Primus - Tumblr Posts
Όπτιμους ἀνέστη! Happy Easter. I will burn in hell.
TFP Optimus gives a messy egg-birth. Ratchet is here too.
Flying into the Well of All Sparks, Optimus was ready to sacrifice himself, or at least what he's grown used to think of as himself, his frail, mortal form of metal and wires. He was prepared to merge with Primus. Apparently, Primus had other plans.
It started with warm airflow embracing him near the end of the Well, permeating his armor like it was paper thin, overwhelming him, igniting and soothing at the same time, and finally carrying him lightly back to the surface. It continued with his friends' confused happiness. And this new fuzzy feeling, and Ratchet's concern, and a discovery. Oh, the discovery. Optimus Prime not only came back alive. He came back full of eggs.
Living, precious sparks, nested in their vacuoles and soft, translucent shells, were growing inside his gestation tank. The organ designed to incubate one to several eggs has expanded to embrace the holy gift. Ratchet tried to count them but failed. There were just a lot, mostly blue, but some green, pink, and yellow.
Ratchet's medical fascination mixed with religious awe. The more he observed and studied the unique case of his Prime, the deeper it got, even though he had to face things that had to be left out of the equation for others. Medical confidentiality was a thing when it came to Optimus' increasing sexual appetite, to him constantly being on the verge of arousal due to being stuffed in a quite pleasurable way, to his gestation tank pressing on his waste reservoir and making the messiah of Primus visit the waste receiver twice a day. Optimus' increased energon consumption was less of a sensitive issue, yet he was still uncomfortable drinking this much openly, so Ratchet had to watch him fuel in private to control his ration.
So much stayed behind the closed doors of the medbay during Optimus' daily scheduled check-ups. So many little… inconveniences.
When Ratched had Optimus in the examination chair once again, everything seemed noticeably more intense. Optimus seemed more nervous and tired, and he told Ratchet about feeling so full that he was afraid to move. Even his waist plating looked slightly pushed from the inside. He lubricated copiously, letting out oily pink droplets, and the valve visibly throbbed so hard Ratchet called for all his medical professionalism not to growl in frustration and want. He was lying to himself about it being just fascination and awe. Fascination and awe never leave you with your spike in hand after your friend's and leader's daily check-up, moaning and thinking about his heavily pregnant tank.
Ratchet prepared the endoscope, and Optimus tensed. "It's going in," Ratchet informed him, trying to sound calm.
When the head of the endoscope touched the eagerly unfurling petals of Optimus' valve, there was a sound of a small piece of armor retracting. Ratchet tried not to stare at the spike pressurizing, instead focusing on Optimus' frantic apologies. It's alright. They'd been there. No need to feel ashamed. But holy Primus, fuck, how big this spike was, and how big the valve below was, and how smoothly it took the endoscope.
"Ratchet, please, stop." He complied immediately, detecting almost pleading undertones in the strained low voice. Optimus growled, and his hips jerked uncontrollably, grinding on the probing device. "I'm sorry, but I feel like my waste tank may give. The sparks are pressing on it."
"Then we should empty it before it's damaged," Ratchet told him, the phrasing felt odd and ridiculous but was aimed to comfort Optimus, highlighting him being aided and taken care of. The endoscope slid slowly in and out, stimulating the nodes where the tube connecting the waste tank with a small nozzle next to the valve lay close to the inner interface equipment, intertwined with its tubing and energon lines.
Optimus shuddered, and moaned, and started pouring the floor before the examination chair with periwinkle blue fluid. It arched between his legs, soiling Ratchet's hand still holding the endoscope. It wasn't the first time a patient voided the doctor, damn, they've been through the war quite horror-rich, but it was the first time Ratchet didn't really mind.
"I need a sample anyway," he said, grabbing a test tube from a tray and catching the stream with it. It did little to dispel Optimus' embarrassment, but at least it was true and gave Ratchet his pitiful excuse to watch closely his Prime peeing with, with the endoscope inside, open, ready to lay his blessed eggs.
Oh yes, he was ready. As soon as he stopped emptying himself and Ratchet took his hand away to clean it alongside the tool, his body spasmed like it was welcoming a long-denied overload. "Ratchet, I feel my destination almost…" He groaned, not from pain. "They are coming, I cannot hold them anymore."
"No, damn, Optimus, w-wait a minute!"
Ratchet rushed to the shelf, where awaited the basket, voluminous enough to accommodate a prime clutch and padded with soft material. Two seconds later, he found Optimus mindlessly stroking his spike, trying to distract himself and relieve the tension at the same time. His plating noisily rattled against the chair, his broken whimpers made Ratchet's mind dizzifyingly spin and Ratchet's panels open, but Ratchet was left with little time to care. He saw Optimus' valve squirting a jet of lubricant, his whole body contracting, and a first butch of divine eggs falling wetly into the basket.
They were magnificent. Glowing, warm, colorful, fertilized by Primus, and coming from Optimus' overloading valve. Ratchet didn't hear his own praises and prayers, only Optimus' powerful engine roaring, his cooling fans whirring, his shaky in-vents, and beautiful strangled grunts escaping his voice box.
With his own spark pulsing and his spike throbbing, Ratchet held the basket with one hand, using the other to touch the seam between Optimus' thigh and hip plating to draw attention to himself. "You alright, Optimus? Any pain now?"
"I am fine, my friend. How are… they?"
"Perfect, you… You are doing wonderful," Ratchet reassured, the container in his hand was getting heavier and heavier. Optimus' hand never left his own spike, and Ratchet surrendered too. Powerless before the spectacle of life and pleasure and how badly it aroused him, he placed the basket on the floor, right in the puddle, and quickly stroked himself until the blinding overload made him moan and grab Optimus' leg.
It took a couple minutes more and two more small overloads for Optimus to tense in a final one, his spike spilling intensely, his frame using every output to dump the charge. He was crying.
The basket was full, the eggs piled in it, glowing. Each spark was visible inside, each had its own unique song. Ratchet and Optimus, both calming down, could already sense their energy and life.
A gift, a treasure. The future.
Forbidden Sight
With the threat of the Fallen forcing Bumblebee to act and Megatron long since out of the picture, he is left with no choice but to seek out the aid of the divine. Unfortunately, meeting the divine is not all it is cracked up to be, and sometimes the price is not worth the sacrifice.
(Please note: This is LONG and there is body horror going on so do be aware.)
“No, I am not going down there again.” Ratchet clutched his dented arm possessively, his optics flaring in fear of all things. Bumblebee stilled as the Doctor’s plating flared, his servo doing a terrible job covering obvious digit shaped imprints. What could have possibly caused such damage?
“Ratchet, you are the only one who knows the way. You went with Optimus when he-” Ratchet cut him off with a look of pure terror and grief that ran so deep it was clear to see in his body, field, and expression. Bumblebee couldn’t help but stare in shock as the Doctor shook his helm frantically.
“No. No. I will give you the path I mapped, but I will never go down there. Not again.” Something had shaken him to the core. Ratchet was never like this, at least not around anyone who could see or hear what he was dealing with.
Bumblebee took a moment to meet the gazes of his team. They were worried. They looked to him for guidance. None of them said a word, but Windblade’s dipped wings and Strongarm’s nervous twitching told him everything he needed to know.
None were looking forward to the journey ahead, even in light of its necessity.
“Ratchet…” He trailed off as everyone fell silent. Guilt radiated in Ratchet’s field, but he did not budge. He wouldn’t be guiding them, no matter how much Bumblebee pleaded.
