(technically a vent, but not fully intended to be. I wanted to write something long-winded and emotional, so I just vomited out my frustrations onto my keyboard and am now uploading the result of whatever keys managed to be pressed. Warning for derealization [somewhat], depersonalization [somewhat], mentions of inadequacy, general mopey stuff, and self-esteem/body issues)
There is a distinct separation between what I am and what is human.
Of course, I am human. I have a body, organs, blood, and a brain, all of which carry the mark of something only a human being could possess. I speak a human language, read human literature, and learn facts about human history. I interact with humans every day, and I feel human emotions a good percentage of the time.
But it really doesn't feel like I am human.
I read an article once that claimed that 'normal' people can clock the existence of autism almost immediately, even if you're doing your absolute best to hide it. The author compared it to the Uncanny Valley effect— the fear that strikes a person when faced with something that looks and acts almost human, but something doesn't feel right. Something about fear and disgust centers in the brain, subconscious patterns of tracking eye contact, studying one's tone of voice to assess whether or not they are a threat. I am not a threat, I don't believe. 'We're much more afraid of you than you are of us', right? Spiders, little bugs and things, racing about under a little boy's shoe and praying the kid doesn't detect us and decide to bring his foot down and smash us flat.
It's quite hard for me to read faces usually, but there is something distinctly vicious in the moment it takes for a human being to decide you're not one of them. I've never been able to describe the look. Hesitation? Fear? Revulsion? The knowledge that whatever the thing is that stands in front of them, it is not like them. The rejection of the Other, to preserve the lives of the safer ones. There's something in the eyes (or is it the quirk of the mouth?), in the sly, mocking glance they send towards their friends beside them, the silent decision of let's not bother with this one, not until she annoys us. She's not enough of a person to be worth your time.
I do try hard to be human, I really do. I shower often, douse my skin and hair in scented products that leave me weighed down and itchy. I dye my hair blonder and blonder with each visit to the hair stylist, ignoring the overwhelming scent of the bleach as the hands on my head feel like they're wrapping around my throat. I curl that same hair every morning, with a knock-off Dyson Air-Wrap that I begged for when I was fourteen, because a girl at school who hates me swore by it and I want so badly to win her invisible favor. I slather my face in moisture and pigment, bring sticky metal far too close to my eyes, dab concealer here and there, and in every place that I see even the hint of a blemish. I swipe lip gloss onto my mouth, ignoring the chemical taste. I finish it all by brushing powder onto the ensemble, so it won't fade. So the facade won't flake or smear off as the day goes on.
Hell, I even speak like them. I use slang, laugh at jokes, and keep my mouth shut about grammar and spelling and the fun facts of where the word they just used came from, because no one cares about propriety, and no one cares about the Old English origins of the insults they spit. I try not to cover my ears at the smack of their lips and the click of their teeth, try not to ask them to quit it shut the fuck up when the sound of their mid-morning snack fills every crevice of the classroom and I can't focus on algebra anymore.
I find myself hating them, most days. Hating how little effort it really takes for them to act just like the rest. Hating how they hate me, how easy it is for them to brush me to the side. Hating how no one hears them laughing or sees their glares but me. Hating how only I can read their minds, how quickly I know when someone is only keeping me around because they're too polite to tell me to leave (and, trust me, their friends will hear all about it even if I don't).
Don't they see how hard I try to be like them? I have a different voice and demeanor for every person I speak to— and even then, it depends on where we are. Sometimes I get mean to the few that I suspect actually do tolerate me. Sometimes I'm too nice to the girl that just yesterday told me I should skip lunch more often (oh, yeah, did I mention skipping lunch? I do that for them, too. So that soon I'll take up less space, hopefully. So that I have something else to hold over their heads. So that I'm better than some of them, in one regard). Do they see the effort, and simply decide it's pathetic? Or do they think I'm doing this on purpose, acting weird just for the hell of it. Very few people look autistic. Most of us, however, can tell when they see it on us.
Sometimes, I do manage to make a good first impression. It's rare, but sometimes the lie is too thick for their proboscis to poke through, and they don't manage to suck out the mangled soup of humanity that I put together. I smile, nod, agree with most of (but not everything) they say. Eye contact now— look away— look back (but not too long, that's weird). Keep your voice higher than natural, but not squeaky; just enough to seem a bit daft, but friendly when it comes down to it. Do not make a face when they mention their world view, and do not mention anything about the state of the climate when they praise how warm it's been lately.
