Where To Find Me?

Cover: Love, War, and High-Grade

I have begun adding my story into Wattpad, so I gave it a cover.

Idk, I may change it.

An Argument's Resolution

I didn't burn a simple dish I was attempting. But while I was waiting for it to bake a funny conversation arrived in my mind.

Optimus and Megatron marry Post War. The following occurs after misunderstanding after misunderstanding. A resolution to their foolish angst and false assumptions.

---

Optimus: “I thought you didn’t like me.”

Megatron: “What?! I’ve been leaving you energon! I made you tea!”

Optimus: “You made it black with no sweetener!”

Megatron: “I thought you liked bitter things! You MARRIED ME!”

They stared at each other.

Optimus whispered, “Do you want to hug me?”

Megatron: “…Yes.”

They awkwardly leaned toward each other, paused, leaned back, then both reached again and collided with a painful clank.

But once arms were around waists, frames pressed together, they didn’t let go.

Megatron buried his helm in Optimus’s neck.

Megatron: “I thought you hated me.”

Optimus: “I thought I was too needy.”

Megatron: “…You are needy.”

Optimus: “You hissed when I touched your shoulder once.”

Megatron: “I was startled! What did you expect!”

Optimus chuckled, rough and joyful. “We’re very stupid.”

Megatron: “Yes. Hug me tighter.”

Megatron vs Roomba Part Two

I can't find part one.

---

The Roomba had returned.

Megatron stood in the middle of the living room, glaring down at the small cleaning bot with all the venom he could muster, as if it had personally insulted his ancestors. “You think you can return after I banished you?!”

The Roomba beeped innocently, as though it hadn’t even noticed the warlord’s glare.

Megatron’s optics narrowed, and he reached for his fusion cannon. “This time, you do not escape.”

Optimus leaned casually in the doorway, sipping from a mug labeled World’s #1 Peacekeeper (and Husband) with a relaxed, almost teasing grin. “You’re really going to obliterate a cleaning bot just because it tried to mop behind you?”

“It stalks me,” Megatron growled, stepping forward. “It knows too much.”

Optimus raised an eyebrow.

Megatron’s fists clenched at his sides. “It’s a spy—an agent of sabotage!”

The Roomba made a soft, innocent beeping noise, continuing its roundabout journey.

“Megatron, Soundwave's the one who programmed it to follow your movements,” Optimus said, his voice calm, as though explaining the facts to an impatient child.

“He would never—”

But before he could finish his sentence, Optimus strode forward, stepping quietly behind him. In an instant, he reached out and gave Megatron’s aft a playful squeeze.

Megatron let out a high-pitched, indignant yelp and lurched forward, nearly tripping over the Roomba in the process. “W-WHAT are you—!?”

Optimus’s hand lingered on his back, his voice low and soothing. “Distracting you,” he said calmly, giving Megatron a reassuring squeeze. “You were about to vaporize my cleaning budget.”

The fusion cannon sputtered in Megatron’s hand as he twisted around, trying to focus on Optimus and failing. “That’s... underhanded!”

Optimus flashed a wicked grin. “You didn’t complain last night when I used both hands.”

Megatron’s processor nearly short-circuited at the thought. His spark rate spiked, and his optics flickered. He was no longer sure which task he was supposed to be focusing on. "Y-You—"

But before Megatron could muster a proper response, Optimus slid his other hand down his aft, moving dangerously close to his thighs. The warlord froze, his entire frame seizing up as Optimus’s touch grew bolder.

“Optimus...” Megatron’s voice was barely a whisper, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could focus.

The Roomba, unfazed by the tension in the air, gently bumped into Megatron’s foot again.

Megatron, red-faced, took an unsteady step back, but Optimus followed him, trailing his servo up the side of his frame, teasingly inching toward the delicate spot that made Megatron’s processors buzz.

“You—ngh—slagger!” Megatron’s voice cracked slightly. His servo shook slightly around the fusion cannon, and for a brief moment, he forgot what he was even doing.

Optimus’s face softened into a teasing smile, his voice low. “But Megatron, don’t you want me to help you out with your… stress?”

Optimus leaned in closer, his lips nearly grazing Megatron’s audios. “You seem awfully tense. Surely, a little distraction wouldn’t hurt.” Optimus’s servo slid along the side of Megatron’s hip, gently moving down to grip his thigh. The warlord froze, his entire body locking up. Optimus smiled warmly, "Say the word dearest, any time and I'll stop.”

