insecuriosity

Still going strong with the weird self inserts, though really, when is something a self insert?

In my stories, the self inserts are more like OC's that aren't meant to be scrutinised, because hey - that's kind of what happens to Self Inserts anyway. Nobody cares about the 'self' part of a self-insert - they care about the story and how it changes with the presence of a character that knows more about the world than they should.
And since the 'self' doesn't really matter, I end up giving them traits that are useful for the story, rather than traits that are directly copied off of me and who I think I am.

My most recent foray into self inserts involves Michael Myers from the Halloween series ( and Dead by Daylight ). Self inserts, reader inserts, and 'you' inserts are very common in the slasher genre, and the same goes for the E-rating. There's a common theme of wanting to be special in some way, or wanting to change and save someone who is by all appearances incapable of or unwilling to change. It is kind of a power fantasy - to be the one holding the leash of an untameable monster.

I decided to make my 'self-insert' character a voice inside of Michael's head. She will still be the one saving him, but it won't be because she is inherently special - moreso because she holds an inherently special place as one of the voices in Michael's head. Through this, she can know him better than anyone, and she can make her own choices in how to proceed - but ANYONE in that position would be special, and I think that adds a little more to it.

I'm rambling, but I really wish that I'd found out about the interesting side of self-inserts earlier. It's not for everyone, and most of it is pure indulgence for the author, but there's something there, and I recommend giving at least some of them a try.

I've gotten really into self-insert stories. Once I got past the kneejerk 'self insert bad!', I found them to be really enjoyable stories that mix together several tropes from time travel stories.

There is technically no time travel, so there's no real need to worry about disrupting timeflow or returning to the past/future, but the character knows what happens -or what SHOULD happen. Their own presence in the story throws things off, but in a way that they can control. To me, it is an exquisite combination of fate and free will in fiction. Fate dictates that Anakin Skywalker falls, but someone from our world walking in the skin of a Wookie or Twi'lek can decide to meddle, and change the course of everything!

I've since started working on some really absurd but fun self inserts. Like, what if someone woke up in the body of Overlord from Transformers, during the MTMTE comics? Would they just turn themselves in when the Wreckers find the horror show of Garrus-9? Do they try to escape and find a place to settle down? What if they land on the Lost Light? Even if all they do is sit around and eat copious amounts of energon candy, the absence of Overlord in the story has a cascade effect that changes everything, and I love that so much.

Now I just have to figure out how to choose from the myriad of things that could happen once Overlord gains the mind of a young woman that only read the comics once and then forgot most of the details!

This drabble is a continuation of Drone Blurr, a birthday gift for Harutemu. Featuring Drone!Blurr, and Scientist!Shockwave <3

Shockwave had never understood artists. They created things – sometimes amazing, and sometimes less than waste – but they all shared a similar set of ideas and necessities before they could work. Each and every one of them spoke about a ‘flow’, or a ‘muse’. Their art, the very thing that kept them alive, would sometimes just refuse to come to them. Some artists would lament their lack of creativity and spirit, even as they churned out painting after painting – sculpture after sculpture.
In Shockwave’s optic, they had been whimpering fools. Who could make so many things, and then complain that they were playing with slag?

Blurr-1 had finally shown him just what those artists truly meant.

The war had picked up. The scientists on the Autobot’s side were more numerous and were allocated more funds and energon than Megatron’s raids could keep up with, and Shockwave had been fighting to keep up.

Not necessarily to defeat the Autobots – but to keep Megatron convinced of his worth. Shockwave knew very well that nearly half the energon the Decepticons stole was fed right back to him and his lab. If he wanted to convince Megatron that he was more useful in a lab than on the battlefield, he needed to produce.

Oh, and hadn’t that been the only thing Shockwave wanted, before he made Blurr-1?
He did produce – he produced more than ever before in his life. Acid-based weaponry, acid-repelling paint coats, teleporting prototypes, EMP-bombs, super warrior upgrades, ununtrium, triple changer experiments….

And it all felt like an inferior joke, compared to his Blurr-1!

Shockwave’s claws had fallen still a few breems ago, and he tried to shake himself out of his tizzy. Blurr-1’s frame was still hooked up to its recharging station, damaged components repaired, and a brand-new cooling unit waiting to be installed.
It was painful for him to know just how much time he had wasted on other projects when he could have spent it on improving Blurr-1. The drone was a work of art that he could never replicate, and with every moment he spent working on something else, Shockwave feared that he would forget to finish it.

It was so very foolish to think of a prototype this way, Shockwave knew. It was in the very nature of prototypes to be expendable, and to be used as a learning experience to further improve newer versions or other ideas.
Other ideas and newer versions that were about as interesting to Shockwave as Starscream’s interfacing habits.

Artists. Foolish mecha. Shockwave hated that he could relate to them now. Whimpering about muses, rebelling against the commissions given to them to finish, returning to their selfish interests, only to justify it by saying it was necessary to keep their creativity flowing-…
Shockwave had no such luxuries – not if he wanted to keep Blurr-1 to himself. Not if he wanted to keep this special, miraculous creation out of Megatron’s plans. The warlord was practical, and Shockwave knew that Megatron treated prototypes the same way Shockwave did- or… used to.

He couldn’t turn to the same ‘arguments’ that the artists used. MEcha would look at him the same way he had looked at the artists, and Megatron especially would spurn him for such notions… Or would he?

Megatron had written poetry. Megatron had written a book, and he had rewritten it so many times that the original version was lost to the ages, and a dustbin somewhere on Cybertron. There was a chance that the warlord would understand – at least enough to grant Shockwave this one boon.
He didn’t even need to mention Blurr-1 directly! From one artist to another, Megatron might be willing to let him have a pet project if he was convinced that Shockwave’s productivity hinged on it.

In a significantly better mood, Shockwave hailed his leader, and angled the camera so that it could capture the abysmal mess that was his lab.
There was someone else occupying the line before him, but Shockwave knew he would not wait long. Megatron valued his work very much.

Shockwave took the extra time to look at his drone, hanging on its recharging station. It was still so bare – and there was place on its frame for so many things. It had been designed for easy breakdown and builup. What would happen, if he applied his ununtrium experiments on it? What kind of damage could it do, wielding one of Shockwave’s acid weapons? Would it weight it down too much?

By the time Megatron answered his hail it was difficult to appear inspirationless and tired, but Megatron granted his request.
As Shockwave hurried towards Blurr-1’s recharging station, he solemnly promised himself that Megatron would get Blurr-2, if he ever made it.

You might recognise this, you might not - it’s something we spoke about :) Have a happy birthday Haru!

As most things in Shockwave’s lab, his longest running experiment had started out as a single ‘what if’.

Oh, there were always blueprints on his desk that had to be followed, or new orders in his commlink, but Shockwave never ignored an idea when it seeped into his thoughts. Great inventors didn’t become great by only following the ideas they thought would be successful. It was the insane ideas that often ended up having the greatest potential.
So, even if there was a portal to be built to traverse millions of lightyears in seconds, Shockwave always let his smaller ideas take him by the servo. They very rarely lasted longer than a decacycle, but when they did….well…

Only one project had ever made it past the decacycle mark.

Shockwave stood by the door of his lab, waiting. The largest screens in the room were crawling with statistics and numbers- complete with a videofeed which showed blurred footage and a muted sound transmission.
Calm blue numbers were at a dangerous level, and Shockwave watched as the sound transmission spiked. If he’d had the sound on, he was sure that a speaker would have been blown out.

It was one of the flaws in the design. Those were expected, and a part of what he did. Every project was a prototype for a specific purpose, and after each test, Shockwave would know which parts of it could be culled for a better performance.
The only trouble with this, was that it refused to fail.

It was as if, somewhere on his design table, the prototype had grown out of its bounds.
Drones and Artificial intelligences were always limited to their build. They could be taught to grow, but that pattern of growth would have to be installed by someone – forever limiting it.

