#the iacon trail

[melishade]

It's fine, take all the time you need. Number 101?

This ask game

Let's wrap up the Autobot Anthology. Four Years after the War ended.

Titans and Energon

Holiday Celebration

Experiments

"Hey." Arcee snapped out of her daze when Wheeljack handed her some high grade energon. Arcee quietly took it before raising her servo in the air.

"Happy four year anniversary of the war being over," Wheeljack said.

"Four years, huh?" Arcee mused before taking a sip of her energon. She looked on to see the Survey Corps still training in the trees.

"You came all this way to give me energon?" Arcee asked him.

"And to keep you company," Wheeljack insisted, "Still working on contacting Cybertron."

"Not going as well as you'd hope?" Arcee asked.

"Could be better," Wheeljack proclaimed, "Still no sign of Eren?"

"Yeah, and everyone is feeling it," Arcee sighed, "...this sucks."

"Yeah it does." Wheeljack took a sip of his energon, "What do you think the 'Bots are doing right now?"

"Beats me," Arcee answered, "I bet they're having more fun than we are."

==

A million light years away

Bumblebee watched from the balcony as the Cybertronians celebrated the anniversary of the war being over. They drank Visco, they honored the fallen, the lights from the city shone brightly in the night sky, blocking out the stars. Bumblebee could see Predaking flying above with Darksteel and Skylynx, with the fourth predacon right behind them.

Bumblebee looked down at his reflection in the drink he held to see just how tired and sad he looked. He should be happy. Four years of little conflict, and Cybertron's reconstruction was going smoothly. They had just reopened Iacon in honor of Optimus Prime, but...he missed Optimus. He missed Arcee and Wheeljack. He knew that Arcee needed time away from the planet, but....he didn't expect her to be gone for so long. What was going on out there? Were they alright? Would they come back safely?

"Lieutenant Bumblebee, what are you doing up here all by yourself?" Bumblebee looked back to see a familiar slender psychiatrist with large glasses walk up to him with Visco in his servo.

"Sorry, Rung, I just needed...," Bumblebee trailed off when he noticed a straw with comical loops and twists in his drink, "Is that a swirly straw?"

"Oh, yes! I find them to be quite enjoyable! It makes drinking more fun!" Rung smiled with delight.

Bumblebee couldn't help but laugh. "I guess so. I didn't think you'd find something like a straw that fun."

"I have many interests and hobbies," Rung insisted, "But back to my question. What are you doing up here by yourself? You should be down there with your friends."

"...not all of my friends are here," Bumblebee mumbled before realizing what he just said, "Sorry, I shouldn't dump my problems on you like that."

"I'm a therapist," Rung reminded.

"Yeah, but...you're on break," Bumblebee retorted.

"I would still be more than willing to help out a friend." Rung placed a servo on his shoulder, "Now tell me: what troubles you?"

"...Arcee and Wheeljack aren't here," Bumblebee relented, "I miss them...and I thought they would be back by now, but...it's been three years."

Bumblebee leaned against the railing once again. "Seems selfish of me to complain, right? I haven't been that close to Wheeljack. Bulkhead knows him better. I know Arcee's been going through some hard times, I just...thought she would come back."

"Well, it's not wrong for us to be worried about friends and units we haven't seen in a long time," Rung began as he leaned against the railing too, drink in servo and hanging over the edge, "You don't know where they are and you're worried about their wellbeing. But...Arcee is just processing things at her own pace."

Bumblebee's mouth form a thin line. He wasn't a big fan of that answer.

Rung looked down at the crowd celebrating. "We all have our own problems and traumas, and we all process them differently. I've seen a variety of people come in through my door and not all methods I give will work the same for every single one of them. Arcee won't be able to process her traumas the same way that you have, and the two of you have been through tremendous hardships because of the war."

"...yeah." Bumblebee swallowed, remembering what he went through at Megatron's servo.

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't fault Arcee for processing her trauma differently," Rung insisted.

"I'm not," Bumblebee grumbled, "I just..."

Rung waited, expecting an answer to come out, but Bumblebee sighed in defeat.

"I thought we finally achieved peace, real peace, on Cybertron, and I wanted Arcee and Wheeljack to be here with us. But...there's still problems and conflicts that I have to deal with and...it sucks. Like rogue Decepticons trying to rise up at overthrow the government or start terrorist attacks. I...just would have liked eternal peace, no matter how naive that seems." Bumblebee relented, "...I feel like I'm complaining."

Rung took a sip out of his drink through a straw. "Bumblebee, I'm going to let you in on a secret: eternal peace will never exist."

"Wow, that's blunt!" Bumblebee exclaimed in disbelief.

"It's the truth!" Rung declared, "All I have to do is gesture to Cybertron's history as proof. There's always conflict and problems that arise. Peace is achieved at the end of it, and there is a vow to not repeat those horrors, only for it to repeat a few million kilocycles later. As long as free will exists, then there will be no eternal peace. Maybe when we're dead, it will happen."

"...you're quite morbid, you know that?" Bumblebee was stunned while Rung laughed.

"I suppose so," Rung agreed, "But there's nothing wrong with striving for peace to last as long as possible. To help the next generation learn and not repeat the horrors of the past. One day it might happen, but it could be eons from now. We don't know."

Rung smiled. "And there is nothing wrong with trying to fight for peace and for a better world even when there are people who still resist. You are do a marvelous job, and I'm sure many are proud of you."

Rung placed a servo on Bumblebee's back. "You might not have everything you want right now, and I'm certain you want things to be easier, but...keep doing what you are doing. Things will work itself out in time. Peace might not be eternal, but I'm sure that it will continue to last your lifetime."

Bumblebee smiled a little before downing the rest of his Visco. "I guess that's the best that I can hope for."

Bumblebee stood up and patted Rung's shoulder. "Thanks, Rung."

"You're welcome," Rung said as Bumblebee walked away, "And hey!"

Bumblebee stopped in his step before turning to Rung.

"I bet that you will see Arcee sooner rather than later!" Rung predicted.

Bumblebee couldn't help but laugh. "Not a good idea to make false promises in your profession!"

"I swear on my spark!" Rung raised his drink into the air.

"Okay, Rung, I'll hold you to it!" Bumblebee waved goodbye, deciding to head down below and join the crowd. Meanwhile, Rung's smile disappeared as he lowered his drink. He looked up at the stars, hoping for a sign or even an answer to an unasked question, but nothing appeared.

Rung sighed as he leaned against the railing. He took a sip from his visco with a straw and mumbled to himself.

"...the beginning of the end..."

(Well, Autobot Anthology is over. So I will post the full list in a bit.)

#attack on prime #tfp #attack on titan #snk #transformers prime #asks #send me asks #aot #shingeki no kyojin #ao3 #tfp arcee #arcee #tfp wheeljack #wheeljack #tfp bumblebee #bumblebee #maccadam #macadam #dialogue prompt #writing dialogue #dialogue prompts #dialogue #rung #autobot anthology #tf prime #transformers #tf

[witchofthesouls]

snorts another line of Dark Energon (Warning: Trauma. Lots of it.) Gods & Goddesses AU where the 13 OG Primes are stranded on Earth in the aftermath of Gaea's birth(???), & they decide to try & Claim these new toys in front of her. Primus/Rung manages to get them offworld, but the damage has already been done. The 13 are utterly mangled by the experience, physically, spiritually & mentally. Primus/Rung has to remove the vast majority of their power because they would straight-up die from their biology & Sparks being torn up otherwise, downgrading them from "Physical Gods" to "Immortality & mild superpowers, but that's it" like IDW 2005. He can't help with the trauma & rhabdophobia (fear of magic), tho. Prima never treated Megatronus badly in this timeline, Liege never plots against his siblings, & Quintus never makes the Quintessons (he got his optics permanently damaged, & is too afraid to leave Iacon) so...yay, teamwork? (If we want to tie this into the Prima's a Dragon-Fragger AU, then 1.) Prima would have to be clever about how he takes on Predaking due to the massive power difference between them & 2.) Predaking realizes he has to invent therapy for his small BF. And talk to his Dad so he can get some context for when Prima wakes up screaming.)

Hmm, this is more of a commentary route because I got really set ideas about Gaea being a sister/daughter/reflection to Unicron and Primus.

As in, Primus would never have been able to get the remaining Primes back. Not after splitting his own power to them. Yes, they are powerful gods. However, Gaea can be taken as their originator as she is of Unicron, who is of Primus, and all were once a single entity that existed before nothing.

Basically, she took advantage of their relationship to claim them. And unlike her brothers, she's not letting them go. Ever.

In this particular AU, the variables that caused their downfall went another way, so it was Quintus who left first. He ventured off to find new species to become good neighbors to a new race. Where in one world, Quintus had found the planet Quintessa; the dreamy Prime was pulled to a hungry Gaea...

< Fragment of myself. > It crooned to a dreaming Prime, fascinated by his visionary thoughts and far-flung travels to seek out his goals. Quintus dreamt of gleaming cities and massive libraries. Stars full of treasures and beautiful singing bridges that connected everything and everywhere. < Wayward Dreamer. Sky-walker. Bridge-builder. > How could it leave such a delicious, willing morsel that stolen its dark heart with such a vision?

Quintus became the bait to grab the rest. Megatronus never returned when he went to fetch their lost brother. Solus and Liege Maximo disappeared on his trail, so it wasn't a surprise it prompted the rest of the brothers to stage a rescue with Prima hot on their heels...

And they all Fell.

Besides, I doubt they would leave after finding out that Unicron hadn't been fully vanquished.

Some of the Primes sleep so deeply, unable to awaken in physical reality. They put too much of themselves into fully caging the Unmaker. Others still walk the planet, wandering and trying to find a way off the planet.

#ask #zoomerinaboomercostume #transformers #transformers prime #tfp #primus #unicron #gaea #prima #megatronus prime #solus prime #liege maximo #quintus prime #gods and goddesses #fic ideas #my thoughts #maccadam #wouldn't it be funny if in this universe Earth was more like Cybertron and Cybertron was like Earth. That's gonna be hella messy

[i-mean-technically]

alright so thinking more about The Archives and poor Orion Pax.

this poor fucker was raised in the Archives by the most secret feral of them all Alpha Trion. he grew up surrounded by the impossible and the improbable and unspeakable horrors lurking just out of sight, locked away for the safety of the universe.

and he thinks its all normal. little Orion Pax doesn't know the difference between an archivist and an Archivist, doesn't know that the shit he's seen and done is not something that any normal mech can do.

he's talked to forgotten gods, bartered with devils, sung displaced angels to sleep. he's played with little ghost children and locked up inter-dimensional monsters.

and on top of all of that nonsense, he also has his actual job to do! he has to deal with the public and sort through massive amounts of data on the daily. he shelves datapads, directs patrons, oversees the junior archivists.

boy has power here, ya dig? for all that he doesn't really have a rank in either side of the Archives, he is very obviously Alpha Trion's favorite. and he's good at what he does, whether or not its his day job or his side hustle. (which is which is up to interpretation lmao)

so a little more on him not knowing the difference between an archivist and an Archivist.

he was born in the Wastes and lived as a feral little hobgoblin until he's brought to Iacon by Alpha Trion. Cybertron is full of ancient hungry things, remnants of a time lost long ago. and yet

Orion survived on his own for a while

that impresses the old bastard, and he hasn't been impressed since Solus Prime beat the ever living shit out of Megatronus for calling her short again

Trion picks up this feral bitlet, who's clawing at his wrists and snarling like a wild thing, and is immediately assaulted by an image of this gremlin fully grown and haloed by Primus' Light.

he does what anyone would do, and takes the disgusting creature home with him.

now he has a feral sparkling running underfoot who is refusing to speak any known language on Cybertron and has a solid shadow following him around. (the Shadow's name is Hylard and acts like a cat. a cat that has a mouth the size of a black hole and makes no fuss about eating someone who annoys them)

Trion sees how these two menaces get along like a house on fire and just sighs to himself. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

and then a lightbulb goes off in his head.

he can have a replacement.

Trion was once little more than a half feral wild thing trailing after his siblings, and Primus clearly wanted him to find the sparkling or else he would have offlined many cycles ago

so

Orion is raised knowing about the unknowable, and never really had it explained to him that not everyone else knew. he's always known, so clearly everyone else does too

he doesn't realize how... unsettling he is to others with his too bright optics, too sharp teeth, the way his shadow always seemed to have eyes that blinked out of sync (always watching, waiting, always hungry)

how when he talks about the things he's seen and done people give him a wide(r) berth, light dancing off his armor and flashes of a white flaming sword hovers over his shoulders

how word travels across Cybertron that Prima has been reborn

....

