The Science Experiment Escaped!

human turned robot decepticon decoy OC. (there are links on this blog but not on mobile, sorry. mun is 18+) THERE WILL BE NSFW HERE

[hover-ing]

pinned post

mobile is dumb so all the extra pages i have im gunna link to here;

coms i have (and who did them :] )

coms i want

tag list

time line (main, not lost light au)

Hover Page

Derby Page

SelfShip discord server: https://discord.gg/Qw5FPytQE8

[hover-ing]

thank you @nauschka for the commission!!! < 3

[halo-lll-odst]

i think more robots should be disabled actually. robots whose bodies keep falling apart and need much more consistent repairs. robots whose bodily upkeep is hard and laborious and exhausting. robots who physically cant do things without help from another individual. robots who are imperfect and dont fit the bill of a flawless machine. i want more of this waiter please bring me more disabled robots

[hover-ing]

Oh hey, it Hover 😂

[deepseadork]

I finally remembered to share this! This is the entire IDW Transformers collection on a google drive folder, coordinated by W.D. Gasriel. I stumbled upon it while scrolling Pinterest a few weeks ago after the site I was originally reading on went down.

[berracids]

“What color is energon?” An answer by me

••••••••••••••••••••

A personal headcanon of mine regarding the color of energon to settle the debate of wether it is pink or blue. And that it is essentially both, hear me out.

• Energon in its raw form, or at least one that hasn’t been processed too much is blue, like we have in transformers prime and transformers one, like how we see when they ‘bleed’ it’s usually in that bright blue color, or when they use it to refuel, as the first refinement for usage doesn’t change its color yet. That is where it is blue. Like how we see it mined in transformers prime and transformers one

• And the cases where it is pink it’s when it’s heavily refined, like how we see in the g1, where the decepticons go through complex ways to make energon from energy resources, or like how artificial energon is made since this one was not made on or from cybertron as they need to make it in mass quantities to make the fuel needed for their trips to and from cybertron. I like to think that the reason why synthetic energon was green in transformers prime is due to it wasn’t that well made, think of it like trying to make meth but you messed up a step so now you have a different concoction that still gets you high in a different way than the g1 one did where it was like alcohol.

• But when it is in tf mtmte case (i havent read all the comics yet) it is also pink, which we can speculate from that it had to be heavily refined for usage in outer space, like how it is on the lost light. Other colors of energon are introduced thé further it is refined like how engex is depicted as this orangish-gold, think of it like different kinds of liquors that make you drink and how they also come in different colors based on their means of production. Think of it based on how different kind of liquor taste based on how long they were aged.

• A personal headcanon I have about energon based on the transformers one is that the quality of energon is based on where you are at the society on cybertron, which the tfo explains vaguely as cybertron had a problem or classism/functionalism before the civil war, and it is that the grade of the energon is based on how raw it is, think of it as how ‘organic’ it can get, as we know that sentinel gave the quintessons freshly mined energon that was barely refined so they can use it as they want as it has a wider variety of usages, the same case where the elites on cybertron are seen having blue energon that is in smaller cubes like how Orion fell on a pile of one and was excited that he snatched some on his way of escaping darkwing, it is also affected by capitalism against the working class bots, similar to how energy resources are, think of petroleum, the rawer you can get it the more things you can use it, unlike it’s derivatives where it narrows its usages think processed foods that people have easier access to since it has more preservatives to make large quantities of it so thé working cows can have something.

So in theory the lower you are in the cybertronian hierarchy the more refined your energon will be, therefore, the pinkier your energon will be.

• Now for the valveplug part, I like to interpret it as similar to how the human body works but still keep its cybertronian integrity, like how many writer/artists depict transfluids as pink is because their frames have already used the energon that is essentially blue and then turned pink, think about how how our cum is white but the water we drink is clear, in their cases like how it happened in the skybound version where they tore skywarp apart orsince energon was scarce i.e cybertronian cannibalism, like how humans do in dire situations eat each other, another case when Megatron just drank the energon straight from the jugular cable when he killed treailbreaker for the fun of it, which also explains why their release is a different color.

• And extra something I like to think about is that the cowformer’s milk is essentially pink since it is released from their bodies, so if they’re injured the color of the liquid seeping out is blue, but if their bodies release it, wether it’s milk or transfluids it’s pink cause the blue energon has been refined and used in their frames.

I don’t know about you all but personally this is my personal take on it and a general explanation on why energon is seen and depicted as different colors to actually give an explanation on why all color of energon are correct based on whatever continuity there is.

I would love to hear everyone’s thoughts on this and to see what they add to this.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

-Tag list-

@transformers-spike @therobotsarestuckinmyhead @xaythefreak @clara-belle93 @vinuaei @drunkeninlovesailor @dieundertaker

[sinn0hh]

[hover-ing]

Actually, I'm adding "Tarn picking up Derby like a cat" to the list of things I want commissioned

[bahari-official]

me: i wanna talk about my ocs

someone: ok tell me about your ocs

me, suddenly convinced that every single thing about my ocs is stupid and cringy and probably offensive: i. have them

[hover-ing]

She should meet Tarn.