Fight to keep that smile. Never rest your face, because in their language that is known as a 'glare', and it means you do not like them. Never-mind the fact that that's right, and you actually don't like them, because that doesn't matter. You must always pretend to like someone— unless, of course, this someone happens to be you. Then it's fair game for anyone who meets you.
Is everything about me really so repulsive? Uncanny Valley, I suppose, strikes again. The only boy who ever made it known that he liked me tried to win me over by insulting me. I ignored him for a boy that was forced to hang out with me. How did I not see that coming? No one has liked ('liked', what a stupid word) me and truly said it, if anyone's ever been interested at all. I'd prefer not to care about these things, but it hurts when everyone I know has had someone crushing on them and I'm the only person I know who never really has. Because when you're not a real person, you don't get to be loved, right? Love is a state of being reserved for humanity only, sorry. Better get that one-way ticket back to Mars.
I miss when I didn't know all of this. The years before seventh grade, when it hit me like a freight train. I miss being eleven, nine, seven, five. I miss not being conscious that it was even possible to be different. I miss that gold star sticker on my workbooks, that bus ride to the host school of our Gifted program that we used to tell stories to each other on. Now, I don't mean to whine— oh, that's all I've been doing as of late, so sorry— but I find it so ironic that that little girl, me, who used to plan out her valedictorian speech now struggles to do four math problems on a worksheet.
The human brains can keep up with it. Even for those who can't, they have something else to supplement it with; they are cool, pretty, talented at something or other, athletic, normal. I have nothing but the prestige I lost years ago, the one I still cling to like an anchor that's slowly dragging me down with it to the bottom of the ocean. I'll throw the damn thing in myself if I have to, if that is what it takes for my broken bones to reshape themselves into a form that is more familiar to those around me. I'm tired of scaring people away, and even more tired of annoying them into giving up.
I've never met in-person another autistic person (non-human, they'd say) that doesn't annoy me. It's a shallow fact, but it's true. I seem to have gotten so used to pretending that I forget that the people I publicly scorn are those who I embody in the secrecy of my home. I sneer at them inwardly and treat them with the same fake, polite smile I've seen others use with me, ignoring the hypocrisy of it all. "I didn't know you were autistic!" they say, not believing me, and what I don't say is Good, no one should know. Keep on thinking I'm a liar.
This act of humanism is getting very tired. When do I rest, when will they stop throwing peanuts and jeering for me to dance? I try my best, but it's never enough. I will always be a circus freak-show, an animal created to laugh at and ridicule. There is no cage bars weak enough for me to break out of, because it's so much work… and you know, if I focus hard enough I can pretend that I like how cold the metal is against my skin. Just do this for fifty more years, they say. Cope. Meditate. If you can convince one person that you're not an impersonator of them, then that's [still not] enough.
Maybe one day I'll learn just what combination of lies will get the uncanny to crumble. Maybe, if I keep waving my arms and screaming Hey! I'm just like you! Nothing to see here— everything on display!, then one day someone will believe me.
And maybe, just maybe, if someone believes me, then I'll earn the right to be called human again.
With the multiverse cracked wide open I like to think that there’d be a lot of interaction between both crews.
And sorry but I think I’m going I for the angst on this one.
Between TFA Optimus and TFP Ratchet.
I feel that maybe TFP Ratchet might put too much stress on the younger Optimus because he’s subconsciously comparing his and the other universe’s Optimus.
It’s small things. Comments that he might make that might make TFA Optimus feel anxious about his acting Magnus status and trying to lead Cybertron, working on peace with the decepticons.
Don’t know how fast Wheeljack would catch it but him and TFP Ultra Magnus would not be impressed with this seemingly unconscious toxicity.
Heck maybe TFP Optimus would be the first to catch it and try to correct his old friends behaviour because that is not okay.
Hey! :)
Ooh… This is a good one.
And by “good”, I mean “has the potential to be emotionally devastating”—because TFP Ratchet does have the tendency to be a little overbearing, even with TFP Optimus.
TFP’s Optimus is an introvert who unfortunately lives on a pedestal. He got jumped by this sacred Relic that literally has his spark in a chokehold, so he wound up with all of these responsibilities and expectations that come with the title of Prime—so, that’s a lot of pressure.
