All of Me

 mightymegatron‌:

(Part One)

(Part Two)

“Ok… Ok.” Singer triple-checked his reference material, an Autobot medic’s research study on  “jumpstarting” a fading spark with a stronger one. The study called for equipment that they simply didn’t have access to, and had no mention of what do if both sparks were ‘encased’ in glass and crystal. Still, it was sound theory, and it was all they had to go on.

As still as his comatose companion, Megatron sat on the berth, spark bared to the world. Though outwardly patient, the vehicon wasn’t fooled. Those optics may have been half-closed but they were watching his every move, red battle filters slid into place. Hunched over so Singer could reach, he didn’t flinch in the slightest as the medic attached wires around his spark casing with clamps. It felt like he was defusing a sentient bomb, poised and waiting for the right moment to explode.

The feeling was worse when Singer moved on to Soundwave, having to work with the embodiment of violent death looming over his shoulder. Finally, he couldn’t focus anymore.

Keep reading

Staring resolutely at his monitors, Singer was determined to give the pair of them as much privacy as possible without leaving his leader’s side. The wires had been arranged so that Megatron would be getting little to no input back from Soundwave, an energy drain that could be dangerous if left unchecked. While the warlord’s levels dipped lower and lower, Soundwave’s spark surged, pulsing and spinning in earnest with the borrowed energy. It was working…

All at once, Soundwave’s biolights flashed, and he struggled in Megatron’s hold with a startled whine of static.

“Stop! Soundwave be still!” Megatron held him securely as he thrashed, cupping his face and keeping their helms pressed together. “Still…” Soundwave’s data cables unspooled one winding tightly around Megatron, the other shooting out towards Singer to deliver an electrical shock, but he froze mid-strike. The poor medic nearly fainted.

Even with his mask in place, the blatant confusion was evident as he tilted his helm towards the medic, towards their open chests and back to his Lord. Shock flitted across his plating through his field. Megatron sat upright again, letting concern and fear show through his.

“I know this may not be how you imagined our bonding to go, or if you even still wanted-” Megatron was cut off mid-sentence, as Soundwave’s visor had folded away just in time for him to attack his Lord with a desperate kiss, long arms all but fusing them together. The two orbs in their chestplates met with a faint ‘clink.’ Singer, faceplates overheating, turned around.

That damned thought, put there by the phobia shield, would not let him be. Do you not blame me for severing your link with Unicron? Wouldn’t you rather have a god? Telepath that he was, this had Soundwave smiling against his lips. A song began to play from his speakers. Finally set at ease, Megatron laughed, returning the kiss with passion as he began to remove the wires between them.

It was high time they did this properly.

All of Me

(Part One)

(Part Two)

“Ok… Ok.” Singer triple-checked his reference material, an Autobot medic’s research study on  “jumpstarting” a fading spark with a stronger one. The study called for equipment that they simply didn’t have access to, and had no mention of what do if both sparks were ‘encased’ in glass and crystal. Still, it was sound theory, and it was all they had to go on.

As still as his comatose companion, Megatron sat on the berth, spark bared to the world. Though outwardly patient, the vehicon wasn’t fooled. Those optics may have been half-closed but they were watching his every move, red battle filters slid into place. Hunched over so Singer could reach, he didn’t flinch in the slightest as the medic attached wires around his spark casing with clamps. It felt like he was defusing a sentient bomb, poised and waiting for the right moment to explode.

The feeling was worse when Singer moved on to Soundwave, having to work with the embodiment of violent death looming over his shoulder. Finally, he couldn’t focus anymore.

“Sir? Will you hold him up for me? I n-need a better angle.” If he knew it was a lie, Megatron said nothing, gathering up his delicate conjunx to lay across his lap, propped up to lean against his arm. Watching the newly-replaced black screen of his partner’s face, the warlord slowly began to relax. Also blessedly relieved, the medic finished hooking them together mere moments later, and stood there blankly a few minutes more.

There was nothing else he could physically do to help.

