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spikezonebby · 5 months

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hi !! saw requests for song fics are open, may I request something angsty with fem!human!reader x megatron (idw) to ‘young and beautiful’ by lana del rey ? 🥹 <3 thank you in advancee

Young and Beautiful (IDW Megatron x Fem!Human!reader)

Word count: 1,070

Eighty years. Humans lived for a measly eighty years.

You change right before Megatron’s optics. Your hair grays, your skin sags, your bones grow thinner. Like the very universe was sapping you away from him. Vector Prime alone could grant him all the time he needed to write a poem about all of the moments he lived with you.

But how could he begin to write when every time he picked up his stylus, you were that much further from him? He longed to capture the feeling of you and immortalize it in a data pad, but then you’d touch your tiny, soft servo along his gray bottom lip plate and take him away. Remind him that you were his moment. Here for a second, gone in a blink.

You flare, you flicker, you fade.

You asked him once, if he’d love you even after you weren’t so soft. You weren’t so pretty. And your mind wasn’t as intact as it once was.

Megatron’s answer was immediate.

“Even once the spark of your life extinguishes, and I won’t stop even for a klik after.”

You may have lamented the way time and age changed you, but Megatron learns to see unique beauty in it. There was something beautiful in a life lived so long that you COULD age, it was a promise of peace and resilience. You lived, you fought, you came back again and again. A force so strong that it took time itself to put you down.

Megatron thought that was romantic. Not in the way of kisses in summer or dancing in the moonlight, but the cosmic way. In the way that atoms and space dust collect together and become new stars, or how he realizes, in the grand scheme of things, so, so many tiny and nearly impossible things had to happen for you to be his.

As you grew older, you grew more rapt by his poetry. You blamed it on growing old and sentimental, he argued you were always sentimental. You had always found it fascinating, but Megatron believed that perhaps you took some comfort in it.

“Do you think, because I love you… I’ll be there in the Afterspark waiting for you?”

You were resting against his neck cables, curled up between his shoulder armor and helm vents like a tiny glitch mouse. The ardent heat of energon pulsing up the lines of his throat felt good and helped soothe some of the arthritis in your hands. He had to rest his chin on his servo, propping his helm up at an angle to keep from squishing you, but he hadn’t the spark to stop you.

It’s a question that he’d pondered many times. For he who often pondered the nature of all things grand, the question of life after death was a philosophist’s energon and mineral tablets.

“You do not have a spark,” He points out, shifting his helm minutely to a position slightly more comfortable for you to tuck yourself under, “So I would not expect you to be held to the same rules and expectations of Primus.”

“But, your God is real.” You raise as a counterpoint, “Any proof that various human gods are real could be considered dubious at best.”

“That is a point for the high queries of gods, but what of your lack-there-of spark?”

“What is a spark but life?” You offer, gesturing with your hands and making the round shape of a spark before your breast. Megatron loathed to move you from your warm perch, so instead he tips the data pad in his servo so he can see your tiny reflection. You look comfortable, hidden securely in his collar fairings. “Perhaps I DO have a spark, but it’s simply just a different form. After all, energy cannot be destroyed. It merely changes form.”

You chuckle, knocking your knuckles against his neck cables. “Julius Robert Mayer.”

“A human philosopher?” Megatron asks, setting his datapad aside to instead settle for reaching up and touching his digit to your lap. You take the hint immediately, and hold his huge digit between your two itty bitty hands.

“Founder of the laws of energy conservation. Suppose most of us are philosophers in some way, though.”

You have to be, with lives so short and bright. Megatron keeps that thought private to himself, gently rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. You were feeling thinner and thinner these days. He hoped you ate well enough.

“So, what have we come to the conclusion of in this conversation?” You prompt, bringing back your point, “That there is no true way to say I do not have a spark, and that it’s ultimately far more likely that Primus and his Afterspark wait for me than say… The Christian or Hebrew concept of God.”

“For there are too many to count.”

“For there are too many to count.” You agree, “But it is the most commonly applicable and the most similar to Primus.”

