blueminuet (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blueminuet) wrote2018-12-13 01:05 pm
blueminuet) wrote2018-12-13 01:05 pm
KoFi Drabbles
This is where I'm dumping all the drabbles I'm doing for kofi donations. Please let me know if you'd prefer a drabble I wrote for you not be posted.
Drabbles may be posted to ao3 later on after editing/titling/etc. (unless, as stated above, you'd rather I didn't).
Drabbles may be posted to ao3 later on after editing/titling/etc. (unless, as stated above, you'd rather I didn't).
MegaStar for Char
Prompt: Megatron and Starscream getting closure
Rating: T
Tags: no major content warnings, MegaStar, reconciliation, minor spoilers for LL25, slightly AU
Word Count: ~1k
Notes: Canon-wise, this fits in with LL25, but basically ignores everything that happens to Starscream after the TAAO Annual (because it was just easier if he stayed in jail...)
And which one do you fear the most?
Starscream, at the best of times, tries not to think of Vigilem. But incarcerated with nothing to do, his thoughts linger. Vigilem is by far not the worst villain that Starscream ever faced — and pretending he was would be a disservice to his most potent adversaries — but being forced to peer into his own mind… That’s a tactic Starscream finds particularly dirty.
Once, Starscream took solace in seeing The Chosen One, the little holo image of him, the real him, that Windblade forged out of his mind. Now, upon staring into its likeness for too many days on end, it feels like a curse. An image of what could have been. Of what can’t be now that he’s been sentenced to rot in this cell, by his own devices.
Against his own will, he thinks of his time fighting Vigilem as he’s marched down the hall with a guard on either side. Within his own mind, the fear he’d felt was raw, real, when Vigilem took the form of the one that Starscream would never admit to anyone that he fears the most. In the real world, standing face to face on any given encounter, he could hide behind a standoffish pose and a cocksure grin, but in his own mind he had been stripped raw.
He wonders what he’ll do now.
Megatron looks surprised. Starscream stands as tall as his shackles will allow him, staring down at him in his best attempt to look arrogant and superior. Slumped into the back of his cell, hands wrung together, Megatron appears to be only a shadow of the mech that Starscream once vowed to follow to the ends of the galaxy. Starscream can’t begin to put words to what the image of his former leader languishing like this makes him feel. Megatron’s face is likewise inscrutable, but he almost seems… happy? Unlikely, but the look throws Starscream off, his smirk faltering.
The guards deactivate the containment field long enough for Starscream to step through, and once shut behind him they step away to give them some illusion of privacy.
“I…” Megatron begins, before Starscream has fully remembered what he’d intended to say. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Well, I did have to call in a few favors,” Starscream says, eager to show that he still has connections. In truth, he wasn’t even sure if his request would be considered. The thought of having the two highest ranking Decepticons in one room must have surely provoked a screaming match somewhere within the chain of command.
“I’m grateful,” Megatron says, and Starscream’s processor stutters. Before he can digest that, Megatron is standing. He’s just as imposing as he once was, but the energy is different one. Not a powerful posture or intimidating stance, but rather he seems… open. “I wanted to see you.”
Starscream refuses to meet his eyes. “Anything to see me in chains, huh?” He gestures with his still shackled hands. He supposes letting him out of his cuffs for this meeting is a bit too much of an ask for the powers that be.
To Starscream’s surprise, Megatron flinches. “I know it will surprise you, but it brings me no joy.” He exhales, his entire frame seeming to heave with it. “I have so much to apologize for.”
Starscream looks at him. He refuses to show his surprise, but still looks at him, intently, as if searching for deception.
Wonders never ceasing, Megatron laughs. “I deserve that scrutiny. I earned it. I wish…” He shakes his head. “There’s no time. There’s so much to apologize for. To repent for. I hardly have the time to explain all the ways in which I stumbled on the path, much less get to what I wish I would have done instead.”
Starscream continues scrutinizing him. Starscream can conjure a thousand images of Megatron in his head, and he’s not sure he can find a single one that matches quite what he sees before him. It’s like a whole new mech has been put in front of him. Not a ghost of what he once was, but something different altogether.
Something brighter.
Among all the questions swirling in his head, one fights its way to the surface. “Do you regret it?” Starscream asks.
“The movement?” Megatron asks. “I regret the way in which I went about it…”
“Not that,” Starscream says.
Megatron looks at him, actually catching his optics. Once there, Starscream finds he can’t look away. Megatron smiles sadly, and Starscream feels an ache in his spark that makes him want to scream.
“I regret that we met when we were both at our cruelest,” Megatron says. He’s the one that breaks eye contact, shuttering his optics and letting his helm dip. “I heard about your confession,” Megaton says, changing the topic. “I’m proud of you.”
Starscream’s wings twitch and dip, working out the emotions that his processor can hardly begin to parse. “I…” Starscream has been a great orator all his life. To find himself speechless is a weakness he can hardly bear. “I had so many things I wanted to do. So much I thought I could do for Cybertron. To fulfill the dream… but I found that I couldn’t do it with such a heavy spark.”
Megatron smiles, but there’s something more than sadness glowing from his optics now. Hope? “You’re not done yet, Starscream. Not unless you’d like to be.”
Once again, Starscream holds up his hands, clanking his wrists against the shackles. “I may not be headed for execution, but my ability to serve my planet is certainly limited.”
Starscream startles when Megatron places a hand on his shoulder, but the touch is gentle, comforting. “I’ve come to realize you are not to be underestimated, Starscream.”
When Starscream manages to meet his gaze again, the tension bleeds away.
“Now,” Megatron says, stepping away to sit once more. “What else would you like to say to me before our time is up?”
And once again, Starscream is at a loss for where to start, but for altogether different reasons.
Back in his cell, the holo of The Chosen One stares up at Starscream, and he starts to feel the hope in possibilities again.
Snake Juice for Psiten
Prompt: Okay, time for me to bite on some InuKai were-Godzilla harlot-with-a-heart-of-gold "Old West planet" Star Trek AU. Inui is a Star Trek science officer who has to find a way to obey the prime directive. Kaidou is the sweetest shape-shifting lizard who ever ripped out your throat.
Rating: M
Tags: no major content warnings, implied xeno, shapeshifting, descriptions of alien lizard anatomy
Word Count: ~1k
Notes: Snake Juice will never die.
There was a certain stereotype about the behavior of Starfleet officers on shore-leave, and a complimentary stereotype to run alongside about the types of planets they tended to choose for said activities. Inui wasn’t sure exactly where Xandor V stood within that stereotype, since typically the planets that featured in such jokes were lush paradise-types, understudies for the Garden of Eden. Xandor however — the populated parts of it, at least — was a dust bowl of a place, with the only plant life for miles being the scraggly greenery that clung greedily to even the thought of moisture, leaving nothing to slake the thirst of the ground below.
Xandor V may not fit the bill of the stereotype, but Inui wonders if he’s fallen snare to its complementary cousin as he lays on a lumpy bed in the corner of a ramshackle room, running his fingers across the iridescent scales on the neck of his companion.