Megatron looked from Soundwave to the little vehicon stepping away and folding his now-shaking servos. This single medic had essentially been his personal attendant for a year, and, so far, his work had been exemplary. Hopefully his skill and dedication would hold true. “…How likely is this to work, Singer?” The red visor dimmed considerably.

“I have absolutely no idea.” At least he was honest. Megatron almost laughed. “But… it should w-work. If it doesn’t… Well, I’m going to st… stay here. I have my rrrre-ignition kit. I’ll take him off life support… s-start when you can.”

As Singer shut down and detached the power cables, Megatron ran his hand down along Soundwave’s arm until he held the spy’s thin servo in his own. He closed his optics, pressing their foreheads together. How much had Soundwave sacrificed for him? How much hurt and hate had he considered worth following him through? How far would he have gotten without this incredible mech at his back? 

“Soundwave… You would do this for me without hesitation, you wouldn’t rest until I was at your side again. Let me return that favor…” His spark spun within its crystal housing, causing white-hot sparks to fly between them.

“Have me…”

(Part One)

Megatron finally reached his quarters, car tires skidding to a stop behind him as Singer transformed. The medic was at his heels, but wisely did not step between him and his comatose conjunx.

Soundwave was looking duller than he had, hooked into several monitors and a machine that was essentially a battery-like life support system. Seeing him like this hurt. The image of the false Soundwave freshly dead on the floor still haunted his mind, superimposing itself onto his Spymaster. Where a gaping hole had been, Laserbeak remained docked, startled awake by the intrusion.

“Megatron wait!” insisted Singer, pleading with Megatron but not daring to attempt to hold him back. “My Lord stop and-”

“And what, Singer!?” The warlord turned back around, his claws tensed, fangs flashing in a snarl. “Nothing else has worked! This is no life for him, and I won’t let him die like this after everything!! Not when I can still act!”

“No, just- j-just listen to me!” He held his hands up in appeasement, his back to the door. “I… I want to help.” The vehicon’s steady hands were shaking as he continued, fighting through his nervous stammer. 

“There’s n-nothing I could say to stop you, but you’re- you’re our leader. We n-need you. Y-you’ve proven time and again that you can do the impossible, but I… I know even y-you have limits. We might lose Soundwave, but I’m not standing by and l-letting us lose you both, so please… let me help. Please, sir.” 

Megatron’s fixated glare softened, little by little as Singer’s plea registered. No one else was to be allowed to do this but him. If Soundwave survived and even if he didn’t, to let someone else merge with him felt like desecration. It had to be him, the mech Soundwave loved and trusted, the one he chose. But Megatron had never done this before, and stable or not, he was not nearly as strong as he once was.

“…Very well. Quickly. Tell me what to do.”

Finally, the conversation Singer had referred to when he awoke began to play in his mind.

“I’m sorry, sir… h-he’s only getting worse. Nothing I can do for him is helping, the… fragment you gave him wasn’t enough. It’s not giving off enough energy to sustain-”

“And if I give him some of mine?” A few moments of hesitant laughter preceded stunned silence, before Singer replied cautiously.

“That’s… Lord Megatron that would be insane.”

“Answer the question!”

“I don’t- Sir, I can’t let you! That body of yours is already straining your energy levels with its size, letting him drain you on purpose would kill you, too!”

“Then proceed with my surgery at once! Restore my frame to its original form and the moment I am stable-”

Megatron was out of the room and racing towards his suite before the thought could finish. Singer stared in confusion after him, before realizing where he was going in such a hurry. “No- No no, sir! Stop!!” he cried, scrambling after his Lord as fast as he could, transforming when he realized he wasn’t going to catch up this way.

((Part one))

The Soundwave in front of him backed away, his optics wide with shock and bright rage. Still there was no feeling from him. “Aren’t real? Don’t mock me like that! I am only realizing that ny alternate was right about you…” That stung particularly hard, but only caused Megatron to advance further, raising his sword to Soundwave’s helm.

“So tell that to me as you always have,” he challenged. “Fill my mind with your fury and disappointment if that is what you think of me!” Megatron’s arm shook, waiting for the onslaught of telepathy, but it never came. Soundwave only looked at him with disdain.

