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heliopauseentertainments · 5 hours

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Reforged

Continuity: IDW1 Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus

Characters: Megatron, Rodimus, Prowl, Mistress of Flame, Minimus Ambus, Ultra Magnus, Torchbearers, the Lost Light crew

Warnings: Suggestive themes, occasional depictions of trauma, alcohol & drug use, some gore, canon divergence and canon blending. Slow burn. Incredibly slow burn. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags.

AO3 Summary: In which Rodimus is "mistaken" as the reincarnation of Solus Prime. A 217k word fanfic novel with themes of romance, xenoreligion, reincarnation, the role of fate, and religious political conspiracies, Reforged expands on the moon colony of Caminus, its dominant culture, and what myth means to a recalcitrant "former" Prime on "vacation" to forestall fate, a condemned war criminal living on borrowed time, and an obsessed investigator fixated on discovering a dangerous hidden agenda. First chapter under cut, AO3 has the rest. Also crossposted to DreamWidth.

The supposed “lap of honor,” to which Rodimus had “convinced” Prowl to reluctantly allow, was intended to be a sort of… last hurrah for the crew and the Lost Light itself before it would be decommissioned, Megatron would surrender to custody pending litigation, and everyone else would go their separate ways. A happy ending. For most involved anyway. In his own way, he saw impending judgment as his own happy ending. He was tired and ready to put the last of his unconquered demons to bed. The sense of finality was… comforting somehow.

Although, one last trip wouldn’t hurt. A chance to make a few more good memories with friends and colleagues who had made commanding—“co-commanding” his own thoughts interrupted.

Great. Now he was doing it too.

They all had made co-commanding this flying madhouse so fulfilling, a pack of wild misfits that fit in together. Various destinations were chosen for sightseeing, but one stuck out as particularly interesting, one they were rapidly approaching. Velocity and Nautica had suggested it, in fact, thinking the crew would enjoy seeing their homeworld. Funny, that they had submitted their suggestions separately but with almost identical wording. Rodimus had declared that the two were in “cahoots” before proudly stamping an approval on the destination without waiting for Megatron’s input.

The view from the bridge was rapidly filling with the image of a large, metallic moon. It twinkled in the combined light glinting off the metallic structures spider-webbing across the surface. The scene was backlit by the cool white dwarf sun of this system, and, of course, the moon’s host, a green-gold gas giant swirling with ancient storms. Crackles of lightning arced across the spiral vortices at the storms’ calm eyes. Spinning auroras flashed at the poles like a pair of glittering crowns. The moon was large enough to be a planet in its own right had it not been caught in the gravity well of the gas giant.

To think that this was home to entire culture… civilization of Cybertronians untouched by the war that had consumed their own motherland, the war he had started. Megatron hadn’t even needed to go to another universe to find them this time.

Despite having spent countless months staring out of this huge window into the universe, Megatron had rarely taken the opportunity to simply enjoy that view. There had always been more pressing matters to attend to. Now, however, seated comfortably in the captain’s chair, with only perfunctory duties remaining to him, he could relax and merely take it all in for the sheer pleasure of it. A rare luxury at any point in his long life. From the mines, to the extralegal arena, to what he had thought was championing the cause of the downtrodden. Time for recreation had been practically nonexistent.

Or… he would have allowed himself to absorb the picturesque scene, had he not caught sight of something ludicrously red flash and dash out of the corner of his left optic.

Ah.

Of course.

Rodimus was, unsurprisingly, excited to see this planet—moon. It was technically a moon. He could practically hear Ultra Magnus—Minimus—preparing a pedantic presentation, along with an introduction to local cultural mores, to ensure they were all prepared for their vacation. Yet Megatron still felt a strange, warm fondness at the thought of the predictable behavior, just as he felt it knowing that Rodimus was gleefully prancing about just outside of his vision like he did whenever something really caught his interest. For all of his nuisance, Megatron’s co-captain possessed a gift to summon joy and sunshine simply by being. It was… heartening to see him so happy, especially about the little things in life like a beautiful planet. Moon. Dammit.

“Alright, everybody! Welcome to Caminus! Former lost Cybertronian titan-based colony facing perpetual resource shortages, now founding member of self-styled Emperor Starscream’s book club for slimy politicians that calls itself the Council of Worlds.” There was a pause, like Rodimus had second thoughts about wording his supposedly inspiring sales pitch that way.

