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cybertronian-cupid · 3 years

Note

Could I ask for a scenario where TFP Megatron’s human S/O gets really sick, and while he had been trying to keep them a secret from the Autobots for obvious reasons, Knockout doesn’t really know what he’s doing so Soundwave reminds him that one of the humans the Autobots know is a nurse, so they end up kidnapping June to help them?

(If you want, could you add a little bit at the end of the Bots finding out about it? If not that’s ok)

No autobots, mostly June's POV. And "really sick" means angst in my books!!!💥 ~Gregoria🏩

............................. ....................... ............................

“Look, no one is particularly happy about this,” Knockout said stiffly, tightening his grip when June tried to struggle. “But you can either play nice and help a fellow medical professional, or we both get scrapped.”

She’d have a lot to say about what seems to qualify as a medical professional to them, about how they’d have a better chance at playing “we need this human” if they kidnapped a mechanic or an engineer. Instead she tightened the grip on the sleek tablet she was given and bit her tongue. A few more turns and they arrived at what she assumed was the medbay, the imposing figure of Decepticon lord standing at the farther edge. It sounded like there was a hushed conversation happening between him and someone standing near one of the giant metal slabs.

Knockout stopped at a safe, respectful distance and June could feel his grip shift nervously.

“My liege,”

No response.

“My liege, I have succeeded in acquiring the autobots nurse.”

That seemed to do something, since the towering robot finally shifted his attention to them.

“Knockout,” he acknowledged, and the diversion let June see what his frame was obstructing beforehand. There was no robot in sight, and she could spot a barely visible lump of fabric on the slab. A clawed servo extended towards Knockout, and soon June was placed on it, staring up into the tyrant’s eyes.

“Leave us,”

“Lord Megatron, if I may suggest you refuel-”

“You may not. Dismissed.”

“Understood.” and with a bow, Knockout briskly made his exit. When the door closed, Megatron turned his glare down at her.

“Nurse Darby.”

The floor was a long way down, and no matter how valuable a bargaining chip, she could be killed just the same if she showed disrespect. She bowed her head, but refused to break her gaze.

“Lord Megatron.”

Instead of being dropped onto the slab like expected, she was lowered down, placed near the lump of what she could now tell were multiple blankets and pillows. Her puzzled look met with a deepening scowl.

”I suggest you do not try anything clever and get on with helping a fellow human.”

She crouched and peeled away the blankets. Whoever this person was, however they managed to find themself on this warship, she knew one thing clearly as soon as their face came into her view. This kind of state was out of her hands.

“What happened?” she demanded, feeling for a pulse.

“I do not know, they have been nearly healed when their condition began worsening.”

June opens a file on the tablet. She looked over the information three times already on the drive to here, cursing the lack of sense these notes made. She didn’t even know they were describing the medical condition of a human. Now she hoped it was in fact simply a difference in medical practices and not deliberate neglect on Knockout’s part.

“What condition?”

“Are you not a nurse?” he snarled. Before she could attempt to explain the lack of information, the person groaned, their eyes slowly blinking open. Their skin and clothes drenched in sweat, chest heaving with wheezing breaths.

June steadied them and helped them sit up when they made it clear they will not stay down. They lifted their head slowly, their cracked lips parting.

“Megatron?”

Their voice was so hoarse it hurt to listen, and June was still attempting to make sense of the crisscrossing symptoms. None of it was making any sense.

“I am here my love,”

June has seen her fair share of worried partners. She has heard the soft voices meant to comfort and distract her patients from pain and fear, seen the unsure touches as if they were made of glass. She did not expect a bloodthirsty tyrant to be capable of the gentleness with which his claws were offered for the human to hold.

“Let me introduce you to the nurse. Her name is June Darby and she’ll help to heal you and return your strength,” his gaze shifted to her, all gentleness gone.

“Or else.”

“Don’t be mean,” they croaked out, swaying and tapping the digit in a weak imitation of a slap. “Have you,” they swallowed heavily, “Have you slept?”

“And leave you alone in case you wake? Of course not.”

“You shouldn’t have,” and still June saw the corner of their mouth twitch up. They clearly wanted to say more, but their next breath had them slamming forward, spasming with the force of their coughs. They pressed their head against the metal claw when they managed to get their breathing under control, tears rolling down their cheeks with the pained wheezes. June swallowed a lump in her throat.

“I can’t help them.” seeing she would be destroyed if the other human was not present, she hurried to explain.

“I am not a doctor, and there is no equipment that could be used to treat them aboard this ship.”

“It can be provided,”

“No, not with the kind of testing and procedures we’ll need to perform. What they need is immediate treatment in a safe, sterile environment and a full medical team on hand to determine what is causing,” she looked back at the nonsense on the screen in her hand, “whatever this condition is.”

“Names.”

She looked up and recognized that look too. Anger mixed with desperate determination.

“Give me the names of your doctors, human. My sparkmate will not be leaving this ship, and neither will you until they are fully healed.” one of his claws rubbed the head of the crying person and they leaned into his touch, attempting to hold back sobs.

“And if you do not value your own life, I believe your son’s well being should be kept in mind. After all,” he aimed a smile full of teeth at her, his tone that of the mock concern.

“It would be a shame for young Jack to be left to fend for himself, don’t you agree?”

#anon #tfp megatron #tfp megatron x s/o #tfp megatron x reader #transformers prime #tfp

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yes-i-write-fanfiction · 3 years

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Can you do a part two of yandere TFP Megatron where Bot!Reader is captured by the Decepticons and Megatron reveals his feelings to them?

He’d been interrogating you for hours now, though the whole interrogating thing seemed more like an excuse to torture you since Megatron didn’t really seem interested in getting any information out of you. Not that you would ever give him any and Megatron probably knew that as well which is why he stopped asking you any questions long ago.

The electro-whip hit across your back once again, drawing a strangled shout out of your vocalizer. It was just you and Megatron in the interrogation chamber by now. Everyone else had left to attend other duties, leaving Megatron to dish out your torture all by himself. You didn’t doubt however that Soundwave was keeping an optic on the whole situation from the command deck. Maybe he was even live-streaming your torture to your team, forcing them to watch their friend get hurt and not being able to do anything. Anything to lower their morale or make them act without thinking trying to save you. They better not do anything to put themselves in danger, the last thing the autobots needed was not one but multiple soldiers taken prisoners by the cons.

Suddenly your chin was grabbed and you were forced to stare up into the optics of your torturer. “You’re not paying attention” Megatron snarled, red optics blazing with anger. “Even when it’s just you and me you can’t help but let your thoughts wander.” His grip on your chin tightened and his scowl deepened. “How much more pain must I inflict on you for you to finally give me all your undivided attention, to make you focus solely on me?”

You don’t answer, mostly because you cant’t be sure your vocalizer won’t fail you mid sentence and simply start spitting static, so instead you settle for simply glaring at him. Weirdly enough, this seems to please Megatron as for a second his scowl lessens and his optics seem to twinkle with delight.

“There. Now you’re paying attention.” Megatron seems proud of himself and his grip on your chin eases up. He stares down at you with some indiscernible feeling on his face. There’s a tense silence hanging in the air as you wait for him to continue speaking. “You are too stubborn for your own good” Megatron finally said and his voice was oddly soft, especially considering he’d been torturing you for hours. His hand travels from your chin to your cheek, touch tender as to not hurt your injured face. The sudden softness shocks you and you don’t understand what’s going on. Megatron doesn’t seem to even take in your stunned face, mind somewhere far away. “Do you remember when I offered you a spot in the decepticon high command? Right after the fall of Vos?”

You stare at him. Yes, you remembered. Megatron had managed to split you from your team and confronted you in the flaming ruins of the city. He hadn’t talked to you ever since that fateful day with the Senate but then he seemed almost frantic to speak with you. His promises of power and control had done little to convince you and in the end you had refused his offer. You will never forget the look of absolute rage on his face back then. It was only due to your team coming to your rescue at that exact moment you were able to escape with your life.

“I meant everything I said back then. All the offers I made you I had all intention to uphold.” Megatron sounds so sincere that it makes your tanks churn unpleasantly and the way he looks at you with such intense longing is causing your spark to clench uncomfortably. “That day, when we were standing before the Senate and you chose to side with Orion Pax, my spark was filled with such intense rage and hatred. How dare you betray me? Optimus was one thing but you?” His jaw clenches and his denta grit against each other, yet his hand on your cheek remain as tender. You can’t look away from his optics that’s staring holes into you. “I often wonder, if I had told you my feelings back then, before it all went down, would it have changed anything? Would you have stayed by my side?”

Your voice box pops and fizzles. “Wha-a-at ar-e y-you ta-talking ab-out?” Megatron stares at you. You stare back. Then, before you can even react, he bends down and kisses you. It’s a quick and chaste kiss and it’s over before you can even realize that it’s happened. Once it finally hits you, your optics widen and you stare at Megatron in shock. He doesn’t return your gaze, instead he’s already turned away and is on his way out the chamber. Before exiting, he pauses.

“I don’t care what I have to do to keep you by my side, to keep all your attention on me. Whatever I have to do, whoever I have to kill, I will do so without any regret.”

With that, Megatron exits the chamber, leaving you feeling like your entire world has turned upside down.