“You don’t deserve my mind. I don’t want to touch yours ever again.”

In a single motion, Megatron’s sword withdrew and his cannon whirred to life, firing as fast as he could. The blast hit Soundwave’s chest dead-on, leaving a smoldering hole through Laserbeak and out the other side. His frame crumpled, uncovered face dim and unfocused.

Megatron stood over him, blaster trained on the Thing playing at being his conjunx but it didn’t move or change form, still and smoking on the floor. Megatron too, was frozen.

What have I done?

::Lord Megatron, we’ve located a projectile on top of the ship. It doesn’t seem to be explosive but it’s emitting a frequency we can’t lock onto.::

Megatron took a moment to comprehend the voice. It sounded too normal for what had just transpired. He almost shuts off his comm before the soldier chimes in again. ::…Orders, sir? How should we proceed?:: His voice is scratched, even harsher than normal when he replies.

::Block the frequency and destroy the device. At once.:: Please. Please let this be the cause. Please don’t let him have to stare at the wound where he had so carefully placed Soundwave’s life force weeks ago spark and blacken as it cools…

After a few moments, the image of Soundwave flickers and blinks out of existence. Megatron falls to his knees, face in his servos as he vents hard, trying to control his shaking. It wasn’t real. It can’t be real…

But he’ll never know for sure until Soundwave wakes up.

Soundwave has already visited Smokescreen tonight. There’s one, however, who may well be the reason the shields were dropped in the first place, and Soundwave has a borrowed mission to complete. The warmonger must be made to stay on his planet, afraid to expand.

The walking phobia shield joins his holomatter double in roaming the ship, if from the opposite end, scraping at what he can sense of Megatron’s mind, whispering to it, taunting it.

Megatron is old and weak now. His frame crumbles. His spark flickers. The war has taken its toll on him, draining the life from him, just as he has drained the life from all who have ever surrounded him. From the planet itself. From his so-called friends, and those he wanted to rule. From his beloved. Hasn’t he? And it’s so tiring.

His statues will weather. His name will fall off other mech’s lips, forgotten. His works will crumble and be built over, replaced with newer, shinier things by a mech he’s never met. These things are not important. The people are, and one by one, he has failed them. One by one, he has broken them all, and still the fires of hatred burn in his spark.

Soon, he will be alone. The few who are left will find out what he did and leave him, unable to trust him. So many have already abandoned him. So many cannot be called back. Much longer and he won’t even have the chance to try anymore. He’ll fade from silver to grey with no one there to remember him as he was, or might have been, or wanted to be. All the time he might have spent reconciling and creating will have been wasted on these petty grudges and furies, these pointless, endless battles.

It’s too little, and for both of them, much too late. Isn’t it, Megatron? Isn’t it?

These are no foreign thoughts to him. In the years since Cybertron’s fall, there have always been those who, rightfully so, have blamed him for everything. When he was laying broken in an Earthen stream, he had already felt forgotten, a relic of a bygone era, having failed from the very beginning.

These thoughts are no longer his own. He may not be immortal, perhaps his age and the constant beat of battles against his plating have worn him down, but he is still here, and he is not finished. So long as he functions, Megatron will fight to leave behind a world better than the one he was forged into. To have these thoughts crop up so suddenly and clash so harshly with his own mindset curls his intake into a snarl. The other Soundwave had infiltrated his ship. And here he thought things had been going so well.

Leaving his room, Megatron stalks the halls, on the hunt for that damned alternate. He projects the thorniest thoughts he can, about how lucky he has it all from the decision to run away.

Turning a corner, he nearly crashes into a familiar lanky frame and steps back to unsheath his sword, only to find his own Soundwave, unmasked and glaring daggers up at him. His irritation vanishes, replaced by immense relief and confusion to see his conjunx up and walking. He reaches out with his hand and with his field, but there is nothing to greet either as Soundwave backs away. He hasn’t looked this angry in eons, but his typical telepathy is completely absent. Shocking Megatron further, he begins to speak, in the beautiful singsong voice he’s missed so much.

How dare you!” The backs of thin digits crack across the warlord’s face, the tips leaving faint scratches. Megatron can’t comprehend what’s happening, only able to stare in horror.