As Shockwave had remembered from a colleague long ago; A simple math program could grow into a master mathimathician AI, but it would never become a language program without the hand of an outsider.
So, with all the drones he created, it was a waiting game to see where it would fail, and if there was a way to circumvent those faults. Even then, he had not found that perfect mix just yet. With every new war drone he created, the Autobots found a way to dispatch them quickly and easily.

Shockwave still didn’t know what had made Blurr-1 so different. He had built the lithe little drone as he’d built any drone; with his eyes on his goal, and nothing else.
The design had been a bare-bone setup, far more like a sketch than any genuine project, held together by pieces of scrap and leftover items. He had set it up for failure, seeing how far it’s build would take it….

And it was still going, five metacycles later. Blurr-1.

Oh, Shockwave had made updates to its frame. Better armour, modifications to the limbs and joints – additional sensors and structural integrity….
But those AI and processor inside were still the very same ones he installed in that first skeleton build.

On the screen, there was a split second of viable footage as Blurr-1 stood still to study something. A normal mech would most likely have taken thirty seconds to do the same.
Shockwave watched the incomprehensible footage for a bit longer. After Blurr-1 returned with a report, he would play it back in slow motion.

The image froze for a moment, and Shockwave recognised the keypad that led to his lab. He did not see Blur-1 punch in the numbers, but he was already walking towards the door.
As he opened it, the stench of overheated mechanics wafted towards him, and Blurr-1’s frame screeched to a halt before him.

Garbled speech poured out of the machine, as its limbs twitched with leftover movement from it’s mad dash. Shockwave was already running his compatibility programs so he could slow down his drone’s report later.
As it was he hooked his claws under Blurr-1’s arms, and lifted him up. He didn’t have to ask any questions – Blurr-1 reported all the details that Shockwave could think to ask, and often even more than that. So instead, he carried the limp drone inside as it shuddered through the glitches in its system.

Shockwave hung Blurr-1 on his wall-rack, and began plugging in the diagnostics cables. As the numbers on the screens had predicted, quite a few hardware components hadn’t made it through, but the mission was completed.
The tower of the Prime had been breached, and the stolen information sat innocently in Shockwave’s computer.

Blurr-1’s storm of words began to slow as he started to submit to his recharge protocols.

Even with all the extra cooling and vents added in, Blurr-1 still overheated his processors with every mission. Shockwave’s claws were burning hot as he tipped his drone’s head back to inspect his face.
The smooth and sharp face looking back at him had also been part of the initial project. Infiltration was made easier if the spy looked like a normal, common mech.

After Blurr-1 had proven to be anything but a run of the mill mech, Shockwave had not removed his face, or his mouth and nose.
A drone so perfect and so deadly had no need for a mech-like face, but it had been burned into Shockwave’s mind. He knew his prototype back and forth, every little bolt and diode he ever put into that frame…

And still, when he thought of his most successful creation yet, all that popped up in his head were the vivid blues of Blurr’s paintjob, and the marble-white of his faceplate.
Shockwave stroked over his creation’s helm. “There are still more developments needed before you are finished.” Or rather… it would be a long cold day before he would hand Blurr’s tether over to Megatron.

If ever.

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has marked as possibly inappropriate for anyone under the age of 18. )

Dedicated to @harutemu

Word Count: 3890
Pairing: Cyclonus/Tailgate
Fandom: Transformers
AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9723002

Summary: Cyclonus’ function is a taxing, unrewarding, and draining ordeal. His entire function has been working towards alt-mode exemption, or a different escape from serving under a mad tyrant. The Senate sends him a gift to try and keep him complacent; he gets to build his own dream-mech. A build-order Conjunx, tailored to his every wish.

Galvatron intercepts it, and Cyclonus is left with the aftermath.

-

From the very first moment that Cyclonus had powered up, he had been exposed to the caprices of his superior.

Officially, his squadron had been built to become Galvatron’s most trusted and valued team of warriors – the backstrut to his army. A great gift of elite newsparks, ready to be groomed and formed into whatever Galvatron desired.
Unofficially, the council hoped that one of the newsparks would learn to withstand Galvatron’s everchanging moods and violent tendencies so that there was a soldier that could handle the more sensitive documents.

Their plan B, Cyclonus suspected, had been a quiet assassination during Galvatron’s recharge.

If you asked Cyclonus, it wasn’t yet too late to set that plan into motion. Better late than never, after all. Maybe then he would finally have a full recharge cycle without interruptions.
He stared up at the ceiling of his suite, and cursed the ringing from his console.

He grunted as he stepped off his berth, and he had to swallow a wave anger as one of the recharge cables snagged on a plate of armour. His console was still insistently ringing, and Cyclonus clenched his jaws together so that they didn’t show just how tired he was.
It would be a mistake not to pick up. Even if Scourge often took his duties during Cyclonus’ recharge, Galvatron would be enraged if Cyclonus didn’t respond to his every beck and call.

He accepted the call, and watched the screen flicker through security checks. Surprisingly enough, the contact information was not Galvatron’s – but… a commercial number? How odd.

“Hello, am I in contact with Commander Cyclonus of Tetrahex military? Hi!” A mech on the other side of the screen greeted him, sitting primly behind a desk that looked like it had never been used for actual office work.
The logo at the front of the desk was from one of the factories respondible for harvesting sparks and building frames. A newspark factory. Strangely enough, it did not appear to be a factory that specialised in warbuilds, or even any type of military-fit mech at all.

“…Hello.” Cyclonus said. He couldn’t remember contacting this factory – perhaps Galvatron had commissioned something from them without his knowing. Or, Primus forbid, he had been woken up in the middle of his recharge for an ad . “How did you access this number? This is an encrypted frequency.”

The mech on the other side of the camera blinked, clearly taken aback. “I’m sorry sir! This was the encryption that was filled into the contact-forms in your specifications document.”

“What kind of document.” If there was anything that Cyclonus knew, it was that documents and signatures were life’s worst traps. Especially ones that showed up out of nowhere.

“Your specially constructed-for-you conjunx enduera?” The mech on the other side had lost much of his confidence. “We- I called you to let you know that it’s been finished and shipped to you. You had some… unique choices, I should say, and I wanted to let you know we were able to fulfil them regardless of some minor issues.”

Cyclonus was dumbstruck. Of all the things to… – a mail-order Conjunx?!

He had heard of this practice, of course. In richer circles, people occasionally contacted a specialised bureau that would allow them to construct the mech of their dreams. Custom designs, custom optic-colours, custom personality cores, custom SPARKS even!
Cyclonus found it a distasteful affair – mostly because of the name that had been given to it. A Conjunx was not someone you bought, and modified to suit your tastes. Most likely, the name ‘disposable frag toy’didn’t sound quite as glamorous and expensive.

There was only one bureau on all of Cybertron that handled mail-order mecha, simply for how outrageously expensive it was.
One had to buy a spark from one of the hot spots, buy a frame design or commission a team of artists to make one, pick out bits of programming and personality traits - … And of course, a certified alt-mode exemption. Even though it could be argued that being someone’s personal shareware was a function, the laws said otherwise.

“I never ordered a conjunx.” Cyclonus said, and there was a flash of cold fear as he thought about the cost of the service. Was this some elaborate scam?! “Where did you send it to! I want you to cancel it!”

“Military base Tetrahex, sir!” The mech scrambled to reply. “It has been packaged in such a way that it can only be opened by you, or by an employee in case there was a defect. I- I am afraid I cannot cancel it- Did - was it not you who filled in the forms?”

“No. I have no credits for these kinds of luxuries!” Cyclonus replied, even as he checked into his credits account. It was an insane relief to find his funds still intact. The numbers ticked high for a mech of his caste and position, but he was still saving up for caste-exemption. A build-order conjunx would easily be ten times as much. “I never purchased a build-order conjunx. Show me the documents.”

“Yes sir!” The mech on the other side nodded quickly, and he lifted another datapad to his face. “It says right here that it was all paid for in advance by the Council. With, and I quote: “…a maximum credit use of 10.000.000, to be distributed by the receiver of the contract. Any unused credit will return to Council accounts.””