“But,” Megatron clicks his glossa, a smile coming to his face. He loved it so when he could have these in-depth conversations with you. “That is also dismissing that humanity is a much younger culture than Cybertron was. Perhaps you will find proof that these things are indeed true, or perhaps something you had not even considered. Perhaps in the afterlife, you will have a veritable plethora of ‘heavens’ to choose from.”

“Then I’d choose to wait for you.” You say, “Or I’d choose some religion where I’d be reborn and I could fall in love with you again.”

“You could live again, redo all of the things you had missed. Unmake all of your mistakes.”

“You talk as if I considered you a mistake.”

He feels your tiny, cool lips press to the pulsing line of energon that is connected directly to his spark chamber. You laugh, giddy and sounding just as young as you were when he first met you. There’s a well of emotion there in his chest and, if not for millions of years of carefully cultivated control, he might have sobbed.

Instead, he settles for curling the whole of his huge, warm servo against your body, and recording this moment for all of time. The moment he writes on his spark that you wanted to be his in any life.

“I suppose it is not a mistake then, if you do not regret it.”

#transformers #mtmte transformers #idw transformers #idw megatron #reader insert #megatron x reader #request fill #song fic #Thank you for requesting!!#this got a lot more philosophical than i expected tbh

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cozym1sfit · 2 months

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So anyway @aftersparks 's fic (Warm Currents, its pretty cool everyone should read it yk) has grabbed me by both the balls and the heart so I drew their lil Driftfish design at like...

...1 am lmao

#transformers au #transformers #transformers drift #transformers idw #mermaid au #drift being a shark is pretty cool ngl #i love this fic sm you dont understand

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thefingerfuckingfemalefury · 2 months

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A lot of characters have been killed off in a lot of things I've read and watched and I've been sad over a lot of them but ironically the death of Sideswipe, a character who I didn't really much feel strongly about in the IDW Transformers comics is one of the moments that always makes me cry hardest

It's a mix of Arcee and Sunstreaker's reactions and the fact that in that final panel, he knows

He knows that he's about to die and he's just genuinely glad, not just that after four million years of conflict and pain, maybe things are finally getting better and there's hope that it wasn't all for nothing but also that his brother and his friend wanted him to be happy before he went and to know that maybe now things will be alright.

Especially since his last memory before his death was of how a warlord was trying to re-start the Decepticon empire. Showing him that actually no, that was prevented and that Cybertron is at peace and the world is better than it was now

I think it makes it even sadder that Arcee in this continuity doesn't remotely believe in Primus or the Afterspark or anything like that. She's certain that when Sideswipe dies that's it, he's gone forever. But she still goes to all this trouble to try and make him happy before he passes.

IDW Arcee is blunt and angry and often more than a little insensitive but she CARES. She doesn't always have the language or the ways to express it the way people expect but she does

#Transformers #MY FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELS #Sfw #Comics #I cry a lot about shape changing robits

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decepti-thots · 11 months

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i love knowing that there really is an afterspark everyone will be reunited in again in IDW1, in large part because chromedome is going to have so much goddamn explaining to do when those three dead husbands come to greet him huh

#that whole situation is going to be the funniest polycule the afterlife has ever seen #rewind chromedome dominus OTHER rewind and three people noone else remembers

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novafire-is-thinking · 3 months

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For headcanons: Skids

Headcanon A: realistic

Skids was the best prankster of the outliers. Think “elaborate senior pranks that result in only a fraction of the damage.”

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Once Skids remembers who Prowl is, everyone finds out he can do the best Prowl impression out of all of them. Voice, facial expressions, mannerisms—the whole deal.

Rewind nearly has a spark attack the first time he’s at Swerve’s and hears “Prowl” and Chromedome walk in behind him.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

After Shockwave was hauled off, Skids took part in the efforts to find him. He worked with Orion Pax, Chromedome, and even Prowl, once they convinced him of the depth of the Senate’s corruption.