Megatron turned to look at him and, sure enough, the speedster was holding his chin in thought.

“Okay, so maybe that’s not the best way to sell it to Lost Light tourists. Let’s try that again.” He clapped his hands together as though he could erase his first not-quite-ready-for-a-brochure slogan.

Megatron rolled his eyes and heaved a tired, amused sigh. A regular occurrence on this silly ship, especially when both captains were in the same room for any length of time. Meanwhile Rodimus cleared his vocalizer with a cough before pointing proudly at the viewscreen, now showing a much closer image of the populated moon. Moon! Not planet.

“Take two! Welcome to Caminus! Home of Camiens, a funky fire religion, swords for days, avant-garde art, other super awesome stuff, and us for the next few days.”

Well, it was better, but still not good exactly…. Certainly a solid attempt, though “funky fire faith” would have been a more satisfying alliteration. It was good enough.

Something felt strange about Megatron’s face, he noticed as he sat there. Relaxed and pulled in an odd direction—Smiling? Why was he smiling? Giving his head a good shake, he forced a bemused expression to return, taking the smile’s place, while he watched Rodimus wrestle with remembering how to actually make port now that they had arrived.

“Slag, we still need landing permissions.” A golden palm slapped a handsome—this was an objective fact, not his personal opinion—white faceplate, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, in irritation at having forgotten something so basic. Sometimes Rodimus was too hard on himself. It was a trivial protocol matter after all and easy enough to forget in the excitement of a final trip.

Final. Hm.

Yet, of course, Rodimus would solve the issue on his own as he usually did these days, the brief moment of embarrassment quickly shoved under the proverbial rug. He could handle things like this without assistance. Megatron wasn’t quite sure why Rodimus insisted that he needed the old poet around to help.

“Crankcase, could you hail them, buddy?” See? Problem solved.

#reblogging again #fic #maccadam #megatron #rodimus #megarod

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heliopauseentertainments · 7 hours

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Solar Flare

Now a complete 92k word novel. Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus, one-sided Starscream/Rodimus, Megatron & Starscream, background relationships

Major Characters: Megatron, Rodimus, Starscream, Zeta Prime, Ratchet

Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of VIolence, Blood & Gore, Serious Injuries, Weddings, Suggestive Themes, Horror Elements (I.E. Horror of the Divine), Reincarnation, Ambiguous Relationships, One-Sided Relationships. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags. AU: Canon Divergence, Gods/goddesses, Early War

Summary: "To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one." In which Megatron makes a mistake by sparing Rodimus, the Prime of the Sun.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Note: inspired by this art piece on Tumblr.

1st chapter under cut; the full length is on AO3.

"To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one."

Megatron, at first, had been so sure of his words as he pointed at the red and yellow mech across the hall, bedecked in jewelry and silk.

The ornate metal doors that had blocked off the throne room laid crumpled on the polished marble floor under his feet, a testament to the temple’s weakness against real resistance.

In his initial planning, after storming the Temple of the Sun in Nyon, he had thought killing a false god would be the easy part. Especially since this Prime did not have a Lord Protector, no zealous paladin dedicated to defending his worthless spark, Megatron had assumed that there would simply be one less obstacle to his goal.

The defenses had been minimal. Pathetic guards ran screaming for their lives after the mundane frontal assault on the main reinforced doors. There had been no point in giving chase, so Megatron had ordered his soldiers to let them flee. Better to have terrified survivors tell the tale, whereas dead mechs couldn’t spread word of change.

If the other Primal temples were built like this one with pitiful security, their job would be a lot simpler. Megatron doubted that would be the case, but he had also doubted this push would have gone so smoothly.

Now he watched as Primal acolytes pulled on the Prime’s arms and hands, trying in vain to tug him to safety, wherever that might be found, far away from the armed intruders.

The Prime shook them off with an undignified curse before marching unhindered towards Megatron, whom he’d fixed with a glare. Not one of anger, no, one of being inconvenienced.

“What are you doing in my house? You’re freaking out my dudes!”

What.

Megatron wasn’t often taken aback, but it appeared today had yet more surprises in store for him than a suspiciously easy siege.

