Sideswipe - Tumblr Posts

I'll take ' men who are overly confident but are super goofy/flirty for 200', alex

Mirage/Dino, Dark of the Moon

Sunny: “Sideswipe prefers to think of them as games, and there have been too many to pinpoint the first.”

“But I can tell you when he’s bored, things like the ‘Secret Service Game’ are created.”

If tumbler didn’t make me love ratchet; then this fic certainly did.

I did not come here for ratchet. But damn do I love him.

Fic: life finds a way; By kyn on Ao3

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe AU design commissions for @mariequitecontrary for their fic “A Spark’s Rhythm”

Rarely get to draw the lambros so this was fun! I love speedster jocks ☀️🌙🏎

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe AU design commissions for @mariequitecontrary for their fic “A Spark’s Rhythm”

Rarely get to draw the lambros so this was fun! I love speedster jocks ☀️🌙🏎

just a quick thought abt how funny it would be if rid15 had Megstronus meet Alpha Trion (i havent watch the show). the 13 primes has unmatched comedic potential for a messed up family sitcom.

AT and Megaus were hard to draw tbh. All primes are. Honestly I have a two ideas abt how their reunion would go. Either they would calmly talk it out or they would distance from each other. Like they both are very lonely (one self-exiled and the other was the only one on Cybertron) but they werent ready for this whole conversation.

(ID: frist image is a split panel with Alpha Trion and Megatronus saying each others names. the second panel is a close up to Sideswipe's face with AT's body on the left. SS askes "You know him?". Third image shows both AT and SS standing, former facepalming. He says "Do i know him...", annoyed. The last picture is the same, but AT points his palm at the screen and exclaims "He's my brother!" End of ID)

Cybertronian Civil Warfare

One wrong move. That was all it took to make Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, mad. Now Strongarm and Sideswipe have to deal with the unfortunate consequences of their actions by participating in Optimus's game.

(First chapter of a fic I am writing that will showcase some of the stuff being at war did to Bee and co :3)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

No one was entirely sure what thought process led to the current situation, but Strongarm could remember when it started. 

The team had gathered to celebrate what was quickly being dubbed the third liberation of Cybertron when it all began. Strongarm and her team, the Bee Team as they were called, were invited to celebrate with Team Prime in the newly constructed crystal gardens attached to the  restored Hall of Records. Optimus Prime himself had been the one to give out the invitations, and not a spark had refused. Sideswipe had of course made a fuss about having to go to what he assumed was a formal event, but Strongarm had shut him up well enough beforehand.

Meeting Team Prime in a more civil setting was exciting and she had no intention of missing it for the world. But of course, someone had to screw up. And that screw up in turn led to a series of unfortunate and poorly thought out words.

Primus, did they frag up.

“Look, all I am saying is that I don’t get why you all are so high strung all the time.” Sideswipe remarked as he sipped from his cup of high grade. His optics flared a pale blue, a sign of overcharge from too much to drink. A scowl marred his features and Strongarm suppressed the urge to march over and swat him.

“Why is that Sideswipe?” Optimus questioned patiently from where he sat at the head of the table. The others present had largely continued on with their activities, uncaring of the conversation, but Sideswipe could sense the way the others threw their fields wider, subconsciously keeping an optic on the situation.  

“It's pretty bad with Bee. He’s always whining about us using too much energon and he gets angry about us not being up all night long for our patrol despite the fact that we have cameras.” Sideswipe glared at their leader and Strongarm almost burst from the rage pooling in her spark. Did the little glitch have no respect? These were war veterans for Primus’s sake.

“Sideswipe, keep your grievances back at base. We are in a public area-” Bumblebee chimed in, chastation heavy in his tone.  The former scout’s optics cycled in on Sideswipe, a sign of agitation that Strongarm had long learned to notice serving under him. Only Windblade’s firm grasp on her arm kept her from getting up to teach the mech across from her a lesson.

“Bumblebee, let him speak. It is at times like these that such issues should be aired.” Optimus sat perfectly composed in his chair, his attention on the red speedster as Sideswipe grumbled and continued, his words somewhat slurred as he continued.

“You all constantly act like you are better than us. You treat us like newsparks. I’ve been functional for long enough! By old Cybertronian standards I am fully framed!” Sideswipe slammed his cup onto the table as if he were a sparkling and glared at the elder mecha present. Smokescreen stood up abruptly from where he was seated, anger etched onto his features. 