"What a load of slag," Trion said with a snort, turning off the datapad. "Orion is definitely not a reincarnation. And absolutely not a Prime."

#the archivist au #archivist orion pax #tfp #transformers prime #transformers #transformers au #my au #tfp optimus prime #optimus prime #maccadam #my writing #the iacon hall of records #alpha trion #these poor assholes #hang on to your butts y'all #this is gonna be a Ride

[thetransintransformers]

Megop week 2023

June 14th, Day 4

Sweet

Something as simple as a snack cake sends Megatron into a trip down memory lane. (unlike my previous stories, this does not follow Transformers Earthspark, or really any canon: I sorta mish-mashed elements of the More Than Meets The Eye comics)

“Stay right here. I’ll be right back!” Waiting. Megatronus was damned to even a slight waiting time, leaning against a building with doors much too small for him to enter through, glaring at any passerby he saw fit. Megatronus was well aware of how afraid most Cybertronians were of him. 

Good. He thought to himself. He knew it wasn't healthy. Hell, he was writing to produce the opposite effect, but he couldn't help but be even a bit petty. If civilian frames weren't going to extend the effort to even fake a kind glance, then why should he extend the same courtesy? He was a poor model of a revolutionary. Megatronus did not have to dwell too well on the subject as he heard an overhead chime from a door opening, a red and blue bot joining by his side once more with two small energon treats in his servos. “Here!” The archivist spoke, handing a treat to Megatronus. H examined it carefully, sniffing it the slightest, and becoming near overwhelmed by the smell. “You bought . . . snack cakes?” Orion chuckled for a moment, already taking a bite of his own. “Of course! I figured it would be a nice little thing for us to share.” He spoke, between muffled bites, and swallowed down a piece. “Go on, try it!” Megatronus was hesitant, to speak up. “I, uh, Im not much of a sweets person.” Orion couldn't help but roll his eyes. “Please? Just one cake. Besides it may have uh, cost me 10 shanix.” His voice trailed off as he took another bite. Megatronus stared incredulously. 10 shanix for such a little thing?! Now he had to try it, if not for his own enjoyment, to just know Orion hadn't wasted his money. Megatronus took a sizeable bite out of the soft snack cake. He at first, enjoyed the first few moments until the taste became just a bit too much for him. He covered his mouth, blinking a few times as he began coughing. “Primus–?!” He said between coughs. Orion tilted his head, speaking lightly. “Too sweet?” Megatronus swallowed down the horrid mess in his mouth before he answered with a sickly nod. “Impossibly so.”

Orion couldn't help but chuckle. “Oh, I’m sorry . . .” he was quickly over his need to apologize, leaning just a bit closer. Megatronus could pick up very well what that meant, already handing the terrible little treat to Orion. “Here,” He mumbled out, trying not to focus on the taste still lingering in his mouth. A few moments quiet, and Megatronus spoke again. “I do appreciate it, Orion, fraid I just don't have the taste for it. Thank you.”

Orion swallowed down the rest of Megatronus's treat as he answered. “You're welcome Megatronus. I guess, sometimes I worry about you. About what . . . we’re doing.” He admitted quietly, a small sad smile crossing Megatronus' face as he continued. “I hope, little moments like this trick me into thinking we’ll be okay.” Megatrous inched just a bit closer to the archivist. “I would say so. I promise you Orion, there’s nothing to worry about.” He squinted, kneeling down and rubbing a servo carefully against the corner of Orion’s lips. “Mm, still have a bit right here.” Even when it was all cleaned away from Orion’s lips, he couldn't help but stay there, leaning his helm against Orions, just staring into those beautiful blue optics. “I love you, Orion.” He spoke quietly. Orion responded naturally. “I love you too, Megatronus.” Megatronus leaned in to share a kiss with his beloved, only for his optics to shoot open and lean away as fast as he could. Orion laughed happily, seeing as Megatronus was only reacting to the lingering taste of the sickly sweet snack cakes.

—

Megatron hadn't known peace in a long time. Taking what little forces he had, ravaging an abandoned Iacon on Cybetron’s now devastated land. To think, centuries before he walked these same hallowed streets, a different mech.  He took a rest on an old broken-down bench, just looking over. Ashened winds blowing, fires started just for some kind of semblance of warmth for the survivors. His sore red optics closed, body ached badly, having not sat to rest in forever.

It wasn't till he heard a small, “Ahem!” When he opened his eyes, met with a familiar black and purple seeker jet. “What is it, Skywarp?” His voice came out rough, and tired. The seeker held out a small bag jiggling it slightly. “It’s for you!” I found it at some old broken-up bakery.”

Megatronus only glared, raising an optic ridge. “Do you have any idea how old or rotted over this may be with all its preservatives?”

Skywarps’ smile faded, wings going up ad down ever so slightly. “Well uh,” “Just go,” Megatron interrupted, sending the seeker on his way. Skywarp nodded, taking flight to find whatever else he could before they’d leave the barren city.

Megatron opened the tearing bag carefully, pulling out its contents. He almost felt his intake drop holding such a small snack cake. Despite his own negativity, it looked perfectly preserved. It had to be, for whatever was in it.

Something in him grew profoundly sad, staring at the energon snack. Optics tired and focused, didn't hesitate this time to take a bite. He swallowed quietly, grimacing. It tastes just as terrible as all those years ago. Absolutely chockful of sugary preserves and a texture equivalent to soft sand. And yet, he continued to eat the cake, he hadn't even realized the tears trailing down as he ate. Something so small, and truthfully, so awful to eat seemed to break down so many things in his system. Reminiscing just what these roads once were.

How many times had he sat here on this bench with him? How many times had he managed to get Megatron to eat a snack cake with him? How many times had Megatron walked down these roads, hand in hand with him?

With Orion. Orion, who loved these cakes, as a little reminder that no matter how bad things got, he and Megatron would be alright, safe together.

How wrong his Orion was.

Megatron finished the snack soon enough, only now going to touch and wipe away the tears. He found himself pathetically chuckling. “Still . . . still disgusting, Orion.” He sniffled, crumbling the bag and tossing it to the ground. All he could do now until his trine returned to him was sit in silence and reminisce.

#megop week 2023 #megop #megop week #transformers

[that-glitter-chick]

Day two of Skystar week! Todays prompt is “Relief”. Song is “Wait for You” by Elliott Yamin.

Ficlit: Past the Horizon

“Come away with me.”

Skyfire had said it with such a tumultuous mixture of joy and desperation Starscream gulped in reflex.

“What, just desert the two most powerful armies in Cybertronian history like it’s no big deal? Oh sure, that’ll end well!” The Seeker flashed his optics in a Transformer facsimile of rolling one’s eyes.

It had been such a nice lesion, so relaxing and stimulating (the afterwards conversation was almost as good as the interfacing, which just went to show how starved the Air Commander was for intelligent company), why did the big dope have to ruin it with such nonsense? Couldn’t they just cuddle and prolong going back to their separate factions as long as they dared?

“Starscream, I’m serious! We could go to Sigma Orionis.” The Shuttle-former blathered on excitedly, pointing to the star in question as if his Partner didn’t recognize the designation. “There’s a lull in the fighting, both sides are too distracted by hunting for Energon and dealing with the Human governments interference, the timing will never be more perfect.”

The Decepticon shook his head with a patience reserved only for the Mech sitting beside him. “It’s too close Skyfire, they’ll find us in no time. Megatron will execute us on the spot if my side gets to us first, and it’ll only be mildly better if the Autobots get a hold of us instead.”

He snorted, a gesture his tutors in the Grand House back in Vos would have blown a gasket to hear a Crown Prince of the Royal line make. “Optimus will have us both put in stasis until the war’s over, wherein you’ll be locked up for the rest of your life for desertion and I’ll be put on trail, THEN executed for my war crimes as Megatron’s second in command.”

“But the fact that it’s so close is the beauty of it beloved! They won’t expect it.” A white servo cupped Starscream’s helm and turned him gently to gaze into blue optics. “Any bot sent to hunt us down will go right by us, directly to the Cybertronian colonies like Velocitron or Helix. I have contacts in the neutral colony hidden on Sigma Orionis. They can vouch for us when we get there.”

“But what about my brothers?” The question was out of his vocalizer before he even had time to think it. Coolant tears silently flowed from his own crimson optics unbidden. “Skywarp and Thundercracker. Megatron will torture them, terminate them, I can’t just abandon the only family I have left.”

Skyfire’s enthusiasm was undeterred. He shifted his arm to wind it around Starscream’s waist and pulled him close. “We’ll take them with us of course! Instead of meeting up for… uh, quality time…”

Starscream smirked at his mate’s blush and reluctance to call their clandestine rendezvous what they were, very dangerous aft-calls.

“All four of us will run off together, we’ll be a family unit again, just like before the war.” The big Autobot said it like it was as easy as crossing a street in Iacon during the Golden Age.

“Except my poor Trin won’t be fortunate enough to have their Conjunx like I do.” Starscream’s processor was assaulted by images of his beautiful and powerful sisters-in-bond, Novastorm and Windblade. They had been missing since the earliest vorns of the war, and rumor had it at least one of them had been with Spark.

Skyfire laughed like a Mech possessed, throwing his helm back and shoulders shaking with mirth.

“So glad you take such amusement from our family’s loss.” Starscream grumbled, baffled by his mate’s reaction. “For booting up cold lover, you’d think you were the Decepticon.”

“No Sweetspark, you don’t understand,” the big Autobot gasped to get a hold of himself, whipping laughter tears from his faceplates.

“Darn right I don’t! Explain yourself immediately.” He demanded in his most imperial tone. He never had been able to shake off his Royal training, not that he had tried very hard but that was beside the point, even when he had run away to join the Science Academy in Iacon.

“They’re alive beloved! They are the contacts I mentioned. Novastorm and Windblade are on Sigma Orionis, have been from the beginning. Nova was with Spark and Windblade refused to leave her sister. Thundercracker and Skywarp never told you to protect you. Working so closely with Megatron, Soundwave and Shockwave, they feared you would be tortured if they ever suspected you knew where Decepticon Femmes and Sparklings may be hiding. This entire conversation was me trying to decern if you were ready to leave behind your ambitions within the Decepticons and run away with us.”

“Re… really?!” Starscream was so shocked and overwhelmed with sudden hope, he forgot to be angry that his entire family unit had been keeping a major secret from him. The facts that he did latch onto were, one, he had a niece or nephew living on Sigma Orionis, and two, Skyfire and his Trin had refused to leave without him. His beloved had risked his life rather than live without him and his brothers had put off reuniting with their own Conjunx and child to not leave him alone.

“When do we leave?” Starscream’s Spark swelled with joy at the look of pure relief that flooded his beloved’s features, as Skyfire kissed his helm tenderly.

#skystarweek 2023 #g1 transformers #g1 starscream #g1 skyfire #skystarweek #maccadam

[vodid]

(Same anon that asked the jewelry asks)

How do you come up with the jewelry for your Obsidian King AU characters? Do you just think of them or look up inspirations on the internet?

How do you come up with the flags of the kingdoms, like Praxus?

What does Prowls castle look like? Is it very very big, and what colour?

I am so sorry for all the questions- it’s also 2:59 and I’m tired and I got a burst of inspiration of questions lol hope that’s okay!