“He’s gone!” Soundwave continued, wailing in fury. “Megatron: took Unicron away, I can not feel him… You can not replace him. You are no god!!” He went to strike Megatron again but he caught the slim arm this time, finally able to gather his words despite the sinking feeling in his spark.

“Stop this! If he were not put to an end, not only me but our entire-”

“I WOULD RATHER HAVE HIM! I don’t want to be yours!!”

The cry echoed through the halls, leaving only silence in its wake. Megatron’s mind raced. All of this was wrong, and he could do nothing… but also felt nothing.

Soundwave’s fury was never silent. He should be able to hear and feel the rage and despair  rolling off of him in telepathic waves, but his mind was unplauged. All of this was wrong…

“This… isn’t you, is it?” It was more of a statement than a question. Someone was playing at this… It had to be. Even so, Megatron still had to fight to maintain his composure. He couldn’t bare this if it were true, surely it couldn’t be. Drawing his sword, Megatron began to advance, not quite sure if he was making a mistake. “You aren’t real. You wouldn’t… He wouldn’t do this…”

Right?

⚡️

willnotgogently:

mightymegatron:

willnotgogently:

willnotgogently:

Rung tensed as he heard the bang of boards against the side of the building, light illuminating everything before a loud snap resounded and all the power was cut off, leaving him with just biolights. His hands shook as he moved slowly to a cabinet, looking for something more to give him light.

“It seems silly, it’s just light and sound outside and it can’t reach me.” Rung spoke softly, moving in closer to him like he could crawl inside Megatron’s armor for extra protection. Swallowing thickly, he shuddered as another rumble of thunder rolled through the air heavily. “I feel like I should tell you, about my alt mode. And about the Senate that used to control Cybertron.”

He felt sick just saying the words but they would need to come out eventually. It wasn’t fair to keep this hidden away as if he didn’t trust his secret with one of the mechs he loved. Bee already knew one small part of what he was so he’d have to explain it to him too. He just hated bringing up old wounds.

Rung’s words and actions didn’t match up, calmly explaining why he shouldn’t be scared while simultaneously attempting to hide in Megatron’s frame. He curled around the minibot as best he could, both arms solidly around him.

He felt the air pressure drop in a way that had little to do with the weather. What echoes of the old Senate could have lasted so long? An old flame stirred, and Megatron’s field became fierce and protective.

“What did they do?” he growled.

Taking a breath, Rung felt himself begin to honestly relax with the tension of arms around him, the fold of a much larger frame making him feel safe. He had his own claws and alternate spiked armor when he needed it to defend himself, he had a staff for more peaceful tactics but none of that could be used to chase off old memories. The Senate was nothing but ghosts now and couldn’t do anything, but old hurts always lingered.

“Here, once the Senate took over fully, they started to impliment a.. belief. Functionists. Your form determined what you could do. If you were a shuttle, you were expected to draw cargo or go into travel, not be a scientist even if you had the apptitude for it. If you were forged a tool, you stayed a tool. My form… I couldn’t… _Wouldnt_ tell them what it entails. So they took me away from my practice, created a story for those who might ask after me to cover for my absence. And they experimented, took me apart and tortured me to try to figure out how I worked, what I was.”

“I am familiar with Functionalism.” It was what had restricted him to the mines, what had dictated that alt-modes built for construction and hauling were somehow lesser than those that supported flight, or were geared towards scientific endeavors. It was what had relegated those with common frametypes like his vehicons to be treated as disposable drones. It was something he had tried his damnedest to kill.

But for all the atrocities he had known the Senate to be guilty of, Megatron hadn’t known them capable of such specific torture. Then again, he had never heard of someone in his own universe with an alt that wasn’t self-explanatory. The very existence of such a person would challenge the very foundation of those prejudicial beliefs.

“Enduring such torment and still holding to your sense of self. Your will is rare and inspiring. That you were put in such a position… if those who held you still function, I would gladly pay them in kind.” Another bolt struck close to the building, rattling the foundation before it faded.

