#skyite

[witchofthesouls]

Had another dream about Cat!Starscream, Batmobile and Sparklings.

It involved Batmobile being discovered by Dreadwing.

It ended in him being honorable and not distressing the carrier/bitlits...but also he is heavily judging her taste in mechs. Because by a series of miscommunication and out of context conversations, Dreadwing believes that Starscream and Batmobile are courting.

(they are not In fact courting, nor are they aware the Dreadwing thinks they are Courting)

As a sidenote, I can imagine sparkling!Megs being protective and fussy about TFP!Starscream due to the fuzzy feeling of guilt involving IDW!Starscream.

Dreadwing: By the Allspark, they're roommates-

Batmobile: Yes? We are??

Starscream: *confused Seeker mech noises as he's still trying to figure out Botmobile's boundaries*

It's so funny since it results in so many misunderstandings as Dreadwing isn't the best talker, so smalltalk results in very different conversations between him with Batmobile (a cyberized human who's missing a lot of cultural context and specific subglyphs) and Starscream (he's still in survivor mode and desperately trying to Not Fuck Up his newest living arrangements with real food to pay proper attention to Dreadwing since the mech has a different sense of honor compared to the other Decepticons). The guy is deeply reading into Batmobile's nonchalant approach with the sparklings (at least Rodimus and Drift, Megatron just wants to be glued his creator's side) climbing all over Starscream.

Unfortunately, the sparklings have no mental connection to their adult lives. While there can be lingering impressions, they're starting fresh. As far as they're concerned, new adults to climb or escape from.

Baby!Megs has no thoughts. Just pure wants of being next to his creator under the sunflower panels as he chews on his fist or a random piece of spar armor.

Dreadwing thought Starscream would bully the sparkling. Starscream was so affronted, especially since the little sunflower was 1) very unlike their dimension's Megatron and 2) bitty never leaves Batmobile's perimeter.

Dreadwing never brought up the Batmobile's discovery. They're neither Decepticon nor Autobot, and working to return to their own dimension as they freely provide fuel and care. Deep down, Dreadwing knows if he ever brought attention to them, then Batmobile would be forced to fight, and he has no idea how the other Decepticons would react to the sparklings.

[witchofthesouls]

I had a dream about batmobile-mom and sparklings in Transformers:prime and her taking one look at the sad feral cat that is TFP!Starscream and going "Ya...this is mine now."

To me, it's funnier because the Cat Distribution System is doing the Lord's work with overtime as it claims Starscream to send him straight to them since they're stranded with a crashed ship. (Not the Light Lost. It's actually a little ship meant for initial expeditions of a new planet or for research. Still capable of supporting a small crew up to eight.)

So it's less of "This is mine." and more of "Well, I got a cat. This is not my cat. I never had a cat in this ship. I guess, it's mine now."

Poor lonely Starscream coming across the Batmobile family during his time as a rogue and got kicked out of the Decepticon faction, and getting all of his protocols and coding screaming at him over them. Batmobile may be a tank, but they're fragging huge and strong with matte black shades and a powerful field and little ones that she's attentive to their care. Sure, she's not Seekerkin, but she basically has a lot of the really attractive traits of one.

He becomes an indoor-outdoor cat that's super skittish since his own frame-instincts is attempting to latch onto them. Batmobile is coaxing the guy with Energon, shower brushes, cute sparkling babble, and a research lab where the Liaison is actually attentive to what's he's doing. They may not understand the entirety but they do like listening to the guy.

Because his frame-instincts are super confused over Batmobile not completely the proper mannerisms of a Seekerkin femme accepting another mech in her space, it goes haywire by jumping between 'get closer until she finally makes a decision' and 'FLEE YOU IDIOTIC FOOL' since Seeker femmes tend to be violently territorial over their nests with little ones. She's not making the right behavioral cues that mean 'I have accepted you into my personal, private, and intimate space,' but she's making a lot of the 'you're a guest' and it overlaps with the 'I'm trying to get to know you.'

[witchofthesouls]

Title: patron saint of one way trips, teach me how to live so far from home.

One, TFP Other!AU isekai fic, where Pilar Esquivel returns from Elsewhere, but it's not the Earth she left. Not only is she dealing with the aftermath of her own adventure, but she must navigate the shoes of her alternate self that don't quite fit, blend in with varying levels of success, figure out what to do next, and she's covering her baby brother with his "study group."