Tarn would kill her because she's annoying as fuck. Like thank God by the time she's in his time line her Hover body is dead and she's Derby, cus he would squash her like the annoying bug she is.

She would love him though 👍

(I know so little about Tarn tbh. Also sorry for how long this sat in my inbox...)

[hover-ing]

This is not canon, I just thought it would be funny to give her "an inappropriate dream about your teacher" moment...

Recharge Protocols

Hover x Megatron

Hover's systems slipped into recharge mode gradually, defrag protocols running in the background as her consciousness drifted. The last thing she registered was the quiet hum of the *Nemesis* around her, the comfort of her small quarters, the—

The dream started the way dreams do—without logic, without preamble.

She was in Megatron's quarters. Somehow she knew it was his space even though she'd never been there, the dream-logic supplying details her conscious mind had never observed. Larger than hers, obviously. More austere. A berth that could actually accommodate his frame size.

And Megatron himself, standing with his back to her, reviewing something on a datapad.

"Lord Megatron," she heard herself say, and her voice sounded wrong—too confident, too certain.

He turned, and the way he looked at her made her cooling fans kick on. Not the dismissive glance he usually gave her. Not the mild interest when she did something competent. This was heat. Want. Hunger.

"Hover." His voice rumbled through her audials, deeper than normal, resonating in her chest plating. "I've been waiting for you."

Dream-logic. She should question this. Should wonder why he'd be waiting, why she was here, why her frame felt hot and oversensitive already. But the dream swept her along, and she found herself moving closer.

"You called for me?" That confident voice again, not quite hers but coming from her vocalizer anyway.

"I did." He set down the datapad, his optics never leaving her. "You've been... distracting me."

"Have I?"

"Considerably." He was moving now, closing the distance between them with deliberate steps. "Walking through my ship. Working in that lab. Existing in my peripheral vision constantly."

Her spark pulsed faster. This wasn't real—couldn't be real—but her systems were responding like it was. Charge building in her lines, her interface protocols pinging online without her conscious input.

"I apologize, my lord." But there was no apology in her tone.

"No you don't." He was in front of her now, massive and imposing and radiating heat. One hand came up to trace the curve of her jaw, surprisingly gentle. "You know exactly what you do."

"And what's that?"

"Make me want you." His thumb brushed across her lower lip plating. "Make me think about things I have no time for. Make me imagine how you'd look beneath me."

Her systems stuttered. "Lord Megatron—"

"Just Megatron. Here. Now." His other hand found her waist, pulled her closer. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll let you go."

She should say no. Should maintain professionalism, hierarchy, all the reasons this was impossible. But this was a dream, and in dreams you could have things you'd never admit to wanting.

"I want this," she whispered.

The kiss was inevitable—his mouth claiming hers with an intensity that made her knees weak. She gripped his chest plating for balance, her much smaller frame pressed against his, and felt the rumble of his engine through her sensors.

When he pulled back, his optics were blazing. "Berth. Now."

She went, and he followed, the dream shifting them seamlessly so she was on her back on his berth and he was looming over her, one hand braced beside her head.

"I'm going to take you apart," he said, voice low and dark with promise. "Slowly. Thoroughly. Until you can't remember anything but my name."

"Yes." It came out as a gasp.

His hands moved to her chest, panels opening with practiced ease—dream-logic again, because she'd never shown him how they worked. But it didn't matter because his fingers were on her protoform now, tracing the sensitive cables and mesh, making her arch into his touch.

"So responsive," he murmured. "I wonder how much you can take."

Her own hands were moving, finding the seams of his armor, desperate to touch him back. He allowed it, his chestplate opening to reveal the powerful systems beneath, the glow of his spark chamber visible through multiple layers of protective plating.

"Beautiful," she breathed, because he was—all that power and strength barely contained.

"You haven't seen anything yet." His hand slid down her frame, found her interface panel. "Open for me."

Her panel slid aside without conscious command, her valve already slick with lubricant, external node pulsing with need. Megatron made a satisfied sound, one large finger tracing through the fluid, circling her node with just enough pressure to make her whimper.

"Already so wet," he observed. "Have you thought about this before? Imagined me touching you like this?"

"Yes," she admitted, because what did it matter in a dream?

"Good." He pushed one finger into her valve, stretching her, and she cried out at the sensation. "Because I'm going to make sure reality exceeds your imagination."

He worked her carefully despite his size, adding a second finger, then a third, stretching her while his thumb maintained steady pressure on her node. The pleasure built rapidly, her systems heating, her field reaching for his desperately.

"That's it," he encouraged. "Take what you need."

