Tag: primesdontparty

[have a very soft ping]

 heligooddeals:

mightymegatron:

mightymegatron:

The ping is answered almost immediately.

::Blackguard, what’s happened?::

His ridges furrow at the mention of an anniversary. Who… Oh.

…Has it really already been a year? All at once, Megatron was aware of the weight of his thick armor, the heft of his sword and cannon. He shut his optics, unable to block out the waver in her voice.

::Stop.:: It isn’t an order, but a pained request. What could he possibly say to make any of this better? He’d spent the later part of his life hunting Optimus down, trying to find any little way to hurt him. Even Rigel had been a tool in his crusade, before he’d begun to come to his senses. And now, he was one of Blackguard’s only remaining connections to the Prime? How tragic was that?

::I knew him. I didn’t understand him. I hated him because he didn’t understand me, or because he did and turned away.:: Hating him was easier than thinking about why, but the gates had been opened, and Megatron found it frighteningly easy to continue.

::It was only after I murdered his alternate, after we were literally forced into a room together… that we were able to talk, on terms that didn’t end in battle, or betrayal. I was able to look at him and recognize him, we were going to-!:: The warlord’s servo hurriedly covered his face,concealing his expression from the camera-less console as he came to the most terrible realization of all. His chest began to burn, for the first time in months. After a pause that was entirely too long, he quietly added:

::His loss is felt. I assure you.::

She immediately falls silent, hearing the hurt in Megatron’s voice but misunderstanding the single word he uttered as an order rather than a plea. In her mind, someone such as him could never be made to beg; Megatron, in any universe and in any circumstance, did not beg. He only ordered, demanded, threatened, debated, and occasionally conversed.

Still though, regardless of how he say it, she follows through with it and wallows in the silence, letting her anxiety and self loathing take hold of her thoughts and gnaw away at her resolve again as Megatron collects himself on the other side. When he speaks, she listens, trying to understand the meaning of his words and withhold her judgement at his hatred and anger. It doesn’t surprise her, not in the least bit, but apparently some part of her had dared to hope he wouldn’t get into that subject. How naive of that part…

«I’m sorry.» Is all she can think to say to him. She lacked a personal connection to the fallen Prime, having only ever spoke to him in regards to returning Rigel, and thus had nothing to add on or share, only empathy. It probably would mean nothing to him, but she offers it anyway.

«I’m sure you two would have done great things together.»

Where Blackguard lacked a personal connection, Megatron had entirely too much of one. It happens, when one of your closest confidants goes from friend to traitorous rival to obsessive fixation. It was impossible and terrible to imagine how things might have gone if he had never met the naive archivist from Iacon, despite what he now felt.

Regret is pointless. It keeps us from moving forward.

::I prefer to believe we would have. But history cannot be rewritten. Mistakes are made, the universe mocks us for the casualties we suffer… and we endure to spite it.:: This was what he had always told himself, what he had consoled grieving soldiers with. A bandage over a wound that kept bleeding through them. 

::I may arrange for funeral rites to be performed here, on his planet of origin. If my Decepticons protest… it shall be under the guise that any worthy opponent deserves such respect.:: 

[have a very soft ping]

heligooddeals:

mightymegatron:

The ping is answered almost immediately.

::Blackguard, what’s happened?::

His promptness fills her with immediate regret, but she doesn’t hang up. Mostly because she’s afraid of what will happen if she does, but partially because she has a reason for calling and by god she will see this through.

«It’s his anniversary.» She says very somberly, after a lengthy pause.

«Optimus’, I mean. I… I don’t.. really know what to do for it but… seems wrong to let it go by unnoticed, ya know?» She frowns, coolant welling up in her optics again. She wipes the tears away and takes a shaky breath.

«You’re the only other mech I know who knew him besides Rigel and– This is stupid, I’m sorry.»

His ridges furrow at the mention of an anniversary. Who… Oh.

…Has it really already been a year? All at once, Megatron was aware of the weight of his thick armor, the heft of his sword and cannon. He shut his optics, unable to block out the waver in her voice.

::Stop.:: It isn’t an order, but a pained request. What could he possibly say to make any of this better? He’d spent the later part of his life hunting Optimus down, trying to find any little way to hurt him. Even Rigel had been a tool in his crusade, before he’d begun to come to his senses. And now, he was one of Blackguard’s only remaining connections to the Prime? How tragic was that?

::I knew him. I didn’t understand him. I hated him because he didn’t understand me, or because he did and turned away.:: Hating him was easier than thinking about why, but the gates had been opened, and Megatron found it frighteningly easy to continue.

