1) Loved how much attention this one got, and right off the bat, too! I hope I managed to answer most of the questions in this chapters, and as always, replies are at the bottom

2. Love

1,714 words

"So what exactly do you enjoy writing? What is your most common genre?"

It had started out an innocent enough conversation. He had asked me what my hobbies and interests were. I had given my response little thought, citing cheerleading, doodling, and writing as my three most favorite. It was a no-brainer, after all. My greatest joy at school was showing off my flexibility, physical strength, and the loud voice I had inherited from my mother. I was the captain of my squad and the primary side base, and I was known for being "that skinny girl that lifts up Clarisse by herself." Cheerleading was what kept me fit, what kept me at my 115 pound personal weight limit, and it was the one thing my mother loved bragging about. Everything else, it seemed, paled when compared to my older brother, Billy, my sibling rival that always seemed to be better, though my parents would both emphatically disagree whenever I brought it up.

Doodling was my at-school hobby, seeing as I was way too shy to let anyone else read my stories at school. I had stopped bringing my stories to school once one of the girl's in my grade took a strange liking to my writing. Yes, it probably should have flattered me that she liked my Inuyasha fanfic, but in reality, it terrified me. Yes, I was a cheerleader, but I was in no way a part of the popular crowd. This didn't mean that I was bullied per se – assuming the boy that relentlessly teased me wasn't considered a bully – but it did mean that I was taking a chance letting her read my stuff. What if she told her "cool" friends that I wrote romance? What would they say about me? The last thing I needed was for some boy in my class to start spreading around that I wrote porn (which, knowing the boys in my class, they would leap at the chance to do that).

So I started doodling. One of my friends was a fabulous artist, and I had picked up a few things from her. Mostly, I drew random crap that looked okay in my sketchbook. I didn't have to worry about anybody staring, and I didn't have to stress somebody spreading any rumors. I was safe.

Of course, that changed once I got home. The second I finished whatever homework hadn't been completed at school, I turned on my desktop and pulled open a Word document, picking up where I left off in whatever Transformers adventure I was weaving for my friends and fans on the fanfiction website. I dove into my story happily experiencing everything that I wrote, describing the movie created by my own mind as it flitted behind my eyes. It was what I loved so much about Transformers, what I loved about writing: I could become anyone I wanted. I could spin my plot however I wanted, and for those moments, I was free. At least, I was until dinner.

My mother was my greatest stressor. While my father didn't exactly support my adoration of the Cybertronian people, but being a trekkie and a Tolkienite, he understood my fandom wiles. Mother, however, was stuck on her Mary-sue romance novels, the ones that I made fun of in my fanfiction RPs.

"I don't understand why you have to write Transformers," she constantly griped. "You're such an amazing writer, and you waste all your talent on those stupid robots."

Only my mother can insert compliments like that while she's nagging me. I could understand her irritation, too. She easily admitted that she loved my ideas, and she loved listening to excerpts from my stories as long as I translated my Transformer-ese into English, changing "optics" to "eyes" and the like. She constantly told me that I could be making big bucks off of these stories if I would only make them human. It was at this point that I usually rolled my eyes, finished my dinner, and left the kitchen.

I knew all my likes and dislikes, and I could easily tell anyone exactly what they were – I had on multiple occasions… Then Optimus Prime asked me. We were sitting on my bed. I was seated Indian-style in my loose gray sweatpants and my tight red tank top, and Optimus was sitting on my pillow with his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his arms.

"Oh, I, uh, write romance," I responded with hesitance. Optimus cocked his head a little as he regarded me curiously.

"You are embarrassed by this fact? You do not seem the type to write anything explicit," Optimus noted. My eyes widened, and blood rushed to my face at the very thought. I wondered briefly what my new companion would think if I told him that many writers on my site often wrote rather explicit things about his, uh, personal life. Not that I was exempt from that. I may not write explicit stuff, but that didn't mean I kept from pairing him up with my original characters. Heck, I couldn't even think about how many Optimus stories I had written! Maybe he wouldn't ask—

"Perhaps I could read one?"