She was close already, systems spiraling toward overload embarrassingly fast. But before she could tip over, he withdrew his hand, leaving her gasping and frustrated.

"Not yet," he said. "You overload when I'm inside you."

His own panel opened, spike pressurizing with a hiss of hydraulics. It was proportional to his frame—which meant massive, intimidating, highlighted with biolights that pulsed in time with his spark.

Hover's optics widened. "That's not going to—"

"It will." He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his spike already slick with pre-fluid. "Trust me."

Then he was pushing in, slowly, inexorably, stretching her valve to its limits. The burn of it was intense but not quite painful, her self-repair systems already adjusting, mesh expanding to accommodate him. By the time he was fully seated, she felt impossibly full, every sensor in her valve firing at maximum sensitivity.

"Primus," she gasped. "You're so—"

"Big?" There was dark amusement in his voice. "Deep?" He rolled his hips slightly, making her keen. "Filling you completely?"

"Yes—all of it—"

"Good." He started moving, long slow thrusts that dragged against every sensor cluster. "Because I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

The rhythm he set was devastating—hard enough to make her see static, but controlled enough that she couldn't quite reach overload. He kept her right on the edge, one hand gripping her hip, the other braced beside her head, his field overwhelming hers with sheer dominance.

"Touch yourself," he commanded. "I want to feel you squeeze around me when you overload."

Her hand slid between them, finding her node, and the moment she touched it the pleasure spiked impossibly higher. She was babbling now, words spilling out without filter—his name, pleas for more, harder, faster, please—

"That's it," he growled. "Come for me. Now."

Her overload hit like an explosion, every system whiting out, valve clamping down rhythmically on his spike. She felt him follow her over, his frame locking up, the flood of transfluid hot inside her, biolights flaring so bright she had to close her optics.

The pleasure seemed to last forever, rolling through her in waves, until finally—

---

Hover onlined with a gasp, systems rebooting abruptly from recharge.

She was in her quarters. Alone. In her berth.

Her interface panel was hot, valve cycling and slick with lubricant, her entire lower frame aching with unfulfilled charge. Her cooling fans were running at maximum, and she could feel the sticky residue of actual transfluid that her frame had produced in response to the dream.

"Frag," she whispered to the empty room.

A wet dream. An actual, literal wet dream about Megatron. About being fragged by Megatron specifically, in explicit detail her recharging processor had apparently conjured without permission.

She lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened. Her valve was still throbbing, still slick, her node still pulsing with need. The dream had brought her right to the edge but not quite over—a recharge cycle interrupted before the full release.

She could finish it. Could slide her hand down, touch herself, bring herself to actual overload while the dream was still fresh in her memory banks.

She did exactly that.

Her fingers found her node, already oversensitive from the dream, and she worked it in tight circles. The other hand pressed against her valve, two fingers sliding in easily with how slick she was. It didn't take long—she was already wound so tight from the dream that a few well-placed touches had her tumbling over the edge, muffling her sounds in her arm as the overload crashed through her.

When she came down, venting hard, staring at the ceiling of her quarters, one thought crystallized with uncomfortable, mortifying, clarity:

She was in so much trouble.

Because that dream—that fragging dream—had felt good. Too good. Good enough that some part of her traitorous processor wanted it to be real, wanted to know if Megatron would actually look at her like that, touch her like that, frag her like that.

She'd just had a wet dream about Megatron.

Megatron. Her leader. The mech who'd been teaching her about Cybertronian culture and told her old war stories like a grandfather tells their grandchild. This was the equivalent of having a sex dream about your teacher and then having to look them in the optics the next day during lessons.

"Oh my god," she whispered to the empty room, covering her face with both hands. "Oh my god, I can't—"

She'd have to see him tomorrow. Probably for another briefing or mission. And she'd have to stand there knowing exactly what her recharge cycle had conjured up. Knowing in explicit detail what dream-version-of-him had done to her. What she'd let him do. What she'd begged him to do.

The worst part? It had felt good. Too good. Her frame was still buzzing with residual charge, her valve still sensitive, and some absolutely traitorous part of her processor was already filing away the memory in her personal archives like it was something she might want to... reference later.

"No," she told herself firmly. "Absolutely not. This was a glitch. A random firing of neurons—or whatever the Cybertronian equivalent is. It doesn't mean anything."

Except she could still feel the phantom sensation of his hands on her frame. Could still hear his voice rumbling through her audials. Could still remember the heat of his optics when he'd looked at her like she was something he wanted to devour.

She was going to have to face him tomorrow. Look him in the optics. Probably report for training or surveillance or stroke his ego some way or another. And she was going to have to act completely normal while knowing her recharge protocols had produced that.

Hover grabbed a cleaning cloth more aggressively than necessary and started wiping away the evidence of her dream. Maybe if she worked hard enough at pretending it never happened, she could convince herself it didn't matter.

(It mattered. It mattered so much she was already dreading the next time she had to be in the same room with him, terrified he'd somehow be able to tell just by looking at her.)