Two, TFP fic, where it's the (mis)adventures of June Darby, a human adult into Cybertronian sparkling where she retains her memories after her conversion, and the Autobots trying hard to accommodate their newest little one and figure out Jack's legal situation since his mother cannot return to Jasper. In which there are multiple mother hens, biological and cultural clashes, adult sensibilities versus sparkling instincts, accidental child acquisition, and multiple mecha angling to become Parent.

Three, IDW/MTMTE porn with (some) plot fic, where Tarn loses his virginity to a miner-turned-entertainer on a planet that's fairly neutral to Cybertronians, and he stumbles upon his most decent semi-relationship where he's allowed to be vulnerable and treated like a spoiled dog.

Four, TFP Other!AU fic, where random Vehicons managed to survive an Autobot ambush by getting dumped Elsewhere. As they recover from their injuries and were strongarmed repay for their treatment by doing various tasks, they navigate strange customs and stranger physics, pick new skills they never thought was in their grasp, experience Chewing Food, haggle with sentient wardrobes... they struggle on whether or not it's worth searching for a way back to the Nemesis.

[witchofthesouls]

Title: Like Mismatched Socks, we're a perfect pair.

One, TFP!Other!Au on how Pharma became 'Mr. Darby' when he 'stole' away June Darby in his time under the Foundation. She's an 'out of time' traveler, and he has all the time in the universe, considering his escape pod veered wildly off course with no way back to his unit or the Autobots. They both work as consultants on stranger medical cases.

Two, TFP fic that explores Orion Pax's and Ariel's relationship and how they handled their new mantles as a Prime and a War-Forged when war breaks out and later escalates.

Three, G1 fic that delves into how Starscream and Skywarp met, despite their radically different backgrounds, and managed to catapult their way to the top of Vosian society and the Decepticons.

[witchofthesouls]

So I got this particular scene haunting me from "burn your sins and wash away your virtues" a title submission from @skyite for an ask meme. Get ready because it's my take on what I wanted from the Camiens, the Thirteen Primes, and time-traveling humans that become Primes godfuckingdammit

_______

“Nemesis Prime, Champion-bride of Megatronus and beloved sister of Solus!”

A voice rang through the underground furnace, clear over its roar and burning meat and frames, over the breaking stakes and noises of the dying, over the chants and screams and manic jubilation that swept across the city. The flames swelled within the mouth, consuming the dead as the cavern bore it all. The engineering was a marvel to behold as distant booms rocked the ground, and the mine still held true.

:: And so they laid together and became the Forge and the Forger. From their entwined essences, a new way of Life came forth, and Death casted His Shadow upon all. :: Ravage intoned over a private channel, and Juno saw unearthly shapes reflected upon her dark armature. Soundwave tensed as a crowd gathered around them.

Anticipation and euphoria ran rampant through the throng. Violence hummed in the air with the realization that the uprising was spearheaded by Camiens that armed Darhos’ slaves. Kitted frames, bright and vivid, were painted in blood from electric-blue and ancient-pink Energon to the near human-red, poisonous-green, and striking-violet. Several mecha held the same facial markings as Windblade: bright red loops of Caminus’ own face staring back at them, burning bright in the firelight. Long Camien-red robes shifting among, like fresh blood upon an altar.

There was no other way but down in the massive grave of untold numbers held by the mine, Juno had no other choice, not if she needed to prove herself as a Prime heralded by Megatronus Prime, the Breaker, brother-twin to Prima, the Eldest Sun, and husband to Solus, the Forger.

"Prima is of the Sun and rules above, but Megatronus is his mirror-twin and rules below." Juno recited quietly, optics forward into the mine-turned-firepit.

Ravage immediately understood, red optics glinting in firelight as she sat on her haunches. Still as a sentinel. And after a long moment, Soundwave loosened as well.

Steeling her resolve and bracing her senses, Juno walked through the hungry flames and refused to look back.

The first yards were easy, even blinded by the swell of yellows and reds, then resistance was met by the bodies. Most caved under her own weight. Darhos, unlike their Quintesson masters, preferred to keep their technological enhancements for their own upper-crust citizens. Others are meant to be fed through the grinder as raw as possible : blood and tears, life and death, all of it utilized as Darhos continued Quintessa’s ways of bridging the arcane and science to a horrifying scale of cruelty.