In order to defeat the Fallen, they needed information that no living mech, save for perhaps Megatron, possessed. With Megatron lost to the stars, Soundwave stuck in the shadowzone, and other possible sources similarly scattered or deceased, there really was only one choice. It was a faint hope, but Optimus had made the journey to Primus’s core long ago in search of both an end to the war and a way to restore their world. There were none left alive who knew the exact details of what went on that cycle, but Ratchet and a small cohort had journeyed with Orion Pax and they knew that when he emerged, he was greater than he was before.
Orion Pax gained knowledge on that dark cycle. Bumblebee’s hope was that he could do the same.
Optimus was gone, dead, and given to the Well. There was no one else except Ratchet, who might have had the faintest idea as to how to get to Primus’s core safely. And yet he was shaking, terrified to the point of being unable to move, regardless of how badly his field flared with the desire to flee. Something had happened, and that fact did not give Bumblebee any confidence.
“I… I will wait for you here. But Bumblebee, you must listen to me.” Ratchet released his death grip on his damaged arm, leaving it free for all to see. Sideswipe cursed softly somewhere behind him, but Bumblebee could only stare at the damage in horror.
Deep, dark, and dangerous dents that turned into tears ran across Ratchet’s arm. Rust and dried energon bordered the wound, nonlethal, but a testament to something powerful down in the depths. There were four clear imprints, huge and imposing digit marks—dug into metal that for all intents and purposes, appeared delicate now. If Bumblebee looked closely, he could see a fifth imprint running along the underside of Ratchet’s arm.
Ratchet had been grabbed by something. And whatever that horror was, it had destroyed the long maintained stoicism of a mech that had never so much as flinched in the face of danger, save for the sake of another.
“Don’t touch him. Don’t even try to damage him. He will not hesitate to leave a far greater mark.” Ratchet’s entire being spoke of desperation. His plea rang with true terror, not unlike the horror that had been evident in his voice when the Unmaker woke. Still, this was deeper, more… personal.
“I understand.” Bumblebee didn’t bother trying to convince Ratchet to come. He was dead set on remaining, and based on his reaction, it was a miracle he wasn’t already high tailing it all the way back to Iacon.
“Here are the coordinates of the tunnel entrance and mapped paths I recorded.” Ratchet sent a message over a private link, a file quickly blaring red across Bumblebee’s vision. He accepted it easily and shared the information with his team.
“Be careful. You won’t like what you see.” Ratchet stepped away, his gaze turning anywhere except the giant hole in the ground leading down to the core of their planet. Bumblebee nodded and gestured for his team to follow. There was no more time to waste and he couldn’t afford to think too deeply on Ratchet’s warning.
Bumblebee half expected to have to rock climb down the Well in order to get to his target, but according to Ratchet’s map, there was a path for him to follow. It did take him and Drift arguing over the thing for half a groon before they found the entrance, but once the journey began, any mirth evaporated in an instant.
“I don’t like this…” Strongarm muttered, breaking the silence for only a moment before it became suffocating once more. She shivered, and not even Sideswipe was willing to talk as they delved into the depths. Bumblebee did his best to lead confidently, but the road was long and there were things that shifted in the dark the deeper they went. The entire area felt oddly… holy, but only in the vaguest sense.
Controlled seemed like a better word. The path was controlled. Everything was methodical, placed with purpose, even if Bumblebee was unable to parse it out. Drift and Windblade made a few awed comments off and on, but as the light dimmed and the tunnels became more cavernous, his team refused to speak. Bumblebee couldn’t blame them, especially not when there were pedeprints in the dust from mecha who traveled with Optimus Prime millennia ago.
This place carried too much history to be disrupted for longer than absolutely required.
“We are almost to the core. Stay together, and don’t touch anything. This is a place for Primes and Primes alone.” Bumblebee shivered instinctually as his internal map alerted him to the fact that they were close. It was hard to keep track of the time so deep beneath the surface, but he assumed they had been on the move for around a cycle. He expected the trip to take longer. Wasn’t Primus at the very core of their world?
The tunnels made no sense. They hurt to think about.
“Sweet Primus…” Sideswipe cursed, but it was lost in the void as they stepped through a final arch, quickly finding themselves basked in the light of their maker, or at least, his core. Bumblebee had to pause and look on in both awe and a degree of existential dread as cogs larger than life turned in a rhythmic manner, adhering to laws and designs long forgotten by any living being save for the one who ordered their continued functioning.
A thin pathway led closer to the core, one large enough for a mech or two depending on frame type. A few stray Predacon corpses long rusted littered the ground, dark energon leaking from their battered frames. They were lifeless, but they were a reminder of the battle hard fought and won.
“Everyone, keep a ways behind me. If something goes wrong, one of you needs to get out of here and regroup with Ratchet and my old teammates.” He held out an arm, not thinking too deeply on the motion as he cautiously moved forward. He could sense his team moving slowly a few dozen feet behind him, watching him like techno-hawks as he followed the curved pathway toward where he assumed he could address the slumbering god of Cybertron, or at least attempt to commune with the Primes of old.
Everything seemed to pulse and hum around him as he walked. And yet, there was no noise. Not a sound, not a creak, not even his own pedesteps as the light of Primus washed over him in waves. He might have been imagining it, but everything about the area felt intelligent, even alive. If mythology was to be believed, then his senses would be correct. However, it only served to unsettle him as he noted the marks of small pedes moving forward and far larger pedes heading toward the entrance.
How long had it been since the soil was disturbed? Were these Optimus’s marks? Or had someone else made the journey down to Primus to cry out to their absent god? He didn’t think so. The marks matched Optimus’s specs. That thought bothered him, although he could not pinpoint why. The dust should have moved. Something should have changed. Despite that, the echoes of a darker time remained engraved in the very path he walked.
He stepped cautiously, his optics drawn to a series of cables and connectors hanging down from where Primus’s core reached an accessible level. He momentarily wondered if Optimus’s body was stuck amongst those of the Predacons, or caught in wires beneath the thin path he carefully tread. Was the body of his leader hanging limply, forgotten by all but the void that embraced him?
Bumblebee wished that were the case. By Primus he wished that were the case when he finally ascended, following the path as close as it came to Primus’s core.
He wanted to purge as he set optics upon the tattered mess that hung from countless wires and cables. There was no denying who it was. No other mech bore red and blue so proudly or carried a relic of a forgotten age within his spark chamber. He was thinner now, seriously emaciated with rust and dried gore of all kinds spattered across his frame at various intervals. His plating hung off him at odd angles, some pieces even missing altogether. His left finial was broken and the optic on the same side was damaged to the point of almost appearing crushed.
The connectors attached to him dug beneath armor and protoform alike, bloating his frame in strange, unusual places. Blue tinted ooze dripped from unnatural wounds, falling down into the void beneath. The cables seemed to slither into him, creeping into every seam and strut, pulsing with the waves of Primus’s light. The Matrix glowed in time with it all, seemingly content even as its bearer hung lifelessly.
“Optimus, I’m so sorry.” His digits shook, and it took all his willpower to not turn away and purge as he stared at what remained of his mentor, his leader, and the only fatherly character he had ever known. The Prime was not honored in death, not like this. His body hung up like some sort of twisted trophy.
It wasn’t right. Optimus deserved better than this.
“I wish I could bury you properly, but this will have to do.” He stepped forward, doing his best to not look at the deep gashes along Optimus’s back where his jetpack had once been. He could see cables slithering there, sliding deep and along Optimus’s spine. He fought the urge to gag as he readied himself to act.
He would take the Matrix out of Optimus’s chassis and use it to find a way to commune with the Primes of old. His leader’s body would then be cut free, and he could rest without being strung up like a tormented attempt at taxidermy. It was the least he could do. After everything, Optimus should be allowed to pass without being held up in a grim state of disrepair.