LOL no no you're all good! i'm winding down from finishing up a piece and haven't gotten back to comms so you caught me at a good time

it's hard to explain how exactly i came up with some of the jewelry (i assume you also mean their gold/etc accents) but generally i thought of what would look best with their given designs/stories and went from there. as far as i can remember, it all came from my big ol brain with the help of some friends

there IS usually at least one element that has a deeper meaning for the character, such as barricade with his face of pyrite/"gold", symbolizing his betrayal to both his mate and his noble family; bluestreak with eyelids of gold, accentuating his sharpshooting skills; and smokescreen with his chevron of gold. this one is a little more obscure, but chevrons as we know are a very integral part of praxian culture and are typically used for affection (forehead taps!) so having a chevron of gold could be akin to symbolizing the genuineness and caring nature of a person <3 smokescreen also has snake bite piercings, which play into his gambling side! (cause yknow. snake eyes.)

optimus has a design matrix centric as prime, along with elita for being queen of iacon (home of the matrix bearer), and she just so happens to be his wife! bonus points for matrix centric design!

for prowl specifically, i chose accents that would bring out the sharpness of his overall design and character. y'know, his wings, his weapon, his chest colors, his chevron, his mind and wit — they're all sharp! his chevron loop piercings were purely for looking pretty, his shoulder loops complimenting them, but the chains that hang from his left side go deeper into his grief over smokescreen, having been confined to his berth for an extended period of time.

jazz's praxine appearance had an element completely unintentional on my part that i hadn't realized until someone in my server pointed it out, but you know how prowl has gold chevrons on his servos and, after they bond, jazz has matching ones on his shoulders? this could symbolize jazz's role as praxine to help prowl shoulder some of the weight of being a ruler, taking it from prowl's hands when he needs. romance! meaningful!

the flags... oh man. okay let me include a pic of all of them so far:

we'll go in order. vos is... well, we all know trines and how they're big for seekers. because of this, vos does not have one sovereign, instead having an elite trine to split the duties, hence one fire trail for three jets in the banner. this one i'm not the most satisfied with as it feels really. obvious. compared to the others but it's cute and practical!

old praxus however is a very different story. there are a LOT of elements in this that come together and it actually took me a very long time to figure out. here is an excerpt from the au's info doc on this one: "Based on the gold and chevron of their first sovereign, King Onyx, and the kingdom's love for crystals. Three crystals + prong-like shapes point up in homage to their Vosian roots." (praxians are direct descendants of vosians in this au) so not only does the triple prong allude to trines, but it also alludes to vos' throne room, which has three tall thrones all pointing in (think of g1 starscream's coronation platform) these prongs point up at the gold badge, symbolizing the sovereign of praxus and their status as royalty. heavy vosian roots, as you can see

this symbol ended up absolutely tarnished by the ruby kings and the war with vos. so tarnished in fact that smokescreen had to change it when he became king. the new praxian banner is pretty straightforward. he removed all vosian elements as they are an independent kingdom (and vos hates them anyway) and based it entirely off his only heir as a symbol of a brighter and hopeful future :>

iacon is just the matrix. that's it. LOL

polyhex is really interesting to me and i love explaining this one! obviously we have a sheet music esque design, with an odd clef/bridge of instrument thing at the end, but the symbol there is called a fermata! in music terms, this is to indicate a note held for as long as the conductor says. it's typically the dramatic end to a song! i promise there's a connection and it has to do with the phrase "long live the king!" because,, get it,,, fermatas are notes held longer than normal. hehe. i will say, while i always wanted to incorporate a fermata, polyhex absolutely fought me on this design so i'm not entirely satisfied with it either but it works!

the praxian palace is indeed crystal!! it's very big and changes colors! it's a soft blue at night and a pink during the day. i don't have a detailed or final version of the palace, but here's a draft i made!

it has spires but don't be fooled, they're not functional. the palace itself is only a few levels and generally follows medieval architecture inside, the crystal having been built into with metal

PHEW is that all in this ask? it's been so long since i've infodumped that much about my au :'D if you want more, you KNOW i am more than happy to answer!

#obsidian king au

[biggest-ultra-mags]

Reunion. (Closed with forgedcold)

@forgedcold

Finally, he was one step closer that he'd been in many cycles.

Thunder rumbled overhead the massive skyscrapers that lit up the night sky, touching the low hanging clouds that had been draped across the city of Iacon. It was around Midnight, that was all Magnus really knew as heavy footsteps thudded through the puddles around him. Just one meeting was all he needed. One little meeting, and it would reveal to him everything he'd worked so hard for. The rain clung to his chassis and the hefty scent oil and engex seemed to stain the air around him. There was a roar of laughter from the local bar down the street from the ex enforcer, but he'd made sure to quickly advance past it. Drinking had never been one of his interests, he wasn't much of a socialite and many of his friends whom he'd shared time with on the Lost Light had broken off to go out on their own, and unfortunately… That left the mech mostly alone, well, until now, he'd hoped. He'd been following a quiet paper trail from a friend from long ago who'd taken his stance on hiding away from most of the public eye, and for quite some time, tracking him down had been proving difficult. He'd originally been stationed here to ensure the safe rebuilding of the city from war long ago, but his mind was now focused on another, an ex-warlord still hidden amongst the general populace. He'd received an email on his datapad early that morning; it was a deal he'd set up with an anonymous client to purchase a few old poems books claimed to have been written by the warlord himself but like most the ex tyrant's writing, it was to be sold under the table and away from prying eyes, but it was this secrecy that lit a fire inside the mech, it was hope that his pathway would eventually intertwine with his old friend's own. But he had to be diligent. He weaved through the crowds of bots meandering the city, occasionally glancing down at the time on his datapad. Twenty three kliks It had said. He was nearly on time. The road laid before him was hidden in the shade of darkness with only a few old lamp posts that stood the test of time all spaced out along an untraveled area near the slums. People didn't like the slums and for good reason, a lot of bots went missing down here, and Magnus could feel the unease rising inside of his intake while he rocked on his heals and clutched at his datapad, following his instinctual need to look at the time, counting it down in his head. It had to be Megatron. The writing was new, nothing he'd held on record, but with the same inflections written as he'd remembered from his many poetry sessions in Visages with Megatron, their nightly chats sharing stories and words; It had to be, it just had to be. And he'd cling to that hope while he waited nervously for any sounds of approaching footsteps.

#ic #rp #forgedcold #minimegs #FINALLY GOT THIS DONE AAAA #i missed them sm

[trashiewrites]

Sneak peak to a mirage thing

So just for context this does not take place in ROTB but actually Transformers:PRIME. Ive been obsessed and i always wondered if someway mirage could be added to the mix. This snippet is very much a backstory and does involve an Oc i am developing atm. So enjoy

Explosion and blaster fire surrounded them as autobot shot from the the Iacon hall of records. Megatron leading the front barking orders to his decepticon lackies. Explosions echo as the door to the building crumble. “Mirage, you copy? Are the cons in yet?” A female voice spoke into his audio receptors.

“Loud and clear swifty,” he muttered under his breath, “con are just busting in, you ready with evac?” He ran through the blaster fire to be the first to Iacon consoles. Quickly getting to work downloading bits of iacons database down to a datachip. “Come on, come one. Hurry up!” Mirage pressed buttons on the consoles as he looks over the information as it comes in. “Scrap, its all encrypted…”

“Just get the info we will worry of the encryption later!” Swift exclaimed, “just get as much info as you can and lets get out while we are ahead!”

“You can say that again…” mirage sighed as he filled the data disk.

“At least megatron wont get his hands on it… that all we can ask for…” his eyes narrowed as brisk flashback of the endless war. The lives of both autobot and decepticon he had already taken. All those flashing inside his head. “Mirage…” her voice bringing him back to reality. “You alright?”

“Yeah… just thinking…” mirage sighed, console beeped saying that the data disk was filled and mirage made sure to make it seem like the Data never existed. Behind him the door bashed open and there stood the Decepticon leader.

“You there! What are you doing!?” The mighty con stood tall, casting a shadow on the smaller autobot.

“Why scourging the databases, my lord.” Hes voice shook of his unease, hiding the data chip behind his back.

“Is that so? Was it, Mirage?” He chuckled as he looked to him, “autobot turned decepticon…” his words trailed as he took a step closer, “but are you really? Whats behind your back my humble servant.” Megatron’s voice was low and soft while his eyes glared daggers so sharp that if looks were to kill, mirage would been slaughtered.

“I know not of what you mean, Lord Megatron.” Mirages calms himself as he eyes Megatron with great caution.

“Then please, show your hands.” Megatron tone became deep and dark. One could feel the venom coming from his metallic mouth. Mirages eyes widen with shock, he gripped onto the datachip.

“Scrap….” He scoffed, mirage looked around briefly. Noticing a door to the side he could escape from. If he tells the truth or lies either way hes a goner. “Well~ its been a good run. See ya on the flip side Megatron!”winking as he made a break for the side entrance.

#mirage transformers #transformers rotb #transformers prime #transformers

[foxespen]

Sins of the Father

Optimus had made many mistakes in his past, and he’s made just as many sacrifices to atone for them. But he may have gotten his second chance to make amends.

--- In their youth, Optimus and Elita-1 decided to take the next step and bring new life into the universe. After He lost his conjux, Optimus didn't feel worthy of being a sire and arranged for their sparkling to go somewhere safe. Stellacycles later, one conversation leads him to look further into Bumblebee's past, seeing too many connections to be a coincidence. Could the scout be his sparkling?

AO3 link

Other chapters: 2, 3

Chapter 1

“I don’t think the rest of the letters are gonna fit, Sari.” Bulkhead says as the young girl writes in large letters, reaching the end of the card half way through the word ‘father’. “Just write the rest really small and thin, that should do it!” Bumblebee suggests. Humans were very fascinating, in Optimus’ opinion, especially their unique customs. He reflects on this as he watches Sari work on a ‘Father’s Day’ card with Bulkhead and Bumblebee. Cybertronians didn't really have such holidays, so Optimus was glad to see it first hand.

Sari nods and writes the uneven letters. As she studies her handwriting, an inquisitive look crosses her face. “ Hey, do autobots have parents?”

Bulkhead exchanges a look with Bumblebee, “ uh… sometimes? I mean some do, like me, but not everyone does.” He scratches at the back of his helm as he tries to explain. Optimus jumps in “Technically we can, but since the war it’s less common. Most bots were protoforms, including myself, so we don’t have carriers and sires- or mothers and fathers.” Prowl nods in agreement, “I was also a protoform; a lot of them were in military programs as ready made soldiers, you can say.” Ratchet’s optics remained on the datapad. “My folks passed to the well of allsparks a long time ago. They were also medbots; helped me get the training i needed.” “My sire also passed, but my carrier still lives on our old energon farm. I try to send her letters when I can, but they can be slow this far out in space.” Bulkhead adds.

Sari nods, turning towards the scout next to her. “ What about you Bee?

“Huh? Well, I did, but I never met them. Probably also already passed.” “Probably?” Ratchet questioned. “I think so,” Bumblebee explains “I grew up in an orphanage on Iacon, from what I know they took in a lot of sparklings- I think you guys would call them babies- from autobots that offlined. So, I'm guessing they did as well.” “Hm, I think I know which one you're talking about. That place got subsidies from the war effort, and encouraged the kids to enlist when they could.” Ratchet shakes his helm. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Bumblebee agrees with a shrug. “Well anywho… Sari, what’cha think for the inside of the card?”

As the young girl returns her attention to the paper, Optimus excuses himself before walking to his quarters. The conversation weighs heavy on his processor, dredging up many bad memories. He ventures to his desk, picking through datapads to find the young scout’s file. It contained basic information: he is barely old enough to be out of the academy, has behavioral issues, and is a ‘pint sized soldier that’s a mediocre fighter at best”. Optimus notes that parts of this report were written by Sentinel, so he takes it with some salt, or however the human saying goes. He finds the mandatory background check from the orphanage. The name brings a twinge to his spark, Bumblebee’s assessment had been accurate. Optimus had heard of many recruits putting their young in the home, few were able to return…some unwilling after everything they’d gone through. His optics trail to the photo that collects dust on his desk. A young couple stares back at him, his own young face and the visage of his conjux. There was a time where the thought of not having Elita-1 in his arms seemed like an impossibility. She was someone he’d hoped to spend the rest of their lifecycles with. In their youth they had wanted to take the next step and bring new life into the world. They’d been so excited, and when the time came to hold their sparkling Optimus knew his spark had been stolen once again. The little one had his carrier’s pretty yellow color, and his curious optics, at least according to Elita. Everything was perfect… then they went to Archa Seven. It was supposed to be simple: find an alleged abandoned Decepticon ship. At the time he was most worried about the trouble they might get into with their superiors. Little did he know that would be the last he'd see of Elita… Optimus had made many mistakes in his past, and he’s made just as many sacrifices to atone for them. When he’d returned, he felt lost in his own processor. Drowning in his own grief and guilt. A wedge had formed between him and Sentinel, destroying their friendship, and he buried himself in whatever work he could get. He felt he didn’t deserve to be a sire… so he’d made arrangements for his sparkling to go somewhere safe. An orphanage on Iacon, one he knew received funding and where he knew the little one would be taken care of. And though he’d promised to not look back, it weighed heavy in the back of his processor nearly everyday of his life. He kept telling himself that he’d done what was right. He couldn’t protect his conjux, and he wasn’t going to let himself fail again. His optics lock with Bumblebee’s profile photo, the bright yellow plating searing his processor. The orphanage is the same, and assuming his math is right, so is the scout’s age. Optimus let out a curse as rubs at his faceplate. He knows he can’t jump to any conclusions, and he was most likely looking too much into simple coincidence. He needs to investigate further.

