Oct 29, 2024
Man I love TF One 🙂❤️
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Man I love TF One 🙂❤️
Feral Pet From Space
Orion and D16 found out...that your cute chirps and babbles were and ACTUAL language and that your actually a sentient race, that could explain the times you threw a fit scratching bitting and screeching when they took your rags to give you a bath...or wake up in the middle of a recharge on top of them starring at them with those cute intellegent eyes that look like they wanna murder them-...so they found a universal translater collar and-...now your unleash everyone you encountered dirty rags out-
D16: There must be endless information you’ve gathered throughout all the lives you've been here living in the walls, and here confused for a pet-
Y/n: I know everyone’s dirty little secrets
Orion: I don’t suppose you’d share any with us…?
Y/n: You would never guess which High guards have a foot er....pedes?
Bumblebee*Nods at you, giving you servos up for you using cybertronian words*!!!~
Y/n: Pedes fetish
Elita: Not at all the sort of information we were looking for...
Orion, D16, Bumblebee, Elita:...
Orion, D16, Bumblebee, Elita: Who?-
-----Orion coming to terms that the "Pet" he took care of is actually sentient and not only that but witty, smart, fun, and magnetically charming....------
Orion: I ran into Sweetspark-Er...Y/n at 1 AM last night, and when I asked them what they were doing, they just shrugged, said “These are my roaming hours” and wandered off, strumming vaguely on their instrument they called ukeledle? They are made from scrap!
Jazz*Drinking next to him, a bit taken aback hearing the story, expecting a "Night of Passion" Tale after he came clean about being attracted to you now that he is aware you are sentient*...That's not what I meant when I asked what you,d and the human do when everyone is asleep...
Orion*Is smiling widely with a blush, head filled with you* I love them so much!!
Jazz*Pats his shoulder*-Damn,Bud thats the 15th this night you shouted that-
-----D16 coming to terms that the "Pet" orion begged him to co-care of is actually sentient and not only that but witty, smart, fun, and magnetically charming.... -----
D16, You and Bee were chatting amicably till you were called by some of your friends miners down at the lower level
Y/n*Is handing out with some of the miners and waves at winks at Dee and Bee*Later dorks~
As you grab one cable to swing down to the floor, doing an impressive landing and running to meet your other friends
D16*Waves you off with a smile*Later y/n! Heh heh heh! Good times!
Bumblebee*With a smile*Uh oh~
D16:What?
Bumblebee: Somebody's in love ~
D16:Yeah, right! I just think Y/n's cool, okay? It's not like I lay awake at night thinking about them!
-------------------------------Late at night-----------------------------------
Orion & D16*Both lying next to each other while you are between them, passed out completely, both looking at the ceiling WIDE AWAKE*...Uh-oh.
Part 4/part 6
here’s another random sketch with a random human giving d-16 a kiss and him being a blushing mess afterwards ^-^
Oo I got something for TFO
If possible would you be open to doing a human s/o with D-16? Like the human came from another planet that was destroyed and they got stranded on Cybertron and somehow managed to end up in Iacon city?
D-16 (Megatron) x Reader – The Creature From Another World - Part 1 of 2
A/N – This is so much longer than I thought it would be. I think it may be the most fun, silly fic I’ve ever written and I am so happy that I got to write it. Also, SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE TRANSFORMERS ONE MOVIE IN THE FINAL SEGMENT!
Warnings – None.
Rating – T
It was all Orion’s fault. Everything that was likely to get D-16 in trouble was his fault. It was always, ‘Hey, what if we searched the tunnels for something even more valuable than energon?’ Or ‘You want to come into the archives with me? Of course, I have a permit. It’s not like I would try breaking in… again.’
This time, the line that was sure to get D-16 into trouble was, “Hey bud, don’t tell anyone but I got us a pet!”
D-16 rubbed his helm exasperatedly, “A pet, Pax! Why can’t you just obey the rules for once.”
“Hey, there are no rules against keeping pets,” Orion said excitedly, heading over to his locker to retrieve the creature in question.
“Of course there aren’t! Because no one would be stupid enough to keep one!”
“You just haven’t seen it yet. It’s really cute.”
“I hope your spark eater tears off your face, Pax. I really do,” D-16 deadpanned.
“Not a spark eater,” Orion chuckled, then he began whispering into his locker, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt ya, little cutie. That’s it, settle down now.”
D-16 shook his head, “You’re gonna get demoted all the way down to the 40th sub-level and when you do, I’m not gonna save your sorry aft. Besides Pax, there isn’t enough energon to go around as is. How’re you gonna feed a pet?”
“That’s the thing,” Orion said eagerly. “It doesn’t fuel up on energon.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. What kind of thing doesn’t need energon?” D-16 asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him as he tried to peek over Orion’s shoulder at the so-called ‘pet’ he was trying to grab.
He heard some scrabbling, Orion said some more soothing words and then Orion turned around, holding a creature half his size around the waist in both servos.
“D-16, meet our new pet, Minitronus.”
“Minitronus!” D-16 said excitedly. He knew Orion had only picked the name to foster his attachment and ensure that he kept the creature a secret.
D-16 got close to Orion’s pet, resting his hands on his thighs as he bent down. “Whoa, what is it?”
“C’mon D-16. If you don’t know, I’m not gonna tell you.”
“You have no idea, do you.”
“Not a one.”
The creature chittered angrily, pushing at Orion’s servos.
“It looks angry,” D-16 observed.
“It’s just getting used to us. That’s all.”
Orion began stroking at the creature’s head.
“Okay Pax,” D-16 said, resigning himself to Orion’s crazy new pet, as he knew he would from the start. “C’mon then. Tell me all about it. What does it eat? Where’d you find it? And most importantly, how’re we going to keep it a secret?”
“Hey! I said HEY! YOU UP THERE! STOP PETTING ME! I’M NOT AN ANIMAL, YOU BIG DUMB IDIOT!”
The giant metal man smiled at you affectionately, opening his mouth to say something you couldn’t understand. It all sounded like scraping metal and electrical noises and you couldn’t make sense of any of it.
Ever since the Quintessons had abducted you, your life had been nothing but trouble. You were their prisoner but when they found out your planet had nothing of worth, they decided it would be better to experiment on you. The only consolation was that you could at least understand the Quintessons, who had multiple translator devices on their ship.
You were very fortunate that the Quintessons didn’t view you as a threat since they didn’t bother keeping you in any kind of high-security prison and so you managed to escape before they did anything too terrible. The worst you suffered were a few zaps from a weak cattle prod, probably testing your nervous system.
Yet, having escaped the Quintesson ship, you had landed yourself into deeper trouble. You had found yourself on a living metal planet, and though a few plants grew on the ever-transforming surface, the pocket computer you had stolen from your captors informed you they were poisonous.
Fortunately, you had thought a few things through regarding your escape. You had managed to grab a backpack, stuffing it full of provisions and interesting gadgets. The food was stored in dehydrated cubes so with proper care, it could last you months, maybe even an entire year. The backpack also contained a device to keep you warm, a cube that turned into a forcefield when thrown to the ground, and most importantly one of the translators that had allowed you to understand the Quintessons along with a few other gadgets.
However, despite your planning, things hadn’t gone very well for you. After touching down on the planet, you boarded a train that you hoped would take you to civilisation, and while it did take you to a city underground that was more beautiful and advanced than you could imagine, it was clear that the alien life-forms there had never seen an organic creature before.
The few you tried to talk to initially screamed as if you were vermin and tried to blast, stab, and crush you in succession. As you scrambled for your life, you took a kick to the back, saved by your pack which had broken your much-needed translator.
You ran and hid, keeping out of sight and soon you started feeling like the vermin the metal people viewed you as. You learned quickly to keep out of sight and made your way to where there were fewer bots, spending many quiet hours either sleeping in vents or trying to repair your translator with the limited knowledge you had.
Yet, your luck couldn’t last forever and eventually, you ran into a vent that turned out to be a transportation tunnel to and from the mines. It was there that Mr Big-Red-Idiot-Bot caught you and took you to the charging bays. At first, you thought your luck was turning around and that he was going to take you to someone who would be able to understand you since he was obviously trying to be gentle with you. Then it became clear that he just thought you were some kind of stupid animal in need of care and he adopted you as his pet.
“What are these things?” D-16 asked, gently lifting your top.
You slapped at his servo, swearing at him even though he couldn’t understand you. Orion laughed, “I don’t know, but that’s how it reacted to me too. I think they’re to keep it warm. Either way, it doesn’t like it when you touch them. Oh, and hey, check this out, it does tricks.”
Orion shoved you back into his locker where your bag was. You ran to your pack, hurriedly grabbing your broken translator and showing it to the new grey bot. You had tried repeatedly showing it to Big Red, but he didn’t get what you were trying to do and always just laughed at you.
“What’s it holding?” D-16 asked.
“Playing with some scrap metal. Isn’t that cute? It has a favourite toy! I think Minitronus might have belonged to someone else once because it has all these adorable toys in there and it can make its own fuel.”
You sighed. Clearly, the grey bot was no better than Big Red, but at least he wasn’t trying to kill you. You shook your head and began searching your pack for some tools to repair the translator. Upon seeing you grab a screwdriver, Orion took it from you.