They were an odd team that didn’t get along half the time, but they all had strong enough personal reasons to track down the Senator. Orion and Skids wanted Shockwave back, and Chromedome and Prowl wanted the truth about the Senate, which Shockwave would be able to provide.

They managed to find where Shockwave was being held, and Skids and a couple of other outliers were sent in to see if they could establish contact with him.

It was then that Ceiling Skids was born. Shockwave was delighted to hear his favorite student through the ceiling panels of his cell.

During their little reunion, Skids let Shockwave know that he, Orion, and a few others were working on a plan to get him out.

Knowing this would likely never work, Shockwave discouraged Skids from trying. He didn’t want Skids to put himself or any of the others (especially Orion) in danger for his sake when he knew his time was short. He assured Skids that he was just happy to know they were all okay.

Determined as ever to do something, Skids refused to listen. He kept coming back each night, relaying messages back and forth between Shockwave and both Orion and Prowl, with the latter demanding to know everything Shockwave knew about the corruption in the Senate.

This continued until, one night, Skids crawled to his usual place above Shockwave’s cell and was met with silence.

Hoping Shockwave was just asleep, Skids tried a few more times to get a response. Soon, reality sunk in:

Shockwave was gone.

Distraught, Skids returned to the others and broke the news. It was one of the hardest nights of his life.

What little hope he had left drove him to wait with Orion at the Ark-1 monument every day for the first few months, but he eventually gave up. War was coming, and Skids had work to do.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

As soon as Skids makes it to the Afterspark, he tracks down Quark and pleads for forgiveness. Quark already forgave him ages ago, and they become close friends.

The day Brainstorm’s spark finally gives out, Skids and Quark are there to greet him as he enters. There are more apologies, more tears, and SO much nerding out about the wonders of the Afterspark. 😂

Eventually, Nautica’s time runs out.

Skids is there to meet her, but she hardly recognizes him. She knows who he is, but treats him like a stranger.

Before this, Brainstorm explained to Skids what Nautica did, and although Skids thought he was prepared to see the effects for himself, he was sorely mistaken.

He’s devastated.

However, he’s determined to get to know Nautica again and rekindle what they once had.

Winning Someone Back After Memory Loss: Afterlife Edition.

#I went a bit overboard hehe #and nearly made myself cry too #I’ve just gained two new fic ideas sighhhh #headcanons with nova #nova’s inspiration file

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robotclownindulgence · 1 year

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I am her at the afterspark

#mtmte #lost light #i need to put tom scott in more situations this is fun #resi.txt

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afterspark-podcast · 2 months

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youtube

Episode 78: Madman's Paradise

Me Grimlock, think we not on Cybertron anymore!

You can find show notes and episode transcripts on our Tumblr

#transformers #maccadam #maccadams #afterspark podcast #afterspark #episode #g1 #transformers g1 #podcast #g1 episode 78 #Youtube

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heliopauseentertainments · 1 year

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From The Claws Of Death

I saw an idea and, uh, this happened.

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Tarantulas/Prowl

Characters: Prowl & Tarantulas

Warnings: Necromancy, canon divergence, death mention

Summary: In which Prowl remembers dying, but almost nothing else.

Note: Inspired by @decepti-thots's post here.

Crossposting: AO3 | DreamWidth

Fic below cut

An explosion.

When Prowl died, he remembered an explosion.

Or rather, he remembered the sound of an explosion.

He hadn’t felt anything, not anything beyond the icy, agonizing burn of static simultaneously overwhelming all his sensors.

One of the last thoughts through his processor had been thinking how similar dying had felt to being born, onlining in a factory when every circuit fired up for the first time, confused and overcharged.

Every circuit flicking off again for the last time was identical.

Then came peace.

Relief.

Darkness.

An empty void.

A feeling of his formless consciousness being rushed off somewhere unknowable.

As his spark was conveyed through the void, up ahead voices, indistinct but familiar. Comrades, long dead. He knew them, instinctively.

Although this was, for now, a lonely journey, but there was a place of solace at the end of it. Even his own cynicism could only muster a weak argument. It was probably just final, illogical hallucinations of his processor shutting down.