#transformers animated #transformers animated fanfiction #Optimus is Bumblebee's dad au #foxespen writes #cross posted on ao3 #tfa bumblebee #tfa optimus prime

[porkcracker]

Au-dventcalendar

"Advent Advent mein Soulmate brennt"

A Transformers Soulmate Adventcalendar

Day 19

Ship: Megatronus x Orion Pax

AUs: Pre-War, Footprints

It seemed their fate would forever be to chase after each other without ever reaching a stop. Or was it running from each other at this point? The daunting shadow of what could be, should be, looming over them wherever they went.

Orion had always wondered where his soulmate would be from. It had become relatively quickly clear to him that his other half was not of Iaconian origin, as he would have spotted a pedeprint at some point already if that had been the case. There was no chance for him to miss him for his entire function considering he had to move through all of Iacon regularly for his job in the archives. So, they had to be from one of the other city-states. He was just so curious about which one it was. Almost more so to that than to whom they would be, which amused more than just one of his friends.    His search came finally to a climax the first time he traveled to Kaon to attend one of the speeches of the gladiator and poet about whom he had heard whispers and rumours in Iacon. There were faded blue pedeprints all over Kaon, but they got brighter and more numerous the closer he got to the plaza where the speech would be.    He had never expected the origin of said pedeprints to be the gladiator himself, but he could not say that he minded it at all. They caught on with each other quite quickly, and it wasn't long before they had a deep bond. Where Megatronus went, Orion wasn't far behind, and vice versa. The first time their new bond was tested was when Orion was called back to Iacon, and for all his fear, it didn't weaken their bond at all. It seemed like it only further strengthened their bond.    From that point forward, the young archivist was found in Kaon whenever it was possible for him to leave Iacon long enough. As Megatronus' speeches gained attention and his movement grew, Orion found himself more and more often not returning to Iacon on time. It came to the point where his friends and superiors had all noticed, and others started to warn him that their relationship would not end well. It was after a particularly hard fight with one of his closest friends that he traveled to Kaon for the last time.    This time not only he but also Megatronus returned to Iacon, and their relationship came to an abrupt and violent end. Where previously there had been partnership, care, and love, there was now nothing left but anger, betrayal, and the coldness of being alone. 

Red. It was like the reflection of his own optics was taunting him wherever he went. In the brands of the enemies, in the wings of his burdensome second in command, and in every step that wasn't his anymore. He remembered clearly the time when the only thing needed to find calm among the raging sea were red steps.    Megatron remembered the first time he had spotted the bright red across the plaza and the relief he had felt when his voice had not faltered with the discovery he almost didn't believe. The even bigger relief he had felt after the little archivist had not outright rejected him but instead seemed so open and curious    Red pedeprints beside him at almost every turn, winding all over Kaon but always ending in his quarters. Red pedeprints matching red plating and red eyes. The uttermost care he had taken to ensure that no red pedeprint would ever be found in the dirt of the gladiator pits he fought in.    Following them, always following just a step behind them, to make sure that Orion would not suffer any harm on his watch. Now he was following them to harm himself. Gone were the days of their bond, replaced with conflict, violence, and war. But even now his spark yearned to follow the red trail that was laid just for his eyes and pull the mech at the end of it into his arms for one last time. Alas, the only embrace left for them was the one each fight locked them in. 

Sometimes when their optics locked during battle he wondered and he wondered, if his archivist wondered too. Quiet vorns of curiosity lingering in the back of his processor. Then the fight continued and dwellings of the past were drowned out by the rage and urge to fight.

#advent calendar 2022 #transformers #maccadam #megatron #optimus prime #megatronus #orion pax #orion pax x megatronus #optimus prime x megatron #megaop #pre war #soulmate au #day 19

[elitaxne]

┊ ❛ BATTLECRY ❜

Skinny digits smeared the bright blue war paint over her fascia in thick yet precise globs despite the trembling. Lip plates, chaffed and worn, pressed together tightly in an attempt to steady the quivering, though it hardly made a difference. Every pulsation of her spark HAMMERED in her audials, its vibrations rippling violently from her core to the ends of her circuits; frame shaking from each and every heightened electric surge.

                                                 In for four, out for four...

Large cerulean hues glanced down, watching as digit tips dipped back into the paint jar then brought the new coat back to her faceplates; obscuring youthful features to the best of her ability. Ariel vented anemically. At least paint hid her blanched appearance... it was about what every member of her company were thinking if the rattling metal and trickling ex-vents filling the prep station were anything to go off of.

Their first deployment, right into the heat of a skirmish on Hyperion — nearly an entire solar system from Cybertron. This wasn’t even their war, and yet here they were, shipped off to the edges of their sister colonies without a secondary thought. It was almost as though the High Council WANTED them off-world. Less mouths to feed, less bodies that would likely return. Young as she was Ariel wasn’t naive, she had seen the reports in the news and overhead internal conversations among her superiors; Hyperion was a relative death sentence.

It was no coincidence either that they had filled the barracks with as many lower-caste mecha as they could draft. Ariel had joined the Sentinels WILLINGLY, volunteered of her own volition as a last resort to climb the ever-elusive caste ladder. The rest of this company, however, were here against their wills. Mandated with knocks on the door in the dead of night and brought to the Sentinel base from all over Cybertron.

This mission wasn’t WORTH the more advanced soldiers, at least, such was the impression. No. Those mecha, those who volunteered to maintain proud military lineage or simply to serve their planet remained in the outskirts of Iacon, Tarn and Altihex. Middle-caste mecha who considered service as more of a pastime if anything. To the lower-caste, with infinitely less training, time, and education, however, military service was the only option to avoid poverty. A roof over your helm, Energon in your tanks twice a day... it sounded better than the alternative of rotting in the gutters of Cybertron, or worse, being sold into servitude.

Still, the divide remained even within the Sentinels.

                                                             SENTINELS.

Primus, the name itself made her upper lip curl. Sentinel Prime’s own doing EONS ago and remained even after entering the Golden Age, after gaining a new Prime. During the Uprising, whatever fledgling Cybertronian military that had begun to form had named itself in the the Prime’s honour, once independent, operated underneath an all-encompassing banner. A singular faction without borders, acting on behalf of the High Council to maintain peace and order in their world, and in cases such as Hyperion, beyond.

More paint. More shakily glided digits over her fascia in the trained pattern: a thick band across her optics to the outer-most metal, two thinner lines trailing down from her optics over cheekplates to the edge of her bottom jawline, and a final line from her lower lip to her chin. Slowly, distinguishing features blended into the paint, losing her individuality to join that of the singular military entity. The design itself was reminiscent to the paint Sentinel Prime himself wore in battle against the Quintessons during the Uprising. However, facial war paint wasn’t the only means of disguise, or rather, sacrificed self-identity...

A paint droplet rolled from the bottom of her jawline and fell to her plating below, optics watched in the dingy mirror with a blink. Cerulean hues peered down, the bright Energon-like blue droplet marking her just above the Crest of Cybertron insignia emblazoned at the centre of the petite chassis; the Sentinel badge each member of the military wore, along with scarlet paint schemes from helm to pede. Cybertronians were made in the Primus own image, and the military in Sentinel Prime’s, she mused...

The pain scheme was mandated for all foot soldiers — another cog in the expansive machine. Superior Officers got to keep their original schemes, making them easier to distinguish from the general horde. Actually, Ariel didn’t mind the colour change so much. Her previous scheme had been a pale pink; nearly opalescent upon first glance. Nothing remarkable. Nothing particularly optic-catching. Bright, saturated colours were worn predominantly by middle and higher-caste mecha after all. Those below bore protoform-like silver or naturally muted hues blanched by sunlight and low-quality Energon.

Ariel reached to the side for a rag, wiping the paint from scarlet chestplates quickly, precisely. Every action pounded into her from the few months of training she had received, to a point it could nearly be considered instinctual. The timeframe was more than the others around her had been allotted, so she took solace in the fact. Still, she couldn’t shake the knowledge of being SEVERELY underprepared for the impending deployment. The basics nowhere near having been mastered and skills virtually non-existent.

As was the case with the rest of her company every superior made clear she didn’t belong, even among the other lower-caste drafts. Short. Skinny. Ariel had embarrassingly struggled with nearly every facet of basic training. As quick of a learner the femme was, she lacked the strength, sturdy frame, and height to be formidable. Ariel had SQUEAKED by on her speed, agility, and improving marksmanship alone, activated for deployment purely because they needed BODIES for Hyperion. She wasn’t a soldier, not really; she was a TARGET, a soon to be short-lived shield for other, stronger mecha.

                                                   In for four, out for four...

The young femme vented then shuddered again, swallowing back the nerves despite the dry lump caught in her intake. Ridges furrowed and her jawline hardened. Digits finished painting the design on her fascia with a last swipe. Ariel stared back at her reflection, assuring all was even and to Sentinel standard. Perfect. Skinny servos wiped themselves off with a cleansing rag, leaving not a single bead of paint left to be seen in the crevices of her digits; a tedious task given how they continued to shake.

❝ Ya dun alred-eh there, lass? ❞ a voice quietly asked beside her, Tarnish tongue and thick accent unmistakeable.

Ariel looked over to her battle buddy, Cypher, still struggling to get the lines evenly painted over marred fascia. Cerulean hues darted about the multiple attempts left staining the horrifically scarred faceplates; acid burns mutilating the near entirety of his fascia from his chinplate to just above his optics.

It had been an unfortunate and agonizing factory accident. A vat overheated and splashed up into his fascia, corroding the metal down to its inner components. Fresh surface metal had been retrofitted to cover the wounds, but, the burns and welds keeping his fascia together were vast. Ariel, along with every other mecha he came across involuntarily GAWKED. At least with her the gaze hadn’t been in disgust, which Cypher appreciated. The both of them quickly befriended each other as the defective mecha they were in their company; him facially, and her vocally.

                 How he wished his defect was as simple as a stutter...

Despite Cypher’s current reflection, at one point, he had been considered an attractive mech — now, he wore a facial covering as much as possible to hide the monstrosity he’d become. Heading into battle, though, such was not permitted. It left Cypher feeling naked, wanting to lather on the paint to cover up his deformity as fast as possible, but the raised ridges and welts made the task near impossible. He’d never gotten the hang of it in the two weeks of basic training he’d received prior to being activated for departure.

❝ Aye, ❞ Ariel nodded, speaking in his native tongue, one of the few she actually knew besides common Cybex. ❝ Need s-s-some help? ❞ she asked, turning towards him pre-emptively.

Cypher nodded almost too eagerly and wiped off large digits on his sullied rag, the linen completely blue from his many, MANY failed attempts. The taller mech hunched over to grant her better reach. Ariel’s lips pursed in assessment, careful not to upset the still drying paint marking her features. He’d been able to get the thick band over his optics ( and above his disfigurement ) done properly, but the smaller lines in the design proved to be the source of setback.

Swiftly getting to work her digits coated themselves in Energon-blue paint, dragging over the uneven surface meticulously. The Tarnish mech momentarily flinched upon feeling her cold touch, then settled. He’d only known Ariel for two weeks but the cooler-running systems of the tiny femme ALWAYS caught him by surprise. It was like being touched by a walking ice box. Both frames shuddered on another ripple of nerves, ever-present in them both and likely would be until they returned... if they returned.

                                                   In for four, out for four...

Ariel vented deeply inward then outward. Cypher watched her intently, studying the flits of her optics between the passes of her cold servo, and the scrunched expression that crossed her fascia while she concentrated. The mech bit back an amused grin. She looked like a sparkling would while focusing on a task, and given Ariel’s age, he wasn’t far off in his assessment. He himself wasn’t much older than her from what he’d learned, the deformity only gave him the appearance of such. Sparklings, practically, the both of them — they all were.