“I wish you weren’t like this… I wish things were different.” He found himself murmuring softly as his digits barely brushed against the relic. However, his movement seemed to stir it, and Bumblebee leapt back with a yelp as the Matrix became encased in arcs of electricity. Optimus’s body convulsed, the cables holding it up twitching and shifting as the body was lifted higher, away from Bumblebee’s reach.
“Bee!” Sideswipe was the first to move forward, with the rest of the team following behind him. Bumblebee wished he could curse and ward them all off as what remained of his leader contorted in horrible ways. The legs squirmed, kicking at nothing, as power rippled through the living corpse. The arms tensed up, digits twitching madly as the body’s optics began to flare without rhyme or reason.
His spark flared in its chamber, terrified as the corpse gave another unfortunate spasm, a deafening crack echoing amidst the eerie silence. The entire chamber seemed to lurch in a spiritual way before the lights all dimmed, Primus’s very core lowering in intensity. Nothing happened for a klik, and Bumblebee was half tempted to try and reach out again as the body fell still. Maybe it was just… lingering processor function acting up. Perhaps the Matrix was trying to awaken a host that had long since gone offline. There were always possibilities-
“Bumblebee.” The garbled designation in that oh-so-familiar voice shook him, freezing Bumblebee in place as the corpse’s helm raised. The lone functional optic blazed bright enough to blind a mech as it settled on Bumblebee and his team. There was no way Optimus was alive. He couldn’t be. That… the thing hanging from wire and cables was a corpse. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be real.
“You have come to seek wisdom.” The corpse shuddered, its staticky voice steadying with every glyph uttered. Its helm tilted, the lone functional optic cycling in on Bumblebee in what could have been interest if it weren’t for the fact that there was no spark to power the frame that continued to defy reality.
“You come for my knowledge, that which has been lost to you, dear children.” The cables holding the corpse shifted, growing as more came down from the void. They slithered and writhed beneath the corpse’s plating, allowing the body to lower closer, almost to the point of being within touching distance. The blazing optic that illuminated the entire chamber flickered off and on, its gaze seemingly so glued to Bumblebee that it felt like fire on his plating. Yet, at the same time, it seemed the corpse was looking right through him, not seeing so much as observing.
“Little Orion came to me long ago. He too sought out my guidance.” The living corpse shifted, its arms moving in haphazard, jagged movements. Its digits twitched, seemingly trying to gesture and grasp at nonexistent objects. It hurt to watch as ooze leaked from between cracks, forced out by movement that should not have been possible. A few of the cables loosened, allowing the corpse to move a degree. It leaned forward, its tattered frame straining as its derma failed to match the syllables of the glyphs being uttered.
It was sickening. Bumblebee wanted to retch and flee, but his very spark lurched in his chassis, frozen before the entity that wore his father figure’s frame like a suit. There was no escape. Not for him, not for his terrified team.
“What will you give for that which you seek?” The corpse’s neck cracked and energon so old that it was little more than a tank churning goo dripped from torn ligaments and connectors. The corpse remained focused on him, a smile beginning to form on its face, cracking the delicate facial plating that once gave Optimus his classical reputation.
It reached out. Its arms gestured to Bumblebee as the light of Primus’s core pulsed behind it, shadowing it while also making it impossible to look away. It was a mockery of all Optimus was, and Bumblebee couldn’t help the rage that began to pool in his spark alongside the dread.
“What will you offer when my Champion gave me everything?” The Matrix flared, power arcing off it as the entity spoke. The corpse’s helm tilted a little too far to be possible for a normal mech, almost shifting a full ninety degrees. It grinned, its arms pulled close to itself as viscera and torn cables seeped out from between cracks in the corpse’s armor.
This thing was not Optimus. It merely wore his frame and mimicked his voice. Bumblebee’s desire to flee quickly found itself overshadowed by grim determination. Whatever the entity was, it could not be allowed to continue desecrating the frame of his leader and father.
“Who are you?” A slight tremor entered his voice as he spoke. His team huddled close to each other, stepping back from Bumblebee as the thing descended lower, its smile wide enough to tear through facial plating with ease. Bumblebee could see molar derma showing through the gashes that formed as the thing pushed Optimus’s body beyond its limits.
“I am the one below, he who formed your sparks from fire and starlight.” The entity’s smile softened, although it did nothing to take away from the rotted scent that emanated from the corpse. Rusted metal, stagnant energon, and the rancid smell of corroding internal fluids long since left to rot. That one optic blazed with renewed fury as Primus’s core brightened for a moment, joining the entity, the god as it, he spoke.
“I ask you again, what will you offer? How much are you willing to give for victory?” The cables slithered ever deeper into battered protoform, puppeting limbs as the god of all Cybertronians hung within the confines of Optimus’s corpse. Bumblebee’s digits shook as the being known as Primus continued to stare through the optic of his father.
This was so very wrong. What use would a god have for a mortal frame? Why would Primus do this to his chosen? Why would he demand sacrifices when already they had given all they could?
“I… I will give whatever is required.” He clenched his jaw, steeling himself for whatever was to come as Primus continued to stare, uncaring, unnatural, and yet so very loving all at once. His team’s fields flared in horror, and distantly he was aware of Windblade and Drift dropping to their knees in submission, be it out of fear or reverent respect. Strongarm and Sideswipe continued to step away, terrified as more cables wrapped around Optimus’s frame, supporting it so that the god could pilot it more freely.
“How noble of you. Optimus tended to you well. I can sense his touch, feel his influence all throughout your very being.” The corpse moved, the cables dragging it through the chamber as it did a slow circle around Bumblebee and his team. The god kept a safe distance away, remaining half submerged in shadow at any given moment as the spotlight that was Optimus’s optic continued to illuminate Bumblebee and those with him.
“I was right to let him keep you.” The voice echoed from all around and yet nowhere at once. Primus hung directly above Bumblebee for a moment, the corpse of Optimus Prime dripping fluids that made him want to gag. He resisted the urge, trying with all his might to not show how frightened he was as the god returned to his former position in front of the core, seemingly content.
“What does that mean?” The implications of the god’s words were startling to say the least. He spoke as though he controlled Optimus as easily as he did now, moving his body and commanding his voice. Would Optimus have left him if Primus had not ordained the Prime’s acquisition of Bumblebee after the destruction of his home city? Did Optimus have no free will? Or was the god toying with him just as Unicron had all those years ago?
“Nothing to you. It is of no consequence.” The god continued to smile in that sickly way that was only found on corpses where the mortician simply couldn’t manage to make the expression look natural. Optimus’s other finial snapped and fell into the void below as Primus contorted Optimus’s frame again, forcing it to jerkingly return to a somewhat comfortable position resting within the wires.
It didn’t look comfortable at all, not with wires and cables threatening to burst from every line and seam. If Optimus were alive, Bumblebee had no doubt that he would be in agony. He sincerely hoped his father figure wasn’t still functioning, trapped by some divine will within his frame as it twisted and shifted in ways it wasn’t meant to.
“Why are you doing this? Why can’t you let him rest?” Anger returned in full force as Bumblebee shook. Why did the monster that called himself a god have to do this to his chosen? Had Optimus not served enough?
He got his answer as the god paused, and then laughed.
It was a deep guttural and almost pained sound, one that bordered on a wheeze and the buzz of radio static all at once. Fluid must have been gathering in Optimus’s vocalizer all throughout his time rotting in the Well. The laughter merely emphasized that fact.
“Sweet child, have you no optics to see? Look upon this form, see that which it is and what it represents.” The god haphazardly threw Optimus’s arms open in a mock mimicry of an embrace. Primus smiled even wider, shattering further pieces of Optimus’s face as he forced it to match his design. He must have seen himself as benevolent and holy. He did not seem to understand the sheer horror of a god speaking through the deceased and rotted frame of a Prime.