It went deeper, and bodies liquified from the scorching temperatures, and Juno sank into the remains, crawling through the pits, partly wading through the sludge of broken skeletons, melted slag, and magma. She could hear the whispers, countless and without end, all of them slowly realizing her presence. A steady trickle into an immense roar of unfathomable emotions swarmed her.

< Give me your grief, and I will free you of those shackles. > The words poured out of her without conscious thought. The deep thrum of Megatronus’ hand in it.

And then she fell.

Juno sank deeper as the ground disappeared beneath her, falling as she had done a long time ago when a chained Fallen offered her the chance to remake the future. She managed to catch herself on an edge and haul over it, guided by the vague indents of the stairs to slowly crawl her way out as a titanic weight settled upon her. The voices of the dead were innumerable, words lost in an ocean of static woven by hatred and bereavement, but the curses on their lips were seared across their souls.

And it flowed into her, by mouth, by vents, by nose, it poured into her frame until there was another firestorm trapped within her bones, eating at her fuel lines, and devouring her insides as heat had no way to escape. She choked and cried out, but refused to stay still. Inching her way forward with every agonizing hand clawing into the rockface to pull herself. To stop was to die and she refused to consider it.

A hand suddenly reached out to pull out Juno from the miasma of all those Darhos had wronged. The change was so jarring that it took Juno a moment to gather herself as her senses felt muted as if she was blanketed away from the world.

And cold, so very cold. She went from a hell fire nightmare into freezing reality.

“And much like our ancient predecessors, you came from nothing and became everything.” The Mistress of Flame spoke with a fervent gleam in her yellow optics as the very hand that pulled Juno out began to smoke, paint bubbling.

This tall, sturdy femme with such a firm grip was none other than the Mistress of Flame. The Head Priestess of the Way of Flame, Caminus’ Truth Seeker, Speaker of the Forge, and Solus Prime’s Premiere Daughter. She was dressed in reds, oranges, and yellows, mimicking the colors of an active smithy. Her mantle designed to reflect the sun with kibble patterned as rays and the heart of a Forge as a window bared her very violet-blue spark to the world. She had an incredible pain tolerance as well: the elegant and intricate patterns of stylised flames weren't painted or tattooed, it was carved into the very protoform, nor did she fear fire and heat as her circuitry sparked and protoform charred, she kept her hand in a steadfast grip, even as her vibrant cape began to crisp and flake away from the immense temperature.

Instead, the Mistress of Flame stared at Juno with a deep sense of consummate love. Even her field was full of deep commitment and complete affection. It was the expression of how a parent would hold their newborn infant, a child to their parent, a spouse to their partner, a guardian to their charge, a servant to their liege.

A mortal to their Prime, Ravage's imagined voice rasped in low tones with the satisfied flick of her tail, Soundwave casting a haunting, protective shadow.

It was close, deeply intimate, and Juno uncomfortably knew with absolute certainty that if she fell back into the molten slag, then the Mistress of Flame would follow into the molten pit without hesitation.

Juno carefully stepped forward, guiding the other femme away from the furnace, and she simply followed, still holding her hand. They walked up the long set of stairs, the stone caked in filth, old blood, and soot, and the heat grew distant behind them as Juno spied something else in front of them, lights dancing upon the walls in familiar patterns - shapes that played across Ravage’s plating when they neared the portal to the mine turned sacrificial pyre.

“Solus is of the Forge and speaks in the flames, ash, and cinder. Within the cracks of the molten, the strike between swings, and whispers the final forms of a work. And She has spoken about you. I have seen your face, beloved of Shadow and Chaos. I have seen your ascension from the very roots of Megatronus’ altar and your glorious crusade against our long, forsaken enemies.” The Mistress of Flame said as they finally reached dias. There was the remains of an immense metalwork turned to kindling as a bonfire ate it. The piece once commanded the whole space, dwarfing all those that came, even a Predacon would feel miniscule, had warped and melted beyond recognition. Only the offerings piles remained at its base.

Upon closer inspection, those very piles, taller than a triple-changer, contained innumerable small bundles of scrapped, tiny skeletons, charred and broken. A chill surrounded them, and the whispers grew finally grew coherent to form a single word-

D R O W N

An ocean of the damned with waves of twisting, unnatural shapes lapped over the carved stairs, clawing at it with countless phantom hands, a testament to the sins that Darhos, Quintessa, Quintus had committed, surrounded the dias and the melting still-standing statue.