He had just blasted through reinforced doors with his mechs, neutralized several guards with nary a fatality, and kicked down the door to the sacred throne room where the Prime was expected to waste away his days in luxury and splendor. Yet this… this garish half-pint approached him, fine brocades and bangles swaying with the motion, with neither fear nor hesitation.

Megatron hadn’t been prepared for this.

He had been prepared for the pampered brat cowering on the beautiful, shining marble, begging for his miserable, privileged life. He had been prepared to mercilessly terminate that wastrel with a fusion cannon blast, right through the spark and through that stupid Matrix.

Just as soon as Megatron tired of the sniveling, of course.

Consternation on his face, he powered down his cannon with a soft whir as it was lowered to his side.

“Excuse me?”

The Prime planted his hands on his hips, the bejeweled and festooned fins of his spoiler tilted upward in bold defiance.

"You heard me, bolt brain."

Now that wasn't a very godly thing to say at all. What were they teaching these high-caste deadbeats these days? Insults like that were what Megatron would have expected from an overcharged cadet at a seedy spaceport, not the alleged reincarnation of Solus Prime.

For all the supposed elegance and grace of a Prime, especially the Prime of the Sun, this was a smart-mouthed little punk.

This wasn't remotely what had been expected.

Megatron scowled down at the mech who dared call himself a god.

With a wave of his arm, some of his lollygagging soldiers dispatched towards the back of the throne room to seize fleeing acolytes.

"Don't you realize what's happening here?" Megatron asked, staring right back into the defiant, burning blue gaze. "Are you really that brave or are you just foolish?"

"Oh, yeah, I know what's happening.”

Megatron sincerely doubted that, but better to hear what nonsense this unknowingly condemned moron could come up with. Maybe it would be amusing.

“You're being a total spike right now, bursting in unannounced and trashing my house like one of those medical academy parties they show on the holonet. Wreck your own house!"

Not nearly as amusing as Megatron had hoped.

What in the damned hell was this punk talking about?

No wonder this one had no Lord Protector. Who would tolerate this? Shooting him now would do the world a favor. Making a political statement at this point would be a bonus.

"Didn't your caretakers teach you any manners? Rude." Well, Terminus had tried but…. That was hardly the point. The sheer impertinence of this idiot who had no idea he was about to have a hole put through his spark at point-blank range by a fusion cannon.

"I'm about to kill you and you're upset by my lack of aristocratic manners?"

Manners hadn’t really mattered much where he came from, the predominantly manual-class and disposable-class underground city of Tarn, in the various mines where he’d labored in dangerous conditions for ages, or in the black-market pop-up gladiatorial arenas of Kaon. He had never had use for such niceties and this punk was upset that he wasn’t holding out his little finger while seizing the Primal temple.

Ridiculous.

What next? Did he expect Megatron to use a napkin when painting the floor with the Prime’s slowly dimming lifeblood?

Despite the situation and his rapidly approaching final moment, the Prime relaxed slightly, seeming to consider the contradiction now that it had been pointed out, rubbing his chin all the while.

"I suppose when you put it like that, but only a Prime can kill a Prime so like do whatever—Hey! Wait!"

The hand rubbing his chin abandoned its work to point squarely at Megatron's nose.

"I know you! You're that lunatic that got Kaon blown to slag!"

That was it; they were done here. He had tired of this highborn simpleton’s antics.

“Enough!” Megatron bellowed, smacking that accusing point away with the back of his hand. “I don’t have time for your inane blathering!”

“Hey, rude—“

“Seize him!”

Mechs surged forth, several making grabs for the Prime’s limbs.

The Prime struggled, swearing as he strove to free himself of unwelcome hands. He kicked and punched, denting plate. More than a few titanium teeth from Decepticon mouths pinged against the floor after being knocked out.

Flatline would be rather busy later patching up these morons, Megatron thought, intrigued by just how much of a fight this pampered fool was putting up.

The struggle went on until the soldiers managed to immobilize the Prime’s limbs, removing any space for him to get in another good swing.

"Might I suggest something?" A high-pitched voice piped up behind Megatron’s back, persuasively smooth with all the owner’s public speaking practice despite the underlying tinny screech.

"You may not, but you'll do it regardless of my permission, so out with it, Starscream. Let’s get your suggestion over with."

