound of my own servos and joints made it worst. Not only could I hear my joints, but I could hear the machines in the room inner workings and the conversations through the walls, the marching outside, the yelling from the battle that was being fought clicks away.

My internal gyros couldn't tell if I was up or down or walking or sitting or flying. Intakes turned and I emptied them on the floor. I hung over the side of the berth, my frame staking as I tried to reorient myself. I clutched the frame of the berth tightly in my digits as I struggled to breathe. Long, sticky lines of haft processed energon dipped from my mouth.

I didn’t have a chance to get my bearings. A vechicon drone scooped me up and brought me to my next appointment. Starscream waiting impatiently outside of what I would find out later to be my new home. Starscream grumbled something about the mess I was in, but to be honest, I wasn’t really focusing on that. I was more deterred by the fact that the drone set me on the floor. I was now being forced to stand on my own two peds. The walls looked like they were swimming. I set a servo on the vechicon’s leg just to make sure I wasn’t actually the one swimming. It was definitely the walls.

The Air Commander was greeted by Night Glide. I don’t actually remember how the conversation went. I do have it uploaded and backuped, but even after thousands of years, I never watched the footage of my third pass off. I can only assume that Starscream was stroking his own ego and only threw in the fact that I had just gotten out of surgery. The two Seekers didn’t chat for long. Thank Primus.

Once Starscream and his escort disappeared, Night Glide gathered me up. He set me on his berth while he tried to get any sense of function out of me. It must have been a challenge. Bless his stubborn spark for doing so.

“My name isn’t Minicon…” I remember muttering.

There was a flash of relief in his optics. I remember that clear as day. It was the only good thing that I saw all day. Somebot that actually wanted to help me. Somebot that didn’t want to murder me outright. Somebot that actually cared about me.

“Then what is your name?” Night Glide replied. I remember that he was being ever so careful wiping the energon off of my faceplate.

“...Skyfall...”

Then, Night Glide smiled.

“Skyfall.”

I was pulled from my thoughts when Night Glide tapped me on the shoulder plate. I rubbed my optic and yawned. It was too early for this. The two of us were sitting in a colour parlour; waiting for my appointment. Since both of us had work, I had to get the earliest slot possible. For once, my tinyness was a good thing. It wasn’t going to take long for a complete overhaul.

“Are you alright?” Night Glide asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm alright. Just tired still.”

“The Immigration Office is making you work too hard.”

“There's a lot of work to do.”

Night Glide’s month became a thin little line of displeasure. I rubbed his leg to comfort him. He took my servo in his.

There was a commotion from one of the offices down the hall. An excited squeal from both an engine and vocalizer. Then the sudden charge of peds. A rounded out groundpounder femme came racing down the corridor.

“SKYFALL! YOU’RE ALIVE!”

I smiled brightly. My optics couldn't believe what I was seeing. I hadn't seen this femme in years and not even because of the War. I hadn't seen Wind Whistler since before being sold to Calloway. I was whipped up in soft blues and pastel pinks as Wind Whistler hugged me tightly to her chestplates.

“Sweet Solus Prime, Windy!” I giggled, “It's nice to see you too!”

“Where’s Jetstream and the mechs!? I haven't seen you guys since Erion’s air show! Primus, that's so long ago now-”

Jetstream.

That wasn't a name I had thought about for a long, long time. A flash of her faceplate appeared in my mind. Gentle yellow optics that was always fill with affection. An affectionation that never blossomed. It just lead to back door agreements and Swindle’s lies.

My spark suddenly ached.

Night Glide once again brought me back to reality. The Seeker stood; setting his servo on my shoulder. He leaned in to whisper, though loud enough for Wind Whistler to hear.

“Now, who's your friend, sweetspark?”

“Ahh…”

The words fizzled out in my voice box. I looked between the now concerned bots. I faked a smile; hoping that it would drown out my spark.

“Ah, yeah, I'm sorry. I haven't introduced you two yet.” I gestured to the Seeker, “Windy, this is Night Glide; my endura and carrier.”

I watched as the poor grounder’s face try to pick an emotion. Primus only knows what Wind Whistler was now thinking. Oh, well. I had plenty of time to explain what happened once we got started. Wind Whistler finally settled on a delight.

“Oh wow! You got hitched!? Congratulations!” She said with a giggle. She looked over to Night Glide, “To the both of you!” Then back to me, “Looks like we have a lot to catch up on, huh, Sky?”

I couldn’t help, but to nod. “Seems like that.”

Night Glide said his goodbyes. He hurried off to work as Wind Whistler chirped away about the last few thousand years or so. She had joined the Autobots in the end. She was stationed on an ark with her partner, Evac. They were basically rescue bots, but for the ship’s inhabitants. Two fast cars racing around to save the lives of bots in distress. Seemed like she had it a bit better than most.

After a few quick hours of surgery and part clean up; I was surprised how good I felt. My chassis didn't rattle nearly as much. The stiffness that I had ignored, to the point where I believed it was normal, was gone. My wings didn't creak anymore. Nor when I transformed. Wind Whistler was insistent that I had go and fly around the building before she started on my new paint. I cycled the block a few times; enjoying the sun. The feeling of wind under my wings. The sensation felt fresh, new, like the first time I took to the air...

I had to admit it. Windy was as good as ever.

I felt like a million credits.

