#tw indoctrination

In case anyone missed this drabble, it’s-

I will never not have too much fun in being Totally Normal about the TFA protoform molds—and TFA Ratchet, being the only Autobot member of the regular cast born before the war as well as a medical professional, would know all about that.

Protoform molds started to be used before the end of the war, and any Autobot war-frames on-planet were reformatted at the war’s end. This was likely marketed as a sign of the new peace after the Decepticon exile, but it was also likely coerced; Autobots got smaller, their weaponry was limited, and their frames were part of a set standard and therefore much easier to control.

I stand by my theory that Prowl was a baby war-frame that escaped reformatting since he fucked off to meditate for a million years.

He was created in an early mold during the war, so he was limited—but that guy survived things that seriously damaged his teammates, and he was the only one on the team with tools that could only practically serve as weapons.

We see in the show that medical professionals can place and remove limitations on built-in weaponry, such as TFA Bumblebee’s stingers, within seconds—and that limits are placed according to occupation/social-standing.

That’s… pretty messed-up, when you think about it. It’s implied that the protoforms forged from the mold that created TFA Bumblebee and Wasp come equipped with those stingers, they a part of these Autobots—and they can be suppressed by the government at any time. They’re weapons, but they’re a part of these ‘bots’ biology.

I once had to argue with a dentist who wanted to file the points of my teeth down.

There wasn’t anything wrong with them. He just personally thought they should go.

That’s sort of the vibes I get from this situation, only these kids aren’t gonna win.

In a society as manipulative and controlling as the post-war TFA Cybertron—which indoctrinates its youth into its military dictatorship and tries to turn them into obedient machines, and which we have seen exert control over biological functions—it’s not a stretch to say that they would try to remove any function seen as inconvenient.

When TFA Megatron—a Decepticon war-frame, unaltered—has his head removed from his body, he’s dead until Sari accidentally revives him with her Key. TFA Starscream only survives his own decapitation because of the Allspark fragment in his head. Lugnut and Blitzwing are dismembered and left helpless until Starscream steps in.

The TFA ‘bots can have their heads taken off and survive unaided, and TFA Bumblebee had his legs removed as part of a mean prank in boot camp. It was an inconvenience rather than a crisis.

Now, why do I think that TFA Cybertron went so far as to actually remove the ability to cry?

As previously discussed, we already know that the government has fucked around with the citizens’ biology.

Other continuities imply the ability to cry. Off the top of my head, TFP references it even if they don’t show it and even Bayverse has an on-screen example.

Crying would be counterproductive to the message TFA Cybertron is trying to spread. “Cogs in a machine” don’t get upset and shed tears, they do as they’re told.

The ability to cry in younger generations would indicate that whatever was happening to them was enough to coax an emotionally-charged and biological reaction, and that sort of thing might have been enough to turn some heads.

It’s implied that the Autobots were getting their asses kicked in the war until the march of the Omega Sentinels. The Decepticon war-frames had their populations decimated, so we can also assume that the Autobots lost a lot too.

When the war ended, those who were in power were obviously safe—and there likely weren’t enough members of the old, pre-war guard in low places to put up a serious fight as the changes were made and adaptations forced. The kids born into the war, war and obeying orders was all they knew—and everyone born after obviously would not know anything but the new way of life.

So, on Earth, they wouldn’t recognize crying when they saw it in humans—though, I would note, TFA Ratchet does not comment on Sari being brought to tears in the very first arc.

A medical professional did not comment.

So, he knew what it was.

We also see that, when TFA Ratchet is alone with Sari and expressing grief in “Lost and Found”, he sounds like he’s near-tears or already in them when he’s talking to her—and his body language mixed with the roughness of his voice, closing his optics and hanging his head, imply that he could have been in tears… but nothing happens.

His body language didn’t change, but there were alterations made to his biological ability.

In the drabble-

Yeah…

It’s implied that the Decepticons still have the ability, and that non-molded protoforms will be the first generation of Autobots on a post-TFA Cybertron capable of crying in… a while.

But what will be the first giveaway?

I doubt that TFA’s Megatron, Lugnut, Blitzwing, Slipstream, or Shockwave are gonna let us see them cry in public any time soon. The post-war peace is still very fragile, trust is weak.

So… it probably has to be a sparkling.

And in previous drabbles, we’ve talked about the possibility of TFA Optimus raising a baby Seeker in post-war Cybertron because why not?

I believe that Neo the Baby Seeker has only, so far, shown up in two of my drabbles:

But they’re a solid candidate for the job.

And why wouldn’t TFA Optimus panic? He’s a burnt-out middle child with former-gifted-kid energy, keeping all of his idiots alive across the multiverse, and he’s now a single father.

This guy’s life is rough.

And he’s acclimating to raising a lil’ flight-frame, maybe with the subtle help of his new Decepticon allies since they’re invested, but the ‘Cons don’t actually think they have to brief Optimus Prime on crying. Hahahahahaha, very wrong.

Let’s pretend that being protoformed isn’t a traumatic experience and that Neo is a very happy sparkling. They don’t get fussy easily, just very bright and cheerful—slow to tears.

But every baby cries.

And suddenly, TFA Optimus is calling the whole family in a panic because “my baby’s optics are leaking!!!” and everyone fuckin’ sprints.

Except for TFA Ratchet, who shows up looking weary. He wasn’t ready to have this talk.

Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus look down at their lil’ Seeker grand-baby, wailing and crying, and their optics widen—because they can tell right away that Neo’s not leaking, they’re crying.

Crying, in a universe where that doesn’t happen…

Right?

They look up and sees TFA Ratchet standing in the doorway, looking much older than he is, and Wheeljack leaves Ultra Magnus with the kids as he walks over to the weary field-tech.

“What’s happenin’?” He asks.

TFA Ratchet sighs. “You already know.”

“Thing is, Doc’Bot, I better not,” Wheeljack says, his optics narrowing. “Tell me that I don’t.”

The field-tech looks away, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “All medical professionals left on our post-war Cybertron were against it, but everyone from before the war left alive after was… tired, kid—and if we were sent to the stockade for fightin’, they’d have forced the procedure anyway.”

Wheeljack is quiet.

That’s always a bad sign.

He looks to Ultra Magnus, who blinks and frowns at him before his optics narrow and he nods.

Wheeljack silently nods back, then he looks at TFA Ratchet. “Settle ‘em down. I’ll be back.”

The white Wrecker leaves the residence.

He’s gone for a very long time.

Night falls, and Neo’s still hiccuping.