#transformers imagine #transformers prime #yandere #megatron #nonconsensual kissing

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bccfggffbgv · 2 years

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(Entropy was getting stronger, but it was starting to be at a cost. He was starting to get so strong his flawed body, a trait born of his prototype nature as an unstable Murder Drone/Interconnection Cube hybrid, was starting to have issues, the most prominent was what little sanity he had starting to erode away. He didn’t realize, nor would ever realize, that this was happening, but it would prove horrible for him down the line. Meanwhile, the suspicious lack of counter to Dream Killer and Sadistic Sam’s attack on the Decepticons was answered, as Soundwave soon attacked, revealing his new status as an Insync and taking his Transformers Prime form. Dream Killer and Sam fought well. They really did. Soundwave was just that good, especially when he tore out one of Sam’s older relics from his arm. The final attack was creative use of a Groundbridge, used to counter the charges of the non-cybertronian combatants. The place he sent them? Right in front of Megatron, the exit blocked by Trypticon. Sam and Dream Killer knew not that they wouldn’t be leaving unscathed, even though they would leave alone. Elsewhere, Azem was scouting for a Radio Tower, aided by another from the camp (A.N. I’ll let you pick who). From atop Landerwaffe, they soon noticed just the kind of tower, though it would appear that some certain toon who once had an axe was guarding it for a certain one Victor. Needless to say, Azem was upset at this. Elsewhere still, Eda and the Knight where still gathering Soul Crystals, mostly gaining them by getting them from others in exchange for some help with something. As for how they avoided suspicion at this point, Azem prepared a document just for that. Given they as the Warrior of Light would be recognized easily, including how they wrote, as well as being a world-known savior alongside the other Scions, this helped explain it all. Some still where suspicious, but only for reasonable reasons and never enough to warrant an attack, especially when Eda and the Knight kept to the former’s word)

(A.N. I have a feeling that at some point the madness reaches the camp, and if that happens then in the chaos Azem decides enough is enough, goes all out, and starts fighting off everyone attacking, including Entropy, proving to the murderous prototype hybrid that the lack of strategy is crippling. Even raw power must be used wisely or else it’s for nothing)

Megatron, as he glared at Samuel: Did you really believe that we would allow you to steal what is ours? You are bold for a human pest...but it cannot save you from me!! *He had fired at Sadistic Sam to put an end to him at last...Or so he thought as he sees that while he had damaged the killer a bit, he was still standing*

Sadistic Sam, after grabbing the black/dark knight job stone from his pocket: While your pet Soundwave stole my shield stone, he hadn't stole everything of mine~...*He had then summoned the Requiem Blaster and fired it straight at Trypticon, giving the two killers enough time to escape*...The next time we'll meet will be the time I shall become a God, Megatron...

(Meanwhile with Azem and Uzi)

Uzi, while also pissed off: Hey! freak!! *Sammy had turned to see Uzi glaring at him* Firstly, How the hell are you alive?! Secondly, What are you even doing here!?!

Sammy, after chuckling sinisterly: To answer your first question; My new master had finally freed me from the shackles of that accursed studio!...Lastly, I along with my colleagues are merely helping spread the word of ascensionism through the radio stations~!

*Multiple green eyed lost ones had emerged from the ground with weapons in hand...despite them being on the enemy side, they seemed to be in absolute pain by just living like this...Azem could've sworn they heard one say: "I just wanna go home"...*

#Multiversal Fusion #crystalverse #Chaos-verse

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tfwhynoy · 3 years

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Headcanons about sg tfp Cons? I mean like personalities, backstories, appearances.

Okay so, there is a lot to go over here for each bot. I pretty much just went till I lost my steam, which was only two bots. If people want more then I’ll do more but for now, have Megatron and Shockwave.

Tfp Megatron

Instead of being made of sharp curves and points, he’s a bit more blocky with straighter edges and flatter squares (I really hope that makes sense). He’s a lighter grey with a few blue accents instead of the usual purple.

He was a miner who became a gladiator as an escape from the horrid conditions. He’s just as impressive as the normal Megatron. As the crowd chanted his name, his chosen one, not the one assigned to him, he felt amazing. But upon reflection, he realized how twisted it was. He was born into the position of a miner, someone who should never have seen the sun but was one of the few who had stolen a small glimpse of it anyway, became a gladiator who killed his fellow bots to try and escape the horrid day to day horrid life he lived. It was sickening. He couldn’t fight anymore. He wanted to tear down the class system, bring equality to cybertron, and give a voice to those at the bottom for the first time in many millennia. Along the way of preaching his beliefs and trying to gain a following he befriended Orian, quickly sharing a close bond.

When Orian presented Megatron’s beliefs to the council, Megatron felt betrayed. Of course, they soaked up what the archivist had to say, a few even commenting they may have the next prime among them. As much as he tried to not be jealous of the quick following Orian gained for beliefs Megatron had taught him he couldn’t stop himself. A confrontation leads to an explosive argument, Orian showing himself to be a lot nastier than previously seen. Orian then began to spread rumors of Megatron having ulterior motives, of being power hungry and wanting to take over Cybertron by any means necessary. With a tarnished reputation Megatron was left with only a small group of loyal bots as close friends, Soundwave, Shockwave, and Starscream being among them.

It’s when Orian journeyed to the center of Cybertron and was labeled as Optimus Prime that he showed his true colors. He began to take the planet over by force, leaving everyone scrambling to choose a side. Autobots, with the fabled Optimus Prime, who had to be doing this for a reason, or the Decepticons, with Megatron, a lowly miner who was supposedly a power hungry and violent mech. With everything against him, Megatron fought as much as he could, losing Cybertron in the process. Eventually the war makes its way to Earth, where he swears to himself to finally end the war before it goes any further, before cybertronians went extinct from this war.

He is a mech riddled with guilt and anxiety. Megatron is a good leader though, often forgetting to care for himself. His second in command, Starscream, is probably the only reason Megatron hadn’t accidentally starved himself.

He really likes humans. They’re quirky little creatures with so much energy and spite in these little squishy bodies. Though he’s terrified that if he interacted with a human that he’d accidentally hurt them.

Will drop everything to listen to someone who’s having a hard day, especially if he can do something about it. Most bots tend to be pretty intimidated by him though so he doesn’t have a lot of people he’s close to.

He’s so tired all the time. Needs to learn what a self-care day is and just go off and take a self-care month.

The type of person who is really charismatic on stage, able to whip up inspirational speeches out of nowhere in the most dire of situations and inspire the whole Nemesis, but the second you try and talk to one on one with him he is awkward as hell. Small talk kills him and he struggles to carry a conversation sooo bad.

Tfp Shockwave.

He’s a bit slimmer and more round rather than blocky. He’s mostly an orange-tan color with a lighter beige instead of black. His optic and biolight are a bright electric blue though. He’s intensely expressive and easily exited by the simplest things so you’ll rarely see him without his closest equivalent of a smile.

He was originally a part of the scientist cast, making great improvements that aided Cybertron. He even volunteered his free time to provide medical aid to gladiators, which is where he met Megatron and heard some of his earlier thoughts of the casting system. He was of the small group that didn’t shun Meagtron when rumors started arising, even when his own reputation began to fall. While he wasn’t as close as some other bots, he couldn’t believe that Megatron was like that. When the war began he was quick to lend his servos and help, mostly making defensive devices to protect troupes from the merciless autobots. After an particularly awful interrogation and ground bridge explosion that he would rather never speak of again, he was abandoned on Cybertron. All alone he began an experiment to try and bring back predacons, an old species long gone that he had loved so much. It was successful, and when he was on the Nemesis he was eager to share this with Megatron. Finally with the other Decepticons again he resumed his duties providing the best tech he could come up with to aid the Decepticon cause.

I know a common interpretation is the anti-vax, crystal energy obsessed, sciences denier type but I really dislike this interpretation. Plus, I wouldn't ever be able to properly write him without doing some shitty caricature. I think doing something more like a Bill Nye type would be more interesting. A mech with who sees science as its own type of magic who’s excited to share what he knows to anyone that will listen. A little eccentric and odd in his own way.

His best friend is Predaking. They are near inseparable and often eat together during Shockwaves breaks.

He may not have a face, but he’s so expressive with the rest of his body he doesn’t really need one show expression. His biolights glow brighter or flash at different speeds, his kibble will move, he’ll slouch or stand straight, all depending on how he feels.

Chatterbox. The only one who talks more than him is Soundwave. Ironically they rarely use actual words in their communications, instead using mostly memes and emoticons. No one can understand a thing they’re saying to each other.

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #megatron #tfp megatron #shockwave #tfp shockwave #shattered glass au #headcanons

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omsrandom · 3 years

Text

Love is A G̴̢̈́̿L̴̥̋͑Ȋ̶̥͈̥͋̉T̶̢͎̀ͅČ̸̪͍̏H̷̰͚̳͒ Chapter Preview: Speed Metal

for the lovely @insanely-creative-things! Happy birthday! The alternative title for this chapter is: Local Wine Uncle Takes Child to Illegal Street Races

“You know Soundwave is going to offline you if I get caught,” she hummed as she sat in the driver seat. Knockout’s laugh echoed through the speakers.