I decided that the grounder would be the one to choose my new paint. Wind Whistler was ecstatic. To be perfectly honest, I had no idea what colors I wanted. I had been sparked a dull gray color with purple trim. I never gave a thought about changing it. It was what it was. Calloway tried a few times to get me brighten up my plates, but I never took him up on his offer. During the War, there was no time to fuss over paint jobs. I was kind of surprised I still had paint still clinging to my metal.

We settled on a flashy chameleon paint; something that changed on the angle and the lighting. It was a brilliant violet as first, but if it hit the right light it flashed a deep blue or a soft lavender. Tiny shimmering flecks glistened throughout the entire finish and it was all wrapped up in a bright orange trim. I looked like and felt like stardust.

With a hug and a wave, I hopped to my shift over at the Immigration Office; definitely feeling better then I had have ever been. I trotted down hallways with a tall stack of data pads as my coworkers stopped to give me a compliment or two. Not going to lie, it was a good ego boost. I began to wonder why I had never done it sooner. Too busy with work, I suppose.

“My, my, my, look at Ms. Skyfall.” I heard a voice purr.

I peeked over my stack. A slick pearly black racer decked out in bright orange biolights was standing in front of the door I was trying to enter. The mech smiled coyly and bented down at the waist to get on my optic level.

“Does Sweet Wings know you’re charming all the mechs?”

I felt my armor puff up in embarrassment, “Delegate Fireworks.”

Fireworks chuckled. If I was to have a best friend, it would be Fireworks. I had only known the racer for a few short cycles. He was a delegate from Velocitron; a colony that prided itself on their speed and engineering. He was part of the latter. Fireworks was a celebrity back on his homeworld. A daredevil with a flare for pyrotechnics. He crashed into my spark and he had falling helm over ped for Night Glide and I. I never could figure out why.

“I’m sorry,” I continued as Firework’s help me with my paperwork, “Where you all waiting for me? I meant to get here sooner.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetspark. The Mistress of Flame is fashionably late as always.”

He rolled his optics. I didn’t really know much about Camiens, but from what little Fireworks spoke about, the Mistress of Flame seem to work on her own schedule. She afterall was her colony’s head figure. The femme must have been a busy bot.

“We’re still puttering around and setting things up.”

“Oh thank Primus.”

I followed Fireworks through the doors to a large chamber room. Delegates from across the colonies milled about the room; socializing with Cybertron’s new government heads. History is written by those who won and those who won where the Autobots. Team Prime in particular took up the mantle of government officials until there was enough of an infrastructure to host an election. That point was coming, sooner than expected, but all of this forward motion was a good thing in everyone’s books.

I did still get shivers just standing in a room filled with some of the most elite Autobot warriors though. They may have been my new bosses and I might have had a flashy new paint job, but they still scared the ever living scrap out of me. So, I did my job; setting up the conference table with the meeting’s tasks and files. Quickly and discreetly. So, I could get in and get the pits out. I wasn’t a warrior bot by any stretch of the imagination.

One bot always noticed me though. Every single time. Without fail. Yet every time, he would make me jump out of my plating when he addressed me. I thought I would have gotten used to it by now. He was the biggest bot in the room after all.

“Thank you, Skyfall.” Optimus Prime softly spoke.

I froze in my spot. Slowly, I turned my helm up to look at the massive Prime. Sweet Primus, he could have crushed me under his ped no problem if he wanted to. Any further back into the War, he probably would have. Yet, Optimus had his usual kind and soft smile on. I smiled meekly in return. Out of instinct. Like the well trained Minicon I am.

“Y-You’re welcome, Optimus, s-sir.” I sputtered out.

Optimus smile turned into the thinnest of frowns. He looked so sad. Or perhaps, disappointed? It would be hard to ever know what happens in the mind of a Prime. I’m not one after all. I have no idea what kind of thought process he has with all that ancient knowledge stored in his helm. I felt my wings droop low to the floor anyways.

After a moment of contemplating; the mighty Optimus Prime did lean down and offer me his servo. I blinked a few times; trying to process what to do. It slowly clicked into place. I handed over one my last data pads to Optimus. My servo was impossibly small in Prime’s as I gave him the pad, but he took it with utmost care.

“Good luck with the meeting, s-sir.” I managed to say.

Optimus Prime’s smile returned. This time, it was a little brighter.

“Thank you, Skyfall.”

“You’re welcome, sir.” I repeated.

The Prime softly nodded. He stood to address the Mistress of Flame and Cityspeaker Windblade. I took the opportunity to disengage from Optimus and skirt over to Windblade to give her the meeting’s notes. Like Fireworks, Windblade was somebot I could actually speak too without going into a panic attack. Windblade reinsured me that Optimus wasn’t going to crush me. I can only be so sure though.

Later that night, I was resting on top of Night Glide’s chestplate. The both of us off in our own little worlds. Just quietly enjoying each other’s company. This is how we loosened up at the end of the day. With just the warmth of each other close. The War made us paranoid for the other’s contact. We both needed it to function.

“Why didn’t you ever talk about Wind Whistler? Or that Jetstream and Erion that she spoke about?” Night Glide suddenly broke the silence.

I fumbled with my data pad. It bounced off his plating onto our berth. For a moment, I forgot that my voice box could work. It crackled as I forced myself to speak.

“Because… I didn’t think I would ever seen them again.” I whispered, “They were my...friends from Kalis. Before I started working for Calloway of Iacon.”

“Friends or masters?” Night Glide accused.

To be honest, I didn’t really have an answer for him.