TFP Ratchet is his oldest friend (excluding the space crack addict warlord). Unfortunately, he is not excluded from those who put TFP Optimus onto a pedestal—as he has a very strange way of addressing the Primehood.
In a way, TFP Ratchet kinda implies through his phrasing that obtaining the Matrix of Leadership is enough to completely rewrite a person. He says Orion was “different” from TFP Optimus, and that—while the spark, the part actually enveloped by the Matrix, remained the same before and after—the transformation in both mind and body was instantaneous and drastic.
Despite this, we see that TFP Optimus isn’t so much different from Orion but instead an older, wiser, and more tired version of him. He’s been through eons of war and pain, but it’s still the same guy underneath. He’s passionate about his beliefs while still introverted yet feral, and he has an innate curiosity and (while rusty from a lack of practice in wartime) he remains a skilled archivist and codebreaker as a Prime.
So, I don’t think he changed.
I think the expectations on him did, so he had to adapt in order to accommodate them. He was the face of the Autobot war effort, after all—a Prime, their leader and their beacon. Pity is, even his best friend bought it—but hey, even Ratchet needed something to hold onto, so how could TFP Optimus let him down?
He couldn’t let any of them down.
Hell, the few times when TFP Optimus actually did “let someone down” in the show, it seemed that the poor guy was met most often with anger and frustration rather than understanding. He was under enough stress as it was, and even he could only take so much pressure.
But even with that in mind, TFP Optimus was overall very good at keeping up appearances in order to maintain a sense of order and calm with his team. He inspired confidence by being this steady, collected being who always seemed to have a plan and know what he was doing.
The only time he really comfortably expressed doubt was with his own fate at the end of TFP S1. He knew he could save Earth, he just didn’t know for sure what would happen to him—so his team was able to rally behind his plan anyway.
All in all, TFP Optimus needs some serious therapy by the time this is all over—and that’s just from the stress from being Prime alone.
Now, imagine the image he made to inspire his team being compared to TFA Optimus.
Because TFA Optimus is so genuine.
Here’s this young mech. He doesn’t have any Matrix of Leadership. He wasn’t chosen by Primus, there isn’t even a Primus in his reality.
His team was sought out by the Allspark as a collective. Because he died trying to save the Allspark and Sari was determined to save him, this Prime’s life was fortunately spared.
Except for that early instance, he hasn’t exactly been destiny’s child. It’s just been him.
He is small enough that his Megatron can pick him up in a single servo, but he kept fighting.
He was gaslit hard by his reality’s Ultra Magnus into doubting his worth, but he stepped forward.
He’s made mistakes, and he owns up to them.
He’s a prodigy who was cast aside and made a maintenance ‘bot, but then he became a guardian of worlds—and now, he’s the acting Magnus who may actually negotiate peace with the ‘Cons.
He’s not some mystical messiah figure who always keeps his cool. He gets visible frustrated and upset, he’ll snap and sulk and act like the young adult he is. Sometimes, he even reacts because of his traumas and needs to be helped.
He’s unapologetically a person doing his best.
And that’s going to be a lot to process, especially for Resident Lore Repository TFP Ratchet.
Wheeljack was admittedly floored at first when introduced to this Optimus and the idea of a more working-class Primehood when he grew up with the legendary model, but he adjusted very quickly because this was a kid. He ended up talking to TFA Optimus about his alternate very rarely, and not about his powers but about his character as he felt it would help guide the young mech when he was feeling lost and bolster his confidence.
Wheeljack did compare the two from time the time, but usually to try and uplift TFA Optimus because his alternate self was fallible and only became who he was through time and learning from his mistakes—to show him that it was in him to be a great hero, that he was on his way in his own way. The one time a comparison was done to TFA Optimus’s detriment was when Wheeljack, in a fit of stress and anger that he would later make up for, did snap “Optimus Prime would NEVER!” during the Transwarped Arc when the stressed Prime proposed using an unstable Sari to try and stop Omega Supreme. This was done to pull TFA Optimus back from that brink, because it wasn’t a heroic strategy in any sense of the word.
It was just a rash choice made in a moment of high stress, and they acknowledged that.