“The Council-?” Cyclonus blinked. Well, that explained. It wouldn’t be the first gift that he’d been given by the Council, but they had never gifted him something so expensive, nor had they ever failed to contact him just to have him repeat over and over how grateful and happy he was with his new gift. “The Council paid for everything.” Cyclonus mumbled, more to himself than to the mech on the other side of the screen.

“The frame, spark, and personality you requested were all paid for, yes. I will forward the necessary papers so you can see for yourself.” The factory mech said, and his fingers began to skitter over his console. His easy sales-mecha persona was starting to come back up, now that he could continue his usual spiel.“It was a surprisingly difficult mech to assemble, but we really hope to have pleased you, sir. We hope that your custom order Conjunx will bring you a lifetime of joy! I’m here to help answer any questions you might have about your custom built-”
Cyclonus tuned the mech out, and quickly skimmed the document that the mech had forwarded. Indeed, everything was official. The right marks and ecryptions were in all the right places, and every bills had been paid - to the last shanix.

“- countless other options still available to you! There are still plenty of funds allotted for you to mod your conjunx in any way that you’d like. We offer a great range of interface mods, from enhanced silicone structures to additional ‘parts’, to-”

“Thank you.” Cyclonus interrupted the mech. “But I have urgent business to attend to. Please do not call this frequency again.”

“Oh, I-!”

The vidscreen blinked off, and Cyclonus took a moment to savor the silence before he closed his optics and let his head roll back. Time for yet another call to the Senate. Better get it over with right now, as opposed to adding it to his ever growing list.

He opened his most used contacts, and let his commlink dial directly to Senator Shockwave’s personal line. He needed the mech’s service and advice so often that they had long since decided to leave out Shockwave’s secretary.
“Ah. Hello Commander Cyclonus.” Senator Shockwave practically sighed his greeting, and Cyclonus was tempted to do the same. “Is there a problem with lord Galvatron?”

When wasn’t there a problem with lord Galvatron? Cyclonus didn’t have the luxury of making a simple house call, unless it was to warn someone of what Galvatron was ABOUT to do. “Just now I got a call from a mech- factory. The service mech on the other side of the line told me that my custom-built mech was finished, and that the Council has paid for it.”

“What-? Oh! That is quite fast!” Senator Shockwave’s exhaustion lifted, and his optics seemed to light up as he looked into the camera. “I hadn’t expected to hear back from you so soon, or at all, really. I am happy to hear that it is not a crisis for once.”

“I suppose that means it is not a scam then.” Cyclonus replied dryly.

“It is all fully legal.” The Senator said jovially. “I know how much your work weighs on you, so I lobbyed for a fitting reward to be sent to you! I will say that I’ve been very curious as to what kind of frame you’d pick – though I wish I could have helped you with selecting a paintjob… It didn’t take you very long to decide on what you wanted if it is already being shipped!”

“Actually,” Cyclonus growled. “I was unaware that this gift had been sent to me, up until a few moments ago. I never received a form. Or a confirmation of any order.”

“You didn’t know we sent?…” Shockwave blinked slowly. “…Something must have gone wrong-… Your personal commlink is MIL.C-SND-987.08764.0993, isn’t it?”

It was his military commlink. Cyclonus offlined his optics again, and forcefully kept his venting slow and deep.
“No. It is my military commlink code.”

Senator Shockwave furrowed his brows, the lighting playing off his polished faceplate. “I -… Forgive me if this is an ignorant question, but isn’t that much the same as your personal frequency?”

“Lord Galvatron’s senses are honed to sense any and all threats of betrayal.” Cyclonus replied stiffly. He would not swear, but the name of his commander served as a curse in itself. “Loyal as I might be, I am not excluded from his inspections.”

“He accesses your military commlink!?” Senator Shockwave said. He looked truly surprised, though it could have been an act. Shockwave was one of the nicer Senate-dwellers, but he was just as sly and slimy as his fellows.

“You cannot tell me you are surprised, Senator.”

“…I suppose I should have expected that he would do something like that, but surely he wouldn’t try to take your reward as his own…?”

Cyclonus felt like his silence was enough of an answer.

The Senator sighed, and brought up a hand to massage his short filials. “I am very sorry about this, Cyclonus. I’ll do what I can, but I suspect that the Senate will be unwilling to compensate for your lost gift. It was… well, let’s just say that we meant for this gift to be extraordinary, and it had a price to match. I will make sure you are still rewarded for your service.”

“You know what I wish for the most.” Cyclonus replied.

“Yes, yes I know.” Shockwave murmured. “And you will have your alt-mode exemption, as soon as it is possible.”

Cyclonus might have put more faith into that answer, if it hadn’t been given to him so many times before. The only one he trusted to help him with his future was himself. “Thank you for your time, Senator, but I have a recharge cycle to finish.”

Senator Shockwave heaved a sigh on the other side of the screen. He did not mention the time of day. Most mecha were wide awake at this time, but Galvatron kept odd schedules. “Of course. Please contact me again if there’s anything I can do. You are very overdue for a gift, after all your dedicated service.”

Cyclonus could not agree more, but he kept his lips pressed together. The senate’s gratitude was about as valuable as a gilded trophy. If they truly wanted to reward him, they would allow him to leave the military and take up a different function.
As kind as Senator Shockwave was, even he didn’t feel much for allowing Cyclonus his freedom. Galvatron was hard to control, and Cyclonus was one of the few mecha that could do it.

Galvatron’s power was nothing to underestimate. If he wanted to, he could destroy entire planets, and decimate star systems. He had a talent for destruction He was a terrific double edged blade, and Cyclonus had been handed the honour of trying to wield it without cutting off his own hands..

“I will keep that in mind.” He replied stiffly. Once he had his alt-mode exemption, he would milk them for favours for all that they were worth.

He ended the video call, and marched back to his berth, lying down with as much spite as his pride allowed him.

Of all the rewards they could have chosen, they picked a live interface toy. As if that could convince him to keep his job as Galvatron’s damage control! As if it wouldn’t be a potential source for Galvatron’s jealousy, and another burden on his day-to-day life!

Cyclonus slowed down his vents and kept himself perfectly still and relaxed on his berth. There was no reason to get needlessly angry. Everything had turned out for the better.
His ‘gift’ had been intercepted by Galvatron, and it was no longer Cyclonus’ responsibility. Hopefully it would keep Galvatron busy for a while so that Cyclonus would be able to get some work done without frantically asserting damage control behind his Lord’s aft.

Yes. It was a blessing that this ‘gift’ had made it to Galvatron’s hands instead of his own. Very unfortunate to the bot in question, most assuredly, but useful for Cyclonus.

Cyclonus turned onto his side, and searched for the recharge cables of his berth.

What a cruel fate for a mech; harvested from the fertile fields of Cybertron, already sold to someone before the sentio metallico had formed, surgically manipulated to satisfy someone’s bodily preferences… And then dumped with a mech like Galvatron!

Cyclonus shuddered, and fit the last of his recharge cables into place. He could only be grateful that he had been spared that fate.

In the days following the vidcall, Cyclonus’s life went on as it always had. Galvatron made no mention of the build-order mech, and Cyclonus did not mind that at all. The less he heard about Galvatron’s inclinations, the better.

It was at the end of a long, unplanned shift, that Cyclonus found a large pristine box blocking the doorway to his habsuite. Minimalistic, tasteful, and decorated with thin lines of ununtrium, there was no doubt that it contained something obscenely lavish.
Cyclonus offlined his optics, took a long invent, and initiated his commlink to Galvatron.

“What is it!” Galvatron growled on the other side of the line. “I am busy !”

“My excuses, Lord Galvatron, but I believe a package for you has been mis-delivered to my habsuite.” Cyclonus replied.

“A package?” Galvatron’s answered. His inflection immediately changed from annoyance to excitement. “How typical – the servants of this world are so lazy and stupid – misdelivery! What is it!”