Megatron’s mind spun with conflicting thoughts: the Roomba, the cannon, the incredibly distracting servos moving to exactly the wrong or right places. "Focus, Megatron," he muttered under his breath, but it was impossible to concentrate with Optimus so close.

Optimus, noticing the warlord’s faltering composure, smirked. “Do you want me to grope you again while you threaten it? That seemed to work so well last time.”

Megatron’s audios twitched, his circuits sparking in protest as he tried—and failed—to hold it together. “Slagger!” he hissed, but it came out more like a pained whimper. The Roomba, sensing its moment, bumped against his foot again.

Megatron looked down at the little bot, his optics narrowed with fire. “This is your last warning,” he growled, but the moment was lost. He couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his faceplates as Optimus’s hand slid closer, brushing against his valve panel.

Optimus smirked, watching his teasing touches make Megatron visibly squirm. “I see you've resorted to threatening the cleaner now,” he purred. “But it seems like you’ve lost focus. How about I help you regain some of it?”

With a swift motion, Optimus slid his hands between Megatron’s legs, spreading his thighs apart just enough to get his attention. “There we go,” he murmured, his voice sultry. “Let’s see if we can make you feel a little better, hm?”

Megatron’s frame jolted, his faceplates a deep shade of red. “Y-you dare—”

“Oh, but I do dare, Megatron,” Optimus teased, his hands moving dangerously close to Megatron’s most vulnerable spots. “Let’s see how long you can keep your composure.”

Megatron tried to stand tall, but his legs felt weak as Optimus gently spread them further, his thumbs tracing the sharp lines of Megatron’s plating. He could feel his own systems overheating with the growing pressure. “Optimus,” he panted, trying to resist, but the Decepticons own arousal was becoming undeniable.

“Shh,” Optimus whispered, his lips brushing the side of Megatron’s audios. “Just relax. I’ll take care of you.”

Megatron growled low in his throat, his fists trembling at his sides. “I’m not—I am NOT relaxing!”

Optimus didn’t let up, though. He moved his hands in teasing, slow circles around Megatron’s inner thighs, inching ever closer to the warlord’s most sensitive points. His teasing touches were just enough to leave Megatron breathless, frustrated, and—whether he liked it or not—needy.

“You’re making this much more difficult than it needs to be,” Optimus hummed, his voice dripping with amusement as his fingers continued to dance dangerously close to Megatron’s valve panel.

“Optimus, I swear,” Megatron warned, his optics flashing as he tried to retain some shred of dignity. “If you don’t, I will—”

“Don't what, Megatron?” Optimus leaned down, his lips brushing against Megatron’s neck. “Continue? Stop? Leave you alone?”

“I —!” Megatron growled, but his voice lacked conviction. His body was betraying him, and his voice came out as more of a desperate plea than an order.

The Roomba, ever the innocent observer, bumped into Megatron’s foot once more, adding to the ridiculousness of the situation.

With one final, teasing squeeze, Optimus stood up, leaving Megatron standing there, trembling with frustration and desire. “You should focus on your so called enemy, Megatron,” Optimus said, his voice laced with amusement. “Or, I’ll just keep distracting you.” He pressed a finger to Megatron's valve panel, eliciting a gasp. Then grinned, "Shall we continue in berth? Unless of course you want to stay here?"

Megatron, barely able to maintain any sort of dignity, growled, “You manipulative, infuriating—."

The Roomba, now completely undisturbed, beeped softly in victory.

But his voice cracked halfway through the threat, as Optimus’s thumb pressed in a slow, tantalizing circle right against his sealed valve panel. He hissed sharply through clenched denta, his knees nearly giving out. His free hand slammed against the wall beside him for balance, the other still pathetically gripping his useless cannon.

“I’ll have your badge revoked for this, Prime—”

Optimus tilted his head, oh-so-innocent. “For helping my Conjux unwind? You’re tense. Distracted. Aggressive.” He leaned in again, lips brushing the heated plating beneath Megatron’s jaw. “I’m just performing my spousal duties. Preventing another civil war."

Megatron’s vents stuttered, cycling rapidly. “By teasing me in front of a cleaning unit!?”

Optimus sighed, finally drawing his hands back—though not before ghosting his fingers over Megatron’s thighs one last time, dragging his touch down with deliberate slowness. “Fine, I’ll give you a moment alone to win your little war.”