Oh, lord. Lordy lordy. I fidgeted in my spot, leaning back a little as I started playing with my fingers as I tended to do when I was nervous. Had he seriously just asked me that? Surely my luck didn't run that bad. "I, uh, I don't really think you'd like 'em. I mean, I'm not really that good, and I'm sure you're more into history, and and, uh, science! Yeah, I could totally see you reading science stuff, and ya know, romance is so mushy and, uh, and—"

"You are reminding me quite painfully of a mech I knew who went by the name 'Bluestreak,'" Optimus broke in smoothly, his gaze even as he watched me stutter and stumble over my excuses. I could swear he was smiling, too!

"Yeah… I got a friend that calls me that…" I admitted with a sigh, subconsciously reaching back to tighten my hairbun. Optimus' optics brightened minutely as his gaze turned knowing.

"You write about me, don't you?" he questioned, a single optic ridge rising as my blush grew.

"No! I mean, yes, but not like that!" I refuted. I groaned when Optimus' optics brightened even more, and he gave a small chuckle. He was laughing at me, the little jerk!

"You know, you should be nice to me," I stated, working to fight my blush. "I hold your romantic future in the palm of my hand. I could pair you up with Megatron or something."

That made his laughter cut of rather abruptly, and his little engine made a choking sound. His optics locked with my eyes, and I smirked triumphantly.

"Please, tell me you have not written such a pairing," he requested with furrowed brows. I was certain he was probably grimacing below his mask. I grimaced as well. Personally, I had never been a fan of slash pairings, and I told him so with a shrug. He nodded his relief and focused his attention on me once more.

"If I may ask, why do you write about me?" he questioned, looking sincerely curious. I shrugged again.

"I like the idea of you," I responded. Optimus' optics dimmed in his form of a frown.

"I do not follow."

"Well… You're brave and loyal to a fault. You're supportive. Once you bond with someone, you won't stab them in the back. You're every girl's dream guy. I'd love to meet a human that's half as perfect as you," I stated. His frown deepened.

"I am not perfect, nor would you want to mate a mech like me. No person is without their faults, and while you may love the idea of marrying a man like that, I believe you would find that such a man doesn't suit your needs. You need a man that will complement you, not surpass you."

I stared at the little mech, my eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. Optimus Prime had just given me relationship advice. My life was now complete.

"Besides, I gather there is a man in this world that will complete you fully. You need only wait for him."

Nope. Now my life was complete. My mother consistently made the above statement, constantly told me that there was a man who was my other half somewhere on this planet and we would meet someday. Somehow, Optimus Prime saying it made it seem real, made it seem… possible. Sure, I wasn't ugly, and I looked fantastic with makeup, something that I never wore. However, with how small my school was, I had no chance with any of the guys, most of whom were taken. I had given up hope on finding my guy a long time ago, replacing that dream guy, coincidentally, with Optimus Prime. I gave the little mech a small smile.

"Until then… I'll love you," I announced with a mock-lofty grin. "We may not have a romantic relationship, but I know you won't stab me in back."

Optimus' optics brightened in amusement. He rose unsteadily to his feet, fighting to stay balanced on the soft and mildly lumpy pillow as he crossed his right arm over his chest. "Very well. I shall be sure to guard your spark with my very life. No male, human or Cybertronian, will ever hurt you whilst I still vent." I grinned.

"Thank you, my noble prime," I responded lightly.

"Now, perhaps you will let me read some of your work? I may not be an overly romantic mech, but I believe anything would surpass the last few orns of reading technological manuscripts, educational booklets, and other such boring works of man." I paled again at his request. I didn't like non-fanfiction readers to read my stuff, especially in this case, where the person reading was actually one of the characters (It sounded even worse stated like that!). I didn't even let my brother read my stuff. It was something I couldn't find a reason for, as I knew they would probably just glance over it and give it back because it contained robots. Maybe that was why: I feared they would reject my writing because of its characters, and I knew that was a blow I would not soon recover from. Luckily, I was saved by my mother… sort of.