“That means nothing to me.” Bumblebee stood defiantly, his door wings locked in place as he forced his hydraulics to stiffen. He refused to shake, to show weakness in front of an entity that bordered on maliciousness at every moment.
“A pity. No others have ever matched this one, my dear Optimus.” Primus spoke and almost lovingly forced Optimus’s arms to wrap around himself. The god tenderly caressed the Matrix, lovingly looking down upon it with what would have been an adoring expression if not for the rust that crept along the corpse’s face.
He looked so serene, and strangely enough, even holy. In Bumblebee’s mind, what he saw before him was a true depiction of their god. A rotting power of the old world who in turn chose new champions to pilot, corrode, and ultimately make just like him. Broken, and so very divine.
“So strong, so dutiful, so very faithful.” A look of pure joy spread on the corpse’s face. A piece of Optimus’s shoulder plating broke away and fell into the darkness. Primus did not react as he forced the arms of the corpse to stretch beyond their limits, as if to embrace the god’s chosen Prime with even more adoration.
“Always obedient and kind. He was, he is perfect. A true beacon for all my wayward creations.” The frame shuddered, almost like a clockwork engine as it let off steam. Energon long unused began to sizzle as the spotlight that was the god’s borrowed optic again returned to Bumblebee.
His team shook behind him. Sideswipe and Strongarm had long since fallen, their plating rattling as they unknowingly found themselves bowing. Bumblebee refused to budge. He clenched his servos into fists, unwilling to show the god before him just how frightened he was. Primus could destroy him in an instant, he was sure of it.
“How could I relinquish such perfection? He gives himself to me so very freely. Total submission, true supplication. Much unlike others who have come before and after him.” Again, the corpse moved forward, coming closer and closer to Bumblebee until it hung only a little ways off. He could almost touch his father’s broken face if he so desired.
But what truly set him off was not the proximity of the living corpse. Rather, it was the red and white paint that had been transferred onto the left servo of Primus’s borrowed vessel.
“You, did you-?” Realization dawned on him like a lighting strike. The corpse merely tilted its helm with its ever present smile.
“You think of the doctor, my Champion’s dearest friend. Yes, the damage was done by this borrowed servo. He dared to try and take what belongs to me and me alone.” Primus clenched the corpse’s fist, cables bulging within the limb in question as they were forcefully bloated with energon to facilitate movement. Bumblebee bit his lower derma as images of Ratchet’s terror and possible experience conjured in his processor. This thing had hurt him, that much was clear.
“He might have been a fine vessel once. But he is too tainted, no longer pure. Wise perhaps, and dutiful indeed. But he would never heed my call.” Primus reached up to cup his, or rather Optimus’s face. Weathered servos touched scuffed and dirty facial plates with all the delicateness one would give a porcelain doll. Bumblebee wanted to recoil in horror as the implications hit him. No mech should be subject to whatever in the name of the Thirteen this was.
“Optimus… my beloved Optimus. His faith has been a delight after so many ages of silence.” Primus maneuvered his borrowed servos down, brushing up against thin and frail armor plates. The singular functional optic Primus had to use trailed every movement, watching those servos which he controlled as they caressed the body the god inhabited. It was disturbing to watch. It almost looked like some sort of convoluted assault with how pleased the god looked as he forced Optimus’s body to examine itself.
“He gave himself to me willingly. Anything to win his little war. He called himself a sacrifice, but I have named him my Chosen.” The body shivered in what looked to be pleasure. Bumblebee couldn’t help the gag that he let out at the sight. The corpse merely continued to grin as it forced Optimus’s body to embrace itself, prompting a series of cables to burst and oozing energon to slide from new wounds.
“He obeyed my every command, listening to my whispers and calls for my brother’s return to slumber. He was so dutiful that he chose me over all others, even the likes of you.” The god laughed again, a sweet chortle that did not match Optimus in any capacity. Then, as if that weren’t enough, its helm tilted again, this time even further than before. Something snapped as Primus forced the corpse to comply with his wishes, ensuring the rotted frame’s helm all but swiveled into an impossible one hundred and eighty degree angle.
Anger swelled in his spark at the mere idea of Optimus throwing everything away for some dying deity. It wasn’t like him. Optimus was a Prime for the people. He would never cast away everything just for… some god who hardly cared. But what truly shook Bumblebee were the tears that began to fall from the singular functioning optic Optimus’s body still possessed. The tears were discolored due to rust and other contaminants, but they were real, and he highly doubted it was Primus who ordered Optimus’s coolant stores to empty themselves.
“He gave himself back to me entirely, and yet as he fell, he thought of you.” Bumblebee took a step back as Primus’s tone turned sharper, edging on something akin to agitation if not hatred. The god rattled, his borrowed frame shaking as the smile fell away.
“You and your fellow companions, his little playthings meant to guide and serve.” The god’s helm swiveled back into proper position, another unsettled crack echoing as something or other broke in Optimus’s battered frame.
“Be quiet. You don’t know him.” Bumblebee shot back, wrath, anguish, and everything else he had been doing his best to bottle up swelling to the surface of his mind and spark. Primus didn’t know slag. He had not been there as their people died off during the great war. He had not so much as offered one vague prophecy through his Prime throughout all the time Optimus carried the Matrix. He had no right to speak on the behalf of a mech who gave everything for their world.
“But don’t I?” Primus’s tone was sweet like freshly purified energex, but he did not smile.
“I know his spark. I lived within him throughout your entire war. His thoughts were mine to glean and his affections mine to allow or deny.” The corpse was moved, again shifting away from its lighted position and into shadow. Bumblebee couldn’t see it as Primus maneuvered through the dark, silence reigning for a long klik. The urge to activate his weapons was almost suffocating as he scanned the darkness, desperately trying to pinpoint the lurking threat.
His team didn’t so much as twitch as they remained in various states of terrified worship. Their optics flicked around, following Bumblebee’s lead as they too tried to track the threat. Not a spark spoke, not when the core of their world pulsed so calmly, serenely even. There was no acknowledgement of the body that hung in living chains, lurking in the dark and almost certainly observing.
“Do you miss him? Does this voice make you wish he were here?” The corpse called out, this time without any undertone of Primus’s interference. It sounded almost exactly like Optimus, and it came from all around. He had to fight back the instinctual urge to cry as the familiar gruff softness reached his audials.
It wasn’t Optimus. That wasn’t his father. Optimus Prime was dead and a god was making a mockery of him.
“Come. Come greet him.” He turned around, facing the way he came to try and determine where the voice was coming from. But when he returned to his previous position, the corpse was a mere few feet away, far closer than ever before. He let out an undignified scream as the corpse leaned in, its arms outstretched.
How had it moved so fast?
“You must come closer. He cannot hear you so far away.” The tone of the thing was sing-songy, but Bumblebee shook his helm rapidly in primal terror. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t HIM. The thing that smiled and watched him with one wide and far too bright optic was not his leader. The mech he wished he openly called father would have never done this. Optimus would have never beckoned him like some sort of… creature.
He stepped back, his bravery falling in the face of true fear. His venting hitched and he prepared to run as the corpse tilted its helm again, a snarl forming on its features for the first time since it began to speak.
“Why do you flee from me? Am I not your maker?” The thing lurched forward, its movements so stiff and unnatural the Bumblebee scrambled back just in time to dodge its attempts to grab him. The god seethed and Bumblebee’s team quickly floundered in their attempts to get to their pedes as a wrathful field pressed against them from all sides.