RULES: You can only say guilty or innocent. You are not allowed to explain anything unless someone messages you or asks you.

Repost, don’t reblog!

Tagged by: @heligooddeals
Tagging: I have lost track of who’s done this already so whoever would like to fill this in!

Asked someone to marry you? – Guilty
Kissed one of your friends? – Guilty
Danced on a table in a bar or tavern? – Guilty
Ever told a lie? – Guilty
Had feelings for someone whom you can’t have? – Guilty
Kissed a picture? – Innocent
Slept in until 5pm? – Guilty
Fallen asleep at work or school? – Guilty
Held a snake? – Innocent
Been suspended from school? – Innocent
Worked at a fast food chain/restaurant? – Innocent
Stolen something? – Guilty
Been fired from a job? –  Guilty
Done something you regret? – Guilty
Laughed until something you were drinking came out of your nose? –  Innocent
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? –  Innocent
Kissed in the rain? –  Innocent
Sat on a roof top? –  Guilty
Kissed someone you shouldn’t? –  Guilty
Sang in the shower? –   Guilty
Peeled off your paint? –  Innocent
Slept naked? – Guilty
Had a boxing membership? –  Innocent
Made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? –  Guilty
Been in a band? –  Innocent
Shot a gun? –  Guilty
Donated blood? –   Guilty
Eaten alligator meat? –  Innocent
Eaten cheesecake? –  Innocent
Still loved someone you shouldn’t? – Guilty
Have/had a tattoo? –  Guilty
Liked someone, but will never tell who? – Guilty
Been too honest? –  Guilty
Ruined a surprise? –  Guilty
Ate in a restaurant and got really bloated that you can’t walk after? – Innocent
Erased someone in your friends list? – Guilty
Joined a pageant? –  Innocent
Been told that you’re beautiful by someone who totally meant what they said? –   Guilty
Still have communication with your ex? –  Guilty
Cheated on someone? –  Innocent
Got totally drunk one night and you have an important exam tomorrow morning? –  Guilty
A total stranger treated you by paying your fare? –  Guilty
Got so angry that you cried? –  Guilty
Tried to stay away from someone for their own good? –  Guilty
Thought about suicide? –   Guilty
Thought about murder? –  Guilty
Actually murdered someone? –  Guilty
Thought about mass murder? –  Guilty
Actually committed a mass murder? –  Guilty
Rode in a stranger’s vehicle? –   Guilty
Stalked someone? –  Guilty
Had a girlfriend? –  Guilty
Had a boyfriend? –  Guilty
Gotten totally drunk during a holiday? –  Guity

There has been a Decepticon emblem somewhere on my person every day since the election.

visionaryprime:

mllemusketeer:

Today I saw a post that upset me. It was basically stating that half the fandom is incorrect to see the Decepticons as the ‘real’ good guys, and reiterated all the reasons that they’re terrible and the Autobots are, were, and always will be the only good guys. 

I may have growled ‘fuck you’ at the computer, almost reblogged with an angry comment…and then looked at myself with horror, because I make it my policy not to be negative at someone I’ve never met, or their thoughts, on such slim basis. Compassion is more important than anything else; we are all hurting, and it is so easy to do further damage that, especially on a platform such as tumblr, it does well to watch one’s words very, very carefully. Fictional characters are not worth doing real, tangible harm over. 

So why the hell was I so upset that I almost broke my own rules?

The election.

I have worn a Decepticon emblem somewhere on my person every day since the election. Earrings. My windbreaker. A t-shirt. But mostly the earrings, since they’re subtle and pass mostly unremarked. I’m even contemplating a tattoo, more seriously than ever before. 

I’m in agony. I’m a policy student; I specialize in public health policy. A few weeks ago, my mentor quite literally told me to hold off on entering the workforce for the next four years; he feels that me starting a career under the Trump Administration would be a very bad idea. At the same time, I’m significantly changing the course of my immediate future in light of the election; I’m applying to Teach For America, which has an LGBT initiative to recruit LGBT teachers. It’s intended to make up grade and graduation (and survival) differences between LGBT and straight students. I’m going to actively pursue being placed in a red state, where I can do the most good. 