You yelled a few more insults, demanding it back but Orion just teased you, holding it just out of reach.
“Aww does Minitronus want the toy? Do you? Do you? That’s it, reach for the toy. Grab it.” He cooed.
D-16 rolled his eyes, amused by both Orion and his new pet. He snatched the miniature ‘toy’ screwdriver from his friend, handing it back to you. “Don’t tease it, Orion.”
You nodded gratefully at D-16 and he ruffled your hair. This time, you didn’t bother insulting him since he had given you what you wanted.
The work alarm went off overhead and Orion slammed his locker shut just in time for the influx of workers to come through the shared stasis bunker on their way to work. D-16 tried to fight against the crowd to stay by the locker but Orion pulled him into the fray, muttering that it would look suspicious if he wasn’t at work on time.
“But what about- Will it be okay in there?” D-16 whispered as they headed into the lift.
“Sure,” Orion said from the corner of his mouth, trying to be quiet. “It’s been in there for days and it's been fine.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Now be quiet and act normal.”
D-16 smiled and gave a small awkward wave to a bot in front of him who was observing the pair with a raised optical ridge. Over the years, Orion had caused more than his share of trouble so D-16 was used to the scrutinising looks from others, though he always got nervous when they both had something to hide.
You sighed and rested your hands on your hips. It was awful being constantly stuffed in a locker, especially since Big Red didn’t seem to think things through. He shoved you in your new ‘home’ whenever other bots were around or when he went to the lift which you assumed meant he was working. The problem with that was that his species didn’t tire easily and could work a very long time, and with this being what you could only assume was the poorer part of the city, there were always other bots around. You had to get your translator fixed quickly, or else you would spend the rest of your life in the locker. Still, things weren’t all bad. It was warm and safe. You often used your backpack as a pillow, sleeping through the first few hours before getting back to your repair work. You had privacy and a personal collapsable service suite that pulled moisture from the air so you could drink or shower - it even took care of your waste by vaporising it; alien inventions sure were convenient. Besides, now the other bot knew about you too, and perhaps he could help you. Resignedly, you set about keeping to your normal routine and began some light repair work, too awake to rest now. You only wished you knew what you were doing and that you had even the faintest idea on how to fix alien technology; your life depended on it.
Orion and D-16 were the first up and out of the elevator, avoiding the usual crowds by skipping the last few minutes of work with a lame excuse about being called upstairs. Honestly, the pair got into so much trouble they were often called up to meetings with higher-ups for tellings-off, which Orion usually tried to talk his way out of, and so nobody so much as batted an optic when they left.
Upon getting up to their quarters, Orion and D-16 were both relieved to see that the rotation team had already filed out, presumably having taken one of the other lifts to a different mine. Orion ran to his locker and hurled it open.
“Aww, look,” He pulled D-16 close to get a good look at you. “Minitronus is recharging. Hey, do you think it’s dreaming of us? Pets do that, right? Dream of their owners?”
“I mean, if Minitronus is thinking of me, that’s a dream. If it’s you, it’s a nightmare.”
Orion elbowed D-16 in the chassis then reached in to grab you.
D-16 pulled him back, “Whoa hey, don’t wake it.”
“We have to. It’s time for walkies and this is the only time we can get out of here quietly before the others catch up.”
Reluctantly, D-16 let Orion go.
You jolted awake, terrified until you remembered where you were and that you were now the ‘pet’ of an advanced alien. You settled groggily in his arms, wondering what he was going to do with you now.
He proffered you some words that sounded like two lawnmowers smashing together, but by his expression, you could tell he was happy. Then he jostled you, miming something you couldn’t understand until it was too late.
You scowled at Big Red with your arms folded, too insulted to even try yelling as he tugged you along an empty alley on your new wire lead.
This was a new low.
“I don’t think Minitronus likes walkies,” D-16 commented as you dug your heels into the floor, trying to hold your ground.
“Nonsense,” Orion said, trying to be gentle as he pulled at your lead, making you stumble forward, “It’s just not used to it yet.”
D-16 patted his thighs, “C’mon Minitronus. That’s it. Here Minitronus. Minitronus.”
After a few more attempts, you realised that the gentle electrical hum Grey kept repeating must be his name for you. Huh… Well, at least the repetition meant they had a stable language.
You listened again and tried to mimic the sound, making both bots pause to look at you.
“Did it just…?” D-16 asked, pointing at you.
You mimicked the sound again.
“It did,” Orion agreed. He ran over to pick you up, spinning you in his arms, “Who’s a smart Minitronus, huh? Yes, you. You are!”
Although your mimicry had been good, it wasn’t quite enough to convince them that you were sentient. Rather, they were looking at you like a parrot who had picked up a new phrase. Instead of repeating your name, you had managed a babyish mumbling somewhere close, that sounded more like Mini–Tron.”
D-16 beamed and petted your head, quickly coming to love his new pet. Orion was right, it was smart and cute.
“That’s so cool, I wonder if we can teach it more words.”
“I’m definitely teaching it swears,” Orion laughed.
Eventually, the pair headed back to the underground, with Orion heading in first, making sure everyone was recharging, before signalling for D-16 to follow with you.
“Oh, c’mon, don’t put me back in the locker,” You whined as you were placed on the top shelf.
“Oh no, don’t cry,” D-16 begged, listening to you pitchy chittering. He held a digit to his lips, shushing.
“You two will be gone for ages, what between sleeping and working, and it’s dark in there,” You continued, even though he couldn’t understand you.
You only stopped talking when he held you against his chassis, petting your head. You sighed in understanding. He was trying to keep you safe; this was all for your own good.
‘Okay,’ You thought, feeling strangely comforted by Grey’s actions. ‘If this is how it has to be for now… Okay.’
Orion gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to D-16, glad that he had managed to keep your mewls under control.
“Goodnight, Minitronus,” Orion whispered before shutting the door.
“We love you,” D-16 added.
You shook your head after the door shut; life was going to be interesting with those two.
“PAX!” Elita-One shouted, jetpacking up the empty elevator shaft to catch up with Orion and D-16 who had stolen away from work early for the third time that week.
Orion held you behind his back, hiding you just in time before Elita got in his face.
“Captain, what a surprise!” Orion grinned cheekily, already trying to smooth-talk his way out of the situation. “Me and D-16 were just saying what a great and wonderful leader you-”
“Can it, Pax!” Elita glowered. “I’ve had just about enough of you. It’s bad enough that you’re a troublemaker but now, you’re dragging D-16 down with you and- what’s behind your back?”
“My back? Nothing at all,” Orion shoved you into D-16’s open arms, and he in turn hid you behind his leg, trusting that you wouldn’t run away if he wasn’t holding you.
Elita grabbed hold of Orion, slamming him into the lockers, her eyes narrowing when she didn’t see anything worth hiding. She glared at D-16 who held up his servos in a shrug, gesturing to Pax who was already babbling about how strong she was and how no other Captain had had the strength to throw him so hard.
While Pax created a distraction and Elita-One continued her tirade against him, D-16 shuffled backwards, sneaking you out for your daily walk.
You had grown used to the routine now, learning the building’s alarms that marked the beginning or end of a shift. When it was coming time for Orion or D-16 to take you out, you always hitched on your backpack, just in case you needed anything, though you had long since learned not to work on your translator in front of Big Red, since he kept assuming it was a toy and continually threw it for you to fetch. Honestly, he was doing even more damage to the already broken machine, and it stressed you out constantly whenever you were forced to catch it before it hit the ground.
When you and Grey were alone, you always did repair work at the end of a walk, since he would take you somewhere quiet to rest for a while.
You had been living with the pair for just over two months now and in that time a few things of note had happened.
First, they had entrusted knowledge of you to a few of the others in their ‘platoon’ or whatever the group they worked in was called. This had happened after an incident wherein you had escaped your locker to explore and a silver and blue bot with a passion for dance stumbled into you and squealed. Big Red, and Grey hurried to your rescue and had to explain their ‘pet’ to him.
This led to you being the worst kept secret in the mining facility, though it was bound to happen eventually with so many bots living in close quarters. However, all the mining bots found you sweet enough and they all had a code of honour that meant they kept you secret from anyone with authority like Elita-One or any of the other captains.
Yet, while everyone knew about you and you were generally allowed out of the locker most of the time, it was still only Orion or D-16 who took you out, and they still tried to get out of work a tad early to check on you.
One of the other changes in your life was the delivery of a big bundle of wires as ‘toys.’ That was another word you had learned to mimic since Orion kept bringing you play-things and repeating the Cybertronian equivalent.
This happened after you kept picking up pieces of scrap wire on walks, taking them with you so you could use them in your repair work. At first, Orion and D-16 took them off you, afraid you would hurt yourself somehow, but when you kept collecting them and fought hard to keep the few you had, they assumed it must be a normal nesting behaviour and brought you a great deal more than you needed.
You were delighted with the gifts and hugged both bots for it. Then, after saving the few you needed for your translator, you weaved the extra wires into a new over-shirt. It was uncomfortable, but quite practical since your jumper was wearing away and you needed a new one to keep decent when you were washing your actual shirt.