“A mail-order Conjunx, my Lord.” – So please just order me to bring it to you so I can forget about all of this and take a rest. Cyclonus added mentally.

“A-… Oh. That thing.” Galvatron said. Obvious disappointment at the lack of a gift and disgust sounded through in his voice. “Such filth isn’t for me.”

Cyclonus shuttered his optics off, and then on again. “…What is its purpose then, my Lord?”

“Why, it’s yours of course.” Galvatron said, and Cyclonus could practically taste the condescending smile in his voice.“A fitting reward for your great service.”

“I see.” Cyclonus knew that Galvatron couldn’t see his face, but he still angled his wings down, and kept his optics to the floor. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I made sure it would be useful beyond just acting as a warm hole and a spike, but of course, it is capable of interface.” Galvatron said. “Why mecha would desire something like that is beyond me, but do enjoy it. ”

“Of course. Thank you, my lord.” Cyclonus said.

“Hm, yes.” Galvatron said distractedly. Sometimes he played games while on the comms – sometimes he was in the middle of a meeting. Judging by the lack of nervous background chatter, Cyclonus guessed that it was the former.
“Do keep the thing busy. I don’t want to see it lazing around and fuelling on our energon supplies. It’s your responsibility to keep it in check, am I clear?!”

“Yes, Lord Galvatron.” Cyclonus replied dully.

“Good.” Galvatron said, and the commlink cut off.

Cyclonus offlined his optics, and took a slow invent. He was tired. Another duty was packaged up inside of that box, and he barely knew if it was going to be anything he could enjoy. Cyclonus’ tastes were specific in that he did not desire intercourse with mechanisms he didn’t know.
Knowing Galvatron, he was using this ‘conjunx’ as a creative insult.

Out of duty rather than excitement, Cyclonus dragged the box into of his habsuite.

The datapad on top was an informational packet. A bit of a misnomer in Cyclonus’ opinion, as most of it was about the benefits of a build-order Conjunx, and how absolutely amazing their brand-company was.
There was a list of additional mods that could be installed, a giftcard to get a discount on his ‘next purchase’, a ‘suggested names’ folder… and of course, a single page that contained all the more important specs, model-details, legalities and warranties, written in the tiniest font that Cyberton had to offer. Of course.

Cyclonus skimmed through the ‘first onlining’ instructions, and then put the datapad away. Reluctantly he hooked his claws into the gaps on the sides, and triggered the unlocking sequence. The box whirred, and dramatic puffs of steam began to flow from the opening panels. Smooth and satisfying, the packaging folded open, small lights initialising to further draw attention to the polished form lying inside of a velvet cushioned inside.

… It was a waste-disposal groundframe. A disposable.

Cyclonus stared. There was nothing special about the bot in front of him. Cyclonus must have seen this same featureless face a thousand times on the street. A plain visor, with a white metal cap over a the rudimentary fuel-intake. No nasal ridge, no custom colours or designs – it wasn’t even a flyer!
The body was no better. It had been posed to look enticing and to show off the shiny panelling, but it looked laughable on the thick little bot. The grounder’s tires were bulky and had thick profiles to help traverse the garbage dumps, and the mech’s seams were filled with rubber to keep trash and filth out. The words “WASTE DISPOSAL” were proudly etched into the mech’s arm.

The only thing that separated this mech from a million others of exact same build was the quality of his metal. At the very least, the factory had opted to use high-quality metals instead of the molten slag that other disposables were made from.

Cyclonus’s jaws were clenched tightly together. Well, that explained what Galvatron had meant when he’d said that the mech would be useful.
Galvatron had quite the pronounced opinion on cleanliness and soldiers. Where any sane commander would require soldiers to clean their own base and berth, Galvatron thought that all cleaning had to be done by cleaning drones and disposables. It was still an issue that cropped up whenever Galvatron was given the opportunity to speak to the Senate, but they had never buckled.

Soldiers had nothing to do during peacetime, so why not have them perform the basic upkeep for their own weaponry, medibay, launchpads and barracks? Military drills could only fill up so much time of the day…
Apparently this was how Galvatron intended to rebel.

The box chimed, and a singular gleaming button was unveiled. On top of it, beautiful gleaming letters shone up at Cyclonus.

~‘Initiate your new life’~

Cyclonus was sure it was meant to be taken in a positive manner. He pressed the button.

The box whirred, and there were soft clicks and clacks as vital parts were slotted into place. Cyclonus could even hear the pressurised gurgle of energon being injected into the frame, and the electric whine as everything booted for the first time.

The blue visor flickered to life, and Cyclonus stood by as the newspark began to move. Small testing movements began in the tips of its fingerjoints, ended in the soft roll of its head.
The bot’s movements were jittery, and its – his? - visor flickered through all data packets that had been installed into it’s cortex before sendoff.

Cyclonus had no idea what had been installed on the bot. There had to be some options there – mods to create a more desired personality, or to eliminate any need to teaching, but he hadn’t checked if they had been installed on this bot.
It wasn’t a far fetched idea that the bot’s programs would match up with its frame. A waste disposal drone was, after all, completely worthless unless it knew how to function.

“I-….” The little bot still seemed disoriented, and he looked around like he was completely lost before finally addressing Cyclonus. “Is is this the waste disposal plant? S-sir?”

“No.” Cyclonus responded. “This is military base Iacon.”

“Oh.” A silence fell between them as the disposable took in the new information and situation. “…Is… is this where I’m supposed to work then? My files say that I’m supposed to work at… um – Iacon waste disposal centre. I – are you my supervisor?”

Had there really been no other info-packets installed on him? Nothing outside of what he’d need for his function?

Cyclonus took in a deep breath, and let it flow out of his vents. “I suppose I am.” He replied. It wasn’t the drone’s fault that he had ended up here, intended as a gift and turned into a burden. If Cyclonus was in luck, the little bot would turn out to be obedient.
Cyclonus bent forward, and undid the last few restraints that were keeping the mech’s legs inside of his packaging.

The waste disposal drone almost tripped over his own pedes when he tried stepping out of his box, and CYclonus watched him stumble around as he tried to find his balance.
“Waste disposal Unit GT-5598 is ready to be assigned to a squadron and receive orders Sir!”

“What do you need in order to perform your function?” Cyclonus said.

The bot’s visor flickered slightly as he accessed his information packets. “Ah- er, a task list, a recharge-refuel berth, and the location of cleaning item storage rooms.”

It was do-able. Cyclonus supposed that waste drones wouldn’t be so plentiful if they were a chore to maintain. The only nuisance was having to assign it a room. Undoubtedly Galvatron would not want a berth to be occupied by a cleaner drone, so maybe Cyclonus would stick a recharge cable in his closet and keep the little bot there. It would have to work.

He began setting up a list of tasks for the small mech, purposely placing his own chores at the top of the priority list. Galvatron had mentioned that he could do with his ‘present’ as he pleased, and Cyclonus was going to use the disposable for his own gain for as long as possible.

Summary: After some time out of the ice, Skyfire leaves the war and the Autbots behind. As he is trying to cope with the loss of his friend, partner, and old life, he encounters Starscream at his desk. …Wasn’t he dead though?

–> Read on AO3 <–

When Skyfire saw Starscream standing at his desk, he thinks he’s had too much Energex. It would not be the first time he’d drank more than he’d intended to, but he had never straight-up hallucinated.

Starscream didn’t acknowledge him, busy as he was trying to flip to the next entry on Skyfire’s personal datapad. His hands were phasing through the controls, and he was scowling at the thing in a manner that suggests he would toss the datapad out of a viewing port if he could touch it.
Skyfire had seen Starscream’s coronation, where he announced himself as the new leader of the Decepticons. It had been broadcasted on any and all Cybertronian frequencies through the galaxy, in glorious detail. In the first few moments after Starscream’s live death, Skyfire had wondered if there was enough of Starscream left to have a funeral for.