They acknowledged that he was just a kid, and that he was learning and made a bad mistake—and Wheeljack acknowledged that he put too much pressure on him with the comparison.
Here, just-
Wow, that was a long time ago…
Shit, that was only May 18th?! What-?!
Anyway-!
The thing is: pressure and comparisons BAD!
And TFP Ratchet hasn’t even registered that he probably shouldn’t even do that with his own guy. He handles physical care very well and doesn’t let anyone push themselves, but mental health care in Transformers is just generally… lacking. 😅
So, how would this go down?
I imagine unintentionally. TFP Ratchet is grouchy but an actual sweetheart without a malicious bolt in his body unless you’re Megatron. This poor guy would never go out of his way to hurt someone, let alone a young and good Optimus Prime.
Because if there’s one thing that TFP Ratchet will never dispute, it’s that this kid is good.
But TFP Ratchet also has no poker face, and he tends to make everyone aware whenever he has OPINIONS—whether they’re good or bad.
He’ll raise his eyebrows, scoff, shake his head, roll his optics—make it clear how he’s feeling.
So, I picture this starting out with looks—just little reactions the medic would unconsciously have to the differences between the two Primes.
He’ll see TFA Optimus throw back some oil or fall into a chair after a long day, openly rant about his troubles before slamming his face onto a desk and letting out muffled screams of frustration like the burned-out gifted middle-child he is, and trail around beside Wheeljack with the most open and earnest faces while exploring new worlds.
He’ll see this version of Optimus Prime that is openly and unapologetically himself and young, that will yell at Sari for leaving scattered candy wrappers around their bases and actually chase after TFA Bumblebee when the younger mech draws a mustache on his axe, that will blast his rock music and stare up at the ceiling while he counts down the days until his retirement.
TFA Optimus is nervous and awkward and even shy at times, and he can also be feisty and snarky and childish. That’s a lot different from the stoic leader the TFP reality has come to know.
But it’s not too different from Orion Pax.
So, TFP Optimus is fond of him right away.
He admires this young Prime with no Matrix who did what he could not—faced Megatron, fostered peace… and a part of him envies how this other version of himself has accomplished so much and embraced his genuine self, and still has his whole life ahead of him on a world that never perished.
Of course, TFP Optimus is aware that it is not so simple. The trade-off is that his alternate had to endure very much very quickly, and far too young. It’s by pure luck and will that TFA Optimus’s youth has not been ripped away from him—and even then, he had to fight for it. The ones who were meant to nurture him cast him out.
It’s not fair.
So, when TFP Optimus sees the younger Prime’s face drop because he’s caught sight of a look that TFP Ratchet has unintentionally given, and that younger mech gets quieter and straightens his posture… it kinda rubs him the wrong way.
In his mind, he’s one thing.
This young mech is another.
Talk about healing your inner child-
And he’ll pull TFP Ratchet aside and quietly tell his old friend to ease up, and be gentle with the young mech. Unfortunately, since he’s trying to be gentle and patient, the elder Prime is met with TFP Ratchet’s usual brand of exasperation.
“It’s just hard to believe that he’s an alternate of you, Optimus. I can’t imagine that young mech managing so much responsibility.”
And he doesn’t mean anything by it.
But TFA Optimus overhears it.
He’s already on-edge because he saw the look, so he watches and he listens and he hears it.
So, we can imagine how that goes.
For TFP Ratchet to survive this scenario, I’ll have to imagine that—for whatever reason—Wheeljack is not in the room or paying attention to TFA Optimus when it happens. Maybe he stepped out or he was late to some gathering, or someone else had him distracted some distance away. The Wrecker can’t have seen or heard what happened, or this story ends VERY DIFFERENTLY.
Because, let’s face it: if Wheeljack heard what TFP Ratchet said, the medic would have a very angry Wrecker turn and snap.
Wheeljack raised a bunch of dinosaur kids. You don’t fuck with that parent. 😂
But once he gets to TFA Optimus, Wheeljack notices the sudden change in the young Prime but obviously doesn’t register that TFP Ratchet is the cause. All he sees is a strange drop in TFA Optimus’s behavior out of nowhere.
He’ll assume that something’s reminded the kid of something that hit home or that he’s been pushed too hard by whatever’s going on, or that someone somewhere made a comment that the young mech’s overthinking and that they need to die at the earliest convenience.