Another problem to occur was your hair. In your time with the bots, it had grown very long, and much to your bemusement, Orion had tried cutting it. The whole thing had gone disastrously, and you suddenly understood those dogs that got terrible haircuts because they tried to escape their groomers; you could only be thankful that the bald patch was beginning to grow back.
The final change was Grey’s idea. He felt confident that you were well trained since you now responded to your name, paying attention when you were called through the miners’ hab-suite. Because of your actions, he often let you off-lead, which you were immensely grateful for. He rarely put the lead back on you unless he thought something was unsafe, so whenever it went on now, you clambered onto his shoulder, trusting that he would take you home and away from danger quickly.
It wasn’t a perfect life, but things were slowly improving. You could only hope that your lucky streak didn’t break and that you would be able to communicate your needs fully before the year was up.
D-16 sighed, sitting on the side of a tall building overlooking the city with you in his lap. You were content to let him pet you while you toyed with your translator. You went in an almost trance-like state whenever you tinkered with it now, honestly not expecting anything to come of it but needing to work all the same.
He continued speaking in his gentle, rhythmic noises and you hummed as if you understood, pressing a wire down with the flat of your screwdriver.
“- and that’s why I know what we’re doing is important. Even Sentinel says so. Us miners, we’re keeping Cybertron alive,” D-16 said proudly.
“Who’s Sentinel?” You asked absentmindedly.
D-16 screamed, accidentally throwing you off his lap.
“Hey, be careful!” You scolded. “You could have dropped me over the edge.”
You picked up your translator and brushed yourself off.
“Minitronus, you’re talking!” D-16 accused.
“Yeah, well so…are… Oh my God, I did it!” You breathed. Then you punched the air excitedly, “I DID IT!”
“WHAT IS GOING ON? HOW ARE YOU TALKING?!”
“I fixed my translator,” You squealed ecstatically, waving it in front of D-16.
“Your- Your toy?”
“Yeah,” You nodded, practically bouncing on the spot.
“This is impossible. You- You’re our pet!”
“No. Not a pet. Not anymore. I’m (Y/N). Okay, (Y/N),” You repeated your name slowly, trying to get it through to Grey who still looked panicked.
“Primus, this is insane.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“You’ve got to explain everything to me, right now.”
“Okay, sit down,” You patted the ledge.
D-16 did so, and you jumped back into his lap.
“What’re you doing? You can’t sit there now. You’re not an animal.”
“Hey,” You pushed against his servo, staying stubbornly in place, “I’m not going back on that ledge, I could fall.” “Fine,” D-16 relented. He went to pet your head again then stopped himself, keeping his servos stiffly by his sides. “As long as you explain yourself, you can sit wherever you want.”
Having told D-16 everything and had him explain a few things in return, things thankfully changed. Initially, things between you and all of the mining bots were awkward, with haunted comments from some of the bots like, ‘It saw me in the wash racks,’ or ‘I can’t believe I tried to rub its belly… No wonder it slapped me. Oh. Oh no.’
Once everyone got used to the idea, your life improved. You were still kept secret since none of the miners knew how the higher-ups would react to an alien species, but with some ingenuity and a few favours exchanged for information about your species and planet, they all came together to transform your locker into a proper living space, complete with all the amenities they could manage to scrape together. They even began forming a plan to try and have you off-planet and en-route somewhere you could survive before your supplies would run out.
After D-16 and Orion were over the weirdness, you still had them take you on your daily excursions, sans the lead since you were no longer their pet. Orion managed to laugh about the whole thing, but D-16 grew to be even more strained around you. However, you didn’t get to ask him about it till you were next alone with him, which was a long time afterwards.
“So… Do you hate me now?” You asked him one day while he walked a few paces ahead of you, keeping an eye out for anyone who he would need to hide you from.
“What?” D-16 sputtered. “I- I don’t-”
“It’s okay,” You smiled easily. “It’s a strange situation.”
D-16 felt his insides squeeze. He had held onto you while you slept. At the time, he thought you were cute. Now though… You were still cute when you slept, but it was a different kind of cute – Softer, somehow.
“I told you everything,” He sighed, defeatedly. “My life, my dreams, my fears.” He shook his head, continuing mournfully, “And you didn’t understand any of it.”
“Not true,” You contradicted, running to stand in front of him.
He watched you warily.
“I might not have known what you were saying, but I did understand you. Your tone, expressions, the sound of your voice. I understood more than you think.”
D-16’s spark pulsed.
“Let’s go home,” He said quickly, turning on his heel and walking away from you.
The two of you had to go where you wouldn’t be alone or things would change again.
D-16 was falling in love with you and he couldn’t let that happen. There were too many unknowns and he had his planet to think about. He was a miner – the life force of his planet. That’s what Sentinel Prime always said, and work came first.
Besides, you weren’t going to be on Cybertron forever. You couldn’t be. Once your supplies ran out, that would be it for you.
D-16 couldn’t get attached. It wasn’t like you were a pet anymore. You didn’t belong to him, even if he wanted you to.
You ran through the destruction of Iacon City, terrified by everything that was happening. Honestly, you had missed most of the events leading up to it, having been stuck in Sentinel’s tower, but you had seen the so-called Prime torture and brand D-16.
Afterwards, you tried to find him or Orion, but you were small and Iacon was big and the city was collapsing around you.
You screamed as you were grabbed seemingly from nowhere and looked up to see D-16, though he looked slightly different thanks to the new infusion of Megatronus’ T-Cog which you hadn’t seen him take from Sentinel’s corpse. Also, there was one other change – his angry red optics, which bore into you.
“D-16,” You shouted, “What’s going on? Where’s Orion?”
“Orion is dead,” He growled. Though he had made a promise that nobody else would be deceived, you needed to hear that lest you side with Orion over him. Besides, it wasn’t a lie. Orion was dead – Dead, and replaced by Optimus Prime. “And my name is Megatron.”
“Orion- Orion’s dead,” You repeated, too shell-shocked to even cry at the moment.
“Yes,” Megatron glossed over your emotions, far too focused on his rage as he transformed around you, keeping you safe inside his alt-mode. “And we’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?”
“To war!”
Yet, even as Megatron burned with hatred and his desire to bring down the corruption that fuelled his planet, he was already reading the intel sent by the disgraced High Guard, informing him of several nearby planets where you would be able to get the organic fuel you required to stay online.
Megatron had lost everything. He was not about to lose his beloved pet too. You were his, and you always would be.
A/N - Hey, I worked really hard on this so please comment, or at the very least reblog. Likes aren't enough anymore guys, they just aren't.
D-16 rizz
D-16 that somehow swept y/n from thers feet~
On a spur of the moment vacay and of course bought a few bots with me! It's great to set foot in Florida again! 🌴 🌞 🎆
One last time to enjoy truly warm weather before the chilly weather rolls over in the Midwest.
Nice! Let them explore!
Exploring
D 16 x Reader
• “Careful,” he murmurs as you chirp and walk across his shoulder to splay a tiny hand on his helm. Can’t actually see you without turning his head and risking accidentally knocking you off, but he can feel you climbing on him. Apparently not the least bit afraid of falling even though it definitely worries him. And you pat him until he pulls a treat from subspace and holds it up pinched between his servos. Feels you grab it before you sit down on his shoulder, humming as you tear into the packaging. Head tipping up, he stares at the lights of the city as he walks.
• Eating one of the weird tasting, crispy snacks he keeps giving you as you look around, it’s hard not to notice that your mech is smaller than most of the others on the street. Or the way the bigger mechs sneer and growl at him, turning their faces away. And even though he doesn’t react, you get the impression that they’re talking down about him to his face. Don’t need to know the what they’re saying to understand the body language and when one notices you, you solemnly flip him off. “Get bent.” Hear the absolutely scandalized noise the mech makes and you realize that gesture is apparently rude to them, too. Nice to know.
• Hurrying away while trying not to laugh as the cogged mech screeches his outrage, gesturing furiously, he glances at you and your neck is craned to keep glaring at the bot. Arm still up and finger extended. How do you even know about that gesture? Did you see Orion use it at some point? Venting, he taps your leg as he slows and you look at him, expression curious as you chirp innocently. “Yeah, I’m not buying that. You know exactly what you just did.” And you just shrug at him like you do understand and eat another treat.
• Lying down on your back on his shoulder as he growls his nonsense at you, the city extends around and above you. Alien and beautiful. But even an advanced city with advanced aliens is still just a city. You wonder what that mech’s issue was. Why he’d sneered. It’s not like you haven’t noticed that your guardian and his friend are always busy. Always working. Where those bigger mechs with their glossy paint are standing around talking and laughing. Maybe their world operates on a caste system? If so, your sweet protector seems to be on the bottom rung.
• “You can’t make gestures like that at cogged bots,” he says, rubbing your belly with a servo and you swat at him like you always do, chirping indignantly. “What if they decide to take you?” And you roll onto your belly, tolerating him stroking your spine as you keep eating. Had you been defending him? Realized they were slandering him for being a miner and reacted? Smiling as he rubs your jaw until you push at his servo, he starts walking again. Knowing that if they’d tried to take you, he’d have fought back even at the risk of punishment. Because you’re his, need him when no one else really does. Tells himself what they do is important, that it matters, but when he’s treated like those bots treated him, it’s harder to believe the lie. Harder to pretend it doesn’t make him angry.
