Sooooo….yeah.

I have a predicament.

My exploding plot unicorn, Larry Lamperouge, seems to have taken leave of his senses and keeps demanding I write about the adventures of two breadcrumbs at the bottom of a toaster somewhere in Nicaragua. Seriously, I've actually written that and more. It's about three pages long, and still going, and it's got a strange Alice in Wonderland/Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy feel to it. I love it.

This is basically all I could come up with that actually made sense and even counted as a fanfic. I don't even know if it has a point to it.

Whatever the case, enjoy...

Pictures on the Wall

It is strange, is it not? That something as obscure as planet Earth, nothing more than a mere indecipherable speck amongst the trillions of other far more interesting and influential lights around it, could be home to something so precious. Who would have even presumed to have predicted, that the last few lingering survivors of a supremely advanced race who battled a terrible, crushing war that destroyed so many lives, would be living so happily on a planet that is thought to be so beneath the rest of the universe, it is not even considered habited?

It was indeed a shock to the vastly intelligent and advanced races that populate the cosmic terrain.

"How could a race so silly and unproductive ever hope to provide a suitable home for beings as universally respected and as gifted as Cybertronians?" Such is the question they often ask me.

I always answer the same. I tell them that they are simply not aware of the special talent humans have. Unlike other races, they can soften even the hardest souls, change the views of even the staunchest of foes and move even the coldest of hearts given enough time and effort.

I have often wondered, late on a sleepless night, or watching the scenes around me in everyday life, just what is it about them that gave them this talent? Is it their determination to be accepted by everyone and everything, or their utter perseverance in their diligent task of changing their world, no matter the cost, regardless what they may suffer on the route to a better tomorrow?

Or is it something far more guileless?

Perhaps it is the humble fact they understand the deep emotional bonds of family and friends better than those who consider themselves so above them. Intellect can only take you so far. Without feeling, without emotion, a life is meaningless.

Humans, lacking though they are in intellectual technology, mindset and design, understand emotions better than most. They use such poetic words to explain the deepest stirrings of their hearts, yet claim to have little or no knowledge of their own feelings and souls. They can tell whole stories by merely moving their bodies in carefully thought out movements, done so whoever watched would see it in their own way, and attach their own meaning to it. They paint such wonderful pictures with plain pigment or unpretentious words, effectively documenting the way they see their place in the vast reaches of the universe in such a way that it cannot be overlooked as silly scribblings by simple-minded creatures.

It is perhaps this that has allowed such strong bonds of family to grow between the humans and my kind, and gives us all the hope they will one day be accepted by the universe as comrades and indeed, lifeforms worthy of a chance to prove their worth. They would never be perfect, but no race ever was nor ever will be. They will always have their many flaws, but perhaps with time and effort, the universe will put aside these nature-decided failings and understand the true potential of humans as a race.

I dare to hold confidence in such a dream.

The Last Prime smiled at the new entry to his log, before closing the file and putting the data-pad away in its rightful place. He didn't often make new files, and when he did, it was merely to express his thoughts. With a sigh, he glanced down at the dubious shadow of a pile of data-pads lingering at the side of his desk.

He really did not feel up to going through reports right now.

Getting up, the Last Prime looked around his office, noting just how easy it could be to almost pretend he was back on Cybertron. But, Optimus thought as he glanced at the huge gathering of photographs his beloved and completely dotty sparkmate had plastered over the wall nearest the window, he was almost…glad this was not the case. He took a few moments to relish in the memories each photo would bring back.

He laughed heartily at Hollie's legendarily comical shot of Bumblebee and Sam looking very sheepish near a small, sparking pile of metal and rubble which had once been a perfectly functioning scanner, an utterly fuming Ratchet storming over in the background. Oh, how they all remembered that day. That was the first time any of the humans had witnessed first-hand the famous temper of Autobot CMO Ratchet, and dear Primus it had taken all the self-control Optimus had not to laugh himself silly at the terror-stricken faces of the even the toughest soldiers and politicians.

Optimus turned his attention to another of his favourites, a sweet picture of Elita sitting, cross-legged on the floor of one of the hangars, listening intently to whatever the tiny figure of Annabel was saying as she held up some kind of toy for the femme to inspect. Optimus remembered this too. He remembered watching his sparkmate get acquainted with the bold, friendly child. He'd absolutely adored the rapt attention on his sparkmate's lovely faceplates, and the way her arm had been draped protectively around the ever-so tiny human youngling, who grinned up at her with that irresistibly winning grin. He could see Will in the background, almost cut out of the picture completely, but the happy and approving look on his face as he gazed at his daughter with her newfound friend was certainly another thing Optimus treasured about the photo.

His third favourite, a humorous shot of another of Wheeljack's escaped inventions wreaking havoc, bots and humans caught in the second of motion as they scrambled to get away from the mad creation, and the title written across the bottom in white marker, 'Just another day at base!'. He never could quite remember when it had been taken. Though, considering the fact that such a scene wasn't exactly rare when Wheeljack was around, it was little wonder the Prime had no recollection of the moment.

The Last Prime smiled contentedly.

I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO END IT I'M SO SORRY THAT IT'S A TERRIBLE ENDING BUT THIS IS ALL I COULD COME UP WITH AND I JUST...

I need to get better at ending things. I have to be the worst ending writer in the world.