It’s a damn good job I’m better at drawing with a pencil rather than on my tablet
That feel when the mock-up goes right first time :’D
He’s got a lot of bulk to his helmet, so I’m keeping the head itself pretty skinny to allow for that, but I think I might have to pull that shoulder thing in anyway…
Megatron commanded that I go to berth. Unfortunately, I do not possess a berth here, merely a corner in which I recharge.
I will sit in my corner, however; not because he ordered it, but because I decided it was the best place to continue reading this novel—I mean, these research documents.
Yes. Research documents.
All Autobots should be in recharge.
Just like their Prime.
OTP with age difference (◡‿◡✿)
OTP with size difference (◕‿◕✿)
OTP with size AND age difference (⊙‿⊙✿)
I just added an AU RP tag to my blog. It essentially means that I can do more in-person interaction without it “counting” towards this blog. However, I still want to keep them limited. I will mostly use these when I find something really inspiring.
Commlinks are still my preferred method of interacting with the multiverse.
Darksteel lazily rolls over onto his back.
Belly rub access granted.
Several cycles of his optics later, and Optimus finally bowed his large frame. However, it was not to touch the bot, rather, it was to peer a better look at the configuration.
There was something familiar about the bot he saw now; it etched into his mind like a faded echo, and static crackled through damaged sectors of his memory banks.
"I am Optimus Prime, may I ask for your designation?"
Instinct told him not to posture with fear, yet to show respect. There was a bow to his helm that he gave the blue and gold creature; Cybertron’s light captured the reflective surface with no small hint of majesty. Yet, the mood of the creature and the formation of its field put the Prime on relative ease. Latched onto his back, perched between his shoulder plates, the Star Saber remained untouched.
- Magnus frowning.
- Optimus frowning.
- Anyone frowning in Rodimus’ direction.
- FROWNING IS BAD!
As Skyfire kept his usual watch over the remaining Autobots, yet again his gaze fell upon the Prime. It had been nearly two Earth weeks since their loss, since the Nemesis had become their new home. During this time, the scientist had observed his commander’s closeness with his Autobots, how every waking moment was spent in their company.
Only once did he allow himself what his spark truly desired. For the briefest of moments, he allowed his warriors to see himself open and comforted, relaxing in the presence of his bondmate. A spark shared between two beings required its other half, which it appeared Optimus was not willing to give at this time.
The shuttle understood why, in some respects, Optimus denied himself the comfort of his mate. He wished to keep watch over those that he still had, to help them settle in to their new home, to assure them that all would be well if given time. But Optimus denied himself that which he, himself, needed. Once again, he had put all before himself, and it was showing.
The Prime had not rested since the fall of their base, as far as Skyfire had observed. While it was well-intended, it was good for neither his health, nor morale.
Slowly, he strode across the hangar bay and approached the exhausted form of his commander, sinking down to his knees to meet the mech’s gaze.
His vocals were calm, hushed so no others around may hear; he did not believe Optimus would want others to observe his moment of weakness. “Commander, you require rest. I believe, however, that the rest you need cannot come from residing here, in this room. I assure you, Optimus Prime, that we are well—Autobots are resilient, it is in our nature. While I understand your reasoning, I believe I must insist.”
Slowly, he reached out a servo and placed it upon Optimus’ shoulder, smiling gently. “Your spark is calling out—peace cannot exist with a strained bond. Go, and rest.”
A massive shadow loomed over the reserved place where Optimus dwelt, eclipsing the crude light of the hangar bay. Already so scarce, the light was a welcomed relief against the darkness. So, to have it denied by any means drew out the lingering sense of lamented respite that Prime so well engaged.
"Commander, you require rest."
Exposed vulnerability showed on his face —risen with humility— as he listened to Skyfire, and the wisdom that came from the massive flier.
