Damn, Sun!

AN: Long hiatus, I know. Not entirely 'back' per say, just wanted to update while still on break. Had mental fog and stalemate muse, and nothing worked to get me back into the love of writing.

Then I found a wonderful little thing called KDRAMA. Seriously,( and total fangirl moment here so bear with me folks, ) the dramas are THE BEST! TOP NOTCH! WAYYYYY better than ANY American tv/show, and even better than my fave Brit shows.

I have now been spoiled by the BEST and anything else just bores me to tears. I crave great drama, twisted plot lines, engaging/truthful/believable/heartwrenching characters… the whole package. I have been in awe of the acting, script, cinematography, ect… the list goes on and on.

I highly recommend giving Korean dramas a chance. Most have English subtitles. (sadly, no dubbing/voice over) I started watching in March… (youtube channel "Cereal") and by April, I found a streaming service for Asian shows called VIKI and have been engrossed ever since. In fact, I've had to buy my favorite 20 shows *shut up, don't judge me* and still counting…

If you don't want to pay for streaming (and a lot of services offer the programs, so you may want to check out what's available) there are a couple free streams on youtube… Cereal is a great channel to whet your appetite. I recommend "Bring it on Ghost!"

If you want to spend 5 bucks to stream Asian shows, go to VIKI dot com. My premium pass is 10.00 and has more features/available shows, but the basic monthly fee is really cheap for quality entertainment.

Anyway, my HIGHLY RECOMMENDED MUST WATCH DRAMAS are:

Guardian: The Lonely and Great God

Hotel Del Luna

The Game: Towards Zero

Missing: The Other Side

Mr. Queen

And if you can get through any one of these shows without crying…. You…. aren't human.

AN2: NO, I don't get paid for advertisement or promotion. This is just what has helped me through mental fog and depression (from lack of writing) and I wanted to share my passion for great drama with my fans. :D The shows are addictive.. I try to binge 2-6 hours a day. Writing is slowly being kindled and I'm hoping to get back to the keyboard on a more consistent basis.

AN3: If you're already a fan of kdrama and have a recommendation, I'd LOVE to hear it!

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Sunstreaker hated bright lights. Either the brilliant gallerias and boisterous parties of wealthy elitists, or the blinding spotlights of gladiatorial matches, he hated bright lights. Especially flash bombs. It figured the cons would create a detonation device to blind the enemy to make them easy targets. It was unusual the Cons would invent such a heinous and brilliant device. They must have stolen it.

Sunstreaker stumbled around, optic sensors completely burned out from the flash bomb. It was like staring into the heart of a star. His optical sensors were fried. They were so fragged, he couldn't even see HUD messages, but he didn't need diagnostics to tell him his sight was gone as he continued to bob and weave on the battlefield. He didn't know if there were any Cons around, but he didn't intend on making himself an easy target.

Blind he may be but he wasn't totally helpless. If he got his servos on a bot, they were terminated.

His luck was consistent.

"Look at what we have here," a deep gravely voice said.

A snively voice answered between snickers. "He's lost his way."

Sunstreaker was one of the fiercest warriors on the Autobot forces. He was also one of the best actors. Blindly he groped the air.

"What's going on? Where am I?"

"Aww, he's lost his memory core as well," the deep voice chuckled, the sound resembling two stripped gears attempting to pull in opposite directions. It was enough to make fuel lines freeze.

"Hello? Anywhere there?" Sunstreaker called out, his EM field pulsing as if searching for another signature

"I think the blast wiped out his audios as well as his optics," the greasy one said. It was easy to detect the opportunist calculating body parts and black market prices.

Though the two mechs dampened their EM fields, Sunstreaker had augmented sensors, courtesy of a little Praxian foresight. He used such hidden talent to zero in on the two mechs. Though Sunstreaker's couldn't see them, he could sense their spark pulses. Given the even pulses, they were relaxed, which mean they weren't holding their weapons on him. They didn't consider him a threat.

Poor slaggers.

"Hello?" Sunstreaker played it up, waving his arms back and forth and swaying as if his equilibrium chips were askew. They were, but not as drastic as what Sunstreaker pretended. "Is anyone there? What happened? What's going on?"

"Shame we have to slag him," the deep voice said with a strange tinge to his voice. "He has a pretty frame. Seems a shame to let such a pretty bot go to waste."

"Pleasure bots are banned, you know that," the weasely mech grunted. "Too many bots fighting over who gets to frag."

Sunstreaker was getting closer. A couple more meters…

"Maybe if we save him, he'll offer a free fragging?" The gruff mech put in.