“If you get caught,” he reminded her. “You can’t stay in the ship all the time Shockie. Even hatchlings got to leave their nest more than you.”

She didn’t have a good rebuttal against that, instead just sitting back as they pulled up into the line. Almost immediately, the person to the right rolled down his window and keyed KO’s arm, making her cringe. “Just don’t kill him while I’m here,” she just asked. “I still have nightmares from when I broke my arm.”

The mech just let out a growl, and they shot forward, leaving her to sigh in resignation.

He was quick, she wouldn’t argue against that, but if she wasn’t bracing herself for every turn, no doubt she’d be slamming her head against the window at every bump. As they came up to the black car, she just turned her head away, hearing the tires squealing and the metal-on-metal crash as the human was sent soaring off a cliff edge.

“He’ll live,” the mech murmured, and she felt tension bleed out of her, replaced with a giddy sense of excitement.

“Then let’s finish this!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, she couldn’t stop her fifth yawn as she walked down the sidewalk towards where Bulkhead was supposed to pick her up. It would be her first time actually seeing where the physical Autobot Base entrance was going to be, and she messed it up by going out last night.

“You ok?” she jumped as Jack pulled up beside her.

“I didn’t think humans could yawn that much,” Arcee agreed quietly, making her snort.

“Just wait until finals come up,” she murmured. “If they’re anything like what I did online, all of us are going to be pulling 24 hours or more.”

“Ratchet won’t like that,” Jack agreed. “You did online classes? I thought you were homeschooled.”

“Uh, yeah, Up until, maybe, like, I was 12 or 13? Then S-my dad enrolled me online because his job was getting more and more difficult to do at home.” Jack just nodded, not looking too deeply into her answer. “Anyways, gotta go to, uh, Bulkhead? I think?”

“Good luck with Miko,” he chuckled, letting Arcee drive off. She’d deny it to this day that her little huff of laugh was anything more than slight fondness.

Things were… tense, later on. Miko had been blasting loud music through her phone, which helped keep Ashi awake, but… the Autobot base entrance wasn’t what she was expecting. It was a literal mesa base. No wonder they could never find it.

But that wasn’t a real concern. Jack was late.

Arcee made sure he was never late, so why, after two hours of being out of school, was he not at the base yet?

He wasn’t there when she went to the Nemesis portal spot, but no, she wasn’t concerned, ok?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ashie yelped as someone picked her up, holding her in their hands. “We’re going out again Shockie,”

The redhead groaned at Knockout’s words. “I need to get this report done,” she argued. “While I still remember where the base entrance is!”

“One little race isn’t going to hurt hatchling,” Breakdown called from the next room, where he had a buff kit ready to go. “We both know Commanders Starscream and Soundwave will be the first ones to forgive you if a report is late.”

“But it’s still the principle!” she tried to argue.

“Ah ah! We’re going out, and nothing you can do or say will stop it,” the red mech’s words sounded as final as a nail in a coffin (whatever that meant) so she put on a long-suffering face and looked at Breakdown.

“How do you deal with him?”

“I don’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Jack asked quietly as they walked down the steps, and she just grimaced.

“Yeah, my brothers are just assholes,” she shrugged. “They like playing pranks on each other and shooting nerf guns in the middle of the night, and Dad put me between their rooms to try and stop it. I just got caught in the crossfire.”

“Ouch,” Jack hissed. “You should tell them to knock it off, at least until Mr. Gregory’s test is done.”

“I’ll think about it,” she hummed.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you!” Both her and Jack turned around to see Sierra exiting the school. “The race, how great was that? I was like, yeah, go Jack!”

“Race?” she murmured, and Jack’s eyes widened.

“You can’t tell O-,” he cut himself off.

“Jack totally blew Vince out of the water with that sweet bike of his,” Sierra told her. “He promised to take me on a ride.” Something made her blood both boil and freeze.

“Oh?” she just choked out instead, hating how small it sounded.

“Before we met!” he tacked on. “Sierra, this is Ashi, my girlfriend. And Ashi, the race was no big deal,”

“You got that right,” Vince snarled, pushing between her and Jack, forcing her to take some steps back. “If you think you can run with the big boys: the circuit, tonight, 11 pm.” She glanced at Sierra, whose eyes were flickering between her and Jack before the teen’s voice caught her off guard.

“Deal,”

Oh, Primus, she was going to kill him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn’t go to the Autobot base that day, instead going directly to the ship, to the medbay where Knockout was checking Megatron’s vitals.

“Shockie, what a wonderful surprise! Anything you need dear?”

“There’s a race circuit going on tonight at 11,” she said, getting straight to the point. “I need to be there.”

Knockout frowned. “Even I wasn’t going to have you go out three days in a row. What’s so special about this?”

She swallowed, knowing full well what was about to happen. He was the only one aside from Breakdown and Megatron who knew what the power of the words she was about to say was. “My soulmate will be racing in it.”

Knockout froze before turning to her in an accusing way. “You were supposed to keep us updated if you met them,” he reminded her quietly, too quietly for the mech. “Why didn’t you?” She shifted her gaze to her feet and murmured her response. “That was too quiet for my audio receptors to pick up. Louder now.”

“He’s…” her voice was nothing more than a whisper, but it seemed to echo through the room. “He knows the Autobots… he’s my key to getting behind their defenses.”

“Slag,” Knockout said, and she felt it. “Slaggit, hatchling, you can’t have anything normal happen to you, can you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Knockout pulled up to the line, she was expecting Jack and Arcee, but definitely not Bumblebee, and the red mech seemed to feel the same as her if the quiet curses seem to say anything about it. “I’ll be quick,” she promised, exiting the passenger door and quickly weaving her way through the crowd to Jack and Bee. “Jack,”

“Ashi!” he snapped around, staring at her in surprise. “What’re you doing here?”

“One of my Uncles is racing tonight,” she stressed, shifting her gaze to Bee rapidly, hoping he’d get the hint. Judging by how pale he turned, he seemed to get it. “I just came to wish you luck, and there won’t be any hard feelings, right? Uncle K can be a bit mean in these things.”

“No hard feelings,” he echoed back. “You’ll be safe?”

“Only if you are,” she sighed, quickly going back to Knockout. “He knows you’re here, but not you exactly.”

“He knows you’re a Decepticon?” Ok, so maybe Knockout was still a bit pissed off at her.

“He accidentally got warped into our ship, and our first words were said while I was in uniform. And then we met out of uniform and it only took a day for him to realize who I was.” she still felt bitter over it, but just shrugged instead.

Somehow, Vince ended up between Knockout and Bumblebee, and she was very grateful for the blackout windows and the redhead teen tried to glance her way. “Creep,” she grumbled, bracing as the countdown started.

In a second, they were off, Bee and Vince instantly duking it out for first and second while Knockout stayed back in a casual third. “He’s not really trying to struggle, is he?” Knockout mused aloud, making her laugh. She did notice he was driving a bit more carefully, and she was thankful for that, even if he was watching Bee’s movements to do it.

Then, Knockout gained on Vince and spun him out, making her laugh. He continued driving forward, obviously trying to get first in what would possibly be the only friendly Autobot-Decepticon interaction for a while, when the yellow bot began to swerve, signaling that he had realized who was behind him. Knockout moved to follow him, and she realized in abject horror he had pulled his ion guns out.

“Knockout,” she warned.

“Relax. I don’t plan on hitting them. Fear is a good motivator.” he fired, and true to his word, every shot missed, and the two Autobot allied quickly left the drainage ditch in favor of an actual road with Knockout still following. Bee was suddenly trailing something, and it took her a moment to realize what it was.

“Oil!” She yelled, but she was a moment too late as Knockout spun, and by the time she was finished, she was feeling sick and seeing stars.

“Primus, Sparkie, you ok?”

She let out a wheeze and held a thumbs up. “Fucking shoot him for me,” she choked out. “I’m going to throw up in the ditch.” Immediately, the door opened, and she launched herself out of his alt-mode and onto the road.

As he started to drive away, she stumbled to the side, where she hung over the rails and…

Oh god, were they really hiding under a bridge?

Jack at least had the decency to look ashamed as he caught sight of her, but it quickly turned to disgust as Vince pulled up and got out of his car. Knockout screeched to a halt, backing up to her.

“It’s the school bully,” she murmured. “He’s an ass and a creep who can’t take no.” Knockout silently transformed, and her phone vibrated from her jean pocket. Taking a glance at it, she read:

Want me to teach a skeeze a lesson then?

Maybe her grin was a bit too feral as she nodded. The mech immediately reached down, pulling him up and tossing him into the air as he transformed. The teen was bound to the passenger seat, and without a thought, she hopped into the driver's seat with a grin. “Let’s go, Uncle K,” she giggled, and Vince’s eyes went wide as he realized who she was. He was knocked out not even a second later, so it was ok.

“What’re we gonna do with him?” she asked. “He’s only a year older than me, so he’s still technically a kid, not an adult.”

“So major body harm is out of the question then.” Knockout mused. “Psychological isn’t though. You said he couldn’t take no for an answer?”

“He’s made me his main target, but there’s probably a dozen other girls he’s tried this with before and it worked, otherwise he wouldn’t be so insistent.”