TFA Ratchet holds them while the family recovers from what he’s told them. Against all instinct, he reached out to TFA’s Decepticons—and against all expectations, some actually came.

Megatron and Slipstream are speaking quietly to TFA Optimus, who takes notes on a data-pad. Slipstream’s furious, but Megatron just seems very tired as he explains what he can.

Blackarachnia is still trying to find her way after all that’s happened, but she reaches over and rests a servo on Optimus’s arm. She’s crying, one thing she’s grateful to her organic half for.

Blitzwing’s Random!face actually proved really helpful in helping Neo to calm down.

Icy now speaks to Lugnut and Strika, explaining why they cannot just go out and destroy the legislators who enforced this misery. Hothead is on the other Decepticons’ side, but then Random notes that there’s an Autobot missing…

Shockwave comes and goes quickly, knowing that there is still bad blood. He uploads relevant medical information to TFA Optimus’s computer—and maybe throws in some records of what the protoform molds actually did, compiled from his time as the head of Autobot Intelligence.

Ultra Magnus has one massive arm around TFA Bumblebee and Jazz while TFA Bulkhead clings to the other and Prowl leans on him.

It’s quiet.

Finally, the door opens—and Wheeljack comes back in, a few scattered dents across his armor, scuff marks on his fists, and his optics narrowed as he drops his swords on a table.

“I tracked down all of our missin’ ex-councilbots and mold techs, brought ‘em in. Sentinel and the twins are processin’ ‘em at Fortress Maximus, now,” the Wrecker says flatly, paying no mind to the present Decepticons as he pulls up a chair and falls into it. “At the risk of bein’ an aft, I still think I’d make a damn good bounty hunter.” His face falls. “But I… didn’t have the spark to tell Sentinel and the twins what set me off. Not then, not there.” He looks up at TFA Ratchet. “… I take it you explained everythin’, then?”

The field-tech nods. “And Megatron here was kind enough to fill in any blanks.”

Wheeljack sighs. “Thanks.”

The former warlord shakes his head, still looking grim. “Don’t, Wrecker. Not for this.”

It gets quiet again.

“… Why didn’t you tell us before?” Wheeljack asks at last. “All these years, and you-”

“I think I know how to fix myself, but I don’t know how to change someone who was molded,” TFA Ratchet admits. “So, before you came along and turned everything upside down, I figured… what good would it do to tell anyone? I’d just make ‘em miserable, and then we’d go to the stockade and have it all written off as slander.”

The silence returns.

Then, Prowl sits up a bit. “… I could not weep for my teacher’s death, for the innocent lives I took on Earth, or even my own life.” He takes a deep vent. “All of my life, I could not weep for grief, joy, pain, rage, or relief… That was taken from me, before I even possessed the ability to consent—and from what you’ve said, it would nott have mattered if I didn’t.” He looks at Ratchet, shaking his head. “I returned from the Well, back into this body… So, I believe that I have a right to decide that I would like to apply one last mod to it.” He sits back. “… I want to be able to cry, and for that gift to be given to others if they choose it. So, I offer myself up to whatever tests which anyone believes could lead to that end.”

“Hm. He’s a very early model of a molded frame, unaltered since creation,” Megatron notes. “If we can modify him, it could provide a means for the rest of the population.” He looks to Blackarachnia. “Among the Decepticons, you have the chiefest knowledge in body alteration. Your verdict?”

“Hm.” Blackarachnia frowns. “Megatron, I know my way around biological science on a genetic level. We should probably avoid going that far if we can… Lockdown knows his mods, but he’s no scientist or surgeon—he just knows how to cut something off of someone and then weld it onto himself.” She looks to TFA Ratchet. “I’m aware of the Autobots’ experiments with modifications, Project Safeguard. Perhaps we can speak to the technicians behind the project, if they’re with us.”

“… One sure is,” Wheeljack notes, his optic-brows raising, and everyone looks at him in surprise.

Then, TFA Ratchet groans. “Oh, really?”

“What is it?” Strika asks, perplexed.

TFA Ratchet looks at her, frustrated, and gestures to Wheeljack. “One of him is enough to handle on a good day. Now, we’re gonna have two.”

TFA Wheeljack is immediately onboard. He calls Red Alert in, and they begin working—with TFA Ratchet and Blackarachnia, and a few visits from TFP’s Ratchet and Knockout—on finding a way to give the ability to cry to molded Autobots.

TFA Optimus makes a statement to address the concerns of a Cybertron which will gradually build a new population of un-molded sparklings and explains the whole situation. Most of the younger population doesn’t know what crying is for—but upon seeing the older generations flocking to have the effects of their reformatting reversed, they figure that it must be pretty important.

Once the scientist team figures out a way to modify molded frames to give them the ability to cry, Prowl maintains his willingness to be the first one to undergo the procedure. The problem is finding a way to test the cyber-ninja’s ability to cry once the procedure is over, since he’s still stoic and no one’s a really convincing actor.

Sari ends up showing him videos of tragic-then-heartwarming animal rescues and rehabilitations.

Jackpot.

The procedure works, and Prowl starts laughing as he has to wipe his face. It’s cathartic. They hate the Cybertronian elite for taking this outlet from it, but they’re so relieved to have it back.

While the other members of the TFA Crew start undergoing their own procedures, Wheeljack quietly drops by the patent office; handkerchiefs and tissues are about to become very popular, and Wheeljack’s an asshole who now has to think about an inheritance for his grandkids. 😂

When it’s all over and the ability to cry has been restored on TFA Cybertron, it has a huge social impact. This is a society that has been dry-eyed for over a million years, and they all suddenly have to acclimate to this new reaction to heightened emotion of any kind: grief, joy, relief, stress.

Misunderstandings are realized as expressions long mistaken for merely sullen or stoic or or angry have the addition of tears. Severe pain of any kind is met with tears and gains attention faster with such a visible indicator. Tears are a call for attention, for help and understanding.

They’re a sign that a person has been pushed too far, physically or emotionally, or that a pressure has been removed. It’s a biologically-enforced sign of vulnerability, and that’s not always a bad thing. It allows people to know each other better.

It surprises the ‘bots who undergo the procedure, what’s enough to make them cry and how often.

Most expected to be like Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus, who typically need a world to be ending or for someone to be dead, dying, or back from the dead before they let those walls down.

Nope!

They’re kids, they’ve been through too much, and most importantly: they have a family that they can trust, a solid support system to turn to.

It’s okay to cry, so… they do.

And that’s okay.