It took all of Sunstreaker's performance skills to not purge at such a suggestion. Sadly, in his previous life before the war, such a thing wasn't an uncommon request.

Sunstreaker's fingertips brushed metal.

Thousands of hours of training and fighting in the gladiatorial matches honed Sunstreaker's skills. He didn't need his optics to know the vulnerable spots on the two mechs. His talented hands detected ridges and plating placement and in a split astrosecond, he identified their builds and knew their termination points.

They never knew what hit them. Their last fleeting vision before termination was the handsome face of a sightless mech.

Sunstreaker wrenched the head off the smaller, simpering voiced mech. He was a lithesome model, probably used for courier business. Which meant traveling in all forms of environmental situations. Which meant a visor.

Sunstreaker's luck appeared to be favorable as he located the visor and disengaged it from the head. Deft fingers studied the outline. It would be a tight fit, as Sunstreaker's features were a more broad, squared, irresistibly handsome. Whereas the dead snively mech had a thin, narrow face with a pinched up olfactory sensor.

Hoping he understood the visors specifications, Sunstreaker placed it over his damaged optics and tapped the side to activate. His optical sensors may be damaged but his optical relays were still functioning. The visor stimulated the relay center.

But true to Sunstreaker's luck, it changed again. The visor was damaged.

He lacked the ability to see definition: no color, outlines, or depth perception. Whether the mech had been cheap and didn't want to spend credits on a more detailed visor, or it simply wasn't necessary for his previous employment, but Sunstreaker cursed him anyway. He could only see the most rudimentary, two dimensional outline. Rather like walking on a drawing. He'd have to be careful around edges, lest he fall from a great height.

The only clear image he could detect was heat signatures. The two corpses at his feet were cooling fast. Scavengers would be upon them shortly.

Parts were scarce, battles ferocious, and desperate warriors had to make due with what was available.

Stripping the two mechs of their weapons, and placing an incendiary grenade under their lifeless husks in hopes of melting some Cons, Sunstreaker started back toward friendly lines. He had been separated from his unit nearly a full cycle ago and was starting to losing hope of survivors. But he was nearly to Autobot territory. Unless they lost ground to a con advancement.

Sunstreaker tried to run, but his lack of perception caused some issues, especially when he found the edge of a platform and fell over a hundred feet. He landed hard on a rubble strewn ground but didn't linger on smarting injuries. Cons could be anywhere. He needed to keep moving.

A glimmer of heat to his right drew him in that direction, hoping it was an Autobot scout. Though most were small and rather inconsequential in Sunstreaker's opinion, at least there was safety in numbers and a comrade to watch one's aft.

There was the sound of lasers and the rumbling of heavy machinery as Sunstreaker launched himself over a partially collapsed wall and found himself in the middle of a firefight. It took only a second to glimpse the giant triple changers racing toward a cluster of four smaller bots.

Sunstreaker didn't need to see the Con logo on the triple changers chests. He recognized their personalities from first hand experience. Relying on countless battles, he leveled a pulse rifle and fired, intending on hitting shoulders.

Instead, he blew off a helm and took out a knee, sending the running mech tumbling into his surviving comrades. Sunstreaker turned to the bots opposite the cons and shouted.

"RUN!"

They scrambled out of the way, probably neutrals, judging by their lack of ball bearings and weaponry.

A lone figure emerged from a side alley and began firing at the triple changes, providing added cover while the handful of bots fled to safety. Sunstreaker wasn't able to see colors or patterns, but judging by the small slender frame, his back up was a femme.

Well, she wasn't much of by way of back up, but Sunstreaker could respect a femme who fought instead of fled. In his opinion, femmes were every bit capable of fighting, some more viscously than their male counterparts. Some femmes were just mean. Ironhide's sparkmate came to mind. Chromia was known for having a caustic attitude and a violent streak to rival Sunstreaker's own.

He immediately adored that femme.

His adoration only doubled when she blistered his paint with her vocabulary. Had she not been bonded to Ironhide, Sunstreaker would have seriously considered pursuing her.

Sunstreaker fell back, gaining ground on the femme who helped him provide cover. He was about to call for retreat when he noticed a muted heat signature high above.

A combiner! Slag!

"Look out!" Sunstreaker shouted, crossing the distance to the femme in the span of a spark beat and tackling her to the ground just as a heavy foot landed where she once stood. Sunstreaker didn't have time to accept the femme' gratitude because the ground began to shake.

The substructure convulsed, destabilized by the weight and heavy impact of the combiner team. Sunstreaker was vaguely aware of wrapping his arms around the femme before the ground gave out beneath them and they went tumbling into darkness.