D-16/Reader. [NSFW]
tw: unrequited love, one sided feelings (from D-16's side), a little obsessed fan!D-16, popular!reader, tiny fic about tiny D-16 with tiny NSFW at the end. haha.
I just love shy and messy D-16 who has no idea about his own feelings and how to deal with them. I see all the requests and I'm slowly doing them. Just want to water all incoming army of Sentinel fics with someone else haha word count: ~390
yan!D-16 who has a massive crush on you, someone famous like one of Sentinel's guards or one of the top racers of Iacon. he definitely has some posters of you on the wall, or a small shiny sticker he got as a gift from Orion. he just can't help but adore every small piece of merch he has, despite Orion often teasing his friend for being a little obsessed with you. D-16 probably would try to deny it every single time, because he's definitely not obsessed, not like you even know he exists in the first place so...it is unlikely for him to even develop feelings for someone he never met before in his boring young life.
That's so frustrating, not having even a bits of privacy at all. Have you seen how small their recharging places are? How cramped it is? It makes me feel so bad for D-16, because imagine how hard it is for a poor bot to try and keep his servo so tightly over his mouth, in order to not let out a single sound. He doesn't want anyone to wake up, finding out that apparently their fellow worker can't control his own desires under control. I mean...can they really blame him? For getting hot and bothered by someone like you? If anything, D-16 would have traded everything just for a one close look, in person, because no-no, just looking at the screens is slowly getting not enough for him...
He's certainly allowed to have little moments with himself, if he just keeps desperately trying to move his servo over his spike faster, harder, just like you would have done it. maybe if in some of his perfect scenario where you ever had a chance to be with him. He knows this is probably foolish, fantasizing and dreaming about you every time he closes his optics. So, so needy of him! If only he had a one chance to meet you, after all the hard work he does, just to, maybe, have a one or two words with you, take a photo if he were lucky enough—
The soft, almost inaudible groan would escape his mouth, his optics fluttering closed for a mere second after he finally reached the sweet, desired release. Well, he's definitely betting all his energon rations on you for the next Iacon 5000! ;)
SCENARIO: Hall of Record (1/2)
PAIRING – sentinel prime, airachnid, orion pax, d-16 x reader (bonus darkwing)
NOTE – please be informed that scenario-chapter is just an additional part/story that this expands on the HALL OF RECORD (one-shot) not a full series and this might come out a bit weird and a little out of character? I don't know. I wrote this fic with three lattes shot and a lot of confusion, so enjoy?
and you can tell who is fav. I'm a little biased here
O r i o n P a x
The sound of the metal door untouched for what might as well have been an eon whined softly as it scraped against its timeworn track. The hinges gave a creak like an old archivist waking from a nap, cranky and reluctant, groaning at being disturbed after centuries of peace. It was a small sound, really. Barely louder than the low thrum of power conduits far down the hall
But to him, it was the sound of trespass
Orion Pax stepped inside as if the shadows might bite
Faint cerulean light dripped from ancient overhead strips, casting the corridor in the sort of glow usually reserved for ghost stories or forgotten secrets. The deepest level of the archive the forbidden floor, shuttered by Sentinel before Orion had even existed still exhaled softly beneath its shroud of dust and disuse. It felt less like entering a room, more like entering a memory that didn’t want to be remembered. He moved like a student sneaking into the dean’s office half-curious, half-sure he’d regret it
His fingers grazed the edge of a shelf, careful not to disturb the decades of quiet. Or the dust. Especially the dust. It looked like it had unionized
“The Matrix…"
He murmured under his breath, blue optics catching the faint shimmer of dormant holograms “There has to be something here. A record. A clue. Anything” He leaned down, reaching for the ancient relay socket at the base of the console—
“Trigger that, and you’ll wake the whole sound grid"
The voice came from behind him. Calm. Dry. Unhurried. The sort of tone one used when catching a cat burglar who clearly forgot to check for traps. Orion flinched hard enough to rattle a few data shelves and spun around on his feet
You stood there, half-veiled in the shadow of a pillar taller than he expected, posture relaxed, like someone who’d been waiting for him to trip the sensor just for fun. The faint light from your data reader bounced off your optics, revealing a gaze far too unsurprised to belong to a stranger
It wasn’t your first time sneaking in
“Who are you?”
He asked, voice low but edged with a kind of jumpy defiance. His hand inched toward the nearby control panel—not so much in defense as in that universal gesture of ‘I might make this worse but I’ll do something, I swear'
You didn’t answer right away
Instead, you let out a breath. You sighed the long-suffering kind. Then tilted your head and gave him a look that could only be described as academic disappointment. You looked at him the way a librarian might regard a wayward patron using a sacred first edition as a coaster
“The better question is: what exactly are you doing here?”
“This isn’t a tourist wing. No one's supposed to be down here. Not unless you're a glitch in the system or a Prime in disguise" Your optics flicked over him like a scanner on autopilot dusty fingers, light frame, and most telling of all: the cavity at his chest. Empty. No transformation cog. No fancy upgrades
A miner
Your field didn’t spike, didn’t flinch. Just took it in with the sort of ease that said: "Ah. One of those"
He bristled. Just slightly
“And what about you?” He countered, trying for defiance but landing somewhere closer to awkwardly offended “You’re not supposed to be here either… right?”
You smiled then. Not the friendly kind. The kind that curled at one corner like a page in a too-old book “Smart enough…” you said, arching an optic ridge
“For someone who leaves the ventilation hatch wide open while sneaking in"
He snuck into the archives more than once—and more than once, he stumbled into you. Neither of you had the right to be there. You both knew it. But you never sent him away and though you pretended not to care, you always watched him, always
Orion was like a flicker of flame brushing through the ashes inside you. A dreamer, yes but not a fool. Funny, but never dismissive of history. Stubborn, but when you spoke, he truly listened. He wasn’t like anyone you'd met since the age of the Thirteen
He wasn't afraid to ask stupid questions and he wasn’t afraid of you. You often looked at him with a weary kind of exasperation, the sort reserved for someone who should know better. But he always laughed when you snapped at him, as if the weight of silence in the archive had never once touched him
You told him once by accident more than intention
The air between you had been dusted with a kind of trust you hadn’t felt in countless cycles. A quiet ease. The sort that hadn’t truly touched you since the age of the Thirteen faded into ash
Orion Pax a randomly-forged miner with far too much hope and far too little support was the sort to chase impossibilities like they were his rightful inheritance. He reached too far, spoke too loudly, and stood too often where no one asked him to. And yet, he never stopped. Not even when they laughed
“..I used to be Alpha Trion’s aide”
you said, voice quieter than you expected
He froze. Then almost immediately he dropped down beside you, like the truth might vanish if he didn’t plant himself right there, fast enough to catch it. Surprise widened his optics, but so did something else recognition. The name Alpha Trion carried weight: Scholar. Sage. Keeper of knowledge
“Really? I’ve heard of him, but it was always more like… like a myth—”
“It does sound like a story, doesn’t it?”
You gave a faint huff of laughter, more memory than mirth “But I was there. I walked the Hall of Records with the Primes themselves. I once transcribed battle doctrines meant to change the course of the war. I was Alpha Trion’s eyes. His ears”
“And now?” You gestured vaguely, as if your current state explained itself “..Now I’m ‘Advisor to the Prime’ Sentinel’s pet title”
“Sounds good on a datafile, doesn’t it?”
You let your gaze drift toward the ceiling “But it’s a cage. He doesn’t want my counset just my silence. He doesn't want me asking, no more. He says it’s time to let go of the past"
Your voice dipped on that last sentence, quieter than even you meant it to be. Beside you, Orion slowly set his hand close to yours. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough for the intent to be felt
“So… what will you do?”
“How long will you let him keep you quiet?”
You looked back at the desk. Scattered with restricted data slates salvaged from sealed archives. A few of which you had, perhaps, allowed him to read. Just fragments
Maybe, in some strange way, you weren’t so different from him after all. You’d slipped away whenever the chance arose. Found your way back into old vaults that should’ve been wiped from the map. You’d pulled truth from the edges of erasure, and hidden it in places no one else would look. In hopes someone, anyone would find it. Someday
You smiled “It’s not like I’ve been sitting still"
He laughed low and warm, like it lived in his chest “I think I’m starting to like you”
“No! I mean, I like it when you.. don’t just stay still!” You rolled your optics, but couldn’t hide the fact that the corner of your mouth twitched into a smile as well
“You gonna record me, then?”
“–If I ever turn into something important?”