He stepped back with a smirk, crossing his arms, mug still in hand. “Though I have to say… you were much more fun to tease when you were armed.”

Megatron glared at him with every ounce of dignity he had left, which wasn’t much considering the purple blooming across his faceplates and the slight tremble in his thighs. “When I finally destroy that thing, I will find retribution against you later.”

Optimus sipped his drink, unfazed and winked. “Why don't I have a taste of your aft instead?”

Megatron’s systems hiccuped.

His processor tried to register Optimus’s words—taste of your aft—and promptly gave up. Static crackled behind his optics as he froze, speechless for the first time in vorns. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as he glared at Optimus like the Prime had just declared war with a love poem.

“You—! You slag-slicked menace!” Megatron hissed, his voice cracking like old Energon lines. “That is not appropriate battle banter!”

Optimus only smirked deeper, the corners of his lips curling with smug satisfaction as he sipped from his mug again, voice slow and syrupy. “Oh, is it not? Forgive me—would you prefer me to be more specific? Such as what exactly I plan to do to your valve?”

Megatron’s cannon clanked to the floor.

He didn’t even notice it falling.

Instead, he lunged forward, servo wrapping around Optimus’s shoulder plating as he snarled low and furious. “You insufferable, undignified, irredeemable—”

“—attractive, charming, and deeply in love with you?” Optimus finished calmly, setting his mug down with maddening nonchalance.

Megatron's vocalizer gave a low, glitching pop. “That is not—”

But Optimus didn’t let him finish. His hands were suddenly there again—sliding around Megatron’s waist and down to his aft, gripping it boldly.

Megatron yelped, his entire frame jolting. “Stop touching me there!”

Optimus just hummed, leaning closer until their chassis brushed, frame heat humming in shared contact. “You don’t actually want me to stop.”

“I do,” Megatron lied, not very convincingly.

“Then push me away,” Optimus whispered against his audial. “Right now.”

Megatron’s servos twitched. One rested limply on Optimus’s chest, hovering, trembling.

He didn’t push.

He didn’t move.

Optimus’s mouth curved against his plating. “That’s what I thought.”

“You manipulative, spark-charming glitch,” Megatron rasped, his voice barely a growl.

“Your glitch,” Optimus said softly, voice dipped in heat and fondness. “Forever.”

A moment passed.

Then Megatron, cheeks still burning hotter than an overclocked cannon, snarled, “Fine. If you want my attention so badly, take it. But I swear, if that Roomba records anything—”

“Soundwave’ll delete it,” Optimus said without missing a beat, grabbing Megatron by the hips and spinning him around until his back hit the wall.

Megatron let out a stifled grunt as his plating struck the wall, but before he could snap out a protest, Optimus was on him—mouth at his neck, servos firm and steady as they slid up his inner thighs again.

Megatron gasped, optics flashing wide. “You—slagger—!”

“Shhh,” Optimus breathed, finally pressing his frame flush against Megatron’s. “Let your Conjux worship you properly.”

Megatron stood rigid, every inch of his frame bristling with tension—not from battle, but from the sheer audacity of his so-called Conjux.

Optimus leaned back on the doorway with that smug little smirk that had no right being so devastating. “Come now, darling,” he purred, voice dipped in honey and sin, “surely your vendetta against the vacuum can wait until after I’ve finished thoroughly appreciating you.”

Megatron’s vents hitched. “You—you are insufferable.”

“And you are incredibly grabbable,” Optimus replied smoothly, “It’s hardly my fault. I’m merely reacting to your—assets.”

He reached around and gave said assets another gentle squeeze, just to emphasize the point.

Megatron jolted again, his cannon sputtering pathetically in his grip. “Optimus, I swear on the Pit—”

“Mmhm.” Optimus buried his face against the side of Megatron’s neck, plating warm and lips curved. “I love when you make threats while glowering. It’s so hot.”

“I am NOT glowering—” Megatron glowered as his faceplates heated up. His legs shifted awkwardly, bracing against the wall as Optimus’s servos began a slow, torturously confident massage along the back of his thighs. “Slagging—Prime”

Megatron tried to summon his anger. He really did. But it was difficult to maintain righteous fury when his spark was fluttering and his knees were moments away from giving up entirely. His cooling fans sputtered to life with a pained whrrr, and he swore vengeance on his own subroutines for allowing this betrayal.