❝ D...D-Don’t move yer mouth— ❞ Ariel hushed, quiet yet no less demanding. Time was running out before their Corporal would come by for pre-checks, and he ran a tight operation.

Cypher complied instantly, tenor vocoder emitting an acknowledging hum. The mech sucked in a wavering ventilation. Large black servos trembled as they unconsciously fidgeted in his lap. Cerulean hues shifted to meet his orange gaze — another marker to his ‘otherness’. The acid has splashed up into his optics, eating away at the natural colour filter and tinged them deep orange. Very rarely did mecha have optic colours other than blue, always drawing attention whether intentional or not. Despite the accident occurring millennia ago Cypher still struggled to recognize his new reflection; cobalt optics and handsome fascia now only a painful, distant memory.

❝ In fer four, out fer four, Cyph, ❞ the tiny femme murmured encouragingly. Demonstrating just that with her own ventilation pattern. One, two, three, four she vented inward. One, two, three, four, the vents expelled steadily from her frame, unable to hide her own nerves as they swirled about on her EM Field. It matched his own terrified energy, and that of the entire company. All of them choking the prep station with their unease.

Cypher took the advice in stride, remembering the shared mantra and putting it into motion. Silence. Another repetition of vents. It helped... marginally.

❝ What in the PIT do ya think yer doin’, Rookie?! ❞ a gruff voice barked over in mandated Cybex.

Ariel and Cypher recoiled, each bolting upwards from their seats to stand at rigid attention as the older mech clomped towards them. Piercing azure optics practically peeled the femme’s paint, narrowed in a hardened glare and stealing the air from her vents. Although, the tar cygar the teal mech incessantly puffed away on was also partially to blame. Bitter white smoke stung her optics as he stopped in front of them, LOOMING over to block out the overhead lights. At least Cypher stood closer in height, only a half-helm below the Corporal. Ariel, meanwhile, barely came to the Corporal’s mid-chassis. Something the intimidating older mech never failed to exploit.

Processors whirred, expertly switching to Cybex in preparation.

❝ Assisting my teammate, S-S-Sir, ❞ Ariel quietly dared to answer, knowing full well she couldn’t remain silent to his query. Cerulean hues didn’t budge from their froward stare, catching the Corporal’s movement only by peripheral vision and forceful EM Field beating her weaker one into submission.

Speaking around the cygar poised in the crook of his mouth the mech drawled lowly. ❝ He don’t need yer help, he’s a grown aft mech! Everyone does their own paint— ❞ the Corporal barked again. Ariel narrowly escaped the instinct to flinch. Glowering down to Cypher he continued, ❝ Finish up. On yer own. NOW. ❞

❝ Aye, Corp-eral Kup, Ser— ❞ Cypher replied, his Tarnish accent ever prevalent. Seating himself he immediately started back on task. Praise the Maker, all that was required was the line from the lower lip to his chinplate... Primus bless ya, lass.

Ariel remained in place, optics forward, servos clasped at the base of her spinal column, shoulders back and chin level to the floor. Perfect stance. Kup leaned closer to come within inches from her fascia. She didn’t move. Locked in place like a statue, rigid and tensed.

❝ Ya think ya did such a perfect job ya can offer yer services to yer buddies, eh, Rookie? ❞ he scoffed, blowing the cygar smoke into her faceplates.

Ariel wheezed ever so slightly against bitter air, ❝ No, S-S-Sir— ❞

❝ Then keep yer servos to yerself! ❞ Kup replied loudly, assuring everyone in the prep station could hear him. A few closest to the pair braved their curiosity to peek over, then just as quickly returned to their own paint jobs. The threat of deployment already hung above their helms, they needn’t a terrifying altercation with Corporal Kup to add to the mix.

❝ Y-Yes, S-S-Sir! ❞ Ariel stammered in acknowledgement, feeling another involuntary tremor course through her circuitry. Dangling scarlet cables at the top of her helm rattled behind matching backplates, catching Kup’s scrupulous attention. Dammit. Ariel bit back a wince, already anticipating what he’d say.

❝ An’ get those THINGS properly secured. If I catch ya with ‘em down one more time, yer aft will be doin’ waste chute cleanin’ for a VORN— ❞

❝ Y-Yes, Corporal! Right away, Corporal! ❞ the femme sputtered, all but THROWING herself back into her seat.

Trembling limbs frantically tore into her subspace for the helm-cable covering, yanking the cables up and twisting them in preparation at break-neck speed. Meanwhile, Cypher cleaned his digits at the side, too petrified to look over. Her covering magnetized in place with a CLINK, cables neatly secured and out of sight. Ariel despised how she looked without them, feeling a deep betrayal to her Carrier in even taking such an action in the first place. Helm cabling was an inherited trait— one of the few Ariel took PRIDE in. A marker of the great Solus Prime’s influence, or at least, so she had been taught. But, these were the rules. Plus, the alternative was less appealing: having them chopped off at their roots.

What must’ve been a nanosecond after the Corporal stood at the front of the prep station. Gruff voice loudly echoing off the walls with another order, assuring everyone could hear despite the slight distance from front to back.

❝ Company, ATTENTION— ❞

Creaks of metal shooting up to stand followed immediately, all taking to the proper military stance in a sparkpulse, Ariel and Cypher included. Every optic was trained on Kup, hardened expression partially hidden by the never-ending wafts of cygar smoke. If anything, it only added to their anxiety; never quite able to tell where he was looking at any given time, or at who.

❝ Weapons! ❞ he demanded.

The conglomerate of mecha — about one hundred or so — complied instantly. Plates shifted into the proper configurations, bringing onlined weaponry mods to view for inspection. Down the line Kup went one by one, checking their war paint and weapons, assuring they were calibrated, properly cleaned, and paint up to Sentinel code.

Unfortunately, the process took longer than he liked and wanted, high standards aside the mecha before him were incredibly underprepared. Greener than green. If half returned from Hyperion he’d consider the mission a success, but in the recesses of his core he anticipated every spark in the room to be snuffed. A disheartening part of the military, especially when it concerned the lower-caste drafted soldiers.

Not nearly enough resources were put into proper training as it was simply considered wasteful. Lower-caste mecha were a dime a dozen, their population large and only increasing with every passing year. While Kup never spoke of it aloud, he assumed on more than one occasion the High Council did so purposely as a means of population control. Still, he’d would do his best to TRY and get them all home, as he always had done. Despite his reputation even HE wasn’t completely sparkless...

Standing in front of the skinny femme once more Kup grabbed her helm, tipping it from side to side roughly to check the war paint. Clean, even lines. Perfectly spaced. Near perfectly straight, though, he hadn’t expected any of the strokes to be all that steady given nerves. Lip plates pursed. Good. Kup released her with more slightly force than intended, she was simply much lighter than he’d been expecting and had exercised with every other mecha in the company.

Ariel vented shallowly, locking her weapon in place as he reached forwards. Sparkpulses continued to RING in her helm, vibrating against the confines of her chassis so violently she swore Kup could feel it coursing through her limbs.

                                                   In for four, out for four...

The Corporal turned the blaster over from side to side, next checking the internal components, and again, perfection. He huffed. The femme had an incredible optic for detail, meticulous as a seasoned vet would’ve been, it mildly impressed him. When it came to being technical the kid EXCELLED, but when it came to physicality... that was her constant challenge. She simply wasn’t BUILT for being a Sentinel. Every form served a function and this was so obviously not hers, but, she came as a volunteer; a rarity from her caste. Whatever it was she set out to prove in being here remained to be seen, and likely never would.

Kup withheld a sigh and released the weaponized arm back to her side, gentler this time, though however barely. Today would be the true test he supposed. Just like that he moved onto the next, Cypher, without a second thought. Sentimentality and emotions had no place here. Besides, he hardly knew the femme — knew ANY of these mecha — there was no use lingering on things.

The inspection lasted ten painstaking minutes before finally coming to completion. After which came a quick briefing. Two boundaries on Hyperion were locked in a deadly and bloody battle over a border feud. One trying to absorb the other to gain power over the resources ( and reach ), with the other fighting to maintain its independence as their own region. A tale as old as time...

Previous waves from both Caminus and Cybertron had come mainly to assist in civilian transportation and TRY to maintain peace, but, as the battle waged on, their services were needed to push back against the invading region’s forces. Caminus pulled the majority of their guards after the first wave. Cybertron willingly continued to shuttle in wave after wave of mecha, each less prepared than the last. But what they lacked in skill they made up for by sheer NUMBERS, bolstering the allied forces just enough to maintain position against the invaders. This company’s objection remained simple: hold the line, advance if at all possible.

❝ Load up an’ shove out, LET’S GO— ❞ Kup suddenly barked, stepping ahead in preparation to lead.

The sea of scarlet frames moved as one unit, falling into their orderly lines and marching out of the prep station to the distinctive tune of heavy pedefalls. Cerulean and orange optics of both Ariel and Cypher respectively shared a nervous glance. If the shared look were any indication they each were seconds away from purging. Even beneath the bright war paint the blanched colour tinging each faceplate were unmistakeable, and in Cypher’s case, making his welts and burns all the more apparent. Surrounding frames trembled as they marched, adding to the general cacophony of the company with Kup blazing forwards at the pre-determined brisk pace.

Ariel clenched then straightened dainty servos at her side, desperately trying to fight the heavy and numb sensation overtaking her extremities, taking to shaking them one then the other. It did nothing. Processors whirred and she swallowed against the perpetual lump in her vocoder, struggling to complete the action with her mouth now entirely parched of saliva.

Once in the main hangar they could hear the whirs of rotors preparing takeoff checks, adding to the white noise of the bustling space: vehicle transports, other marching company’s, superior officers giving and relaying orders, overhead speakers echoing updates and notices. This was happening. There was no turning back now. Reality settled over Ariel and every other mecha surrounding her like a thick, dense fog. EM Fields frantic and frenzied, mixing into an endless wave of FEAR.

Each pedefall brought them closer and closer to their aerial transport, the large back entrance open and waiting to swallow them. Ariel took a last peek around the hangar, too overwhelmed to notice any real details in the moment before crossing the threshold and marching up the inclined ramp. Kup gave another loud order and they settled onto the benches, seated and ready for takeoff — each secretly hoping the transport would be delayed in one way or another. Or, better yet, word that the conflict had miraculously ended. None came.

Large doors closed with a heavy creak and pneumatic hiss, sealing them inside along with their fates. Bright white lights of the hangar were now replaced with total blackness. Cypher’s vents hitched to Ariel’s side, deeply phobic of pure darkness such as this. Ariel glanced over and reached for his servo, skinny digits giving the thicker, warmer ones a small squeeze. Cypher reciprocated, CLINGING to her for the small comfort the touch brought; chilly as ever. A click. Dimmed red lights slowly onlined overhead to feebly illuminate the interior, allowing their optics to adjust to the nightfall exposure awaiting them at their arrival point. Servos remained tightly wound but hardly anyone noticed — they weren’t the only ones taking such action.

Scarlet plates all RATTLED against each other at varying levels, piercing every set of audials in the hull. Shaking, squeaking metal against neighbouring metal filled the space in an unsettling melody. Short, staggered vents wheezed all around, nervous ticks becoming all the more apparent now that they were officially en route. Pedes tapped at the ground, some simply let the entire leg bounce erratically. Digits thrummed over bent knee joints, or cracked the components in each digit on repeat. Denta chewed on lower lip components and inner mesh. Shoulder pauldrons lifted only to then fell, trying to dispel the tension pent up in tight neck cabling. The list went on...

Engines whirred to life as did rotors. The transport lurched forwards then up, briefly jolting the company trapped inside. Take off. Overhead, static pre-emptively filled the broadcast comm, followed by a muffled voice from one of the pilots.

                      >> ETA: TWENTY-MINUTES TO OBJECTIVE <<

Ariel cycled inwards and outwards as steadily as possible. Keeping to the four count she had been taught back in her youngling years by her Creators. Ridges crinkled, the familiar phantom ACHE made its presence known in the depths of her spark. A pained vent trickled past quivering lip components. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Her Carrier’s voice continued to whisper to her over and over like a faulty record. Soft but strong, just as she had when Ariel had lost her—

                             No, when she had been TAKEN from her.