Sunstreaker wasn't sure how long he was unconscious, but when he returned to reality, he realized several things. One, something heavy was pressing into his back. Possibly a building or an entire road. Second, one side of his borrowed visor was cracked, providing him with only half of the information. Third, he was face down on the femme's chest plate. Four, her engine was running hot, as Sunstreaker detected the near white heat on the only working side of his visor.

He tried to move but the weight pressed into his back, threatening to snap his spinal strut.

"Hold still," came a soft feminine voice. "The level collapsed. We're trapped."

"You mean, this isn't the time for a frag?" Sunstreaker joked to take his mind off the fact he was in a lot of pain and essentially blind. He hated being helpless.

"I'm bonded," she said immediately.

"Never bothered me before,' Sunstreaker smirked, having the audacity to nuzzle her transformation seam.

Now, most femmes liked it when their seams were played with. It got their engines going. Not this femme. Her tiny fingers found his audio fins and rammed in the slats, causing Sunstreaker to howl and hiss, wincing as she scratched his inner receptors.

"I said I'm bonded," she snapped removing her hands to let him know she didn't appreciate his advances.

"Sorry," Sunstreaker muttered.

It was strange. Most femmes would be putty. This one was apparently immune to seam attention. Either that or she took her bonding seriously. Which was fine by Sunstreaker. If she didn't want her circuits blown by the best, that was her problem.

He ran a systems check, and carefully removed the visor, holding it over his shoulder and tapping the recessed buttons in what he hoped was the correct order. He placed the visor back over his eyes and recalled the sequence.

The visor mapped the debris, but only on a rudimentary level. In fact, according to the readings, there wasn't nearly as much debris on top of him as he surmised.

"There isn't much on my back. I think I can move it."

"Don't," she gasped, heat signature flaring again.

Sunstreaker didn't listen. He rarely did when he set his mind to something. He grunted and braced his arms on either side of her, rearing up. There was a groaning of metal. Dust fell though Sunstreaker was unable to see the fine powder.

"Don't! You'll hurt yourself," she pleaded. "Or make the rest shift until it crushes us. Just, hold still. Help is on the way."

"No telling if the Cons are up there waiting for the Autobots."

Sunstreaker, slid his knees up to brace on either side of her thighs, essentially caging her, blocking the debris from crushing her much smaller frame

The metal groaned. A pipe broke, venting steam in an angry hiss.

Sunstreaker expanded his sensory field, trying to discern the weight and any fulcrum points. It felt like he had a pyramid on his back. He needed to find the right angle to get it to shift harmlessly away.

Calculations and diagnostics indicated the best location for shifting the debris was behind him. He began to rock, lifting his upper chest and bowing his hips to where they bumped into the crotch plate of the femme. Had his spike been engaged, she would have been weeping his designation.

She pawed at him, her EM field and heat index rose.

"What are you doing? Stop that!" she said, voice rising the hotter she was becoming. "Stop it right now!"

Sunstreaker paused mid-motion, his crotch plate level with hers, his shoulders thrown back. His cracked visor centered on her fiery heat signature.

"Relax, I'm only trying to dislodge the weight so I can get free. I would never force myself on a femme."

It was true. Sunstreaker may have an ego and a shamefully extensive list of berth partners, but he never forced himself upon an unwilling participant. Though with his actions, he appeared to be dry fragging her.

"You wouldn't be the first mech who's lied," she countered.

Sunstreaker conceded her point. Oh well. He was nearly there.

He gave a mighty heave, throwing his shoulders back. The rubble shifted, freeing him from his oppressive prison. Though he couldn't see facial features, he grinned down, lowering himself to where his olfactory sensor brushed hers.

"Protest all you want, but I can sense your EM field and see how hot you're running," he breathed, ghosting her face plates and making her shudder from the contact. "If we had time, and your sparkmate wanted to join, we could make this a fun situation. However, I have work to do so your desire will have to wait."

He crawled over her, satisfied by her shocked outrage. Oh he loved to rile up the prim and proper types.

"You're a rusty circuit!" she snapped following his example and crawling away from the debris.

Sunstreaker blindly bumped into twisted metal and broken pipes. He actively scanned for heat signatures. So far, they were alone. Good. The neutrals were safe and the considerable size of the collapse meant the combiner and triple changers probably left in a hurry, not bothering to wait for survivors. Given their weak spinal struts, they were probably going to base to gloat about exaggerated numbers they terminated.

There was no honor in burying a blind mech and helpless femme.