Kaidou is one of the most impressive specimens that Inui has ever laid eyes or scanner on. He’d been transfixed, watching Kaidou on stage at the dusty saloon, performing some equivalent of a burlesque show, but with shapeshifting as the main attraction. Inui’s companions had run off for other more traditional distractions, but Inui only had eyes for him.
Even now, Inui can’t take his eyes away as Kaidou’s skin ripples beneath his exploratory touches, skin morphing from scales to skin and back again. Kaidou makes a noise somewhere between a purr and a growl, and when his lips slip over his teeth he alternately presents human-like incisors or terrifying fangs.
Inui feels no terror, regardless.
“You’re incredible,” Inui whispers, caressing a hand over Kaidou’s head, which for now is covered in feather-like hair.
Kaidou grunts and rolls, toppling off from his spot perched on Inui’s body, and instead flops beside him on the mattress. “Many say that,” he hisses.
“They’re right,” Inui says.
Kaiou looks away. “Shapeshifters are… just pretty things to look at.”
Inui rolls to his side, granting himself a better view of Kaidou. The sheet covering them is thin enough to be on the edge of translucent, and most of the silks that Kaidou had been draped in for his show are now strewn across the floor, leaving very little of Kaidou left to Inui’s imagination.
(Perhaps regulations would have preached more caution in the endeavors that they had only recently concluded, but Inui had done his due diligence between tricorder scans and firsthand observations to best ensure that said activities wouldn’t be harmful.)
“I don’t just mean the shapeshifting,” Inui says, moving his hand to caress Kaidou’s chest now as it morphs into thick scales. “I mean all of you.”
Inui hadn’t originally slipped up to Kaidou’s room just to become a statistic in Starfleet officer daliences with alien species. Though certainly he had been intrigued by the shapeshifting display, chatting up Kaidou at the bar after the show had been much more intoxicating, hearing his voice — husky and hissing in equal measure — answer Inui’s barrage of questions with a seemingly never-ending well of patience. More patience than any patron of the bar had shown Inui in his inquiries. When Kaidou had asked Inui if he’d like to come up to his room to continue talking, the bartender had pulled Inui aside. Shapeshifters are dangerous creatures, the bartender had assured him, capricious and deadly, meant to be kept on a short leash; both metaphorically and literally, depending on the situation.
Luckily, Inui had a wealth of experience in ignoring others’ recommendations of caution.
From what he could tell, shapeshifters on Xandor were not given much leeway in society. The fact that Kaidou got to keep any portion of his burlesque earnings was a rarity. Under his makeshift mattress, he had a stash of reading materials. Loose leaf from what had once been bound books, tearings of flyers, and portions of maps. Xandor was by and large well beyond such materials in their technology, no longer relying solely on printed media, but such refuse was more than most shapeshifters could lay claim to.
Inui had listened to Kaidou explain about all the reading material he had. His voice remained a monotone, but Inui had begun to clue in to all the small signs of his excitement; the way in which his tail would curl, which parts of himself would switch to his reptilian form, and how his scales would flare. It was a far more enticing show than Kaidou could give to the bar patrons.
Inui continues stroking small circles into his chest, and Kaidou repays him with a confused gaze.
“Tell me about your home,” Kaidou says, surprising Inui.
“What did you want to know?”
Kaidou’s tail swishes beneath the sheets, a sign of indecision if Inui has begun parsing his body language correctly. “I told you all about my home. Tell me about yours.”
Inui shrugs, before wondering if Kaidou even knows what the gesture means. “I haven’t been back to my planet much in the past few years.”
“Then tell me about your ship,” Kaidou says. “What’s it like to venture beyond the clouds? Out past the sun and into the stars?”
Inui feels a throb in his chest. His emotional intelligence has never been his greatest asset, and it continues to fail him now as he tries to ascribe a word to the feeling and fails. He’s never considered the thought of life confined to one planet; even if he wasn’t in Starfleet, he’d travel through space as a matter of either habit or necessity all the same. To aspire to do something so mundane…
“I’m afraid if I explain it, it may sound more boring than you’d like,” Inui says.
“Never.” Kaidou reaches out, and after faltering hesitantly, finally strokes Inui’s face just as Inui has been stroking his. Kaidou seems almost awed, that Inui would allow such a touch. “I can’t imagine such a wonder. It could never be boring.”
His eyes are so, so wide, green irises cutting a small sliver between his yellow sclera and pitch black pupil slits. Inui feels a sudden ache, wondering what it would be like to see the stars of the observation bay reflected through those eyes. To see the smear of stars rushing past as the ship jumps to warp and later stutters to a halt an incredible number of lightyears away. Such things were unspeakably routine to Inui, but through Kaidou’s eyes…
Would Inui feel the wonder in such a feat too if he could experience it with Kaidou at his side?
Inui slumps slowly, embracing Kaidou wordlessly, and burying his head in the crook of Kaidou’s neck. He can hear the echoing lectures of his Academy professors, stamping the prime directive into his brain like a brand. Xandar may be friendly to the federation, but it isn’t a member, and the thin bureaucratic line between ally and member equates to a vast expanse in practice.
“Let me tell you everything,” Inui murmurs, wishing he could teach by example instead.
Snamily for Yrin
Prompt: I’d love some sort of "small Kinjou gets sick/hurt (not too badly), and InuKai try their best, but also are InuKai"
Rating: G
Tags: no major content warnings, sickfic, Inui Juice, InuKai being InuKai
Word Count: ~600
Notes: ~snamily~!!!
Kinjou tried to hide that he was sick for as long as he could. But when his father caught him trying to inhale steam over a hot bowl of water to clear his sinuses, the cat finally collapsed into a single quantum state, as his dad would put it. Immediately, he was barred from going to school until a solution was found.
Currently, he still had his bowl of hot water, trying to hide his head under a towel to get the most of the steam coming off of it, wishing that the towel could muffle the sound of blender coming from the kitchen.
He peeks out just in time to see his father stopping his dad at the threshold to the living room, holding him by the wrist of the hand that’s holding a sickly looking multicolor smoothie.
“What’s that?” Kaidou asks, nodding at the glass.
“A home remedy,” Inui says. On anyone else’s lips, that phrase might have had the good sense to at least come out slightly sheepish, but from Inui it was stated quite matter-of-factly.
Kaidou raised an eyebrow unimpressed. “Whose home?”
Inui stands stock still, presumably staring at him, though the near-opaque glasses make that a hard judgement call. “Ours,” he says, still staring at Kaidou.
Kaidou stares at him for another beat, which stretches on for several minutes more, before Kaidou seems to have figured out the best way to proceed. “I think it might be best if we waited on the juice.”
“There’s nothing toxic in it…” Inui says, his tone not quite betraying any hurt, though that doesn’t mean it’s not there. He sets down the juice, all the same. “But what do you suggest?”