“I should... exile you for treason,” Megatron managed weakly, as Optimus slid one hand around his waist to pull their hips together.

“Mm,” came the reply, a low hum against his neck. “You’d miss me too much.”

Then, slowly—torturously—Optimus’s other servo dipped down, slipping between Megatron’s thighs with all the confidence of a mech who knew exactly what buttons to push.

Megatron’s mouth fell open. A pitiful, high-pitched sound escaped him. He clamped it shut, optics flickering violently.

“I hate you,” he hissed, voice shaking.

“You love me,” Optimus corrected, pressing closer, his tone smug and affectionate in equal measure. “Unless, dearest, you truly wish for me to stop?”

“Pit take you,” Megatron growled.

Optimus smiled warmly.

Megatron let out a short, strangled noise—not quite a snarl, not quite a moan—as Optimus’s fingers made an especially devious pass along the paneling of his inner thigh.

And then, the Roomba bumped gently into his ankle again.

Both mechs froze.

Megatron slowly looked down at it. It beeped. Cheerfully.

Optimus, with zero shame, leaned closer and whispered, “Maybe we should take this elsewhere. Or are you into being watched now?”

Megatron's fusion cannon sparked and fell off his arm with a pathetic clunk.

“I’m going to kill that Roomba,” he rasped.

Optimus chuckled and pressed a kiss to his neck cables. “After you’re done letting me take you apart, one plate at a time.”

Megatron’s processor fuzzed.

“…Fine. But I still destroy it afterward.”

“Of course,” Optimus said sweetly. “Right after I destroy you—in the best way.”

And with that, he swept Megatron off his feet. Literally. Because nothing said “fearsome warlord” like being carried bridal-style while stammering curses and demanding vengeance on household appliances.

It started out innocent.

Mostly.

After the war, when meetings between Autobots and Decepticons were tense but necessary, Optimus had quietly, very quietly, invented a system.

Whenever Megatron got that look — all smug, smugger-than-he-had-any-right-to-be — Optimus’ restraint thinned dangerously.

The solution? A secret code.

"Megatron, we need to debrief in private." Translation, 'I am about to lovingly drag you to the nearest berthframe before I short-circuit in front of everybody.''

And so far... It had worked flawlessly.

Every time Optimus said those words, Megatron would stiffen slightly, optics flickering wide—then immediately nod in that "I know exactly what you mean and I am absolutely not about to die of excitement, no sir" way.

Both of them would excuse themselves with utmost dignity...

...and ten kliks later, they'd be passionately tangled together behind a locked door somewhere.

Today was no different.

They were sitting in a joint peace council meeting, the chamber stiflingly hot, tension so thick it could have been used to patch hull breaches.

Megatron was lounging in his chair, sprawled, arrogant, looking far too pretty for Optimus’ nerves to endure.

Every smirk, every lazy stretch of his frame across the armrests... it was unbearable.

Optimus’ servo twitched against the datapad in his lap.

He cleared his intake quietly. Leaned over. And in a low, unbearably polite voice murmured, "Megatron, we need to debrief in private."

Megatron jolted like he’d been struck by lightning.

Starscream, halfway through a smug speech about Energon rations, barely glanced up.

"Of course," Megatron said stiffly, rising from his chair with textbook nonchalance.

Optimus followed, offering a tight nod to the others.

"Pardon us. Important discussion."

No one batted an optic. Business as usual.

The door slid shut behind them with a satisfying hiss.

Outside, in the empty hallway...

The second they were alone, Megatron whirled on him, optics bright.

"You unbelievable menace," he hissed, visibly fighting a grin. "You couldn’t wait until after the meeting?"

Optimus smiled sheepishly, venting slowly to calm himself.

"You were distracting," he said simply. "It felt... urgent."

Megatron opened his mouth—probably to say something scathing—and instead let out a tiny squeak when Optimus took his hand.

Not dragging. Not rough.

Just gently entwining their fingers, tugging Megatron along with soft, coaxing touches as they briskly, inconspicuously disappeared down the hall.

They passed a few low-ranked Vehicons and Autobots.

No one noticed anything strange. Just two leaders—walking quickly, whispering, looking very serious.

Totally normal.

Totally not two mechs about to find the nearest locked storage room and “debrief” so thoroughly the walls would need to be sanitized.

Megatron pressed his back to the closed door, vents already hitching.

Optimus stood in front of him, helm bowed shyly, huge hands resting hesitantly on Megatron’s hips.