< Give me your grief, and I shall free you of those shackles. >

The ocean of wailing ghosts surged forward, flooding everything in its path, hungry as the molten slag, and ready to rise up and devour the city, the very planet itself if left unchecked.

Her spine stiffened, her own spark surged forward, chassis opening up to a dance of violent shadows against the raging dead, and Juno saw-

The flow of Darhos’ lifeforce and the Song of the Universe, indescribable colors of multiple streams and rivers interconnected and running into the ocean of the cosmos, but here, it laid foul and stagnant, a deep, drak wound left to fester and poison everything as it attempted to eat its way across the planet. Strands spooling out to connect to the smaller creeks leading into distant stars, already unraveling them to tear apart.

Megatronus was Beloved of Primus, too. When He stepped forward, the world held its breath.

Megatronus was one and all, and He freely shared it with her.

Megatronus was of Shadow that rose from the Sun, and so Nemesis burned the taint away.

______

The aftermath was quiet.

The symbol of Darhos’ conquest laid in pieces, smoldering as the gruesome offerings to its altar had been swept clean away. The chaos above ground was a distant dream as Juno was on the ground, retching out putrid slag. Black and viscous, its slimy texture dribbled down her mouth. She coughed harshly, spitting out bone fragments, and Energon foamed on her lips.

There was a careful rustle of shifting plates, and the Mistress of Flame kneeled beside her, uncaring of the pulsating mess. “Sacrifice and suffering. Cruelty and mercy. Compassion and violence.” The Mistress of Flame intoned, voice in a lilting cadence. “These are the tenets left by the Thirteen and shaped the universe. The very tenets Solus Prime engraved into Caminus. And we answer your call to arms, sister to Solus.”

With a snap of her fingers, the Mistress ignited the spoiled mess into bright flames, still unafraid of pain as she helped Juno to sit, hands peeling down to the base, protoform sizzling. “Light the way, Solus Prime, with the Creation Lathe guiding the path. Light the way, Solus Prime, in clear vision of our smithies to arm your children in the upcoming crucible. Light the way, Solus Prime, by the way of your Conjunx’s newest bride, your newest sister-”

“I am not his bride.” Juno couldn't help but to interrupt the chant, exhausted beyond measure, chest scraped raw and empty as if someone took out fistfuls of her own chassis, only to leave her heart bruised and aching. She felt freezing, even as her very touch scorched others. “I am just a lost daughter from a lost people.” Truth covered by omission, and it was the closest thing she was willing to divulge about her unwritten future. “My name was June, and-”

The Mistress of Flame let out a soft noise, her optics gleaming with joyous wonderment, cupping Juno’s face in careful reverence, hands burning away, and Juno couldn't part away from her intense gaze. “Nemesis Prime from the very namesake that was once the martyred daughter of Chaos and Creation. You have returned to us, resurrected from the pyre, twice-blessed and twice-cursed by their mantle.”

The Mistress of Flame pressed a scorching kiss upon Juno's crest, her lips melting from the residual heat, and Energon dripped down and told her in the dying light with broken lips -a pact sealed in blood. “Caminus marches to war once more, Juno Nemesis, Prime of Megatronus and Solus. Caminus marches beneath your banners. Caminus is under your command.”

[witchofthesouls]

Title: In another universe, do you think we could be happy?

Oh, I would definitely focus on the original tragic bromance between the many iterations of Prima and Megatronus Prime.

Then again, it would be interesting to explore a resurrected Prima who gets front row seats of the entire aftermath of the war between Autobots and Decepticons. Unlike legends that return at the hour of need, Prima is from a bygone era. His legacy had been warped and tarnished somewhere (he knows. he knows exactly when, and he has no one to blame but himself). Once again, Prima stands alone.

And then he fucks off to Earth where Megatronus is still alive. It's a bittersweet venture between two gods: Megatronus, who had forgotten himself, divinity chained to ensure Unicron couldn't rise to full power, and Prima, who's trying and failing to find his footing when there's no burden upon his shoulders. As well as the series of cold realizations of how he fucked up, given by a depressed Alpha Trion.

[witchofthesouls]

Batmobile ask:

So Megatron is de-aged and people on cybertron are concerned about what's happening on the Lost light because of the news of their shenanigans, so when the lostlight unexpectedly gets relatively close to a station where an officer is posted or to cybertron its self, someone takes the opportunity to do an inspection. (I'm thinking Prowl but it could be anyone).