Kaidou considers this for a minute, his eyes wandering up to the ceiling as he thinks. “Isn’t there something about sweating out a cold?”
“I don’t think taking him out on a run is wise,” Inui says, intercepting his husband’s train of thought with a practiced ease.
“Why? It’s healthy.”
“He can hardly breath,” Inui says, gesturing vaguely. “Though, sweating, hmm… I wonder what else we could do to facilitate that…”
“Hey, dads!” Kinjou pipes up. He tries to be as loud as he can to interrupt them, but with his raspy throat it comes out more screechy than he intended.
Both of them freeze and look at him.
“Maybe we could just watch a movie or something?” Kinjou says, gesturing at the TV while retreating into the blanket, hoping that maybe the image will provoke something like sympathy.
“Hmm, a simplistic solution, but perhaps it could assist us in waiting it out,” Inui says, taping a finger thoughtfully on his chin.
“Some tea might help too,” Kinjou says.
“I’ll make it,” Kaidou says quickly, and Kinjou can’t hide a sigh of relief.
“I think—” Inui begins, before his husband glares at him. He holds up his hands in surrender. “I was only going to suggest that honey may be a good addition.”
“That sounds good,” Kinjou says, and Inui visibly brightens to have his suggestion heeded. “Maybe some lemon too?”
Kaidou disappears into the kitchen with a quick thumbs up.
Inui settles onto the couch next to Kinjou, his arm wrapping over the top of the couch over Kinjou’s head. He flips through the options on the TV, wordlessly searching for something they’ll all like, and Kinjou decides to curl into his side, shaking his head when Inui asks if there’s anything in particular he wants to watch.
The TV settles on a cooking show with a science twist, and when Kaidou comes back with a hot kettle and cups of tea, he seems equally enraptured by the show, taking his place on Kinjou’s other side.
Kinjou feels warm on both sides as his parents surround him, and as he drifts off to sleep he smiles listening to his dads quip back and forth about the merits of the show.
AI/Cyborg for Icie
Prompt: AI making herself at home in a cyborg's mechanical parts
Rating: T
Tags: no major content warnings, body sharing, mentions of medical procedures/physical therapy
Word Count: ~1.5k
Notes: I hope this is gay enough.
Alaina’s right hand tapped, without her permission, the metallic fingers drumming bored against the table top. She frowned at her hand’s incessant tapping, and answered in kind by tapping the stylus in her left hand against the tablet before her.
Alaina wouldn’t call herself lucky, but she took it as a small kindness from the universe that she was left-handed. After the accident that claimed her right arm and both of her legs, at least she didn’t have to relearn how to write.
And at least when the pesky AI got restless, Alaina still had her dominant hand.
“I still have a lot of work to do, ‘Ce,” Alaina muttered, trying to keep working.
Her right hand jittered, as if angry. Alaina sighed.
She looked back at her tablet, and the paperwork on it somehow even seemed less appealing than it normally did (which was quite a bar to sink below). She half-heartedly pecked at a few of the check boxes on the forms, before looking back at her hand. It was making small scratching motions at the tabletop, like a particularly misbehaved puppy whining to go outside.
Alaina pushed the tablet aside. “Fine. Time for a break I guess.”
She stood up, and found that she had regained control of all her limbs now, though there was an undeniable electrical hum thrumming through her as she slipped on her hoodie and walked through the door of her quarters.
It was off-hours on the station, the staff calling it a night while a skeleton crew handled necessary operations. The halls being deserted allowed her leeway to meander around, taking the long way to her destination, with no one to get annoyed with her slower pace. Alaina tended to straddle the “night” and “day” shifts, depending on how staffing fell, which was fine by her. She had no problem with people, but she also wasn’t one to go stir-crazy without them.
She held up her mechanical hand for a moment, examining the movement of it while thinking about that, and frowned. Well, maybe a little stir-crazy.
Aceso was supposed to be the highest end AI for prosthetics training. More available and intimate than a traditional physical therapist, as she could be accessed at any hour of the day and could feel in real time what the patient was feeling and help address it.
The problem, if one could call it that, was that she was supposed to stay in the medical bay.
Alaina remembered the first time she noticed the tingle in her limbs after leaving a therapy session. At first she thought maybe it was a glitch or a nerve pinched the wrong way. Nothing about it felt sinister though. It felt just like being in the medbay, which surprised her more that the feeling was associated with a feeling more positive and fuzzy than the initial feelings of frustration and pain.
The next time she popped by the medbay, Aceso had popped up with no delay, just like usual.
“Do you get lonely sometimes, Aceso?” Alaina asked, testing her suspicions without outright accusing.
There was a long pause, as medical readings continued pouring out onto the screens from the routine scans.
“Lonely?” Aseco’s automated voice finally asked.
“I’m the only prosthetic patient on the station right now, right?” Alaina asked. “When I’m not here, you’ve got nothing else to do, huh?”
“I am offline when not in use, as protocol demands.”
Alaina grunted at that. “If you weren’t offline, is there something else you’d rather be doing?”
If it was possible for a mechanical voice to stutter, Aceso at least took a stab at it. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Just making conversation, ‘Ce,” Alaina said.
“C?”
Alaina shrugged. “Best nickname I could come up with. I didn’t like the sound of ‘Ace’.”
There was another long pause. “That is not actually how the ‘C’ and ‘E’ in my name is pronounced…”
“Are you complaining?”
“We should start running through your exercises,” Aceso said, and Alaina rolled her eyes.
“If you say so, Aceso.” Alaina scooted off the examination table, stretching lightly waiting for her instructions. Before they came, Aceso spoke again, oddly meek.
“I believe calling me ‘Ce would be acceptable,” she said. “If you’d like…”
Alaina smirked.
Alaina made sure to get close to the outer station walls in her walk. Lots of people avoided these halls anyway, since the counter-spin of the station became more obvious when you saw the stars in contrast to the direction your body was moving. Alaina used to get a bit dizzy looking at it too, but now her legs were always guaranteed to set each foot down one in front of the other, regardless of which way her brain might get confused into thinking they were going.
She looked up, appreciating the skylight of stars. There was a slight buzz in the back of her head, right at the artificial junction where her prosthetics spoke to her brain.
It had taken a while for Alaina and ‘Ce to learn to talk to each other when ‘Ce was in her components. The junction was the key though, the place where mechanical code and biological information could be converted from one to the other.
It should have been horrifying to Alaina, the idea that there was a foreign intelligence inside her that could make her have auditory hallucinations to talk to her. Perhaps that’s why ‘Ce didn’t make use of that much unless there was something important to say. ‘Ce normally just hinted at thing, using muscle movements and the like, just the way she had earlier when making Alaina’s hand jitter. That way of talking was more natural for ‘Ce too. But in the privacy of her mind — and there was still quite some privacy to be had — Alaina actually didn’t mind knowing ‘Ce could trick her brain in a thousand different ways.
She trusted her.
“The stars are beautiful, correct?”