Large cerulean hues stung with pricks of coolant threatening to fall. Ariel swallowed hard, it would muss up her war paint if they did, Kup would be furious. Optics screwed shut as she focused on her ventilations instead. Reaching up, servos blindly felt around the back of her neck joints for her helm cabling, going to pull them forwards to comb skinny digits through yet only found air. Optics opened. Right. They were fastened beneath a covering at the top of her helm.

Beside her, Cypher rocked gently back and forth while massaging slow circles over his sparkpulse, self-soothing in his own personal way as many mecha had taken to. Beneath his breath the quiet tenor voice every now and then met her audials, mumbling a half-realized song to himself. The melody barely existed, but Ariel picked out the longer held vowels and slight dips and rises in their enunciation. Actually, the hull had begun to fill with similar whispers, mecha speaking to themselves or partner next to them. Same region-originating mecha took to their own languages and traditions in the form of prayers, mantras, and other offerings the young femme could only partially understand. All of it bled seamlessly together into a constant yet hushed hum.

Ariel watched the circling passes over Cypher’s much broader chassis, the mark of a traditional Tarnish bot through and through. Sturdy. Strong. Exactly as her Sire had been. Primus, never had she wished to have inherited such a frame more than in this moment. Instead, she took mostly after her Carrier; slim, slight, pure-bred Vosnian. The few curves Ariel’s form bore were the only hints to her mixed-race, a confusing mash-up of thoroughly opposite regions that all too often made her stick out like a sore thumb. Not Tarnish. Not Vosnian. Not a pure flyer. Not a pure grounder. Simultaneously two things and yet nothing.

Circles continued over wide scarlet chestplates, steady and constant. The mech’s thumb caught on the Sentinel insignia at the centre every now and then, but remained largely undeterred in their pattern. A beat. As if feeling her gaze on him Cypher looked over, soft smile briefly twitching across the horrific scars and metal-grafts. The unoccupied servo reached for her nearest one, bringing it to the petite chassis and guiding the same circular action gently over her plates.

❝ Aye, jus’ like that, lass. Nice an’ slow, as yer reg’lar pulses oughta be, ❞ Cypher murmured in his native tongue, tenor voice shaking despite his best efforts.

Ariel expelled another unsteady ventilation, nodding slowly as optics blinked furiously against the welling coolant captured in the crooks; never fully banished back, yet still refused to fall.

❝ What was it ya were s-s-singin’? B’fore? ❞ she croaked, again swallowing back the knot in her vocoder impeding the Tarnish dialect.

Cypher’s smile broadened slightly, ❝ Ack— don’t tell me you’ve nevar heard th’ tradish’nal war chant a’ Prima... ❞

His servo fell from hers though neither took notice. Without warning the transport BOBBED to the side, forcing its occupants to grasp at hanging holds for stability. Tanks LURCHED violently into her intake. Ariel shook her helm, focusing on Cypher instead of their current journey and growing nervous nausea.

❝ Well, s’ppose there’s no time like th’ present, ❞ he half-chuckled, ❝ Aye’ll teach ya. Watch an’ listen to what aye do, lass. ❞

The servo over his spark pulse tightened into a fist. Completing three circles across his chassis the fist banged against the insignia twice in quicker succession, then dragged again in another three circles to repeat the pattern. At the same time a large pede stomped quietly against the ground in a baseline beat, feeding into the growing rhythm. Steady. Strong. Dropping his tone a guttural hum manifested in the pit of the Tarnish chassis, low like rolling thunder. Cypher held the tone as the pounds and stomps continued. It was then that his large frame couldn’t help but move along to the rhythm, swaying back and forth ever so slightly in place as he had done before. Moved by the music he created.

Ariel nodded slowly, mimicking the actions in a fast study. Pounds and stomps came not as powerfully as his, but they didn’t need to be, she could feel it move through her all the same. Dropping her vocoder to as comfortable a low register as she could the pitches harmonized in perfect tune, cerulean and orange optics locked onto each other in an unwavering connection. Ready.

Cypher broke the hum as Ariel continued, singing the ancient Cybex chant to the same steady rhythm:

[ Listen Here ]

❝ Iron and ore ignite the Wellspring, Bright white light to carry me home, Sunlight cresting to the Moons new splendor, Rise and fall

Vows of honour and fight for freedom, Spark catch fire to warm my form, Energon pulses hot like lightning, We stand tall.

Raise your fists and come together, Fate shines down upon this day, Know no fear when your might is sundered, Heed the call.

Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me... ❞

Cypher regained the previous low hum, nodding over to Ariel. Her turn. The pounds to his chassis and stomps grew in intensity, garnering the attention of the nearest mecha beside and across from the pair. Ariel ex-vented, lyrics committed to memory as well as tune. From the top she repeated the chant just as the Tarnish mech had, in perfect time to his continued beat. Every word sung earned more and more self-assurance, the once meagre embers of her persona flickering to newfound life.

❝ Iron and ore ignite the Wellspring, Bright white light to carry me home, S-Sunlight cresting to the Moons new splendor, Rise and fall.

Vows of honour and fight for freedom, S-Spark catch fire to warm my form, Energon pulses hot like lightning, We stand tall— ❞

Behind frightened cerulean hues a fire caught before his very optics, BURNING behind Ariel’s gaze. The younger femme’s features hardened underneath the warpaint in a different kind of way than the mech had ever witnessed before; a ferocious, unyielding determination.

❝ Raise your fists and come together, Fate shines down upon this day, Know no fear when your might is sundered, Heed the call— ❞

A sudden shiver ran down his spinal column, spark growing hotter and hotter in the bowels of his chassis. Cypher’s optics flashed, lowly rumbling the final lines of the chant along with the femme in perfect contrast to her higher register. Their combined fervor and volume GREW.

❝ Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me. ❞

By now, a few bots had caught on. Several knew the ancient chant by spark whereas the majority learned in the moment, joining in from the top to both Ariel and Cypher’s surprise. Even more surprising was when — without any sort of warning — the femme SHOT upwards to her pedes, unable to be confined to her seat... or was it contained?

Cerulean hues SEARED into orange, skinny frame willing ever fibre of her being to stomp harder into the ground and against her chassis, repeating the words even louder than before; stutter vanished completely. A dangerous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, prompting Cypher to do the same. disbelieving what he assumed to be such a meek femme to make such a STAND. Little did he know, however, she had performed in front of crowds teeming with tens of thousands of mecha back in Kaon, a couple hundred now as witness was nothing to her.

Courage BILLOWED from Ariel’s EM Field with newfound ferocity, goading the others in proximity to lose themselves to the feeling as it flooded over and surrounded them. For a moment they could only stare at the femme and take in the small but mighty energy SURGING from her with a power comparable to the sun; a different kind of strength that they had never seen or felt the likes of which ever before.

                                                            MESMORIZED.

Unthinkingly, Cypher joined her in standing, heavy mass drawing more power and volume for those seated farther away to take note of. He turned, facing to the back of the transport to engage them as Ariel did similar with the front. In an instant, clanks of heavy servos and thuds of weighted pedes added to the growing tally. Down the multiple benches the chanted words and steady rhythm caught like wildfire through the red-lit hull. Each repetition bringing forth more and more participants as the words and music were better learned.

The transport roughly dipped to the side in choppy air. Ariel briefly clung to Cypher to stay upright as he reached up for a hanging grip, yet the chants never relented, if anything, it merely ROSE in volume to drown out the approaching battle. Optics burned brighter and brighter as frames rocked to the music, and one by one throughout the hull, mecha came to stand at their places.

Some opted to keep the constant baseline hum, others chanting along with the words. Some simply bobbed their helms and frames, fully focused on the beats to their chassis or stamps of pedes, garnering more power with every movement. Each and every bot of the hundred-mecha company echoed with their chosen method LOUDLY in the cabin, banishing back their fear in defiant unison again, and again, AND AGAIN. Together, they made known to the High Council back on Cybertron that their sparks would not be so easily extinguished today.

❝ Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me. ❞

Kup sat at his place in the back dumbfounded, cygar threatening to fall from the jaw now hanging completely agape. Never before had he seen ANYTHING like this, especially from the lower-caste drafts. Widened azure optics fixated on the tiny scarlet femme and disfigured mech at the centre of the storm, soon afterwards losing sight of them as now EVERY bot had come to stand on their pedes. Synchronized movements ebbed and flowed like ocean waves to the beat, infectious as ever.

The energy palpitating in the hull could only be described as ELECTRIC. A furious, relentless power that felt as though every spark in the vicinity were about to burst into a great cataclysm; an absolute super nova of strength. Every pound to a chassis and stomp of pede against the metal flooring brought a deep BOOM felt in the pit of each spark casing, vibrating the cores in a visceral, instinctive pulsation as though the Well itself had manifested in the transport; loud and HEAVY.

¦ ¦  Corporal, what in the Pit is going on back there? We can feel the transport QUAKING.  ¦ ¦

One of the pilots filled his comm. Kup had to STRAIN to hear above the thundering volume. The teal torso twisted to face the wall immediately behind to try and dampen the background noise though it was of little use.

¦ ¦  DON’T YA KNOW A BATTLECRY WHEN YA HEAR ONE?  ¦ ¦

He shouted over the BOOMING chants, clanks, and stomps.

❝ Iron and ore ignite the Wellspring, Bright white light to carry me home, Sunlight cresting to the Moons new splendor, Rise and fall— ❞

¦ ¦  — 5 minutes to objective, Corporal!  ¦ ¦

¦ ¦  COPY.  ¦ ¦

Now, Kup also rose to his pedes. Those nearest him took notice and watched with wary expressions, unsure if he were about to give them a verbal lashing for their unruly actions or not. Sucking in another long ventilation of the tar cygar its bitter smoke whistled from his frame. Azure optics flashed, pede stamping against the ground in unison with the company, naturally gravelly vocoder adding to the baseline hum.

❝ Vows of honour and fight for freedom, Spark catch fire to warm my form, Energon pulses hot like lightning, We stand tall... ❞

Down the rows mecha begun to turn around slowly but surely, never breaking stride or beat as they came to face their Corporal. Ariel and Cypher remained at the centre, lost to the sea of Energon-blue war paint and scarlet frames. Kup took the cygar from his lip components, chanting through the residual white tendrils as the transport banked in descent.

❝ Raise your fists and come together, Fate shines down upon this day, Know no fear when your might is sundered, Heed the call— ❞

The horde continued, undeterred and unapologetic. Savouring the high that came with the indescribable feeling claiming them for as long as they would be permitted. Their possible final moments ticked down in pings overhead, only adding to the raucous rhythm.

❝ Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me. ❞

[ TO BE CONTINUED . . . ]

#/ long post #— · ♔ » ┊ ❛ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇᴄʀʏ ❜「 ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ 」 #◤— · // « ᴠᴇʀsᴇ » ┊ ❛ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ϙᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴϙᴜᴇʀ ❜ ○「 ᴘʀᴇ﹣ᴡᴀʀ 」 #[ SO. I WROTE A LONG ASS DRABBLE FROM ELITA'S EARLY YEARS AS ARIEL. ] #[ this fits into the canon of the blog - not the golden age au ] #[ anyways ; lil baby off to her first war ] #[ the song ref is for the beginning of the song: the first 3 stanzas plus chorus. just imagine those parts is the entire song for this ] #[ aka i was too lazy to write more - im not a good song writer lol ] #[ and yeah there'll be a part two so if you like this... there's that to look forward to. ] #[ -shrugs- TRYING SOMETHING NEW. ]

[photobombingcryptid]

Mind trailed off thinking about accents and language.

While Meme's voiceclaim is Norman Reedus (I'm dumb with US accents so for me it's "generic US accent") I do imagine Meme has a different way of pronouncing words. Think of him as a foreigner speaking fluent English. It is almost fluent, can pass off as generic US accent but there's a sprinkle of something extra.

For the most part he would pass for someone who grew up in Iacon but on some days he can slip into some accent, especially when he's feeling stronger emotions. Think Iaconian-Vosnian or Kaonite accent. Anything that would make him sound like Slavic people speaking English with US accent flavour lol

#the trophy case #headcanons

[ofvaporex]

There wasn't even a foundation here. Not anymore.

The coordinates were right, at least. The site of the hospital he'd learned his earliest lessons in, following a weathered old medic like a puppy on a string. He'd been so quiet and gentle, and perhaps some of that had rubbed off on Ratchet.

It was strange. Certainly information creep had stolen so many of his early memories, but every feature of the old building that had once stood here was clear as a bell in his mind's eye.