#transformers #transformers oc #transformers skyfall #writing #skyfall #long post #seeker #minicon #decepticons #night glide

2 notes · View notes

ourfollyhome · 3 years

Photo

I’ve nearly lost count how many times I’ve been to Universal Studios Singapore, but looking back, it’s like I’ve visited during pivotal phases of my life in the past decade.

I was an absolute fledgling when I first visited Singapore in 2010; while planning our itinerary I suggested to my high school best friends we spend 3 hours inside. That’s how clueless I was! We visited USS the next morning after we landed and you bet many photos were taken during that day. I was naive, no idea what Singapore has to offer, but USS was a good taster.

I went the second time when I’ve finally moved to Singapore and back then was trying to find a job so I can stay. My family decided to spend Christmas holidays in Singapore -- of course my siblings and I just can’t pass the opportunity to spend a whole day going all out at a theme park.

Third time was with my then-boyfriend. After finding a job in SG (gasp!), we had to be in a long-distance relationship. It was the only time he visited me in Singapore.

I went again - if I remember it correctly - in probably less than a year but this time as a single woman with my new-found friends. I’ve started to take roots here, started building a life that wasn’t based on what I had back in the Philippines. I was trying to experience this new life as much as I can. I was feeling freedom I’ve never felt before.

Then another time. It’s my company’s family day and I took with me the family I found here - friends who I knew were for keeps and a partner I’ve started sharing a home life with. Freedom started to take on a different meaning. I’m feeling more stable in this city state, actually thinking more of it as home compared to the country where I grew up, and finally felt that I’ve found my people. It’s no longer about experiencing as many things as possible, but rather feeling free to experience things with the safety and warmth of having someone to go back to.

And then again just a few weeks ago, which is probably the last time I’ll see this place in a long while. I didn’t even go on any rides, just happy to see my toddler running around with his little friend. It’s not about the place anymore: not the endless screaming from people riding the roller coasters, not the excited queueing for 3D rides, not the nervous anticipation for scary ones. Instead, it’s ice cream sundae while resting, the several "whoa!” when Ilo saw the dinosaurs, the framed photo N bought so we have a printed memory of Ilo getting scared by Megatron.

Even when I’ve been to this famed theme park for many many times, it hits different when you know it’ll be the last time. Especially when I know I’ll be different as well if I ever visited again.

#life phases

0 notes

roseymoseyberry · 7 years

Text

Arrangement (3/?)

Eyyo, here we go.

Shout out to the like. Three people who read this haha. You’re all darling angels who helped me get off my ass weeks ago to finish this chapter.

Unfortunately I do want to warn y’all that I do not have the next chapter written yet, it’s still in pretty early stages, so. I’m gonna try my damnedest to get it out on time, but it might not be.

With that said, here’s more Bee, his concerned friends, and Meg.

Title: Arrangement

Series: Transformers: Prime, post Predaking Rising. More or less ignores everything about RID15, and facts from the rest of the Aligned verse will be cherry-picked as I see fit

Pairing: MegaBee aka BumbleTron aka Bumblebee/Megatron

Warnings: Big warning for alcohol as a coping mechanism, platonic bed sharing, protective friends, and existential crises.

Fic Summary:

“It’s not my deal. I’m just the glitch who agreed to take the job.”

The balance of peace in post-war Iacon is precarious enough when a former warlord returns unannounced from his exile. Without a war to fight in or a leader to follow, a scout turned warrior turned uneasy politician decides to irreparably tie their lives together for the sake of maintaining that peace.

And maybe it won’t turn out to be the worst decision Bumblebee’s ever made.

Chapter Summary:

“Alright, you know what? Let’s just try this from the start.” With a clearly fake smile, Bumblebee met Megatron’s optics again. “Good morning, Megatron. You don’t look like you rolled out of a dump anymore.”

“And you do look as if you drank your way into one last night.”

|Prologue|Chapter 1|Chapter 2|

Bumblebee was well on his way to being overcharged out of his processor as he finished another cube of engex. It was also, unfortunately, the last cube of it he had. With a flick the container dispersed and the now empty servo moved to scrub his face as he heaved a tired ex-vent.

Another comm pinged him, and Bumblebee ignored it like all the others before it. He didn’t even check to see who it was from – after getting dozens of pings from Ratchet and Arcee each, and half as many from Ultra Magnus, he stopped bothering.

Perhaps it hadn’t been fair to slip out of headquarters before any of them had a chance to talk with him again – argue with him and his decision. But Bumblebee hadn’t been sure if he could handle it anymore. Debating and arguing and posturing and Ratchet’s spark-broken expression and Megatron’s almost soft smile when he accepted what he was being asked--

The world seemed to spin for a second when Bumblebee rolled onto his front to relieve the pinching of his weight on his door wings. Instead of disturbing him though, the whirling sensation just prompted a giggle out of him. Primus, he was wasted. These days he tried to only drink socially, to help relax after a day of scouting or pretending to be a politician and just have fun with his friends. So they certainly had their benders, but it was usually just a drink or two. It had been a while since he had been this overcharged with other mecha. A few months at least.

But drinking alone? He hadn’t been this overcharged alone since—

With a hiccup of his vents, Bumblebee deleted all process trees leading him down that path.

It only led him back to what made him drink this time though and the giggle died in his voicebox anyway.

Megatron.

He had agreed – volunteered even! – to spark bond to Megatron.

But what else was he doing with his life anyway?

Yet another comm pinged, and it was denied without even a thought.

The knock on the door that followed though had Bumblebee jolting, and he would deny till his final ventilations that he yelped. Loudly.