“Come here.” Primus looked enraged. His borrowed face contorted into anger so rarely seen on Optimus in life that to Bumblebee it looked like the mech he once called his leader was possessed by the Unmaker himself. The god looked a klik away from forcing his borrowed frame into combat before he stuttered, power arcing off him until at last, he stilled.
“You… must… run.” The voice of the corpse whirled to life once more, but unlike the clear sound that Primus produced despite the state of his borrowed frame, this sound was pained. It came in a wheeze that gurgled and croaked, finally matching the tears that stained the corpse’s face.
“Leave. Go before he can take you.” The body looked up, and the movement was smooth, evidently practiced. The optic that settled on Bumblebee was not nearly as bright. Rather, it was dim and flickering, sickly in the purest sense. It was a light that should not have been there with how badly the frame it was emanating from was damaged.
Bumblebee’s processor scrambled for an answer, but the conclusion was obvious. He didn’t want to believe it. A part of him hoped that his leader was at peace, if only in spark. But seeing the desperate expression on Optimus’s face… he knew who it was that spoke to him, and he wanted to kick, scream, and cry all at once as the body spasmed and control returned to the god of their world.
“How dare you.” The corpse bore no expression now. Only the words came out with a thick vile venom that stung just to listen to. The ground began to shake as Primus’s core pulsed rapidly, wires convulsing and ancient gears stalling for nanokliks at a time.
“How dare you taint him.” The voice rose in volume, no longer sounding like Optimus at all. A maelstrom of sound and sensation assaulted him from every conceivable angle as voices that were few and yet singular at the same time all converged on him. Energon and thick viscous fluid exploded out of Optimus’s throat as Primus’s speech shattered more and more of its components.
“He belongs to me.” The corpse stiffened, its singular optic blazing so brightly that smoke rose from places, prompting more tears to fall. But instead of smiting him as Bumblebee expected, the god instead fell still once more, his borrowed optic flickering as something seemed to change.
“He is innocent. Merely a child.” Optimus, the real Optimus spoke out in the gloom. His words were slow and agonizing, grating just to listen to. But Bumblebee found himself crying all the same as his leader began to plead, desperation evident in every glyph he uttered.
“I serve. I serve willingly.” He sounded like he was in agony.
“Glory to the one below. He who slumbers and gives us life.” Prayers flowed from his torn derma, regardless of the absolute torment he was likely enduring. Optimus held his servos in a loose symbol of the Primacy, his gaze unsteady as he spoke.
“Praise be to His holy station. His will is our demand.” He did not look up, but his stuttered venting spoke of life forced to continue operating regardless of its viability. Bumblebee couldn’t find the strength to wipe away his tears, not when his Prime pleaded for his very existence.
“There is no greater purpose than to offer Him our loyalty. For He is the truth where lies fester.” The prayers continued for kliks. There was no pause between them, nor did Optimus look up even once. Eventually, the prayers changed and strange glyphs that made no sense began to emerge in something akin to a babble. Bumblebee couldn’t tell if Optimus was too pained to continue or if something deeper was happening, but ultimately, the shaking stopped and everything returned to its previous state.
“What will you give to achieve victory?” The question was repeated and Bumblebee was not given time to move before the corpse swept down, grabbing his face with one monstrous servo so tightly that he could feel his jaw creaking. That lone optic all but blinded him as the god held him in place, all but lifting him off the ground as Primus demanded his answer.
“Would you give me your spark?” The servo that was not holding him still wandered to Bumblebee’s chassis, sweeping over his plating in a seemingly fond manner. He wanted to curl in on himself in shame, horror, and something that had long since evolved beyond terror. However, he was helpless to stop the god as he ran his borrowed digits along transformation seams, his expression hopeful as if he expected Bumblebee to open for him.
“If not yours, would you give me theirs?” Seeing his lack of reaction, Primus looked over his shoulder, down at Bumblebee’s team. He flailed, but the death grip the god had on his face was all but unbearable. Fear ran so deeply in his spark he couldn’t find a way to produce words. Linguistic codes were gone, far out of reach as he stared, meeting Primus’s gaze properly for the first time.
He saw his team reflected for a moment in that lone optic as it flickered and struggled to remain online. They were terrified, but similarly frozen. They were at the mercy of their god, and they had no say in the matter once he decided what to do.
“I am not a cruel maker. I am willing to make deals.” Digits reached up, dirty from energon, rust, and years of contamination. They brushed his derma, tracing around his optics and facial features like a lover would. He wheezed, tears falling from his optics with greater ferocity than ever as the god watched him with that strange apathy and love all balled together into a disgusting mix that left him wishing it could all be over.
Primus continued to touch him for a long few moments, a hum bubbling in his borrowed throat. Bumblebee sobbed softly all the while. This wasn’t right. Optimus was his father. All of this was wrong on a fundamental level. He only wanted information, a way to save their people. Why this? Why did it have to be like this?
“Ah… it seems the debt has been paid by another.” Suddenly, without warming, Primus let go of his face. Bumblebee fell to his knees gasping in sheer relief as the corpse pulled back, slowly returning to its original position.
“There shall be no sacrifice from you this cycle.” It spoke soothingly, as if nothing at all had happened during their interaction. Primus smiled in that divine manner that should have been comforting but only served to remind Bumblebee that this entity was a god more than capable of violence.
“You shall have your victory, when the time is right.” Weathered arms stretched out as the corpse performed a mock bow, at least as much as it could with the way it was bound.
“I will lend him to you for a time, at least until the threat is removed.” It straightened, more cables coming from the walls of the chamber to connect to Optimus’s battered frame. Bumblebee continued to shakily vent, observing in silence as the god pulled his puppet back, far out of reach.
“Go now. Tell the doctor and prepare yourselves.” Optimus’s arms were crossed over his chassis, an almost respectful position if it weren’t for the sheer amount of damage inflicted all over him from Primus’s attempts at controlling a mortal frame. Optimus’s lone optic flickered and glanced around for a moment before Primus uttered a final statement that haunted Bumblebee throughout his return journey.
“I know he was too afraid to stand before his god once again.”
Huh.
So what if he was?
Bumblebee couldn’t say he blamed Ratchet for much of anything anymore. He couldn't help but wonder if getting Megatron would have been the easier decision. At least the warlord wouldn’t condemn his spark to the void if he failed to show proper respect. At worst, he would be disemboweled. And quite frankly, compared to Primus’s little attempts at touch, he would prefer that any cycle of the vorn.
“I told you not to touch him.” Ratchet’s first comment was simple, but without any malice. Bumblebee all but collapsed into his arms, the aching marks on his face clear to see.
Ratchet didn’t comment after that.
No one did.
What happened that cycle was never spoken about, at least not in public. Bumblebee did his best to forget, especially when Primus seemed to keep up his end of his supposed… deal.
Optimus came back, pristine and shiny as if he’d never been dead to begin with. He showed no signs of distress or the vaguest recollection of events down in the Well. He played it all off as if he had been peacefully deceased and promptly returned to existence at the drop of a hat. But after everything, Bumblebee now knew the faint look in his optics, the shadow that followed him wherever he went.
Primus was watching. There was no escape from the god of Cybertronians and his precious Champion.
Over and over again Bumblebee found himself haunted, hearing the words replay again and again in his mind whenever Optimus’s optics met his.
”The debt has been paid by another.”
By the Thirteen. Just what had Optimus given to ensure no others suffered as he did?
Uh hey….uh…I been daydreaming as usual lately and I been having hilarious thoughts on Optimus being related to unicron instead and they have a chaotically good relationship despite their appearance and all that…what do you think on such an AU?
You always have the best au ideas. Seriously, I love them so much. And because I suddenly had a grand idea for this one, I thought I would once again disregard my request order and do a little writing for this lovely au. Hope you don't mind me expanding on this a bit. Although fair warning, this one is a little long since I got carried away writing it and ended up rambling bit.