"I assure you, Optimus Prime, that we are well"
Hidden behind the heavy armor of his broad chassis, the brightest of all sparks, compared only by the divine glow of Primus’ own, Optimus’ spark convulsed with reluctant hope. Always he had that opinion of the Autobots; it had always been his assessment that in the end of the war, those who had served him would stand victorious to the bitter end simply because resilience held them upright, with righteous and valor under their boots. It was by a grace of fortune that seen the end of the civil war through peaceful means, and cruel irony had given them yet another Cybertronian to threaten peace for all Transformers.
Doubt had been seeded by him to witness death and its effects fall over his team; it blossomed among the left over by the remnant taint of the Dark Energon’s miasma that pierced his soul; poison in his veins.
"Your spark is calling out—peace cannot exist with a strained bond. Go, and rest."
Such words, such wisdom, and Optimus heard static crackle his vocoder. The room became bright as he looked upon his lead scientist; suddenly he knew how little he knew the bravest Aerialbot, the brightest mind to aid their scientific pursuits. No wonder the Matrix had given him the wisdom to choose such a bot to guard the AllSpark, and his spark the forgiveness when failure came by no means of Skyfire’s fault.
Without words to convey enough, Optimus projected them through the tiny movements of his optics, the twinkle illuminated off the lenses. Whatever would come would be weak by the stature of Skyfire’s gift. “Skyfire…” Even now the encoded words were a jumbled mess, sorted out with shocked crackle.
"I know the Autobots are resilient. Never once would I doubt their means of survival, whether by my leadership or their own skill," on the cusp of admission he wished he could voice his agreement to Skyfire. Without the bond between the leaders of both factions, Optimus could not guarantee Megatron’s place within the peace.
Unfortunately, a chance never came for Optimus to present his argument to the Autobots; each had stubbornly refused to ask for questions, or choice to simply accept it on face value. There was so much more beneath of the surface of this peace and the bond between the two, and no one had played witness.
"Last I rested without their presence, they suffered a loss I could not prevent. I may know that, and you may, however…" the leader offlined his optics and finally —for nothing was rarer occurred— showed he was not immune to doubt.
"My concern remains that… that they associate my absence with our great catastrophe; that I have grown negligent of my duties as leader."
Cyan met with equal hue, and Optimus hoped he would not have to voice the summary: he feared the Autobots would think he loved Megatron more than they, when even his choice to reunite with his greatest companion —the other half of his spark— and his brother had been only at the greatest benefit of them.
Carefully, the Protector considered the Prime’s words and the weight that had been bestowed upon him. He understood his responsibility, one which he owed to himself and to the people of Cybertron. No longer a warmonger, he was to be the protector of all, to ensure the safety and security of others. But even he knew there were things and forces of evil that a mighty army raised by him could not hope to withstand. Never would anyone attempt to destroy Unicron and survive. Their Destroyer-god, righteous in his own rite, could not be destroyed. And any means of subduing him could not be brought to fruition, not while the garbled snarls of Terrorcons still echoed in the corridors of the Nemesis, not while the Dark Prime was in such close proximity and had them at their knees, not while the taint of Unicron’s blood still roiled in his veins.
Megatron ignored the time that passed slowly in his silence as he considered the best course of action. He sifted through the dark hollows of his mind, thinking, scheming, plotting, searching for some sort of weapon that they might be able to use against their enemy before their enemy could eliminate them. And as Megatron thought, he remembered a single ray of hope that still existed, one which could save them all.
Folding his arms behind his back and joining his clawed servos together, Megatron once again looked to his Prime. Speaking in a tone as though he was not to be questioned, the Lord gave his recommendation, “Then I suggest we interrogate our prisoner, Starscream.”
The silence had mulled over them both, suspended between the two leaders, and Optimus took stock in observation. Behind him the Nemesis’ mainframe continued several series of calculations, each more complicated than the last. Several kernels were displays on the screen, streamed with the background data behind the open panels of images and reports.
Once again he heard the voice of his brother-mate, and the words alone made Prime take a step back. Smaller silver fins twitched behind and pressed back, while his optics narrowed in suspicion. Alarm sounded through Optimus’ instinct, and the Matrix thrilled with concern. Experience had taught him to be wary of Decepticon techniques, particularly in regard to the treatment of prisoners.