It’s especially okay after TFA Ratchet, having made repairs to the rest of his generation and seen the younger ones assisted, finally goes under the procedure himself and doesn’t need prompting to test it out. He wakes up and cries.

They’re there for him.

They’re there for each other.

TFA Optimus, raising a sparkling, finds himself brought to tears almost as often as Neo is. He’s so proud and happy, every milestone bring tears.

Good thing Wheeljack’s assured the family an endless supply of tissues. He’ll need them.

With Jack, it’s a very specific type of violence. Throughout the show, all five seasons, his ‘purpose’ in life has been to return to the past and defeat Aku, presumably by killing him, and set right what once went so horribly wrong. To do so, Jack was given a magic sword that has been blessed in such a way as to make it incapable of ever harming an innocent. In the ‘present’ day, Seasons One through Four, Jack’s modus operandi is that of a wandering protector to all the people who suffer under Aku’s tyranny. Wherever he sees evil, he fights it; wherever he sees good people in need of help, he helps them.

Come Season Five, there has been a shift. At some point in the fifty years between Seasons Four and Five, Jack lost his sword, that symbol of his quest, that symbol of his ‘purpose.’ The sword was itself a symbol of Jack’s righteousness, its inability to harm an innocent a symbol of his status as a protector of the downtrodden. In Episode XCII, we do still see Jack protecting innocent people, but we also see something very new from him, something decidedly discouraging. In Episode XCII, we see Jack observe a village being attacked from a distance, and simply not do anything.

When he does this, when he allows harm to fall upon others, Jack begins to hallucinate. When he goes to drink from a river, he sees visions of bodies floating in the water, people screaming for help. He hallucinates his father screaming “You’ve forgotten your purpose!” In letting apathy rule him in this instance, in letting violence be done upon others with no intervention from him, Jack denies an integral part of himself, and guilt holds him fast. When finally he does go to the village, he finds no survivors—only the culprit, and he hallucinates the victims during the fight.

Later, during Jack’s first engagement with the Daughters of Aku, he seems to have a sense, if only subconscious, that he may not be fighting robots, that he may in fact be fighting flesh-and-blood people. This is another significant problem for Jack, because he has only ever killed robots; he has never actually killed a flesh-and-blood human being. Jack seems to associate robots with Aku’s tyranny, which would make sense. He is a transplant from pre-modern Japan, after all; you won’t find any robots in pre-modern Japan, and if such technology only exists in the future, he might well associate it with Aku. Ultimately, Jack is able to steel himself to fight the Daughters by convincing himself that they’re only “nuts and bolts.”

The immediate aftermath of Jack discovering the truth about that is quite telling. When he sees blood fly from the throat of the first Daughter he kills instead of oil, his eyes widen and his mouth drops open in horror. He freezes as he watches her fall to the ground, grits his teeth as her mask falls away and he sees not the face of a robot, but of a young woman, now dead. He freezes, even though the danger to himself has not passed.

In the immediate aftermath of Jack’s first time killing a human being, he almost dies himself. True, this is down to his physical injuries, to his stab wound, to his fall from the temple into the river, to his exposure to the elements. But Jack’s identity is tied up in his role as a protector; not helping a village under attack triggers a massive attack of guilt. He seems to define himself by his role as a protector to Aku’s victims, to those flesh-and-blood people. To kill a human being flies in the face of everything he is, rocks the very core of his identity. As Jack’s sense of self is put into doubt by that act of violence, so too is his survival put in question.

Jack steels himself to fight the remaining Daughters by telling himself that they chose this path willingly, by offering them a choice to walk away before leaping over the abyss. He does not know that they did not choose this path, not willingly; he does not know that they honestly lack the capacity to make a meaningful choice as to whether they wish to kill him or not. This belief, however mistaken, is sufficient to get him through the next fight, but while he is able to temporarily control his guilt, he cannot banish it completely. After the fight is over and he finds one of the Daughters’ corpses in the forest, he hallucinates the crows in the trees around him screaming “Murderer!” over and over again.

When Jack manages to defeat Ashi without killing her, tying her up in the chain of her own kusarigama, he refuses point-blank to kill her. When they are both swallowed by the giant creature in XCV, he goes out of his way to protect her, and never harms her or allows harm to come to harm, no matter how much Ashi’s hatred for him and veneration of Aku angers him. He goes above and beyond this minimum, actually; when they both wind up covered in needles, Jack takes the time to pull every last needle out of Ashi’s body so that she won’t come to any further harm by potentially having them sink further into her body as she’s jostled around. Even after they’ve escaped from the creature and end up in the ocean, Jack saves Ashi from drowning. When the hallucination of a younger Jack tries to persuade Jack to just leave Ashi to die in the belly of the beast, it’s presented to us as a temptation that would strip Jack of any claims to being a hero if he succumbed to it—even if Ashi is still hostile towards him, is still actively trying to kill him every chance she gets, Jack won’t hurt her and he won’t let her be hurt, because that goes against his nature on a fundamental level.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that XCV is the episode where we start to see Jack acting like his old self again, that we start to see his mild-mannered geniality and his sense of humor return to him. When Jack is protecting someone, he isn’t quite his old self again, because those fifty years of discouragement, bitter defeat and crushing guilt are still with him. But when we see Jack protect someone, he is as close to being his old self as he has been for the whole season, because he’s finally being himself again. This is who Jack is, without violence.

With Ashi, the theme of violence as self-annihilation goes even deeper, and starts much, much earlier in her life.

XCII presents us with the Daughters’ backstory. They are very much foils to Jack in this; like Jack, they were raised from a very young age with the purpose of becoming the ultimate warriors, so that once they are grown they will be capable of killing their target. Jack’s target is Aku; the Daughters’ target is Jack himself. But where Jack is treated with love and compassion by his various caretakers, where Jack is allowed to form friendships with the children in the many places where he is sent to live, the Daughters are allowed no such thing. All their lives, their mother, the High Priestess of the cult into which they were born, and the other adult cult members show them no love, no compassion. Jack was allowed to be a child. Jack was allowed to be human. The Daughters are not.

From the moment they are old enough to be trained to fight, the Daughters are brutally conditioned to be not human beings, but living weapons. Nothing matters but killing Jack, and that is absolutely the only thing they should care about. The Daughters are indoctrinated into believing Aku a benevolent deity, and Jack an evil being. They are taught not to care for one another, actively punished for caring for one another. They are taught to see themselves as tools, and so totally denied knowledge of the outside world that they have no idea what deer are—this, in a region where venison would likely be a major food source. Their mother and the other adult cult members treated them not as children, not as human beings to be raised, but as weapons to be forged, and stripped them of any real ability to have a life.