“You are a newspark Sideswipe. I am still considered young even though I was forged during the height of the war.” Smokescreen’s servos were planted firmly on the table, his doorwings twitching as he glared. The Wreckers at the table paused in their activities, their words quieting as they stopped to pay attention. Their stillness swiftly led to the remainder of the table falling silent to observe.

Strongarm couldn’t help the way her plating clamped down around her as the war veterans present seemed to make a shield around themselves with their fields. It was suffocating to endure. 

“That’s exactly my problem! You get treated so much better than us and you don’t act much different!” Sideswipe wasn’t making any sense. His logic wasn’t adding up, and yet his field screamed of outrage. Evidently he had a lot more going on than he could voice. But Strongarm didn’t care to hear it.

“Sideswipe! Don’t be so rude! We are among war veterans and heroes!” Strongarm stood up as well. Her field flared in anger and Smokescreen looked over at her so sharply that she almost felt the urge to sit down. Ratchet slowly began to rise, his servos up in a placating manner as he attempted to speak before being cut off.

“You all fought in a war. So what? I’ve fought Cons and they weren’t even all that bad!” Sideswipe stood proudly despite the fact that he obviously wasn’t thinking straight. Strongarm wished she could sink into the ground as the gazes of the elder mecha present all zoned in on Sideswipe as if he were fresh energon ready for the harvest. She couldn’t tell whose field was whose, but she didn’t need to. All of them were running with an undercurrent of rage, at least those amongst team Prime. Windblade, Drift and his minicons, and Grimlock quickly began to gather beside Strongarm, stepping back from the table as things became more heated.

“Sideswipe, I believe you are not thinking clearly. What you are saying is insinuating a great deal more than I think you intend to convey.” Optimus was still composed ever as the rest of Team Prime slowly began to get up and move. Sideswipe didn’t seem to notice as Bulkhead carefully, and with surprising stealth, pulled the table out of the way in time for the Prime to stand.

This felt practiced, rehearsed almost in a sick way. Strongarm wasn’t sure what to do, what to say even. But she wasn’t given the chance as Bumblebee stepped in front of her and the rest of their team, his gaze surprisingly steely as the situation continued to unfold. 

“Bee, what’s going on?” Grimlock asked hesitantly. The dinobot was not usually one to look so… concerned. It startled Strongarm in a way. He was usually always ready for a fight, even against one like Optimus. Here though? It looked like everyone, including the battle hardened Drift, wanted nothing to do with the situation. 

“Quiet. Optimus will handle this.” There was no room for disagreement in Bumblebee’s voice. He was surprisingly stern. Usually he was loose in his methods of leadership. However as Smokescreen came over and stood at attention right next to Strongarm’s leader, she felt fear begin to gather in her spark.

This was serious, and everyone seemed to know it.

“I mean it all! I don’t get why you all do all this stupid paranoid slag all the time! Always on our afts about our energon usage and lack of combat training or all that other scrap!” Sideswipe’s field was vicious and sharp, but untrained. His didn’t hurt. But those around them? By the Allspark, Strongarm could feel pinpricks running all along her plating from where Bumblebee and Smokescreen practically emanated outrage.

“Sideswipe.” The Prime’s tone had shifted. It was subtle, almost too soft for Strongarm to notice. But her training under Bumblebee had done her good. She wasn’t a spy by any means, or even a special agent. However the few weeks of interrogation training she underwent were having their influence.

Optimus wasn’t happy.

“I don’t want to hear whatever fragging excuses you have, you old bag of bolts! You wouldn’t be held in such high esteem if you just ended the war when it began!” Everyone froze, even Grimlock. Windblade seemed too shaken to speak, her wings dipping so low they almost touched the ground as she stared on in horror. Strongarm was sure she was making a similar expression as Optimus’s expression changed.

He always wore gentle expressions, or at least a soft firmness or strictness. Now though? His optics were startlingly wide, almost as though he were looking at Sideswipe as some sort of prey animal. Optimus’s posture dipped, becoming tenser and his digits twitching ever so slightly. A true predator. 

“Sideswipe, that is enough.” Arcee hissed through gritted denta. The elder femme seemed two kliks away from shredding Sideswipe and appeared to only be kept in place by Bulkhead who glanced down at her in warning. Grimlock was shaking like a leaf and Slipestream and Jetstorm weren’t much better off. They huddled around their carrier unit fearfully and Drift subtly drew his swords, the tension in the air setting him on edge.