She finished up the final note just in time to hear cars circling the building, making her sigh. “Fun’s over,” she said.

“At least we got some enjoyment tonight,” Knockout sounded just as disappointed as she felt. She finished folding the papers up as much as she could while they were on the move, and as she finished stuffing them in Vince’s pockets, the sound of a semi-horn made her freeze.

Oh, Primus, they called in Prime??

The large mech immediately slammed them off the road, and it was only Knockout’s quick thinking of tying her down with straps that she hadn’t immediately been ejected as he slammed into a ditch. It left her in a daze, and all she could really do was just lay there, slumped over as Knockout frantically tried to get his back wheels on the ground.

“Stay online Shockie!” he called, thunderous footsteps getting closer and closer. As Prime easily picked Knockout up, she realized how much deep slag she was about to get into when she got back to Nemesis.

The passenger door was ripped off, and Vince was removed, and she could all but feel the disgust from Optimus as he grabbed her as well, throwing Knockout to the side. The mech transformed an angry, desperate look on his facial plates.

“Give her back,” he snarled, but he faltered as Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead all pulled up. “Slag you! Slag you all to the pits!” He drove off, leaving her alone, injured, and surrounded by enemies.

“Are you alright, Miss Lawrence?” Prime asked.

“Think you broke my ribs,” she murmured. “When you slammed into him.” he might’ve had a mask over his face, but just through his optics alone, she could tell how much that sentence hurt, and she planned on weaponizing it.

“Let us get you to Ratchet then,” he murmured. Bumblebee rolled a window down, showing Jack with a pained face of his own. A morbid part of her wondered if he had felt her pain whenever one of the ‘bots had shot her or not.

“This was my fault,” Jack’s voice was distant as if he was getting farther away.

“We must get these two to medical immediately,” Prime cut him off, and she noted in a sense of vindication that he was jostling Vince around while keeping her perfectly still. “Explanations can come later.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She hadn’t even realized she had passed out until she woke up, once again in the comically large medical berth, IVs carefully hooked up to her. A glance at the clock told her that calling Soundwave would definitely result in death, so she just carefully turned it off and slipped it under her pillow. He knew how to remotely turn it off if he needed to talk to her.

“Should you not be contacting your parental unit?” Ratchet asked, making her grimace.

“I should’ve done it the second I realized something was off with the race,” she admitted. “Calling this late in the morning would just result in him getting angry at me.”

“Is he not usually angry?” Ratchet’s voice held confusion, so she just tilted her head. “The bruises and cuts across your body indicate you were attacked.”

“Are you trying to ask if my father…?” she trailed off, just staring blankly at him. “I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed when I’m in the base, Ratchet, but I trip over everything. I fell down the stairs a few days ago here and you didn’t react, so I just thought you knew not to get too worked up.”

“I-” the mech sputtered, turning away. “Your ribs are wrapped, no running or exercise for the next two months. Optimus would like to talk to you before you leave about what happened.”

“I got kidnapped, not much more I can say,” she shrugged.

The look he gave her told her she hadn’t been convincing enough.

#Transformers #Transformers Prime #TFP #Ashi Lawrence (OC)#Ashi #Jack Darby #Arcee #Bumblebee #Knockout #Breakdown #Optimus Prime #tw: mention of possible child abuse #but not really because the 'cons would happily die for Ashi #You cannot change my mind the Knockout would be THE WINE UNCLE #LIKE HE'S THE SAME COLOR AS WINE TOO #Love is a Glitch Commission #Love is a Glitch (Fic)

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purelyfiction · 3 years

Text

Title: The Return of A Royal

Summary: After finding a bounty hunter in the midst of Mon Calamari, Cara, Din and Grogu jet off with the new accomplice to complete a favor, in exchange for information about a Jedi.

Word Count: 2,263

TW: Sexual Tension but that’s about it. Canon violence and weaponry

Chapter 2: A Rough Start

Exiting the cantina with another body tagging along felt strangely familiar. Many times the Mandalorian would find fellow hunters to split payment on a job and easily bring the bounty in with no issues. So, with Cara and the new face, it would be a little crowded on the Crest but they would manage. Din not being one for small talk, lead the four of them back to the ship, leaving Cara and the other woman to speak. "You got a name? Or are we just not gonna go there?" Cara asks rather bluntly, Din's head dipping slightly to hear the woman's reply.

"I go by Eliaden. You can call me Elia if you want." She offers in response. Din finds her phrasing odd, but doesn't judge. It was possible that this wasn't her primary language and she did her best to translate as rapidly as she could.

"Cara Dune. And of course you're familiar with The Mandalorian." The larger woman speaks as the group enter the ship.

"Razor Crest. Nice. You get her second hand?" Elia pipes up as Din shuts the back hatch, only after settling Grogu in his small hammock for a nap.

"Yes. Sturdy piece of machinery." He doesn't give much to her and Elia makes a face. The New Republic employee sees her reaction and gives her arm a tap.

"Don't let him bother you, he's not a chatterbot. I think in my acquaintance with him he's not said more than one hundred words." The three of them each take their turn climbing to the cockpit and settling in. Elia seemingly takes in the controls of the ship, a small smile on her face. Cara watches her uneasily, tilting her head. "You're into this kind of thing aren't you?"

Elia shrugs, watching as Din made haste with the buttons and levers easily. "I had a lot of time on my hands growing up, I spent a lot of time reading. I studied a lot about ships, machinery, general repairs, the likes. I mainly do a large portion of my own repairs on my ship. It's just some rusty freighter I got from some guy who cleary was picking up parts from Jawas. I call 'er Gypsy." She speaks pretty rapidly before Din cuts in.

"I need a location." Elia looks to him, rather quiet, emotion falling from her face. She stands and reaches over the silver that reflected off of the Mandalorian, quickly putting in coordinates before sitting back down. "Off you go." Her response is curt and she stays quiet from there on out.

The journey to their next destination was rather stiff, no soundwaves moving between anyone. Cara had gone down to the cargo bay to clean and condition Din's collection of weapons, while Elia stayed put. She simply sat looking at nowhere important, before Din started the ship into its landing sequence. He's turning to leave to check on the Child, noticing her far off gaze. He sighs and she seems to look to him when he does so. "I didn't mean to be harsh. Earlier."

"Well it wasn't exactly a meadow of sunshine and flowers, Mando." She snarls before looking to a screen flashing behind him. The helmeted man's head rolls, almost as if he was trying to crack his neck.

"Cara was right I don't speak much. So -"

"Mando, you -"

A breath of annoyance leaves him before he speaks again. "No, don't start. You need to learn that I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to get the kid -"

"Waadar Ke'sush'! The screen!" The brunette shoots up, pushing past him to settle in the ship's captain chair, kicking into action as the ship's warnings begin to take hold, ringing through the cabin and the cargo bay. Cara's head pokes up from the lower level as the ship begins to shake.

"What the hell did you do?" As the ship rattles towards the atmosphere of the planet they were arriving to Elia is quick to level the ship as the landing sequence fails, the other passengers grabbing onto whatever they possibly could. In a flash, the Razor Crest finds its way from the midst of space to the docking port of the planet. It's no gentle ride, but Elia manages to keep the contraption from turning to rubble. Once they're stopped, she looks to the Mandalorian on the floor.

"Gar cuyir very olarom." With that, Elia was making her way to the cargo bay, leaving Din in a pile of surprise.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Elia paid for the port fee and started leading her companions to their destination. As they walk, Din slowly strolls behind her as they maneuver through a crowded marketplace. "Where did you learn Mando'a." It's firm, no inflection in any portion of his words.

"Self taught. Remember the studying I mentioned?" She's quick and Cara gives him a glance, waiting til she's out of earshot to grab Din by the arm, making him look to her.

"What did you do." Her head tilts to look at him, like a disgruntled mother almost. Din turns his head away and mutters.

"I just tried to talk to her. Then the landing protocol failed. I didn't do anything." He pulls his arm away, hearing Grogu from his side making plenty of noises. When he looks back to Elia, she's standing with a grin on her face looking the tallest of them.

"You're falling behind, you two."

The woman leads them to what looks to be a residential building and she's quick to wrap her knuckles on the door. When no response comes from it, Din reaches over her and knocks on the door firmer and much louder. When it finally opens, a scraggly man dressed very minimally comes to the door, goggles on his forehead, toothpick between sharp teeth. He has a smirk when he registers Elia's features.

"Em. What a surprise." Cara's chin rises when he speaks.

"Em?" Elia's voice burns in the air and Cara suddenly knows what this is about. "Try again, greaseball." She gives a slight nod, taking a step back where Din finds himself pushing past the man into the residence. "You owe me. Big time." She stands with her arms crossed in the foyer of the room, Cara on her left, Din on his right.

"The only thing owed here, is an apology from you." The other speaks and the shorter woman groans.

"Gander, I don't have all day. You know what you owe me. If you just give me the payment, we'll leave. Otherwise, this is gonna end differently." Din can see the male give her a scowl before moving to a box on a table across the room. He unlocks it before pulling the blocks from the container with ease before slowly approaching her and handing them over. The Mandalorian can see the emblem clear as day in her hands, a small smile on her face. "Good choice. Have a nice life." She gives a squint before heading out the door, Cara looking to Din in confusion before the two follow her out. The owner of the residence gets to the door, cursing something in a different language, a clear curse, before a very clear word is pronounced.

