It’s difficult to tell - typically light fixtures are installed using some combination of screws and brackets to affix them to the wall, but in this case the actual point of connection is obscured by a cat.
Notes: This is a little fic project I've started to keep my brain flexible and running smoothly. There will be, as one might guess, 26 total, although I don't know that they'll post on any particular schedule. I'll put them all on AO3 when I've finished, but for now, Tumblr is where to find them. ^_^
--
Surely, Megatron finds himself thinking, surely, I will find a way to make this absurd experiment worthwhile.
He is not normally prone to questioning himself. He's found, over the millenia, that it's better not to indulge in such nonsense—better to be decisive and correct later than to dither and ponder and not accomplish anything in the first place. His Decepticons appreciate his confidence. The Autobots fear it. Uncertainty in the correctness of his actions is not a feeling that he enjoys.
Across the room, Blitzwing sits in front of Sari Sumdac's containment field, his oldest, ice-calm face forward, brow furrowed in concentration as she teaches him how to play some kind of human clapping game. Her tiny, soft servos are not simply dwarfed by his but made entirely ridiculous—even if she could reach through the forcefield, Megatron is doubtful that Blitzwing would even register her touch. Despite this, Blitzwing is being unsettlingly delicate about the game, as if there is no forcefield to block him, as if he could crush the little technorganic wretch with an over-firm palm.
This was not the plan.
The plan had been much simpler. General Strika had waited for him to be removed from Trypticon for the first day of his sham trial before sending agents in to free the other Decepticons in custody and remove the stasis lock keeping that once-great warship in his vast alt mode. She herself had then flown Trypticon to Iacon and descended upon the trial, ripping the walls of Metroplex open as if the building were no more than a can of oil waiting to be drunk. She had retrieved Megatron, broken his stasis cuffs and vocal lock, and roared out of Cybertronian airspace before the pitiful 'Bots of the Elite Guard could even muster a suitable response. It had all gone off very neatly, as he'd known it would—even at their current height of paranoia, the Autobots are simply not prepared to respond to a display of true force.
And then Trypticon, still drowsy from millenia of stasis lock, had complained of an itch—Sari Sumdac, nearly the same size as the Mini-Cons that have maintained Trypticon for unknown generations, had gotten into his vents. So now they have a prisoner, who is neither a real Autobot nor a real Cybertronian and yet is inexplicably valuable, and she's teaching Blitzwing to play "pat-a-cake." Megatron only hopes that he can use her bizarre connection to the Allspark to his advantage, since he doubts that the Autobots would trade him for her. Optimus Prime might, because Optimus Prime is fond of the little creature, but the Acting Magnus' dislike of organics is well-known.
"Why," Megatron drawls, when Blitzwing finally steps away from the containment field, "are you indulging her?"
Blitzwing's faces spin before, unexpectedly, landing back on the icy one again. "Because she is a potential ally, Lord Megatron."
Megatron feels his brow ridges rise. "How so?"
"She is not an Autobot, ja? She is a Decepticon." At Megatron's dubious expression, Blitzwing straightens up slightly and gestures to his own forearms. "She has inbuilt weapons. She flies. She is surprisingly mean."
"She flies with an external jetpack, you fool. We confiscated it."
"Ja, for now, Lord Megatron, but she has the thrusters. She is developing the nascent ailerons on her back. She will have wings. The Autobots will not welcome a Decepticon on Cybertron when they figure it out, even a very small one." Blitzwing actually sighs. "Plus it is nice to see a young Decepticon again. It's been so long."
Megatron's optics flicker. "Why, Blitzwing, are you getting sentimental in your old age?"
Spin. Red face forward, biting out, "And what's wrong with that? You think only you're allowed to worry about the future of our people?" Spin, mad eyes and toothy mouth in a black hole that's not really a face at all, "Maybe we can get those colorful twins too! They're so cute! The zip-zip of little jets in the corridors would really liven this place up!"
Megatron squints at Blitzwing for a moment and then looks back over at Sari, now sprawled on the floor of the containment chamber with an irritated look on her face. When she catches him looking she makes a rude gesture and rolls over to turn her back on him, and he does see faint panel lines on her back through the fabric of her dress, the tracery of developing hinges. No Cybertronian has ever developed in such a way, so gradually—but then again, no Cybertronian has organic components apart from Blackarachnia, who was already an adult at the time of her mishap on Archa Seven.
"A Decepticon with a direct connection to the Allspark," he finds himself murmuring. "What a fascinating possibility that is."
--
Across the room, in the containment field, Sari keeps her back turned to Megatron and sneaks a hand up to her comm, which the Decepticons haven't disabled because they can't figure out where it is on her. "Hey, Optimus," she whispers, quiet as she can manage, "are you guys locked on yet? Because I think these guys are starting to get weird about it."
"Weird how? They haven't hurt you, have they?"
"No, no, I'm fine, but I think Blitzwing wants to adopt me."
so embarrassing to watch yourself become obsessed with a character that feels tailor made for you specifically to become obsessed with. feels like i fell into a trap made just for me. like damn they got me. those are all the things i like and go crazy for
Yes it did. I just let it slide because I was taught that I'm "too sensitive" anytime something bothered me. But now I'm finally standing up for myself.
"You never struggled with this when you were a kid."
Yes I did. I just burned myself out in order to do it so I wouldn't be punished. But now I'm accepting myself enough to not force myself to do what I was never meant to do.
"You didn't have these problems when you were younger."
Yes, I did. I just spent my child/teen years with structured institutions like school while not having to worry about whether I had a roof over my head or food to eat and spent my early adult years using up every bit of adrenaline I will ever have to ignore the fact that I've been chronically burnt out my whole life.
"But you did fine for years, why would it be bad now?"
Because I spent the first 37 years of my life burning the candle at both ends to function even remotely and I scraped that barrel empty. Then I crashed and burned and now I'm likely never recovering fully.
So, I have officially been declared useless* by the Labour and Welfare Administration.
In a good way!
The way it works in Norway, they have to evaluate if your work capacity is shit enough to be allowed to apply for disability before you can apply for disability. We sent the papers for that in January.
Today, I got a "we don't think [name] is capable of doing any work now or in the foreseeable future" letter.
So now I get to apply for disability. I'll have my answer in about 6 months. At least they will keep paying my temporary disability until then.
(* I don't actually think disabled people are useless, but the way the Labour and Welfare Administration frame it, they clearly do.)