Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers

Here, have giggle or two.


Of all the banes of his existence, of all the things that got under his plating, the immeasurable amount of causes of Pit-screamin worthy processor aches, the amazing examples of awe inspiring events that are worthy of using Primus' name as an expletive, this was the worst Ratchet had ever experienced.

Onlining to Bulkhead snoring on top of you.

The fact they were in a cell from Shockwave's most joyful recharge fluxes, a minor point. He could deal with that, had quite the bit of experience with that sort of situation. He wasn't worried about it all, he'd decided vorns ago that their cause was worth off lining for. Being smothered to death by an oversized, over sensitive, Wrecker who was so naturally clumsy Soundwave felt bad for the mech? NO. WAY. IN. PIT.

"Bulkhead! Online you half-processor spawn-of-a-scraplet before I take out my Swizzle!" He yelled in his deadliest voice.

"Swizzle? What's a Swizzle?" The very helpful femme designated Arcee called from a corner snuggled up to Prime.

"Shut your intake and help me!" He snapped.

"Can't. I've been injured." Came the mockingly dainty reply.

"Really?" Ratchet drew out the middle vowels for emphasis then snorted.

"You aren't the only one who was trapped under a large object." Most people giving said large object a pointed look would have made it to appear like a glare, hers held pure affection.

"If you utter one more glyph of complaint I will hang you over a smelting pit until you've melted through the chains and fallen in." All four bots moved their helms as one towards the snarling voice and after vorns of remaining completely stoic Optimus Prime started to laugh.

In a cell just across from theirs, peeking just out from under Predeking's aft, were two piercing red optics.