Mari.

"Elia." Cara calls out to her through the market as she slinks her way through the crowd. She's moving quickly - far too quickly. Din can see what's happening and pulls the satchel from his side, offering it to Cara before he's quick on his feet. Elia turns behind her and sees the body of metal moving towards her and rapidly tucks the metal chunks in her pockets before starting at a running pace. The two begin in a race through the market, displays occasionally being knocked over and yelling insinuating at the actions. Elia slips into an alleyway, starting to navigate the maze like neighborhoods. Din was one step ahead of her, using the scanner in the helmet on his head to follow her footsteps.

Elia had thought she was clear, sat behind a wall, catching her breath. Din rounds the corner, an attempt to grab at her arm, circumnavigated by a block from Elia. The two begin in a hand in hand combat, each throwing their best efforts in. A kick, a duck, a dodge under legs, ending in Din grabbing the woman by the waist and pinning her to the wall she'd been hiding against. Both of them panting, it was then they realized how close together they were. Din finally gets a word out, spoken between sharp breaths.

"Who's Mari." He snaps and Elia's back straightens. Her cheek is against the building and she can feel the material scratching at soft skin.

"I don't know, his ex?" She scoffs before Din moves one of her arms behind her back, pressing a little harder into her, metal forearm armor most definitely leaving bruises.

"I'm not playing games. You either tell me and we can figure this out or I can drag you in bindings back to the ship and introduce you to the carbonite sheet with your name on it. Your choice." He watches as the two of them sit in the empty alleyway, the light of day beginning to fall, leaving a slight glow of orange over everything.

"Fine. Let me go first." She grumbles, Mando letting out a slight chuckle.

"Try again, sweet girl." Elia can feel her skin tingle at the words, eyes widening a little. She stays quiet for a few moments causing Din to grow impatient. He lets his hips press to her, securing her to wall further as he takes a hold of both arms, holding them above her head. He leans in a little, breath heavy.

"If you want to test me, you're welcome to. But I guarantee you'll regret it." It's lower than normal, husky and dark almost. Elia has to take a labored breath, her lungs feeling tight since most of her was encased between a sheet of beskar and a hardened wall.

"She's my sister." The young woman's voice is almost a rasp now as Din pulls himself away from her, hand over his blaster - just in case she gets an idea of running again.

"Explain. Now." Its a command and now, Elia isn't risking pushing him any further.

"He sent that to every bounty hunter in the Guild." She begins, referring to the hologram message Din had received. "I know because I got one. He's been looking for her for years. He had my mom and I evacuated before they closed in. He claimed he couldn't lose us too. As for why Gander called me that? He's her ex. She left quite a bit of things at his house. I knew he had the material, and I knew that if I got it, I'd be able to get a hefty amount of credits for it. He's just a junkie, he's not a bounty hunter. " She confesses before reaching into the pocket of her clothing, pulling out the four bars of beskar and handing them to him.

"I'm not taking those." He scoffs, shaking his head as he takes a step back. "If you lied about the bounty hunter, do you know where that Jedi is?" Din is doubtful, as the woman in front of him as certainly lost most of his trust now.

"That, I didn't lie about. I know she's been planet hopping. She's been trying to find the kid." Elia looks to him with a softened face. "Listen, I know you have no reason to trust me on this, but I promise. I can help you get to her. I know her last coordinates." Din shakes his head turning away and starting down the alleyway again, Elia finding herself confused. She starts to follow him, needing to take larger steps as he practically gallops away. "Where are you going?"

"To my ship. You're a joke." He scoffs, still walking towards the market in the direction they had previously ran through. Elia slowly stops walking, watching as he continues walking further from her.

"His name is Grogu." She speaks. The Mandalorian stops. He'd not once said his name in front of the bounty hunter, neither had Cara. And only four of them knew his name. Well it seemed as though, five did. He turns on his heels, jaw clenched. He's beyond frustrated. The whole day had been wasted because of this deviation and now Elia was milling it.

"How do you know that." Din pushes his tongue to the root of his mouth as he waits for a response, looking at the woman. He can see the scrape on her cheek from the plaster from earlier. He'd not thought he'd been pressing that hard - guess not.

"She told me. The Jedi. I may have spoken to her before she left Mon Cala. She told me that she was looking for him and that she was struggling to locate him." Elia takes a closer step to the Mandalorian and looks at him with a calm gaze. "He told her he was safe. That he was protected and that she would find him when she needed to." She laughs a little shaking her head. "But I don't blame you if you don't believe me." Din wants to punch something right about now. This woman had been so innocent at the cantina. A simple favor was all she asked. Now here she was, going on about conversations with the Jedi he'd been searching for. With hesitation he gives a wave.

"Get your ass back to the ship."

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian smut #mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin smut #din djarin #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #star wars fanfic

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Two Sides of the Coin (14)

Chapter 14: First Conscious Moments | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

Also tagging @berenilion @silver-is-in-too-many-fandoms @justtinfoley @stellar-trinity @justtinfoley @peterwandaparker @justtinfoley @superwarsofthrones @queen-destenie @calgasm @cal-jestis @ayamenimthiriel @calsponchoemporium @sweeetteaa @fallenjedii

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC | Special tags for this chapter: Youngling! Jidné Sheedra, Nomara Anesh, Jedi Master! Fem OC, Togruta! Fem OC,

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 | Previous: Part 13 | Next: Part 15 | Masterlist

14 of ?

JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

Nomara has returned to Coruscant with little Jidné along. Never has she ever been this careful, ignoring the ache of her arm as she held the swaddled child while her free hand steered her ship—with the partial assistance of Evy—until she landed on the east bay of the Jedi Temple. Nomara marched towards the main entrance of the grand temple while shielding the baby with her other wide sleeve, worried that the unusually strong wind might prick her little eyes.

Upon her entry to the temple, she was greeted by Master Yoda, the little sage being waddled with the aid of his cane. The green Jedi noticed the precious cargo in the Togruta’s arm.

“Back so soon, are you, Master Anesh,”

Nomara bowed curtly in return, “I’ve been only gone for a day and a half, Master Yoda,”

Yoda took notice of the swaddled bundle in the Togruta’s arm a second time. A weak smile managed upon his ancient face.

“Something precious with you, you seem to have brought, hmmm?”

An eager grin stretched upon the young Togruta’s face, she knelt down to his level, and then unfurled a portion of the swaddle that covered Jidné’s face. The child cooed at the sight of Master Yoda’s face—curious and delighted at the same time—the old master chuckled while being in the presence of something so small yet seemingly strong.

Yoda inquired about the child’s origin planet, Nomara indulged the old master with the goings on in Eshyn, he expressed his awareness of the planet’s state as he was also informed during council meetings.

“I swore to her mother that she’ll be taken care of,” Nomara reiterated.

“I understand. Trained and cared for, she will be. A good Jedi, she will grow into.”

Upon those final words, Nomara glanced on Jidné again; she afforded a hopeful look at the child’s face and she was greeted with an infectious, angelic smile—the young Togruta wholeheartedly agreed with the elderly master, she could almost imagine Jidné growing up as a Padawna and then a Knight.

When Yoda offered to summon the caretakers, Nomara politely refused and insisted she deliver Jidné to the children’s ward herself. Yoda caved, they ended up walking together to their destination, bowing to greet those whoever comes in their way.

Nomara was pretty sure that she had sensed it: Yoda’s cautious examination of how she behaved towards him regarding Jidné. Attachment was forbidden to the Jedi, since time immemorial that has been one of the primary lessons embedded into younglings’ minds the moment they can comprehend words. However, Nomara’s notion differed from the Council’s, stemming from the like-mindedness of her master, Loriq Caius—he was more inclined to learning the ways of the “Living Force,” an ideology that he and Master Qui Gon Jinn shared and often find one another in concurrence.

Upon their arrival of the children’s ward, a caretaker slowly approaches the Jedi with the child in hand and transfers Jidné into her arms; for a moment, the baby squirmed and cooed a worried tone to which Nomara quickly hushed softly, comforting the child before being held by someone else. Shortly after the separation, Master Caius himself enters the ward.

“Master Caius!” the Togruta exclaimed.

“I heard news that Nomara has returned quite so soon—with a youngling at that—I just wanted to check on my old apprentice,”

“I’m well, Master. And you?”

“Likewise,” Caius leisurely answered.

The banter was abruptly cut off because Jidné’s fussing had caught all of those in the ward, all heads turned to the child. Loriq got the hint. He examined the child who’s settled in that tiny pod of a bassinet while being bottle-fed. From where he stood, he can sense the Force rippling out of the child in an overwhelming magnitude that it’s unusual to see it from one so tenderly young; he rubbed his bearded chin as he joined the others’ observation of the toddler.

The caretaker approached the Jedi.

“With all due respect, Jedi, it is time for the children’s midday slumber. May I request you to exit the ward?”

The three Jedi obliged and bowed at the caretaker who returned the gesture. The room dimmed as soon as they left the room. Yoda excused himself and went the other way; Nomara was now left with her master by the door.