::It was only after I murdered his alternate, after we were literally forced into a room together… that we were able to talk, on terms that didn’t end in battle, or betrayal. I was able to look at him and recognize him, we were going to-!:: The warlord’s servo hurriedly covered his face,concealing his expression from the camera-less console as he came to the most terrible realization of all. His chest began to burn, for the first time in months. After a pause that was entirely too long, he quietly added:

::His loss is felt. I assure you.::

ask-smokescreen:

A helm tilt- “So there’s more to it than that, right?” He’s inching closer to check for any obvious issues once Megatron’s against the table. If he doesn’t want any medics, then Smokescreen’s going to have to try to help on his own, sending a second ping, this time with false coordinates.

“Cannot know? They’re here to help, though. But if you won’t go, can you at least lie down so you don’t pass out and have to go?” To be honest, he’d feel a little bad for any medic that has to help Megs right now, anyway.

“… It isn’t, is it? None of it’s right- I feel like I never really got to know him, and now he’s gone, and- how could someone like him even go like that?”

Megatron stayed braced against the table, vents doing their work. How pathetic, to let himself fall into such a state in Smokescreen’s presence, to reveal such weakness! He could hold out a bit longer… Smokescreen will find that the only obvious issue seems to be his core burning hotter than his vents can handle. No unnecessary moving seems to be helping, though he refuses to lie down.

“I won’t collapse…” Probably. “…I mean that I fought Optimus for so long-! My only goal.. became ending him. I made… decisions based on that. Dreamed of final victory… But it didn’t matter anymore.” His arm unlocked, and Megatron sat more comfortably in his seat once he was confident he could hold himself upright easily.

“He had fled, I had won… I had Cybertron, he had a planet of his own and presented no threat. I didn’t need… or want to find him anymore. It was over.” Megatron’s fans clicked down a few cycles, beginning to even out. It still burned, but the high-grade was doing a good job of dulling everything.

“… But he was a worthy opponent. With determination and stubbornness to match my own. He was never a warrior at spark… but he deserved a death befitting one.”

In his old base at Kaon, the walls shimmer and shift. Optimus Prime appears before him, as he has so many times. Megatron draws his sword, ready for their familiar clash. Optimus does not ready himself, or call upon any of his own weapons. Instead he turns, walking away from the warlord to reach towards some bookshelves, until his arms are full with datapads. He does not look like Orion. His armor is reinforced and worn, scarred by war. His optics are dull and listless when he turns back around. The Autobot leader ignores Megatron’s taunts, ignores the sword pointed towards his face. The ground around them shakes. Megatron retracts his sword to steady himself and looks back to Optimus, who sits at the other end of a long, empty bar. He looks so weary. Optimus stands to leave, patting Megatron’s shoulder as he passes. The warlord raises himself to follow, and finds that there is no door. The Prime is no where to be found, but their pair of high-grade cubes remain. He reaches for the other’s cube.

Megatron awakes on the floor of his quarters, among the wreckage of his desk. He can’t count all of the warning messages in his HUD and clears them all away without reading one. He knows he’s dangerously overheated, he knows that his spark feels like it’s been run through yet again, he doesn’t need the warnings to tell him that. Every movement has his vision swimming and he swears several times, taking a full ten kliks to stand. It takes him another ten, vents blasting full, before he can take the few steps to his chair without collapsing. He uses it to brace himself rather than sitting in it, knowing that if he does, he won’t get back up. He’s got a few messages waiting for him: a welcome distraction.

Taking it Well

Alone in his quarters, Megatron starts laughing again, but it’s a strange laugh. Hollow and devoid of any joy. “All this time… hehehe, all this time I should have just been leveling buildings! Haha!” He rises from his seat and laughs all the way to his desk, where the matrix sits on the edge. He laughs his haunted laugh as he lifts his pede, placing it against the edge of the table. 

It becomes an enraged shout as his kick sends the desk and its contents crashing to the floor and against the walls. He snarls at nothing and kicks it again, crushing the metal. His chest burns and he doesn’t stop until he’s seeing sparks, forced to lean with one arm against the wall for support. He closes his optics and savors the rending tear of his wound. It doesn’t let him think about anything else for a while.

Nightcap

primesdontparty:

“Would I have stayed – “ His sharp glare fell back on the Warlord, “Could conscience stand to allow me live as I do now?”

Venom for tempered venom, old friend.

“I chose to assist with the coup upon my own accord, the Matrix had no part in my actions beyond what taint came from it’s bond; I am not blind to the change that was so apparent after it’s initial interface with my systems.

“In a moment of selfishness, I willingly chose to alter timelines.” The statement falling like lead from his tongue and it knocked the Prime back to pensive reflection in the mirror. “And the decision that any other mecha would be given understanding, I was not.”

No thanks to the bastard sitting beside him.

