The Planner Hidden Away

Amorvëael Pax A.U. Moments - Room Colors

These events occur a few months after Amorvëael's conception. A moment to the past before their mischievous sparkling was born. With a short slightly spicy scene in the draft.

---

“I’m telling you right now, Optimus—if you paint that wall beige, I will riot.”

“It’s champagne gold,” Optimus said diplomatically, holding up the swatch. “It’s calming. Neutral. Sophisticated.”

Megatron sneered at it. “It’s boring. Our child will exit as a protoform and assume he’s been sentenced to an eternal tax office.”

Optimus looked faintly offended. “Color psychology studies suggest softer tones promote—”

“I led a rebellion, Optimus,” Megatron snapped, yanking open a box of vivid paint samples. “I’m not raising a sparkling in a nursery that looks like the inside of Ultra Magnus’ dream filing cabinet.”

Optimus opened his mouth to retort—only to pause.

Because Megatron had stopped mid-rant.

“…Megatron?” he asked warily.

The warlord stood still for a second. His optics flickered. His vents hitched.

Then he whined.

Optimus immediately tensed. “Are you alright? Is something—?”

“I need it,” Megatron said lowly, voice rough.

“…Need what?”

“You know what,” Megatron muttered, optics glowing.

His hands reached out, slow and twitchy. One went to Optimus’ waist. The other pawed at the edge of his armor plating.

Optimus blinked. “Megatron, we were discussing paint.”

Megatron leaned in and growled, deep and rumbling. “I’ll paint the walls with whatever you want, just spike me first.”

Optimus short-circuited.

“…Are you serious—?”

“I can smell you,” Megatron hissed, dragging his claws lightly over Optimus’ armor, sparking tingles down his spinal strut. “You smell good.”

Optimus took one step back. Megatron followed.

“You said you didn’t want to frag while we were working,” Optimus said, holding a swatch up like a useless shield.

“That was before I started leaking just from arguing with you.” Megatron’s voice was a low growl now. “You’re here. I’m empty. My valve is pulsing. Do the math.”

Optimus flushed. “I am trying to focus on the nursery.”

“And I’m trying not to drag you onto the paint tarp and ride your spike until I’m too full to move.”

Optimus dropped the swatch.

Megatron pounced.

The two of them slammed into the far wall of the half-decorated nursery, knocking over a box of plush sparkling safe toys. A soft rattle hit Optimus in the helm and bounced away unnoticed.

He rolled his hips forward, valve already dripping and hot, grinding against Optimus’ spike housing with desperate need. “Get it out,” he snarled. “I need it—need to feel full—”

Optimus groaned as his panels snapped open.

“You’re insatiable,” he muttered.

“I’m carrying.” Megatron’s hands clenched his shoulders. “You did this. Fix it.”

Optimus didn’t need to be told twice.

Within seconds, he had Megatron pinned against the wall, spike sliding into that drenched, needy valve with a sharp, wet thrust.

Megatron moaned, head thrown back, optics fluttering. His valve calipers clenched around Optimus' spike, greedily, shuddering like it knew exactly what it wanted—and wanted every drop.

Optimus’ grip tightened on Megatron’s hips. “Is this how you win arguments now?” he hissed through his vents.

Megatron wrapped a leg around his waist and growled, “If it gets me filled, I’ll argue about every miniscule detail in this room.”

The nursery wall creaked behind them. Plush toys were scattered across the floor.

The champagne gold swatch was crumpled under Megatron’s foot.

No one cared.

---

Optimus stood at the door of the freshly painted nursery, arms crossed over his chassis as he admired their compromise.

It wasn’t perfect—but then, nothing ever was when it came to Megatron and his demands. Yet, as he gazed at the soft blue walls with the serene, subtle cloud designs, Optimus felt something like peace settle into his spark.

“Light blue, huh?” Megatron said, lounging on the floor in front of him, looking thoroughly sated. His optics flickered lazily as he traced idle circles on Optimus’ leg, the warlord's venting quiet but content.

Optimus smiles warmly. “Do you want me to finish the rest?”

Megatron’s mouth curled upward in a smirk. “I’ve been through enough wall colors today. Now, I’m enjoying the rewards of your compromise.” He yawned dramatically, stretching out like a contented predator in the sun. “You can finish the small paintings while I relax.”