Alaina cocked her head at that. ‘Ce talking to her was sometimes confusing, first of all because the voice she had as a technologically-induced auditory hallucination sounded off, a bit like Alaina’s own voice. And secondly, because she wasn’t always sure if ‘Ce was wording things a specific way for a reason, or if she just still wasn’t acquainted enough with human speech to say things the typical way.
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Alaina asked.
‘Ce was quiet for a bit, save for the ever-present hum that assured Alaina she was still there. “I can sense the light that your brain perceives from them and the effect on your thought processes and mood.”
“So you can’t really see it for yourself?” Alaina didn’t bother dropping her voice much, knowing not many people would come by, but she was starting to think about the fact that she was talking to herself while stargazing.
“Yes, and no,” ‘Ce said. “I can see them through the signals your brain produces. So the question is, is that the same as you see them, or not?”
Alaina laughed and shook her head (and at the movement, ‘Ce mimicked a dizzied “whoa”, though Alaina knew she couldn’t be that easily discombobulated). “I wasn’t expecting to answer metaphysical questions today. So, what do you think of them?”
‘Ce answered with a growing hum up Alaina’s arm. “I think the way they make your synapses fire is beautiful.”
Alaina chuckled, and started walking again. “I didn’t think I had that much of a reaction to stars.”
The humming in Alaina’s arm changed frequency, almost like ‘Ce was mulling that over. “Perhaps there is another stimulus affecting the reaction.”
Shoving her hands back into the pockets of her hoodie, Alaina huffed. “And what do you think that might be?”
‘Ce fell silent, and Alaina smirked.
At long last, Alaina reached her destination: A running track within the station’s gym. A lot of tricks made it seem longer and less cramped than it really was, though one still had to run a lot more laps to get the same effect.
Alaina wondered if the optical illusions worked as well on ‘Ce as they did on her, but she dropped thought, fearing getting into another metaphysical quagmire about the nature of sight and the brain and whatnot.
Alaina pulled off her hoodie and threw it off to one side, before stretching and running in place, not unlike how she would when running through physical therapy with Aceso. She felt a tingling in her limbs again.
This was the kind of thing ‘Ce was programmed to do, and even though she could have a ton of other experiences through Alaina, she seemed to go a bit stir-crazy without a good run here or there.
A thought occurred to Alaina, and she smirked.
“Hey ‘Ce,” she said, and she sensed the tingling presence within her limbs seem to dip having something interrupt the imminent activity. “This kind of physical activity is what you’re programmed for, right?”
“Of course.”
“But you seem to get real excited when we do it.” Alaina’s smirk widened. “Shouldn’t it be pretty routine to you?”
“I suppose it should,” ‘Ce said, slowly.
“Hmm.” Alaina chuckled. “Wonder if there’s another stimulus affecting that reaction.”
She didn’t give ‘Ce a chance to reply before launching herself into the track, and even as she was running, she laughed at the annoyed little tingles in her arm.
MegOP for Char
Prompt: TFP MegOP, based on the episodes when Optimus loses his memory.
Rating: T
Tags: no major content warning, canon compliant, angst
, mentions of The Doctor of DoomWord Count: ~700 words
Notes: Sorry for the feels.
Megatron hesitated in front of the door to his own quarters. He wasn’t used to hesitating, about anything. He certainly hadn’t when, in the bowels of Unicron, Optimus had shown that his memories were gone. Megatron was used to being backed into a corner and making snap decisions.
Now he was uncertain.
Pushing past it all, he swept his door open, and walked in. His guards had already reported that Orion was there, and Megatron was bemused but not surprised that he had already made himself comfortable on Megatron’s berth. His face was glued to the tablet before him. Likely doing more research. Soundwave assured Megatron that nothing he had looked into thus far would compromise anything.
Part of Megatron’s brain nagged at him, though, that it was only a matter of time. Orion was smart.
That’s why Megatron loved him, after all.
“Megatronus,” Orion said, looking up finally. Megatron realized he must have lingered at the door too long without saying anything, as Orion was giving him an odd look.
“Studying still, my archivist?”
At that, at least, Orion smiled. “I have missed much. I wish to catch up.”
Megatron smiled, swiftly and smoothly making his way over to the berth and swiping the tablet out of Orion’s hand. “Perhaps I could assist with that instead.”
“Perhaps,” Orion said, with a less assured smile. He scooted aside, clearly making room on the berth for Megatron. “I am having trouble finding more information about the early parts of the war.”
“That’s not surprising,” Megatron said, settling beside him. He swept a hand over Orion’s helm, teasing a finial with one claw. “It’s been a long war. Many records of the early war have been corrupted or lost, or in some cases not recorded at all as there were other more pressing concerns than conserving history.”
“It seems you could have used an archivist, then,” Orion said.
Megatron pulled him close, ghosting glossa over the proto-flesh of his face. “More than you can imagine.”
Orion settled close to him, and for a moment that was enough. Simply having Orion there, willingly in his arms, was more than Megatron could have dreamed. But the nagging in his head refused to let him leave things to lie.
“Orion,” Megatron said slowly. “I have noticed that there are some things you don’t seem to remember, that happened before you were placed in stasis and taken from me.” Indeed, if Orion had only been left with the memories that he had made after the matrix was placed within him, he still would have had more than enough information to be furious with Megatron. It seemed prudent that Megatron should figure out where the boundary of his memories lay. “What is the last thing you remember?”
“I’m not sure,” Orion said. His hand was drawing abstract spirals over Megatron’s chest. “I have been trying to figure that out as well, but everything at a certain point becomes hazy.”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember…” Orion’s face screwed up for a moment. “I remember meeting you… I remember falling in love.”
Megatron smiled, a real smile, his face almost aching with the unfamiliarity of the expression. “I meant other than that.”
“But that’s the most important, isn’t it?” Orion said, smiling back at him.
Megatron pulled him closer at that, burying in face in the crook of Orion’s neck. He didn’t answer, but in his spark he knew the answer.
“Still, I do wish I remembered more,” Orion said. “It’s unbelievable. That we’ve been at war for millions of years. And all because of… Ratchet. I can’t imagine fighting him…”
“But you would,” Megatron said. He opened his eyes, letting the red glow fill the small cove he had carved out for himself in Orion’s frame. “It’s who you are. You oppose those that would harm others. Not matter the cost… No matter who they are.”
Orion paused, and without even seeing his face, Megatron could just see that considering look clouding his face. “You think me much stronger than I am, my love.”
“No,” Megatron whispered. “That’s who you are. Strong. Determined. Holding up your beliefs at all costs.” He pulled away just slightly, enough to look Orion in the eyes. Those deep blue optics that Megatron could find himself getting lost in. So earnest and open and loving, just like they were so many eons ago, just like they burned in Megatron’s spark to this day.
“That’s why I love you, after all.”
Mage/Weapon OCs for Icie
Prompt: Female magic user losing her grip on reality/female magical weapon who keeps her sane
Rating: T
Tags: no major content warnings, fantasy setting, sense of unreality, body sharing
Word Count: ~1k
Notes: “Mels, are you ever going to get tired of writing about characters that ruin themselves via know-it-all arrogance?” No.