Ever since Loriq saw the child in the nursery and felt her Force ripple, he sensed something else—from Nomara. It’s as if the amount of Force that Jidné exuded, Nomara’s body—although unconsciously—repeats it, like soundwaves resonating with one another. Before the Togruta could walk away, the master gently tapped her shoulder.

“Nomara, do you have a moment?”

Promptly, the Togruta turned around and faced her master. Standing close to Loriq, she never realized that she was nearly as tall as him, with her montrals boosting her height just three inches more until its tips go past his head—memories of her youth reminded her of how she always had to tilt her head in order to look at him in the eye, but now that she’s grown, she didn’t need to take a pace backwards to see him eye-to-eye.

“Something on your mind, Master?”

“You sense something within the child,”

“Yes, the Force is strong with her that… just by looking at her, it’s overwhelming,”

“In addition to that, Nomara, I’m sure you’ve sensed it as well,”

The former, now-grown apprentice doesn’t follow. She pulled her eyebrows together, shooting a puzzled look at her master and wordlessly asking him to elaborate. Loriq decided to rephrase himself, he shifted and began to walk, Nomara followed by his side as they spoke

“I’d like you to recollect your feelings when you saw the child,” Loriq craned his head to Nomara, who kept her eyes ahead. “Search your feelings.”

Eventually, Nomara narrated everything that she saw in Eshyn—beginning with her meeting with Sentuk until taking Jidné with her, as well as what she felt from the little girl. She explains the feeling as a closeness of sorts, as though the pure feeling always finds its way to her, and then she’d resonate with the child—this occurred constantly ever since she and Jidné touched hands upon meeting.

“It’s only natural for two Force-sensitive to have a sort of connection, however, the difference is that connection grows over time. As for you—and Jidné, I suppose—it’s different, unusual even. The ripple is strong, perhaps the better would be ‘current’ given the magnitude of your Force energies’ convergence.”

“I’m not sure if I’m accurate, but are you implying that two Force-individuals may already forge a connection despite how briefly they just met? Do their energies bounce back one another, like a wave?”

“Perhaps. Whichever it is, it’s a rare Force-sensitive trait. I might have to meditate on it soon,”

The sage Jedi Master stopped walking in place, they ended up standing by the tall window overlooking the city and continued their conversation there with enough privacy. Loriq read Nomara’s silence as an eagerness to watch over the child, given that the first chain links of their bond have already closed. Instead of dismissing the gradual attachment between his apprentice and the youngling, he encouraged her with an open mind.

“The Force is telling you something about and through this child, Nomara. I implore you to allow your insights to serve you well, as I have taught you,”

“I’ll keep in mind, Master,”

——————————————————–

26 BBY

Over the years, Nomara has become a frequent audience member in the arena where the younglings—the prospective Initiates and Padawans—undergo their formal training and education. A single session is equally distributed between typical classroom lectures and application, the latter being the children’s favorite part. The Togruta always keeps a watchful eye on Jidné from the stands, but kept herself subtle; she’d often find herself in the company of the other masters—even the members of the Council themselves—as they observed the children from a distance.

Jidné, now seven years old, has made friends with the male Nautolan named Brese, and another human female, Leane. Each child was just one year apart from the other—but Jidné was the one in the middle—the small age gap made it much easier for them to get along. Master Tera Sinube was today’s proctor, he stood at the center of a ring of excited children who couldn’t stay still with their practice sabers in hand.

Tera Sinube tapped the floor with the end of his cane, “Youngling, younglings! Settle.”

The murmurs of the children died down, allowing Master Sinube to begin his session. He briefed them about the practical application of today’s lecture: performing basic lightsaber stances while balancing their dependence on the Force. Everyone in the chamber sensed some of the children’s gradual anxiety, it felt like too big a task for them to juggle between two abilities—one physically, and mentally for the other—including Jidné and her friends.

“Now, now,” Sinube hushed. “I understand that it may sound and look difficult, but remember: if you let the Force guide you, it will come to each and every one of you like second nature. As easy as breathing, if I may so!”

Sinube decided to encourage the class with a volunteer, when nobody stepped forward after twenty seconds have passed, the old proctor decided to find one himself. He followed the line that the children formed, some of them followed him with their heads or eyes while the others stared blankly straight into random portions of the room to avoid eye contact. While the search for a volunteer continued, the Jedi Knights Mace Windu and Shaak Ti stopped by to do some observing as well.

“Master Windu, Master Ti,” acknowledged Nomara.

Her greeting was returned by the two knights. Shaak Ti stood closer to her fellow Togruta by the stands—they were very alike physically, but their unique markings and clothes distinguished one from the other—they watched the session take place by the rails. The Jedi Master asked Nomara what’s already transpiring, the younger Togruta was happy to fill her in with the details.

Windu, on the other hand, stood by the banister though at a few inches away from the pair. His perpetually-furrowed eyebrows looked upon the gathered children surrounding the single proctor, he watched the older Jedi below circle the group of children with crossed arms and a curious scowl.

“Jidné?”

Despite Master Sinube’s gentle tone, the girl was still startled by the mention of her name. She looked to her friends and they subtly bobbed their heads, prompting her to move. She had no choice but to step forward, both hands clutched around the practice saber’s sleeve; Jidné’s nervous eyes found Tera Sinube returning to the center of the circle, patiently waiting as he leaned on his cane for support, then her gaze panned left and right, and then up and down—searching for some sort of visual signal to calm herself.

Her eyes found a pair of near-identical Togrutas standing next to each other at the stands, but her eyes focused on the one whose montrals had indigo patches snaking along the tapering, white tendrils. Somehow, she recognized that Togruta, and all of a sudden, the queasy stomach she had disappeared.

“Jidné, are you ready?” Sinube checked.

“Yes, Master Sinube,”

“Very good. Now, take your saber and put yourself in a stance, any stance,”

The little girl took a deep breath before buckling her knees and holding her saber in a defensive stance. The old Jedi commended the child. Moments later, he summoned an older child, a blond boy whose age may play along the line of twelve or thirteen—with a single glance of the thin braid hanging behind his ear, everyone knew that he was a Padawan.

“Alright, let’s do some light sparring—while keeping in mind the lessons we learned today,” Sinube placed his hand on the blond boy’s shoulder and gently shepherded him to the spot where he stands. “Paz, you may begin with Jidné here.”

“You ready, Jidné?” Paz checked before positioning himself in a stance.

The little girl nodded, following the words of the lecture and then putting it to play. At the first few seconds of the spar, Jidné anticipated the bigger kid’s attack—she got lucky by evading Paz’s lunge by deflecting his strike, holding for a few seconds, and then pull away to recompose herself for the next attack.

This was only the beginning. Janky strikes between the two children filled the room with the blinding lights of the sabers once clashed, both Jidné and Paz with a novice’s footwork before trading strikes; the other younglings who stood close in the action as the two sparred gave way and then returned when they’ve gotten farther.

As the sparring continued, Nomara brings her chin between her two fingers as she watches the action below ensue—it’s evident she was on edge just by spectating from the stands. The other Togruta dismissed the young Seeker’s mannerism as intrigue—as one would when observing something energetic. As for Master Windu, ever so direct of a man, took note of this too, but didn’t come as gently as Shaak Ti does.

“You seem to have your eye on that girl over there,” Mace Windu points out.

“It’s because I was the one who discovered her,” Nomara spoke with a degree of pride, her private smile was just one inch shy of being a grin.

Jidné eventually came to a point where she used a little bit of the Force out of impulse—outstretching her open hand at him caused him to stagger a few paces back from her. When she succeeded, she bought the opportunity to deliver a flurry of blows; it invigorated her when she pulled off a spinning deflect—a heat of the moment sort of thing, despite being a basic spin—which denied Paz a hit on her when he thought he found a window of opportunity.

The other masters continued their observation, Jidné and Paz’s sparring passively encouraged the other children. It concluded when both children had each other at swordpoint—their sabers hovering mere inches above the shoulder. Jidné and Paz quickly retracted their sabers and bowed while facing each other, a customary greeting amongst the Jedi, old and young alike. Tera Sinube hushed the excited children squirming in place and commanded them to settle down, promising them their own chance to spar.

Jidné and Paz were allowed to catch a breather while the other children prepare themselves, Tera Sinube briefly lectured the children again—reminding them of the practicalities of the assignment so as not allow the excitement cloud their senses. While waiting, the little girl surveyed the stands above them, she angled her head where she spotted the Togrutas together and searched for the one with the particular montral pattern.

There you are… Jidné thought, fixating her eyes on the younger-looking Togruta.

Nomara sensed Jidné’s gaze piercing her, she slightly craned her head to the side where the girl and boy sat and waited. Despite their distance from one another, the Togruta flashed a small smile as her eyes met with the girl’s once more.