You stared at him. Long enough for him to shift his weight, then chuckle, awkward and a little sheepish
“Kidding. I know someone like me doesn’t exactly scream historically relevant—”
“Please. I’ve been archiving you every days, spark-for-brains” You cut him off, tone dry, but softer than your usual “And if you ever do become something important… I’ll be the one to write that story. Properly. With footnotes”
He blinked. You didn’t smile but your optics said enough
D – I6
The underground quarters of the labor miners weren’t much to look at
Concrete walls, low ceilings, overhead conduits that flickered as if sighing with age. Everything smelled faintly of rust and recycled air. It was the sort of place where voices fell flat against the metal and hope tended to decay faster than the tools on the racks. No one expected anything new to walk in and yet. One day, Orion Pax brought someone with him. Not a supervisor. Not a guard. Not an auditor sent from the upper halls
But you. You, who walked in with a step just slow enough to take in the room
Not cautious, exactly but composed. Observing. Weighing. Like you had done this far too many times, and were still waiting to be surprised. D-16 recognized you before you even spoke. He had never heard your name not officially. There were no public briefings with your designation, no files that reached the lower sectors. But he had seen you. On every state broadcast, every emergency address, every ceremonial function where Sentinel Prime spoke before the world. You were always there never in front, but never far like the shadow just behind the throne
Orion had mentioned, in passing, that you had once served beneath the Thirteen themselves. The statement had sounded so absurd at the time like someone claiming to have dined with myths. But now, standing a few meters from you in the dim half-light, D-16 wasn’t laughing
He swallowed. Then, before his mind could interfere with his mouth “Did you… really meet Megatronus Prime?”
The words tumbled out like gravel down a mine shaft too loud, too fast, and entirely unrehearsed
Immediately, he stood straighter. As if trying to fold the question back into his body by sheer posture. His arms snapped to his sides, shoulders tense, expression schooled into impassivity. But even a casual observer would’ve noticed how the plates at his spine had locked up stiff, and how his field normally tight and subdued now bristled with mortified awareness
Orion, standing nearby, shot him a sidelong look that all but screamed Seriously and pressed his mouth into a thin line, clearly biting back laughter. His field buzzed with that particular kind of amusement only friends could afford
But you didn’t look offended
You simply turned to D-16 with a slow, deliberate grace. One optic ridge lifted in mild surprise, not mockery. The look you gave him was not one of superiority but memory. And something just shy of sorrow, your gaze slow and precise, like someone turning over an ancient page
“I didn’t think I’d hear that name spoken aloud” you said, voice soft and even “Not in this era. At least”
Something in the way you said it made the air feel older. D-16 opened his mouth to respond then overcompensated entirely
“I- I mean, I respect him. Megatronus. I really do. Not that I don’t respect the other Primes! I do! It’s just, his power, it was… I mean, the records say he was beyond classification. Singular”
He said it all in one breath, like pulling off a bandage, or confessing something shameful. The words just stumbled out faster than he could polish them, tumbling over one another in a mess of admiration and awkward intensity. For someone usually so reserved, the enthusiasm betrayed him utterly. The silence that followed was so complete it could have been scripted. Orion exhaled sharply through his nose. If he’d had something to throw, he probably would’ve thrown it. But you—
You just laughed
Quiet. Warm. Deep. A sound dredged up from beneath centuries of dust, as if even your voice had forgotten how to smile “You’re the first to say his name with that kind of light in your optics since the fall”
“If Megatronus could hear you now, he’d probably be baffled that he’s become some kind of hero to miners” You tilted your helm, smiling just a little “Though, honestly, I’m not surprised”
D-16 looked like he wanted the floor to collapse beneath him. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to will away the flush creeping across his faceplates. But then. Your voice shifted. Quieter now. Calmer
“I stood beside him. Yes”
You didn’t elaborate immediately. You let the weight of that admission settle, like dust returning to a long-forgotten shelf
“Not as a disciple” you said, after a moment “But as a witness”
D-16 froze. Not just with reverence, but intent. His posture didn’t just still it listened “Was he really like the stories?”
You didn’t answer at first
Your optics drifted upward, tracing the long silver line of a power conduit above, but your vision reached far beyond it. You were looking back through wars and ages, through the collapse of dynasties and the silence left behind “He was strong"
“Of course he was. But that’s not what stayed with me” Your gaze returned to him. You didn’t look at D-16 like he was a soldier or a worker. You looked at him like someone who had just asked the right question “What I remember most… was the way he shielded the weak. The way he stood between them and harm like he was born to carry the weight of their world, and never once questioned if it was too heavy..”
Silence again. But not a heavy one this time
A reverent, holding sort of quiet. Then, you stepped closer not imposing, but deliberate. Your optics met his without flinching “If you want to walk his path…”
“Don’t begin with your fists, begin with what you’d give your life to protect”
You weren’t surprised that Orion kept returning to the old archive. He was persistent like that drawn to lost records and locked doors the way some bots were drawn to light. What did surprise you, however, was that he started bringing D-16 with him. Not just once. Not as a fluke. But again. And again
Each time, the miner sat with his back straight, posture stiff as if the room itself required reverence. He never touched anything without permission. His focus was unwavering, his questions, clear and concise. Never a wasted word. At first, he spoke like someone walking on thin ice. Awkward, hesitant. Always respectful. And always always his questions were about Megatronus
“Did Megatronus ever overrule the other Primes?”— “Is it true he once fought a Quintesson with his bare hands?”– “What did his voice sound like?”
It was always about him in the beginning. D-16 would ask you to recount field notes not available in the public archives. He’d ask what Megatronus thought during the final war what moved him, what held him back. And you told him. You told him everything you remembered. You spoke of war. Of victories. Of moments carved from metal and memory. You even told him how Megatronus once pulled you bodily from the battlefield without hesitation
But then quietly, gradually, his questions began to change. They grew softer. Slower. Less historical. He started asking about you instead. At first, you hardly noticed the shift. His voice was steady, his tone still careful. But the pattern had changed. His curiosity had turned inward toward the storyteller rather than the story and you realized, one day, mid-sentence. You were no longer recounting the past. You were being recorded into it
He hummed
A low, thoughtful sound less an answer than a pause, a space carved out to think, to consider. The kind of sound someone makes when they’re weighing the ground beneath them before taking a step they can’t take back and then, it came. The question.
Delivered with the kind of casualness that only made it more obvious
“And—did you… ever have anyone? Back then. During the wars" His voice caught near the end, like the question had tripped over its own boots on the way out
Your optics lifted from the datapad slowly. Not sharply. Just… knowingly “Anyone?"
It was a simple word, but layered with intent. You weren’t asking for clarification. You were asking if he knew what he was really asking
He immediately straightened his posture a move so sudden it bordered on mechanical. Which was impressive, considering his spine had already been stiff enough to pass for reinforced alloy “I mean allies. Or comrades. People you… trusted. Fought beside..”
The correction tumbled out like bricks falling into place too neatly, too fast. His words tried to anchor the moment back into neutral ground, but the field around him betrayed him. It had shifted subtly, but unmistakably. That buzz of restraint pulsing just a little too sharply at the edges. You didn’t respond right away. Didn’t reach for sarcasm. Didn’t turn away.
You simply let the silence sit between you undisturbed, like dust in a sealed room “I had those” you said, voice low, level. A truth you’d long since polished smooth from memory “And more..”
That did it. The datapad nearly slipped from his fingers just slightly, just enough. He caught it without looking, reflexes honed from years in the mines, but his control faltered for a breath. Long enough for you to feel the ripple of heat in his field. Not embarrassment. Something quieter. More sincere
he muttered “Right, of course- makes sense”
His optics stayed locked forward, trained on some far-off point just above the floor. Nowhere near you. Nowhere dangerous. And after a moment that pulsed like a heartbeat. He said it – So softly it barely left his frame “I think… I’d like to be one of them.”
The words didn’t echo
They didn’t need to
They settled into the room like something that had been waiting a long time to be said. You turned to him slowly
Not with surprise. Not with mockery. But with something gentler. Quieter. As though he'd just offered you a piece of himself he wasn’t used to sharing and didn’t yet know if he should regret it. He didn’t meet your gaze. Couldn’t. But you noticed the tight line of his jaw. The slight tension in his servos. The way his shoulders rose just enough to brace against whatever answer you might give and his field normally so disciplined was frayed at the edges. A flicker of static in his composure. Like a transmission that wanted to say more but didn’t know how. You didn’t press. Didn’t tease. Just… watched him, the way one watches something rare and very carefully offered, without changing your tone, you smiled. Not the kind of smile meant to reassure. But the kind that held memory in its corners. That knew what it meant to be seen
“Then start by asking better questions” you said, voice low—carrying more warmth than he probably knew what to do with “I might even answer them”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. But it was there. Not quite a smile. Not yet
But close
You hadn’t said it like a joke. You hadn’t said it to dismiss him. You said it like you meant it. Like there really was a door, just slightly open, and all he had to do was reach and that—that was dangerous
Because he wanted to. He wanted to know more. About you. Not just the archive, not just your history, not just what you’d seen. You. The way your voice changed when you spoke of memories that mattered. The way your optics drifted skyward when you thought no one noticed. The way you never laughed at his awkwardness—only… watched. Quietly. Kindly. Like it didn’t bother you at all
He let his helm rest against the wall
Shut his optics
Let out a slow vent
He shouldn’t get caught up in it. He knew that. He was a miner. A worker. Just another cogless bot trying to survive and you… You were memory incarnate — You carried wars and wisdom in your voice. You stood beside Primes. You remembered gods.