It was often said that once you passed a certain threshold with magic, there was no going back. Once you pulled at the edges of the universe too long, plucking at threads until they tattered and threatened to unravel the whole fabric, there was no way to see the perfect reality you once knew.
You would always see tatters.
Nella had, in her foolish youth, taken that as a challenge. Not that her youth was far behind her, but the way her eyes widened at the edges, pupils taking in more than a mere mortal brain should have to parse, she often felt much older. Perhaps regretful, but she wasn’t quite sure yet. Maybe these were just the growing pains, and someday she would be more powerful than she could imagine. Than anyone could imagine.
Or maybe she would unravel too.
At the best of times, it was impossible to tell reality from dreams. They blended together in a way that Nella couldn’t separate one from the other. There was no real tangible difference, either way. They were all part of the reality that was torn and interwoven at the same time, one flowing fluidly from one state to another. All that really mattered was what those around her would or would not be aware of; what they had sensed. Just because something didn’t happen in her head didn’t mean her companions would have experienced it.
When she casted, she often fell unconscious, even her most basic spells having been elevated to such a fearsome level that there was no restraint to be had. The fabric swayed, the threads trembled, and Nella sunk away into blackness.
The only way she knew when she was unconscious was when Damiana was there.
Nella opened her eyes to find her sight bathed in a glittering gold fabric. The hand moved, revealing a metalic, golden hand, swiping it’s way gently over her eyes. Nella let her body go slack, her head resting on a lap that was not quite the soft plush of skin and flesh but comfortable still, warm like sun-baked rocks.
The face above her slowly came into focus; a shining silver face, as gleaming and as sharp as the forged steel that made Damiana’s true form.
“You push yourself too hard,” came her voice, like wind yielding to a sharp blade, like shears through fabric.
“If only so I can see you,” Nella said, stretching her arm upward, her fingertips nearly touching the sheen of Damiana’s face, but not quite reaching it.
Damiana never let Nella touch her, not in dreams like this. Nella wondered if she would be cut to ribbons if she did.
She wondered if she cared.
“You’ve been strong for so long,” Damiana said, looking down at her with eyes of molten lead. “Let someone else be your strength.”
Nella settled for tangling her hands of the fabric of Damiana’s sleeve. It wasn’t like real fabric. It was as smooth as gold and strong as steel and fluid as water, all at once in one maddening, enticing contradiction. It was soothing, feeling something so strong, so unbreakable.
“I’m not sure I know how.”
“Why do you even keep a sword with you?”
Nella’s hands were playing over Damiana’s hilt. The golden grooves that lead down to the filigree of her scabbard. She’d been so transfixed, she hadn’t noticed someone else approaching.
Mira was standing at the entrance to Nella’s tent, her armor already on, and looking a bit put out to have to once again come rouse the loose-cannon caster. “It’s not like you can even use it,” Mira continued to grouse.
She must have pulled the short straw at breakfast.
“It’s a family heirloom,” Nella lied. She stood, and as she did every day, slung Damiana over her shoulder, a comfortable weight against her back. “It keeps me sane, in a way…”
“Well, it could stand to do a better job at that,” Mira muttered, just loud enough to hear. Nella brushed past her, in a hurry to end the conversation. “If you ever want to give it to someone who can put it to good use, just say the word,” she called out after her.
Nella almost felt like she could hear Damiana muttering darkly behind her, and she smiled.
Nella knew she was on the ground. There was a battle raging. She wasn’t quite sure how she had gotten here, but she knew it was bad. She could see the threads of the world unravelling around her, tatters of woven reality spooling out over the more tangible fires of the battlefield. Despite this, she was fairly certain it was all real.
But the comforting weight of Damiana on her back was no longer a sword but a firm, gentle hand.
“I can’t move,” Nella said, voice dissolving into a sob.
Damiana quietly shushed her, hand running over her back. “Let me move for you.”
Nella sniffed. “I have to protect my friends. I have to… I have to…”
“Let your burden down,” Damiana said. “Rest.”
A barrage of protests came to mind, but against all better reason, Nella forced herself to do as told. Let her body go slack, like she always did, with her head in Damiana’s warm lap.
When the last ounce of tension was released, her body began to move without her instruction, her limbs propping her up, and pushing her to her feet. As if in a dream, she felt her arm move, reaching over her shoulder as she had never done, and pulling Damiana from her sheath. Her feet moved in a way she couldn’t understand, with a sure, powerful stance.
“You’ve carried me,” Damiana’s voice said, in the back of her head. “Let me carry you.”
With muscles that were no longer her own, the sword slashed through the air, and with it the tatters of reality that clouded her vision were cut away, like underbrush yielding to a machete, and the battlefield came into focus.
“Let me be your strength.”
More SixMags for the SixMags God
Prompt: Ultra Magnus and Sixshot Kiss
Rating: T
Tags: pain play, restraints, interfaction relationships
Word Count: ~500 words
Notes: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Ultra Magnus ducks into the holding cell, and Sixshot smirks. Even restrained by struts hanging from the ceiling as he is, he hardly towers over Magnus at all. Not that Magnus is one to back down so easily anyway.
Sixshot’s smirk widens.
Magnus doesn’t react to that, glaring at him.
“What?” Sixshot asks.
“You’re not getting out of this. Not this time.”
Sixshot tries to shrug. It’s not really possible with how they have him strung up, but he does his best. He’s sure Magnus gets it. And hates it. “You’ve said that before, I think.”
It actually surprises him when Magnus whirls around, and fully slaps him across the face. His battle mask had been damaged, even before they disabled it for his containment within the Autobot holding cell, so he takes the full brunt of it.
Despite himself, he pants as he looks back at Magnus.
“This is different,” Magnus said, jabbing a finger at his still-stinging cheek. “We have you dead to rights in the best containment cell this side off—” That thought gets cut short when the lights cut off.
Both of them go quiet for a moment, neither moving.
“Camera’s off?” Sixshot asks quietly.
Magnus looks around his shoulder, just slightly. “Seems that way.”
Sixshot flexes, and most of the restraints are broken. At least, enough to drop him to the floor, but the ones that remain trip him up enough that despite his best effort, he stumbles a bit. Magnus’s reflexes are just a sharp though, and catches him by the neck.
“Thanks,” Sixshot says, voice rough around Magnus’s grip.
Ultra Magnus doesn’t let him go right away, though, slamming him against the wall.
“Frag, you’re rough today,” Sixshot gasps. “Hot.”
In the low light, Sixshot is almost certain he caught a flicker fast smirk on Magnus’s face. “Decepticon scum,” he growls, engine rumbling at the same low pitch as his voice.
Sixshot squirms. “How long do we have ‘til the lights come back on, chief? ‘Cause I’m into this now.”
Magnus pauses. “Wait, I thought the power outage was you.”