Maybe that should have been the first sign that his mental state was taking a nosedive. Or maybe he ws still suffering from all those millions of years frozen in ice, and the effects were only now showing up.

“Starscream? …” He said breathlessly.

Starscream jolted, and it was a good thing he phased through whatever he touched or all of Skyfire’s desktop would have ended up on the floor. For a moment, they simply looked at each other in silence. Skyfire in a pained hope, and Starscream in-… excuberation?

“You can see me?!” Starscream yelled.

He was loud – far louder than Skyfire would have expected him to be as a hallucination. He’d been expecting something more morose and depressing, with crying and guilt tripping, but this Starscream was just as lively as ever, his wings angling through a wide array of emotions as he waved his hand towards Skyfire’s face.
“How many fingers am I holding up?!”

“I- … All of them?” Skyfire reached out to grab Starscream’s hands by habit, as he used to whenever Starscream got a little too physical in a discussion, but his fingers slipped right through.

Starscream did not look bothered. “I knew it! I knew it!” He crowed. “It wouldn’t have made sense otherwise! Yes! This changes everything, oh yes-!”

“Starscream-…” Skyfire reset his optics, watching as Starscream celebrated. “How are you here? Aren’t you…You’re dead?”

“ Was being the keyword in that sentebce.” Starscream replied. “I didn’t STAY dead, as you can see, and that’s what matters the most. Well, actually, it matters a lot more that you can see, because surviving death when you cannot interact with the world is terrible. I would know!”

Skyfire shook his head incredulously. “I-…How could you come back from death ? You-… There was a breeze and your frame literally fell apart and blew away. ”

“Well, I just woke up like this.” Starscream replied flippantly. “I assumed that my lust for vengeance allowed me to return so I could haunt Galvatron, but it turned out he couldn’t see me. The best I could do was disrupt the signals to his entertainment hub, and that got old very quickly. I then attempted to communicate with the living, with similar underwhelming results. ‘Commlink acting weird …’ You’d think a scientist like Wheeljack would figure something out that someone is trying to communicate from beyond the Allspark!”

Skyfire had nothing much to say. Just as when he’d watched Starscream die, it seemed that his emotions were on break, waiting to swoop right back into the fray as soon as the shock died down.

“And don’t bother going to see any of those ‘mediums’. I visited Dirge, and then a depressingly long list of filthy little organics, and none of them could hear a single word that I said!” Starscream was getting agitated just thinking about it, judging by the way his wings snapped up. “But, all of that is in the past, because now, I know that I am real, and that I can actually do something with all the things I’ve seen and heard in this state!”

“Oh. I could see that being… frustrating.” Skyfire nodded. All senses other than his optics and his audials were reporting that there was, in fact, nobody in front of him.

“You have no idea.” Starscream complained. “I have enough dirty secrets in my brainmodule to topple a government, and that is barely an exaggeration. All I need is someone to help me bring this information into the world, in a fitting manner!”
Starscream’s optics were piercing and red, and they held Skyfire’s gaze long enough that Skyfire could begin to see through him and into the room behind him. Skyfire had many memories that featured that very same look; Starscream’s patented look of persuasion.

“… It’s for a better world too, before you get upset at me for my ambition.”

“… You have to understand that I’m not sure you are real right now.” Skyfire said in a measured tone. “I was buried in ice for a few million years, lived through some war, avoided the doctor, and I think I drank a little too much energon.”

Starscream blinked. “I-? … Do we really have to go through that!? There are things to DO! Urgent things!”

“… If you are the real Starscream, you would agree that it is a bad idea to listen to random hallucinations.” Skyfire replied.

“Fine.” Starscream bit back. “I will give you proof . What is the name of the current Prime?”

What an odd question. The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? “Optimus Prime?”

Starscream smirked. “No. Not anymore. He got someone to succeed him. Want to take a guess who that was?”

“…Ultra Magnus? Magnius Prime?” Skyfire could tell he was wrong the moment he said it, if only because Starscream’s grin grew two ticks wider.

“Wrong!” Starscream crowed. “The new Prime is a young mech hailing from Nyon. A racing frame, raised on a neutral colony. I was a witness to his ceremony, where he became a Prime by the simple act of trying to hand the Matrix to Ultra Magnus. Upon becoming the spiritual leader of our race, his first acts as Prime was to mortally wound himself so he could gain advice from the Matrix.”

“…This has to be something I am hallucinating.” Skyfire said. “He-… the Matrix wouldn’t let a Prime do something like that… Is Optimus really dead-?”

“Go ahead and call Bumblebee. He was there to see it happen.” Starscream continued. “Oh! Maybe ask Arcee or Kup instead, they were both there when ‘Hot Rod’ arose to Primehood.”

“…”

“And I’ll say that his name fit his personality very well. He was apparently a berth-hopper before Primehood.” Starscream smirked. “Verrry kinky, judging by what I found in his private quarters. I could tell you his commlink number and you can embarrass him by asking him about that fake spike he keeps under his berth.”

“Okay – stop, just… Give me a moment.” Skyfire squeezed his optics shut, and stroked the transformation lines on his helm. It felt like his head was shrinking around his brain module. “I’ll call someone on Cybertron.”
Starscream leaned against something invisible, and made a ‘hurry up’ motion with his hands.

Skyfire looked through his commlink contacts, scanning for Bumblebee’s name in between old pre-war contacts. With the distance between himself and Cybertron, it took a few moments for the call to connect, and the first few glyphs spoken were garbled by static.

//Uh, Hello, Skyfire?// Bumblebee said. //I wasn’t expecting you to call, after you left. Without saying anything to anyone, or leaving a message…. What’s up?//

“Hello Bumblebee.” Skyfire said. For a moment, he felt compelled “I’m calling to confirm a rumour; is it true that a new Prime has been chosen?”

//I… Where did you hear that?//

“That news is travelling far faster than the Autobots think it is.” Starscream said, impatiently tapping a foot a few inches above the floor. “The Junkions really enjoy broadcasting whatever gossip they can get their hands on, and Cybertronian gossip is very sought after. Lately even more so, with the Quintessons searching for Cybertron-”

“Starscream – I am in a call!” Skyfire stage whispered, trying to keep his voice low enough so that his commlink wouldn’t pick it up.

// Skyfire? Are you still there? //

“Oh! Yes, sorry Bumblebee. I was-… It was on the news. Just, please tell me who the new Prime is.”

//Okay, that’s good. Are you okay? Nobody has heard from you, and the war is officially over, so you could come back to Cybertron and help to rebuild it.//

Skyfire offlined his optics. “I just want to know who the Prime is, Bumblebee. Before I do anything else. Just to be sure I’ll be of any help, you know?”

//O-kayy? Well, you probably know Ultra Magnus was next in line, but he’s not the Prime. Someone grabbed the Matrix to hand it over, and the Matrix chose him. His name is Rodimus Prime. //

Skyfire’s optic’s met Starscreams. “…. Is that derived from ‘Hot Rod’ ?”

// How did you know that? // Bumblebee asked quickly. //Who told you?!//

“I told you, didn’t I?” Starscream said with a smirk. “Is there anything else you want to confirm, or can we talk business now?”

Skyfire didn’t answer him, still too busy staring at a most-likely-real Starscream apparition. Back from the dead to meddle in politics of all things.
In his spark, he could feel the telltale hiccups that meant his shock was coming to an end. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling just yet, but it wouldn’t be very long.

//He’s- well, I haven’t been around him too much, but he’s very different from Optimus.// Bumblebee continued to chat in Skyfire’s commlink, oblivious to SKyfire’s shifting attention. //I think it could be good. A new Prime for a new time, you know? Jazz seems to like him. You could meet him, if you came to Cybertron to meet him. //

“Yes. I will have to think about that.” Skyfire said. He didn’t take his eyes off Starscream for a moment. “I have things to do, Bumblebee, if you’ll excuse me. Good orn.”

//Um, alright? Good or-//

He closed the commlink connection to Cybertron before Bumblebee finished speaking, and focused his attention on Starscream.