They were not expecting Batmobile with her children cuddled up in her arms walking into the dispensary with a large but soft looking organic blanket draped over her frame...

(Hear me out, Cybertron is terrified about a rogue Decepticon Warlord and Optimus has no clue to feel about his old nemesis, a wayward Prime, and a feral racecar.)

Everyone was highly concerned with the lack of intergalactic accidents and the sudden silence of bad press spearheaded by the Lost Light.

By sheer chance, the dispatched party from Cybertron managed to reach the checkpoint of a planet from the buffering zone between Cybertron and her colonies' space and the Galactic Council's outermost edges, the wayward ship sent an incoming message to dock to a relatively neutral species.

Said species had sent an official warning to Cybertron and an unofficial non-hostilities agreement due to the Lost Light's recent actions on single-handedly dealing with the plague of space privacy in their region.

Optimus mobilized a heavy-hitter group with Starscream's begrudging blessing under the barest pretensions of an inspection.

Ultra Magnus is unflappable as always. Ratchet seems to be his usual gruff self. Quite a few familiar faces are still active among the crew -Perceptor, Brainstorm, Bluestreak, and Smokescreen, and a handful of new ones.

The most conspicuous new mecha has a white visor with a large frame swaddled in a larger blanket, and even in the distance, there are the unmistakable squeaks and chirps of sleep-addled sparklings.

The moment a very familiar face pops up, the comms lights up in a flurry of activity.

:: No fraggen way- ::

:: -not really surprised. But wouldn't Rodimus- ::

:: -had to be a really spot of trouble to keep the mech down- ::

Another helm pops out, frame so tiny and optics at half power, a yawn to show off an endearingly toothy mouth.

:: Oh, frag, even Drift- ::

:: -think those idiots had a bet? I wouldn't put it -::

:: -I knew racecars ran fast, but damn- ::

Of course, when a small grey face appears, everyone lost their fragging minds.

Meanwhile, Optimus' own glossa stills, turning into a weighted lump as he picks up the total familiarity of those flickering fields enmeshed in the strangers'. The Matrix has quite a few unique powers, including the ability to memorize and recall everyone's signature. There's no way that these three are merely sparklings of infamous mechs.

Megaton manages to lock optics with Optimus and immediately bursts into loud tears, which sets off Rodimus and drives Drift back underneath the blanket.

Whatever tension deflates in, by Jazz's words, this "powder keg of a Mexican standoff" trails into silent awkwardness as you attempt to wrangle the distressed, squirming sparklings onto separate shoulders.

Ratchet pinches his nose and Ultra Magnus drops another bomb, "Y/N, you're dismissed along with your charges."

"Roger that, acting captain." You nod in agreement and make your way back to the ship.

There's renewed screaming over the comms on this "newfound slag and fuckery," another of Jazz's phrases, and Optimus can't help but keep his optics on your back. Drift makes no reappearance, remaining a still lump attached along your seams. Meanwhile, Rodimus' face is wet as he peeks over a shoulder and Megatron refuses to lift his helm away from your neck.

[witchofthesouls]

Can we pretty please hear more about Soundwave and Engineer in G1? I really want to know what kind of horny seeker nonsense they have to put up with.

"If the alphabet could be rearranged, why not 'u' and 'i' together?"

You blink at Skywarp, who refuses to budge from the wall, taking up all the space with his wingspan. Its glossy shine is so new and fresh that it catches prettily even with the dim and damaged lighting.

"Mmm," you pretend to consider the proposal, "How about 'n' and 'o'?"

He frowns back. "But that's spells 'no' and it's already together?"

"Exactly." You reply blandly, dipping your digits into his shoulder to pinch a nervecircuit, and he grunts in response as you shove forward into the elevator. “Rule five of the manuel: Don't fix what's not broken.”

Of course, he follows inside, clenching and unclenching his fist to get the feeling back in his arm and hand.

“Okay, how about this one: Are you a medic because my fuel pump is failing!”

“I’m not that kind of engineer."

"That's alright." He says with a crooked smile of sharp denta. Strangely endearing. "I know I'm in good hands."

You bark out a short laugh. Alright, that's the smoothest from him.