Was that really so bad though?

Time no longer mattered. He had been here for seconds. He had been here for millions of years. It didn’t matter. It all felt the same in this nothingness between life and death.

Even that final explosion no longer mattered.

Lights, flashing and brilliant, beckoned as his spark approached the source of the voices.

The Afterspark.

He was nearly there, and then he would finally rest—

The roar of dangerous volumes of current overtook his audio processing as his consciousness jolted, tumbling into awareness. The voices were drowned out, silenced.

In an instant the cold void vanished, replaced by bright lights overhead and the agony of burning, overstimulated circuits channeling electricity.

It was like dying all over again only no peace, no relief, no comforting void followed the suffering. The dead couldn’t die, could they?

Birth then.

This was birth.

Prowl screamed.

Every hydraulic tensed from both the pain and the horror of once more having a body with which to scream, with which to suffer.

“Prowl!”

A voice called to him from nearby. His optics, sensitive and still calibrating, took in only a bright, blinding light.

He continued to scream, wordlessly, as his circuits slowly acclimated to the burden of being alive.

“Prowl, you’re back!”

A weight was thrown onto his chest, a chest he shouldn’t have even had. The pressure ached as he struggled in vain to throw the weight off, his limbs struggling to obey.

Prowl shouted, indistinctly, at the weight. His vocalizer wouldn’t form words, only howls.

Overcompensating for his struggling senses and lack of control, he threw himself and the weight sideways, plummeting off the edge of some surface and cascading in a heap to what was most likely the ground.

There was no clatter of metal, only the sting of cables and tubes being forcefully disconnected from his neck and back by the fall.

Arms, rough and round pulled him towards the strangely soft weight he had landed on.

An embrace.

Prowl pushed, sticking his arms out in front against that soft, furry form that was so intent on clinging to him. His hands slipped and scrabbled, like the fingers were tipped with claws.

His vocalizer finally managed to cooperate, having at last booted up with a cheery noise in his HUD, now barely visible over the blinding white.

“No!”

His optics refused to calibrate, his processor pounding from the unrelenting glare. Perhaps they were defective…. What utter hack had repaired him?

“Prowl, you’re back!” The voice called again, right in front him this time as their limbs tangled on the floor.

His plating felt wrong. Leathery and covered in… some downy filaments, like mesh drapery.

“No!” He squirmed in his struggle to escape the embrace. “Let go!”

“Oh! Your eyes!” the voice said, like they were entirely unconcerned with his terror and more like they had forgotten an appliance was plugged in unattended somewhere.

He was released, the shape underneath him wriggling away.

A soft series of clicks reverberated as the being moved elsewhere, he could hear it so distinctly, but why? His head turned to track the sounds even though he couldn’t see, further around than he ought to have been able to do.

The voice was familiar. He knew this person, but from where?

Another click and it was dark again. No, merely darker. The pain in his processor began to subside and the world, an alien world he didn’t belong in, began to take form.

Tiled floors, a tiled ceiling. Metal walls. A medical slab next to him. All grungy with some… dried substance that had dripped before coagulating.

Someone had repaired him. No, he had died. One couldn’t repair death. Right?

“Better?”

Yes, but Prowl said nothing as he sat on his knees… staring down at his repaired body.

No, new.

This body was entirely new… and the floor beneath was wet with unknown smears.

Purple.

Energon maybe.

His? Someone else’s? Usually there was a distinctive smell—or was there? He couldn’t… remember—but he found that he could hardly smell anything at all.

Long and flexible filaments hung from his plating—skin. Feathers? Pale and warm. Splotches of whatever was on the floor, on the walls, on the medical slab clung to his… feathers.

Feathers.

Cybertronians didn’t have feathers. Did they? The more he tried to think, the more the past prior to his death began to slip away, no longer at the forefront of his consciousness.

Bringing up his arms to examine, he saw that they were indeed clawed, built-in weapons… like a beast.