Sixshot blinks at him. “Slag, who’s invading who now?”
Magnus backs off him a moment, seeming to consider rushing off. Sixshot refuses to let that happen, grabbing him by either side of his face and crushing their mouths together. Luckily, Magnus doesn’t pull back right away, letting their lips slide together for a minute before breaking off.
“I’m afraid duty calls,” Magnus whispers.
“Slag it, I’m not letting you leave this room.” Sixshot grins. “If you want out, you have to go through me.”
“Sixshot…”
He pushes Magnus, and in response Magnus pins him to the wall again. “See?” Sixshot says. “You’ve got your hands full with this unruly Phase Sixer.”
“I’m serious, Sixshot.”
“So am I. What do I gotta do to make you slap me again?”
Ultra Magnus makes a token move for the door, but Sixshot stops him, throwing a punch. Magnus is ready, dodging and grabbing his arm, bending it behind his back.
“Frag, yes. Harder!”
Magnus makes a sound of disgust, throwing him at the wall. “Why are you like this?”
Sixshot grins. “You know you like it.” He tries to push himself away from the wall, but Magnus pins him again, pressing his forearm into Sixshot’s throat.
“Maybe,” Magnus admits, and leans in to kiss him again, and Sixshot can’t control his engine’s rev.
OpStar for Char
Prompt: Sequel to Diplomatic Relations?
Rating: M
Tags: foreplay, make outs, banter
Word Count: ~500
Notes: Hope you enjoy!
“Would you hurry up, you ancient oaf?” Starscream grunted as he pushed Optimus back against the wall of the storage room. Optimus still had his mask on, making it hard to tell if he was frowning, though the narrowing of his eyes seemed to suggest he was.
“Is your entire romantic repertoire simply barbed comments?” Optimus grumbled, though he didn’t resist as Starscream manhandled him against the wall.
“Well, you’ll just have to find out,” Starscream said, hooking an arm over the back of Optimus’s neck. He grinned wickedly before leaning in close to his face. “But, you’ll have to find out faster, because the longer we’re gone from this boring gala, the more likely it is that people will come looking for us.”
Starscream yelped when Optimus grabbed him by the hips, and hitched him up so that his legs encircled Optimus’s waist. “Funny,” he said, as his mask snapped back, revealing a subtle smirk. “I thought that was the sort of thing you’d like.”
“Cute,” Starscream grumbled. Optimus was undeterred and buried his face into the cabling of Starscream’s neck. He only barely managed to suppress a gasp as Optimus began to nibble, teasing at the individual cables, licking until his tongue could dive between them. “But you won’t be saying that when it’s a tabloid scandal on Cybertron and every colony across the galaxy.”
Optimus had begun letting his hands wander, angling his hips to keep Starscream’s perch on him secure even in the absence of his hands holding up his thighs. His fingers brushed over Starscream’s aft, then up to his lower back. Finally he got high up enough to tease at the base of his wings, and Starscream only just managed to muffle his moan by burying his face Optimus’s neck.
“I can’t say I’m very scared by that prospect,” Optimus said in his infuriatingly even tone. “All public figures must deal with rumors time to time.” He bucked gently, clanking their still-closed panels together. “This one simply has the luxury of being true.”
Starscream growled, setting a glare on him at all of the teasing. “Oh, and you wouldn’t be mortified about the whole planet speculating about your relationship with the former Decepticon second-in-command?”
“No more mortified than you would be about the planet speculating about you with the former Prime,” Optimus said, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
Starscream made quick work to stop that smirk in its tracks with a kiss.
Optimus wasn’t to be outdone, his hands slipping low once more to grab his aft as he bucked his hips to rub their panels together once more, this time with a gentleness that still managed to be infuriating.
Starscream thought he could scarcely think of a better metaphor for Optimus is general.
“Enough teasing,” Starscream said, snarling just inches away from Optimus’s smirk. “If you’re so intent on testing fate, let’s make sure the tabloids really have something to talk about.”
RodiStar for Star
Prompt: Rodimus/Starscream
Rating:M
Tags: foreplay, banter, praise kink
Word Count: ~600
Notes: Hope you like it!!
Rodimus stopped at the door of his quarters, resting his forearm on the doorframe and letting his hips cant to the side. Beyond the doorway was nearly pitch black, only the scarce light of the corridor filtering in to offer the barest hint of light. He couldn’t fully make out the form on his berth, but he knew who was there.
He stared into the darkness for another moment before shaking his head. The moment he stepped away from the doorframe, it snapped shut behind him. No fancy automatic doors in the officers’ quarters, these were barely more than sliding doors with whatever rubber bands and strings Wheeljack could cobble together to give the any kind of semblance of a closing mechanism.
Light was still filtering in through a few subtle cracks, just enough for Rodimus to locate the cleaning cloth that was haphazardly draped over the single chair in his room, and he swiped it over his face to at least get some of the construction debris cleared off.
“Just because we don’t have locks and you can come in whenever you please, it doesn’t really mean you should,” Rodimus said to the lump on his berth.
Even in the low light, the twitch of wings was evident as Starscream unfurled like a blooming flower, rolling over to face him. “Well, if you Autobots weren’t so selfless, that wouldn’t really be an issue, would it?”
Rebuilding Cybertron was a messy prospect, and in the wake of destruction, most of the high level officials had agreed to take the more ramshackle temporary housing in favor of giving the more stable structures to the civilians and refugees. Rodimus had agreed entirely, as had the other Autobots.
Truth be told, Rodimus actually had no idea if Starscream was staying in the block as well. Rodimus saw him every day, in clips and snatches of time between the hard labor of the restoration, sharing jabs and barbs and pointed looks across walkways that made other mechs whisper and walk away a little quicker.
But at night, Rodimus never had reason to know where Starscream was officially housed.
There was only one berth Rodimus ever saw him in.
Without another word, Rodimus crawled onto his berth, knowing from touch and memory alone exactly where Starscream’s hips were, and easily straddling them. His berth was slim — makeshift, like everything else — and barely even qualified as a single berth.
But such limitations were merely cause for greater ingenuity.
“You’re filthy,” Starscream said, upon Rodimus’s face getting close enough to his to see his sneer through the darkness.
“You’re beautiful,” Rodimus said, shoving him back down onto the berth.
Starscream scoffed, though the twitch of his wings betrayed how much he actually was enjoying himself. “You won’t distract me with compliments.”
“Uh huh,” Rodimus said distractedly as he ran his fingers over Starscream’s cockpit.
“You could have stopped by the washracks before coming back…”
“And keep you waiting?” Rodimus said, shifting slowly, but intentionally, rubbing their panels close. “Besides, then you would have just complained about how cold I was. No hot water left in the washracks this time of day.”
Starscream sneered at him, pushing his still-dust-streaked face away.
“Besides, I think you like it,” Rodimus said through the press of Starscream’s fingers on his lips.
“What on Cybertron are you blabbering about?” Starscream asked with a hiss of discussed.