Sunstreaker's bravado was short lived. His frame gave an ominous grind and hiss before he landed flat on his handsome face, unable to move.

Okay, maybe the debris on his back was heavier than estimated.

"Slag," he muttered, face smashed into the metal ground. "I may have overstressed my actuators."

"You think?" the femme quipped. Her small hands roamed his golden frame. Shoulders back, hips, legs.

Sunstreaker couldn't resist. "Like what you feel?"

"Only as an example of what to avoid," the femme retorted, earning Sunstreaker's startled beep.

The femme had spunk. And some medical knowledge, as she found a junction between his shoulders and wiggled her petite digits between the plates and found a crimped wire. One sharp stabbing pain later, and a yell full of assorted words that usually got a mech slapped, but Sunstreaker was able to move on his own again. But not much.

"Remain still. Help should be here any breem."

Sunstreaker struggled to get his arms under himself to roll over. He flopped to his back , an electronic whine filling the air. With his systems running high, struggling to maintain temperature and pressure, Sunstreaker knew the internal damage was far more extensive than he originally surmised.

Oh slag.

He couldn't terminate here. His brother would never forgive him.

They were due to be reunited at the end of the solar cycle, having been assigned to two different groups for scouting of underground tunnels, searching for neutrals to evacuate, and discover any hidden Decepticon cache or secret base.

The bot in charge of Sunstreaker's unit, Ironhide, was one of the new Prime's most trusted advisors. Sunstreaker could see why. The old mech knew his weaponry. In fact, he charged with a variety of dangerous weapons as if they were long lost lovers. Sunstreaker could respect that.

There were also several femmes who were assisting the crude cartographers in mapping out the tunnels and recommending strongholds and bases of operation. Being smaller, faster builds, they had extensive knowledge of the lower tunnels where most mechs never tread.

Sunstreaker didn't know this femme. He had never heard her voice before. Probably from another unit. The femmes knew shortcuts and hidden passageways not found on standard maps, hence their recruitment.

"I know it's painful, but try to relax," she said, caressing his helm in a tender, creator sort of way.

Normally Sunstreaker shied away from such treatment. He was a grown mech, nearly a millennia! He was below such childishness.

Only this time, he liked it. It was…soothing. His pain eased and time seemed to go by much quicker, for it didn't take long for the femme to perk up.

"My spark mate comes," she informed her injured charge. "There will be excavation crews to help dig us out, and you can receive the best medical care in Iacon."

"As long as the medic knows what he's doing and isn't some ingratiating, lackluster, simpering, spindly wimp."

"I've never met him actually," the femme confided. "But I hear he's the best on Cybertron."

"He better be," Sunstreaker grunted darkly.

If this medic didn't do a decent job of repairing Sunstreaker, when the unruly frontliner was healed, he would be putting the medic in his own medbay. Sunstreaker had standards. If another didn't meet them, they were slagged for it.

There was a groaning of metal. Silver dust fell about them though Sunstreaker could not see the fine filaments.

"They are working on the wreckage," the femme muttered, digits lightly stroking Sunstreaker's audio fins.

He hummed, enjoying the pleasant sensation. The femme not only had a wicked aim and titanium struts, but she was also gentle and attentive to males.

"Sure you don't want a quick frag?" he asked, half serious. With his systems royally slagged, there was no way he could engage in physical interfacing. Not that such a thing would stop him. He'd still make a good effort, if the femme was so willing.

She offered a delicate chuckle.

"I don't think my bondmate would appreciate such an offer."

"Well, if he's not too ugly, we can add him," Sunstreaker put in, offering a broken smile in the darkness. His sightless optics tried to make out the femmes features but the damaged visor only gave him a partial thermal reading of the femme tending to his injuries. "Maybe I can instruct him in proper interfacing techniques?"

She let out a very un-femme-like snort.

"He needs no instruction in that regard, trust me," she imparted. "If anything, you'd be better served teaching him how to decrease his stamina."

"That good, eh?" Sunstreaker quirked a grin. Typically it was males who boasted of their prowess, usually overly inflated, but coming from a femme made it more truthful. They were honest in their berth partners. Sometimes embarrassingly so. Many joke the mechs were crass and rough around the edges, but they couldn't hold a welder to a femme.

The fairer gender tended to be brutally honest.

A screech of metal, jostling of heavy sheeting, and a few clinks of falling bolts, and a chunk of the debris shifted, exposing Sunstreaker and his attendant to the optics of the rescue unit.

