#but in any au i would like starscream to be a little wicked and a little fighter who started from the bottom and came up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cosmics-beings · 8 months

Note

do you have any happy tf earthspark or tfp megastar famil/sparkling kid hcs, it's so hard to find those.

You've come to the right person. I devour happy megastar family content.

I wrote a really cute tfp megastar family fic a while ago, but I hc that those two do have a family. After the horrid events of predacons rising, Megatron is in exile and Starscream is rogue. The two find each other again by chance and of course, it's not the best meeting but they decide to stay around one another for some time. Starscream can leave when he wants, but for some reason he chooses not to. Anyway, without the war, and constantly fighting, the two get to see another side of one another that didn't exist. They've been through a lot, lost a lot, both are victims of abusev/violence, and for all they've been through together, they try to heal. At that time, just by nature of being the former first and second of the decepitcon army, some decepticons who felt displaced in cybertron find them where they are.

Megatron vows no more violence, but he and starscream agree to start a neutral population hidden from cybertron. Eventually, they are inexplicably happy after years of healing and forgiveness and they have a family. They have four children, and Megatron is happy when he realizes this war wasn't for nothing. He is happy with Starscream, he is free, his children are free and they get to live in peace. Starscream is also a leader of basically their planet, while he's happy with the kids and Megatron, he is still a little wicked, but who would Starscream be if he wasn't that. Long story short, they've got three daughters and one son, and they were born during Megatron and Starscream's time creating a new, happy and free civilization post the war.

TF Earthspark Megastar kids are fun ajdflafja. Obviously, there is a lot of work that needs to be done between Megatron and Starscream before any of them can be comfortable around one another. BUUT it happens, because Megatron and Starscream start to realize their similarities and just want to heal. Things go slow, and Megatron is respectful of Starscream, but eventually, it is Starscream who wants to eventually start at least an acquaintanceship with Megatron. Not so much forgive him (yet), but want to move on. Through there, they start to heal and that's really only possible because they are both similar. Both are victims of abuse, both are victims of violence and oppression and in turn, turned around and hurt others. When they both realize that they were caught in a cycle of abuse and pain because of how they were treated in their past, they decide to grow past it. Megatron and Starscream are still technically on different sides, Megatron is an Autobot, Starscream is the Decepticon leader, but that doesn't stop Starscream from seeking Megatron out and growing close to him. That aquaintanship just keeps on growing until it becomes something more. And with a healthy group of friends around them (the maltos, the autobots, etc) and with no war or violence, and with the two healing (because they help each other), they both fall in love. None were thinking of sparklings, it just happened. AND when i say that i mean that. Similar to all my aus, Seekers do not change when they're carrying because they don't know; it's not natural for them. So they don't know until emergence.

Regardless, they are happy and they are good parents. And are the kids a little evil like Starscream and have ideations of wanting to one day take over Earth?? DUH. The children are both Autobot and Decepticon and perhaps, a little terran?

As for Megatron, he is happy but he is conflicted about a lot of things. for once tho, Starscream is the last thing he is conflicted about, and while everyone is chill and happy, both Starscream and Megatron get their family.

*it should be stated that in my personal megastar aus, i actually don't see them being a thing or even having romantic /sexual feelings toward one another until after the war, so these all clearly take place after the war*

#megastar #starscream #megatron #transformers prime #tf earthspark

24 notes · View notes

desdemonafictional · 5 years

Text

Rung Meets Deadlock

a WIP from the Decepticon!Rung au

this’ll probably be part of a bigger day-in-the-life fic but I’m not gonna get back around that any time soon... so here’s what I’ve got for now!

When Deadlock appears in his quarters, without fanfare or warning, Rung doesn’t seem anywhere near as nervous as he ought to be. He ought to be very nervous.

Everyone knows what Deadlock does. And although the Decepticon army’s CMO has never been formally introduced to him, Deadlock knows his reputation precedes him. Just like Rung’s reputation precedes him…

“Oh,” Rung says, as he turns on the light to find Deadlock sitting in his chair, “hello.”

It would be an understatement to say that Rung isn’t at all what Deadlock expected, after what he’s heard swirling through the grapevine. He’s small, but Deadlock was prepared for that. It’s the lack of weaponry, the lack of armor, the lack even of meaningful surgical implements or scientific kibble. If Deadlock were a less hardened mech, he might find the confidence of it frightening.

In the second between turning from the door and spotting Deadlock, Rung goes from looking visibly weary to looking cool and sturdy and patient. It’s an impressive trick. Not that Deadlock doesn’t know plenty of ‘Cons who can switch on a new face at the flip of a switch, but the fact that he’s doing it now, under these circumstances? Well that’s not a bad show.

Rung considers him for a moment. Deadlock passes the sharpening stone down the blade of his sword with a sharp, grinding note, letting the flat of it rest across his knees like a quiet promise.