Strongarm couldn’t blame him when she found herself palming her pistol on instinct. 

“The Cons we’ve fought have been smallfry. Sure Megaton might have been a piece of work, but you could have ended this easily! But NO, you dragged it all out! Our planet DIED because you and the rest of these plasma helmed glitches didn’t want to put aside your egos and end things!” Strongarm didn’t think things could get worse. Evidently she was wrong. Team Prime were all angry. Even Ratchet seemed to be on the cusp of letting loose what Strongarm could only imagine was a legendary string of curses.

Despite that, Sideswipe must have been absolutely sloshed since he just. Kept. going. 

“Great and mighty Optimus Prime my aft! All you did was make things worse! We wouldn’t have had to deal with all this Primus forsaken fallout if you had just done the right thing in the first place!” There it was. Strongarm could feel it. This was the pinnacle. One more word and things were going to explode.

“Sideswipe. This is the only warning I will give you. Be silent now, or I will need to take disciplinary action on account of you disturbing the peace.” It was a bit of a stretch legally. However it seemed Optimus, and the rest of team Prime for that matter, didn’t care all that much. The tension was heavy. It was too much. 

“Sir, that would be an abuse of power. Sideswipe has the right to free speech. He can technically say what he wants regardless-” Over a dozen optics fell on Strongarm like lasers. She wished she hadn’t spoken, but she couldn’t back down now. 

“What I mean to say is that, uh, Autobot law does not permit…” She trailed off, but the wrath of those present was already on her. Sideswipe didn’t even seem to be aware she was speaking on his behalf. A bitter part of her processors resented that. She was hurting her reputation with Optimus Prime and likely the rest of team Prime just to stick up for him.

“What are you insinuating Strongarm?” She didn’t need to look. Bumblebee’s optics were boring into her with such intensity that if he were to be granted the ability to kill on sight, Strongarm was sure she would be dead by now. Still, no one else spoke up. The team were silent save for their unspoken anger which hummed in the air like a dooming court sentence. 

She floundered, stress prompting her to rehearse what Sideswipe had said. He was saying things that no one was able to, words which should never be spoken aloud. However as she fidgeted with Optimus’s far too wide optics glued to her, she sputtered out a response.

“He makes valid points!” Oh if looks could kill, Strongarm was sure that she and Sideswipe would be dead a thousand times over.

“How so?” The Prime questioned, his tone too smooth and practiced. It was akin to how cashiers and those who worked in customer service would smile and wave even as they internally cursed to the stars and beyond. 

“It’s just… according to the records, the war started because you and Megatron had a disagreement and failed to work it out. Then as the war went on, neither of you were willing to compromise or kill the other…” Smokescreen stepped forward, she could feel his field pressing against her. He felt murderous, so much so she couldn’t bear to look as Optimus tilted his helm ever so slightly in what had to be faux curiosity. 

“And it is also stated that the Decepticons weren’t really all that much of a threat beyond their numbers. The Autobots had superiority throughout a good portion of the war, but it was never used. The Decepticons could have been crushed easily if you look at the tactics and the resources available at the time.” Any other words died on her glossa as Smokescreen’s servo pressed heavily on her shoulder, his face so eerily composed that she genuinely feared for her life. Optimus didn’t so much as twitch as he hummed, his optics cycling ominously.

“So that is what you believe. Is that what the history books say?” Sideswipe had evidently finally begun to sober up a bit as he stepped back. Optimus’s field, which had up until that point been held totally at ease, finally spread out.

It was just a flare, but it dropped Strongarm to a knee as she looked up in horror. Optimus was mad. Her plating rattled and her hydraulics tensed as fear threatened to overwhelm her. Windblade, Drift, his minicons, and Sideswipe didn’t appear to be fending much better when she glanced over at them. 

“You believe our sacrifices were for nothing? That the countless dead were lost in a meaningless conflict? How very amusing.” Strongarm didn’t know Optimus, she didn’t even try to claim she was acquainted with him to any serious degree. But his voice… it wasn’t him. He wasn’t talking like the Prime she knew and served alongside back on Earth. 

However, just as quickly as it came, the tension dissipated like smoke as Optimus straightened his posture, composed himself and turned to exit the garden with only one final declaration. 