But whether or not Wheeljack is actually in the room where it happens, the young Prime isn’t going to openly admit what happened when Dear Ol’ Dad notices how upset he is. He’ll just make some quick excuses while his processor goes into Catastrophizing Mode and he ends up lying on his office floor and staring at the ceiling.
Sentinel finds him like that and recognizes the issue from their Academy days, and he calls Wheeljack up because his old friend has clearly been experiencing A Problem with self-esteem and has entered an internal shutdown.
Wheeljack, naturally worried, brings Ultra Magnus over to check on their middle child and the kid is not in a good way because Self Doubt things are happening and the Anxiety is kicking in.
Because he’s not like that alternate Optimus, is he? He’s not calm and focused or ancient and wise, he’s an Academy washout who stumbled into “destiny” while working maintenance and has been Trying His Best and just doing all he can to protect his home and his family. He’s not some noble, powerful, legendary warrior-hero-leader. He’s just… Some Guy, with no Matrix—and he’s made a lot of mistakes, even hurt people.
And Wheeljack’s face just drops, because he’s thinking back to what he said in the tunnel all those years ago and he’s ready to take All Of The Responsibility And Guilt for this one. He’s never stopped regretting what he said, that day—and he’s wondering if this is the consequence.
But Ultra Magnus shakes his head, disagreeing. He knows that that’s behind them. Whatever this is, it’s new—recent. Someone said something, and he would really like to know who it was.
Eventually, the story comes out—and cue two very pissed-off Wrecker Dads heading back through the portal with TFA Optimus trailing behind them and wondering if he’s about to witness the murder of an alternate Ratchet.
They don’t find TFP Ratchet in his lab, so they search—and they eventually find the bewildered medic standing outside of the Iacon Hall of Records’ main vault, and he tells them before they can even start yelling that TFP Optimus’s signal is coming from inside and the huge door is locked—and the Prime not been responding to any attempts at contact. TFP Ratchet is worried that TFP Optimus has accidentally locked himself in or been hurt, and his comm may be damaged. They won’t know until the door is open.
So, Wheeljack starts trying to crack the most secure vault on Cybertron—but he’s a good multitasker, so he and Ultra Magnus take turns lecturing TFP Ratchet over what happened.
Ultra Magnus stays beside TFA Optimus the whole time, a servo on his shoulder while the other grips the Forge of Solus Prime, and the young mech is a mixture of relieved as TFP Ratchet expresses shame while he apologizes and embarrassed because he feels like a kid who got dragged to a parent-teacher conference.
All in all, he really just loves his parents.
And he’s concerned by how quickly Wheeljack manages to crack the vault. TFP Ratchet and Ultra Magnus seem to be with him on that.
“What?” Wheeljack asks them, an optic-brow raised. “… I studied under the guy who built it.”
“And he taught you how to crack it?” Ultra Magnus questions him, perturbed.
Wheeljack snorts. “No. He showed off his ‘genius’ blueprints in class and I took it as a challenge. I dropped my outlined plan on his desk, and he’d fled the city by the next morning. I got a few filtered calls, some anonymous threats—but then I graduated and got the Kimia job, changed my address and frequency, and the war started, so nothin’ ever came of it.” He blinks as everyone just stares at him. “… He was an asshole, okay? Always made me late for work-study.”
“Oh, so… there was actually a time when you were trying to be on-time for your responsibilities?” Ultra Magnus asks, but he can’t manage to keep a flat tone and his optics are wide.
Wheeljack wags a finger as he stands up. “Matter of pride, Mags. Matter of pride.”
“Heh.” TFA Optimus starts to grin, and he shakes his head. “Do you ever hear yourself talk?”
Wheeljack shrugs. “I tune a lot out.” The vault door opens, and they peek inside. “Prime? You alive, or… the other thing? Again?” TFP Ratchet swats him. “What?! It’s a real concern.”
Whatever they expect to find, it is not TFP Optimus at a desk covered in neatly-stacked data-pads. It seems that the elder Prime had been reading, and fallen into stasis.
Even more unexpected: the Prime’s legs are propped on the desk while he has the data-pad held in his lap with one servo, and the other servo hangs towards the floor while his head leans to the side and he just… dozes on… in the middle of TFP Cybertron’s most-secure vault.
