heathen
By SMYGO4EVA
Arcee had always thought that falling was like floating in space. Falling would be like twirling through the madness and shadow that is space. Space was all that was left, flowing past the many planets that decorate it. To fall was to be soft and weightless, as if a lack of direction brought with it a freedom that no mortal could touch on Earth.
But to fall, she soon learned, was to be grasped by the metallic claws of the enemy in the throes of battle. To fall was not to float, but to be trapped in one of his unbending iron hands that tightened around her waist (in the throes of mad dominance, all for the sake of this) as she tried to tear away from his ruthless, unyielding grasp.
Megatron truly was a tyrant, a brute, a heathen, and not to be saved.
Arcee knew that for certain, and this only cemented it.
"Mistakes, I've made a few…"