“It seems you have much to learn. Return to your base of operations until you receive further orders. I do not wish to see you at this moment or for the foreseeable future.” Then, just like that, Optimus left. Strongarm promptly hunched over and purged whatever she had consumed during the gathering. Sideswipe for his part immediately found himself smacked so hard upside the helm by Bumblebee that she was sure he was seeing stars. Those of team Prime were cold as they quietly gathered their things and left, not another word uttered between them.

Ratchet lingered just long enough to throw a hangover cure at Sideswipe’s face, but beyond that, only Smokescreen stuck around until Bumblebee waved him off. They were fragged. Strongarm could sense it as she was pulled to her pedes and put in with the rest of the Bee team in silence. Bumblebee said nothing as he dragged Sideswipe behind him by his right pede, uncaring of the pained groans of the speedster. 

Windblade and Drift offered their arms to keep Strongarm steady as her tanks churned in nausea and her vision swam. She accepted it without question, not even having the energy to yell at Grimlock as the dinobot all but threw himself through the space bridge back to Earth. 

They had messed up royally. 

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It was to be expected really. All sorts of double patrols, cleaning duty, and plenty of additional training sessions made perfect sense considering how badly both she and Sideswipe had messed up. However the predicted backlash from Optimus never arrived. Strongarm spent months dreading it, even waking up in terror a few times in fear of those far too wide optics zoning in on her. 

Yet, as the months passed, nothing happened. Bumblebee was cold for the first little while, but he settled back into his usual behaviors within a month. Grimlock seemed to forget all about the incident, Drift and Windblade put it behind them, and Sideswipe spent quite a few weeks in a similar state of alertness to Strongarm before he too calmed. Everything went back to normal without any word from Optimus, not even a transmission or a single set of orders. 

Everything… was normal. And somehow that scared Strongarm more than it comforted her. She had never seen Optimus so angry, and from the looks of it, neither had Team Prime, at least not in a very long time. 

Her anxiety grew each passing month, until at last, after around a whole year on Earth, a transmission arrived from Cybertron along with its messenger.

“Hey kiddos! I’ve got a message from Prime for you all! It's addressed to Sideswipe and Strongarm specifically, but I am pretty sure it was intended for your group as a whole.” Jazz, the special operations agent who Strongarm hadn’t seen since they took down the Council, stood before them. He was as cheerful as ever as he handed over a singular holographic disc. Bumblebee took it from him before Strongarm or Sideswipe could do so.

“Did he give any instructions?” Bumblebee questioned simply, suspicion lacing his tone. Jazz shrugged and smiled, his visor glinting in the light as he put his servos on his hips casually.

“Turn it on. Whatever he has to say will probably be on there.” An obvious assumption, but one Strongarm found herself somewhat concerned with as Bumblebee nodded and plugged the disk into the terminal. There was a long harrowing silence in the space as the rest of team Bee gathered around, watching with rapt attention as the screen flickered on.

“Greetings. It has been some time since our last communication.” Optimus’s voice rang out clearly in the space as his face pixelated into being on the screen. He seemed completely at ease as he sat in a chair, a series of datapads at his side.

“In light of your previous statements, I have taken the time to prepare an activity for all of you to participate in. All save for Strongarm and Sideswipe will not be forced to participate if they choose to not engage.” She was already being singled out. Beside her, Strongarm sensed Sideswipe stiffening. This was the other pede finally dropping. Their punishment for speaking out of line.

“Before you bring forward any legal concerns, let it be said before I begin that everything I have prepared is well within my rights. The provisionary council has given me the authority to move your team as I see fit, and all supplies and resources used in the upcoming activity have been funded through my personal efforts and connections.” Optimus sat smugly, or at least that is how it looked to Strongarm as he leaned forward, a little closer to the camera. Fear rattled down her spinal struts as she came to the dark conclusion that the whole year of silence hadn’t been because Optimus forgot. No, she had not been so lucky.

He had been preparing for whatever this was.

“Your involvement is compulsory.” Again, a warning. In the video, Optimus smiled, but it was a sickening thing that left Strongarm’s tanks churning. She reached out to hold Sideswipe’s arm instinctually, seeking the comfort of another as Windblade and Drift came nearer, doing their best to offer silent comradery as the words continued to relay through the audio systems of the terminal. 