“Did he set that desk up in here?” TFA Optimus asks, confused, while Ultra Magnus just sorta pauses in the doorway because he suddenly has A Really Bad Feeling About This.
“Optimus?” TFP Ratchet asks.
“Hm?” TFP Optimus stirs, blearily opening his optics, then sighs. “Oh. Hello, old friend.” He sits up, letting his legs drop to the floor, then he looks at the vault door. “… Wheeljack.”
The Wrecker quickly points at TFP Ratchet, his optics wide. “Doc said you might be dead, so-”
“I did not!” TFP Ratchet protests, then he looks at TFP Optimus with narrowed optics and rests his servos on his hips. “Optimus, for Primus’s sake: I’ve been trying to get into contact with you all day! What are you doing in here?!”
“Trying to get some peace and quiet, for once,” the elder Prime replies—a little snippily, actually. “Allow my thoughts to organize, clear, and adjust with no distractions. It had been a tremendous relief. I should have done it sooner.”
TFP Ratchet blinks. “What?”
“Hm.” TFP Optimus sets his data-pad down on the desk. “Even on my drives- And then flights.” He shakes his head. “You know, I was never fond of flying—but I was too conspicuous after- Well, you know.” He looks up at Ratchet. “But even in my rare retreats, I was always preoccupied with my duties. I have not had a break for millions of years, except for while I was dead.”
Wheeljack cringes. “Oh, frag. Really?”
“Really.” TFP Optimus folds his servos and takes a deep vent. “So, Wheeljack… I am going to have to ask you to… please… fix my door.”
The Wrecker holds a thumb up. “On it.”
“While I retrieve more Energon.” TFP Optimus grabs a nearly-empty canister and stands.
TFP Ratchet grabs his wrist to stop him, optics narrowed. “Is that the caffeinated variant?!”
“Best thing I ever invented,” Wheeljack mutters as he starts working on the door, then he sees how the others look at him. “… Finals.”
“So what, if it is?” TFP Optimus asks his medic.
TFP Ratchet rests his servos on his hips again.“Optimus, what has gotten into you?!”
“Retirement,” the elder Prime replies simply, and his medic blinks. “I think that I am finally settling in, and… trying to find in myself the courage to be like my alternate.” At that, TFA Optimus blinks. “There is much that I should learn from him.”
And… okay, then.
That’s certainly a lot to process.
TFA Optimus knows that his alternate has made these types of comments before, claiming to admire him and be proud of him—but… actually saying that he wants to learn from him?
That is on a whole other level.
What could TFA Optimus have to teach someone who is literally what he perceives as the pinnacle of heroism and leadership? It’s impossible.
But… his alternate seems so sure.
And so very, very tired.
“Oh, and-” TFP Optimus turns to his alternate with a warm smile. “Optimus. Congratulations, on your upcoming retirement. You have earned it.”
“Heh. Thanks, I-… I hope that you’re right.” The younger mech grins sheepishly. “Any ideas for what I should do with -well- the rest of my life?”
The elder Prime rests a servo on his younger alternate’s shoulder. “… Live.”
TFA Optimus gazes up at his alternate, and he slowly nods in understanding.
It seems like such a simple request, a one-word plea… but the weight hidden behind it cannot be understated, not from that ancient being with tired optics who can’t even take a few hours in solitude without having the most-secure door on his planet being broken down.
It’s a warning, really.
Be unapologetically yourself, even if it’s not what everyone else has in mind. Show your emotions, chase your passions, break free.
Live.
And TFP Optimus nods in return, before he turns and starts walking away again.
“Seriously, what has gotten into you?” TFP Ratcnet asks, following his old friend through the vault door. He looks genuinely concerned. “Is the Matrix of Leadership acting up again?”
“No, but its bearer is speaking,” TFP Optimus says dryly, turning back to face his medic. “Orion Pax did not leave the room after he earned the Matrix, old friend.” He sighs, closing his optics and raising a servo to his forehead. “He just received new information, as well as searing spark pain and a splitting migraine.”
Wheeljack glances back from the vault door as TFP Ratchet’s jaw drops, then he looks at TFA Optimus and Ultra Magnus as they move closer to him. “… Oh, yeah: he has cracked.”
“What do we do?” TFA Optimus asks worriedly.