Optimus shook his helm but gave in anyway, as he always did.

The walls were light blue, yes, but what made this room different were the tiny paintings Optimus had agreed to add as a compromise to Megatron’s “epic battle scenes” suggestion.

At the far side of the room, soft clouds swirled across the wall, with delicate constellations of tiny stars. But on the wall opposite, Optimus had painted a collage of himself and Megatron—not quite as dramatic as the "Bladewrath" suggestion, but still enough to make the warlord’s optics gleam with satisfaction. It was peaceful. And, of course, a tiny sparkling in the middle, holding both mechs hands, between them.

Megatron’s optics softened as he stared at the delicate details. He’d never admit it aloud, but there was a spark of something warm blooming inside him as he took in the image.

“Well,” Megatron said, his voice low and teasing as he slid into Optimus’ lap. “It’s... acceptable.”

Optimus chuckled softly, resting his hands around Megatron’s waist. “I’ll take ‘acceptable’ as a win. Especially after everything we’ve been through today.”

“Mm.” Megatron leaned back against Optimus’ chest, his servo rubbing the warmth of his abdomen, which now held their sparkling. “Just don’t ask me to paint anything. I’m done with decorating.”

Optimus smiled, his frame enveloping Megatron’s. “You know,” Optimus said, brushing his lips against the nape of Megatron’s neck, “I think we make a pretty good team when we compromise.”

Megatron’s optics glinted with quiet affection, but he didn’t look up. “Sure. But next time,” he said, voice filled with lazy mischief, “let’s just get a huge statue of me and call it ‘done.’”

Optimus laughed softly. “I’ll keep that in mind. But first…” He rubbed a hand along Megatron’s lower back, smirking. “How about a celebratory energon shake? You look like you could use something cold.”

Megatron shuddered slightly at the thought, his morning sickness protesting, but relaxed further into Optimus’ arms. “I think I’ll pass. But don’t let that stop you from finishing your other tasks. You’ve still got one more mural left.”

Optimus sighed dramatically, his optics softening. “Fine. One more mural. And then I’m taking you to bed. No more interruptions. That is a compromise.”

Megatron smirked knowingly, rubbing against Optimus with a satisfied hum. “That’s the only kind of ‘compromise’ I need right now.”

As the two settled into the warmth of the freshly painted nursery, with soft blue walls surrounding them, they were content in their love.

Just wanted to say my Tumblr is not a place for discrimination, have a wonderful day

reblog if you’re a safe place for:

lesbian

gay

bisexual

transgender

queer

pansexual

demisexual

ace

hopeless romantics

cis-men

cis-women

non binary folks

the whole spectrum etc…

follow everyone who reblogs ;)

Megatron - Vogue

I got bored while editing a poster. Does anyone know good advice to draw?

How do you draw eyes, and arms, and legs, and a torso, etc?

Is there like a beginners tutorial because I would love that idea.

Draft: Respite and Quiet Embraces

The Nemesis was quiet. Or at least, it was supposed to be. Outside, the storm raged on—wind howling, thunder cracking, lightning flashing in bursts that lit the sky and rattled the hull of the warship. But inside the commander’s quarters, Megatron lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling as if it had all the answers.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

He shifted restlessly in the berth, growling low in his throat. The storm should’ve been easy to ignore—he’d survived worse. But tonight, something gnawed at him from within, a quiet ache that the howling winds only seemed to sharpen. The berth felt too cold. The dark too empty.

He turned his head, optics flickering toward the space beside him. It had only recently begun to feel like it belonged to someone else—someone warm, steady, infuriatingly calm.

But that someone wasn’t here.

Clenching the sheets in frustration, Megatron tried again to relax. The sounds of the ship creaking beneath the storm only made it worse. He wasn’t used to needing things. Needing anyone.

But tonight, he felt it.

Loneliness. The kind that crept in when the armor cracked, when silence stretched too long. The kind that made him ache for something he didn’t know how to ask for.

"Slag it," he muttered, reaching for his comm link. His hand hovered. Pride screamed at him to stop. But his spark—traitorous thing—pushed him forward.