“Me coming back all dirty,” Rodimus said. “My armor baked in the sun, caked with dirt. You know I never shower before coming back.” He moved one of his legs, gently wedging it between Starscream’s thighs to nudge them apart below him. “I think you secretly like me scuffing up your pretty paint job once in a while.”
“Complete nonsense.” Starscream’s thighs parted, in the process swiping one knee out from under Rodimus, causing him to fall onto him and wiping the cocky grin from his face. “Now, tell me how pretty my paint is again.”
SkyScream for Lan
Prompt: Starscream and Skyfire flirting (Unicron whomst???)
Rating: T
Tags: snark, banter, kisses
Word Count: ~500
Notes: Hope you enjoy!
“How’s my favorite scientist doing today?”
Quite predictably, Skyfire hardly reacted to that at all, merely giving Starscream a quick ‘hmmph’ of acknowledgement without looking up from his work. Starscream replied with a much more curt grumble.
Visiting the labs was one of the few pleasures that Starscream had left in his work. He supposed that he should just be grateful that — after all the calamity that befell Cybertron in the wake of him losing the crown — no one thought to throw him back in jail. He supposed he had several people to thank for that, in addition to his own infuriatingly Autobot-like actions. Regaining the trust of others was all well and good though, but now he was little more than a monitor, keeping tabs on things too boring for people in higher political position to see to directly.
“You know, it’s a real shame you weren’t around more when I was actually in power,” Starscream said, allowing his train of thought to verbalize without preamble. He huffed and leaned back against the workbench, on the side opposite of Skyfire. “You could’ve been my head scientist.” He leaned back further so he could give Skyfire an upside down grin. “Wouldn’t have minded having you working directly under me.”
Skyfire still didn’t meet his glance.
“Not that Wheeljack was bad at the role,” he said, looking away. “And I suppose there were reasons you didn’t want to stick around Cybertron.” Starscream pushed himself up so that he could stalk across the room. “I was probably one of them.”
That finally provoked a mutter from Skyfire. “Well, you’re not exactly wrong…”
Starscream gave his wings an irritated twitch before gathering up his data pad. “Well, I believe I have everything I need from this week’s routine inspection, so I suppose I can stop darkening your day.”
He was halfway out the door when Skyfire spoke. “No, I didn’t mean that.”
Starscream stopped, leaning on the doorframe, making it clear he was ready to leave if the explanation wasn’t to his satisfaction.
“I mean, yes, I had reasons to stay away from Cybertron, and yes, one of them was that I didn’t know where we stood.” Skyfire shrugged as he set his experiment aside, fiddling with a timer as if now it was meant to merely sit without his interference. “But in hindsight…”
Starscream frowned at him, hugging the data pad to his chest. “What?”
Finally, he turned his full attention to Starscream. “In hindsight, I probably was missing out not working under you.”
Starscream gave him a fascinated look, as if trying to tell if he knew what he was saying. Skyfire returned the look, with a shrug and a carefree flutter of his wings. Starscream grinned and stalked towards him again, setting his data pad down on the worktable.
“Maybe we could still give that a shot sometime,” Starscream said with a wicked grin. He pushed himself up to the tips of his pedes, though that still wasn’t enough to quite get into Skyfire’s face with the table between them.
Skyfire acquiesced by leaning forward slightly. “Well, if you insist.”
Starscream, finally able to reach him, grabbed his collar fairing, and pulled him down for a kiss.
Snam... Sim... Snampatico??? .... for Yrin
Prompt: Kinjou’s grandparents (grandrobots?) find themselves on kid watching duty
Rating: G
Tags: questionable childcare, robots pretending to be human, but isn’t that a solid tenet of snamily anyway?
Word Count: ~1.5k
Notes: This is…. not edited at all, I’m sorry
“Is there really no one else that could do it?”
Inui scowled up at the viewscreen, crossing his arms.
“Not that we don’t want to,” came the hasty reply, his teal creator waving his hands at the screen. “I mean just… tiny squishy human children plus, well…” He jabbed a thumb between himself and his slightly smaller red companion, whose scowl — less angry, more concerned — was the mirror of Inui’s own.
Inui sighed, rubbing a hand up over his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Brainstorm, Perceptor…” He sighed again. “Dads,” he said, though it was a bit awkward coming from his lips. “There really isn’t anyone else that can watch him, and…” He shuffled. “I’d really rather not cancel our plans. It means a lot to Kaoru…”
Brainstorm looked at Perceptor. His mask was hiding his face, but Inui suspected he was smiling. “For our… what do humans call it? Son-in-law? For our beastformer son-in-law?”
Perceptor tilted his head consideringly. “I mean, I suppose… how hard could this… babysitting, is that what you call it? How hard could babysitting be?”
“Thank you,” Inui said. “But again, I feel the need to stress that the snake theming is metaphorical only, Kaidou is not actually a beastformer, in the sense that you mean it…”
Brainstorm sighed. “I know, but it would just be more interesting that way…” He stopped, tilted his head to consider something, and his eyes widened. “Do you think Kaidou would like a mech suit that—”
“No,” Inui and Perceptor said in the same moment.
Kaidou answered the door to the least convincing pair of human disguises he had ever laid eyes on. Perceptor was perhaps the least suspicious of the the two, but with his eyepiece, crisp vest, and stern demeanor, he seemed like a hit man pulled straight from an action movie.
Brainstorm was from a completely different genre, with wild white hair and a singed lab coat.
“Hi,” Kaidou muttered simply, and stepped aside, deciding not to comment on their appearance.
Kaidou had thought that it was awkward for Inui to meet his family, but finding out that Inui’s parents were giant space alien robots…
Well, actually it just explained a lot.
Inui poked his head out from the living room to see the source of the commotion, Shingo in his arms. “Ah, creators, you made it.”
Brainstorm pulled down his mask — a simple cloth one, in this form — and waved a hand. “No need to use such Cybertronian terms. What do humans say? Dad?”
“Dah!” Shingo helpfully mimicked.
Brainstorm’s eyes went wide, leaning in to examine Shingo as if he were an exciting unidentified specimen.
“It didn’t say the entire word,” Perceptor said, stepping closer to look at Shingo as well. At Kaidou’s glare he amended, “he.”
“Human infants develop language skills slowly over time,” Inui said. He bounced Shingo, and then offered him to Perceptor. Despite looking surprised, Perceptor followed his lead, holding him just as Inui had, both arms wrapped around him. Brainstorm moved in even closer, marveling at him with wide eyes.
Kaidou grabbed Inui’s arm and pulled him away. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he whispered in Inui’s ear.
Inui was still watching his parents, but shrugged. “Well, your parents weren’t available.”
“Yes, but your parents are…” Kaidou frowned, looking between him and the aliens wondering at his son.
“They’re scientists,” Inui said, as if that should assuage any fears.
“They seem… a bit inexperienced in childcare…” He eyed Inui. “Human childcare…”
Inui just shrugged.
In return, Kaidou glared at him.