A thread running through the Daughters’ raising is Ashi’s fascination with the outside world. It first manifests in Ashi sneaking away from a typically violent training session to peer at the outside world through a crack in the wall—her first glimpse of the outside world, and Ashi the only Daughter to ever see the outside world before being sent out to kill Jack. When her mother catches her, she both reinforces Ashi’s indoctrination by telling her Aku created the beautiful world she saw outside and that Jack is the one who threatens it, and punishes Ashi by having her brutally beaten by another cult member. Later, during another sparring session, Ashi is fascinated by a ladybug that has made its way into the cave in which she lives, letting it light on her hand. Her mother chastises her by saying that such distractions, i.e. a child showing natural curiosity towards the world, is not part of Aku’s order, and punishes Ashi by taking the ladybug from her and killing it by squashing it between her fingers. A casual act of violence, a ‘casual’ act of abuse, probably little more than background noise in the constant abuse and violence that dominated Ashi’s life growing up, but one that we see had a profound impact on her. Ashi’s wonder at the natural world is the only thing we know about her outside of the abuse and brainwashing, and her mother does all she can to quash it.

By the time they are grown, the Daughters have been shaped by violence and abuse into weapons that their mother hopes will be able to put an end to Jack. You get no sense of their individual personalities; literally all you see from them is their veneration of Aku and their hatred of Jack. Their love for one another has either been literally beaten out of them, or it has been so severely mangled that it no longer functions normally. When they find the corpse of the first of their sisters to die, they do nothing but drag it out of the temple and leave it to rot under the open sky, with one of them muttering “Death is failure.” When, during the second engagement with Jack, Jack starts picking them off, the survivors exhibit absolutely no emotional reaction to seeing their sisters cut down. Though they are physically flesh and blood, it’s not exactly surprising that Jack can convince himself that they’re robots the first time he fights them; through the brutal conditioning the Daughters were subjected to, they don’t really function as human beings anymore.

Throughout most of XCV, we see Ashi consumed with hatred for Jack. She tries to kill him every chance she gets, both outside of the creature’s belly and within. When she is tied up, she falls back on the dogma she was raised on, screaming it out like a broken record repeating the same line over and over again—the last resort of someone who was never taught to think for herself, who was taught not to think for herself. We see that the abuse and indoctrination Ashi suffered has left her capacity for empathy either broken or very deeply buried—not once do we see her show even a moment’s grief for her dead sisters; it’s like it hasn’t even registered with her. We see that it has left her immature and emotionally stunted—her ranting sounds much more like that of a child than that of an adult. We see that it has left her with no sense of self-preservation (and implicitly, no sense of self-worth)—Ashi literally does not care if she dies in the belly of the beast, if only Jack dies as well. The violence in which Ashi was raised could very well have led her to murder-suicide had Jack not been more alert.

Even at the end, when they have escaped the belly of the beast and washed up on a small island in the middle of the ocean, even after Jack has saved Ashi’s life multiple times, Ashi still intends to kill him, at least at first. As all of XCV has illustrated, a lifetime of brainwashing is not something that can be overcome simply by having someone on the outside say ‘That’s wrong.’ But something happens that stops Ashi dead in her tracks.

Another ladybug appears, first flying around Ashi, then around Jack. Jack opens his hand and lets the ladybug light upon it, allowing it to rest there without harming it. It is at this point that we are shown the flashback of a younger Ashi with the other ladybug, just to hammer in the contrast between Jack’s treatment of the ladybug, and Ashi’s mother’s. Ironically, as violence has led Ashi to view herself a tool whose only purpose is to kill Jack, her mother’s casual act of violence by killing the ladybug in the flashback leads her to drop her weapon, apparently giving up on her ‘quest.’ The only link Ashi has to the world outside of the violence that has all but snuffed out her sense of self is her wonder at the natural world. Jack’s random act of kindness, something that links the two of them, allows doubt to enter Ashi’s mind. Violence snuffed out Ashi’s sense of self. Kindness allowed her to start to feel it again.

Like, seriously: I don’t know if you get it-

*looking at my series that went from a shit-post to a huge Found Family project* … Never mind.

But each dynamic is dear to my heart, and this one is no different. I’m happy to write for it.

A silly little moment between Wrecker Dad and Prime Son? No worries or angst or anything?

Okay, then. Let’s get to it.

Edit: It seems I lost control and came up with a few “silly little moments”. Whoops! 😅

Also, it may have gotten a bit serious in places ‘cause I followed the motivation.

Double whoops.

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4+1

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1

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“Come on, Prime—it’ll be fun! What’s the harm?”

Optimus lets out an exasperated sigh, reaching up to massage the space between his optics. “Wheeljack, please: I have to finish these reports. And really, I don’t see the point in-… Err..?”

“Lobbin’.” Wheeljack holds up a ball of crumpled metal. Optimus doesn’t really know where it came from, but it just appeared one day and it was the sole decoration in the Wrecker’s private room for the longest time. “And there is no point.”

“I suddenly disagree,” Optimus remarks, raising an optic-brow at the jagged surface of the ball, then he huffs. “Why are you even asking me?”

“Because you’ve been workin’ on those things for hours, to the point where you’d probably have my commander tellin’ you to take a break—so, yeesh—and this game is a classic stress-reliever, where I’m from.” Wheeljack leans on a wall beside the monitor. “Bulkhead and Bee say they’re game. Sari’s gonna referee, and Prowl and Ratchet are our ‘adorin’ fans’. I’m pickin’ you for my team.”

Optimus blinks, then he glances at Wheeljack in surprise. “Wait, what?”

“You and me versus Bulk and Bee.” Wheeljack spins the ball on his finger, and he actually seems surprised by his own ability to keep it balanced. “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t even blink.” The Wrecker starts grinning like a sparkling. “Heh. Of course, I finally fraggin’ do this when I can’t even collect on any bets!”

Optimus just looks at him, then he starts to smile. “I-… I don’t even know how to play. You don’t want me on your team.”

“I can teach you.” And just like that, Wheeljack lets the ball fall out of balance and into his waiting servo, and he offers his other servo to Optimus with a grin. “Come on. Just one game, get you outside for a few minutes.”

“… Okay,” Optimus relents, reaching up, and the Wrecker grabs his servo and pulls him to his feet.

…

One game becomes five rounds. It’s close, but Bulkhead and Bumblebee scrape by with a win in the last round and win it all.