"This is fine," she muttered, throwing the cloth in the cleaning chute with more force than necessary. "Everything is fine. It was just a stupid dream. It doesn't mean anything. Tomorrow will be completely normal."

Tomorrow was not, in fact, going to be completely normal.

But she'd worry about that when she had to face him in the morning and try not to remember what dream-him had said about ruining her for anyone else.

She was so fragged. And not even in the fun way.

[blackkat15]

old meme I made ages ago

[hover-ing]

Tangled

Hover was in the rec room, sprawled across one of the tables with a datapad, half-reading and half-listening to Rumble and Skywarp argue about something stupid. The usual routine.

Frenzy dropped into the seat across from her with slightly more force than necessary.

"Hey," he said.

She looked up. "Hey yourself."

He was fidgeting—digits tapping against the table, posture restless in a way that was unusual for him. Rumble was the antsy twin; Frenzy was typically more controlled.

"You good?" she asked.

"Yeah. No. Maybe." He glanced at his brother and Skywarp, then back at her. "Can I ask you something?"

"You literally just did."

"Smartass." But there was no heat in it. "I mean—can we go somewhere? I need help with something."

Hover set down her datapad, studying him. His EMF was pinging with discomfort and embarrassment, unusual enough that her curiosity immediately kicked in.

"Sure. Your quarters?"

"Yeah."

She followed him out, ignoring the way Rumble's visor tracked them with obvious interest and Skywarp's wings twitched. Let them wonder.

---

Frenzy's quarters were nearly identical to Rumble's—small, cluttered with random bits of tech and weapons, a berth that was slightly too small for his frame. Technically just an offshoot from SoundWave's quarters but adapted for them. He stood in the middle of the room for a moment, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.

"Okay," Hover said, crossing her arms. "What's going on?"

"My wiring's fragged," he said bluntly. "In my cassette chamber. It's all tangled and I can't reach it properly to fix it myself."

"And you need me to...?"

"Untangle it. Please." He looked away. "Soundwave's off-ship and Rumble's hands are too big and clumsy for this kind of work. You've got smaller digits and you've done maintenance on yourself, so—"

"You want me to access your cassette chamber." She kept her voice neutral, but something warm flickered in her chest. Trust. He was asking her because he trusted her.

"Yeah." His optics flicked back to her. "I know it's—it's kind of intimate. But I wouldn't ask if it wasn't actually a problem. The tangles are pulling wrong and it's starting to hurt."

"Show me."

He hesitated for just a second, then his chestplate opened with a series of soft clicks.

The cassette chamber was immediately visible—the space where he could compress down into his alt-mode, lined with intricate wiring and delicate mechanisms. And yeah, she could see the problem immediately. Several wire clusters were twisted and tangled, pulled taut in ways that had to be causing feedback errors.

"Okay," she said quietly. "Yeah, that's a mess. Sit down on the berth, it'll be easier if I can reach properly."

He sat. She climbed up next to him, kneeling so she was at the right height to access his chest. This close, she could feel the heat from his internal systems, the electromagnetic field of his spark somewhere deeper in his chassis.

"This is going to take a while," she warned. "And I'm going to have to touch a lot of sensitive wiring. Tell me if I'm hurting you."

"I will." His voice had gone quieter.

She reached in carefully, fingers finding the first tangle. The wires were warm under her touch, and she felt Frenzy's whole frame twitch slightly at the contact.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"'s fine. Just—sensitive."

"I know." She started working at the knot, gentle and methodical. This kind of maintenance required patience, care, attention to detail. One wrong pull and she could damage something important.

Frenzy was very, very still. His optics were fixed on the wall, but she could feel the tension in his frame, the way his cooling fans had kicked up slightly. His EMF was doing something complicated—discomfort from the tangles, but also something else. Something that made her hyperaware of how close they were, how intimate this actually was.

Wire maintenance was practical. But it was also inherently vulnerable—letting someone access your internals, your delicate systems, trusting them not to hurt you. Trusting them to be careful with parts of you that were never meant to be casually exposed.

She freed the first tangle and moved to the next, fingers working carefully through the twisted cables. Frenzy made a small sound—half relief, half something else.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

"Yeah. That—that one was pulling bad. Feels better now."

"Good." She continued working, hyper-focused on the task but unable to ignore the shift in atmosphere. The air felt heavier somehow, charged with something unspoken.

Her fingers brushed against a wire cluster that was particularly sensitive and Frenzy's frame shuddered, his hand coming up to grip the edge of the berth.

"Hover—"

"I know. Almost done with this section." But her voice had gone lower, and she was suddenly very aware of her own breathing, the heat of his frame against her knees, the way his optics had finally moved to watch her hands working in his chest.

The third tangle came free, and she moved to the fourth—the deepest one, closest to his spark chamber. This one was going to require more direct contact, her fingers essentially pressed against the interior walls of his cassette chamber to reach it.

