#sparkflowerfields

[randomyougurt]

Tw: murder! death! pointing to cannibalism

Greed consumes all

RAHHHHHH I love my silly little murdurous spider

also the unfiltered ver.

which one do you all like more?

[quantumlogician]

Incoming Transmission [@sparkflower-fields] —

Starscream had been peacefully lounging in his hab, clicking through the various channels on his live screen, sucking on mini energon cubes like juice filled candies, when he received an instant message to the group chat between him and his trine. .:SW: Screams, me and TC have a bet for you.:. .:TC: Don’t drag me into this.:. .:SS: Whatever it is, forget about it. I’m not interested in whatever moronic scheme you both have in mind.:. .:TC: HEY I said leave me out of it!:. .:SW: Fine, I guess Screamer is just too much of a glitch. Too scared of Shockwave.:. The last message made him pause his show and sit up, his attention fully trained onto the group chat. Glitch? Scared? Absolutely not, no, he would not be taking that scrap from his idiotic trine. .:SS: I am not SCARED of Shockwave. However, you two slag helms should be scared of ME should you continue your slander. Make your bet, I will humor you only this once.:. .:TC: Ugh… whatever.:. .:SW: We bet, that you can’t go into Shockwave’s hab and make out with him. The full package. Like how TC used to play glossa wrestling with any mech that would give him the time of cycle in Academy.:. .:TC left the group chat:. .:SW invited TC to the group chat:. .:SS: Fine. You’re going to lose this bet. I can have anyone I want, Shockwave included. When I win I expect you both to be here ready to give me a full spa treatment.:. .:SW: Sure sure. But when we win, you owe us a favor. To be determined at a later date >:) :. Starscream didn’t even read that last message, as he had already bolted up from his lounging position on his berth and began cleaning himself up. Normally he wouldn’t have cared much, seeing as he kept himself fairly polished and clean. But for some reason he felt the need to pretty himself. And pretty himself he did. Almost like a bird preening itself, he swiped gloss over his wings in a clearly expert manner, having done this millions of times before. He did the same with every bit of plating that he could see needed touching up, and added a bit of shimmer to it as well. Not much, but a touch of it to make him look almost ethereal when the light hit him just right. He had taken a bit too long staring at himself in the mirror, wondering if this was enough, or too much, and before he knew it, it was almost curfew. He felt a pit in his tanks form as he ran to the door and stopped. Did he want to go through with this? The thought lingered for a moment, permeating his processor like an echo. But he pushed it out of his way. He would not doubt himself on this, he would prove himself a desirable candidate for a fling with the scientist and he would earn his spa day, one way or another. Before he knew it, he was racing out the door of his comfortable hab and beelining straight to Shockwave’s lab, where he punched in the door override code, meant only for emergencies, and barged right in. Lucky for him, Shockwave was still in the throes of scientific discovery as he strutted up to the work area that he was diligently busying himself at. “Pardon my intrusion, Shockwave.” He said in his most apologetic tone, leaning a lithe hip against another table that was unoccupied by the scientist. “I found myself… in desperate need of your company.” He said as if it were a shy confession, turning his helm away acting like he didn’t want to meet the other’s gaze out of sheepishness. For the most part it was all an act, but a small piece of him felt… nervous.

There was a shift in the lumbering mood of this ship's cabin. Shockwave ignored it, pushing on in his endeavors and writing off the warning as lack of sleep clawing at his heels. Not for lack of deadline to meet. He wanted to get as much headway as possible in current projects to have them all docked for approval by week's end.

That was his goal, painstakingly outlined one bullet item at a time. He had forgone time estimations after finding that they were busy work than they were useful. When it came to his own work, there was no timeline he could predictably follow other than working off temperature reads by the cycle. No method other than knowing when he can bully into anyone's schedule a short meeting, a fast pitch, or divine when someone might request something.

His focus was a knife's edge; sharp and honed. Shockwave would have very much like to keep it that way until he heard the soft hiss of doors parting and steel clicks encroach his territory.

" Pardoned. " He said, but didn't mean.

Without sparing a look at a wandered-and-lost Seeker, he suspended him in absolute silence while he dotted every ' i ' and crossed every ' t' on his notes. Not bothering to respond until he punctuated the last line of notes.

" Whatever you need my immediate help for, you can find equivalent, if not, more suitable assistance down at the medbay, " he turns heel, back fully to him as he crosses the room, slamming shut the ventilator hood before this one vents in toxic fumes.

" You already know that, so speak. What do you want? "

[quantumlogician]

" Orion, " Shockwave calls into these vacant halls, allowing the distilled air carry his toneless voice towards his recipient," are you planning on hiding from me forever? "

A grand overstatement. It has been millions of stellar cycles. The idea of friendship has long surpassed them. This concept of salvaging an iota of comradery was a pipedream for a yearning spirit. Shockwave possessed this not, but he was curious after capturing the whispers of mumbling Autobots over the public commline.

Does Orion Pax truly dream of his friend ( the living carcass, the idea, the blue blooded pest who sat comfortable above all )? What better way to know than to ask.

Closed starter — @sparkflower-fields

[quantumlogician]

cont » @sparkflower-fields

The arrogance was admirable. He carried a spry spirit the other one didn't have. He stood up to the challenge where others usually faltered.