It’s not like I don’t understand this is dangerous. There is a large part of me that wants to flee the country (New Zealand being the favorite refuge, right now). But my family didn’t leave China during the Cultural Revolution, though it killed my great-grandparents and led to the torture and humiliation of many of my other family members. My grandmother had to be almost forcefully sent to the US because the rest of the family knew damn well her opinionated nature and total disregard for her own safety would get her dead. But it wasn’t the first time the family had weathered horrors. I know too well that it won’t be the last. And if my great-grandparents could stay in China then, then no incompetent orange baboon’s arse will chase me from the United States. 

I’m bi. I’m multiracial. I’m a woman. I’m an intellectual. This is not a good combination in Trump’s America. But I’m not afraid. 

Because I think about Megatron every time I start browsing the New Zealand visa site. Megatron, and my family. 

We’ve been weaponizing words for generations. Two thousand years, in fact. Megatron, the young miner working in the dark for a better world, shaping words to change sparks, speaks to me on a deep level. This is what we have done for those two thousand years. And like Megatron, we have paid a price. Very often in blood. We’ve never been good at shutting up. 

Megatron is both a power fantasy and a cautionary tale for me right now, and right now, what I really need is the power fantasy. I feel incredibly helpless; I am not the only one. Megatron, someone who starts out so utterly helpless, gives me hope that I, too, may yet be powerful one day. That I may be capable of righting the injustices that cause me such pain now. 

I do not mean to excuse his atrocities. I am repulsed by them perhaps more than many others, because I understand how easy it might be to slip over the edge to committing them. (Anyone who tells you it is easy not to slip over that edge is a person to be very frightened of; they obviously do not see themselves as capable of horror, and those people are the ones most likely to commit horrors–they do not examine themselves or their motivations, they believe they are utterly in the right, and that is the most dangerous of persons). 

In the wake of this election, we all feel helpless. We are suddenly enemies in our own countries. Our neighbors turn on us for our compassion, for our liberal sentiments and our belief that all people are created equal. Does We the People still cover us? We’re not sure. There are so many who would say no. There are so many who believe we’re seeing the rise of another Hitler. 

Megatron rebelled against an authoritarian government. The lowest of the low, he shattered the monstrous system that treated him and his fellows as disposable objects. We are facing a future in which we are disposable objects. Is it any wonder we find hope in him? Is it any wonder that, seeing Trump get another pass for a lie, or use a tweet to cover up his nefarious dealings, you are being deceived gains new, immediate meaning? How about rise up? 

It’s not Optimus who gives us hope, Optimus who was a cop in IDW, Optimus, the well-meaning supporter of the status quo (that very same status quo that has so failed us!).

It’s Megatron, who may have fallen from grace, but who understands. Who was the miner who toppled an empire.

You may interpret canon as you wish. I would never want to step on someone’s toes for that. But for all you folks wondering why the hell fandom has suddenly decided the Decepticons are more appealing…

…it’s very simple. We’ve just realized we’re in their position. 

This is a really important post. Myself, I have a knee-jerk reaction against things that look like they might be glorifying the actions the Decepticons took in fighting back against their oppression, but Mlle hits it out of the park here in explaining why people like me have got to look a little closer and with a little more sympathy to those things. The Decepticons as a group represent a lot of different things to a lot of different people, and while violence and genocide is one of them, they are simultaneously representatives of this basal, gritted-teeth-and-clenched-fists survival against people who would rather you didn’t exist. In fiction, where we have the luxury of knowing that the atrocities detailed in the canon were never real, this is a message that is just as important as the former. 

This is incredibly eloquent, and may I add: you are free to take parts of different characters and let them inspire you towards different goals.

Optimus inspires me to be strong by reminding me that I’m never alone, that I matter, and that so long as I don’t give up things are going to be ok. Megatron inspires me to stand up for myself, to endure pain and to never stand by and let something go on that isn’t fair to me or people I care about. Both of those are simplifications of much more complex characters, but if you need help imagining yourself getting through something hard, draw strength from wherever you feel it, not just from the characters that are “supposed to be” inspiring.