Something flickers in Rung’s expression, but under the glasses, it’s nearly impossible to read. “I don’t normally take appointments in my quarters,” he says, “but if there’s something you don’t feel comfortable discussing in my office, I could make an exception.”

“You know who I am, don’t you?” Deadlock says, testing the blade edge with his thumb. He’d been reading through some of the files on Rung’s recreational datapad in the quiet before Rung’s arrival, but he set it aside a while ago. He doesn’t know how to feel about the correspondences he’s stumbled across, the ones saved deep down in the memory banks. Lord Megatron and the CMO, bantering. Discussing theater. It boggles the processor.

Rung’s expression goes a little tight. “Yes, Deadlock, I know who you are.” He comes across the room, laying down his work ‘pad on the desk as he goes. “If this is about Turmoil, believe me you’re not the first to ask, but I’m afraid there’s really nothing I can do at this point.”

Deadlock tilts his head. “Soldiers often ask you to work on their officers?”

“Work on,” Rung repeats. He frowns, like the phrasing bothers him. “Occasionally, people do ask for me to intercede with their superior officers on their behalf, yes.”

“And Megatron lets you do that?” Deadlock says, which is more or less the reason that his sword is still sitting across his lap and not inside of Rung’s spark chamber. If the things he’s heard are true, he wants to know how much of it is sanctioned. Part of him bridles from the very thought--Megatron, of all mech, would never, could never--but the rest of him is a grim pessimist, and if there’s rust rotting at the heart of the Cause, he intends to know about it.

Rung opens his mouth. For a second nothing comes out.

“Well, as much as he can, I think. I used to have more leeway. Recently I’ve been… encountering friction,” he says, after a moment. “Megatron actually offered to do something about Turmoil for me, once. Perhaps I should have taken him up on it.”

Do something about…? What’s that supposed to mean?

Rung pauses, at the edge of the berth. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I know it’s unprofessional, but I have these aches. Would you mind terribly if I…?”

Deadlock doesn’t know what he’s asking--whether he can sit down, maybe?--but ne nods anyway. He can never help but indulge a medic when they talk like that. The wear and tear medics take kind of gets his engine going.

What Rung actually does is reach behind himself and disengage his dorsal kibble. It comes away easily, leaving the flat, smooth panel of his back as if it was never there. The moment the wheel-pack hits the floor, Rung relaxes visibly.

“Sorry,” he says again. “Old injuries.”

“You’re filed as a non-combatant,” Deadlock says, narrowing his eyes. He would have prepared differently if he had known otherwise. Of course this isn’t an official visit; he hasn’t been briefed, there could be clearance above his standard clearance...

“Oh, it’s not combat,” Rung laughs, “I was taken apart by the Functionists several times, and they were more interested in the taking apart than the putting back together. I wasn’t always reassembled perfectly.”

Ahah. Deadlock leans in. “Is that where you learned the mnemosurgery?”

Rung goes still. His spark flares, deep in his chest, visible through the glass panel inset there. “I’m going to make Starscream regret his decisions with such a deep and abiding shame that he will spontaneously confess to every lie he’s ever told,” Rung says, in a voice that is cold with rage. “I thought officers would know better than to believe those rumors.”

Deadlock sits back. Rung is visibly livid, fingers rapidly tapping against the edge of the berth, glaring at something only he can see.

“Every time I walk into the medical bay now, there’s some poor spark that nearly climbs out the airlock trying to get away from me,” he vents. “I never thought I’d have to put up with fear at the sight of my face, it really is too much. Too much by half. What did I join this movement for if not to ease the friction on the ones who took the best of worse options, and now I find that my simple presence--”

He slumps, digging his fingers under his glasses to rub his optics.

“He thinks he’s helping,” Rung says to himself, the way that you mutter an old calming mantra. “He thinks he’s helping. Never mind that I never asked for his help, he only understands one kind of strength, and he thinks he’s helping.”

“Who’s that you’re muttering about?” Deadlock asks. So far nothing about this encounter has been up to his expectations and what can he say? He’s curious.

“Starscream,” Rung says, like it’s unimportant, like it’s obvious, like it isn’t Starscream, living embodiment of a knife in the back, the silver-tongued terror himself.

“Starscream doesn’t help people,” Deadlock says with a sharp laugh. “Except himself, obviously.”

“I suppose he’d like us to think that,” Rung says, not sounding particularly amused. “He started this whole-” Rung waves a hand, “-shadow play rumor. That I’m some kind of mad scientist routinely bending people’s processors to… I don’t know what, people usually fill in that part themselves based on whatever frightens them most. I wouldn’t know how to execute a mnemosurgery if my life depended on it.”

“Uhuh,” Deadlock says. He smiles, indulgently, but doesn’t relax. Everybody knows the old saying: never trust a person with their needles in your neck.

“I don’t know what to do about this,” Rung sighs. Then he stops, and he looks up sharply. The point of his gaze is like the wicked tip of a paring knife. “Did you come to me,” he says, “to have someone shadow played?”