“Bee? That you?” Smokescreen. Of course.

“Hold on,” Bumblebee called out. It was with a drawn out groan that Bumblebee pushed onto his servos and carefully crawled off the berth. Walking was a hurdle, but only the first couple of steps were difficult. By the time he had gotten to the door, Bumblebee had gotten a handle on it again and was positive that he could pull off pretending to be sober. Or at least less overcharged than he was.

Smokescreen looked nervous when the door opened, the smile on his lips forced. "Oh, hey! I'm glad you're in! I know I should have given you more of a warning, but there’s gonna be a really early meeting tomorrow at the Archives, so I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me crashing--”

"Who sent you?"

Smokescreen's door wings twitched, lifted for a moment as if he was considering fighting the accusation. But, when Bumblebee just continued to glower, they slowly drooped.

"Arcee. She didn't tell me what's going on though, if that helps?"

Bumblebee leaned against the door frame, arms crossed as he considered his friend. "She's not here, is she?"

"Nope. Just me."

"And she honestly didn't tell you?"

"Just that it was a government secret for now."

Maybe it was the engex, but he honestly didn't think Smokescreen was lying. And if that was the case -- "So are you here because she told you to come, or because you're hoping I'll tell you?"

Smokescreen grinned, his door wings perking back up. "Me? Abuse our friendship due to curiosity? I'm hurt."

"So equal parts of both?"

"That sounds right. So you gonna let me in or what, Bee?" Smokescreen asked teasingly, reaching out to give Bumblebee a friendly shove. To his chagrin, it actually threw off the precious balance Bumblebee had found against the door frame and he stumbled back one step too many to be sober. Smokescreen's optic ridges lifted before he added, "Are you overcharged?"

Bumblebee finally found a stance that felt solid and looked up, shrugging with a chagrined smile. "Maybe?"

Concern flickered across his face but Smokescreen still managed a smile and teasing voice. "Did you at least leave some for me?"

"Smokey, if I had more, I'd have it in my servo. But if you want to go buy us some more--?"

Smokescreen stepped into the apartment – if it could really be called that, considering it was just one large room with his berth, an energon dispenser, and the few bits and bobbles Bumblebee had collected over the years – and the door shut behind him. "'Us'? If you drank anymore, I think you'd have engex pumping in your lines instead of energon."

In an attempt to diffuse any of the lingering worry in his words, Bumblebee decided a joke would be all they needed. He lifted his shoulders and hunched his back just a bit, twisting his mouth into an exaggerated grumpy frown, lifting and flailing a servo accusingly as he spoke. "I'll have you know that for a mech with my frame specs and type, I can consume eight cubes of engex before reaching an intoxication level--"

Smokescreen’s ventilations wheezed out a snicker as he shook his helm and walked over to Bumblebee. "Yeah, yeah, alright, Ratchet. I think it’s time you sat back down before you throw out your hip cog.”

“How dare you! When you were still just a twinkle in Primus’s optic, I could hold three Decepticons in helm locks at a time! One with each arm and the third with my thighs--”

Smokescreen couldn’t even get a full sentence out at first, his voicebox now overwhelmed by giggles as he shoved at Bumblebee. “You’re awful!”

“You’re laughing at it!”

One last shove finally did Bumblebee in as he tumbled back on the berth, unable to hold in his own snickers as he rolled onto his side and curled up, wheezing. The berth shook slightly as Smokescreen fell back onto it as well, quick to make himself comfortable on his side looking at Bumblebee.

Unfortunately, having Smokescreen watch him fall apart only reminded Bumblebee how overcharged he was, which in turn only made sent Bumblebee into a loud, full-framed fit of laughter, his plating clattering together from the way his body shook. “Slag me, Bee, you’re seriously overclocked on that stuff, huh?” Smokescreen said before one of his vents got stuck before popping open when he snickered, the sound loud and surprising them both and sending them both spiraling further down.

Long minutes went by as they slowed before something would send them back into fits all over again. However, eventually, they finally quieted, their cooling fans the only noise in the room.

Bumblebee’s frame buzzed pleasantly.

“Bee?”

“Yeah, Smokey?”

Smokescreen optics were so carefully trained on him and a door wing flicked anxiously. Despite his best efforts, the concern was back.

“Are you ok?”

The engex did not help the way Bumblebee’s spark suddenly ached again at the question. He rolled onto his back, wincing when he moved faster than his door wings got out of the way, but it only took a moment to finally get comfortably settled. His optics focused on the ceiling as his processor stuttered, forced to think about what he had spent the past hour drowning his systems with engex to avoid.

“I dunno. Probably not.” Bumblebee scrubbed at his face, and forced his vents to open and continue ventilation as normal. It wasn’t successful though, not when the engex was turning on him, taking the brief joy it had brought and twisting it into despair, hitting him too hard, too suddenly. “Not really.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Can’t.” Bumble desperately ignored how there was a slight tremor in his servos now. He forced stale humor into his voice. “Government secret, remember?”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before. You know I can keep a secret.”

“I can’t, so let’s talk to something else.”

“Is this about the rumors that--”

“Smokescreen--”

“—Megatron showed up--”

“Stop! Just – stop!”

Silence fell and Bumblebee knew his whole frame was trembling now. His spark roiled in his chest and engex hit his frame hard, leaving him feeling sick. He kept his fisted servos pressed against his face, hoping against hope that the pain would pass again.

Smokescreen’s servo on his shoulder was cool against the overheated metal.

“Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.” The servo moved in very slow circles, lulling Bumblebee’s spark to slow. “I do still want to stay here tonight though, ok?”

Bumblebee nodded and his voicebox managed to rasp out an “Ok.”

“Cool. Um. Do you want me to move back in for a while?”

Bumblebee’s spark swelled at the offer. After Optimus’s death, Smokescreen and Bumblebee had ended up rooming together in the apartment. It had been the only option they had, and it had been uncomfortably small for two mecha, even given their smaller size. Truthfully though, Bumblebee had always been grateful, if just because he wasn’t sure how he would have made it through that initial grief without the other mech, even if he did feel badly when Smokescreen recovered faster than he had. But Smokescreen had waited, crammed into the too-small apartment with him, supporting him until Bumblebee was ready to live on his own.

He must have really looked as pathetic as he felt.

Still though, Bumblebee shook his helm.

“I won’t be living here much longer anyway.”

And scrap, if that didn’t hurt to think about, knowing exactly who he would be moving in with.

“Oh.” There were so many questions trapped in that single word, but Bumblebee wasn’t ready to answer them, and Smokescreen didn’t press. “Well, do you want me to crash here until then?”

“You don’t have to--”

“I already crash here a few times a month anyway since it is closer to the archives. So it wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

Bumblebee rolled back onto his side, this time being more careful of his door wing. Slowly he onlined his optics to look at Smokescreen.

“I—I would appreciate that, Smokey.”

“You look like slag.”

“Thanks, Arcee,” Bumblebee grumbled as she pressed off the wall she had been leaned against, likely waiting for him to arrive. He couldn’t deny it though – his optics were no doubt dim, and his transformation sequence had been slower than usual as he left the road and walked up the stairs to the city hall doors.

Arcee was quick to step up to him and grab him by the arm, no doubt noting that his frame was hot with self-repair nanites. “You’re burnt out,” she accused, optics narrowed, irritation masking concern.

Bumblebee shrugged and pulled his arm from her grasp as he made his way into the city hall. The drive down had worked some of the aches and pains out of Bumblebee’s systems, but others had lingered or were made worse, and his processor had not stopped aching since the moment he had onlined that morning.

Truthfully, it had been a while since Bumblebee had felt this burnt out, and worse still that he couldn’t even recharge through it. He hadn’t even had time for more than a minimal recharge cycle before he had had to drag himself out of the berth, leaving Smokescreen to continue without him. There was going to be an official announcement in a few hours, and he still had a cover story to come up with by then.

He had to deal with Megatron, burn out be damned.

Arcee followed him into the building and walked beside him.

“You don’t have to do this, Bee. You shouldn’t do this.”

“I know that,” Bumblebee said, and he knew he sounded tired. “But I am, so can we not argue about it right now?”

“If not now, then when?” Arcee asked sharply. “The announcement is being made today, so I don’t really have any better chances, do I?”

It was still early enough that there weren’t many mecha around. That didn’t mean it was empty though, and already the handful of mecha who were lingering before starting their shifts were watching them, either slyly or just outright.

Luckily, Bumblebee could turn into hallway headed towards the prison cells right away. No mecha lingered there, and it would be obvious if any tried to follow and listen in.

“I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a stupid decision.”

Bumblebee's plating flared as he shot her a look. "Thanks a lot, Arcee."

Finally, the two-wheeler looked a little chagrinned. "I don't mean that you're stupid. I get why you’ve made this choice, but--" Her voicebox stalled as Arcee gestured uselessly, trying to find the right glyphs. "We care about you, Bee. I care about you. We've gone through so much together, and we've given so much for what we have, and I just-- I can't stand to see you lose your right to enjoy what we have."

There were several ventilation cycles that passed in silence between them before Bumblebee ex-vented softly.

"I know. I would be upset too."

"But you're still doing it."

"I'm still doing it."

Arcee held her ventilation, lips a tight line. "I figured. If I were in your position, I would be stubborn about it too."

"Practically two bots of the same spark."

"Name one mech we hang out who isn't stupidly stubborn. I dare you."

That startled an amused huff out of Bumblebee which was followed by a couple genuine snickers when Arcee elbowed him, insisting, "See? Can't even think of one, can you?"

"It's a wonder that any of us manage to get anything done."

"No kidding." Arcee paused, helm tilting one way and then the other, before she said, softer than before, "Look, I’m still mad that you avoided us last night, but it did give me time to think about it, and if this is what you're sure you want to do, then I'll support you." Bumblebee couldn't help the look of shock on his face, optics wide, and Arcee shrugged dismissively. "Don't look so surprised. If you're doing this, then you're going to need support. So this is me telling you that I'm not as fun as engex but I’m not gonna leave you burnt out either, so when you need help or just somebody to vent to, I'm around, ok?"

"Ok," Bumblebee said with a soft smile, spark warming with affection. "But maybe next time you're supporting me, let me know you're sending Smokescreen to check on me. It's not fair to sick him on me like that."

Arcee shrugged again, something almost playful about the small curl of her lips. "I'm not above dirty tricks."

At that point they had arrived at the end of the prison cell hallway. Bumblebee had expected Arcee to hang back, to say her goodbye before heading off to work on her own given tasks. However, she followed close to him.

“You know, you don’t have to come with me.”

“It’ll take just a minute.”

Bumblebee’s tanks twisted nervously, but one look at Arcee told him there was no avoiding it.

And then he was face to face with Megatron again.