"You’re sure this isn’t... disruptive?" Optimus murmured, cheeks heating with embarrassment. "We can stop if you—"

"If you stop now," Megatron rasped, gripping his arms tightly, "I will throw you onto the floor myself."

Optimus made a soft, pleased sound, venting warmly against Megatron’s neck cables.

"You’re very beautiful when you’re impatient," he mumbled sweetly.

Megatron’s vents hitched.

Then, with the gentlest possible touch for someone his size, Optimus scooped Megatron into his arms, cradling him like a treasure—like he weighed nothing—and carried him carefully to the makeshift berth stacked against the wall.

Megatron made a scandalized noise, half-heartedly pounding his fists against Optimus’ chest.

"Put me down properly, you ridiculous—"

"No," Optimus whispered against his audio, utterly earnest. "You’re precious."

Megatron’s whole frame shuddered, armor flushing a light purple at the edges.

And when Optimus laid him down and kissed him — slow, reverent, careful — Megatron forgot entirely about pouting.

He melted under every careful touch, every quiet, worshipful whisper against his plating. Leaning into the sugar sweet adoration with a joy he would not yet admit.

Back to the meeting a few hours later.

Optimus entered first, datapad in hand, helm dutifully bowed.

Megatron followed, looking absolutely glowing and a smirk tugging at his lips.

Starscream glanced up, suspicious.

"...You missed the entire second budget report," he sneered.

Megatron sniffed loftily. "We were discussing matters of critical importance."

Starscream narrowed his optics.

Meanwhile, Ratchet leaned toward Ironhide and muttered under his breath, "How much you wanna bet 'debriefing' means something completely inappropriate?"

Later, in their quarters.

Optimus shyly bumped their shoulders together, cheeks glowing with quiet pride.

"Did I do okay?" he mumbled bashfully.

Megatron grunted, pulling him down into a languid kiss.

"You’re perfect," he whispered.

And Optimus, relieved and delighted, immediately started plotting when he could "debrief" Megatron again.

Maybe tomorrow.

Or maybe right now.

--

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65052856/chapters/167277712

Codephrase Choices

Codephrase Choices

Draft of More Oblivious Optimus Moments

Optimus casually recalls teasing Megatron about marriage, unknowingly triggering Megatron’s long-buried crush—leading to flustered punches, dramatic exits, and a room full of exasperated friends finally explaining to Optimus that Megatron likes him, you glorious idiot.

The following is a very, very short/incomplete draft.

---

“Okay,” she said, arms crossed. “We’re doing this now.”

“Doing what?” Optimus asked.

“The conversation,” Ratchet added, rubbing his optics with one hand. “The one we should have had years ago but didn’t because your processor runs on honor and dense titanium.”

“I—thank you?” Optimus said uncertainly.

Ultra Magnus cleared his throat, which meant he was about to say something uncomfortable. “Optimus… Megatron was not enraged. Not truly. That—was not anger.”

Bumblebee leaned over and helpfully translated: “He was blushing. And flailing. And screaming. You don’t do that when you’re mad. You do that when someone tells you they want to marry you and your internal fans fail trying to keep up.”

Optimus blinked. “He punched me.”

“Because he didn’t know how to handle it!” Elita said, exasperated. “Primus, he probably dreamt about that moment for a megacycle afterward and screamed into his berth-pillow about it!”

Soundwave made a soft clicking noise. When everyone turned to him, he shrugged—a clear “She’s right.”

Optimus frowned. “But his face turned red from rage—”

“Nope,” Ratchet cut in. “That was embarrassment. Full energon-flushed facial plating. Textbook flustered warlord.”

“I—what?” Optimus looked genuinely baffled. “But… I joked about marrying him. That’s—surely that’s not something that would make him—”

“Elita,” Ratchet said dryly. “Please tell your noble idiot what flirting is.”

Elita said. “You basically fake-proposed to your secret crush and flirted without knowing it.”

“He’s not my crush!” Optimus blurted.

The entire room fell silent.

Even Soundwave tilted his head, as if questioning the very fabric of reality.

Optimus cleared his throat. “I mean—I didn’t think he’d take it seriously.”

Bee clutched his helm. “Optimus. He punched you twice and ran away screaming both times. That is the universal Cybertronian symbol for ‘I can’t handle how much I like you.’”

