TO BOLDLY GO

optimus prime // dearly beloved

[pnglove]

© saweeeties

[best-first]

@contingencyprocessor

[best-first]

{ @best-head } Pattapat pat pat.

{ @best-head }

Oh, he is being patted…

Optimus leans over further, almost overbalancing as he presses his big blocky helm into Prowl’s servos.

“Hi.”

[best-first]

"Shall we have a beach day?"

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Is staring /Intensely/ at Optimus. Makinga rolling chuffing noise. Stepping forward once, shoulders up and helm down. The posture of a targeting predator as he mumbles in a rolling thunder," Is that you-? "

Hes been following the scent for an hour. Only to find the keel hauled looking Prime.

Guh.

Someone had been nice enough to put a baggie of mostly-frozen slush on his upper back between his smokestacks, and, bare honest, Prime’d just about been willing to kiss them for it.

That’d mean moving, though. So he’d gone flat on his underbelly instead, even though it felt awkward to sprawl out in root mode rather than be folded away as a truck. It was easier to fluff his armor out, with more exposed surface area, and he wasn’t used to it.

Springer’s voice has his fins shift up, optics blearily half-lit. “Huh?”

[springingfromnothing]

Hes putting off so much heat Springer has to keep preventing the trigger in his reticle. It wants to hunt- to track- Optimus would be so easy to track. So easy to drag down to the dirt and bite harshly for making him chase the scent.

His armor ripples with a chiming warning. Vents hissing like steam stacks as he gives an subsonic rumble. All vibration without noise. Blue optics hyper bright as he takes another heavy step.

" You... this entire room - the hall. It /all/ smells like you." Lip curling in a Fleming like response. Growling because it traps that maddening musky damp sweetness in his mouth and scent receptors.

[best-first]

Stupidly, Optimus screws his face up right back and says, “I live here,” peevish and defensive. Of course it’s going to smell like he’s in here. He’s in here.

Springer’s getting closer.

The triple-changer is between him and the door.

Not normally a problem. Optimus could handle his own and has, when they’ve sparred. He can stand his ground, usually. But as he pushes himself up off the low sofa in the reading room, his elbow buckles and he’s forced to slump back against the arm of the couch again for support as the room wobbles like a mirage.

“Don’t,” he rasps, picking up the lost bag of melting ice to rest it on his chassis, between his windshield panes. Condensation gathers quickly and rolls down the glass as his glossa darts over his bottom lip. “Don’t. You’ll get sick, too, if you come over. I have a fever.”

[best-first]

Is staring /Intensely/ at Optimus. Makinga rolling chuffing noise. Stepping forward once, shoulders up and helm down. The posture of a targeting predator as he mumbles in a rolling thunder," Is that you-? "

Hes been following the scent for an hour. Only to find the keel hauled looking Prime.

Guh.

Someone had been nice enough to put a baggie of mostly-frozen slush on his upper back between his smokestacks, and, bare honest, Prime’d just about been willing to kiss them for it.

That’d mean moving, though. So he’d gone flat on his underbelly instead, even though it felt awkward to sprawl out in root mode rather than be folded away as a truck. It was easier to fluff his armor out, with more exposed surface area, and he wasn’t used to it.

Springer’s voice has his fins shift up, optics blearily half-lit. “Huh?”

[best-first]

He has to find Shockwave.

That’s what he’s supposed to do. He remembers. Orion is supposed to find his Senator, and Shockwave will soothe this terrible, angry ache, and quell this upsurge in temperature.

He promised.

[best-first]

{ @indomitablespirits }

…To sit down. Nurse (almost Dr.) Roz demands it.

“Hnh.”

Sitting down is probably for the best, even though it feels a bit like he might not be getting up off the ground for a little while if he does.

…Honestly, better to sit than collapse.

“I think I’ve lost coolant pressure?”

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{ @gowithplana }

" Convoy-?" Tone gentle and concerned.

The big rig gives a gusty, dry-desert huff through his central vents and staggers.

He’s at least mindful enough to keep from dropping his whole weight on the Magnus. Instead Convoy eases himself to his knees and bunts his helm up against Optimus, fins pressed back as he presses a scarred cheek to cooler armor.

“…S’hot.”

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He… really doesn’t feel good.

Something is wrong but he can’t- he can’t figure it out, can’t pinpoint the problem.

Optimus needs to… to do something, he thinks, he needs to…

…

[recoiled4]

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{ @convenientkeystorage } "Oh, shit, he moved."

Sitting up slightly causes a cascade of... playing cards?

"Jack," Optimus intones, pinching an Alchemist's Quadrant that stuck behind a wiper off his windshield to squint at it. "I see you've been busy."

[best-first]

He slept all day.

Somehow, this does not make him feel rested.

[ilovedirt]

T-shirt that reads I STRUGGLE TO INTERACT WITH OTHERS

[drdiarrheaphd-real]

optimum pride vroom vroom

[best-head]

Noses at his chevron and generally just gets in the way. Because he loves you.

Optimus, Prowl had come to find over the years, was something like a large dog.

This was his way of showing affection, getting in the way. Prowl just.. has more patience for it, these days. Reaching a servo up to pat at Optimus' arm, he grumbled his engines a little.

"Do you want to hold me?"

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“Yes,” Optimus mumbles against the tactician’s audial, busy reacquainting himself with the edge of Prowl’s helm crest for the moment. “I want to hold you. I have somewhere to go, it’s dark and quiet.”

Patting is not explicit permission. He needs to be told yes. Prowl should have a say in the matter, no matter how much Optimus’ messed-up coding howls at him to grab his friend and drag him off to—

He’s not sure what. He hasn’t managed it yet.

[best-first]

Steam curls in loose plumes from his smokestacks and upper chassis, causing condensation to gather on his face and windshield.

it feels like he should be more annoyed about that, but Optimus can’t bring himself to care.

He’s finding it pretty hard to concentrate at all, actually.

Huh.

[maryrossyy]