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megatronswaifu · 4 years

Note

Nightlight defected from the Bots?! I must know MORE! :0

yes she did!!! it’s a long story BUT I’M SO HAPPY U WANNA KNOW MORE so i will try to do my best to relay it briefly…my writing is very abridged but it still does the job. this is the TFP version of her defection.

basically, nightlight came to earth on a stolen ship with her friends (other ocs who i haven’t really finalized – here are some doodles i did around a year ago), seiner, wheelhop (used to be named “popcorn” as a placeholder), and phase (used to be named rook before somebody pointed out that there’s already somebody named that). a gang of girls!

they are all a very silly and flawed bunch but they get along.

nightlight does not often go on missions because she is a scaredy cat and honestly isn’t very skilled at fighting, and she kind of just stays back. if she does go on missions, she usually ends up getting protected or rescued, so she tries to help in other ways.

one day, the gang of girls decides to go out on a stroll in an uninhabited (by humans) place on earth since they felt cooped up in the autobot base. there is literally no reason for cons to be around so they just decide to have fun.

sadly and very annoyingly, decepticons DO appear and they have to sprint their fucking afts off running and shooting back and hiding, until they can finally sit still enough for the biggest bot, seiner, to comm ratchet,

“ratchet!! ratchet we need a ground bridge! the decepticons found us!”

(rest of story and another doodle under cut)

ratchet pulls up a groundbridge and informs them that the bridge is on the right, on the other side of the mountain they’re currently hiding behind. they make a break for it, and sprint to the bridge. they hop right through, and to their horror and surprise, the room they hop into is purple. it’s dark. it’s got decepticons.

the ground bridge behind them closes, and the girls scatter around and run out the door. they get chased and are forced to run about what is presumably The Nemesis. they finally find a room in which nobody has followed them into or figured out they’re hiding in.

the girls begin to talk.

wheelhop: “WHAT THE SHIT WAS THAT I THOUGHT RATCHET GOT US A GROUND BRIDGE????”

seiner: “well uhh fuck obviously we didn’t go through it, what went wrong?”

phase (in cybertronian sign language, she is mute): “maybe we went through the wrong one.”

wheelhop: “you mean there was a decepticon bridge open at the same time?”

phase nods.

seiner (looking over at phase, with a considering expression): “seems like it.”

nightlight: “but, but ratchet said it was on the right…right?”

…on the “other right” of the mountain, a completely separate ground bridge sits. on that bridge’s other side, ratchet attempts to comm them, to no avail. the girls have accidentally run through another ground bridge that the decepticons were using to mobilize their own forces into the area, and had completely missed their own ground bridge because they went to the wrong “right”. they must come up with a plan to escape. seiner, being a leader-type, looks around the room. it looks like they found themselves in an unused monitor room.

seiner eyes one wall of monitors and says, “we might be able to access some sort of map from this computer. we can find our way out that way.”

nightlight: “we can’t call someone for help?”

phase: “decepticon technology blocks our signals.” she has stood up and is at the monitor, but she hesitates. phase turns to the group.

“if we access this computer, we will most likely notify the cons that we are in this room,” she signs. “as soon as i turn this monitor on, we are on a timetable. the nanosecond i get the map, we must go.”

all of them, very tense, sit in anticipation as phase accesses the monitor. lo and behold, the decepticons are notified, and a team of vehicons rushes towards the abandoned section of the ship. however, when they arrive, the door is open, and the girls have escaped the room.

meanwhile, in the airducts of the nemesis, the four of them crawl, squished, with a map of the ducts on phase’s arm-minimonitor. they traverse the map, having found a suitable way out, for several hours, trying not to get spotted, waiting for the longest periods of time for vehicons to leave areas so they can pass, and being incredibly stressed.

at one point, they must cross from a room and into a hallway to get to their last path. the hallway isn’t very populated, and only at the far end are some vehicons stationed, where nobody will see them, so although obviously very tense, they are not as afraid as they have been a few other times on this “adventure”.

first, phase, the navigator, and an expert at agility, jumps quietly out of the duct, into the room, and opens the door to the hallway. she peeks out. there is no-one. she swiftly emerges from the door and sprints to the other side, opening the other door on the opposite side they must enter.

second, wheelhop follows, a terrified but determined look on her face.

third, seiner, the big bot she is, tries her best to run across quietly.

fourth, nightlight crouches down outside the threshold of the door, propping her foot in a “ready, set, go” position, getting up the courage to run to the other side. her expression is nervous and she is shaking.

just as she is about to hop up, the voices of the vehicons down the hall they had previously not given a care to suddenly stop dead. nightlight’s helm shoots towards their position, to see soundwave, the decepticon third in command, walking down the hallway.

her helm whips again back to her friends, on the other side of the hallway, who all have their mouths open and optics wide as dinner plates. after taking a few seconds to be terrified, they all motion frantically for their friend to run to the other side as quickly as possible. but nightlight hesitates, and shakes her head frantically back. soundwave is too close! she’ll be seen! she doesn’t want to go. nightlight, with fluid pricking her optics, attempts to re-open the door they came from, but it seems it locked when she exited. she takes another look at her friends, and scared out of her spark, she curls into a ball, her helm between her legs, her arms around her kneejoints. if she stays small, he won’t see. if she stays in the crook between the door and the wall, she’ll be okay. he won’t see.

nightlight watches from between her legs as her friends sink into the room, and the third in command approaches from down the hallway, his shadow dangerously puddling closer. it passes over the floor and between her legs, and so do his pedesteps. nightlight, assuming her hiding technique has worked, lifts her helm. she is greeted with soundwave’s expressionless, petrifying helm, and one of the spymaster’s tentacles grappling her arm and yanking her harshly into the air. she shrieks, and is wordlessly taken off to some random place in the nemesis. as she is dragged off, she yelps and cries the names of her teammates in fear, but she cannot see them any longer.

wheelhop, seiner, and phase sit deathly silent in the vent they were forced to escape into. they eventually discuss; they are almost out. finding nightlight would take hours, possibly days if they were going to check literally the entire ship, because they had no clue where the interrogation rooms were (nothing much was labelled on the map). and they weren’t even sure she would be there. they could be killed, or worse, interrogated for information and then killed. it would be better to return to base and come back with a bigger rescue team. they were exhausted. after much deliberation, and despite it basically emotionally killing them do make this decision, they decide to continue on their path and escape the ship, without nightlight.

meanwhile, nightlight shivers in an interrogation room with knock out overlooking her, doing something on the monitor next to the table. she is not strapped to the table, as she is too small to reach the straps, so she is simply cuffed to one of said straps, with additional cuffs on her ankles and wrists. nightlight holds back desperately on tears. surely she will be tortured.

the little moped waits for something to happen. she expects to be killed or interrogated. there’s a bunch of surgical instruments (or, other things, nightlight can’t really tell what they are if she’s honest) on a table a few meters away and she’s about to cry. knock out is scary as the pits. she is helpless. suddenly, the cherry-red doctor is talking to someone on his comm.

and the door fucking opens. and megatron walks in.

and all her sense of decorum and self-regulation and “i should be a good bot and stay still” is thrown out the window in an instant, and she tries to jump up from the table, wailing and sure of her demise. she is going to die or be tortured and THEN die, and now, by the hands of megatron at that? she is faced with an autobot’s worst and scariest nightmare. why her?!

knock out has to yoink her back and hold one of her legs to the table, and really she’s not strong compared to him so it doesn’t take much effort. she is very small on main so you can understandably imagine how scary this looks like to the poor thing: a gigantic shadowy figure that frankly just looks like a dark tower, with searing red eyes, radiating with millennia of hatred for her kind, moving towards her. this is made even worse when she realizes the tower has walked very close, closer when she had last peeked through her servos, and is now reaching for her. she hyperventilates and cries out and kicks (or really, attempts to) when two humongous servos grab her legs, and all the minicon can do is babble pleas.

to her surprise she feels the stasis cuffs unlock on her ankles and wrists, and she is slowly let go of to scramble away and curl up on the table, taking a second to sooth herself. nightlight eventually sneaks a look from behind her fingers to see megatron just standing there with a patient expression.

weirdly, knock out next to him with a “?????????what” look, completely baffled as to why megatron just uncuffed a prisoner. it seems he did not expect this either.

and megatron puts on his best Do Not Worry I Am Very Friendly face and says, “hello nightlight”. nightlight doesn’t respond, but still glances at him with a look of profound confusion.

and megatron sweet talks her for a while. asking her questions, talking as nicely as he can. and even though, to any sane bot viewing the scene, one would see megatron’s clear intentions of evil, our poor nightlight is immune to social cues. so, she’s thinking, “what’s happening?“ and all of this is…a lot.

eventually, megatron says, “nightlight, i’d like you to join our side.” the periwinkle bot thinks, “well this isn’t torture or death, but….” and megatron can tell she’s baffled, so he keeps talking.

“your friends left you,” he says firmly. nightlight’s face sours pitifully, and megatron continues, “they’ve already left the ship. i’m sure you heard the overhead comm announce we were no longer on lockdown.”

nightlight looks away, feelings clearly hurt, and he continues still, “they didn’t stay to rescue you. they escaped without even an attempt to come for you. they don’t see you as a valuable part of their team.”

and this very much hurts nightlight. this is exactly what she worries about, in her endeavors as a friend and as an autobot; that she is not a good and contributing team member. is she really that small, that bad at fighting, that dumb? megatron continues by saying, “but the decepticon army has a place for you.” she looks up for a second in hope, but not any longer, and megatron can tell she is very conflicted, so he changes the subject.