Elita sighed, stepping forward and placing both hands on Optimus’s shoulders. “You are the smartest mech I know. You’ve led armies. Taken down tyrants. Been chosen by the Matrix itself. But for the love of Primus, you are the densest mech on Cybertron when it comes to love.”

Optimus opened his mouth.

Then slowly closed it.

And very quietly said, “...He likes me?”

Soundwave made a series of chirps, translated loosely as, "He has liked you since before the war, you chrome-plated romance novel."

Optimus staggered back half a step and sat down heavily in his chair.

A beat of silence passed.

Then:

“...Should I apologize for not realizing sooner?”

“No,” Elita said. “You should go find him before he explodes from mutual pining and throws a chair through a window.”

Bumblebee grinned. “And maybe bring flowers.”

Ratchet muttered, “And wear extra armor. Just in case punch number three’s a knockout.”

Optimus buried his face in his hands.

“Primus help me.”

“No,” Elita said, already pushing him toward the door. “Go help yourself. Preferably by knocking on his door and asking if the proposal still stands.”

“Or if he wants to propose this time,” Bumblebee added.

Ratchet snorted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Soundwave hummed a quiet tone that sounded suspiciously like a wedding song. "Here Comes The Bride", Richard Wagner's opera Lohengrin.

MegOp Stories

The winner of the last AU poll was an arranged marriage AU. Info about winning au. https://www.tumblr.com/oblivious-prime-opmeg-au/781317548414205952/note?source=share

Scroll below the poll and it will explain each numbered option in a sentence or so.

- A post-war peace treaty requires Optimus and Megatron to live together for one whole month as a symbolic show of unity. They agree to live together for mutual benefits post war. (Both agree and claim it's for beneficial reasons such as being able to easily talk about serious faction matters quickly, conserves time, etc.. they really just both like each other.)

- During a Decepticon high council meeting, Starscream mocks Megatron for being single. In a fit of rage, Megatron blurts out that he does have a partner, a conjux—Optimus, and throws the table at the offending mech. Problem? They’re not even dating, let alone fragging married.

They're both "reluctant Cybertronian royalty" and are forced into an arranged marriage to save their houses. Megatron plans to murder his way out. Optimus plans to nobly suffer through it. Neither expects to be absurdly thirsty for each other after the first five minutes.

- A mishap in Shockwave’s lab flings Megatron into a possible future. Megatron accidentally time travels and sees a future where he's married to Optimus.

After an accident involving a malfunctioning Space Bridge, Optimus and Megatron switch bodies. They’re horrible at pretending to be each other. Starscream immediately knows something’s wrong when "Megatron" smiles and says "please." Meanwhile, the Autobots grow suspicious when "Optimus" threatens to punt a High-Caste into the sun.

Somehow Optimus and Megatron get temporarily sparkling-ified. Now they're tiny, adorablr, and clinging to each other. The Autobots and Decepticons have to form a truce to babysit them while baby Optimus aggressively headbutts anyone who touches baby Megatron. Surprisingly Megatron is the epitome of sweetness while Optimus is a gremlin sparkling.

A sparkling from the future shows up ...and calls Megatron and Optimus their parents. They're horrified. Everyone else is thrilled. Ratchet and Soundwave name themselves honorary uncles. Shockwave wants to study the sparkling. Bumblebee sets up a "Baby Watch" committee.

Cybertron’s new peace agreement includes a dating app to encourage unity. Optimus and Megatron both sign up under fake names. They match instantly. They keep flirting online anonymously...while absolutely hating each other in real life. Until they agree to meet up.

A.U. Screenplay Drama

---

This is the premise of something im drafting.

In the newly unified Cybertron, tensions are slowly easing between former enemies. Peace is fragile but progressing—until an anonymous screenplay is leaked, and surfaces across every data feed, library terminal, and entertainment outlet. Its content? A steamy, dramatic romance depicting none other than Optimus Prime and Megatron as star-crossed lovers.

Lol I was cackling at this, @tldaydreamer, mentioned about writing fanfictions in screenplay format. Although this isn't technically what they mentioned it inspired this post.

this has inspired me to begin writing a draft of a new fic, thank you petal covered cat

Beneath the blush of petals fair, A kitten dreams without a care. Soft breaths rise, the world grows still, Wrapped in pink, a gentle thrill.

Your peace, a muse without a sound— A nap, a pose, the world unwound. Thank you, little petaled fairy of adorable light, For gifting me this bloom of inspiration to write.