What business did he have wanting to be remembered by you?
But still—under all that logic, that silence, that self-restraint— His spark pulsed just a little faster
S e n t i n e l P r i m e
The corridor stretched long and silent, wrapped in a hush that felt too deliberate to be natural—like a room holding its breath
Ancient murals loomed on either side, half-lit by overhead glowpanels designed to mimic the old morninglight of pre-war Cybertron. Each image painted a different fragment of the same sacred lie: unity, strength, unbroken lineage. The brushstrokes were delicate, reverent, rendered by artists who had believed the Primes were eternal. Immortal. Immutable.
You moved through that quiet with hands folded neatly behind your back, each step measured, silent. You had walked this wing hundreds of times before. Cataloged each pigment, each artisan’s mark, each brittle metadata layer coded beneath the paint. But now even the images you knew by spark felt… remote. Like they belonged to someone else’s story. Your gaze paused at a depiction of Solus Prime, tall, radiant, her forge-hammer glowing in the cradle of creation. But the dataplate had been changed: “Commissioned in honor of the Divine Reconstruction”
Reconstruction?
That plate hadn’t been there last cycle..
Your hands clenched slightly behind your back, jaw tightened. Then footsteps. Not hurried. Not stealthy. Just… assured. You didn’t need to turn. The rhythm was unmistakable
“You always did prefer this wing”
The voice came soft—too soft. Like an echo meant to blend in with the art.
“The lighting’s better here” you replied evenly “Less curated”
Sentinel Prime’s presence filled the space behind them long before his frame did. His silhouette, massive, statuesque, lined with cold gold filigree moved into view with all the ease of a king inspecting his garden. But his steps were quiet. Thoughtful. He approached not like a ruler claiming ground, but like a memory creeping forward on quiet feet.
“I remember” he said, now beside you
His tone was warm. Familiar. Intentionally gentle “You used to drag me here to correct plaques. Spent hours lecturing me on timeline deviations”
“I let you talk. You do know that, don’t you?”
Your optics flicked toward him, then back to the mural “I wasn’t lecturing”
“You were” he said, smiling “But you were right. Mostly” His voice was lower now, quiet enough to ripple through the stillness like heat. He was standing just close enough for his shadow to graze the edges of your frame
You turned toward him at last. Slowly. He was tall. Too tall. The kind of height that once symbolized protection but now only loomed. You wasn’t small, not by any Cybertronian standard, but beside him, you looked like something meant to be set aside. Kept behind glass. Preserved “That didn’t stop you from rewriting it all”
His smile twitched. Only slightly
“Things change”
“Convenient”
“I’m not here to argue”
“You never are” The space between them was thick with old familiarity, but strained now like a song slowed half a beat too long, dissonant where it once sang in sync
“I miss when we used to talk” Sentinel said, his voice thinning with a note too careful to be casual “Real talk. You challenged me”
“so I’m still here”
“You just don’t like the shape of the challenge anymore” He moved a little closer. Not to dominate. But to surround
“You don’t have to fight me..”
“I’m not fighting. I’m resisting. There’s a difference”
His expression shifted only slightly. Not quite hurt. Not quite angered. But something beneath the surface moved “Then stop resisting” he said, barely above a whisper “Let me in again”
The words hung too heavy in the air
You turned to face him fully now, field flickering slightly not with fear, but warning “You’re not asking me to let you in. You’re asking me to comply. To pretend none of this happened. That this mural, and the hundreds of others like it, still mean the same thing”
A long pause. Then quieter “You want me to become part of the illusion..”
He didn’t deny it. Instead, his field pulsed faintly outward magnetic, warm, intentional. The kind of closeness that might’ve once felt like comfort. But now only pressed too much, too close “I never wanted to lose you in this”
“Out of all bot, not you”
The words were too tender. Too particular
And you heard it. The inflection. That little fracture of emotion that didn’t belong in a public address. That wasn’t meant for a former archivist. That if left unchecked would lead to something harder to survive “Then you shouldn’t have replaced everything we stood for”
Silence
He didn’t step away. Not yet. But his gaze lowered just slightly. Not in defeat but in the careful weighing of what he couldn’t control and just before leaving, Sentinel said so quiet it barely moved the air “You don’t have to be the last relic of the past, you could be part of what's next”
“There's still a place for you, beside me”
Then he turned. The shadows swallowed him slowly, step by step, until only the lingering hum of his field remained warm, familiar, and unbearably wrong. You remained there, surrounded by murals of rewritten myths and stories you no longer recognized, stared up at Solus Prime one last time. And for the first time in cycles…
You couldn’t remember what color her optics had been before Sentinel repainted her
You had always wondered quietly, carefully. Why the miners had no T-Cogs. Why these workers–those newborns, forged strong and silent beneath the surface of Cybertron, lacked the very thing that made transformation possible.But it was only ever a question left unspoken. Not because you lacked curiosity but because you knew Sentinel would never answer you
And so speculation took root. Not in accusation, not yet. Just quiet observation hypotheses formed in the hush between truths, the kind no one dared to say aloud. Still, you didn’t want to believe it. You couldn’t. Surely not even Sentinel could be that cruel, could he? Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Until you could see it with your own optics
He treated you much the same as he always had. The teasing still lingered in his voice, familiar as a memory. The smiles came easily, often too easily warmer than necessary, threaded now with a tension you couldn’t name. He could have just wiped you off. Silenced you. Replaced you. But instead, he kept you close. Closer than before. You told yourself it was strategy. Easier to watch you. Easier to contain
But perhaps, just perhaps. He couldn’t bear to let you go. Perhaps Sentinel had drawn you so deep into the architecture of his world that the thought of ruling it without you, felt incomplete, dangerous, like failure. And so, in every public address, every state broadcast and ceremonial decree, when he stepped into the light and into the eye of the world. You were always there. Not to speak. Not to challenge. Not to stand as an equal. But simply to stand. Beside him as if that alone would be enough. And it was. That’s all he needed. For the new age he ruled to begin—with you still in it
The plaza had been remade not merely rebuilt, but reborn for this very moment. Steel arches arced overhead like the fossilized ribs of a long-dead colossus, burnished to a gleam beneath the planetary sun. Between them hung banners of deep cobalt, stitched in gold thread so fine it caught the light like fire
THE ERA OF CONTINUITY, they read
Beneath that, the unmistakable crest of Sentinel Prime, repeated, mirrored, multiplied across every surface like a sigil of divine right. A thousand optics turned as he emerged onto the marble dais. Flanked by honor guard. Flanked by silence.