“You. Are real.”

“Yes, I do believe we proved this now.” Starscream replied.

“You came back from the dead, from being vaporised into fragments so small that nobody could even find me a vail full for a proper burial … And the first thing you do when you come back and talk to me, is to try to take part in politics ? Together with me?” Skyfire spoke slowly to let the meaning of his words sink in for the both of them.

“… Yes.” Starscream said, not a trace of shame or guilt in his face.

Skyfire closed his optics. Underneath the joy of seeing his friend again, and the knowledge that a second betrayal would win nothing for Starscream, that first betrayal still burned.
Starscream was not a mechanism of easy apologies. The Starscream that Skyfire had known well and intimately, had preferred to tell himself a story on why his choices were the correct ones instead of stooping to an apology.

“… Will you help me?” Starscream prompted him. “Skyfire?”

There were whispers in the back of Skyfire’s helm that sounded like Autobot voices. In the madhouse that was the future, Starscream’s name had become synonymous with betrayal and scheming.

Skyfire scrutinised how he felt, and let it settle in his frame. Despite the anger, the betrayal, and the grief Skyfire refused to believe that Starscream had become that bad. If that meant he had to get burned a second time, then so be it.

“Yes, Starscream. I’ll help you, as much as I’ve ever helped you.” He replied with sincerity. He would have grabbed a hold of Starscream’s hand, had it been solid, and judging from the way Starscream held his hand outstretched, he would not have minded.

“Yes! Yes! I will make you a great figure of power! We will save Cybertron together-…” Starscream’s smile was radiant and triumphant in answer to Skyfire’s reply, until a sudden realisation washed it down. “… I am suddenly reminded of all the previous times you helped me, and I realise that this might not be as much of a triumph as I was thinking.” His voice was not without humour, though it sounded a little more bitter than it should have. “At least half of our cooperative projects were compromises, if not more.”

Skyfire felt a smile for the first time in cycles. “You used to say that you liked my…what did you call it? ‘Loyalty to myself?’ ”

“Stubbornness.” Starscream replied. “Stubbornness was the word I used, I’m fairly sure.”

“My memory is fresher.” Skyfire quipped back. “And you were not much better, especially not when we first started working together! The amount of times you said ‘yes’ to my faceplate and did ‘no’ behind my back… You have gotten back into that habit, haven’t you?”

Starscream flicked a wing dismissively. “I unlearned it once, I’ll unlearn it again. It will help a great deal to know that your preferred method of payback involves pouting rather than petty violence.”

“…. Well. I am sure we’ll be able to find a middle road in what needs to be done.” Skyfire said. He was not thinking of ruling an empire with a spectral Starscream at his side. Rather, he imagined Starscream, back in a functioning body, together with him.
If he had to play some politics to keep Cybertron functional enough to make that an option, he would help Starscream.

“Well then.” Starscream said. He sat back and flicked his wings to get comfortable. “You best get something to take notes, because there is actually a lot I need to fill you in on before we can get planning.”

Skyfire grabbed a datapad from the floor, and wiped it clean. He doubted that its info would be useful in the short term. “Lay it on me.”

BREAK

It never quite became clear how Skyfire came to infamy. Sure, mecha can tell you why everyone looks over their shoulder for his spies, or why his advice is more sought after than pre-war vintage Energex, but nobody can tell you how he did it.
Mecha that knew him from the war, a handful of Autobots, can only say that he was a withdrawn and quiet mech. More suited for transport and reports than for politics or battle.

He hadn’t been clairvoyant back then, or the Autobots would have won the war before the Quintessons had even begun their invasion plans.
He hadn’t been able to predict the motivations and intentions of the other players on the political playing field, nor had he seemed remotely interested. He hadn’t been able to produce top-secret information as a side-thought, or he’d chosen to keep it all to himself.

After Skyfire had been dug from the ice of Earth to partake in the war, he’d taken a short break. For a few decacycles, Skyfire had withdrawn from any and all Cybertronian ongoings. When he came back, he slowly but surely oozed his way to the upper command. Not as an officer or a recognised civilian rank, but as the mech that always seemed to know when to show up, and what to say to who.

The only little flaw about him, was that he talked to someone when he was alone. He argued with a mech nobody could detect, and had an unhealthy interest in inert dolls or unsparked shells.
Of course, this meant that any theories about Skyfire’s sudden change in interest and capability were accompanied by a plethora of ghost stories. Odd tellings of old lovers, Unicron’s return, sparkeaters, and other horrors.

So, nobody truly knows how Skyfire senses coups, or how he picks his enemies. All they know is that, no matter how much he argues with a non-excisting voice, he always comes out on top.

“…You came back from the dead, from being vaporised into fragments so small that nobody could even find me a vail full for a proper burial, and what I am hearing… Is that you came back, to take part in <em> politics </em>?!” Skyfire spoke slowly to let the meaning of his words sink in for the both of them.

Starscream offered no defence or argument, outside of a carefully neutral shrug of his wings.

“… Were you always like this?” Skyfire said.

The Acid that rains down on Cybertron is damaging to Cybertronians, yes? It bites away at their paint or paint nanites, and when it gets under the armour it can de-grease the important greasy bits and damage any silicone or rubber wires.
It destroys tires, damages fragile sensory components, eliminates nanites, and it probably does unspeakable things to the energon in a mech’s frame.

What does this mean for the Cybertronian buildings?

Obviously, they are built to resist these acid rains. Windows and wall materials are capable of withstanding acid. But it would mean that any and all decoration would peel or slough off.

Imagine looking at a Cybertronian city on the horizon, when acid rain begins falling. And slowly but surely, all the colours of the buildings drain away, leaving only a gleaming grey surface.
After an acid storm the cities are quiet, as everyone waits for the acid to drain and for the disposables to get rid of any lingering pools.

I imagine that there are nooks and crannies built into every structure. Small sheltered places were nanites can bunch together and survive the onslaught of rain. After it has been dry and unclouded for long enough, the colour spreads back out over the city and all of its buildings.
And in the Dead End, where the buildings do not have nanite shelters, or even any nanites to speak of - the acid rain washes away the graffiti. Creating a new blank slate for streetmecha to paint.

Whenever there is a downpour and the nanites are taking shelter… there is also a mech in anti-corrosive gel trying to steal them away.
The nanites bunch and knot into a big ball of safety, where just a single good whack can land every single one of them into a bucket - much like how a beekeeper knocks a beehive from a branch.

Mostly, it is done for bragging rights - stealing a bucket of nanites from an important building or memorial is not very profitable. Sometimes it is used by mecha in the dead end to create souvenirs and baubles made with authentic pieces of the memorial, but oftentimes it is cheaper to simply bulk buy cheap nanites and lie about their origin.
To steal all the paint of a building would require more buckets and anti-acid gel than any mech would want to spend on it!

@harutemu sent me this wonderful little post about the introduction of a new bee Queen to a hive, and of course a bunny came into being!

Just imagine a poor Vehicon - sloppily operated on and then stuffed into a cage. There is no door to the cage, only a large hard energon-wall to protect him from the raging Insecticons on the other side.

Poor mech is springing a leak as they try to rip him apart through the bars, apparently enraged by whatever Shockwave has installed inside of him. They are howling and throwing their weight against the cage - … and they are gnawing and clawing their way through the energon goodie.

It takes a while, of course, but not long enough to finish the five stages of grief. By the time our poor vehicon is begging towards anyone willing to listen, the energon goodie breaks apart, and an Insecticon barges inside to rip him to shreds and-….

…-groom him?

Still terrified out of his mind, the vehicon is deftly passed on from Insecticon to Insecticon until they find him a nice and warm spot in the hive, well-guarded by the strongest warriors.

Observing through video footage, Shockwave marks the fourth experiment as a success. Now that he knows that the device works, if given enough time to tune to the frequency of the Insecticons, he can start working on a prototype that will function without the cage.