He hit the call.

“Optimus,” he said gruffly as the transmission opened.

Optimus' voice crackled through the link, a touch of confusion clear in his tone. “Megatron, is something wrong?”

"Just… come here. Now," Megatron snapped, unable to mask the irritation in his voice. He stood from the berth, pacing impatiently. "I can’t sleep. This fragging storm… it’s keeping me up. I need—" He paused, the words catching in his throat, not quite able to say what he wanted to. “Just get here.”

Another beat of silence. “I’ll be there shortly,” Optimus replied. His calm voice soothed the edges of Megatron's frustration.

Megatron ended the call and paced, restless. He didn’t know why he’d done it. They were dating now—whatever that meant between two old soldiers with battle-worn sparks and too many regrets—but he still didn’t know how to ask for this. For help. For company. For warmth.

When Optimus finally stepped into the room, he looked exactly as Megatron expected—calm, composed, his optics softening when they landed on him. The Prime's optics softened as they landed on Megatron, who was standing stiffly in the middle of the room.

“Megatron, what’s going on?” Optimus asked gently. “Why did you call me here?”

Megatron grunted, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “I can’t sleep. The storm’s making my circuits short out." He paused. "You’re… comfortable. I thought it would help.”

Optimus blinked. “Comfortable?”

“I thought it would help,” Megatron snapped, audials burning. “Just get over here and shut up”, though the sharpness in his voice was undermined by the way he fidgeted nervously.

Optimus’s lips twitched with the faintest of smiles. He raised an optic ridge, clearly trying to suppress any hint of a smile at the grumpy tone in Megatron's voice. But he said nothing, and with surprising warmth, Optimus sat beside Megatron, reaching out to gently pull him down onto the berth.

The storm raged outside, but within the warmth of the room, everything seemed a little quieter. Optimus lay down beside him, wrapping his arms around the Decepticon in a secure, comforting hold.

The contact was simple—an arm around shoulders, a quiet presence beside him. But it grounded him instantly.

Megatron stiffened at first, not used to such gentleness, but the tension quickly melted from his frame as Optimus gently nuzzled against him, offering a reassuring comfort and Megatron exhaled slowly at the warmth.

“You can sleep now,” Optimus murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe.”

Megatron let out a quiet sigh, his optics flickering as the peaceful sensation of Optimus' arms wrapped around him began to sink in. The storm outside felt far less threatening now. There was warmth, and security, and for the first time that night… peace.

He stared at the wall for a long moment, his vents slowing as the storm faded to background noise. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore—it was steady, filled with something quiet and whole.

“I suppose…” Megatron muttered reluctantly, “this is better.”

“Better than what?” Optimus teased softly, his breath warm against Megatron’s audials.

“Better than being awake… and alone,” Megatron confessed, his voice quieter now, the words almost feeling foreign coming from him.

Optimus smiled faintly and gave a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chassis. “Then sleep, Megatron. Rest. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

As Megatron relaxed into the embrace, the storm outside faded to the background, the only sound in the room the steady hum of their processors and the soft beat of their sparks. The weight of the day’s tension finally left him, and his systems slowly powered down, drifting off into the most peaceful recharge he’d had in ages.

Optimus, feeling the rise and fall of Megatron's frame as he finally relaxed, smiled softly to himself. They had come a long way from enemies on the battlefield.

But tonight, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the quiet, the comfort, and the fact that for once, Megatron didn’t have to face the storm alone.

And so, they slept.

Together.

----

They've begun dating in this au however Megatron still struggles with asking for support from his new partner.

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.

Confident Megatron

Chapter Three: Unexpected Quarters (Draft of something I'm currently working on)

Diplomatic missions were supposed to be peaceful.

Which was why Optimus had specifically—firmly—requested separate quarters at the neutral Iaconian outpost. And why Megatron, of course, had very charmingly and deliberately talked the diplomat into giving them one.

“For trust-building,” Megatron had said smoothly, slinging an arm over Optimus’s shoulder. “After all, there’s no greater symbol of peace than two once-rival leaders sharing recharge space.”

Now they were in a single, sleek guest suite, with one berth, one wash station, and one Megatron already sprawled across 80% of the sleeping surface.