With a shake of his head, refusal took root, Prime said, “I will speak to Skyfire for an immediate report. He has been the prisoner’s handler, and by my observation they have developed a rapport.”
The situations, though hypothetical, that Optimus presented did not settle well with the Protector. And the knowledge that he continued to share became parasitic, a burden that he would rather not have to bear. And still, all of this was only the gravity of the situation, there was still no solution known. The evil Prime had been thorough in what he had done. It was not an emotion that Megatron embraced, but it was now everyone’s unfortunate reality.
They were helpless and at the mercy of someone far more evil and powerful than they had anticipated or imagined. This war that had been declared would not be quick and the Protector suspected many more would die before its conclusion. However, in his spark, he knew that they could not endure another conflict that would last countless millennia.
Anger quickly faded to dread. What hope was left for them when they already were pinned? Megatron snarled; he did not take kindly to feeling as though he was some sort of caged animal. “We must monitor Unicron then,” he spoke, trying to formulate some sort of rational response. He ex-vented heavily, “You are the inspirer of hope. You must have some sort of solution for all this.”
Perhaps Optimus was an instigator of hope, for that had always been a talent he held. Long ago, before time began for Cybertron, he stood among his twelve other siblings and reminded them of the light shared between their sparks when darkness fell between them. Once before he had been the key to Unicron’s internment, and he felt that return to him again.
There were doubts in him, once silent and unspoken as Unicron had become a threat on the Universe once more; was his spark still pure enough to drive away the blight of Primus’ twin? He knew not, and the Matrix of Leadership had been the key to their victory; a price was paid, and he was the one still in debt, although the bankruptcy was taken without complaint.
To and fro the console he glanced, already reminiscent of Unicron’s status. Before he had monitors installed in various locations on Earth to return feedback at their first and second base. Now that it was fallen, the read-outs went unheard, and Prime lamented that monitorship had gone negligent.
"Unicron will have to be monitored. I believe it may be best to put distance between the Nemesis and Earth’s surface. Our proximity with the human population will place the humans in greater damage. Before, when the Autobots were landlocked, we did not have the ability, however I do not believe we will be amiss if we deploy monitoring satellites and continue surveillance of human reports," Optimus’ voice was stoic, calm and patient, although he glanced to Megatron for signs of compliance.
Optimus was better skilled than Megatron at long-term and projected strategy, whereas no one fought through the interminable obstacles nor could turn a battle’s tide batter in the heat of fire better than his Protector. The Autobots needed to start looking for Megatron as a source of protection in order to accept his new role, and the Decepticon’s needed to refer to Prime as the final Commander that override all their previous order.
"I would refer to your recommendation, Protector Megatron."
The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of the former warlord’s maw. With the recent discovery of Prowl’s lifeless body, Megatron did not know if it was appropriate to show too much mirth in front of the other Autobots, in front of his Prime. He longed for the way things once were, before the Autobots’ home was destroyed, before they lost a member of their brethren, before he was left to spend lonely night hours by himself.
“Then I am here for as long as you desire,” the Protector affirmed, “And I care little as to what the Autobots think of me. They know that you are mine and I am yours, that we are one. If they wish to watch and to judge, then let them. They are powerless to change that which we feel.”
Whether it was a confession as to how he truly felt, Megatron did not know. Into his brother’s soul he surged and poured his devotion. No one else would know him in such a way, no one would know him as Optimus did.
“After the next fortnight, I would have asked you again to live here permanently. I was making accomodations—a laboratory for Skyfire, a terrarium for you and your valve crawl—gastropods. I would have shown you, walked with you through the living quarters and rooms I was having prepared to meet each one of the Autobots’ needs. Decks three and four are reserved specifically for your family, though the whole ship is theirs to accommodate. But your place, your home, is with me.”