"This one's going to be harder to reach," she warned. "I'm going to have to—"

"Do what you need to do." His voice was rough. "I trust you."

Something warm flooded through her at those words. She shifted closer, practically pressed against him now, one hand braced on his chassis for leverage while the other worked deeper into his internals.

Frenzy's cooling fans were loud now, his frame radiating heat. Every small movement of her fingers caused minute reactions—a twitch, a slight vent of air, the subtle shift of his electromagnetic field against hers.

"There," she murmured, feeling the tangle start to give way. "Almost—"

The wire came free, and Frenzy made a sound that was definitely not just relief. His hand came up to her waist, not pulling or pushing, just... grounding himself.

Hover's own ventilation had picked up. She was still there, hand inside his chassis, face close enough to his that she could see every minute expression in his optics, feel the heat of his systems, the pulse of his field resonating with hers.

"Last one," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

She worked at the final tangle, slower now, hyperaware of every touch, every small reaction. When it finally came free, Frenzy's frame relaxed all at once, his head tilting back slightly.

"Primus," he said. "That's—that's so much better."

"Good." But she didn't immediately pull her hand back. Neither of them moved. The air between them felt electric, possibility hovering unspoken.

Frenzy's optics met hers. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Her hand was still in his chassis. His hand was still on her waist.

The moment stretched. Then Frenzy's grip on her waist tightened slightly, his other hand coming up to cup the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheek plating.

"Hover," he said quietly. "If you want to—we could—"

"Yeah," she said. "We could."

The kiss was inevitable, their fields already entangled, the vulnerability of the moment bleeding into something else entirely. His mouth was warm against her paneling, she lamented not having given herself a mouth in this body as she shifted to straddle his lap properly, her hand finally withdrawing from his chassis so both could grip his shoulders.

His chestplate was still open. The intimacy of it—the exposure, the trust—made everything feel more intense. When his hands moved to her own chest, there was a question in the touch.

"Yeah," she breathed against his mouth. "Yes."

Her own plating opened with a series of soft clicks, and then they were both exposed, both vulnerable, fields resonating so closely it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

"Interface?" Frenzy asked, voice rough as he ran his fingers through her wiring.

"Sticky," she said, making the decision quickly. It felt right for this—more intimate than plug-and-play, more direct, more about sensation and trust than just connection.

His panel slid aside and she could see the biolights already glowing, his spike pressurizing with a soft hiss of hydraulics. She opened her own panel, feeling the heat and slickness already gathering, her valve cycling with anticipation.

When he touched her there—fingers sliding through the lubricant, finding her exterior node and circling it gently—she gasped against his shoulder.

"Okay?" he murmured.

"So okay."

He worked her carefully, methodically, the same enthusiasm he'd shown in everything else. When he finally pressed a finger inside, she rocked against him, seeking more.

"Frenzy—"

"I know." He withdrew his hand, gripped her hips, lined himself up. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

The first press of his spike against her valve made them both shudder. Then he was pushing in slowly, carefully, giving her time to adjust to the stretch and sensation. The slick heat of sticky interfacing was always intense—no barriers, just mesh against mesh, every sensor firing.

When he was fully seated, they both went still for a moment, just feeling it. The fullness, the heat, the way their fields had synchronized completely, pleasure feedback looping between them.

Then Hover rolled her hips and they both made sounds that were pure need.

The rhythm they found was slow at first, exploratory. Frenzy's hands on her hips guiding her movements, her hands braced on his shoulders, occasionally sliding up to grip the edges of his still-open chassis—not to damage, just to ground herself in the vulnerability of it.

"You feel so good," he groaned, head tilting back as she rode him. "So fragging good."

"You too." Her voice was breathless, systems running hot. The pleasure was building steadily, each roll of her hips sending sensation cascading through her sensory net. "Touch me—"

His hand slid between them, finding her anterior node and rubbing tight circles. The added stimulation pushed her closer to overload, her ventilations coming in sharp gasps.

"Frenzy—I'm—"

"Me too." His rhythm was getting erratic, thrusts more desperate. "Primus, Hover—"

Her overload hit first, systems whiting out with pleasure, valve clenching rhythmically around his spike. The sensation and the feedback through their linked fields dragged him over right after, his frame locking up as he spilled inside her, biolights flaring bright.

They stayed locked together through the aftershocks, venting hard, frames trembling with sensory overload. Eventually Hover slumped forward, resting her head against his shoulder, his arms coming around her waist.

"That was..." Frenzy started, then didn't seem to have words.

"Yeah," Hover agreed.

They stayed like that for a long moment before she carefully lifted herself off him, both of them making small sounds at the sensitivity. The hissing of panels closing both muted and delayed due to the mess.

Then they were lying tangled together on his berth, her frame draped across his chassis, his arms loose around her, both of them venting softly in the quiet.