“This is ridiculous,” Optimus muttered, arms folded as he surveyed the lack of personal space. “I am not sharing a berth with you.”

Megatron reclined lazily, optics half-lidded in victory. “Why not? It’s not as if you didn’t already fold me in half the last time.”

Optimus paused mid-step. “Megatron—”

“I was gutturally moaning,” Megatron continued smoothly, voice rich with smug satisfaction. “You pinned me to the berth, fragged me so deep my spinal relays misfired. I believe your exact words were, ‘I’m going to break you open until you forget your own name.’”

“Megatron!”

Megatron didn’t even blink. “You did. I walked funny for a cycle and a half. I had to bite a pillow to stop screaming your designation, remember?”

Optimus covered his face with one hand and groaned. “This is a diplomatic summit.”

“Which you’ll be attending after sleeping beside the mech you wrecked last week,” Megatron purred, scooting over with zero shame. “Now come to bed, Prime.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Megatron smirked, “You like that.”

Optimus inhaled sharply through his vents… and finally sat beside him, grumbling as Megatron made room.

“…You’re impossible.”

“You’re the one who made me scream like a corrupted comm file. I’m still recovering.” Megatron falsely pouted.

Optimus rolled his optics, grumbled softly, and pressed closer—mostly to shut him up.

But Megatron didn’t smirk this time. Not entirely.

Instead, his hand found Optimus’s in the dark. Their fingers entwined slowly.

“…I like this,” Megatron murmured, voice softer than before. “Lying here beside you. You’re warm.”

Optimus exhaled slowly and rested his helm back against the berth’s edge, his grip tightening on Megatron’s. “You’re still an aft.”

“I know.”

“But I like this too.”

The silence that followed was quiet. Warm. Something for them and them alone to share.

Peace, for once, wrapped around them like a cloak.

And if Megatron leaned in closer during recharge, if Optimus didn’t pull away—well.

The diplomatic crisis could wait until morning.

---

Shy Optimus x Confident Megatron never fails to make me laugh.

Draft: The Matrix Meddles

Chapter ?: “You Poor, Single Aft”

Peace was supposed to be quiet.

Not easy—but quiet.

Instead, Optimus stood in the center of the High Council chamber, optics dim with exhaustion, surrounded by squabbling diplomats and far too much polished stone. He kept his expression neutral, his shoulders squared.

The Matrix, nestled within his chest, pulsed.

Warmth spread through his spark—sudden, sharp, and intense.

He froze.

A powerful wave of longing rolled through his core, unfamiliar and dizzying. A vision bloomed behind his optics unbidden. —hands cupping a face —foreheads pressed together —a kiss that made the world still

Optimus inhaled sharply.

To his right, Ratchet gave him a concerned glance. “Headache?”

“…No,” he said quickly. “The Matrix is… active today.”

Ratchet stared. “Active as in ‘wisdom of the ancients’ or active as in… well—you’re blushing.”

“I am not—” Optimus stopped himself. Recalibrated. Lowered his voice. “I am simply… warm.”

Ratchet did not look convinced.

Across the chamber, the diplomats debated the stability of Kaon’s outer bridges. Optimus tried to listen—he truly did—but then another wave hit him. This time, it came not as heat but a heartbeat. Not his. Someone else’s. Deep, slow. A familiar rhythm.

His optics flicked up—unthinkingly—searching for the source.

And found Megatron.

The ex-warlord stood in the far corner, arms folded, posture stiff and proud, optics flicking over the chamber like a bored cat sizing up lesser beings. The light caught along the silver of his plating. His scowl was… elegant. Unmoving.

The Matrix surged.

Another image. —Megatron, laughing, hand resting on Optimus’ chest —Megatron asleep, curled beside him —Megatron in a flowing silver cape, walking down an aisle of light—toward him

Optimus’s field jolted. He staggered.

Megatron’s head turned sharply, optics narrowing.

“…Is something wrong, Prime?”

Optimus scrambled for composure. “No,” he managed, voice thick. “Everything is… functioning.”

Megatron looked him over with that intense gaze that made Optimus feel picked apart, examined down to his smallest screws.

“You were staring,” Megatron said slowly.