Hidden in Plain Sight
Primus's creation of his Primes did not go unnoticed by his chaotic counterpart. Unicron was well aware of what his twin was doing and could have disrupted the creation of the Primes if he so desired. However he saw an opportunity to cause greater damage long term for his counterpart and so allowed Primus to continue crafting his champions. And so while his brother was busy forging the fledgling sparks of his firstborn children, Unicron began his work creating a little life of his own.
Carefully and over the course of what could have been an eternity, Unicron crafted one small spark, perfectly designed for his purposes. He filled the small spark with strength, indominable will, a desire to succeed by any means necessary, and an impossibly possessive nature. And then to ensure that nothing could stop his plan from coming to fruition, he gave his first and only child a gift.
His sparkling would not rend reality or have the strength to shatter worlds. No, that was Unicron's design. Instead he gave his child a subtler means of fulfilling his will. He gave his child an immortal spark. So long as Unicron lived, his sparkling would never truly perish, it would persist, and if all went according to plan, be a pain in Primus's side until the universe unraveled.
Unicron did not create to bring forth order, no, he created for the sole purpose of causing discord. Primus was born to fill the universe with some semblance of stability, whereas Unicron was born to disrupt it and force all life within it to change, for better or for worse. These traits he pushed upon his creation, urging it to strive for change, to push for growth even at the cost of pain. It was his hope that by giving his child immortality, the sparkling would learn and be able to keep Primus in check even when Unicron himself could not.
And so with his only child impressed with all the desires of its creator, Unicron shifted his gaze to the twelve tiny sparks circling his brother's core, growing while bathed in the light of their maker and preparing to be given frames. His smile was wicked as he grasped at the spark circling his own and scrubbed it of his presence. The little spark in his hold cried out, searching for him even as he moved to push the little one in amongst Primus's children. Unicron nearly stopped, almost unable to let go of his sparkling. However after steeling himself, he set the spark adrift, letting it settle in amongst the twelve other sparks so similar yet to different to itself.
Like a Cuckoo bird leaving its egg in another's nest, Unicron fled after leaving his creation among Primus's own, hoping that the creator god would feed and sustain it. Lovingly and unknowingly growing the very creature that would haunt him for eternity. At least, that was the plan...
Unbeknownst to Unicron, Primus had not been idle while his twin's creation was hidden amongst his own. He watched as the small purple spark was pushed into orbit around his core, and if he desired it, he could have smothered the little life, sending it back to its maker without a second thought. But Primus, despite sensing the danger, instead brought the small spark closer to himself, bathing it even more so than his own children in the light of his being. He saw how much his brother adored the little spark that now circled his core, and he couldn't in good conscience, snuff out the only life his brother loved so dearly. And so seeing what his brother had impressed upon the spark, Primus began to process of pushing his own, far subtler adjustments onto it in order to give the sparkling the best life possible.
Strength was balanced with humility. Indominable will was met with empathy. The desire to succeed was quieted by morality and a strong sense of duty. The spark's possessive nature was calmed by love and protectiveness. The urge to bring about change could not be removed, and so Primus etched in the spark deep longing for a better future alongside it.
Everything was made equal, balanced, as all things should be.
And so with his adjustments made, Primus accepted his brother's creation in amongst his own and treated it no differently from his children. He nurtured it lovingly and cultivated its growing personality even as Unicron's only sparkling tried to devour the other little sparks around it instinctually. Of course Primus intervened, instead sustaining the eternally starving spark with his own power and keeping it constantly bathed in his light in order to calm it. Then, when all of the sparks were fully developed, Primus gave each and every one of the little sparks circling him frames. Even Unicron's child was not exempt.
His thirteen Primes took to their frames without much issue. Some were more outlandish in design whereas others were rather simple in comparison. The first to fully adjust to their frames were those more closely attuned to their creator, whereas those who took longer were more inclined toward their creator's counterpart. However no matter their differences in appearance and personality, they all shared one defining trait, their sparks were stable, unchanging, and secure... that was all save one.
The Thirteenth Prime, the most tempered and diplomatic of his kin was... different. His frame was odd when compared to his siblings, his swirling nebula of a spark being the only thing holding it together. He lacked a power and a relic like the other Primes and always had an aura of a predator, always watching his siblings, always quiet as he walked, and always so startling in his observations. His spark never settled, always growing and shifting, changing with every passing moment to better match his adopted siblings. It was cause for concern at first, but the Thirteenth quickly appeared to settle, his spark shrinking down and remaining within the confines of his frame. And so after a time, his siblings paid his odd nature little heed and instead enjoyed his company.
They did not know what he was. They did not know that their brother was merely mirroring them, doing his best to blend in as he grew in power and the instincts his creator bestowed on him became active. They did not know that the Thirteenth was waiting, watching, and preparing for an chance to strike at his siblings as his creator intended.
When the time came for the Primes to battle Unicron, it was incredibly difficult for the Thirteenth. His entire being screamed at him to stop even as he lay blow after blow upon the entity he had been taught to believe was the enemy but knew was his creator. However he had bonded to his siblings and to his adopted father, the possessive nature his true creator had given him made it impossible for him to abandon them. They were his family, he would not allow them to perish by any servo save his own.
And so he and his siblings cut down the chaos god, casting him into a deep sleep, hopefully to never wake. But when this was done, the Thirteenth quickly began to deteriorate, his spark weakening and all the strength his creator had given him dissipating. And just like that, as the power of his maker fled him, the changes Primus had impressed upon him began to surface. The Thirteenth changed, instead of being a creature meant only to wreak havoc, he became and entity of balance, designed to keep all things equal, both good and evil.
And so as Primus fell deep into sleep, exhausted from his battle with Unicron, the Thirteenth's priorities and instincts shifted as he was bathed in his adopted maker's light one last time. He would ensure that his creators, his true and adopted one, never exterminated the other. He would keep them in balance, always keeping the scales even and supporting whatever side needed aid to ensure that both parties came out of the conflict alive.
As such when the Primes bickered and began to fight, the Thirteenth watched, he waited, and weighed the options before him critically. His nature did not allow him to support Prima and the others who wished for things to stay static. However he also could not bring himself to support the others who stood against Prima's faction and fought for their right to create, they were far too passionate. And so he bode his time and allowed his kin to fight one another as they wished, although he did make valiant attempts to create some form of compromise between his kin.
The Thirteenth expected that eventually his adopted siblings would calm themselves and reach a compromise. But every single one of his expectations and carefully crafted plans to calm his kin were thrown out the window when Megatronous killed Solus, throwing the Primes into civil war. Having no other choice, the Thirteenth joined the fight, trying to save as many of his siblings from each other as possible. In the end, after Liege Maximo had been killed, the Thirteenth used all of his influence and what little power he retained to convince the remaining Primes to let Megatronous go.
Things played out quickly from there, and the Primes broke apart. Some fleeing to the stars, some deciding to remain on the surface and watch over the beings that would come from the well, and others yet offering themselves to what remained of Solus. In the end, the Thirteenth saw that all was equally balanced for the time being and knowing that he would be needed later, joined Onyx and the others in the well, planning on waking once more when the scales tipped yet again.
The Calling
The Thirteenth had not exactly intended to be reborn through the Allspark. He was a creation of Unicron and had honestly thought that Primus's afterlife for his children was not accessible to him. But his adoptive father apparently viewed him as one of his children despite his less than stellar origins, and so the Allspark welcomed him when he entered the well.
His plan to keep his cover and also remain out of the picture until he was needed via awaiting rebirth by the servo of his true creator went flying out the window when Primus took in his spark as it had with his siblings, and allowed him to rest for a time. He could not remain for long, his immortal spark could never be content in eternal rest, and so he was quickly given a new frame and sent back to the surface again.