"Your wiring better?" she asked eventually.

"So much better." His hand traced lazy patterns on her back plating. "Thanks for that."

"Which part?" There was amusement in her voice.

"All of it." His optics were bright when she looked up at him. "Seriously. Thanks."

"Anytime," she said, meaning it. Both the maintenance and everything that came after.

They stayed like that for a while, comfortable in the silence, in the warmth of each other's fields humming quietly in sync. No need for words, no need to define what this was or wasn't.

Just them. Just this.

Trust that had blurred seamlessly into intimacy, into pleasure, into something neither of them needed to name yet.

Exactly what they both needed.

[rodi-16]

Some panels of my darling beloved <3 I have more... and I shall post them later. Till then these are the panels <3

[rodi-16]

Happy Megatron Monday! As per always Megs shall get some posts in celebration of the day... tis the best day, a excuse to post Megatron? Love it. I have lots and lots of panels/screenshots of this man in my folder. Soo may you enjoy and once more happy Megatron Monday!

Which version of Megs to do next... more idw or a different version....

[hover-ing]

Small Spaces

The lab was quiet for once, just the ambient hum of equipment and the occasional ping of a cooling relay. Hover sat cross-legged on Shockwave's workbench, a datapad balanced on her knees, trying to make sense of the latest energon synthesis calculations. The numbers blurred together after a while. She'd been staring at them for too long.

A familiar displacement of air made her look up. Skywarp materialized a few feet away, that trademark grin already forming.

"There you are," he said, leaning against the wall with practiced casualness. "Been looking for you."

"I've been here for like three hours," Hover said, gesturing at the scattered datapads around her. "Same place I always am."

"Yeah, well." He shifted his weight, wings twitching in that way they did when he was uncomfortable. "Figured maybe you'd want to, I dunno. Take a break or something."

Hover tilted her head, studying him. There was something off in his tone, something that didn't quite match the easy posture. "I'm fine."

"Right. Fine." Skywarp pushed off the wall, moving closer. His shadow fell over her workspace. "It's just... you know, if you needed to decompress or whatever, you could come find me. Instead of always going to Rumble."

Oh.

Hover set down the datapad carefully, buying herself a moment. "Skywarp—"

"I mean, I get it," he continued, and there was an edge to his voice now, defensive. "He's your size, it's easier, whatever. But I'm not exactly useless, you know? I'm the one who—" He cut himself off, jaw working like he was chewing on words he didn't want to say.

"You're the one who saved my life," Hover finished quietly. "I know."

"That's not—" Skywarp's hands flexed. "That's not what I meant."

"But it's true." She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. The familiar position, making herself smaller. "Look, it's not about— I mean, with Rumble it's just... different. He doesn't ask questions. And he's..." She gestured vaguely at herself, then at Skywarp's massive frame. "You're so much bigger. It wouldn't be the same."

Skywarp went very still. For a long moment, the only sound was the lab equipment humming around them.

"What if I wasn't?" he said finally.

Hover blinked. "What?"

"What if I wasn't bigger." His optics flicked away, then back to her. "Would it be the same then?"

"I don't understand what you're—"

And then he was *shifting*.

It wasn't like a transformation, not quite. There was no sound of gears and mechanisms rearranging. Instead, Skywarp seemed to fold in on himself, his frame compressing, mass redistributing in a way that made Hover's optics struggle to track. Light bent strangely around him, and then—

Then he was standing on the workbench beside her, barely taller than she was.

Hover stared. Her processor struggled to reconcile what she was seeing with what she knew. This was Skywarp—she could see it in the cockpit configuration, the wing design, the distinctive purple and black paint—but he was *small*. Her size.

"You—" Her voice came out as a staticky crackle. She had to reset her vocalizer. "You can do that?"

Skywarp shrugged, the motion oddly familiar even at this scale. "Most of us can. Takes a lot of energy, though. Makes us weaker. So we don't, usually."

"Most of—" Hover's mind raced through implications. "Who else? Can everyone—?"

"Not the cassettes. Not mini-bots. But standard frames? Yeah." He was looking at her carefully now, watching her process. "Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, Shockwave. Pretty much anyone who isn't already small."

"Shockwave never—" She cut herself off. Of course Shockwave had never mentioned it. Why would he? It wasn't relevant to her function, wasn't part of the research. Just another piece of information filed away under 'things the experiment doesn't need to know.'

"It's not exactly something we advertise," Skywarp said, and there was something defensive in his tone again. "Like I said, it's a vulnerability. We're weaker like this. Easier to damage. Uses up energon faster." He paused. "But we can do it. If there's a reason to."

Hover looked at him—really looked at him. At this size, she could see details she'd never noticed before. The small scoring marks on his plating, the slightly misaligned panel on his left pauldron, the way his optics weren't quite the same brightness. Battle damage and wear that got lost in the intimidating scale of his usual frame.

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked quietly.