“Was I?” Optimus asked too quickly. “I wasn’t. I was looking—past you.”

“There’s no one behind me.”

“Ah.” Optimus’s hands twitched. “So there isn’t.”

Ratchet leaned closer. “Do I need to drag you to medbay?”

“No,” Optimus said a little too fast.

The Matrix pulsed again, hotter this time—almost desperate. Longing coiled in his spark, visceral and aching. Not just his. It felt like someone else’s, too. Someone hollow. Waiting.

His optics drifted back to Megatron.

Megatron was staring again, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. Suspicion and… confusion?

Another image burst behind Optimus’s optics. —his own hand brushing the side of Megatron’s face —Megatron’s lips parting in surprise, leaning in —the feeling of something clicking into place, finally, completely—

Optimus forced a breath. “We should revisit the Kaon bridge plans later.”

One of the diplomats looked up in confusion. “But we haven’t finished—”

Megatron’s voice cut in, low and sharp. “Kaon is mine. You do not reroute anything without my explicit approval.”

The Matrix responded instantly.

A final image—this one hazy but heavy with feeling—Megatron curled against his side, breath soft, whispering something into his chest.

Optimus didn’t hear the words. But his spark clenched like it already knew them.

He blinked hard. “Meeting adjourned.”

And walked out—face calm, expression unreadable.

Even as his spark roared.

--

The matrix ships it and has begun actively trying to do something.

Draft A Possible Optimus x Megatron Story

NOTE: This will be made into a full work.

This is a potential idea. The short portion below would probably be somewhere near the ending of this story after a lot of ✨ feelings, drama, and pining✨.

----

During yet another painfully familiar attempt at a peace treaty—one of countless efforts that had all ended in spectacular failure—Optimus Prime finds himself exhausted. Worn down not just by war, but by the endless cycle of hope and disappointment. Still, he persists. He has to. For Cybertron.

But when words fail once again, and negotiations spiral into the usual shouting and threats, Optimus tries something… different.

He proposes.

To Megatron.

Megatron, caught off guard, turns a shade of blue no Decepticon has ever achieved, screams a storm of profanities and obscenities, and promptly flees the scene by punching through a wall and making his tactical retreat.

What follows is an agonizing stretch of silence, longing, and entirely too many feelings. Until—finally—

----

Title: Peace Through Passion: Article I

--The Proposal That Ended the War--

Peace talks had never been pleasant, but this one was particularly wretched.

Megatron was lounging sideways across his chair like he owned the building (he did not), Soundwave had hacked the holoscreens to loop footage of Optimus getting hit by debris (again), and Starscream had already said, “Maybe we should just assassinate the Prime,” at least twice.

Optimus, trying to remain diplomatic: “We cannot kill our way into a future, Starscream.”

Starscream: “That sounds like weak Autobot talk.”

Meanwhile, Bumblebee was stress-eating energon cubes, Ultra Magnus was shifting albeit minimally , and Arcee was sharpening a blade with a look that said she wasn’t opposed to ending someone.

And then—it happened.

Megatron leaned back with that insufferable smirk, voice like smoke: “You’ll never get what you want, Prime. You never do.”

And something in Optimus just… broke.

Tired. Lonely. Overwhelmed. Drenched in the sound of decades of war and Megatron’s voice echoing in his head.

So he said: "Then marry me, and we can stop fighting forever."

The room froze.

Soundwave’s optic flared. Starscream gasped like he’d won a drama award. Arcee whispered “What the actual frag.” Ultra Magnus fainted.

Megatron? Megatron turned blue. The deepest, most mortified, short-circuiting shade of blue.

He made a strangled noise.

Pointed at Optimus with the most accusatory servo Cybertron had ever seen.

And then screamed: "YOU—YOU—INSUFFERABLE, SELF-RIGHTEOUS—ROMANTIC FRAGGER!"

Then he ran. Literally ran, punching straight through the hundreds of pounds of steel, and dashing out. Shouting obscenities. Down the hall. Out the building.

Post / The Fallout- Oblivious Prime Strikes Again (the mech not my username, lol)

Optimus: “…Was it something I said?”

Ratchet stared at his very foolish friend:

“... Optimus...You proposed to the Megatron.’”