Starscream stalked closer and began to circle the restrained Prime, as though inspecting a new, expensive purchase. His thrusters clicked haughtily against the smooth floor with every step.

"Rather than immediately dispatch this 'god,' why not simply keep him prisoner?"

"What purpose would that possibly serve?" What a waste of precious fuel and man-hours that could be better allocated elsewhere. Why take on the unnecessary responsibility of babysitting?

"Well, would not a new mech simply be chosen as a puppet to take their place? A supposed reincarnation plucked from a hot spot like a shining miracle in the dark night. The Senate and their drooling lackeys will rally around the divine newspark, stir up the people's faith, and so on and so forth. Keep him alive and that little problem just solves itself, doesn't it?"

Starscream had always had an optic for political nuance, even if Megatron often discarded it in the name of idealogical stringency. He generally felt his time was better spent not playing those games. Direct action tended to suit his purposes far better.

“What of the Matrix?” Megatron asked, gesturing with his thumb at the Prime’s chest. Each Prime had one, bestowed upon them by the priesthood that served their predecessor. Relics passed down between supposed incarnations, a symbol of divinity. Turning that worthless relic into a profane trophy of scrap that would almost as profoundly undermine the blind faith of the populace as actually murdering one of their so-called “gods.”

Megatron tapped his finger against his chin in thought.

“Would not destroying the Matrix render the point moot?” A new god couldn’t be reformatted without it, right? At least, not as far as he knew. The whole thing was rustwash anyway, but that was the official narrative.

Starscream scoffed, waving a hand flippantly at the very idea as he continued to circle the immobilized Prime. His wings fluttered with interest, a behavior Megatron had seen his second-in -command perform on several occasions when he wanted something.

Something about this useless creature had caught Starscream’s attention. That would need to be ironed out later.

“Please. They probably keep a bunch of them in the basement or in a bunker somewhere or something. You break one, someone steals a backup and claims it’s the real thing, safely defended from our destructive irreverence. You get accused of having destroyed a fake one for publicity and the whole ‘message’ you want to send crumbles in shame. You know how it is with these ‘relics.’ A shanix a dozen. Best keep this one as ‘proof’ for now.”

A broad, knowing grin stretched across Starscream’s face, shining with implication.

“And, after all, you can only have the fun of killing him once.”

He hated that Starscream had a point—several, in fact. Telling the seeker so, however, would just cause more problems—the overinflated ego sort—down the line.

Megatron would settle for a simple acknowledgment as he leaned down to get a better look at this bedighted speedster.

The Prime was practically encrusted with jewels and precious metals in the form of ornate jewelry, brocaded mesh draped luxuriously over the fins of his spoiler. Feet planted firmly on the ground, the Prime glared defiantly back up at his captor. In any other situation, Megatron would have thought him a beauty to behold, but now the red mech was just a symbol of resources squandered on mere opulence.

The sight disgusted him or… it should have.

“Very well, Starscream.”

Megatron heaved a tired sigh.

“I haven’t decided what his fate will be just yet,” he said, straightening back up. “Lock him up somewhere. I don’t care where. It doesn’t matter. Just get him out of my sight.”

A few of his mechs hesitated, the ones holding the arms and shoulders of acolytes, as though they weren’t sure what to do with their prisoners. Megatron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stood back up. Did he have to spell out everything for these idiots?

“The cultists too! Just go!”

Finally.

The throne room was at peace without that Prime spitting and screaming, now that the brat had been hauled off somewhere in the temple complex, preferably kept under lock and guard.

With the quiet, Megatron could finally get a look around, take stock of the damage and what exactly they had just conquered. This place held many, many valuable resources that they could utilize, either directly or by fencing the goods. Furthermore, he’d gotten it all for the low price of a few explosives, a couple of boot-licking lives, and inadvertent custody a very rude little “god.”

He would figure out what to do with that brat later.

Megatron took a long and slow ventilation before approaching the now abandoned, golden throne at the far end of the room. It glittered in the warm yellow-orange light from the lamps. An impression of the sun was embossed into the high back of the throne and again, smaller, on the arms and seat. It was almost too small, hardly having room for the treads on his back. It was made for more regal frames than his own, intended for heavy industrial work below ground.

The soldiers that still lingered in the room, along with his few lieutenants that had accompanied him, watched in silence.