Wheeljack snorts. “Sit back and watch Doc’s head fraggin’ explode. We’ve got front-row seats.”
TFA Optimus and Ultra Magnus watch as the white Wrecker gets back to work with his repairs (and what appear to be improvements).
They just kinda… tune out… the bickering that’s going on nearby. They’re staying out of it.
“… You conjunxed that,” TFA Optimus finally notes, looking up at Ultra Magnus with a weak smirk as he gestures to Wheeljack.
The commander chuckles softly. “Indeed.”
TFA Optimus raises an optic-brow. “Hm. You’re still thinking about how quickly he cracked the most-secure vault on Cybertron, aren’t you?”
“No, no.” Ultra Magnus shakes his head. “Just… how he learned how to crack the vault, in the first place.” He slowly smirks. “I conjunxed that.”
TFA Optimus rolls his optics and shakes his head, briefly resting his face in his servo. He absolutely loves his adoptive caregivers, but seriously.
Why do good parents also tend to come with a mandated portion of parental embarrassment?
When TFA Optimus raises his face from his servo, he glances towards TFP’s Optimus and Ratchet—and he notices that the elder Prime is looking at him. He feels a little guilt, as he blames himself for causing their fight… but then, TFP Optimus gives him that same warm smile as he nods and winks.
Maybe he really does have something to learn from his young alternate, something that he’s long forgotten: how to live. He’s ready, though—because in a cracked-open multiverse where there are bound to be comparisons made… he’s trying to make it clear which of them is the ideal, een if he fries a few processors in the process.
It’s for the best, for everyone. TFP Optimus is tired of being “perfect”, and he’ll be damned before he’s used as the example to pressure anyone else—including his alternate—into his role. It’s an impossible burden…
I know that my self-esteem issues are bad from the way I feel when I browse this website sometimes. Self-esteem is the reason I need to step back for hours or even days to collect myself and pat myself on the shoulder and repeat: "you are unique. you are good." I know I need to get better at handling this because I owe it to myself. The tendency to compare ourselves to others is unavoidable. We do it irl, no wonder we also do it here. I have no idea how to stop thinking whatever I post is bad, and it can never measure up to what another random individual created. I know it isn't true, and it's just my insecurity speaking. But I can't shut this voice down sometimes, and I wish I were better at doing this. This is a goal I need to set for 2024 and I hope can come here next year and say that I am doing better at this.
I couldn’t pull Eddie and I sure as hell couldn’t pull Steve. Considering their canon love interests, I wouldn’t be on their radars. I don’t even think they’d wanna be friends with me, tbh… I like to pretend and feel empowered about it, but I’m basically a 31 yr old, morbidly obese loser, with extreme mental health conditions, and I’ve never had sex with a man before. So… yeah. I’ll just live in fanfiction ✌🏻
Imagine Lunar hiding injured Blood Moon in the theater. Lunar learns to make sweets with blood in them so nobody questions him taking stuff like cupcakes and cookies and candy into the theater.
Eventually he graduates to making full meals with it like soup and lasagna and pizza and Blood Moon is just absolutely spoiled now being able to eat all these new things with their favorite ingredient.
Blood Moon is slowly getting a bit chubbier and more self-conscious of eating so much. Yet Lunar is very reassuring telling them they need to sustain themselves and their nanobots would be working overtime and burning up to fix themselves if they didn’t make sure they have enough reserves to sustain them and eating gives them those reserves.
Not to mention Lunar absolutely loves snuggling into Blood Moon’s belly like a cat to sleep and Blood Moon is such a snuggle cuddle partner now that they’re being spoiled and loved on. The Blood Moons are incredibly self-conscious and nervous of how their body is pudgy and now soft and a bit chubby.
Lunar regularly finds them staring in the mirror and squeezing at their new slightly chubby belly and pinching it and poking it. Lunar will shift into his avatar form and hug them right from behind and squeeze their insecurities away while assuring them they look fine and a bit of extra Blood Moon to snuggle and hug and love is nothing to be ashamed of.
Lunar is terrified for a minute when Moon eats a blood brownie and he says it tastes good. Lunar has to lie and say it’s just extra chocolate chips as the secret ingredient and KC surfaces and smiles at him because he just knows what that brownie had in it and he thinks Lunar has developed a taste for blood meanwhile Moon is none the wiser that the brownie had blood.