When it comes to fanfiction, oftentimes the Spark is the most important aspect of a Transformer’s existence. Without it, they would die. It is insinuated to be the source of a Cybertronian’s sentience/sapience/intelligence, and it is often compared to the human Soul.

At the same time, there’s been instances of reprogramming ( in both fic and canon ) which forever altered the mech in question. The destruction of a brainmodule has been shown to be almost the same as death.
Rung, with his brainmodule having gone through some trauma, was completely unresponsive and near comatose. Nautica held onto Skids’ brain module, in the hopes that his spark could be rekindled in some way.

So, even though the details are never explained in canon ( how wonderful, plenty of room for headcanoning!) we know that the brainmodule is at least equal to the spark in importance.

My personal headcanon, is that the spark is what generates emotion, attachments, and feelings. And that the Brainmodule is necessary to interpret the signals of the spark, and to translate outside events to signals that the spark can understand.
They work in tandem, and develop set patterns and ‘shortcuts’ so as to say, as the Cybertronian grows older and has more life experience.

With that thought in mind, I wondered… What would happen if the sparks were swapped, but the brainmodules were not?

Say, perhaps, a Pre-War Jazz and Prowl?

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has marked as possibly inappropriate for anyone under the age of 18. )

""Your recent Insecticons writing has an excellent idea and creative turn. I can see that happening in Shockwave's experiments. Although, I am curious to know, what if the chosen "queen" (vehicon) starts to show signs of mutations?"" (Asked by anon on tumblr)

Ohoo, a very interesting prospect!

It is not a stretch to think that close contact with Insecticons could lead to some odd mutations - it was in fact a planned feature of my ‘A new Queen’ story.

It is a personal headcanon of mine that in a world where transformers can naturally procreate, their nanites are capable of heavy modifications to the natural frame over time. It would also be an explanation as to how a Cybertronian could ‘grow’ to a different alt mode, as opposed to getting surgery to have necessary parts and then scanning the relevant vehicle. It is a simple matter of reprogramming the nanites in the frame, so that instead of doing upkeep on the frame, they start reforming in the frame.

It would probably take a while for mutations to happen to our vehicon. A lot of time spent sharing food, living space and habits with the Insecticons, but our Vehicon friend does not have the luxury of being left alone.
Shockwave is specifially creating a control module for Megatron to use so he can control the Insecticons. I doubt that Megatron would like sharing his berth with a hive full of Insecticons and being groomed and fed, so the project is far from over.

The mutations in question would depend on the nanites fed to the Queen vehicon. If all was left up to ‘nature’, than a focus would be put on the vehicon’s gestational chamber and reproduction capabilities. Perhaps with some added spikes and an ability to eat raw energon with small mandibles ;)

Unicron and Primus have, as far as I am aware, been part of the Transformers canon since G, and in that time they have done very little.
That is to say, Unicron was busy eating people and doing generally evil stuff, while Primus was left as an ambiguous and interpretable figure who never interfered or was given a voice/role.

I kinda set them aside as ‘the weak mandatory unexplored Cybertron religion’, until a certain episode in TFP. The episode that revealed Earth to be Unicron; ‘One shall rise’.

To me, this explained so many things. The unexplainable amount of Cybertronian relics, the presence of energon, and perhaps most importantly the similarities between humans and Cybertronians.
It offered a vague hint as to why the humans look so similar to the Cybertronians, and why they have so much in common; at the root they are connected.

Then I got to thinking a little more about this. If I wanted this headcanon to work, it would have to make sense that humans sprouted from Unicron, even though humans are not inherently evil. And Cybertronians are not inherently good!
So I started to look at the other things that set Primus and Unicron apart from each other. Primus is inert, Unicron is active. Primus is order and peace, Unicron is chaos and war. Primus is robotic and Unicron is organic.

It brought to mind a cycle. Order, after all, is only good as long as it is balanced with Chaos. Too much order inhibits growth and keeps change from happening. The same happens with Chaos- if there are too many changes and too much rapid growth, nothing will be able to last more than a short moment before being replaced.

So, what if instead of Unicron being evil, and Primus being good, the two gods cycle back and forth between Chaos and Order?
We would be seeing the late stage of Primus’ transformation - his order and stillness forcing all the living creatures in and on him into death until nothing is left to take.

In contrary, Unicron is only gaining more and more life - his crust is teeming with countless lifeforms! Still organic, still fleeting and chaotic, but there is already a species creating robots and researching a way of continuing life beyond what their organic bodies are capable of.
Just like the Cybertronians did to Primus long ago, humanity will gut Unicron of everything he has to offer, eventually shifting towards order more than towards Chaos. Over millions of years everything is brought to a status quo, and brought under strict rules. Humans become more alike robots, as augmentation becomes more and more apparent.

Back on Primus, abandoned and empty, chaos has taken its toll on him. Heavy space storms are battering him, meteors are impacting him, solar flares boil his surface and dark patches of space freeze him to the core. In spite of that, a single celled organism manages to withstand all this, and it begins to evolve.
As conditions stabilise over millions of years, Primus’ surface is covered in organic creatures - dust and corpses and carbon slowly burying the old relics of the people that lived on him before.

It is not a perfect headcanon just yet, but I am very proud of it. I hope to get an idea where I can use this in a story, but since it cycles over such a long time I think it will have to stay as just a headcanon or background worldbuilding.

""Do you have anymore Insecticons headcanons? Insecticultures always intrigued me thanks to RID15."" - Asked by Sedasan on Tumblr

I loooove Insecticons, oh yes.Regular Cybertronians are already very versatile, but Insecticons allow for even more out-there ideas, headcanons and cultures.

I usually pick between two different origins for the Insecticons, depending on what kind of story I want to tell. Sometimes they are a part of Cybertronian Wildlife, grown way too numerous after the ecosystem was destroyed. Sometimes they are an experiment made by Shockwave, much like Predaking in TFP, and sometimes they are BOTH. Depends on what works best for the story I am writing ;)

In A New Queen ( an older fic of mine ) , they are part of the regular Cybertronian ecosystem. Living off crystallised energon and underground pools and deposits, the war and the energon crisis hit them very hard.
Just like earthen insects, the speed of Insecticon reproduction is one of their biggest strengths. It is still very slow, and requires a ton of fuel over a longer period of time, but when compared to Cybertronian reproductions the Insecticons win by a long shot.

As opposed to every insecticon having mating capabilities, I headcanon that there is a singular Queen that is capable of carrying CNA with them for a longer period of time and create eggs that with enough care and food can grow into Insecticons. There’s really no security net for when there is no more queen, or any brood that is capable of turning into a queen. Before the war decimated Cybetron, a queenless hive would disperse and join other hives - ensuring CNA variety and keeping the species alive.

In RID15, I only remember the one grasshopper Decepticon, and the Zizza. Her powers are very interesting, and they explain how a single insecticon is capable of controlling a hive when all of its members have some sort of consciousness and awareness.

I also like to headcanon that there is a difference between mecha with an insectoid alt mode and Insecticons. Insecticons have their insect form as their primary form, taking a root-mode or a car-mode as their second mode. Other Insecticons ( think Wasp and Airachnid ) are regular mecha who scan an animalistic altmode.
Insecticon are intelligent, but they are very focused on finding a group and someone to follow. It will be very rare to find an Insecticon alone, and if you do it is usually a mecha with an insectoid altmode instead of an Insecticon. ( This is not to say that a mech with an insectoid alt mode does not experience a form of Insecticon instinct, because I headcanon that they deefinitely do)

Insecticons can also eat or melt metals. They use these metals to provide food for newspark insecticons, or for building a nest.

Back when MTMTE had a Sparkeater loose on the Lost Light, and Rung’s presence was still a big mystery, I was thinking of what it would be like for a mech to become a sparkeater.