Standing here felt almost blasphemous. Funny, considering here was among the last places he'd been religious at all, that blasphemy would be the first thought to occur to him. But like so many places rebuilding on Cybertron, every single new thing was a reminder of everything that was.

His optics trailed to the datapad in his hand. To the title of the very first chapter in his life.

"First Partings."

Many of the people he'd known here were dead. Those damn functionalists or the war or some other violence had claimed them. And yet somehow he, the youngest of the scant handful of sparks so lovingly carved from the seven-strong hotspot near what had once been the city's center, was the one left standing.

The one who'd been in the thick of it. The one who by all rights should have died.

The very first chapter of his memoir was a love letter to a city long dead, and sparks long extinguished. He'd never been good at saying goodbye. Hell, he'd never told anyone here goodbye when he'd been spirited off to the Iacon Medical Academy.

A rare gift, the functionalists had said. Back then, he'd been young. Naive. Stupid. And he'd believed them, leaving Vaporex without even the slightest of a glance back.

Regret bled into every word he wrote. Could he live with himself if he left it unpublished?

His optics drifted to the horizon. There were no answers here either.

"...why the hell did I come here alone...?"

#⚕️ ╰ ic • best care anywhere ╯ #⚕️ ╰ status • the instrument has yet to be devised that can test my indifference ╯ #⚕️ ╰ open • hi good looking ; get sick here often? ╯ #Ratchet's adventures in New Vaporex continue #they aren't exciting but they are here

[askvectorprime]

Dear Vector Prime: Can you run Doom?

Dear Id Ideator,

Due to my immense age, my operating system is old enough to be backwards-compatible with the original Doom game from 1993 on MS-DOS. I am very proud to go beyond such shareware to be a member of the freeware community: I make my software freely available to all realities in the name of peace and harmony. Some of my games include:

Where in the Multiverse is Vector Prime? Search the myriad universe for clues about the dashingly debonair artifact thief Vector, and learn about universal streams as a side benefit.

The Iacon Trail: Journey across Cybertron and try to settle in the distant town of Iacon all the way from Kaon. You may lose friends to Colada bites or corrodia gravis.

Civilization: Cybertron Edition, which starts 9 million years ago and continues to the modern day. Hoist and Grapple even used it in one reality to plan Crystal City.

#ask vector prime #transformers #maccadam #vector prime #doom #ms-dos #where in the multiverse is vector prime? #the iacon trail #iacon #kaon #colada #corrodia gravis #civilisation: cybertron edition #hoist #grapple #crystal city #Anonymous

[desdemonafictional]

Jazz/Tarantulas “You are the reason why I can’t be happy.” :3c

(YOU,,)

Jazz had always been afraid of the day that he would be matched up against some lobbyist or foreign dignitary in a marriage sale. His reckless bohemian lifestyle so far existed--could exist--only in the cracks of society, because he had no progenitors to monitor him or family to restrain him. He was only answerable to the Primacy, which had taken responsibility for him by right on the day that his entire circle of kin was executed. He couldn't miss them. He'd never known them. He'd lived three vorns now in a kind of frantic fearful joy, knowing that in that moment he was freer than any living Cybertronian, and yet that all of it could and would be taken from him at the first whim of his surrogate, who had never shown any interest in being a parent to him.

He'd spent more meaningful time with Prowl, who worked grimly and without complaint under Sentinel's thumb, than he had with Sentinel Prime himself. There wouldn't be any warm familial sentiment when it came time to arrange his bonding.

He'd always expected his happiness to end with a hell of shackled marital drudgery. He had not expected it to end with literal imprisonment in a glass case.

"It's all entirely above board," Tarantulas said to him, "the paperwork is all there. And you are a ward of the state, after all, so the state has the right to give you over into my doting hands."

"Doting," repeated Jazz, from inside the glass tube.

"Oh yes," Tarantulas said. "I'm going to take wonderful care of you."

Jazz had already tried every trick he could think of within the first five minutes of finding himself trapped in a glass cylinder in a laboratory full of gruesome partially dissected specimens. The shape of his new conjunx, illuminated in the green glow of the projection screen, had not even turned back to look at him since ascending the stairs up to the control board.

Hands pressed to the glass, Jazz swallowed down panic. He knew of the mad scientist who made his nest in the ruins beyond the outer reaches of Iacon. A name on redacted files, a ghost story on the edge of town. A brittle thinness to Prowl's mouth.

"This is so exciting!" Several legs skittered over a host of buttons. "Here's what you're going to look like," Tarantulas said, and the projection resolved into a detailed schematic of someone who bore a faint resemblance to Jazz. The visor was there, and some of the same proportions. But the paws and haunches, the trailing tail... alien, all of it, full of textures and hair and teeth that didn't belong on a body.

"You're gonna make me something like you," Jazz concluded. There was dread swimming in the pit of his spark, but he did his best to ignore it. "A monster."

"A perfect mate," Tarantulas agreed, with a happy sigh. "I took my inspiration from the Sol-3 mongoose, it's a delightful little creature, deceptively fearsome. Poison resistant. Adorable. A perfect frame for my perfect conjunx."

Jazz swallowed thickly. "Sounds more like a pet."

"Hmm?" at last Tarantulas turned back to him, the array of his endless green eyes blinking at Jazz. "Oh no," he said, "I wouldn't make a perfect being just to lock him in a box! Anyway, Prowl told me what a free spirit you are. I'm trying to give shape to your nature, not change it!"

"Prowl?" Jazz repeated. His helm went under in white noise. "Prowl told you..."

"Naturally! The marriage was his arangement, after all."

A deep part of Jazz that he hadn't even known he had went crack along an invisible fault line, with a pain as bad as any physical pain he'd ever felt. "Prowl?" he said. "Prowl gave me--prowl put me here?"

"I told him I was in the market for a conjunx," Tarantulas replied, "I was hoping he'd take the bait--I've been wanting to swoop him up out of Sentinel's hands for eons, he's just terribly wasted up there. But he mentioned you, and, ah! I've always had such a weakness for scavenged diamonds among the rubble..."

Had Prowl thrown Jazz at Tarantulas like so much scrap metal at a tide of scraplets? Jazz, who had respected him--looked up to him--cared for him, even--

"He gave me up?" Jazz whispered. "Just to save himself...?"

Tarantulas tsked. "You act as if this is some terrible cage!" He turned from his screens and spread his many legs, as if to encompass the entire lair and all within it. "My darling bride, this is your liberty! Independence from Sentinel, from the Primacy, from the very laws of society!"

He came over to the edge of the railing, leaned out over the empty space between his platform and Jazz's tube. He glowed in the uncanny light of the projection screen, huge and strange and unlike anything Jazz had ever known.

"My darling," he coaxed, "my darling.... I am about to set you free!"

#I call this one Bride of Frankenstein #transformers #maccadam #BOTH of these characters are impossible to tag for lmao

[eldritch-araneae]

Sparkpulse V: Forgotten Communications

Summary: After getting a mysterious message, Bumblebee taking the investigation into his own hands.

"It says 'Shadowlurker, we need to talk'." Bumblebee reports the message he discovered minutes ago on the forgotten radio channel that was transmitted is a weird beeping code. Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz, and Ratchet are so perplexed.

"That's interesting! I never heard anything like this before." Jazz exclaims in curiosity and excitement. There's no such thing as 'enough secret codes' that Autobots could use to cipher their transmissions. "I wonder who is the sender? I never heard Decepticons using this code, nor our ranks. And I still do not know who this 'Shadowlurker' person is. I keep hearing Decepticons talking about them, but the information about this ‌individual still eludes me."

"Someone from another hidden faction, perhaps?" Optimus suggests, though it is very unlikely.

"Or someone using this name as cover?" Prowl thinks out of loud.

Bumblebee considers everything for a second. He is an agent who doesn't talk much about things he's doing on the side and often withholds bits of information from his superiors. But it seems like this situation demands it."Well, I can say for sure the sender is Decepticon."

"Oh? Do you know something?" Jazz perked.

"Well..." Bumblebee paused, hesitating for a moment. " You see, 'Shadowlurker' is a name that Decepticons gave to me after the effects of my scare tactics picked up among their ranks."

All four mechs stare at him in surprise, before Jazz bursts into laughs.

"Bumblebee, are you telling me it was you who was harassing Decepticons in their own bases for the last two centuries?!" the head of the Special Operations Departement claps his hands. "Amazing, I'm very proud of you!"

If Bumblebee could blush, his face would be pink right now. "T-thanks."

"That's centrally a pleasant surprise. Why did you never report this, though?" Optimus asks the minibot, sounding more curious rather than judging.

"Um... well... I" Bumblebee trails off, not sure how to word the 'I just prefer to keep things to myself' that would sound acceptable. It's not like the doesn't trust Autobots, but there are things he prefers to keep hidden and investigate before reporting anything to the high command.

"C'mon, Prime, Bumblebee is a SpecialOps Agent! That means some things are bound to be kept in secret until further analysis." Jazz jumps to his aid. Bumblebee mentally sighs in relief.

"True." Optimus smiles under his mask.

"But why is a Decepticon actively seeking you out?" Prowl raises a more important question. "I'm afraid it might be set up for a trap, considering your reputation."

"Indeed, Megatron set up a bounty for capturing Shadowlurker alive." Jazz said, agreeing with his friend.

Bumblebee is well aware of this. He wonders why Megatron wants him alive. But no time for this. The minibot is trying to remember anything that might hint who a mysterious sender can be. He never interacted with 'cons, except Acid Storm that one time.

But can it be? It's been a while... There is only one way to find out.

"Allow me to investigate this further." Bumblebee peaks up.

"Are you sure, Bumblebee?" Optimus asks in concern. "If this is a trap, we cannot risk you being captured."

'We don't want to save you again' the voice of insecurity translates this in the back of Bumblebee's mind. He forces this thought deep into his subconscious, as he really has no time for this.

"I'll be alright, I promise! Plus, I know this code somehow. I will be much faster if I do this."

"There is no denial in that. I wonder how, though." Optimus says. Not even Ratchet recognizes it, yet the youngest 'bot knows what it is. "Alright, you can investigate this matter, but if you get in trouble, contact us immediately. Understood?"

"Yes!"

As the night creeps over the ruined city of Iacon, Bumblebee climbs the Autobot Stronghold to get to the highest point in the area. He listens to the abandoned radio channel. The message is still being transmitted there.

The minibot activates his system interface. With no trouble, Bumblebee finds the program to translate his message into this code, then sends it to any channel of his choice. This code is a series of short and long beeps, various combinations translated into different symbols.

Bumblebee keeps it simple, asking the location where the mystery Decepticon wants to meet up with him.

.-- .... . .-. . ..--..

Double-checking his spelling, he drops this message to the same radio channel to see what will happen next.

"There you are!" a sudden voice from behind made the minibot jump in place and fall from the ledge. Thankfully, he was quickly caught by a familiar pair of hands. "Woops, sorry Bee."

"Windblade, you can't just sneak on me like this!" Bumblebee complains with a soft laugh.

"Sneak on you? Is this even possible?!" She carefully places her smaller friend back onto the ledge he was perched on a few seconds ago.

"Apparently, yes. I wasn't paying attention since I'm more occupied with my current task."

"I know. Do you think it's them?" Windblade asks, being the only person who knows about his interaction with Acid Storm. Bumblebee can only shrug, though he hopes it's the case. "Anyway, I'm coming with you!"

"Huh?" Bumblebee tilts his head. He used to work alone most of the time, only sometimes to be paired with Nyx for a nocturnal patrol. It's just how it is, even though he makes him feel lonely more than anything. "Is the high command worried about me?"

" Yes, and I insisted on assisting you. I know you're careful and hard to catch, but this Decepticon wants to meet you and I cannot let you go alone."

Part of him wants to protest, he's more than capable of doing this investigation and wants to prove that he's a worthy member of the Autobots. But this is Windblade, she won't judge him, right? Besides, her telepathy might help a lot. And he can't say 'no' to her.

They grew into each other a lot, didn't they?

"And nope, you cannot convince me to leave." The Cityspeaker says as if she was reading his thoughts right now. Bumblebee smiles and nods in agreement: together it is.

The minibot switches his attention back to the radio channel to find a new message that is being broadcasted. "That was quick."

After listening for a few passes, the message looked like this:

.. .----. -- / .-- .- .. - .. -. --. / .- - / .. .- -.-. --- -. / -... --- .-. -.. . .-. / .- -....- .---- .-.-.-

"What does it say?" Windblade asks as she listens as well.