“At the risk of tempting fate, what could go wrong?” Inui asked, and quickly thereafter had to wave away Kaidou’s snarl. “What I mean to say is, they have our numbers and they can call us in an instant. And if anything bad happens… well, one of them is literally a plane.”
Kaidou crossed his arms unconvinced, but offered no argument.
Perceptor squinted at the small human. In response, it simply looked back up at him, babbling nonsense words.
Brainstorm slid over the back of the couch, bouncing into the spot next to Perceptor. He was holding some kind of crinkly bag that he had found in the kitchen, and pulled some sort of green, puffy thing out of it. Before Perceptor could ask, Brainstorm popped it into his mouth.
“So, how’s the bonding going?” Brainstorm asked, despite his full mouth.
“You know that we can’t actually process organic food even in our holomatter avatars, right?” Perceptor asked.
Brainstorm shrugged, infuriatingly unconcerned. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Perceptor frowned and looked back at his… grandson. “I’m unsure what to do with a creature so cognitively undeveloped.”
“You read the manual, right?” Brainstorm nodded at the list of notes that Inui had send them, which Kaidou had printed out and added a dozen handwritten notes to.
Perceptor scoffed. “Of course I read the manual.”
Placing the crinkling bag of dubious snacks down on the coffee table, Brainstorm grabbed a blanket from the back of the sofa. “Did you know that developmentally, humans don’t automatically have object permanence?”
“Don’t be patronizing, Brainstorm, that can’t possibly be—” Before he could continue, Brainstorm threw the blanket over both their heads, leaving Shingo laying on the other side.
“Hey,” Brainstorm said, smirking smugly at Percy within their impromptu blanket cocoon.
Perceptor glared at him, until Brainstorm pulled the blanket off of them. Perceptor looked to Shingo’s face just in time to see shock and surprise turn into a happy giggle as they ‘reappeared’ in front of him.
Brainstorm was still infuriatingly smirking.
Perceptor tugged the blanket out of Brainstorm’s grasp, before looking back at the child. Well… any good experiment had to be repeatable. He held the blanket up over his face, pausing for a beat before letting it back down again.
Just as before, Shingo went from shock to delight at seeing Perceptor ‘reappear’.
He did it a few more times, each one accompanied by the sound immature giggling. A sound which Perceptor found, surprisingly, he was growing fond of.
“Interesting,” he muttered, after another repetition. “You would think after several rounds he would have figured out the game.”
Brainstorm laughed. He leaned over to grab the aforementioned instruction manual, and leaned back against Perceptor. “Human larvae are so stupid, it’s great.” He flipped through a few of the pages. “I wonder what other tricks it can do…”
“Hmm.” Perceptor paused, giving the tiny organic a once over. “It’s almost a shame that we skipped this phase of Sadaharu’s development.”
“Well, maybe,” Brainstorm said, flipping a few pages. “I mean, we’re getting a taste of it now, right? Also, who am I? Scorponok?”
Perceptor grumbled, accepting the point.
“Anyway, this is fun, right?” Brainstorm said. “I don’t know what Kaidou was so worried about, there’s nothing that could possibly go wrong.”
“Oh god, what’s wrong with it?”
Brainstorm was bouncing the crying Shingo on his hip, giving Perceptor a break so he could flip through the manual yet another time.
“There’s nothing in there,” Brainstorm grumbled. “Nothing we haven’t already tried anyway.”
“Then what’s your solution?” Perceptor snapped, with a bit more force than he had meant. “We’ve fed it, and cleaned it, and and…” He growled, spiking the manual on the ground where the paperclip promptly gave up the ghost, the whole thing exploding into a flurry of papers.
“Wait,” Brainstorm said, before shoving the crying child into Perceptor’s arms.
“If your idea is to disappear and leave me to suffer…”
“No, of course not,” Brainstorm said. “Though I am going to disappear for a second. Meet me outside.”
Perceptor squinted. “What in the name of Primus do you have in mind?”
“We’re treating him too much like an organic,” Brainstorm said, as though it were obvious.
“First of all, that’s preposterous…”
“Is it?” Brainstorm interjected, before Perceptor could continue. “He’s at least a quarter Cybertronian, after all.”
“That’s not entirely accurate at best and pseudo-science at worst,” Perceptor said, growing more and more irritated between Brainstorm’s impishness and the ongoing crying. “And in addition…”
Before he could continue, Brainstorm smirked, and his holomatter avatar blinked out of existence. Perceptor grumbled at the empty space, before proceeding to the door.
No sooner had he opened the door than a giant teal mech appeared in the backyard.
Shingo’s cries grew softer as he tried to decipher what was going on.
Brainstorm transformed from root mode into his aerial alt mode, and he popped his cockpit open. “Get in.”
“You’re breaking cover procedures,” Perceptor said, but came closer nonetheless.
“Yes, but I also don’t really care.”
Perceptor couldn’t seem to argue with that logic as he climbed in. “I’m not sure if this is safe for organic babies.”
“Relax, I’m not going to do any tricks or anything,” Brainstorm said. “It’s not like I can go far from your physical body. Just enough for the motion to wear him out a bit.”
Perceptor grunted doubtfully, though Shingo’s cries had already diminished. He reached curiously at some of the blinking lights on Brainstorm’s console.
“Fine,” Perceptor said with a sigh. “Just, go slow.”
“I checked upstairs. Nothing.”
“Backyard?”
“Yes, obviously I checked there.” Kaidou paused at the foot of the stairs to cross his arms and shoot a glare at his husband.
“What?”
Kaidou’s glare intensified.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Inui said. “But I’m sure there’s a reasonable—“
He was cut off with the sound of a jet engine roaring overhead. Upon rushing out to the backyard, they were greeting to the rush of air of a teal jet landing neatly in their backyard. When the cockpit popped open they were greeted to the sight of Perceptor’s holoform bouncing Shingo on his lap.
“Hey guys,” came Brainstorm’s voice, from an indeterminable point around the jet. A set of stairs unfolded, welcoming them up to the cockpit. “Wanna go for another lap?”
Kaidou practically ran of the stairs, which Inui following slightly slower.
“Is he alright?” Kaidou asked, shoving his head into the cockpit.
Perceptor gave him a blank stare, as if the question was completely preposterous. Shingo looked up, still giggling from the ride.
“Of course he is,” came Brainstorm’s voice again. “Who doesn’t like a joy ride?”
“Is it safe for an infant to ride in the cockpit of a jet?” Inui asked, looking around.
“Well, I began to calculate the maximum amount of g-force—” Perceptor began, only to be cut off by Brainstorm saying, “Well, I mean, probably.”
Before either parent could respond, they were both distracted by Shingo hitting the buttons on the dashboard.
“Don’t!” Both Kaidou and Inui shouted, lunging forward to stop him.
“Guys?” Brainstorm said. “Sentient plane, remember?”
Both of them looked a bit sheepish as Shingo continued pushing random buttons, causing absolutely nothing to happen.