It was somehow a little easier the second time around, Bumblebee mused. He still felt on edge, but knowing that the night before he had managed to converse with the former Decepticon Warlord without any threat to himself, knowing that there was nothing that Megatron could do to him with that barrier in place -- this time around, it kept the anxiety at just a slow simmer. It was easier to handle.

It would have been Arcee's first time though, and the way her plating clamped down tight and her systems whirred to life made it easy to tell she was far from happy.

Megatron at least looked unaffected where he sat on the prison bench. He grinned an easy but, frankly, hollow grin. "Were you that upset that I had called you little warrior? You needed to prove you were hardly the smallest?"

Bumblebee couldn't stop his optics from slipping offline, counting the beats for Arcee to retaliate.

"Cute.” Arcee’s tone made it clear it was anything but. “No, I just figured I should drop by and remind you who you're bonding with." There was the telltale clacking of light pedes on the hard floor, and when Bumblebee looked again, Arcee had stepped up close to the barrier, glowering across it with her plating flared out as far as it would go. "And, more importantly, the mecha who care about him and wouldn’t think twice about making the rest of your life a living hell if you so much as look at him funny. I suggest you keep yourself in check. Understood?”

Megatron’s optics cycled with consideration, the shallow smile fading to leave him with an expression that looked more genuine.

“Understood.”

Megatron's compliance clearly surprised Arcee as she went stiff, one servo raised with a digit outstretched, ready to point and argue but now with nothing to do. It was almost enough to distract Bumblebee from how embarrassment was flooding his circuits, heating his face.

It didn't take too long however for her to catch up, putting her servo on her hip as she nodded. "Good. Just don't forget it." She spun on her pede to face Bumblebee then, still frowning, but her servo on his arm was warm and reassuring. "Take care of yourself, yeah?"

"Yeah.” He reached out to pat Arcee on the shoulder. “It’ll work out. You’ll see.”

Arcee’s face twisted, but she didn’t say anything more. She gave one last pat to Bumblebee’s arm before stepping back.

And just like that, Arcee was off, her steps quick as she headed back towards the main floor. If memory served Bumblebee right, she would be working with Soundwave and Discbrake on surveillance and preparation for any riots that could break out.

Bumblebee did not want to be there for that odd group of mecha.

“I can’t imagine that will be the last time I’ll receive such a talk,” Megatron mused as he shifted, looking for a moment as if he was about to stand up but thought better of it. That was when the shine of his armor caught Bumblebee’s optic.

Knockout had done an incredible job considering it hadn’t been that long since Bumblebee had last seen Megatron. All of the plating that was still salvageable had been filled and buffed and polished until they looked as good as new again, and Bumblebee was sure that the wires and cables beneath were just as shiny and clean. More noticeable then that though was that the armor plates were much closer to what they had looked like before Unicron’s resurrection. The gold hues were gone, as well all of the extraneous spikes that had seemed to sprout out of every surface of the chaos-god-possessed mech.

In fact, all of the spikes were absent.

Megatron’s shoulder plates were sleek now.

It was weird.

The job was clearly unfinished though. While some plating looked like new, others looked nearly untouched besides being washed and minimally treated. They were also, though, the plating with the worst damage, with deep gouges and bits torn off completely. A spot that Bumblebee remembered being rusted pretty badly had been cut out completely. Presumably the heavily blemished plates were beyond repair and were going to be replaced once new plates were made.

“Little warrior?”

Bumblebee’s optics rebooted quickly and focused on Megatron’s questioning expression.

“Oh, uh,” Bumblebee fumbled, grimacing at being caught staring. He really was out of it. “Just tired, I guess.” When Megatron just continued to watch him curiously, the bot shifted his weight from one pede to the other. “You look good though.” Megatron’s optic ridges lifted just enough at that to have Bumblebee immediately sputtering out, “Better! As in, you look better than last night, with the cleaned up plating and none of the Unicron stuff, you know?”

Megatron huffed an amused vent and replied smoothly, “I’ve already said yes. There’s no need to bother with flattery.”

Bumblebee could feel an irritated growl threatening to rumble out of his engine, but he choked it before it got anywhere. After he scrubbed at his face, he muttered, “Alright, you know what? Let’s just try this from the start.” With a clearly fake smile, Bumblebee met Megatron’s optics again. “Good morning, Megatron. You don’t look like you rolled out of a dump anymore.”

“And you do look as if you drank your way into one last night.”

The fake smile fell.

“Ok, first of all, frag you.” Megatron didn’t so much as flinch. “But second, is it actually that obvious?”

“I’ve seen my fair share of burn outs in my lifetime,” Megatron replied simply. “Now, as amusing as these pleasantries have been, shall we cut straight to the point? You have an arrangement to explain to me.”

With a sigh, Bumblebee nodded.

It was surprisingly easy to slip into talking business with Megatron. Of course, it could have been a comparison thing, considering the only one-on-one conversations they had had before had been in Megatron’s mind years before and then just last night. Otherwise it had just been words spat at each other in battle.

The fact that in both of those cases Megatron was incapable of even attempting to attack Bumblebee did not escape him. That eventuality of being together without the wall was one that Bumblebee tried his hardest to not think about just yet.

But at the end of the day, Megatron had been political since before Bumblebee was forged, and Bumblebee had learned to talk with Megatron’s former lieutenants on a regular basis so he wasn’t new to talking to cons he despised.

He had even befriended the warlord’s former medic.