"They're waiting at Iacon border A-1." Bumblebee replies, looking toward his next destination, trying to spot anything in the distance. Seeing nothing, he turns back to Windblade, who appears to be in thought.

"What if you hide, and I'll do the talking with this 'con? They still don't know what you look like, right? Gotta conceal your identity to keep the spooky image!"

Ah slag, she always finds a way to keep him out of danger, though it's a good idea. Bumblebee lets out a small laugh. "Alright, you win this one."

She smirks for a second, then picks her friend into her arms and takes off.

Windblade standing at the meeting spot, leaning into a big piece of an armature sticking from the ground. Bumblebee is hidden under debris, having an excellent view of the outside.

'I hope we don't have to spend all night waiting for them,' Windblade says, using her telepathy to communicate with her hidden friend.

'Me too, that would be awkward to find out they just got lost or something,' Bumblebee replies with a tiny giggle. Windblade laughs quietly. 'Maybe I should have —'

Before Bumblebee could finish his thought, a spark entered his senses' range. It moves quickly towards them. He focuses on it to identify... and it's not someone he expected today!

'Bee?'

'It's not Acid Storm!' Bumblebee only had time to warn her, before a roar breaks the silence as a big figure leaps over the debris, landing in front of the Cityspeaker: a Storm Wyvern with purple, light blue, and golden plating.

Their head has sharp teeth, red optics, and long horns sticking up. The beastformer stands on four limbs. Forelegs have rudimentary wings that aren't suitable for flying, but are good enough for gliding. Their back has six electrical antennae that are crackling with electricity. Their long segmented tail ends with another electric antenna that is shaped like a fork. The Decepticon insignia is visible on the left side of their chest.

"Thundermoon." Windblade frowns as she moves her hand onto the sword, being ready to draw it any second. The Decepticon stares at her for a moment before transforming into root-mode. The beast head slides onto the right shoulder, revealing a hominid head with long antennae.

"Heh. Well, you definitely can't be him, as you are too big to fit in vents." They grin in amusement. Bumblebee does not detect any malice coming from their spark yet. "So I assume you're here in his stead, Windblade?"

"Correct, but he's here and listening to your every word. State your business."

Thundermoon looks around, trying to locate the minibot, but Bumblebee knows how to hide well.

"I see, the shade of Autobots is elusive as ever. Alright, I'm here on behalf of Rainmakers and, uh, I guess myself, too. We wish to join the Autobots."

Both Windblade and Bumblebee stare at them with wide optics.

'Did you hear what I hear?' Windblade asks her friend through telepathy.

'Yep! I'm trying to sense anything suspicious...' Bumblebee focuses more on the beastformer's spark. If there is a trap or attempt to infiltrate Autobots, there has to be a feeling that might give it up. When people lie, they feel either calm when they are prepared, or anxious if they are busted. Thundermoon is radiating something different: they're concerned, but also hopeful?

'Bee, I'm reading their mind, and it seems like Shockwave is experimenting with sparks! And it has to do something with Acid Storm. This seems legit. What is on your end?'

'Experimenting with what?!' it took a lot for him to not make a sound when he hears this.'They are concerned for sure! I remember Thundermoon and Acid Storm were talking about how Shockwave went too far with his “projects”, and none of them were happy about this. I think they should meet up with Prime.'

'Yeah, good call.'

After Windblade contacted Autobots to let them know about this situation, she escorts Thundermoon towards the Stronghold where Optimus Prime and the rest of the High Command are waiting for them. Bumblebee, remaining hidden, follows them until they reach their destination.

Optimus Prime is standing with Jazz and Prowl. Bumblebee senses the group is both intrigued and cautious. He's curious how this is going to turn out.

"I expected many things from this case, but this is clearly not this." Optimus says calmly. " Thundermoon, you and the Rainmakers wish to join us, which is not something that happens often. Is there a specific reason?"

"You see, when Shadowlurker raided one of our research facilities, he came across Acid Storm and offered them help. They declined back then, but now they might really need it now. Shockwave is planning something, and I'm afraid he will punish Acid Storm for refusing to help with his latest experiments." As the scientist explains the situation, they grow more disgusted by the end of the sentence.

Acid Storm still remembers him. Bumblebee can't help but feel touched. Such a small thing, but an important one.

"What experiments?"

"Uhhh, not sure what he's trying to accomplish, but he's been trying to find a way to "modify" the spark of a living person."

"What?! It's not possible!" Prowl throwing her hands up in protest. "Everyone knows you cannot change spark's settings once it arrives at this plane of existence!"

Bumblebee nods. It is true. While spark remains in the Well, the dimension it originates from, it has a very similar state of quantum superposition: it has infinite settings variations, existing at the state time. Once a spark inhabits a living vessel at birth, or injected into a protoform at forging, those settings get randomized and cannot be changed until death.

Bumblebee knows this well, an innate knowledge he was forged with.

"Well, you know what kind of scientist Shockwave is." Thundermoon sighs, idly kicking a random pebble by their right leg. "He truly believes he can bend the Universe to his whims, no matter how far he must go to reach his goals. That's why I'm here. I believe Acid Storm might be in danger."

"You think they might become his next test subject?" Windblade asks, concerned over Shockwave's assistant.

"I know it. I don’t know what else he was experimenting with, but Acid Storm refused to work with him lately."

"He won't let this go unpunished..."

"Correct. Doing science with him is a nightmare, and it was never a pleasant experience."

"If so," Jazz speaks this time." Why did you agree to work with him when you joined Decepticons?"

Bumblebee has his full attention on Thundermoon as this is such a good question. Despite their status as Apex Hunter among beastformers, he always felt that they were trapped in Kaon, like many other Decepticons. Only following Megatron's orders because they had no other choice.

"Well, the answer is quite simple. I owe him. Twice actually."

Bumblebee hits the nail in the head.

"What? Why?!" Jazz exclaims.

Thundermoon spread their hands to the sides as if gesturing to their frame. "Do you really think anybody would let me, a beastformer, into the scientific field just like that?"

"But during the Golden Era —"

"I am over 400 million years old! I lived way before Golden Era, coming from Primordial times that have been long forgotten!" The Wyvern huff in displeasure. "When functionists came to power after the rebellion against the Quintessons, they made it clear that many frames, including us, won't have any choice but to accept the function they assigned to us."

"Ah, I'm sorry." Jazz apologized as they realized his mistake. Being someone who was forged during the Golden Era, he, like many others, often forgets how it was before. Thundermoon and Botanica are the only living cybertronians that were forged in ancient times.

"Accepted."

That explains everything. Bumblebee always wondered how Thundermoon even became scientist during the Functionist Era, always suspecting they got help from somewhere or they were rich themself.

"So Shockwave was the one who let you into the field?" Prowl asks this time.

"Yep. Despite my function of being a heavy labor worker, I was studying sciences in my free time, especially nuclear physics. I guess he saw potential in me or something when I accidentally helped him out during the transportation of crucial fission reactor components. Later he assigned me to be an operator of the 1st block in the biggest Tarnian Nuclear Plant."

"Wait, are you talking about the plant that blew up and caused a huge technogenic disaster?" Jazz exclaims. Even many centuries later, people still talked about this.

"That one, yes."

Bumblebee felt their spark shuddering. Optimus frowns, appearing in deep thought.

"Is something wrong Prime?" Prowl asks him.

"I studied this event, and I do not remember your name being on the list of plant personnel."

Of course, Optimus would know the details, being the archivist from the Hall of Knowledge.

"And that’s why I owe Shockwave twice." Thundermoon clapped their hands together. "When the explosion of the 2nd block shook us, I immediately contacted higher-ups about this, but despite my concerns, they told us to keep our reactor going. I disobeyed and shut the reactor down. Later Shockwave told me to get out of Tarn if I want to live. Functionists blamed everything on personnel and were going to execute everyone, even though we prevented this disaster from getting worse! So, he told me to lie low, promising to wipe my name from records as if I never worked at this power plant." Thundermoon paused to collect themself as this still angers them after millions years. "Let me tell you, it 100% wasn't us who caused it."

Huh, that's very interesting. It looks like Shockwave was a big figure back then if he could erase Thundermoon's name just like that and without consequences.

"After a while, everything stabilized. During the Golden Era, I was working on developing fusion reactors until right before war Shockwave came and demanded to join him. I was skeptical about the whole 'we must go to this specific planet to take all resources while killing anything' rhetoric that Decepticons were pulling, but I couldn’t say "no" to him. He was the reason I got into the science field and the reason I'm alive right now." They regretfully admitted, knowing it wasn't the right choice they made back then.

Bumblebee always knew that Shockwave was a huge bastard, but hearing actual stories from others solidified his opinion. The minibot absolutely is sure this generosity and niceness were nothing but a ploy to manipulate people around him to get what he wants.

How many cybertronians did he force into this crap?!

And considering how much influence Shockwave had? This is not without a reason. Deep down, Bumblebee feels he knows it, but cannot proclaim anything just yet. He must investigate more before drawing any solid conclusions.

"I see... and I assume you didn't know how to leave until one of us offered the escape?" Optimus asks. The look on Thundermoon's face says he's correct.

"Looks like we came full circle." Bumblebee spoke for the first time at the meeting.

Everyone turns around to see a small Autobot emerging from the shadows like a beast from murky waters.

"You...?" Thundermoon mutters, unsure if this is who they think this is.

"Yes, I received your message." Bumblebee confirmed their thoughts.

Thundermoon studies the youngest member of the Autobots. Bumblebee feels the surprise radiating from their spark. They expected the fabled "Ghost of Iacon" to be entirely something else.

"Oh yeah, what kind of code did you use, by the way?" Jazz immediately jumped back into conversation at the mention of the message that started this. "We have never seen anything like this. Good thing our lil' shadow is familiar with it!"

"Ah, that's a telegraph code! It's an ancient code that was created at the end of the Quintesson Era as a way of communication during the rebellion against Quintessons. Then, over time, it was forgotten completely." Thundermoon explains. "Functionists never liked to keep history intact."

That makes sense why nobody recognized the code... well, except the Bumblebee, which is more confusing.

"How did you know I will decipher it?" Bumblebee can't help but wonder.

Does Thundermoon know something about him?

His origin?

"I didn't!"

Oh...

"To be honest, I was shocked when I received a reply from you." the scientist laughs. "I just took a chance because no Decepticon is aware of telegraph code, aside from Rainmakers I taught before departing here."

"So...how are you planning to get them out without raising suspicion?" Prowl asks, while writing something on her datapad.

"It should be simple. Since it's my shift on a nocturnal patrol, I'm supposed to be out of Kaon right now. If I won't come back, that means I stayed here, so they should follow during their diurnal shift."

Bumblebee sees how this can work. Everyone knows Thundermoon is one of the strongest cybertronians. Their electrocuting attacks are devastating, paralyzing everything in a hundred meters radius. On the battlefield, they usually serve as a living siege weapon.

That means if a fight started, they could get away. They haven't attacked through the entire time, and Bumblebee didn't sense any malicious intent from them, nor Windblade caught any suspicious thoughts that could give them away.

The picture is crystal clear.

"Very well, I assume you are genuine in your intentions." Optimus Prime says while looking at Windblade and Bumblebee.

"They are, Prime." Both said in unison, which caused a round of chuckles.

"Good, I will make an announcement to the rest of the Autobots. Prowl, they're all yours."

"Alright, you come with me then." Prowl motions to follow into the entrance of Autobot Stronghold.

After everyone went inside, Bumblebee was remaining still, appearing to be lost in thought.

"I wonder what's going to happen now." Windblade says, looking in the direction where everyone went.

"Me too. I think we should expect more 'cons coming to us after this." Bumblebee musses. "Megatron and Shockwave will try to seize this opportunity, though."

"Indeed." Windblade frowns for a second before smiling as she wraps her arm around Bumblebee's shoulders. "But I'm sure we can identify double agents before they even get here~"

The minibot grins. There is no denial in that. She's the one who can peer into a mind, and he's the one who can gaze into their very souls: no thought or intent shall escape them.

Bumblebee sees it as an opportunity because if more Decepticons would join them, that means he can save more people.

They have little time left on this planet.

#maccadam #transformers #sparkpulse au #bumblebee #windblade #my art #my fanfics