Optimus’s 23 year old ass be like:
Optimus holding Baby Magnus while Elita’s taking a nap from the exhaustion of labor: *legitimately very concerned that he might accidentally crush the bab.*
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Optimus: But that thing, *Points to his left*
2yo Baby Magnus, sitting in his high chair: *Curiously confused baby noises* ??
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Optimus, walking around his house, doing normal adult person tasks, talking on his comm. with Prowl and Jazz: No, Prowl. ... No, I can’t have those twenty files done in three breems. ... No, I’m busy all day today. Elita is at work, I’m at home, and I still have to continue functioning as a normal adult member of society, not just leader of a faction, in a war.
2yo Magnus, toddling around home because that’s what tots do: *Walks toward Optimus, because ‘yay, daddy!’ And makes happy excited chirpy baby noises.*
Optimus, barely hearing them, and very, very barely missing stepping on his son: No, she’s bus- motHER OF GOD-
Optimus, now focused on Magnus, and trying not to scream, in sheer frustration, fear, worry, and anxiety all at once:
YOU.
YOU CAN’T DO THAT. NOT AT ALL. IT’S NOT ALLOWED.
*trying not to cry* i-i- just- no. *picks child up, and places him in high chair.* no.
why, of all the genetics for you to inherit from your mother, did it have to be her size?
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Optimus: no. youre too small. too small to exist.
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If you don’t get it, Magnus was a smol bab. A very smol bab. Optimus’s one, true, genuine fear, while Mags was little, was accidentally stepping on him. Elita wasn’t quite as concerned, so she found it adorably funny after a while.