Prowl tried to access his statistical and simulation programs to no avail. None of the software and programming that he had used before was there, nor were most of his memories. Gaping voids of corrupted and lost data mocked him as he trolled through the databanks.

Nothing made sense.

“Prowl, I….”

He whipped his head around to look at the voice, at long last.

A purple and green being, many limbs emerging from their back, stared at him, hooked hands clasped together in… glee? It was hard to read their face. So many unblinking eyes, no obvious mouth.

He knew them.

But he was drawing a blank.

His formerly impressive selection of dossiers was now empty, wiped either by his brain module’s destruction or by his death… or perhaps by his rebirth. He had no idea.

He barely knew himself.

An incomplete name (“Prowl of …”), general function (“investigator”), a few last memories (“conflict, explosion”), but so much else was a haze. Did it matter? Maybe it did. Maybe not.

The being stared at him, expression inscrutable. Prowl didn’t understand what he was looking at. The uncertainty gnawed at his processor.

“I died,” he said, taking the opportunity to fill the silence while the weird being over there, presumably his “creator,” hesitated.

For whatever good that protest would do to him.

Dying had hurt but it had stopped and promised no further suffering.

This promised him nothing.

“Prowl, I brought you back.” They sounded… hopeful. Somehow.

The being crept closer.

“I died,” he repeated, trying to get to his feet, unfamiliar taloned limbs slipping against soiled tiling. “I died!”

“Prowl, please—“ The being grabbed him around the middle before he could escape, pulling him upright. “Please, I almost can’t believe it! You’re here! You’re really here!”

They buried their many-opticed face into the pillow feathers of his new chest, hoisting him up around the middle like a new-build’s favorite toy. He kicked his feet in the air, a weak attempt to regain his freedom.

“Who—What are you doing?” He shouted the questions, digging the claws on his fingers into the soft fur of the monster’s unnaturally fleshy shoulders. “Unhand me!”

“I can’t believe it worked,” the being continued, undeterred by the assault. “It worked! First, I lose Ostaros and then I… I couldn’t lose you too. All these years and all these failures and… and….”

The being began to dissolve into uncomfortable, wet, sticky sobs. From somewhere. Certainly not from any of those disgusting eyes—Ostaros?

Ostaros.

His memory banks pulled up a few damaged recollections as he hung limp in his captor’s grasp, exhausted.

A mostly naked endoskeleton, half-built and waiting to given the blessing of his creators.

Creators.

Prowl knew them.

The memories said he was one of them.

Who was the other?

His processor was able to find another name, another face.

Mesothulas.

They had made Ostaros together, but he couldn’t remember why.

Meso—Wait. He did know the monstrosity desperately hugging him. Somehow.

“Meso… thulas?” Prowl mumbled. The name didn’t match the picture in his memory banks, but there were a few similarities.

“Oh, Prowl!” Mesothulas clung to him like he would never let go. “You do remember!”

“… No, I….” Perhaps it would be better if he pretended that he did. Perhaps Mesothulas would lead him to clues, to piece together what was missing. This lunatic was his only link to finding out what had happened before his death… and why he had been denied his eternal peace. “Yes, yes, I remember. Of course, I remember, Mesothulas. How could I forget?”

Mesothulas made pathetic cooing noises against his chest, whatever liquid he was expressing from somewhere on his face soaking into Prowl’s brand new feathers.

Disgusting.

“You’re here. You’re here and we can go find Ostaros… bring him back, bring our son back… and be a family again!”

“Family….” He wasn’t sure what a “family” was and “son” didn’t make sense, but he would do best to not argue, not yet. His databanks tried to offer suggestions, prompting a query that Mesothulas must be his “mate,” whatever that was. There was a lot to catch up on. “That’s right.”

“You don’t know what I’ve gone through to bring you back.”

No, no, he hadn’t the slightest clue, but he was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t optical lubricant getting into his feathers, but more energon… from somewhere. Purple and thick, long separated from the person who had been using it.

As he looked down, optical rings focusing to a fine detail he wasn’t sure he had before, he noticed that Mesothulas was covered in energon and other grime. His “flesh” was torn and scorched in places, in need of mending. Was that from Prowl’s claws? No, these looked… old, ignored.