“We will be engaging in a real time strategy game made as realistic as possible through my resources. This game will take place in the uninhabited city of Helex in exactly one Earth month. You will have the entirety of that time to prepare.” A grin grew on Optimus’s face, and Primus, Strongarm felt that same churning in her tanks all over again. She wanted to be sick as the Prime tilted his helm, an unnatural ease to his movements.

“You may recruit whoever you see fit. However you may have no more than a hundred units under your control.” Every word was punctuated, almost as if Optimus had long ago rehearsed the lines.

“Any Autobot you can convince to join you is within your rights to recruit. To make things fair, I will not call upon my team or any close allies amongst the Autobots to assist me.” Every movement was far too crisp, practiced even as Optimus held up a datapad showing a map of the city of Helex. 

“Are you putting it together now?” There was a degree of amusement in the Prime’s voice, and looking around, not a spark seemed to like it. Not even Bumblebee. 

“You will have three main objectives which will be given to you a day before the start of the game. I have not selected these objectives. All objectives have been chosen by Elita-One and other neutral parties.” This was real. 

“Complete all three of these objectives, and you will have victory. However in the event that neither faction involved in this conflict completes all of them, the one with the most completed objectives will be victorious.” Strongarm’s hydraulics threatened to falter as Optimus kept talking. Bumblebee held her up by the arm and captured Sideswipe by his neck guard. Their leader was deadly serious as he listened and forced them to endure. 

“Further details will be given to you upon your arrival at the site. In the meantime, prepare for any possibility. This is war, and I have no intention of going easy on you.” Why? Why did it have to be Optimus Prime who they angered?

“Designate a leader and begin recruiting. You will have no resources from the state, so all of your preparations must come from your own sources. My advice is simple. Recruit those with influence.” Optimus smiled again as he leaned forward in his chair, his optics too wide and too threatening.

“I do this not out of malice or bitterness, but instead to make a point.” Not out of malice her aft. There was no way there was not a personal grudge involved for Optimus to put so much effort into this. 

“It is my hope that our game will give you a taste of what our war was like. May you find victory, or failing that, learn a lesson amidst this trial to come. Till all are one.” The video shut down with a dooming whirl and Strongarm struggled to not purge right then and there. What had they gotten into?

“So we are playing that game…” Bumblebee murmured, his optics distant.

“You kiddos made him really mad. Well it wasn’t just you, but you certainly played a part! This will be interesting to watch play out.” Jazz commented with far too much cheer in his tone. Was all of this just a game? Even Bumblebee didn’t seem phased. 

“He can’t seriously be expecting us to do this- this bloodsport!” Sideswipe burst out, breaking the atmosphere.

“I agree. Isn’t this going too far?” Windblade commented carefully. 

“Nope! This is a common game amongst troops, at least during the war. Rion just seems to be taking it to the next level.” Frag it all.

“Then I suppose there is nothing to be done. I shall join this game, if only to give my students additional training.” The minicons under Drift’s command look decidedly unhappy, but Strongarm could only feel a bitter sense of relief. This was really happening.

“We… better get to work.” Strongarm choked out, her vocalizer failing her as the image of Optimus’s grin burned itself into her mind.

What had she gotten herself into?

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?

Sunny and Sides WIP 

Designs courtesy of @thegoldenshi-shi

they're vibing in kaon or something

designs courtesy of @thegoldenshi-shi

Some Sunstreaker and Sideswipe aka The Twins for y'all ❤️💛

Some Sunstreaker and Sideswipe aka The Twins for y'all ❤️💛

Hello, fellow tumblr users!

if you have a drawing suggestion, like from TFP, G1, RB, RID2015, or TFA, I'd be happy to draw it! I have artblock right now so if you have any ideas you can message me directly or do an ask!

Haha! This is amazing. :)

Do Strongarm/Sideswipe, please?

I hate you.

I hate you too. ❤️

Could you do dragon Strongarm?

Getting a moments rest before sideswipe breaks out and sets all hell loose

💀

RID 15 in a nutshell.

Just gonna leave this here.

POV : Sanemi givings warnings to Tanjirou for keeping his demon sister before judging Tanjirou's friends

Based on a TF RID comic panel because it reminds me of them

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe AU design commissions for @mariequitecontrary for their fic “A Spark’s Rhythm”

Rarely get to draw the lambros so this was fun! I love speedster jocks ☀️🌙🏎