Skywarp's wings twitched, a motion she recognized even at this unfamiliar scale. "Because you said it wouldn't be the same. Because I'm too big." He met her gaze, something raw and uncertain in his expression. "So now I'm not. Now I'm asking."

"Asking what?"

"If you need to decompress..." He trailed off, then forced himself to continue. "You could come to me. Like you do with Rumble. If you wanted."

Oh. Oh.

Hover's throat tightened—an old human response that her current body shouldn't even be capable of simulating, but somehow her systems managed it anyway. She thought about all the times she'd sought out Rumble, needing that quiet presence, that unquestioning acceptance. Thought about how she'd never even considered going to Skywarp because he was too big, because it would be awkward, because the size difference made it feel impossible.

And here he was. Making himself vulnerable—literally, physically vulnerable—just so she'd have the option.

"You're using up energon right now," she said. "Just being like this."

"Yeah."

"And you're weaker. More at risk if something happens."

"Yeah."

"And you did this because—" Her voice caught. She had to stop, recalibrate. "Because I said it wouldn't be the same?"

Skywarp's wings flicked in what might have been embarrassment. "You never come to me," he said, and it came out more raw than he'd probably intended. "You go to Rumble when you need comfort. You hide in the lab with Shockwave when you're spiraling. You play with Frenzy and the other cassettes. But you never— I'm the one who pulled you out of that firefight. I'm the one who nearly burned out my spark getting you to the medbay. And you never—"

He cut himself off, jaw working.

"You never just... need me," he finished quietly. "Not unless it's an emergency. Not unless you're dying."

The words hit harder than any of Prowl's attacks. Hover felt something crack open in her chest, right where her human heart still beat in its specialized chamber.

"That's not—" She started, then stopped. Because wasn't it? Didn't she keep Skywarp at arm's length, their relationship carefully undefined, never asking for too much because asking meant being vulnerable meant risking—

Risking exactly what she'd just accused him of. Being too much. Taking up too much space, too much energy, too many resources.

"I didn't know you could do this," she said finally. "I thought— I thought it was just another way I didn't fit. That Rumble and Frenzy were my size and everyone else was just... unreachable. Literally."

"Well." Skywarp gestured at himself. "Now you know different."

They stood there on the workbench, two small figures in a lab full of equipment built for much larger frames. Hover could hear her cooling fans kick on, an anxious whir that filled the silence.

"It uses a lot of energon," she said. "We don't have enough as it is."

"I know."

"And it makes you vulnerable."

"I know."

"And I might not—" Her voice cracked. "I might not be able to stop needing it. Once I start. I might need it a lot and then you'd be wasting all that energy on me when the supplies are already—"

"Hover." Skywarp took a step closer. At this size, his field intersected with hers, electromagnetic signatures overlapping. "I didn't nearly rip my spark in half just to let you push me away because you're worried about being inconvenient."

"That's not—"

"Yeah, it is." His voice was gentle now, lacking its usual cocky edge. "You think I don't know how your processor works by now? You're always worried about taking up too much space. Using too many resources. Being too much trouble." He paused. "But here's the thing—I'm choosing this. Right now, I'm choosing to be here, like this, using up all this energon, making myself weak, just so you know it's an option. That's my choice."

Hover stared at him, her optics burning in a way that suggested a coolant leak but felt disturbingly like tears.

"Why?" she managed.

Skywarp's expression hardened into something she couldn't quite name. "Because you matter," he said simply if not a bit clipped. "Because when you get burnt out and touch-starved, you shouldn't have to limit yourself to one option. Because maybe I want to be someone you come to. Not just when you're dying, but when you're just... tired."

The crack in Hover's chest widened. She thought about all the times she'd needed comfort and calculated whether she was worth the trouble. Thought about sitting in Rumble's lap because it was easy, uncomplicated, low-stakes. Thought about never asking Skywarp for anything except emergency extraction because asking for more felt like—

Like she might lose this. Like if she wanted too much, needed too much, she'd break whatever undefined thing existed between them.

But he was standing here at her size, burning through precious energon reserves, making himself vulnerable in the middle of a war, just to show her that she could.

"I'm scared," she admitted quietly. "Of losing this. All of this. Of losing you, and Rumble, and everyone. Of the energon running out or my body failing or the transfer not working and then I'm just... gone. Or different. Or alone again." The words spilled out faster now, the dam breaking. "And if I let myself need you—really need you, not just emergency extractions—then it's one more thing I could lose. One more person who might—"

"Might what?" Skywarp asked. "Get tired of you? Decide you're not worth it?" He made a sound that might have been a laugh, except it was too sharp. "Hover, I literally warped twice in a row to save you. Do you know what that feels like? It feels like your spark is tearing itself apart. Like your entire frame is coming undone at the seams. And I did it anyway, without thinking, because the alternative was watching you die."

He took another step closer. They were almost touching now.