"Don't move yet," a mech said. His voice was unknown to Sunstreaker as well, but since the femme didn't tense, he must be a part of her unit. "There's a damaged pipe and high voltage wire to be cleared before you can get out."

Sunstreaker turned his broken visor upward and was able to make out two narrow, blurry outlines of thermal signatures. They were quickly overshadowed by a much larger, much hotter frame. He practically lit up the damaged visor in heat and presence.

"Report?" came the deep vibrato Sunstreaker had only ever heard over the comm. lines.

Sunstreaker's jaw dropped. He may not have met the mech face to face, but he had certainly heard the distinct tone to know who was speaking without the use of his visor. Sunstreaker's spark faltered, dread filling his frame.

He had propositioned the new Prime's spark mate. Challenged the mech's physical standing as well as questioning his prowess in the berth. For the first time in Sunstreaker's life, he blushed with shame and regret.

Such blasphemy required his immediate termination. He was sure of it. The Prime's femme would relay Sunstreaker's brash, uncivilized propositions, and being a bonded couple, she would demand Sunstreaker's spike on a gold platter. And her mate, and the new leader of their planet, would be within his rights to grant her wish. Or order Sunstreaker's immediate trial and termination by smelting pit.

Both were certainly within their rights to do so.

"I'm fine, Optimus," the femme answered, "but the mech who saved my life has suffered severe spinal damage. He requires immediate medical attention."

Sunstreaker turned his sightless optics to the femme and muttered, "I apologize for my earlier suggestion. It was not my intention to humiliate and proposition the Prime's spark mate."

To his shock, she offered a laugh.

"You're not the first, nor probably the last to make such statements."

"I did not mean to insinuate such things about your mate," Sunstreaker added.

She offered a soft, feminine laugh. "Yes, you did. And had I not found the perfect spark to bond my life with, I would have taken you up on your offer. But as it stands, I already have the best. I won't settle for less."

Sunstreaker's cheeks plates heated. Compared to the Prime, Sunstreaker was dross.

"He's a lucky mech," Sunstreaker muttered.

"And I am a lucky femme," she added, offering a gentle caress to Sunstreaker's helm. "And you're lucky my mate has a sense of humor."

"Oh, Primus," Sunstreaker groaned. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"

The femme tapped his forehead, pretending to be deep in thought.

"Well, he does enjoy a good laugh, and with this war going on, there isn't much to make him smile."

Sunstreaker gasped incredulously, causing the femme to giggle. He sighed in resignation.

"What price your silence?" he asked, liking this femme more and more. The Prime had chosen well.

"I always wanted a handmaid," she snickered. "But you'll need a repaint. Pink would suit you better."

"Oh, slag no!" Sunstreaker growled. "I don't wear pink!"

"And your interface panel must be welded shut," she goaded.

"Prime!" Sunstreaker yelled, frantically searching the heat signatures above and zeroing in on the brightest source. "Get me away from this femme! She's crazy!"

Hearty laughter reached Sunstreaker's audios. "Why do you think I bonded with her? You think she's bad now, you should drink with her."

Sunstreaker opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and meekly huffed in annoyance. The new Prime and his bondmate were nothing as Sunstreaker expected. From what he recalled from history downloads, Primes were stuffy, uptight, by the book mechs with no sense of humor, no sense of fun, and spent all their time communing with the Matrix of Leadership. Their femmes, the few that were bonded, were as dry and dusty as their male counterparts.

To hear these two laugh, make jokes, and he wasn't naïve enough to miss the underlying threat of drinking with her, which meant she could hold her liquor and Sunstreaker knew a femme's ability to process the high octane faster and thus, drink mechs under the table. On the surface, Prime's joke earned a couple chuckles, but Sunstreaker knew it's underlying meaning.

She was tough. She could hold her own, on the battlefield and off. She wasn't one to take lightly. And definitely not one to challenge when it came to drinking games.

She'd wipe the floor with anyone.

Sunstreaker could respect that.

If he needed any more incentive, her EM field spiked, racing along his plating and though his systems were damaged, his plating stood up on end from the sheer magnitude. The pulse was wild, violent, erratic. Much like his own.

Powerful. Terrifying, especially when coming from a femme. She wasn't one to mess with. Those kind of EM fields usually meant an unstable bot with a seriously dangerous streak. It was wise to avoid such people. Sunstreaker could vouch from experience.

The field retreated and belying the raw, sheer power he experienced, she gently caressed his helm, soothing his aches and worries.

It was in that moment, Sunstreaker understood the full depths of the femme.

And secretly vowed to keep her safe for the new Prime.

At all costs.

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Eagerly awaiting feedback….