Speaking of, Bumblebee realized he owed Knockout a world of thanks, and would make sure to find a way to make it up to the medic. While fixing up Megatron the night before, Knockout had gone ahead and given him the general summary of what had happened since his self-imposed exile. The chaos of Autobots and Decepticons and Neutrals all returning, the settling and riots and settling again with the implementation of the first treaty, the self-segregation, all while trying to rebuild as quickly as the population grew with ships of refugees and stranded Bots and Cons alike arriving weekly.

Knockout had also left behind a stool to sit on, which Bumblebee’s aching frame appreciated.

Megatron quickly listed what he had learned with disinterest when Bumblebee asked what he already knew, though his optics burned with curiosity. Bumblebee didn’t bother to extrapolate on any of it because they were on a tight schedule. For now Megatron just needed to know enough to work with him on their story and arrangement.

He would have to ask Watts if there were any good essays or whatever that he could give to Megatron to read in his spare time. Save them both the trouble of having to talk through it all.

Megatron did, however, focus in intently when he said that Knockout mentioned the council.

“He tells me that you have become a politician.”

“Unfortunately,” Bumblebee replied with a grimace.

Megatron’s optics widened slightly, surprised, though he kept his tone neutral as he continued, “From what I understand, there are only nine councilmecha, and only three of them are Autobots. It must be quite the honor to be counted among them.”

“Normally, this is when I remind mecha that it means I have to work with Starscream on a regular basis, but I don’t think that will have the same effect on you.”

Megatron didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

“Power comes with its downfalls, and somehow that menace always manages to make sure he’s one of them.” Megatron leaned forward, bracing his arms on his legs, and Primus, it was so weird to see him without those spiked shoulder guards. “Though I must admit, when Knockout told me that he along with Soundwave and Shockwave are all alive and allowed equal political footing with you and your comrades, the fact that you are considering such an intimate arrangement with their former Lord makes a bit more sense. It would seem that you’re a far more forgiving lot than I would have guessed.”

Outrage burst in Bumblebee’s chassis and burned along his lines as he snapped, “I haven’t forgiven any of them, and I sure as slag don’t forgive you. Allowing them on the council was the only way to maintain the peace, so I tolerate them and that’s it. Got it?”

“I don’t know that toleration covers sharing a spark bond.”

“Self-sacrifice in your case.”

Megatron frowned.

“Now that I expect from an Autobot,” he said, and Bumblebee would have thought it sounded sad if he thought the mech capable of it. Before he could even think to comment on it though, Megatron sat up straight again. “Regardless, I’ve hit a nerve, so why don’t we return to business. I seem to recall you saying we have a deadline.”

The irritation still burned, but Bumblebee nodded.

“The whole city has heard the rumors so we can’t make them wait much longer.”

“So you’re going to announce that we’re bonding.”

Bumblebee grimaced but nodded again. “Given the situation, we can’t make it obvious to the public that we’re treating you any differently than any other citizen.”

“Thus replacing physical bonds with a spark bond,” Megatron concluded. “A far prettier means of reassuring the population that I’m not a danger. I assume I’ll be moving into my honeymoon prison soon after?”

“It’s actually going to be a normal apartment,” Bumblebee said. “I’ll be checking it out later today so I’ll let you know what it’s like.”

Megatron’s optic ridges furrowed as he asked, “An apartment?” And then, slowly, his optics widened. “Will we actually be living together?”

Bumblebee shrugged as his tanks churned. “We have to keep up appearances.”

Megatron’s optics flickered offlined and he cycled a slow ventilation. Honestly, Bumblebee wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that the former warlord seemed as displeased with that reality as Bumblebee was, but it was at least oddly comforting.

“So this is a farce that must last longer than a few days?”

“Yeah. It would be one thing if I was just a citizen so people would forget after a while, but being a councilmech and all--”

“A councilmech bonding with the late Decepticon warlord will keep their attention for decades.”

“Probably.” Bumblebee reached up to rub at the back of his neck, frowning as he said, “Look, if that changes your mind--”

Megatron lifted a servo to stop him, and after a beat he shook his helm. “No, it’s fine,” he said as he finally onlined his optics again and looked at Bumblebee. “Very well. If we must maintain a long and, by all appearances, successful bond, then we need a story of a courtship built over time.”

“Oh. Wait, hold on, I haven’t explained anything else about the arrangement yet. The story can wait--”

“We have the rest of our unfortunate lives together for you to explain the morbid details,” Megatron insisted with a flick of his servo. “But the announcement is today, so that must be the focus.”

While he wasn’t wrong, Bumblebee still bristled, unhappy about being ordered around. With no better alternative though, he had to bow to logic. “Fine. But to be honest, I don’t know how we’ll manage a courtship story, considering you showed up just last night.”

“We reunited a year ago when you were on one of your scouting missions.” It was quick and sure.

“Would that actually work?” Bumblebee asked, optic ridges furrowed. “I mean, sure, Cybertron isn’t the biggest planet, but still. The odds that we managed to cross paths seem super unlikely.”

Megatron’s grin was back.

“I actually saw you on a few occasions.”

For a couple seconds, Bumblebee could have sworn his spark stalled.

“What?” he asked, quietly, hoping it was just a suggestion. But Megatron’s expression did not alter and panic prickled along Bumblebee’s lines. “There’s no way – I would have noticed you!”