And flanked by them. You followed exactly half a step behind, as protocol required close enough to signify loyalty, far enough to signify subordination, your frame was immaculate under the precision lighting, each panel polished, each edge adorned with ceremonial filigree. Upon your chestplate gleamed the freshly-forged insignia of Principal Historical Advisor to the Prime a title announced only a cycle prior, yet already murmured through the chambers of power like scripture passed hand to hand
Sentinel raised a hand
The plaza obeyed
“My fellow citizens of Iacon” his voice unfurled like silk over steel calm, crystalline, unyielding “today marks not only remembrance but restoration. A new page. A unified future”
He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice carried like gravity inevitable, inescapable
Behind him, you held your stance with exquisite poise, expression serene, the curve of lips calibrated to precision not warmth, not joy, but symmetry. The kind of smile meant for monuments, not mouths. You weren’t unrecognizable. You had merely become… curated — A fixture, flourish
“In every age of transformation” Sentinel continued “we must reach not only toward innovation but to those who hold the lineage of wisdom. And so, I walk forward with those who once stood beside the Primes themselves” He turned just slightly enough to cast the gesture like a flourish of choreography, an artist unveiling his favorite piece “My advisor. My historian. My conscience”
Applause
You bowed, flawlessly. An angle measured. A nod practiced
“They remind me, daily that the past is not to be erased, but honored”
And that, you thought behind your perfect smile, is what a lie sounds like when it wears poetry for armor
The crowd didn’t know. Couldn’t know
They didn’t see the redacted records, the vanishing cross-references, the warped timelines spliced together like a forgery passed off as scripture. But you did, knew every phrase pre-approved for the interview after this, knew which questions to feign surprise at, which answers to lace in ambiguity, which smiles to hold half a second longer—for the press, for the pose, for the pageantry
When the mic was passed to you, you spoke clearly. Without tremor “It is my privilege, to ensure that the light of Cybertron’s past still guides our steps. We move forward… not in forgetfulness, but in reverence”
The voice did not falter. But behind your back, fingers curled
Just slightly
You could feel him watching. Not with threat. Not with command. But with the kind of gaze one reserves for polished statues an artifact restored, admired, and displayed. He stepped closer. Just enough for proximity to read as intimacy to the cameras drone. Just enough to veil the weight behind the words “That was beautifully said” he murmured
You didn’t even look at him “I know”
“You still surprise me sometimes”
“I shouldn’t”
He laughed. Quietly. It sounded like warmth. But you knew the tone was forged from pressure. You just smiled again for the cameras, for the world, for the lie. All the while counting the seconds until they could shed this costume of allegiance
and return to silence. To truth. To records that hadn't yet been rewritten
The applause hadn’t faded. Not truly
Even as the final words of the speech dissolved into the crisp evening air, even as the recording lights dimmed and flickered out, the plaza still thrummed with the afterglow of orchestrated pride. A thousand optics shimmered with patriotic sheen. The banners above caught the wind like the sails of a sanctified warship, reborn, rebranded
Sentinel turned slightly as they stepped from the marble dais. His hand extended not in earnest assistance, but in something more… choreographed. Just close enough to suggest warmth. Just distant enough to deny obligation
You did not take it. You descended with mechanical grace, each movement refined to ceremony, smile remained a studied curve, not a flicker out of place, electromagnetic field was wound tight, compressed close to frame static-thick, airtight. But Sentinel didn’t retract. He adjusted A beat. A breath. Then he fell into step beside them. One hand still positioned loosely at their back not touching, not quite, but present. Suggesting
“You handled that perfectly” he murmured, voice pitched just for them an intimate register dressed in silk “Even that line about reverence” he added, with a glint behind his words “It almost moved me”
“I was quoting your own speech, from six cycles ago. You just don’t remember”
He laughed, quiet, indulgent “That’s why I keep you close”
His hand settled lightly at the small of your back. A touch that, from a distance, would read as fondness. Dignified. United. Photogenic. The Prime and his trusted advisor—l a tableau of loyalty
You didn’t recoil. But felt it. The message in the weight of it. The duration. The confidence. The performance. You tilted your head a fraction not a glare, not yet, but a signal
“You’re taking liberties” you said, voice sheathed in quiet silk. A murmur passed as jest but honed like a blade
“I’m taking advantage of optics” Sentinel countered, unapologetic “That’s what this office demands” He leaned just slightly toward you, as if confiding something lighthearted. The angle of his smile curled with practiced ease “Besides” he added, almost inaudible beneath the hum of the crowd “if I wanted to take liberties… I’d be far less subtle”
Your optics slid toward him — Sharp. Unblinking. Glacial “Then it’s fortunate, that subtlety suits you. It keeps your hands clean”
He didn’t respond immediately
Let the silence grow roots. Let the proximity say what words couldn’t. Then, with the grace of a ruler accustomed to applause, he stepped ahead. Half a pace. Reclaiming the lead. Shoulders squared. Expression unblemished. A portrait of command. A symbol of benevolent strength. Behind him, you followed. Impeccably. Your smile still worn like enamel. Uncracked
The drone captured the moment—the Prime descending the steps, his advisor close at his side. A soft brush of proximity. A glance. A smile. Unspoken trust. Unshakable partnership. A unity sculpted for the archives
You kept the pace
Matched the image
“You don’t want me. You made that clear from the beginning”
“No” he said, softer, took a step closer now “I said I could no longer have you in the same way”
Unmasked. Unarmored. No shield of title, no pageantry of power. You’d forgotten how tall he was. Or perhaps he had been refitted. Prime-forged and sculpted for presence. It hardly mattered. What mattered was how close he stood now, and how easily someone like him could end you if he wanted to. One strike. One breath
And yet. He never had. Not once. Not with force. Not with violence. He wasn’t that kind of tyrant
“You were a pillar” he said, voice slow, deliberate “Unshakable. I relied on that. Trusted in it”
“But this world. My world, has no place for things that do not change” His tone was not cruel. It was… sorrowful. Almost reverent. The voice of someone delivering last rites to something sacred “That doesn’t mean I wanted to break you”
“You’re the last piece of a world that made me who I was”
A i r a c h n i d
The hallway this time was brighter
Wider. Less suited to shadows, and yet—still quiet enough for things to go unnoticed
You stood near the polished threshold of a secondary archive chamber one of the newer annexes built under Sentinel's regime. The walls were smooth. Unscuffed. Sterile in a way that felt unnatural, like something grown in a vacuum instead of history. Every surface gleamed too perfectly. Nothing here had aged yet. Nothing here had memory. You scrolled slowly through the contents of a datapad not reading, not truly. Just moving. Optics skating over headlines, edit trails, deleted citation links. The silence here was curated. Sculpted
You weren’t here for the records
You were waiting
And right on cue “You're early today”
The voice arrived like a brush of silk through charged air. Smooth. Deliberate. It always was. Familiar now but still edged like a knife’s smile. You didn’t look up immediately, didn’t have to
You already knew who it was
Airachnid was leaning against the terminal bank, as though she’d been there since the system powered on. One hip balanced lightly against the edge, arms folded, posture relaxed but not truly at rest. Her helm was tilted just enough to unnerve, like she was watching from an angle no one else thought to use. Her smile was slight, carefully measured. It didn’t quite reach her optics, but that was the point
“You’re very consistent” you said mildly, glancing at her from the corner of your optics “Do you clock in like this for everyone?”
“No” Her tone was a velvet purr, low and intentional “Only the ones worth watching”
“I’m flattered”
“You should be”
The silence that followed was thick enough to hold shape. You looked back down, scrolling through the datapad with a laziness that masked purpose “Do you enjoy this?” you asked, voice light
“Watching me sort metadata? Or is this just another item on your schedule?”
Airachnid’s helm tilted further, just a fraction “Do you enjoy testing the patience of your security detail?”
“I prefer to test the depth of curiosity”
That earned a quiet sound from her. Not quite a laugh, more a click. Dry. Surgical. Like a scalpel being returned to its velvet-lined case “You don’t strike me as the reckless type”
“I’m not. But I’ve spent more time speaking to corrupted code than to people lately. You’re more intriguing than most encrypted files” Airachnid uncrossed her arms with slow precision and stepped away from the terminal bank. Her movement was seamless, gliding, but deliberate. Too fluid to be lazy. Too elegant to be harmless
“Careful. Curiosity makes a poor shield”
“So does ignorance”
They stood across from one another now.
Not close enough to touch, but close enough to read nuance. Like two scholars dissecting the same artifact, each searching for a different truth beneath the same surface “Tell me something” your voice gentler now
“Were you always like this?”
Airachnid’s optics narrowed slightly
The light from the overhead glowpanels traced cold reflections across her faceplate, catching in the sharp line of her jaw, the subtle gleam of her plating “Define this” she said, quietly, but with that razor-curious edge. Like she was offering you a choice: explain, or be dissected
You didn’t flinch
“Loyal to the point of silence. Efficient to the point of invisibility– I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone hold power so tightly… without wanting it”
Airachnid said nothing. She simply looked at you. For longer than was polite. Longer than was comfortable. Not with surprise. No, she rarely wasted optics on emotion but with something like scrutiny. A kind of analytical regard, like she was reassessing a threat level. Then, just a half-step forward. Just enough to be noticed
“What makes you think I don’t want power?”
“Because you already have it. And yet, you stay in the shadow of someone else’s crest” You didn’t hesitate, voice remained even
Her smile shifted at that small, curling inward like a claw retracting just beneath the surface. It wasn’t a smirk. It wasn’t for show. It was closer to truth
“You assume I follow him”
“Don’t you?”
The silence that opened between you wasn’t heavy but precise. Like a scalpel laid on a sterile tray, gleaming and untouched. No breath. No movement. Just tension wound in stillness “I serve Sentinel Prime” Airachnid said, her tone glass-smooth “Because he knows where he’s going. And because he gave me a place where I no longer have to pretend”
You didn’t blink “Pretend to be what?”