Before the door shuts, a familiar flat arm catches it, and your Soundwave walks inside. With incredible willpower, you don't roll your optics when he purposely stands in the middle, and you definitely don't smile when Skywarp pouts for the entire ride.

_______

One would think being sucked into an alternate reality would be exciting, but right now you're buried under mountains of maintenance reports, repair backlogs, supply requisitions, and hazard warnings.

You will blame the split-spark carriage for the onset of tears and the necessary ten minute private sob in a dipitulated supply closest because fucking Pits! You're standing in knee-high water-logged damages!

It's not the same Constructicons you once taken orders, but you're familiar enough with their quirks as you get settled and start on the more mundane tasks of clearing the hallways and getting the drainage systems up and running.

"Hello, handsome," you hear Zolo pur from above. Large and gravid, you may be, you're still able to shimmy your way into the walls unlike the Vehicon above, nor would she be able to reach the relay.

Hence, why you're in the walls, much to Laserbeak's grave displeasure. Not only did the drone peck your neck, she perched over the opening, balefully glaring down. And the blocking entrance.

You immediately get a spark attack when Skywarp's face and his upper body suddenly appear next to you. The magnets hold when you move to swing. Of course, the slagger vops away and reappears halfway through the bulkhead after a moment. “Fancy meeting you here! Did you fall and need help?”

It's hard to say who screeches the loudest: you, Laserbeak, Zolo, Thrust, or Scrapper at the resulting inner bulk damages.

_______

You're having a moment with Soundwave. Outside with fresh air. Unlike the Nemesis back home, this warship is situated all the way on the seafloor.

You never thought you would miss dirt and rocks, but it's dry and warm, especially with Soundwave next to you as you curl onto your side with a data-cable loosely wrapped around your midsection, connective feelers lazily spread across your plating, nudging into the exposed seams to buzz over the protoform.

The peace is shattered with several consecutive booms overhead.

"Autobots!?" You immediately sit up, and isn't that a surprise? The 'bots in this dimension still had fliers.

Soundwave is unfazed and simply pointed to skyline. On his visor, there are rapid captions of the Coneheads.

You stare at them, watching the maneuvers as they jet into various formations of amazing feats of aerial agility and unity. "Is this a training strip? I thought it was a deserted island?"

Soundwave doesn't respond. Instead, he picks you up and calculates a ground bridge away. It's even sunnier than the last, so you can't really complain.

_______

If you didn't know better, you would think Soundwave is jealous. He isn't as calm as people think he is, but it isn't jealousy that has him hanging in your periphery or leaving tall-telling marks on your frame and your legs shaky from post-facing, carriage-induced bliss.

It's a weird territorial thing between fliers.

Specifically: Seekerkin.

It would have been hilarious if only you weren't the prize between winged, feral cats.

This isn't a mechling's romantic fantasy of multiple suitors vying for their spark. It's honestly exhausting, especially since more than one Seeker enjoys manhandling you away from work, the elevators, the bridge, and anywhere else that isn't near Thundercracker and a blanket pile.

And you allow it because the only serious attempt you tried to ward one of them away with a taser with an output to put down a convoy, it caused a riot.

Or at least that's what Hook said, you have no idea. One moment you had Dirge lunging after you, armor smoking, and talons out; the next moment you wake up in an unknown room inside a criss-cross of data-cables and stuffed full by Soundwave.

(Your jaw ached and you couldn't walk straight for a few days, and sitting was completely out of the question.)

You're trying to free a limb from the mass of blankets, and you immediately have every single pair of Air Force wings flicking towards you. They seem to overtake and/or bully out all the occupants from the nearby tables. You can smell the expensive polish, even from a distance.

“I should get back to work.” Your words are muffled as you finally wriggle out a hand and start pulling and pushing to freedom.

“Oh no,” Thundercracker demurred, calm as always and not helping by placing another cube in front of you. “Starscream approved of you having a longer rest time, especially with your complications.”

You have no idea what kind of blackmail or leverage the blue Seeker has because the rest of the Air Force is in his hands. None of the others dare to approach the table of just you and him.

All of the other mechs were willing to pit themselves between Skywarp and your Soundwave, but if there's Thundercracker in the vicinity? An immediate "no go" zone.

"Have you had a nursery shower yet?" Thundercracker asks as he adds something to your cube. It tastes zangy with the additional cobalt and mercury.

"Nursery shower?" You feel damned because your comms (you had never passed it out, so someone snitched) is immediately flooded.