Bumblebee excitedly witnessing the whole situation: “This is the best day of my life.”

And from that moment on, everything changed.

--The Pining--

Optimus sent flowers.

Daily.

Soundwave kept posting “updates” that were really just edited footage of Megatron brooding on cliffs with dramatic music.

Ultra Magnus locked himself in a closet again. Occasionally screamed into the void.

The treaty was unofficially renamed The Accord of Romantic Intentions.

Ratchet accepted the situation and created an entire seating for potential wedding guests.

Starscream wrote several thinly veiled fanfics and tried to sell them to Knockout.

Optimus tried to be noble. Patient. Dignified.

But secretly?

He missed Megatron so much it hurt.

He missed their fights. Their arguments. The way Megatron’s optics flared when he got mad. That arrogant smirk. The fury.

The fire.

He loved him. Stupidly, endlessly, hopelessly loved him.

And now Megatron was a avoiding him.

--The Return--

Lightning split the sky. Thunder cracked. Dramatically.

And the door to the lounge exploded open.

Megatron stood there, drenched, furious, glowing with righteous rage.

He kicked the door aside and yelled:

“YOU CAN’T JUST LOVE ME, I’M TERRIBLE AT EMOTIONS AND ABSOLUTELY A WAR CRIMINAL!”

Then he hurled the bouquet, yet another one of the Prime's courting gifts, at Optimus.

It was Heliotropes, Forget-me-nots, Red Asters, Hyacinths, and Edelweiss.

Optimus caught it. Smiled.

“Then we’re both disasters. Let’s be terrible together.”

Silence. Crackling lightning. And a flustered warlord.

Megatron stomped forward, grabbed his pauldron, dragged him down, and snarled:

“If you’re going to marry me, you better mean it.”

Optimus, voice soft: “I have a cape picked out.”

Megatron, flushing cobalt: “I HATE YOU.”

Optimus, dreamily: “You will look radiant.”

Starscream sobbed in laughter in the background. Ultra Magnus fainted. Soundwave projected doves and sparkles.

Miko eavesdropping: “NO ONE TELL ME WHAT’S HAPPENING!”

----

Idk if I should make it a full story. But here's a draft of Soundwave's editions to the peace treaty document.

----

Official Treaty Document

THE ACCORD OF ROMANTIC INTENTIONS Ratified on the 20th Cycle of Awkward Love Confessions.

PARTIES INVOLVED:

Optimus Prime, Commander of the Autobots.

Megatron of Kaon, Commander of the Decepticons.

PURPOSE: To formally transition from time of War to marriage proposal as the primary form of Peace.

ARTICLES OF AGREEMENT:

Article I: Public Displays of Affection Shall be mandatory at diplomatic functions, including but not limited to:

War memorial dedications

Annual Peace Summits

Starscream’s sentencing hearings

Article II: Excessive Flower-Gifting Clause Optimus Prime is required to send one (1) bouquet per solar cycle. Failure to comply will result in Megatron throwing a chair. Again.

Article III: Emotional Availability Addendum Megatron will attend weekly sessions with Ratchet titled “Learning to Accept Compliments Without Hissing.”

Article IV: Starscream Gag Order Starscream is not allowed to comment on “the optics of this unholy alliance.” Violation punishable by being seated next to Ultra Magnus at the wedding. For dinner. For eternity.

Article V: The Wedding Shall be a public affair. Dress code: Formal Regalia Theme: “Explosion of Feelings.” Reception music provided by Soundwave. Catering by Knockout. Security by Ironhide, who disapproves.

SIGNATORIES:

Ratchet Soundwave Miko

Megatron

Optimus Prime

----

Optimus put extra thought into the bouquets:

Heliotropes: Devotion and eternal love.

Forget-me-nots: True love and remembrance, a symbol of enduring connection.

Red Asters: Undying devotion and deep emotional love, often symbolizing powerful affection.

Hyacinths: Sincerity and heartfelt emotion, with different colors carrying specific meanings (e.g., blue for constancy, purple for sorrow or asking forgiveness).

Edelweiss: Courage, noble purity, and love, especially in the face of hardship or sacrifice.

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.