Deadlock could probably just kill him now and swing by the commissary for a bit of a job-well-done reward, but something about the way Rung looks through him--looks into him--has him almost breathless. He feels something in the strut of his spine, in the edge of his spark.

“I was sent to have someone taken care of,” he says, playing vague and uninterested even as his sensor net tingles.

“Well I can’t help you,” Rung says, sharply.

“Is it a money thing?” Deadlock asks. He wants to see what it’ll take to make the CMO break his pretty, professional facade. “Money ain’t an issue for me.”

“It’s not money,” Rung retorts. There’s a distinctly icy chill in his bearing now, in the set of his slim shoulders. “I can’t, and even if I could, I wouldn’t. Money is not the issue.”

“Now don’t act like you’re so above it all,” Deadlock tells him. “We all know what almost happened to Megatron. Shrinks like you signed off on shadowplay all the time, even before.”

Rung rubs the seams of his faceplate, a grimace distorting his mouth. “Personality adjustments, you mean,” he says. “Yes, we did sign off on those, didn’t we.”

Rung draws his hand back from his face and stares at it. The fingertips where the wicked needles would emerge are at the moment only blunt and dull.

“It was supposed to be controlled. Ethical. There were complicated, nearly byzantine steps--red tape a mile long--countless hoops you had to jump through in order to even think of ordering the procedure. You needed two medical professionals to sign off on it, you needed next-of-kin consent, you needed stacks of evaluations and trials and affidavits... We had no idea at the time--I had no idea--how easy it would be to simply walk up to a surgeon and then walk away, no one the wiser…”

“You don’t gotta convince me, Doc. I’m just here to do a job.”

The truth is, though, that Rung’s act is pretty good. Not too over the top, not too woe is me. Just the right amount of bitterness and self-reproach. Deadlock wouldn’t be surprised if there’s even some truth to it.

“Believe it or not,” Rung says, rubbing his fingers together, “PA was invented to help people. We were supposed to be healers. Mainly people with suicidal code glitches--involuntary prompt recurrences, intrusive thoughts, anxiety feedback loops--that sort of thing. And then it was approved for hallucinatory syndromes. And then for violent offenders. And then for anti-social personalities… and then you turn around and every empurata sentence has a PA order attached to it, and you don’t know where the line broke but it’s somewhere long behind you, and you can’t do anything but…”

He drops his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says, optics flickering as if they had been rebooted, and then he puts on a smile. “I find my regrets catching up with me more and more these days. Who is it you wanted help with? Maybe this is a problem that can be solved with mediation. I can’t promise you I’ll have much political clout, but I’m a fairly good problem solver.”

Deadlock watches him, tracking every motion, every micro-expression. This really isn’t what he was ready for. Polished? Posh? sure. Eloquent, light-fingered? Yes. The quiet nightmare, Megatron’s pet abomination, a medic gone so thoroughly rotten that his very touch corrupted? Deadlock had been more than ready to put an end to that--

The mech in front of him is visibly weary, sore and soldiering on, old in a way that is almost disorientingly palpable.

“You and the boss, huh,” Deadlock says, his processor still whirring. “Always wondered what was up with that. Everybody knows he’s got a thing about needles.”

“Are you speculating about my personal life?” Rung says, with some measure of exhausted humor.

It’s not exactly unknown that Megatron and the CMO have a personal understanding of some sort or another. The medics all seem to know something about it, especially here on the flagship, and Deadlock spends a lot of time in the medbay, laying the sweetness on whoever happens to be on shift that day.

That’s the other thing that made Deadlock hesitate, when he got the order. See, he hangs out with a lot of medics. He’s got a type, what can he say? He’s a sucker for a flash of medical red and a boxy chassis. And the medics around here? They talk about Rung like he single-handedly wrangled Luna 1. Most places Deadlock goes, the staff warm up to him fast. He likes them, and they like the security of having someone strong and scary around to back them up when front-liners start throwing their weight around. It’s a no-brainer. Symbiosis.

Here on the flag-ship, the medics carry themselves differently. They don’t exactly tell him no, around here, but he thinks--given the way Rung has said a couple times that his influence is on the wane--maybe there was a time not that long ago that they would have. You know what Rung will say, he hears them remarking to each other; Rung won’t like that, Rung won’t be having with this, wait until Rung hears about this--

And, more quietly, more softly: has anyone brought him his--no, I’ll take it, I want to check on how he’s--well he’s always doing it to us, I think it’s plenty fair--

It’s not that medics are always good judges of character. They put up with him, for one thing. Bad people can be convenient, even useful. The indiscriminate fear of prey can lead to all sorts of ugly compromises. But there’s a way people talk about the monster they know, and it’s not the way they talk about Rung.

Familiarity prickles on the back of Deadlock’s neck.

#transformers #maccadam #rung #banners from the turrets

26 notes · View notes