This change of plans was acceptable to the Thirteenth as he thanked his adoptive father and accepted his new frame. However what he was not made aware of was that his memory and true nature would be locked away when he took up the frame that Primus offered him. If he had been conscious enough at the time he would have been rather upset. He should have known that even half asleep, Primus would still try and influence him and give him a better life. But by the time he had crawled his way out of the well and wandered off into the wilds before anyone could stop him, all his memory had up and dissipated, leaving the dark prince to survive purely off instinct.
After a time he was picked up by Alpha Trion who could sense the familiar spark of the Thirteenth. And after cleaning him up a bit, Alpha Trion gave him the name Orion Pax, swiftly beginning the long arduous work of turning the feral youngling into a civilized mech.
Orion Pax lived without much fanfare. All he learned from the wilds helped him develop to be independent, his training under Alpha Trion gave him all the knowledge he could ever want, and for many millennia, all was as it should be, balanced. However peace did not last forever and soon enough Orion Pax got involved with Megatronous, rapidly helping his new friend gain a following. Together they fought for change, and just as quickly as their friendship developed, it shattered.
War enveloped Cybertron, and Orion Pax felt the call within his spark. And so he went to Primus's core, following instinct more than anything else. There Primus felt his familiar presence and granted him the Matrix of leadership, unlocking his memory and suppressed nature as well as granting him a frame better suited to his purposes.
On that day, Optimus, the last of the Primes, was forged.
Spawn of Unicron
The changes both of his creators had instilled in him made Optimus one of the greatest leaders the Autobots could ever wish for. He seemed a little too perfect to be real. Everything about him appeared to be without fault, from his skill in battle, his charisma, his caring nature, to his strategic genius.
In truth Optimus was constantly torn. His base nature as a creation of Unicron made him delight in battle, trial, tribulation, and victory in any sort of combat, verbal or physical. But the changes Primus made in him and the memories of his life as Orion Pax made him abhor the suffering such things wrought. Unicron's instruction made him view others as potential tools, things to manipulate and use to his own ends before anything else. And yet Primus's touch made him want to hold his loved ones close, keep them safe from the horrors of reality, even if it required sacrifice on his part. His entire identity was a mess of contradictions, and it certainly didn't help that some parts of his nature became more prominent depending on the strength of one of his creators.
On days where Unicron stirred, Optimus was a beast on the battlefield, causing even Megatron to look at him in fear. He was cold to those around him, often tending to look upon the loss of life apathetically, even disdainfully if the death did not benefit him. His maliciousness and tolerance for lackluster results took a nosedive, nearly leading him to harm his own soldiers on days where Unicron's influence was worst. He always apologized afterward, pinning the blame on the stress of war and the Matrix's prodding. His Autobots always forgave him in turn, but each harbored and still harbors a slight fear for and of their Prime.
On days where Primus was more active, Optimus had a way with words that boosted the morale of his own troops more so than any other time. He was saintly in his actions, often able to understand others and offer them the comfort they didn't know they needed. He was capable of making enemy soldiers turn away, often contemplative and sometimes even coming back to him with a desire to join him. He never raised his blade unless he had to and he took every care to ensure that his people were happy, even amidst a war. On those days he was dearly loved by his Autobots and greatly loathed by his enemies.
Thankfully for everyone, Optimus generally kept himself controlled, his grip on his emotions and moods being tight at all times. However when Optimus and his team arrived to earth, his carefully constructed stability started to crack. Even before him and his team entered the atmosphere he could feel the thrum of his creator's spark beneath the surface. He could hear his maker's whispers, his desires, the pulses that came from his spark, urging those who could feel him to do his bidding.
With the Matrix's aid and the constant distractions that came from his team and earth in the form of the human children and his team having to handle them. But as time passed and Megatron began messing with dark energon, Optimus found it harder and harder to not slip back into his original design. After Uniron started to awaken there was no stopping it. No matter what Optimus did to suppress or hide his nature, nothing could stop him from reacting as power unlike anything he had felt in millennia fueled him in response to his creator's waking.
In front of his entire team, his frame shifted, his spark growing beyond its confines as it was strengthened. His form became deadlier, sharper, and yet still so eerily graceful, the remnants of his creator's intent to have him hide among Primus's perfect children. His personality warped, falling right back into who he was before Unicron fell into stasis, only partially under the influence of the changes Primus impressed on him.
One would think that this would have led Optimus to go running to his creator, doing everything in his power to help him wake. But Optimus was a possessive creature, and he could not allow his maker to destroy earth for multiple reasons.
Earth is home to the humans, and since they spawned on Unicron's slumbering form, they are sort of like family. No family of his is allowed to die unless it is by his own servos.
HIS humans love earth. And Optimus would do anything to see those that are HIS are kept happy and healthy.
HIS team like earth and require the relics on it to restore Cybertron. As such, despite being a mudball, earth is something he finds himself required to keep somewhat secure.
Unicron may be his maker, but Optimus cannot exactly allow him to wake and go about destroying everything. To kill Primus would be to doom HIS loved ones to an existence without an afterlife waiting for them.
Also the balance matters... if only so that HIS loved ones don't need to deal with the fallout of two mighty gods duking it out.
Hence when Unicron started activating his avatars, Optimus went out and attempted to convince his maker to slumber a while longer... with varied results.
Unicron: "My glorious creation! Come! Let us conquer this universe and end Primus once and for all!"
Optimus: "I can't let you do that"
Unicron: "What? Why?"
Optimus: *gestures to his team and his humans* "Those are mine, and you waking up right now would hurt them"
Unicron: *aghast* "I am your creator!"
Optimus: "You left me to be raised by your twin and expected me to kill all of his creations despite the possessiveness that YOU gave me acting up because they actually showed me some affection like a real family. Not to mention Primus fixed up a scrap ton of instabilities in my spark making it so that I can actually live somewhat normally outside of combat"
Unicron: *feeling more than a little guilty* "Well... I didn't exactly intend for you to have any other purpose besides fighting by my side"
Optimus: *with his servos on his hips* "Wow. What a great father you are"
Unicron: *flustered as all get out* "Wait a moment! What if I let you keep your little playthings and made sure not to hurt them? Would you come with me then?"
Optimus: "Some of my possessions require the use of this planet. And the others rather like their homeworld. Either way I can't let you wake up entirely"
Unicron: "I really don't want to have to fight you my wayward spark. Don't make me"
Optimus: "And I would rather not have to betray my own creator, but then again its either that or complete annihilation of the universe which houses MY special people"
Unicron: "We don't have to do this"
Optimus: "We kind of do"
Unicron: ....
Optimus: .....
Unicron: "For the record, I'm sorry"
Optimus: *Already getting ready to take a nice swing at the avatar using his newfound strength* "A bit late for that I'm afraid"
This isn’t my usual kind of writing (that I post here anyway), but I saw this amazing piece of artwork (linked below) and after rewatching Predacons Rising I was really inspired to write something based on it. Enjoy our big man Optimus feeling small for once in the presence of big boy Primus himself :)
(I did want to make this longer but my motivation sadly disappeared :( I do think this is good for what it is though :))
Optimus’ senses were all slowly coming online.
At least, that was what he assumed was happening. First there was that thrumming of his spark in its chamber. A deep, sonorous hum filled his processor, and the Prime knew his audials must have activated by then. The mech flexed his digits, and slowly, feeling spread itself along the rest of his worn frame.
Then, when his optics finally came online, he witnessed a sight like no other unfolding itself before him.
