I Made This For That Thing I Wrote. Pick The Color You Like Best.

I made this for that thing I wrote. Pick the color you like best.

Lol I only colored one thing

No thoughts only Optimus' emoting headfins

I’m the worst kind of transformers fanboy for removing important pieces of anatomy just to thirst over Blitzwing’s shoulders.

TFA memes part 2! Some are general and some are POV you live in the one city in America that has giant alien robots duking it out in the middle of downtown.

I got the allspark almanac for Christmas, and I cannot believe Blitzwing’s Cybertronian mode has a trampstamp.

✨Optimus asking Prowl for advice on how to write Megatron suitable poetry. Not even romantic or cathartic, just something ‘more suitable’ than “Every time I see you, I think about my favorite datapads.”

Like “Prowl, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! It’s true, but I shouldn’t say it!”

Prowl realizes how far gone he is by that statement alone.

“Suitable? It’s expressive literature- you’re appealing to opinion and emotion. This isn’t a test.”

Optimus jolts and makes a move like he’s about to reel him in by the shoulders.

“So you know how to write this stuff?!”

“.... I don’t practice it, I just muse on it when the inspiration strikes... and all in passing thought. I have nothing recorded to draw from. Nothing you’ll find useful.

Optimus’ audial fins dip low. Optics wide.

Looking like a lost puppy in the headlights of a barreling semi is enough of a disturbing look on his leader to convince Prowl to quickly reassure him they could try pushing him through some sort of ‘lesson’ on the matter. All unofficial, of course, and all very much just Optimus feeling like it’s out of his range of understanding and terribly pointless to try.

Well, he understands the purpose of poetry, and his own intent in the chaotic ‘pieces’ he’d wrote to send his respective associate (which thank Primus he’d asked for advice before sending that hot mess).

Prowl explains that he means to tell Megatron the other mech reminds him of his favorite pleasures in life, because Megatron *is* one of those favorite pleasures in life. He finds comfort in Megatron the way he does his favorite datapads.

Great, simple enough. But he hasn’t managed to put that into words even remotely poetic.

“So write it out like that. Like a report... on your... feelings.” Prowl hopes that’s decent advice. He’d use it if the situations were reversed, because inaction is far worse than looking like an abysmal slaghead about writing poetry of all things.

Optimus shares this sentiment at least, but...

“True, but... H- he just keeps sending me these.... beautiful, well written... Um... I just want to give him something... *good*... because he’s so good at this... and....”

Prowl sighs and hangs his helm. His Prime is worse than their resident troublemaking minibot somehow.

—— —- -

Megatron wasn’t actually expecting reciprocation in this form. He was more than happy to express his interest- his affections, to be blatantly honest with himself- to the little prime without receiving the same in kind. Mostly because.... well, Optimus was substantially less theatrical than himself. ‘Dramatic’, Strika grunted on several occasions prior.

And that was more than fine- Optimus Prime wasn’t meant to be anything but himself in order for Megatron to love him.

And then, the afternoon following the latest piece of amorous declarations he’d sent his way, the ex-war lord received a message that wasn’t just conflicting Energon regulations or complaints about Blitzwing using boxcars for target practice too close to human habitats.

This message was....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

//-/Optimus Prime to Lord Megatron:

///In regards to your works presented biweekly, assigned exclusively to my reading, I have prepared a response. Though significantly less capable of expressing my thoughts in the same effect, this is an address to you in full. Please read with the sender’s confidentiality in mind. Thank you.

“My time with you is too short. We talk for hours, until the stars come out, and I’m missing another night of essential recharge, but still I find our interactions limited.

I’ve recently discovered that spending time with you, as restricted as I feel it may be, is infinitely more rewarding than my time spent any other way, in any other company.

We greet each other in passing, when our busy schedules allow, and those insignificant moments seem to fill me as substantially as our intended meetings do- even the ones that leave me exhausted from the day, yet fawning in the privacy of my own room later when recalling your companionship, I’ve noticed that the barest of your attentions satiate my need for your closeness all the same.

Any time I’m with you, I think about my favorite datapads. I imagine myself at my old desk with those obscure fictional writings I find so much joy in reading, despite knowing them practically word for word. Resting heavy in my palms.

Your hand always feels heavy in my own in that same familiar, calming way- even still, heavier. A weight that settles in mine and gives only at your whim. You are so much to hold tight to, and I find myself able to at all, because of your subtle efforts to tailor yourself to me. I feel like we’re a team in this way. You give me exactly what you know I can handle, and I try to receive as much of you as I can, as gratefully as I can. I hope I don’t fall short.”

//My further, even less sensical elaborations- at the behest of my cohort- are below:

“You’re dark chassis and pleated armor are black as night and shimmers like stars.

Looking into your optics is like reading my precious datapads all over again- it’s something I feel I know thoroughly and yet am happily surprised to find they enthrall me all the same each time. I can never tire indulging these joys, as much as I can never tire of you.”

-Thank you for your consideration. Yours, Optimus Prime.///-/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh.... OH MY PRIMUS... T-this is- Hngh!”

Megatron scrambles a servo agaisnt the thrumming of his spark in his chest and practically jams his digits into his commlink.

“S-Strika. Strika, help me.... HELP- I need you to offline me at your earliest convenience. Don’t hang up! I order you to- StriKA, I’LL GIVE YOU A RAISE!”

—- —— —

Bonus is Megatron reciting this to the personnel in his high command, by memory, with wine in hand and treating it like a prepared speech to raise the masses for war. It’s all their problems now, because Strika refused to follow through with their millennia old arrangement to kill him, should he ever wish to spark a petulant little civil frame.