Her optics glinted, cool light on polished alloy, the gleam of a trap sprung just enough to warn
“Anything less than what I am” That landed harder than you expected. Not just the words. But the way she said them. The calm certainty. The unapologetic sharpness. You watched her – still, quiet, measuring
“He trusts you”
“Utterly”
“That’s rare”
“That’s earned”
This silence felt different. No longer stretched like wire across a minefield. It settled between you like cooling metal, coiled, yes, but no longer poised to strike. A mutual understanding, or something close. You gave a small nod
“Thank you. For the conversation”
Airachnid didn’t nod back. Didn’t tilt her head. Didn’t break the mask. She simply said, plainly “I’ll still be watching”
“I know” You turned back to the datapad but didn’t move. Didn’t scroll. Didn’t type. Your hands rested on the console’s edge, tension vibrating faintly in the joints
Behind you, Airachnid moved with the silence of trained instinct, less like she walked away, more like she was subtracted from the scene. Gone. Clean. Seamless. Somewhere behind her careful silence, something lingered. Not doubt. Not regret. But the smallest flicker of recognition. The way one predator sees another in the wild not a threat, but a mirror. A different species of survivor. She’d known from the first time she was assigned to monitor you
You were dangerous
Not because you fought. But because you watched. Because you remembered. Because you asked questions like knives and in this golden empire built on curated truths, it was those who asked quietly that had to be watched the closest. As her shadow faded into the long corridor. Airachnid didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. You were still there, rooted in archives, cloaked in dignity, poised like a weapon Sentinel still thought ornamental and if there was war coming beneath the sheen of peace
Airachnid would not choose a side
She was the side. Already chosen, already loyal, already lethal
Sentinel doesn't have the time to watch you every day. To follow you. Track you. Monitor your movements. And that’s precisely why Airachnid does it in his place. He entrusted her with the task assigned her to keep a careful, unflinching eye on you. To guard you, yes. But also to measure. To evaluate. To intercept, if needed. She has never failed him before and so, Sentinel has no reason to question the arrangement
When you are not with him then you are with her. It’s always one or the other and you’ve grown used to that rhythm. Far too used to it. Used to it enough that you’ve begun to speak with her. Start conversations. Ask things. Curious. And, strangely perhaps suspiciously. Airachnid lets you
She allows the exchange. Doesn’t cut you down. Doesn’t shut you out. Maybe it’s a tactic. Maybe she’s letting the walls fall just enough to get closer. To make it easier when the time comes, when Sentinel finally decides to erase you but you know how to play this game. You’ve survived long enough by knowing when not to step away. And you’re not about to waste the opportunity now
“You already have power and yet, you stay in the shadow of someone else’s crest”
She almost laughed at that. What a foolish perspective. Sentinel isn’t her shadow. He’s her axis. He gave her a place where she didn’t have to soften herself to fit. You doesn’t understand that kind of loyalty. Because theirs is built on memory. On rules. On history. And all of that burned. Still—Airachnid cannot help but.. observe you
You doesn’t speak like a politician. Doesn’t stand like a servant. You carry something harder. Older. The weight of someone who has seen too much truth to be satisfied with a lie, but is too tired to shout it anymore. She doesn’t hate you. That surprises her. She respects. And that’s dangerous. Because it means that if Sentinel ever does order her to remove them. It won’t be clean. It won’t be mechanical. It will leave a mark
The archives were quiet, but that’s nothing new. What was new, though, was the feel of someone waiting in the wings—someone not standing in the open, but lingering just at the edge, just beyond the light, as if they were the shadow. Airachnid’s presence was invisible, like most things she did. The moment you began to analyze data once more, she appeared at the edge of their peripheral vision, standing just far enough not to intrude. She didn’t speak. Didn’t even move. She just waited
“I thought you’d be occupied” you said, voice not accusatory but more curious “Or are you always so quiet?”
Airachnid remained still, like a spider perched at the edge of its web.
She didn’t look directly at them. Not yet “Sometimes” her voice just soft enough to blend into the silence of the chamber
“quiet is all that’s needed”
“You’re not here for me to ask you questions”
Airachnid shifted her weight slightly, taking one step closer without breaking that eerie calm that surrounded her “I don’t answer questions” she said, stepping into the slight illumination cast by the panel. Her silhouette now clear, framed in the soft light “I observe. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
You turned, but the motion was slow, thoughtful “Observing? ..or controlling?”
Airachnid tilted her helm a fraction of an inch, her optics glinting in that same sharp, calculating manner they’d seen so often. Yet, this time, there was a softness, a subtle understanding that hinted at something deeper “If I wanted control, I wouldn’t have left you alone long enough to ask me that question”
There was a moment of hesitation, of silence that stretched far longer than it should have. You lowered your optics, a soft chuckle escaping their lips, though it wasn’t directed at Airachnid
“You do like keeping your distance, don’t you?”
“Distance is necessary” Airachnid replied simply, her voice like ice melting in the sun “But observation... that’s personal”
You stopped, looked at her again, not with caution, but with genuine curiosity. For all her quiet, for all her efficiency, there was something about Airachnid that had always fascinated them. The way she moved, measured and deliberate. The way she saw things others missed
“Why do you stay here? Why stay with Sentinel?”
Airachnid’s optics darkened slightly, but she didn’t look away. Her answer came with a slight, almost imperceptible shift in her stance
“I don’t stay. I’m here because I choose to be”
You let the question settle, watching the way she stood, poised but not impatient and just as your optics lingered too long, just as your mind shifted–Airachnid’s hand moved, almost without a thought. She slid a small data disk onto the edge of the console. Not just any disk. One with new directives “It’s not what you’ve been told to look for” she said softly, almost as if she had read the question forming in their mind “But it’s something you’ll need soon”
You stared down at the disk, thoughts moving a mile a minute, hadn’t expected this. Not from Airachnid, not from someone so loyal to Sentinel. But the glance she gave them, fleeting, calculating, spoke volumes
“Just make sure you don’t miss it”
she added, before stepping back into the shadows, fading from view once more. The disk sat there. Silent. Waiting. As if it, too, knew that its secrets had already begun to spill, even before you had reached for it
She remembers their last conversation, low-lit corridor, quiet exchange. The way they tried to read her.
As if she were text on a slab of archive steel. ‘You can’t catalog a predator’ she thinks. And yet… something in you had watched her not with fear, but effort. Like they wanted to understand. To connect
It was foolish. Possibly suicidal. But it was real and real things are rare. She reports to Sentinel later that cycle. The conversation is short “They’re stable. Contained. But restless” Sentinel leans back in his chair. Fingers steepled, voice soft
“And still trying to find where they belong?”
“You’ve already decided where they belong”
He smiles. That cool, refined smile that has sealed fates without ever raising his voice “Then make sure they stay there”
She nods once. No hesitation and yet. Later that night, she walks past the corridor where you sometimes works late. She does not stop. She does not speak. But she slows. Just for a moment. And in that moment, she wonders ‘If they ever fall… will I warn them first?’ It is a thought that should not exist. So she leaves it behind, buried in silence. Where it belongs
Sometimes when you sneak out to hide in the old archives that are considered a forbidden place for no one to invade, or even when you talk to the bots that you shouldn't, she doesn't report that to Sentinel
BONUS ON
D A R K W I N G
The lower quarry shook with the thunder of drills
Sparks flew. Gravel sang under heavy treads. Miners shouted to one another over the noise some urgent, some desperate, most ignored. And at the center of it all stood Darkwing. Massive. Smudged with energon soot. Half-snapped shoulder armor from who-knew-what yesterday. He barked at two workers who’d paused too long
“I said get it moving, you slagging excuses for bolts! You want the Prime’s wrath down here next?! MOVE!” He raised a reinforced datapad like he was going to throw it. The worker scrambled back, someone coughed
A soft, polite cough. A very high-ranking, polite cough. Darkwing froze. Turned–
You stood at the edge of the overlook, flanked by two silent escorts and dressed in the calm, formal sheen of someone who did not come here to yell, ust… to observ
“Oh. Uh. Sir-Ma’am-Advisor!”
Darkwing stiffened, saluting with one shoulder (the only one still intact) “Didn’t, uh didn’t know you were coming down today”
“It was unannounced” you replied mildly, stepping closer “I was told this sector has been underperforming”
Darkwing nodded too fast “Yes! I mean no! I mean uh, there were some delays. But nothing that can’t be! Well, you know. Handled. Promptly. Professionally”
You raised an optic ridge. Behind him, a miner who’d just been shouted at looked up, mouth slightly open at the shift in tone “We noticed an unusual spike in damage reports from your crew” you continued
“Yes-eh-that’s…” Darkwing tried to scratch the back of his helm. Realized he had a dent there. Scratched beside it instead “We’re in a rough phase. You know how ore layers get. It’s the… uh. The fault of… geology”
You stared. He stared back.
Then laughed-awkwardly. Loudly “Heh! Cybertron, right? So unpredictable!”
The silence behind Reader was immediate and cold
“We’ll be reviewing your operation logs and your conduct notes”
“Absolutely. Please. All yours. I love paperwork. I dream of audits”
“Of course you do” You turned slightly to speak with their aide, but before they could finish a sentence “Would you-like some energon, Advisor? We have, uh, local brew. Very unrefined”
“...No, thank you”
“Good choice. It’s terrible”
You looked at him one last time. Measured “Carry on, Supervisor”
Darkwing saluted again—sharper now. Nearly knocked his own helmplate with the angle. Once advisor and their group disappeared from the walkway, he let out a sound between a groan and a short-range radio malfunction
Behind him, one of the miners whispered “Did you just call geology unpredictable?”
Darkwing glared “SHUT UP AND DIG”
Maybe it was Sentinel’s bad habits rubbing off on you. Or maybe it was your own emotionally-repressed tendencies finally leaking out sideways. Because, sometimes.. you enjoyed bothering Darkwing. There was just something undeniably satisfying about watching him get flustered just a little. The way he’d fidget, posture, start to sweat wires the moment you casually inquired about the progress reports and mining quotas under his jurisdiction. Naturally, that only made you press harder. Because why wouldn’t you?
It was fun. In a terrible, twisted, borderline-unethical kind of way. It wasn’t you. You swore it wasn’t you. And then when you know Orion and D-16. After that, well, let’s just say you suddenly found a lot more reasons to “personally inspect” the lower levels of the mines. Every now and then, you’d find an excuse to stop by. Just a quick visit. Just enough time for a few questions. Some light conversation. Perhaps a little friendly interrogation
Occasionally, you had to bribe Darkwing with a few of Sentinel’s private assets. Nothing serious. A datachip here, a high-grade component there but most of the time? You just threatened him. Nicely. Harmlessly. In that special way that makes guilty bots break into a cold sweat and confess things they didn’t even do. Honestly, it was probably fine. Mostly …Probably