Optimus cringes and looks at Wheeljack, already apologetic, only to blink as the Wrecker loops an arm around his shoulder and smiles. “Good game, Prime! First timer, and you’d have given Wreckers a run for their money!” He seems proud. “We’ll get ‘em next time, I know it.”

“Really?” Optimus asks.

Wheeljack nods, then raises an optic-brow. “But hey, winnin’ wasn’t the point. You decompress at all, or were you really worried?”

“… Hm.” The young Prime smiles up at him. “No, I-… I think I’m feeling better, now.” He sighs and closes his optics. “And it’s not like those reports can’t wait until tomorrow. I never get responses, so… they won’t be missed.”

“… In that case…” Wheeljack steps away and picks up the ball. “How about we get some practice in? Even the odds, for next time?”

Optimus opens his optics and looks at him, then he smirks and nods. “You’re on.”

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2

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Wheeljack hears a knock at his door and looks up from his desk, surprised.

“Prime?”

“I really messed-up,” the young mech admits, clutching his axe to his chest.

Wheeljack looks at the axe, then at the Prime. “Okay. No one ever has to know.”

“Really?” Optimus perks up.

Wheeljack nods. “Yep. Wreckers are good about this sort of thing. Now, where’s the body?”

“Wheeljack!” The Prime steps into the room, exasperated. “Stop joking around!”

“Right.” Wheeljack glanced away. “Jokin’…” He looks back at Optimus. “What’s up?”

Optimus looks down at his axe, shaking his head. “It hasn’t activated since our last battle. I-I must have done something. It was given to me at the academy, and it’s never been damaged before. I’ve never had to ask Ratchet to try and fix it, a-and I don’t know if he would know how to—and if it’s broken, I don’t know what I’ll do. I-”

“Hey, hey.” Wheeljack holds his servos up. “It’s okay, Prime.” He holds his servos out. “Let me take a look, see if I can help ya out.”

Optimus hesitates, then he hands his axe over and watches as Wheeljack examines it.

The Wrecker turns it over in his servos, then turns to face his desk and grabs a scanner—running it over the surface of the weapon, watching closely.

After a moment, Wheeljack blinks before he sets the scanner aside and looks at Optimus. “Hey, c’mere.” He gestures, and the Prime blinks. “It’s alright. C’mere.” Optimus hesitantly walks over, and Wheeljack picks up the axe. “I think you’re right. This last tussle we were in was pretty gnarly, and you used your axe to prop up that bridge—saved those humans, good work. But that was a lot of powerful, long-term pressure on a weapon that’s made for hackin’ and slashin’ from an angle it wasn’t used to. Make matters worse, you had your axe in its extended form—so the poor thing’s handle wasn’t as strong as it usually is.”

Optimus blinks, then frowns. “So-..?”

“So, when you collapsed it, it didn’t go back into place as neatly as it should have,” Wheeljack tells him. “It bent just enough to cause a little damage to the interior, cut some lines. The blade and the extender aren’t gettin’ any power.” He gestures to the axe. “So, I just hafta go in there and fix those lines—then straighten the handle out. Once I do that, it’ll be good as new. It’ll be okay.”

Optimus’s shoulders sag in relief. “Oh.”

“Heh.” Wheeljack grins, leaning back in his chair. “No biggie, see? Just a little clip while this thing was handlin’ a big job. I’m actually impressed that it held up as well as it did, doin’ that.” He shakes his head. “Stretched thin, way too much pressure. This axe of yours is a fighter, like you.” Optimus glances away bashfully, and goes to step away. “Not so fast.” The Prime looks at Wheeljack in confusion as the Wrecker selects a tool. “Just ‘cause this is the first time your axe has needed any help doesn’t mean it’ll be the last. You should stay right here, see how it looks inside. That way, in a pinch, you’re ready to fix it yourself.” He looks at Optimus. “You take good care of this thing—clean it, charge it—but you need to know your tools, if you’re gonna trust ‘em with lives.”

“I’m no mechanic,” Optimus tells him awkwardly.

Wheeljack shrugs. “Don’t hafta be. This is just about this one axe.” He turns back to his desk. “I can’t make you stay. It’s just my advice.”

“… Okay,” Optimus decides, and he sits down on a crate. He feels silly, like a student again.

It doesn’t help as Wheeljack starts narrating what he’s doing. He tells Optimus what tools he’s using and what he’s doing with them, points out the parts of the axe as he uncovers them and works to take them out so he can access what he needs.

Optimus feels anxious, watching his axe getting dismantled. He received it from the Academy, it’s one of the rare mementos he has of his old life—and he feels it represents his wasted potential.

He used to sit in classes about how to serve and protect Cybertron. Now, he’s perched on a crate because he broke his most-prized possession…

Still, he watches—and he even holds a flashlight for Wheeljack at one point, which feels silly and useless. And finally, the Wrecker closes the axe up and carefully turns it over in his servos.

Wheeljack’s servos have always been strange, to Optimus. They’re relatively massive, and every segment and joint is visible. While most of the teams’ servos are visibly comparable to humans with their streamlined and solid nature, with the exception of Bulkhead’s claws, Wheeljack’s are clearly robotic and angular-looking.

It’s hard to imagine that they’re capable of delicate work, but Optimus just saw it—and as the young Prime watches, his axe handle extends and the blade expands and lights up.

“You fixed it!” He says, stunned.

Wheeljack smirks. “Told ya.” He collapses the axe as he turns to look at Optimus, then he offers the weapon back. “And now, you know it better. As long as I’m here, I’ll help you with it—but if there’s ever a reason I can’t be, you’ll be okay.”

Optimus blinks, surprised, then his expression softens. That hadn’t occurred to him.

“… Thank you, Wheeljack,” he tells the Wrecker sincerely, holding the axe to his chest.

Wheeljack nods, then smirks again. “But I really wasn’t jokin’. Should there ever be an accident—say, with your version of Ultra Magnus-”

“Stop!” Optimus rolls his optics, lightly shoving the other mech, and Wheeljack chuckles.

…

…

3

…

…

“Ratchet! Prowl and Bumblebee are goin’ all Duel of the Fates with those icicles! Can ya-?!”

“On it!”

Optimus snorts as he glances towards the open doors of the Plant, holding a mug of oil in his servos while he listens to the chaos outside.

Christmas is on its way, and everyone is in the festive mood this year. Most of the threats from the Decepticons have died down, so it feels safe enough to enjoy the holiday season.

Of course, Blurr and Omega Supreme are still missing. The search for them continues.