“Prowl… I have so much to show you. I was so lost with you.”

Well, he was here now. Might as well play along, at least until he had more information.

“… Me too.” Hm. “How… did you do it, Mesothulas?”

#fic #one shot #taraprowl #maccadam #idw1 #sotw #prowl #tarantulas #mesothulas

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valkeakuulas · 2 months

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Please have the fic titles as well:

1. Doing inventory

2. Sentience for beginners

Okay so, I came up with two completely different fics here xD

Doing inventory This would be something cute. Like, I'd start it your regular inventory but then move onto turning it to a bit sillier inventory, like "okay, where are those 10 pallets of crackers we got during the last shipment? I'm talking to you, trooper, where have they gone? ... What do you mean the soft-shells at Level 78 took them?! They're not allowed to do that without - of for kark's sake, I'm just going to comm the sergeant."

Sentience for beginners OK. Seeing this title made me kinda want to go and dust of the box that involves all my TF Fandom Headcanons and Facts and shake it until the bare skeletons of a cross-over plot fell out of it.

You see, Optimus Prime has a line that was printed on the side of the box of the very first G1 Optimus Prime toy package back in the 80s, and it goes

"Freedom is the right of all sentient beings."

So what would Optimus Prime (and the Autobots) do if faced with an army of clones that are basically an army of slaves and aren't identified as 100% sentient (let's follow that headcanon here for the fic)? Would it be horrify him since meeting the clones would remind hime of the Cybertronians past as the slaves of the Quintessons (if I go and follow the G1 canon here, let's leave the other 'verses alone just for our sanity's sake).

And how would the clones react at meeting giant, transforming "droids" that see themselves as a sentient race with their own culture and history when compared to the semi-sentient droids they fight.

I can see mistakes and insults happening on both sides as two so different (but also similar?) group of beings have to reconsider what they consider as 'sentient'.

... Hang on. I need write a blurb here. So sorry for the grammar mistakes because I know there'll be a lot some.

"So, you're a fancy battle droid?" the trooper asked, and the black and white Autobot caught the barely hidden condescend in the organic's voice. Looking down at the small, armored human, he tried not to judge them from not knowing better but at the same time, the Autobot wasn't about to swallow the unintended(?) insult. "I've lived at least one hundred fifty times longer than your so-called Galactic Republic has existed, of which I've spent most of my life fighting a war that has lasted millions of years. My Prime carries the symbol of our planet-god in his chest that connects him not only to the Afterspark, giving him the access to speak with the Primes of the past but also gives him the chance to create new life. Yes, I can shoot a blaster, I can transform my limbs into weapons, and I can process and create over a million battle tactics, but I can also create music, write poems, and grow crystals. One of my fellow Autobot's loves to dance, another adores wildlife, and third one finds peace in science." The Autobot knelt down, and the human that stepped back, wary, when they saw the way his expression darkened. "So don't you dare to compare me to those sparkless, pre-programmed pieces of slag, human," the black and white mech hissed, panels shifting and rising as the doorwings on his back flared.

That's Prowl. Prowl somewhat lost his composure there for a moment.

#asks #petrifiedforests #Star Wars: The Clone Wars #transformers #G1 #valkeakuulas writes AKA butchers English grammar #Prowl #clone troopers

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wazpinatorr · 4 months

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CRACKSHIP TIME!!!!!!!

TFA!Rodimus x LL!Drift

Sea,Swallow Me - Cocteau Twins

The two sat silent on a desolate, destructed and dead planet. No life. No nothing. Besides those two. They were side bide side, as quiet as can be, staring up at the idle rocks broken off of planets alike this one drifted through space.

They’re unsure how, or why they were there, but they were. It was like they were in a dream, connected to the other’s. And the more they thought about it, the worse it got. They knew practically everything about eachother, like they were as open as books, like the other’s entire life story was sprawled out onto a table. Drift felt like he was violating the poor Prime’s privacy having such knowledge in his processor, but what could he do?