"Marie! Time for dinner!"

Catlover1177: I'm still thinking about whether to introduce Decepticon Personals. Maybe. It'd be near the middle or the end of the story, I think. Transformers aren't the only Personal robots being made. Optimus was just the first. Personal: Ironman will actually be the next, followed by Personal: Fairies. Lotsa companies are wanting in on the new Persobots. :)

I Am The Silver Lining: You are awesome. Seriously, I am friggin basking in your awesomeness. I think I sniggered over the first half of your review. Serious, you are awesome. Have a rust stick. :) And that would be strange. Something sorta like that happens later on. You shall see... In eighty-something chapters.

Dawn Racer: I'm trying to crank out 1-2 chaps a day. This is actually pretty easy to write because I don't have to do any big planning, ya know? I got two today, and I might be able to get another one out tomorrow before work or during my lunch break. We shall see! :)

enmused: Thank you very much. I didn't think my little Persobots would be so popular. Maybe I should call Intel, IBM, Microsoft, and other such companies. Maybe I can make a fortune off of mini-Optimus Primes! After all, Marie in this fic paid $700 for hers.

A Wiccan: ! I haven't seen you in forever! Nice hearing from you, friend! How's life?

AndromedaAI: Wouldn't it? I think a mini-Optimus to chat with and get advice from would be amazing.

Autobot Phoenix: XD XD XD XD XD

PepperCornPie: Eh heh... I have a fantastic imagination. With this one, I actually thought of it when I was wallowing. On Mondays, I'm home alone all day, and it kinda gets me depressed. I was really sad about something, and I really needed a hug, but my dad was at work, and he's usually the one I go to with my problems. So I wallowed, crying pathetically on the stairs in the over-dramatic fashion that I'm accustomed to, and as I questioned what I was to do with my life, I wished fervently that Optimus Prime would be sitting on the steps above me, running a hand through my hair as he whispered promises that everything would be okay and we would figure it out. That scene will appear in twenty or so chapters. Sadly, though, unlike Marie, I didn't have him here, so I figured if I had wished for him to be there before... y'all must have done so as well at least once. This is written partly for me... and partly for y'all. I felt all alone in those moments, like no one else had gone through this before, and I don't want any of my readers ever feeling that way. Even if it's me they send a message to, even if I don't know them, I still want them to have someone to cry to, ya know? :)

And he's... I think i made him 14 inches tall (I keep typing 14 ft, and erasing it, cuz he's not that tall) he's definitely toy-sized because that's what he is: a high-tech toy. They have similar laws, but I didn't really feel like coming up with what they would be. I just want this story to be emotion with a underlying message. I won't likely have the normal intricacies I put into my other fics. That's what makes this one so much fun to write: I don't have to plan ahead. This is all brain-to-page. No filter. Pure emotion. Complete truth and honesty. That's how I plan to play with y'all's emotions in this one. (New writing tactics FTW!)

And I'm uncertain whether other TFs will appear in this. We shall see. As of 2012, which is where this story is right now, Optimus Prime is the only Personal robot that's out, and he will be followed by Personal: Ironman and Personal: Fairies. Hasbro doesn't own Persobots in this; they just did a partnership because Persobots wanted Optimus Prime to be the first one out to ensure a big array of consumers for their first true trial run. :)

So how many of y'all are like Marie? How many of y'all don't mind posting on here, but balk at the idea of showing one of your classmates? I used to hate it when one of the other cheerleaders would peer over my shoulder and ask, "Hey, Jennifer, wha'cha writin'? Can I read it?" Uh, eh heh, no. And how many of y'all would get embarrassed when Optimus asked to read your romance stories that include him? *blush* sorryformakingyoumakeoutwithmyOC,Optimus... *bluuuuusssshhhh*