"So yeah," he continued, "you coming to me when you're burnt out and need to just... exist for a while? That's not even on the scale of things I'm willing to do for you. That's not even close."

Hover's cooling fans stuttered. She looked at him—really looked at him—this close, this small, this vulnerable. Saw the sincerity in his optics, the tension in his wings, the way his field resonated with something she was afraid to name.

"It's not the same as with Rumble," she said finally.

"I know."

"With him it's... quiet. Uncomplicated. With you it's—" She struggled for words. "It's more. It's different. I don't know what it is but it's—"

"I know," Skywarp said again. "That's why you avoid it. Because if it's different, you have to figure out what that means. And figuring things out means risk."

"Yeah."

"But maybe—" His voice dropped lower, almost uncertain. "Maybe that's okay? Maybe it can be different and still be... whatever we need it to be. No labels, no definitions, just—"

"Just us," Hover finished.

"Yeah. Just us."

They stood there in the quiet lab, two small figures surrounded by equipment and datapads and the slow countdown of a dying war. Hover thought about risk and reward, about the calculations she ran constantly in her head. Thought about how every relationship she had was built on the foundation of her own fear—fear of losing them, fear of being too much, fear of the inevitable moment when it all fell apart.

But Skywarp had compressed his entire frame, was burning through energon they couldn't afford to waste, had made himself weak and vulnerable just to give her this option. Just so she wouldn't have to calculate whether she was worth the trouble.

That had to mean something.

Slowly, carefully, Hover leaned against him. At this size, it was easy. Natural. His plating was warm against hers, his field a steady presence that made her own electromagnetic signature settle into something like calm.

Skywarp went very still, like he was afraid to move and break the moment. Then, gradually, his arm came up to settle under her wings. Not possessive, not demanding. Just... there.

"This okay?" he asked quietly.

Hover nodded against his chassis. "Yeah," she managed. "This is— yeah."

They stayed like that for a long moment. Hover felt her systems start to relax, the constant background anxiety that lived in her processor dialing down to something manageable. It was different from being with Rumble. There was a weight to this, an intensity that came from everything unspoken between them. But different didn't mean bad.

Different just meant... different.

"You're going to run out of energy if you stay like this too long," she said eventually.

"Probably."

"And then you'll need to refuel, which we can't really afford."

"Yep."

"And you'll be vulnerable if there's an attack."

"Uh-huh."

Hover pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're really bad at self-preservation, you know that?"

Skywarp's grin was pure mischief, familiar even at this scale. "Says the one who breaks off her own wings to stab people."

Despite everything, Hover felt herself smile, even if it didn't show like it used to. "That was one time."

"One time was enough." His expression sobered. "Point is, we're both pretty terrible at taking care of ourselves. So maybe... maybe we take care of each other instead?"

It was such a simple offer. Such an obvious solution. And yet it felt massive, terrifying, like standing on the edge of something she couldn't take back.

But then, she'd already died once. Already been remade into something new. Already built a life on the razor's edge between human and Cybertronian, between what she was and what she might become. What was one more leap?

"Okay," she said quietly. "Yeah. Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She leaned back against him, settling in. "But you have to promise me something."

"What?"

"If this uses up too much energy, if it becomes actually dangerous for you, you tell me. No heroic sacrifice bullshit. I need—" Her voice caught. "I need you to stay, okay? I can't lose you because you were trying to make things easier for me."

Skywarp's arm tightened around her. "Deal," he said. "But same goes for you. No more ignoring damage because you think repairs will make you weaker. No more spiraling alone because you don't want to be a burden. We're in this together, which means you don't get to make those calls alone."

It should have felt restrictive. Should have triggered all her instincts about being too much, taking up too much space. But instead, it just felt... safe. Like someone was finally willing to stand between her and the constant calculation of her own worth.

"Okay," she said again. "Together."

"Together."

They stayed like that until Skywarp's energon reserves started sending warning pings, until he couldn't hold the mass displacement anymore and had to shift back to his normal size. But that was okay. Because now Hover knew it was possible. Knew that she had options, that the barriers she'd built in her own mind weren't as solid as she'd thought.

And later, much later, when she was burnt out and touch-starved and calculating whether she was worth the trouble, she would remember this moment. Remember Skywarp standing on a workbench at her size, wings twitching with nervousness, offering her something he shouldn't be able to give.

And she would go to him.

Not because it was easy, or uncomplicated, or safe. But because sometimes the things worth having were none of those things. Sometimes they were just... real.

And real was enough.

[lordthundercracker]

The ask was having difficulties

You evil annon coming to me in my house of mostly fluff wanting pain for the kitty

[askthemedbay]

Pharma, is everyone sick to you? What's your recommended treatment?

According to Pharma, there is no cure, and he needs to look at an “infected” bot’s internals to find one… pretty much everyone—aside from him and Ratchet—is sick.

[hover-ing]

Give him tools and a big mirror like that one surgeon