Drift thought through what he was going to say cautiously, but, he had to ask.

“You’ve… died… before, right?” Drift asked, his head not wavering from the abyss of stars that laid infront of him. Rodimus was hesitant to answer. The memories he had. It was, a blur, really. His rusting was… something he didn’t want to remember, something he didn’t want to go through again, something he never desired to mention again, but speaking about it felt so… alleviating.

“Well, yeah, I suppose you could say that, that I died.” Rodimus huffed, his optics wondering over Drift. What this poor bot had endured, what this sad bot had to perservere through, the amount of strength, physical and mental, the samurai had would beat his own anyday.

“Is it nice? The afterspark, I mean. Is it what we all want it to be? The perfect life after death.” Drift asked, his own words hesitant, but curious. He wanted to know, what belief was true? Was it what everyone wanted? A peaceful, perfect life where you’re one with the allspark?

“I don’t know.” Rodimus murmured, before clarifying. “I meam it in the way… I don’t know what it was. I don’t know if what I saw was the afterspark or some kind of tap-out. I’m not even sure if I actually died.”

Drift huffed, but not of disappointment, but of worry, his optics locked on the movement of a shooting star. “Do you think… he’s safe?” He asked, not daring to mention the name of his dearest Conjunx Endura, the medical officer he missed so dearly.

“I think … he’d be proud. Not to be corny, but, he’d be proud of how.. how you’re still going. You’re still toughing through everything Primus has thrown at you, you’re persistent to make it out on the otherside. Of how no matter what you lose, you always manage to stay on your pedes.”

Drift weakly smiled, the words soothing to his audials. The words he desired to hear so, so much. The words that could dissolve his spark in a blink. It felt warm, like some one was holding his hand, like someone gave his a comforting hug, like someone was holding him.

“I think so too.”

#transformers #transformers idw #transformers animated #transformers drift #transformers idw drift #drift #transformers rodimus #transformers animated rodimus #rodimus #crackship #writing #mwah mwah mwah

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askvectorprime · 1 year

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Hello, Vector Prime,

Has any Cybertronian been sent to the AllSpark/Afterspark without the benefit of having died first? That is, has someone been thrown bodily into the afterlife while still alive?

Dear Ascending Acolyte,

I have records from the Tenth Dodecahexian Church of Primus from the year 10,000 AD that reference such a miracle. Many thousands of years prior, during the First Vehicon Apocalypse, High Pontiff Sunstorm protected his children from the amassing horde. He then gazed upon Primus, who had taken the form of the sun. And Sunstorm too became luminous again like the sun, a being of pure energy who saw all of Primus's children—the Allspark—as he rose into the sky to meet them. Onlookers bore witness to the holy event, and even to this day, Sunstorm remains associated with legends involving the sun and divine destiny.

#ask vector prime #transformers #maccadam #beast wars uprising #vehicons #sunstorm #primus #allspark

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zephyrrhiesfyrian · 11 months

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Part the second one to my collection of silly tiny faces in MTMTE, inspired by @tiny-tf-faces's blog of beautiful derpy screenshots of background faces :D

Pictures under the cut because there's a lot :)

Fulcrum is not impressed.

Half of Perceptor's face; Lockdown's knee was in the way :(

Surprised Whirl. (this one might actually be from Spotlight: Trailbreaker now that I think about it)

Swerve bein' a cutiepie <3

Dead guy from Chromedome's recollection of Orion Pax fighting crime.

Swerve cheering from Spotlight: Trailbreaker.

Swerve eatin' energon goodies I believe during Rewind's storytime.

Skids doing a think on one of the covers.

A Chromedome viewed from a distance.

Another Domey.

Tyrest and his stupid crown head.

Fulcrum, probably protesting one of the other Scavs' stupid ideas.

Surprised Trailbreaker from Spotlight: Trailbreaker. You may notice that's the only Spotlight I have faces from, which is because Trailbreaker is wonderful and underrated even canonically and he deserved love and attention >:(