He was in the depths of deep space, yet rushing past him were countless lights, zooming past him in every direction, in numbers he couldn’t begin to count. Each little light glowed with a faint color of their own, and Optimus’ optics struggled to process such a harmonious symphony of color with merely his own two optics.
As he looked down onto himself, he noticed the rainbow of lights reflecting off of his old plating. And as he flexed one servo, and then another, the mech raised his vision upwards into the churning current of lights above him as memories of the last few moments all rushed into him at once.
Unicron.
The Autobots.
The Well of All Sparks.
White.
Optimus had sacrificed his own spark in order to free the sparks trapped within the AllSpark. If that remained the case, he must have been truly one with the AllSpark by now.
So, if that was the case, how was it that he could still see his mechanical frame? Why wasn’t he another mere spark, joining the current with his brethren into worlds unknown?
A sudden bright light appears before the Prime before he could ponder the question. Optimus squints and raises a servo to shield his optics, yet when his optics cycle themselves and adjust to the gently dimming light, he no longer finds it in him to block his vision.
A gigantic figure appears before him. Plating made of pure, golden light, shining itself out and giving this being corporeal form. A halo wraps itself behind his head, circles appearing like their own dwarf planets encircling it. The mech-like being wears a faceplate and blank, yet knowing optics. It’s finials defy all sense of logic and separate themselves into ever shifting pieces along either side of his helm. Fractals of light jitter about the edges of his form, yet Optimus can make out just about every part of this being that makes him Cybertronian. Sturdy helm, wide chassis, and, of course, the massive servos that lift themselves up from behind the Prime, gently cupping him within the bigger mech’s hold.
“The Thirteenth,” the titan begins. His voice is hollow and echoes through the kaleidoscopic tunnel in which they stand, yet it shakes Optimus to the very core of his spark. The smaller mech finds himself breathless. “Orion Pax. Optimus Prime.”
“You…” Optimus can barely manage to piece together his words as the reality of whom he was facing finally began to hit him. “You are… Primus?” He asks, though there is no questioning lilt to the end of his words.
The golden being gives a mere nod.
In that very moment, Optimus inclines his head deeply, and kneels. “It is a true honor to stand before you, my creator,” he professes as his helm is hung low. Then, he raises his helm back up, if only to properly address Cybertron’s god. “To what do I owe the great privilege of getting your audience?”
“Rise,” Primus’ voice gently commands, and Optimus obliges him. As he speaks, his voice is low and soft, yet still emits a commanding air that no creature— Cybertronian or otherwise— could ever hope to find it in themselves to defy. “Optimus Prime. You have done not only myself a great service, yet the entirety of Cybertron’s people.”
Optimus stands tall as Primus continues. Not out of arrogance, not in the slightest— but out of the innate compulsion to take in every last feature about the god.
“You have committed the ultimate sacrifice. In exchange for your own life, you not only saved my own, yet saved the future of the Cybertronian race in and of itself.” The hands behind Optimus raise themselves higher, and Optimus can’t help but flinch forwards the smallest bit as they gently bump into him. He’s enveloped entirely by that golden light, the pure warmth of the servo behind him washing away any possible fears or doubts. Optimus is raised gently within Primus’ palms, and the creator god gazes down at him with an emotion the Prime can only describe as love.
“And for that, I must thank you.”
Beats Antique is a trio that creates a unique experience. Their music combined with Zoe Jakes' dance is said to be wonderful. Unfortunately, I have never seen them live and I probably will not any time soon. Doesn't mean they don't have some interesting music videos though.
I first stumbled across this when I think I was on a Primus kick for a small bit. The music video did catch my attention but the music made me stay for what Beats Antique brought.
This song honestly got me thinking of how interesting it could be to have a sort of action-platformer starring someone named Beezlebub. I also had the funny idea of Beelzebub from the Shin Megami Tensei series just singing this for whatever reason. Or just randomly saying shit like he always eats his veggies. Or that his eyes reflect the flame.
Some cursed Transformers thoughts
Energon comes from Primus' body. He nurses his young.
In continuities where energon is blood, everybody is a vampire. They're cannibalizing their god. It's like transubstantiation except actually true.
Primus gives birth to the cybertronians, who are themselves sterile. He's an insect queen.
Does that mean TFP Optimus becomes the insect queen at the end, since Primus died and he merged with The Allspark?
Marvel G1 Optimus' body is the one true source of life. HE is the insect queen.
Marvel G1 Shockwave noncon bred Optimus' severed head to create the Marvel G1 Constructicons (this is literally the canon, i'm just explaining it cursedly. Idk if what Shockwave did was more analogous to impregnating Optimus, or to making Optimus impregnate him).
TFP Shockwave sure likes making babies. Does he have a breeding kink or something?
Covenant Of Primus, while having inconsistent characterization, had Shockwave seeming to have an obsession with having a lot of children (bots he experimented on and altered).
TFP Shockwave is also obsessed with making dinosaurs and dragons. Is he some kind of a scalie???
I'm working on clearing out some old tabs, and ran across this piece from last fall. The short version is that your gut microbiome and other microbes that accompany you in a series of symbiotic relationships throughout your lifetime persist even after you die. While you might assume that these bacteria and other little beings would perish along with you once you're no longer warm and living, it turns out that they shift gears upon your death, being part of the massive effort to return your remains en masse to the nutrient cycle.
There's honestly something rather poetic about that. Here you've spent a lifetime being the center of a holobiont--a sort of miniature, migratory ecosystem. And these many millions of life forms that you have given safe harbor to for thousands upon thousands of their generations are among the funerary vanguard caring for your remains after you're gone. They pour forth from their ancestral lands--the gut, the skin, and other discrete places--and spread out through even the most protected regions of your form.
And then, just as you constructed your body, molecule by molecule, from a lifetime of nutrients you consumed, so do these microbes go through the process of returning everything you borrowed back to the wider cycles of food and growth and life and death. The ancient halls where their ancestors lived in relative stability are now taken apart in the open air, and their descendants will disperse their inheritance into the soil and the water through the perpetual process of decomposition.
I've always wanted a green burial, and I find it comforting that when my remains are laid in the ground, they'll be accompanied by the tiny ecosystems I spent a lifetime tending, and who will return the favor by sending my molecules off in a billion new directions.
Cybertronian Colloquialisms - Primes Edition
So we've all heard "By the AllSpark!" or "What in the Pit?" or "Oh Primus" in our TF media. However, I feel like TF writers are missing out on the goldmine that is colloquialisms invoking the different Primes. So, here is a small collection of such colloquialisms, and please, feel free to add more if you have any of your own you use.
"Primus below!" - Exclamation similar to "God above!", invoking the fact that Primus is the core of Cybertron.
"Vector give me patience" - Often paired with "because if Prima gives me strength, I'm going to need bail money." The go-to for when somebot if getting on your last nerves.
"To Alchemist!" - A popular drinking toast, to thank Alchemist Prime for inventing high grade.
"The Three Below" - Refers to Solus, Onyx, and Micronus, the three Primes who formed the Well of AllSparks
"Maximum Blessings on you" - a stealth insult/curse from some dialects, where "Maximum" and "Maximo's" are nearly indistinguishable. As Liege Maximo was the Prime of Lies and Trickery, it's a fitting way to wish someone ill.
“Solus’s slag pit” - Used for something incredible, awful, and incredibly awful. Often used to refer to the latest high society fashion mess.
"Find peace or take it up with the Fallen." - In other words, calm down or screw off.
“As you say, my Liege” - A condescending remark towards a person who’s attempting to lie, cheat or mislead.
Again, if you have any primal colloquialisms you use for your fics, reblog and share them with the rest of us.
Two kitties with Cerebellar Hyperplasia. Essentially they just wobble in unison, but can still enjoy life to the fullest with one another