Before it was revealed that it was Brainstorm’s gun that had created the Sparkeater we see on the Lost Light, I was playing with more conventional ideas - a bit like vampires or a hidden true nature.
With so many sparks available for food I found it odd that it only chased Rung. Even if Rung had the brightest spark out of everyone, the sparkeater encountered many other opportunities to feed, so I figured the Sparkeater wanted something else. Namely; Rung as a fellow creature of the dark-cycle.

It was an idea that many others have had before me, but I wanted to try and take it a slightly different route. Rung would not be able to become a monstrous spark-eater if he was still aware of his surroundings and other mecha. Similarly, Rung as a sparkeater would not be nearly as interesting if he lost his intelligence and could no longer recognise people.

So I thought; what if the process of turning into a sparkeater is not at all as horrifying or quick as mecha believe it is? With the gun not being in the canon yet, I thought of how a mecha could change into a sparkeater after non-lethal contact with a sparkeater.

There’s no pains in the middle of the night, or awful nightmares, or a sense of confusion and horrifically sudden changes in the frame.
Instead Rung has odd recharge purges that seem to last longer and longer, where he can see constellations and stars moving all around him. He feels enormous, looking at stars that are as small as a fist, and he can see them move around.

In his recharge purges, he doesn’t see hallways or mechanoid frames. He cannot see physical objects, but he can see those wonderful stars and some of their secrets. Sometimes he can get close to them, and other times he cannot - held back by a (to him) invisible barrier.
He feels like a stranger looking through the window of someone’s habsuite- close enough to hear their murmurs and see their expressions, but too far away to hear them clearly. They feel like dreams of deep understanding an cosmic importance. Enlightenment.

In reality, Rung wanders the hallways of the Lost Light during his recharge, trying to get through locked doors or looking at a seemingly uninteresting spot on the wall, ceiling, or floor.

Unaware of the change, Rung feels normal when awake, though a bit worn out from his vivid recharge purges. The need for more energy starts to rise - leading to more energon consumption and longer recharge periods.

It will take a long time before the true hunger sets it, but the change has started. Over time his recharge periods will start getting longer and longer, and waking moments will begin to feel feverish and unpleasant. Energon is unappetizing, and no longer fills him with as much energy as it used to.
Feeling sick, he only recharges more, until he finally enters a hibernative state. This is when the most drastic changes to his body happen. Unnecessary parts are cannibalised to make spark-consumption possible, and after a few orns a complete Sparkeater has formed.

Rung’s mind is still intact, but he trapped in the dreamlike world of endless stars. His now very familiar dream is going to last forever.
And those small stars he can see all around him are warm and vibrant, leaking energy in every direction. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt if he carefully took one of them close to him, just to feel that warmth…

And so he does.

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has marked as possibly inappropriate for anyone under the age of 18. )

So, before we got more issues about the DJD. Before we learned their real names and watched as Megatron sent them to the afterlife, I felt inspired by Tesarus.

His grinder doesn’t make that much sense as a torture instrument once you think about it. Permanent harm does not mean as much to Cybertronians as it does to humans with how much of their frame can be repaired and rebuilt without a trace, and the shredding would be too damaging to keep up for long without the victim dying.

So Tesarus was probably not sparked as an executioner or a torturer. No. Tesarus was one of the many, many garbage disposal bots that lived on Cybertron.

You had janitors, the taller, more respectable cleaners that could be found in towers, offices, and habsuites. There were streetcleaners like Tailgate, minibots tasked with plumbing work and garbage distribution - ferrying smaller garbage to their proper drop-offs to be brought to the garbage plant. Those garbage mounts were picked up by garbage trucks, or unfortunate truckformers who had not found a contract for ferrying less disgusting cargo. And finally there are the smelters and shredders; confined to the garbage plant to shred and smelt larger parts of garbage into re-usable and refineable parts.
All of Cybertron’s lower class mecha were disposables, and just like the miners and construction workers, Tesarus was a monoformer disposable owned by his city. As such, he was subjected to certain rules and regulations.

He was only legible for repairs after he fulfilled a certain amount of work, and those repairs only extended to wear-and-tear or injuries that affected his ability to work. A pained leg or a rusted out hip joint was something you had to pay for out of your own pocket, even though the credits paid for the work were only enough to keep a fuel tank full.
By way of example, grinders and smelters with missing legs, arms, or mobility issues were simply kept lined up outside in a row, with only their grabber arms intact to process garbage.

If they do not do enough work to warrant a replacement on their blades, there is a chance of decommissioning, which boils down to being melted down for scrap and spare parts.

Tesarus is one of the garbage grinders in Iacon. With a growing phobia for dirt and grime, he does not have many friends among the garbage disposal bots, and he saves up as much of his earnings as he can to try and earn himself ununtrium blade-lining.
There is, however, only one way that he will be able to save up enough to make that a reality; good ol’ crime!

For a fee, Tesarus hides important caches of illegal substances somewhere in the garbage plant. He also gets rid of unwanted mecha. I imagine that one of those times, he passes someone through his grinder that is too important to go unnoticed, or something similar.
A monoformer disposable wanted dead from two sides is not going to have an easy time. Especially not if you factor in a lack of friends, a phobia for dirt, and the fact that he is easily bored.

And even though Scissorsaw is a great and menacing name… I headcanon that he was called Chipper before he became a soldier for the Decepticons.

We all know empties. One of the most common of Cybertronian monsters, bar perhaps the Sparkeaters, Empties often serve as a reminder to stay together- Don’t venture out into the wilderness of Cybertron on your own, and don’t set a foot in the darker parts of the Dead End!

And of course, don’t go hungry for too long, or you’ll BECOME one!!

…but that does not seem to hold up. Not every mech that dies is guaranteed to get up and become an empty. Mecha with slit lines who bleed their energon into the soil of Cybertron are not guaranteed become empties, and even a slow starvation doesn’t mean you will become an empty.
So what is it that transforms a normal mech into a mindless drone with a hunger for pre-digested mech-fuel?

The answer is not far fetched or surprising. Dark energon.

With all the myth and superstition surrounding this dark fuel, it is very doubtful any mech would voluntarily consume it. In small doses it is already enough to transform mecha into horrible monstrosities!
No, there is a reason that Empties only pop up where the situation is dire. When there’s not enough energon to go around, mecha get desperate. They take fuel from places they normally wouldn’t. They are too faded and listless to go through the filtering process, if they even have a filtering system at all.

As they drink from unfiltered and odd sources, small traces of dark energon come into their system. Nothing too dire, nothing transformative. The only way you can see that someone has been drinking dark-energon contaminated fuel is after they have died.
If their spark signature falls away and their frame grows cold and motionless, they managed to die as a creation of Primus. If they get back up, with a hungry look in their optics, it’s already too late.

Yes, I know halloween is over, but any time of the year is a good time for spoops!

When it comes to Cybertronian vampires, I always felt dissatisfied. A mech with pointy teeth that drinks energon from living mecha ? Syphonists, terrorcons and empties already got that niche covered.
Creatures that prey on the spark are less common, there’s the energon leech and the Sparkeater, and that’s where it ends.

Of course, a vampire is almost like a regular human - with only small tells to their monstrous nature. I imagine that a Cybertronian vampire would be much the same - blending in and feeding off of mecha for as long as possible without being detected.

So, what kind of Cybertronian, hidden in plain sight, would have close access to sparks ?

Cassettes!

Think about it. Cassette Decks are the perfect prey of a spark vampire. With coding that urges them to care for smaller sparks and lost cassettes, getting close to one of them is simple. Playing the act of a lost and damaged cassette, they will easily find a host willing to take them in.
With the docking procedure, they are tucked in close to the host’s spark, where they can feed as much as they please. At the same time, they are nestled with other cassettes that they can infect and turn into creatures much like themselves. They feed, until eventually the Host passes away.

There actually used to be a lot more cassette racks on Cybertron before the spark vampires rose in number.
The few remaining cassette racks have found a way to distinguish spark vampires from real cassettes, but after the drastic culling of their numbers, they are no longer the number one prey.

Minicons, after all, can attach to ALL mecha - not just the cassette racks…

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