But Wheeljack had insisted upon them taking a break every once in a while, the hypocrite.

Today, they’d elected for a snow day—and as long as they moderated (he was watching), Wheeljack had lifted his usual ban on them drinking oil during the day. They needed to stay warm, after all—or at least, that was his reasoning.

Outside, Bulkhead is making snow sculptures: people, ‘bots, forts, and what suspiciously looked like barriers for what would probably be an eventual snowball fight when the temperatures rose enough for the Sumdacs to leave the Tower.

Apparently, it was a record-breaking winter in Detroit—for snowfall and freezing temperatures. The humans had to be tucked away in their homes with the generators prepared in case the power was lost, but Autobots were hardy.

Bumblebee and Prowl evidentially got a little rowdy with some of the giant icicles that formed on the Plant, so Wheeljack asked Ratchet to intervene before someone lost an optic.

Optimus is on his first trip inside. He had been on patrol just before this and the ‘snow day’ has gone on for hours. Wheeljack sent him inside for some reason, ‘mandatory break’ and all that.

The Prime shakes his head.

He’s just tired, and has a little processor-ache.

The Wrecker worries too much.

Speak of the Devil: Wheeljack gets cold, because he comes walking in for his first break—dusting snow off of his armor. “Heads-up: Prowl told Bulkhead to practice ambushes again.”

Optimus snorts again as Wheeljack grabs a canister of blue Energon and leans against the wall beside him, the young Prime grinning. “You let him think he caught you off-guard?”

“… Sure,” Wheeljack says, taking a sip.

Optimus chuckles. “You’re getting comfortable.”

Wheeljack gives a small smile at that. “Maybe.” He glances at Optimus. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Yeah.” The Prime nods. “Why?”

“You were lookin’ a little blue, earlier,” Wheeljack admits. “Well, bluer.” He frowns, looking down at his canister. “I know that you fellas don’t take to the cold as bad as folks where I’m from do, but you were actin’ a little different. I got worried.”

Optimus blinks, then he sighs. “Just a processor-ache, and I’m a little tired and sore. I’m fine.” He looks at Wheeljack, shrugging. “I guess the cold on Earth is just something I still need to adjust to, especially when it gets this cold for this long.”

“Yeah.” Wheeljack nods. “This is a real cold spell. It’s not enough to kill me, but I’m not a fan.” He shakes his head. “While I was travelin’ my Earth, the winter hit me outta nowhere and I didn’t even know what to do with it. Then, Miko tells me all these horror-stories about the others…” He huffs out a laugh. “But this Ratchet busted outta solid ice right away, after havin’ his arm ripped off. You’re made out of tough stuff, for sure.” He looks at Optimus. “I was a little pushy, earlier. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re just looking out for me, same as always.” Optimus looks down at his oil. “At least you had some knowledge and experience with the cold before coming to Detroit. Our Cybertron, we only induce full-body freezing to send us into stasis-lock. Other than that, it doesn’t really get-” He blinks, then his optics widen. “… Oh.”

Wheeljack raises an optic-brow, then his optics widen and he looks at the Prime. “Hold on-”

Optimus cringes. “Now, we don’t really know-”

Wheeljack points at him. “HOLD ON!”

“Uh…” Optimus clutches his oil to his chest. “Well, learn something new every day?”

“I die if I freeze solid, but you fraggin’ hibernate at these temperatures?!” Wheeljack demands. “And you were-?” He shakes his head before raising a servo to his forehead, his optics wide. “You’re killin’ me, Prime. You’re killin’ me.”

“I didn’t realize it had gotten that cold,” Optimus confesses, stunned. “And I was out so long…”

“You guys don’t have built-in heaters,” Wheeljack recalls. “So, if you didn’t come inside-”

“You would’ve had to thaw me out.” The Prime nods shakily. “So, uh… Thanks for being pushy.”

Wheeljack blinks, then he frowns. “You kiddin’, Prime?” He wraps an arm around Optimus, who doesn’t protest. “I’m just glad you’re okay… I’ll handle the patrols, ‘til it gets warmer.”

“Wheeljack, the cold is dangerous for you,” the Prime argues with him, shaking his head.

Wheeljack holds a hand up. “It takes a more-intense cold for a longer period, or Blitzwing’s ice-blasts freezin’ me solid.” He looks at Optimus. “I’ll break out the snow tires. I’ve got it, just until this cold snap lets up and it’s safe for all of you to leave. Should only be a few days.”

“Hm. Thank you,” Optimus tells him, then he laughs again as he hears Wheeljack’s heater kick on and leans closer. “Seriously, nice catch. If I’d dropped out there, Ratchet would’ve had my head—alongside Prowl and Bumblebee’s.”

“Yeah…” Wheeljack hums, then he raises an optic-brow. “… It got real quiet, didn’t it?”

He and Optimus exchange wide-opticed glances.

“… We should probably-”

“Yep!”

…

…

4

…

…

Optimus stands before a set of closed double-doors, his optics wide as he stares at them.

“… There’s still time to run out the back way,” a voice speaks up, and he jumps a bit in place before closing his optics and huffing. “I mean it, I’ve got the shuttle parked.” Footsteps approach, and there’s a snort. “We can go home, let them sort this mess out on their own. Should be fun to watch.” Optimus opens his optics and looks up as Wheeljack steps forward to stand beside him. “… And this doesn’t have to be your fight.”

The young Prime-

The young acting Magnus just looks up at the Wrecker, then he looks away with a frown.

“… I know,” he admits softly. “I know that this doesn’t have to be my fight, that it shouldn’t be. I know that the previous generations should have done better, but they didn’t—and now, I’m left with a world in turmoil and a divided people.” He looks at the doors. “… I know that, if I asked you to, you’d get the whole team out of here and back home—and we could be safe, happy, away from all of this.” Optimus closes his optics again. “I know I don’t have to do this… but I also know that it’s the right thing to do, and I’m the only one who can right now. Once the situation is more stable and I’ve sorted everything out, then-… Then, I can step away.” He opens his optics and looks at Wheeljack again. “But until then, I’m going to do the best I can… and I wouldn’t blame you, if you had to step away now. This is… really big.”

“Yeah.” Wheeljack nods. “It is.” He rests a servo on Optimus’s shoulder, and he smiles. “So, I figure I should stick around a little while longer… I’ve got your back, Optimus—always.”

The younger mech smiles back. “Thank you.”

“… No matter how weirdly decorated it is.” The Wrecker raises an optic-brow, picking at the cape.