The slagger just continued to grin as he leaned back casually and crossed one pede over his knee. “You forget that there is a part of the planet that is solidly predacon territory, so my settlements were always within the area between there and this city. Furthermore, I was used to silence and tried to stay alert for any sound that could be predacons, so a grounder’s engine was noticeable even over a great distance,” he explained. He paused long enough that his optics trailed down Bumblebee’s frame and then back to his face, and while there didn’t seem to be anything lewd about it, it still made him want to shudder. “Your paintjob is distinctive and I’ve seen your alt mode before, so I didn’t need to get any closer to know it was you. I, on the other servo, happened to blend in well with ruins, and my engine was idle, so there was no reason I’d attract your attention.”

Shame burned through Bumblebee’s systems and his face grew hot. “You’re lying.”

“You’re welcome to believe whatever you like,” Megatron replied sardonically, his helm tilted back but his gaze still on Bumblebee. “It’s still as believable as this farce will get.”

Bumblebee’s mouth opened but, to his chagrin, he didn’t have a response for that. The idea that he would want to bond with Megatron was about as farfetched as it got. Starscream’s mocking question echoed in his memory chips. Why would anyone believe they would choose each other?

They didn’t even know each other. When the trappings of being at war were pulled away, the fact was that they were essentially strangers. They had tricked and damaged and killed each other, but had only ever spoken a few dozen words to each other at most before all this.

How he had managed to convince anyone that he understood Megatron’s motivations was a mystery because now, sharing optic-contact with the mech himself, Bumblebee had no idea what he wanted. During the war it had been easy for anyone to guess – conquest and absolute power.

But now? The mech before him who had come to their gates and submitted without resistance, rusted and torn to shreds?

Bumblebee knitted his digits together before finally just asking, “Why are you even here?”

Where he had expected resistance, Megatron’s expression instead softened, almost looking thoughtful.

“I had wondered when someone would bother to ask.” The crossed pede was placed back on the ground and Megatron leaned his shoulders forward again, still spike-less, oddly vulnerable. His optics dimmed. “Reparation, I suppose.”

“What?”

“For what I’ve done,” Megatron explained, simply and evenly, and Bumblebee might have thought him untouched by the reality of what he was saying were it not for the way his optics grew dimmer and dimmer. “The last fraction of decisions I made can be partially blamed on poisoning my spark with dark energon, but even so, I lost my way and disgraced my cause long before that. There is no forgiveness for the lives I’ve misled and taken and destroyed, nor can I ever take those actions back, so I came to offer all I have left.”

Bumblebee’s voicebox felt tight.

Maybe Megatron wasn’t so inscrutable.

“You mean yourself.”

There was nothing but exhaustion and sorrow in the way Megatron’s lips curled up into fake smile.

“I mean myself. Frame and spark.”

“You genuinely thought we were going to execute you.”

“At best,” Megatron confirmed with a nod. “More likely was indefinite imprisonment. Humiliation, torture, what have you.”

Bumblebee’s servos clenched each other hard enough that he could feel paint scraping off the sides of his digits.

“So you finally feel bad about what you’ve done, so you just – you hand your life over to mecha who hate you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Megatron shrugged and it was genuinely starting to grate on Bumblebee how casual the larger mech could be about his own life.

“What else would you suggest I do with my wretched life?”

Bumblebee’s spark clenched tight enough to feel suffocating. Yet somehow, an incredulous laugh slipped out at the surreality of it all. “You’re asking the wrong fragging bot. I barely know what I’m doing with mine.”

Megatron raised his optic ridges.

“You’re a councilmech.”

“I just filled a seat that needed filling,” Bumblebee admitted. “Everyone else already had important things that they couldn’t abandon. Things they specialize in. But I was just--” Bumblebee turned his gaze down to the ground between them, burning with shame, and he wished he had never said a thing. And to Megatron of all mecha. “I was asked and I said yes. That’s it.”

It was silent then, only the quiet buzzing of the barrier audible.

Then, where Bumblebee half expected mocking and half feared sympathy, Megatron said, “You came across me while scouting and we found comfort in each other as warriors without a war. It’s as good a start to a courtship as any other.”

Bumblebee looked up, optics wide, and Megatron lifted his ridges in response.

“Unless you have a better idea you wish to share?”

Bumblebee’s spark eased and his lips took on an amused tilt.

“I’ll admit, considering how pathetic you looked, I probably wouldn’t have offlined you right away if I had found you huddled up in some ruins. I am one of the good guys, after all.”

“How considerate of you,” Megatron drawled, but he did mirror Bumblebee’s expression. “And I have it on good authority that I can be quite charismatic.”

“Ok, but you definitely had to fall for me first. Otherwise mecha are gonna think you’re just tricking me, you know?”

“A fair point.” Megatron considered him carefully, optics piercing. His lips curled up further. “An attractive young mech forged during war finding his place in peace would certainly be familiar enough that I could have been charmed by you.”

Heat bloomed in Bumblebee’s face, though he couldn’t decide if it was from hearing Megatron talk about his aimlessness or attractiveness.

“You’re definitely getting the better end of this deal.”

Megatron’s grin was downright mischievous, which on its own was more than enough to worry Bumblebee. However, the larger mech simply said, “I apologize for my continued functioning through the end of the war. Had I offlined sooner, perhaps it would have been our shared companion Starscream you would have to bond to instead.”

Bumblebee could feel how his face contorted with absolute horror at the thought and Megatron laughed.

It wasn’t wholly unpleasant either.

#Fanfiction #hope you wanted more of bee and friends and meg because that's what you're getting #also seriously thank you to the folks who are reading this and are supportive #you're all so so good to me #tfp

18 notes · View notes