"Cybertronians don't wear jewellery or clothing except for special social occasions and private times, when we can reasonably expect to be safe and not have to transform. Otherwise, those things get broken or lost, or they catch in your seams and gears and slow you down. I've given jewels and silks to my lovers, but that's either an intimate gift or a message to all concerned at a social occasion that someone is under my personal protection. If you give me jewellery I'll wear it in bed, or at parties, and love it, and let you show me off to your friends if you like; I'm scarred, but I know I'm still pretty. But if there's any chance I'll have to turn into a tank, it's best left at home. As for weapons..."
Megatron tries to close his eyes, because the tears have come back, but he can't. It's just that she's so perfectly right about that, about him. "I am a weapon. I'm tired of being a weapon. If there's something after us and our own that can only be killed with a rose-golden dagger that's sprinkled with my dearest lover's tears and given to me at the stroke of midnight at the site of some battle on Asgard, then yes, Dulscintara, give me a weapon, but otherwise...don't?"
He pulls her in close. Like a mech with his lover, but also like a child with a doll. Like the way he did Ravage after he had her the night they took Kalis, a day when they both nearly died.
His voice cracks. There's faint light seeping out through the seams of his chest, and the filigree on his chestplates lights up red. The metal isn't hot, just warm, but something inside him feels like it's breaking and he just wants to let it.
"The towel was a kindness. The children's drawings are hope, for them and for us. If you want to give me a present, give me something you think is beautiful, or something that makes you think of me, or something that will always remind me of you, not that I ever forget--but hope and kindness are things I will always need, because sometimes I'm not very good at them. I want a life. And I want it with you, and the people we love, and the people we're going to love. The outcasts, the fallen, the broken, our own. And the Voice and the Protector of the Decepticons, neither of whom, thank providence, is me."
Sorry this took forever, went to the dentist today and then I rewrote this a lot
Megatron tries to close his eyes, because the tears have come back, but he can't. It's just that she's so perfectly right about that, about him. "I am a weapon. I'm tired of being a weapon. If there's something after us and our own that can only be killed with a rose-golden dagger that's sprinkled with my dearest lover's tears and given to me at the stroke of midnight at the site of some battle on Asgard, then yes, Dulscintara, give me a weapon, but otherwise...don't?"
He pulls her in close. Like a mech with his lover, but also like a child with a doll. Like the way he did Ravage after he had her the night they took Kalis, a day when they both nearly died.
His voice cracks. There's faint light seeping out through the seams of his chest, and the filigree on his chestplates lights up red. The metal isn't hot, just warm, but something inside him feels like it's breaking and he just wants to let it.
"The towel was a kindness. The children's drawings are hope, for them and for us. If you want to give me a present, give me something you think is beautiful, or something that makes you think of me, or something that will always remind me of you, not that I ever forget--but hope and kindness are things I will always need, because sometimes I'm not very good at them. I want a life. And I want it with you, and the people we love, and the people we're going to love. The outcasts, the fallen, the broken, our own. And the Voice and the Protector of the Decepticons, neither of whom, thank providence, is me."