Optimus rolls his optics. “Sentinel insisted. He wants to make it the new Magnus symbol.”

“Forget that.” Wheeljack shakes his head, then he looks at the doors. “You’ve come a long way since that first day. I’m proud of you, and I know you’re finally comin’ ‘round to bein’ proud of yourself… You don’t hafta put on a show for anyone. You don’t need a symbol to prove your worth.”

Optimus looks at the cape, then at the Magnus Hammer gripped in his servo, before he looks up at Wheeljack again with a small frown.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should show them who you are,” Wheeljack tells him honestly, looking down at the younger mech again. “You step out there, you’re showin’ them the future. You’re showin’ them what you think a leader should be.”

Optimus blinks, then he nods.

…

When those doors open, a mech steps out into the open—into a spotlight, facing a crowd.

He wears no special armor or garments, and it’s a simple battle-axe held in his servo, small and colored blue, red, black, and silver.

When he arrives in the spotlight, he looks out at the crowd and stands up straight, his free fist clenched at his side. He keeps a calm face.

His optics find his family in the crowd.

It gets quiet.

Then, the axe extends until the base of the handle rests on the floor and the blade glows blue, and Optimus’s optics narrow.

“My fellow Autobots,” he begins. “My name is Optimus Prime.”

He sees Wheeljack smile.

…

…

+1

…

…

As soon as Optimus sees him, something inside of him screams “no” and he immediately goes to find Wheeljack.

It’s just his team, friends, and some classmates and teachers he was still on good terms with at the little get-together. Alpha Trion showed up with some high-quality oil and a broad smile, so they let him in.

He shouldn’t be here—but there he was, at the door to the residence the team has taken-over since their partial move to Cybertron. Ready to crash the party.

Optimus finds Wheeljack, and his explanation is a blur. He can’t even remember what he says to the Wrecker, really.

He just remembers Wheeljack resting a servo on his shoulder and looking worried, then the larger mech’s optics narrowing as he turned and made his way towards the door—quietly, easily ducking his way between other party goers to avoid making a scene.

Optimus trailed after him, and -now- there they are. He stands in the doorway, left in a stunned silence, because Wheeljack just grabbed Ultra Magnus and dragged him down the steps so that they can argue in the street while they wait for the guards—the ones who are on duty while Sentinel, the Jettwins, Jazz, and other officers Optimus knows enjoy the party.

They’re celebrating the recent announcement of Optimus’s retirement within the next year, and his return to Earth with his team as its guardians. They hope that it will coincide with the opening of the portal back into Wheeljack’s reality, as there’s been good progress.

Not everyone on Cybertron was thrilled with the announcement, though Optimus insisted that it was for the best. He doesn’t want to rule a world, and no one ‘bot should. He hopes the reforms he had made will be enough to forge a better future for his world, while he dedicates his own future to his home. To his family.

“Can’t you see he is being unreasonable?!” Ultra Magnus demands. “He can’t just uproot a system that has kept our planet safe and prosperous for millions of years and then walk out on it!”

“It kept you and your council safe and prosperous for millions of years,” Wheeljack corrects him, his optics narrowed. “While generations of Autobots paid the fraggin’ price. Don’t get whiny because one of the kids you royally screwed-over turned out to be a better mech than you could ever be, and he actually knows how to let go.”

“This is not what I taught him to be.”

“Yeah! And he’s doin’ all the better for it.”

Ultra Magnus’s optics narrow. “You dare come here and act like you know what’s best for one Autobot, let alone a whole world? Optimus has achieved much, I will not deny that—but that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t have-”

The former leader of Cybertron stops when Wheeljack rests a servo on one of his blades.

“… Don’t you fraggin’ dare.” Wheeljack’s words are venom, his tone frigid. His optics burn.

Optimus blinks, then he looks down.

“You’ve come a long way since that first day. I’m proud of you,

and I know you’re finally comin’ ‘round to bein’ proud of yourself.”

“Why are you even here?” Ultra Magnus is asking Wheeljack. “You have no right.”

And Optimus steps between the Wrecker and his former commander. “He has every right.” The young mech’s optics narrow. “Leave.”

Ultra Magnus is taken aback. “What?”

“Leave,” Optimus insists, his fists clenching as his shoulders raise. “This reception is for my family and my friends, and you are neither.” He stands up straighter. “I am still acting Magnus. This is my property. I’ve already called guards, they’re on their way… Leave, Ultra—or you will be detained for trespassing and harassment.”

He can hear Wheeljack choking down a wheeze behind him, and he smirks. This… isn’t so scary, all of the sudden.

It feels great.

“I gave you everything,” Ultea Magnus tries to tell him, frustrated.

Optimus glares. “You cast me aside. You made me think that I had to prove myself to you, that I owed you for the bare minimum.” He shakes his head. “I owe you nothing. I never want to see you again. Leave.”

“You-”

Optimus hears Wheeljack draw a sword, and the Wrecker steps to stand at his right shoulder. “He told you to leave.”

Ultra Magnus glances at Wheeljack, then looks at his former student in disappointment. “… Is this really what you aspire to be, Optimus?”

A gaslighting dictator who casts students aside the moment they don’t live up to his approval, and thinks they should be grateful.

Or-

A stubborn and reckless but kind mech who always does what he thinks is best for his family, even if it means breaking the rules.

Is that supposed to be a contest?

“… Hm.” Optimus crosses his arms, his smirk returning. “Yeah, actually.” He glances back, an optic-brow raised. “Hey, Wheeljack? Looks like there’s a delay on the guards. Is that offer to help me hide his body still on the table?”

“I’ve got no less than seventy-two ideas for a hidin’ place,” Wheeljack tells him with a straight face. “They’ll never find him all.”

Optimus blinks. “All?”

Wheeljack gives a devilish smile. “It’d be a shame to waste a good idea.” He gestures with his head, and Optimus looks back to see Ultra Magnus leaving quickly. “Heh. There he goes!”

“Hm.” Optimus smiles, relieved, then he turns to face the Wrecker. “… Do you really-?”

Wheeljack glances away. “Not important.”

“Heh.” Optimus beams. “… Thanks.”

Wheeljack looks at him and nods. “Of course, kid. That guy’s a fraggin’ loser.” He shakes his head. “I mean it, you were robbed. You’ll love my version, especially after he hears the story and hunts that guy for sport.” They both chuckle, then Wheeljack grows serious. “Now, hey… You alright, Optimus?”

“… Yeah, actually,” the younger mech tells him honestly, his smile not faltering.