“Are you attempting to garner pity from me, old friend? Truly? I’m afraid I have little to spare. You think you are the only one that now faces little but ire from all for the decisions he’s made? That you are the only one who wanted…”

The words catch in his mouth, as if blockaded by his clenched teeth. A jagged, scarred, monster of a mech, snarling at a weary old knight whose armor had been forced upon him. Megatron was steadily growing to hate the mirror behind the bar. 

“…Something different?” The creature in the mirror deflated, pauldrons settling down against his shoulders into their familiar mantle. It glared still, but the gaze had softened too into an expression more reminiscent of an old pit fighter than a bloodthirsty beast. He studied the other, as if judging how to proceed.

Nightcap

primesdontparty:

The silence that fell between them was agonizing, Optimus rifling through any possible argument that he could throw back in case the Tyrant was bent on continuing the spat, but to his shock, the mood shifted.

His piercing gaze softened for a split second after the stool was scooted his way, waiting for Megatron to use the distraction for a invitation to engage in a physical fight. That was usually how these things went, after all. 

“Neither did I,” Optimus replied quietly as his hand drifted over top of the bar stool idly. All the fire had been sapped from his arguments and instead left with a pensive and cautious need to clarify the events that had transpired between their timelines. Universes. However it could be explained. “When I chose to change my fate through the Anonymous’ means, I had not thought my timeline still functioned… Or to which I even belonged.

“I was aware of the Multiverse, and those hailing from differing worlds before I could catch my bearings. Where I was… Who I was-” Cyan optics snapped back to the Decepticon, “Surviving an extinction attempt has a way of rattling processors.”

Extinction attempt. Always so grave. It took effort not to roll his optics.

“We are not different species, Optimus. Our race would have lived on, just as it will now. At worst, genocide is a more fitting term.” An extremely poor attempt at dark humor perhaps, but it was true. He no longer took any pride in the fact, but he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it either. Megatron returned to glaring into his glass as the coil of pain blossomed anew.

Optimus had, as he always had, chosen the path with the least violence, regardless of consequence. Though Megatron found it typical of the Prime, the predictable behavior wasn’t what had his hackles raised. Why had Optimus been able to find a way out, when he was left to pick up the shattered remains of their planet and its people?

Because you’re the one who broke it, came the unwelcome answer.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me. Amusingly, I seem to be one of the few from our plane of existence that understands your particular brand of logic. As far as condoning it, who am I to question the Matrix of Leadership?” The venom in his lines seemed to drip from his words, and the warlord clenched his jaw, as if to stem its flow.

Nightcap

primesdontparty:

mighty-megatron:

“What you called peace I called complacency. The council would not have allowed anything to change, and still you-” The further along that train of thought went, the deeper his claws gouged into the wood. It takes a few heavy, shaky ventilations for the warlord to collect coherent thoughts. Optimus was right; his systems would fail soon if he couldn’t calm down. Pathetic.

"Injury… not insanity. You trained your scout well, if that matters to you. The scar he left may never heal properly, you should be very proud…” Averting his optics worked only for a brief time. That deep voice and blazing EM field wouldn’t let him forget who he was talking to. May as well look him in the eye, despite the burn in his overheating chest.

“Even thinking too hard about you gives me physical pain, isn’t that such perfect justice?” That cube of high grade is starting to look very inviting…

A harsh sound rattled through his frame as he looked away dismissively towards the too-large mirror that hung at the back of the bar. The reflection was comical to say the least: A Warlord nearly doubled over in pain, scratching deep into the polished surface of the counter, and a weary-looking Prime who’s paint had faded with time. Eons had not been kind.

“What damage Bumblebee caused, it was not by my command,” Optimus stated. “Since I assisted in the coup of this Universe’s Tyrant, I have not exercised the commanding power I once held.” He glanced at the cubes of energon that Megatron was eyeing, and with a nudge of a black hand, scooted one closer to his nemesis. 

“Whomever the Council saw in me… Has long since retired.” 

Megatron took the cube with a sneer, but opted to glare into the drink rather than consume it just yet. As he listened, the ache subsided slightly. It would be easy not to believe a word the Prime said, to disregard his attempts to relate and shut out his enemy. But what would be the point? If the old warrior kept that up, they’d be stuck in this purgatory forever, or until he keeled over from the scar pulsing in his chest every time he lost his temper.

Optimus would do and say anything to end their animosity. However… both of them had, technically speaking, succeeded in killing the other. Now they both had the chance to recreate Cybertron, in the fashion they each envisioned. What more reason did Megatron need to cling to, simply to justify his hatred?

The warlord forced down a swig of his cube, and sat heavily, before reaching over and pulling out another stool for the Prime. “… Good. I never liked him.”