“We will reinforce the Temple of the Sun, make it an impregnable fortress,” he said, sitting and relaxing into the Primal throne. He supposedly “desecrated” it merely by touch, let alone smearing it with spilled energon and oil from fighting his way through the temple. A shame some of that shed fuel didn’t belong to the previous occupant of this glorified chair.

No matter. It belonged to him now.

From here, it was a short step to de facto controlling the city of Nyon and its weak council.

“With a little work, it’ll make a fine base.” The first, in fact, unless one counted the ruins of Kaon, the last city he and his forces held, he thought, caressing one of the cushioned arms of the throne. After Senate forces bombed the city from the surface of Cybertron, the revolutionaries were forced underground.

Megatron gestured for his lieutenants to approach.

Starscream strode forward, an impatient twitch to his wings and several complaints no doubt already at the tip of his tongue. He still looked smug from his earlier “victory” in changing Megatron’s plans. In stark contrast, Soundwave, ever the professional, simply walked and waited in inscrutable silence for his orders.

"Now, as you know, the Senate is de facto independent, even if they nominally operate under the First Prime in Iacon. They serve no gods but themselves,” Megatron began, “we need to work quickly to fortify our position here. We have some time because they need to calculate the political risk of assaulting Nyon."

They could make good use of this place if they were quick, before the Senate could retaliate for the revolutionaries’ transgressions against the gods. Nyon, however, had one beautiful advantage that Kaon did not: a Primal temple. Even they would hesitate to simply annihilate a sacred location, no matter who held it. Not because they believed, but because the face they would lose with the public would be incalculable.

Megatron smirked, getting comfortable in the stolen throne. Just sitting here was daring the Senate to do something self-destructive and drastic. It was perfect.

Starscream opened his mouth, probably to object, but before he could get words out, he was cut off by a finger pointed in his direction.

“Organize the fortification efforts and recall Shockwave to our new position. Soundwave—“ The blue mech straightened up further to show he was giving his leader his undivided attention. “Round up and contain the remainder of the priesthood. We’re moving in. Once you’ve done that, turn your attention to following the newsfeeds. I want to know the nanoklik Iacon thinks about making a move.”

With a nod, the Soundwave turned on his heel to carry out the command.

Now he just needed to figure out what to do with the blasted Prime of the Sun. Throttling him was unfortunately off the table, for today at least.

Starscream loudly cleared his vocalizer, apparently having something else to say before getting on with his duties.

“What is it now, Starscream?”

“Well, if I may, I have a potential solution to your little Prime problem,” he started, still beaming. It was as though he had guessed Megatron’s thoughts.

“One that could legitimize our position here.”

“I’m listening.” Begrudgingly, but he would hear Starscream out. Might as well.

Megatron narrowed his optics but said nothing as he leaned his face on a raised fist. The seeker took that as permission to continue, a slippery grin stretching across the smooth metal of his face.

“What do you think of the title of Lord Protector? ‘Lord Megatron’ has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

#reblogging again #fic #maccadam #megatron #rodimus #megarod #starscream

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heliopauseentertainments · 8 hours

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#reblog #admin post

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heliopauseentertainments · 14 hours

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Reforged

Continuity: IDW1 Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus

Characters: Megatron, Rodimus, Prowl, Mistress of Flame, Minimus Ambus, Ultra Magnus, Torchbearers, the Lost Light crew

Although, one last trip wouldn’t hurt. A chance to make a few more good memories with friends and colleagues who had made commanding—“co-commanding” his own thoughts interrupted.

Great. Now he was doing it too.

Or… he would have allowed himself to absorb the picturesque scene, had he not caught sight of something ludicrously red flash and dash out of the corner of his left optic.

Ah.

Of course.

Megatron turned to look at him and, sure enough, the speedster was holding his chin in thought.

“Take two! Welcome to Caminus! Home of Camiens, a funky fire religion, swords for days, avant-garde art, other super awesome stuff, and us for the next few days.”

Well, it was better, but still not good exactly…. Certainly a solid attempt, though “funky fire faith” would have been a more satisfying alliteration. It was good enough.

Final. Hm.

“Crankcase, could you hail them, buddy?” See? Problem solved.

#reblogging again #fic #maccadam #megatron #rodimus #megarod

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