Optics draw to those spoilers and already he imagined what they might look like dented in, twisted backwards, and mangled off the glow of his frame.

" You're a one-trick, " scathing as the hot plating he feels over with a thumb, from just beneath the chassis plate, down over the glow of his middle. The pad of his digit sported a red glow, yet he was not deterred by heat alone.

" You'd melt to scrap by the time I'm finished with you. "

[quantumlogician]

cont » @sparkflower-fields

' Sentimental '. Is that what they call reminders of previous failures anymore?

Megatron watches this one act important from one screen inspection to another, trying to figure out if this is some sort of class-act or if some revelation struck him through that outdated ornament in his chest.

" Don't have to. You do it for me. " Especially with that expression, moodiness... The comparison writes itself.

He'll watch the backside of this malcontent, darting up-and-down admin in some blustering irritation, more interested in observing than commenting on it.

[quantumlogician]

cont » @sparkflower-fields

" Does that mind of yours ever construct anything pleasant to think on? " Shockwave asks, nearly rhetorically and half curious.

Ignoring the social taboo of darkening someone's doorstep uninvited at an inconvenient hour, he remains stalwart in the door way. " Pester, mostly, in addition to actually important tidings. However I see that you are preoccupied with yourself. "

There was a flash of a projected diagram vanished into the lazy curl of his digits into palm, capturing what were null rays improvement propositions. These can wait a moment.

[quantumlogician]

「 LINGER 」 : for senders touch to linger on the receiver. — @sparkflower-fields The medical bay was usually fairly barren at this hour of the cycle, but Knockout found himself tending to the wounds of a certain Second In Command. Likely another disgraceful spat with their leader, Megatron, was the culprit for the damages to the Seeker. Luckily, it was all superficial damages, and nothing so severe as to cause concern. Not that Knockout was ever concerned about anyone, ever. But the severity of damages usually indicated the effort required to mend them, and he was grateful he didn’t have to actually try very hard. Despite his general apathy, he was a meticulous doctor, ensuring that any welding he did, was perfectly straight and would lessen any scarring. Knockout loathed ugly scarring, especially when it was his patch jobs. His highly practiced servos were placed on Starscream’s chassis, gliding along with the welding gun and guiding it on his desired path. His optics were focused but relaxed. When he was finally finished he smirked at his work, gliding a clawed digit over the fresh weld to ensure it was set and not brittle, regardless of how tender and sensitive it would be. The metal was still glowing hot, and hissed under the doctor’s touch. “Perfect.” He said with a sing songy tone, before turning in his chair and standing. “You know, I should start charging you a premium for always stopping in before my shift is over, Screamer.” He teased. “I’m beginning to think you allow yourself to get pummeled just to see me.”

To say that Starscream was a frequent flier of the medbay would be a vast understatement. It didn't used to be this way, back in the days when the Seeker was practiced and considerate of what careless marks were bestowed upon his silver plates. Anymore, he's become restive, impatient, snapping at the wrong turn of tone.

He perched at the edge of the berth, obsidian talons curled over the border edge, hooking right beneath the flat top. His ire burned hotter than the fresh welds over sensitive injury, even the deepest laceration only managed a tick of an outer wing.

" Don't flatter yourself, " a roll of his optics, turning his attention over to the shatter of fine cuts and dime-welds distorting his front-plate," you want a pay raise? Take it to our glorious leader. "

Uncaring about the lasting quality, he drags his own claw over a recently cooled solder. Sparks spat under contact with oxidized metal flaking off in motion. The quality? Passable, if he had to give it a grade.

Starscream steps down onto the floor again, rising to full height, frame obscured at all at the thin designs from the overhead lights. " Alright, what do you want this time, hm? A favor? An allowance? Perhaps, permission to scurry off into your delinquent Earthian scenes? "

[quantumlogician]

cont. » @sparkflower-fields

It had been a lifetime of decisions ( both honest and terrible ) since the incident on primitive Earth. On good days, Starscream would argue it had been the best for him to earn some autonomy, build himself from ground up with no assistance at all. On bad days, it was everything he could not to fall into a paralyzing stupor over what he had lost.

Ultimately, he decided to not let the past impede his current ambitions. What lays before him was glory just short of his reach and all his energy will forever be brushing the edges of his digits over that gilded throne by any means necessary.

He had been on patrol that evening. A short exercise to catch wind beneath his wings and free himself from that ship for a little while. There were no plans to travel all too far other than scale down the mountainside then around the plateaus until sunrise. Nothing ever happens at night, yet Soundwave's paranoia insists that the regularity of this is exactly why they should maintain awareness regardless.

Halfway down his dive into the canyon, his comm sparks alive. It fizzles over an unused line, his neural acknowledgement too slow to gather the message in full. He didn't need it, anyways.

Flipping out of alt-mode, he drops down on the rocks and dirt with a heavy crash of his heels, skidding to a stop upon reception. " Jetfire ?! " he barks into the line before he has to remember who and where he was; what could happen to him falling for easy tricks, " No, who are you? How did you get this line? "

The whiplash of hope into bitter hatred had his engines churning. A flash of happiness violently smothered by reality. This was routine, knowing when to never behold a good thing and promptly releasing it before he could truly feel how nice it was to have it, but when had he ever receive anything he was truly worth having?