Massive Transformers One spoilers ahead for this poll fic.:
Your name is D-16. Reality is glitching around you. The air screams as it fights to create a blast by suddenly imploding into the vacuum where an entire reality existed just a few moments ago, but you only have optics for where Orion Pax hangs from the end of your grasp. The dying whirl of his spark echoes in his optics as he stares right back up at you, and you can your mouth carving hard parentheses into your cheeks.
"Don't look away from me," you say, and you don't understand your own voice.
Your hold creaks open one finger at a time despite your struggles not to.
The gravity of every other reality compels you to follow that drop. But.
He is your person and you are his and you have walked this path too many times.
You look at him and he looks back as another finger opens. "You aren't alone."
"You're going to fall. But-" You steel your spark. "You aren't alone."
You hear screams behind you as you hurl yourself off the ledge entirely.
You curl around the guttering life of your reason. "I am with you."
You press this vow into his forehead as the planet shifts. Whatever happens...
You have walked this path before. He won't do this alone even one more time.
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Optimus Prime as Orpheus attempting to lead Megatron out of the pit of self perpetuating anger and grief he has laid to waste so much in, including himself. But that could also describe you, couldn't it, Optimus.
Don't look back, don't call attention to your desperation or he'll be afraid.
Don't look back or you might find that you aren't the one in front at all.
Don't look back because it's what you were told.
Don't look back because they said there is nothing left back there but guilt.
Look back.
He is there, he was always there. And that is where you ought to be, too.
Look back.
Stretch out your hand and assure him that he is not alone, not ever.
Look back.
The only part of this that was predestined was your smile, seeking his.
i keep forgetting to let people know when i've written things lol but! i have written an 859 word fic for @keferon's mecha au because blurr and swerve seized hold of my throat and refused to let go. it is located here on ao3 but for anyone who wants to stay on tumblr, it is also included below
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Blurr blinked slowly up at the fluorescent lights over his bed. His eyelids felt like they weighed ten pounds each, and every time the lashes on his right side (he didn't have any on his left side anymore, and sometimes he remembered that) fanned across his cheek, the world throbbed.
He wasn't sure how long he stared up at that light. Time had become strange, seeping between his clutching fingers like sand or, more accurately, like a thick, sticky sludge. Impossible to really contain and understand but if he paid attention it dragged and left streaks behind.
The nurses weren't there and then they were. He knew they were speaking English and understood the words, but they still didn't make any sense and he knew he wouldn't remember them later.
Pinpricks in his arm. Which one?
Nurses. Smiling teeth set in rictus grins like he knew Swerve had to be, like-
Time skittered again. Smeared like the thinnest peek of the sunset he could glimpse through his window, thrown against the backdrop of the hospital complex in all the vivid colors of a bruise. He moved numb and chapped and trembling lips in the shape of a word for the ghost sitting beside his bed, but by the time the word left him, the ghost was gone and so was any understanding of what he'd been trying to say.
Time. It kept moving, but it didn't. Every day was the day he'd been pulled from the smoking ruins of his old life and new failure.
He opened his eyes. His left saw grey on grey, but his right saw his personal ghost by the curtains. He blinked over geologic eons, lifetimes, a fifth of a second. He parted the raw, open wound in his face and croaked words he didn't remember as soon as he said them.
The ghost gave a start and yelped, and wasn't that funny? A ghost being surprised?
Time stuttered the way Blurr's speech sometimes frustratingly still did, years after he'd taken speech therapy. One moment his ghost stood by the window and the next, he stood next to the bed. It was like magic, even though Blurr had watched him move through every step in between. 'Sufficiently advanced technology,' Blurr thought, or maybe laughed. His throat ached like he had been. He looked up to say it again just in case, just as a thumb smoothed across the left side of his face, stopping just shy of his lower lip.
Blurr blinked up at him in glacially slow understanding. His ghost had gone very very still but he was dead, Blurr reminded himself. Of course he was. "You aren't real," Blurr sighed, tipping his face further into that hand. The peaks and valleys of the burn scars littering that side didn't register more than a hint of pressure, but he shuddered all the same with a gasp of a laugh that felt like it ought to bleed.
"Why not?" His ghost breathed out (wasn't that funny? wasn't that). There was a snort and a rustle of fabric as his ghost bent to join him on his bed. Swerve. It was Swerve, he was, but he wasn't, couldn't be-
Blurr closed his good eye. His damaged eye, which still registered trace amounts of the neural connection with the mech he'd been disconnected from for endless repetitions of today, saw flickering lines and triangles etched in grey. Something jolted disconcertingly in his chest like an old elevator that suddenly remembered that gravity longed to kiss it again. He closed that eye, too. "Because you're here."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Asked Swerve, and without consciously choosing to do so, Blurr lifted a hand that hadn't belonged to him since he'd joined the program (had it ever…?) and gripped onto the front of a pair of frighteningly familiar overalls. Funny wasn't it, that he couldn't remember much of anything about anyone but he remembered every seam and crinkly, burnt edge he'd only ever seen before-
Blurr made a pathetically small noise that might have been a laugh. "Because you aren't mine, never were. Because you hate me. And also because you're dead. That too."
Time stretched thin like a sheet of rubber, and when Swerve spoke again there came that jolt again that made that rubber drop in the center because a stone had fallen onto it and soon it would rip, but not yet. "...The posters," Swerve groaned, and Blurr laughed, genuinely laughed, for the first time since-
"-not dead either," someone was saying, and it wasn't him so maybe it was-
"Of course you are," Blurr wheezed, giggled like trailing bubbles floating up towards the realization that this hallucination would soon end, and Swerve with it. "What else could you be?"
"An alien."
Blurr jolted and opened his eyes to look at Swerve, but his bed was empty and morning light streamed cold and harsh through his window. His fingers ached where they had been curled into clawlike shapes around nothing at all. A laugh built in his chest and built and built, but all that came out was a thin ghost of nothing at all.
a distant circle of primes have given you a gift, one that will lock away who you are at this very moment, potentially forever, and to become their weapon against the one you thought the word love had been created to define
you are a living time capsule. maybe it's better your doubt be buried with it
they never helped you, or him, until they felt threatened. you are so tired
but you rise up the way you always have, and you open your mouth to agree
will the definition of what love is be buried, too? will the new you remember?
his eagerness to experience new worlds with you. his joy the light in his optics
he was willing to change for you, but you weren't willing to change for him
when he grew angry at what he saw you held back, and could only watch as he fell
he fell and he fell but when you rose, it wasn't for him. it was for them
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Your name is Elita-1. Every day you wake up the day before the last one you remember experiencing. You are living time backwards, and you can't stop it. You don't know if you even want to.
Yesterday, Iacon burned and your world split into two halves along with Sentinel
Today D-16 looks at Orion and there is nothing but trust. Your spark wails.
Today you boarded a train and rode it up into a sky you had never seen.
Today you are supposed to yell at Orion for having hope. The words strangle you.
Today, today, today.
You try to be who he taught you to be. You fight for a tomorrow you won't see.
You offer a hand up to bots in hopes it'll carry them to a better place.
You have to fight down the urge to ruin things for Sentinel every day.
Then you don't. You tell the others what he tried to bury, like he buries miners
You may never see tomorrow with them, but every today will be the start of a war