Wheeljack blinks, then he smiles warmly and sheaths his sword before resting his servos on his hips and shaking his head. “I’m a bad influence.”

“No,” Optimus disagrees, then he steps forward and hugs his mentor. “You’re not.” Wheeljack gently hugs him back, resting a servo on the back of his head. It feels safe. “Seriously, Wheeljack… Thank you, for having my back again.”

“Always,” Wheeljack promises him quietly.

Optimus closes his optics and nods. “I know.”

…

…

Now-

I actually went and got help when it came to answering this question, because I wanted to ensure that I did so correctly. Thank you very much, @rewindedart/@rewindscomicstack and @tardisboyo, for your help with this Ask.

For some reason, TardisGal’s profile was not linking—so I’ll link her here. I’m stubborn, when it comes to giving credit where due.

Edit: Oh, it links now! How nice! 😂

Moving on-

As it was explained to me, there is a similar topic discussed in IDW. Apparently, there is a process regarding protoforms called "cold construction" in which the government (which operates on a caste system) builds the protoforms, and there is a lot of abuse and manipulation involved in the placements of the sparks into these forms.

Two examples of Cybertronians who underwent "cold construction" are IDW's Megatron and Starscream. As a result, Starscream experiences body dysphoria and often changes bodies—longing for the form he should have had.

Now, it was further explained to me that the feeling of dysphoria exists on a spectrum.

Some may only experience a nagging sense that there is something wrong, something feels amiss and it makes them feel uncomfortable. Others may feel as though they are trapped and they know for certain that everything is wrong.

Now, I’m no expert on this—and neither are the people I consulted, who were kind enough to help me. We all understand that your experience may be different, that everyone’s likely is.

But for the purposes of this Ask, I find myself agreeing with the comparison you made.

Due to the intervention of the protoform molds on TFA’s Cybertron, it seems to me that everyone forged in one would be in a body forced upon them by the Cybertronian government rather than what they were meant to be in.

If the sparks were meant to have those shapes, the protoform molds wouldn’t be needed. They would just be that way.

If the sparks would stop before they were forced into the protoform molds, no new generations would exist.

This is done as a means of control by the government, without the consent of the spark—and I could imagine it causing discomfort, even if the indoctrination on TFA Cybertron makes it hard for young ‘bots to pinpoint why.

Their leaders made these frames for them, and they’re taught that their leaders are always right and that the Autobot cause is just.

You wouldn’t want to be like those warframe and flightframe Decepticons, protoformed without any molds and refusing to be reformatted into the new government-approved shells.

Oh, even writing that sarcastically makes me feel gross.

I know they can do bad shit, and I frown upon that—but is it too late to side with the ‘Cons? Yes? No?

No one likes to be told what to do with their body.

That’s something very personal, and we should be allowed to make our own decisions as rational people who know what will make us feel the most comfortable in our own skin.

That’s just common sense, though I recognize that many people seem to unfortunately lack even the most-basic sensibility.

To those people, I bid my sincerest “fuck off”. This blog is not the place for you.

It’s hardly comparable, but I’m frowned upon by members of my family because I have hobbies and style preferences considered to be traditionally masculine.

Or, at least, “unladylike”.

Bleh.

I’ve never been comfortable in skirts, and I absolutely loathe heels.

I show up to special occasions in suits with collared shirts, vests, trousers, boots, and a long coat going over it.

Every other day, I’m in my jeans, flannels, graphic t-shirts, and steel-toe boots that I wear until they’re worn out.

My collection of ear piercings grows by the year. I dye my hair and let it maintain its natural frizz and curls, I don’t wear lots of makeup, and I want to get tattoos.

That’s how I feel the most comfortable in my skin, and it’s my right to make that decision for myself. It’s my body.

When someone argues, I get to put on my Big Mean Anthropologist Voice and give them a lecture on gender.

That’s always very fun, even if I do end up getting yelled at after.

Being forced to live in the wrong body because the government stuck you in it and said that you should be grateful? That’s horrific.

And it probably had consequences! Given that sparks are pure energy, I’m not certain exactly what consequences they would encounter—but I would imagine discomfort at best, and mental health problems and physical ailment at worst. Pure energy is sensitive, and tampering with what it is to be held in is very risky.

A large ‘bot may always be lethargic; they don’t always have the energy to do what they need to do, they just feel far too heavy. A small ‘bot may have too much energy or a poor sense of size; they could hurt themselves, trying to do too many things and not understanding why they weren’t able to lift or withstand something when “yes, I should have—I just know it.”

Of course, the TFA Autobots don’t see it like that—not until later, when these traits of their society have been pointed out to them by an outsider and they realize how messed-up it actually is.

They would feel that discomfort, whatever form it took, but the society they grow up in doesn’t allow for challenge. They wouldn’t know to say something like “I don’t feel right in my frame, I think there needs to be changes made so that I feel more comfortable”, so these poor Autobots would sadly be made to suffer in silence.

Then, you have a case like Jetfire and Jetstorm—where they were not only molded, but then they were taken and their frames were subjected to painful experiments to further alter them. They were considered expendable by the government, their bodies used as scientific subjects, and they were supposed to be grateful to be alive and made into fliers to serve Cybertron’s war.

From the day they were protoformed, young Autobots have been shaped and controlled.

Older Autobots were taken and reformatted after the war ended, to fit the new order’s standards.

So, you know what?

I’d like to see them say “fuck that”.

Why shouldn’t they get to?

When the next war ends and power changes hands, I want to see TFA Autobots get to be their truest and most-comfortable selves. I want them to be comfortable and happy.

I want old ‘bots to bring in pictures of what they looked like before the war and celebrate getting their pre-mold frames back.

I want young ‘bots who don’t know what they would have looked like to find that out for themselves. Maybe it takes a few tries for them to find what fits, but that’s okay.

I want to see sites open up where Cybertronians can be consulted about how they would like their frames to look, where they can bring in their own designs or get help from someone with a talent for it until they’re happy and ready to receive a positive reformatting. I want them to be positively giddy when they leave, because they get to be comfortable in their bodies now.

I want ‘bots who were crammed into tiny bodies to be big, and suddenly it’s like they can breathe. They still move around with the same awareness of their surroundings, but it’s much more natural now—as they always should have been.

I want ‘bots who were made to be too big to shrink themselves down and move about with speed and grace like they’ve finally been set free of bindings that only they could feel. They have so much energy and life, and they show it.

I want ‘bots who always gazed at the skies longingly to leave one of these sites with wings, and take off into the sky and soar freely.