The edge of his thumb gently brushed against pristine lip plates. These delicate features Megatron wondered about during the war he never knew he could come to miss. There was not an ounce of the Prime he did not cherish. He wanted him completely.
“Perhaps you would not have said no then. I even saw fit to make this ship livable for your human companions. Those who you trust, those who you cherish, they are welcome here.”
Crimson bore into cerulean with gentility, with longing. Within his spark, he still felt the Prime’s confliction, his belief in failure. Slowly, Megatron sat up and again pressed his helm to his brother’s. “You have not failed anyone. You are not selfish or responsible. You are the leader of the Autobots, you did not abandon anyone. Your spark was with Prowl at the very end and still is now.”
So was spoken of their mutual claim for one another —Optimus belonged to Megatron, and Megatron belonged Optimus— and that alas came an understanding confirmed to the Autobots. Through the massive hangar bay he glanced towards Ratchet, and felt a pang of loss at the distance between them; somehow, he suspected that his old friend still refused to acknowledge Prime’s declaration from just a few short week’s past.
Away from Megatron he tore his optics and heard a growl emanate out of his vocoder; a sign of patience lost.
Brief connection was passed between Skyfire and he, and Optimus felt a thrill of dread coil around him. For all his known life he lived without permanent connections with others, always too concerned with the basic drive of survival and the slippery connectivity of others. By the time he had come to Iacon and known what safety was, to know the pursuit or other interests than mere survival, Orion had then been placed in a cast that forsake relationships that bind from one to another.
He was used to his relationships being kept to darkness, out of optic and out of mind. He squirmed under Megatron’s ministration and tried not to look deeper at Skyfire’s expression. Fliers were known, more than any other Cybertronian breed, to be the most affection, the most attached and perhaps the most romantic; if anyone would support the whirl-wind story between the Prime and his Protector, it would be Skyfire… and still, Optimus shunned his audience.
Megatron’s spark opened up to his, and the vise-tight seal around his spark began to loosen. Finally, he relented and a sigh of released escaped helm vents. Upon the to of his bondmate’s helm he found a servo, one retrofitted for war, simple in design, dexterous of capability. It had held a Star Saber and waged war, and it had seen fit to take the very same life. Now it cupped the curve of Megatron’s helm with gentleness, and Optimus felt reunited with a piece of himself lost in the advent of war.
A waned and strained smile was graced towards Megatron, and all the while the other spoke he felt a painful joy take root in him. Megatron spoke of what he would have done to accommodate the Autobots, to seen to their safety, to make this Decepticon warship their home; it had all been for Optimus, and it would have all brought them one step closer to unification.
Yet another opportunity lost, taken for granted, and a spark had paid the price. Optimus tried to fight against his maudlin thoughts, because his spark would not see fit to what his mind circled around; there were things he could not change, events he could not have foreseen, and while the Autobots may have looked to him to be their leader, he was not omnipotent and he was absent of perfection.
To hear ‘valve-crawlers’ half slip out of Megatron’s intakes earned a deep chuckle out of the Autobot Supreme Commander; few had ever heard such a noise since he took the mantle of leadership, and even those present in the same chamber would have missed the low-pitched noise.
“Megatron… I know to the Autobots had denied that goodness remained in your spark, and to them you would deny the same as you would deny a weakness in your armor. But, if only they know what you were capable of, then perhaps they would understand why you have my faith and my spark, and why I fought for so long to take yours from you.”
Optimus bowed his large frame down and touched his helm upon his bondmates. It was a brotherly gesture, although it more belonged to lovers in their private moment. Optimus, however, had accepted that they were given no privacy now.
Words were stalled, though eventually the code worked through, and Optimus confessed without removal of their helm’s closeness, “Having had experienced great loss, and at the end, I at least know the rare comfort that I had not lost you… my brother — my spark.”
For others Optimus would grieve, for the loss Prime would lament. However, he knew that in the face of devastation, he should relish in the gratitude that not all was lost and somethings were found again.