(and ok side note i have this idea that before tfp megatron went gladiator he was a miner. and he was marx on main in the mines and had already developed kind of a following, and the governmence was like

“oh god oh fuck we can’t kill him he’s got too big of a following he might be seen as a martyr if WE kill him”

“well alright then government man #1 how about we put him in the gladiatorial pits. then we won’t be the ones to kill him. he’ll be taken care of and we won’t be blamed for it”

“very sexy idea government man #2!”

and they did it but megatron was tough as shit in the end and y’all all know what happened)

but anyways,megatron leans in closer as if sharing some sort of nice, secret moment with her, “i know you used to work in the mines, nightlight.” and this is true. nightlight used to work as an autonomous flashlight to give easier lighting to miners and contractors and such, in her life back on cybertron. “o-oh yeah i did that…” she replies sheepishly.

megatron: “did you know i used to work in the mines too?”

and nightlight immediately forgets she’s sitting in front of the warlord who obliterated most of their race, who destroyed their planet, and is responsible for the death of many of her friends and comrades, “you did?!” she perks up and moves slightly closer, naturally friendly. the fact that megatron was a miner is kind of common knowledge, but nightlight doesn’t know shit fuck about cybertron’s history or important figures and she just thought megatron was a gladiator before this and that’s it.

nightlight hasn’t met another ex-miner for a while and she’s visibly excited. most of the other autobots, including her teammates, had other occupations on cybertron, and sometimes she found it hard to relate in certain situations. megatron and nightlight chat nicely for a while, but eventually megatron says something maybe a little too violent that reminds her “ah…i am talking to THE megatron”.

the moped looks down. the warlord questions her expression. “um. well. y'know,” she fidgets, “you guys…i can’t join the decepticons. you guys kinda…you guys do…bad things. sometimes. a lot of bad things.” she is not unsure of this fact, but she does not want the confrontation, so she lightens her choice of words as best she can. megatron leans down again, soft-yelling at her in his typical overly-intense way, “you don’t think the autobots have committed JUST as many grievances as us?”

and the answer is obviously NO, they have NOT committed as many war crimes as you, but nightlight falls for his manipulation and backs off, looking guilty. she’s so awfully gullible. and megatron happily grabs onto this fact and runs with it, naming off bad shit that the autobots have (allegedly) done, and nightlight is successfully freaked out.

the gigantic mech sees he’s scared her and can tell he’s convinced her, so he leans back and ends the interaction, “i’ll give you some time to think, nightlight. we will talk later. tell me your decision then.” and with that, placing his servo once on the table as if to say goodbye like a friend but not quite touch her personal bubble, he walks out. and poor nightlight is left to think, alone, about what she is supposed to do.

megatron exits out of the doors and starscream is there, and they walk off all evil-like and start talking.

starscream begins their conversation,“well how did it go?”

megatron: “swimmingly.”

starscream: “is she convinced?”

megatron, especially evilly, grinning that nasty shark-smile: “i have left her no other option.”

and DUN DUN DUNNNN it’s somehow revealed that starscream and megatron decided to form a plan to lower autobot morale by stealing away nightlight to become a decepticon. they didn’t come up with it before this, it was impromptu when they got the alert that the girls had entered the ship. not many people defect over, and nightlight, from what they have seen, is a dumbass and is very convincible, so she was the perfect target. her friends, who were admirable fighters and were admittedly putting a dent in their forces, would be especially broken by their friend leaving them for the decepticons, moreso than if they had just killed her. so, they decided to convince her to defect so their morale goes to shit. how satisfying would it be for nightlight not to look at her friends in longing and love, but disdain and hatred when they next meet? she is weak, so if the plan doesn’t work out like they’d hoped, they can just kill her.

eventually, of course, whether she is fully aware she had no other choice or not, she says yes, and she gets her new paint job, her new symbol, her new optic color, and is successfully brainwashed. megatron and co continue their skilled manipulation, and nightlight is forced to make a new life as a decepticon, without her friends. yippee!!

anyways, if you made it here, here’s a little doodle. it’s the differences between her autobot and decepticon look! sorry it’s messy.

thank you for viewing.

EDIT: popcorn is now named “wheelhop”! so i changed all instances of her name.

EDIT2: same with rook phase!

#tf oc #tfp #nightlight #tfp nightlight #seiner #phase #wheelhop #tfp seiner #tfp phase #tfp wheelhop #maccadam #sunnyd #megatron #tfp megatron #this includes some other characters too but i feel like i'm spamming if i tag all of them...#they aren't that prevalent in the story so i'll leave it be.#frenchhouseaddict

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libermachinae · 4 years

Text

Schematics [Or, Another Chance] – Ch. 6, Peace

Also available on AO3! Notes: @prowlweek Coming to the end here! Can’t wait for tomorrow’s prompt, which *checks watch* I haven’t started writing yet.

⏳ 🚧 🚓 ⌛ �� 🚧 ⏳

There was something different this time. The push of the timestream was still there, its resistance to invasion, but now it felt confused. Hook’s legs were being pulled backward while his chest was lifted, his left arm drawn to his side. None of it was wholly uncomfortable yet, but the variety of sensations made it harder than usual to keep track of which way was up. He knew there was no choice but to keep moving forward, even as the building pressure started to remind him of that last fight with Victorion, feeling on the edge of victory only to be torn away from Long Haul without warning.

“Prowl!” he yelled, and the sound made his spark stutter. He’d never tried to talk in the timestream before, and it sounded like Soundwave’s multi-layered vocalizations, his own voice piled on top of itself many times over and bellowed into an echoless void.

He needed to get out. The timestream, empty and endless as it was, felt like it was pressing in on him, and there was nowhere to go. At the place where there should have been an end to the tunnel, an opening into whatever time Prowl had ejected himself into, there was nothing but more fragmentary space. There no footsteps in the timestream.

Hook wondered if this might be the end. He would be part of a legacy, anyway: dying in a state of heightened confusion, far away from the team. There were real reasons to be scared and upset about that, but the only thing he could think was that, having gone from prison to battle to hospital, they hadn’t even had a chance for a good frag before all this went down. He was going to die, and the main things on his mind were Long Haul’s tires. Great.

“Prowl!” he yelled again, bearing the unease caused by the sound of his voice. “It doesn’t have to be like this!”

“It does, Hook.”

The voice was so close. Hook whipped around, trying to find its source, but the familiar Praxian frame did not reveal itself. Space twisted around, obfuscating the way he’d come, and Hook became dizzy. There was no up anymore, no forward. Just time, its crystalline branches weaving over each other, incredible patterns that Scavenger or Mixmaster might have called beautiful. He thought of the possibility that he take an exit, the first one he came across, and just live through whatever time he ended up in. He survived the war once; he could do it again.

He’d come to get Prowl, though. He couldn’t leave without him.

“Come on,” he said, optics searching as though Prowl might be behind a spiderwebbing fragment. “That’s slag. I fragged up, but we can fix it.”

“You can’t fix this, Hook.”

He felt it like a blunt blow to his pride.

“What would you know?” he demanded.

Something shifted, its ripple out of time with the rest of movements of the timestream. Hook’s optics darted down to it, and he watched as the walls of time shivered and cracked, beams of darkness breaking through. Hook stumbled toward them, barely able to remember how his legs worked, his systems were to delirious with relief. Five windows opened, just the right size to peer into the times beyond.

“Enough,” Prowl said.

Hook couldn’t make sense of the scene at first. It was Cybertron, of course, but free of bullet hole pockmarks. Their missions had so attuned him to pre-war Cybertron that he didn’t immediately recognize the post-war (or at least the closest they’d come) landscape, though in time his processor did manage to make sense of it. It was somewhere in the depths of New Iacon, the sewer systems and maintenance lines that the Decepticons had made their base for a while.

Prowl stepped into view, still wearing his old frame. His optics were bright with stress and his doorwings arched high, but there was an air about him Hook wasn’t familiar with. The way he carried himself, dove so confidently around each corner, was removed from the mech he knew, who clunk through the shadows with the grace of a cybercat. Hook’s spark stirred again, though he brushed it off as the unnatural forces still toying with his frame.

He made to reach in, pry open the window a little wider so he could escape to freedom, but found that it would not allow entrance, an invisible force holding his hand back. He grunted in frustration.

“Prowl, what gives?”

“Just look,” the voice said, distant and yet chillingly, intimately close.

He shifted to the next window, wondering if maybe Prowl was waiting for him there. Instead, it was another scene, another Prowl. Above ground, under the Cybertornian sun, wielding a gun half his own height. So proud, so radiant, the sight drew an exvent out of Hook.

“Don’t get distracted, Hook,” Prowl said. “That’s not me.”

What? Of course it was. When Hook humored Prowl and looked closer, though, he thought he understood what was meant. The armor was different from the one shown in the last window, enhanced and bulked up to match the demands of his soon-to-be gestaltmates. His optics (two!) were as piercing as ever, but unlike the tactician Prowl, who took every opportunity to survey a situation and formulate evolving strategies, these were hard, intended solely to challenge anyone who returned their gaze. Hook remembered at last that Bombshell was the one behind them here, that It was his cruel smile twisting Prowl’s neutral features. The most uncanny part of it, though, were the rigid doorwings. Even as he spoke, inaudible through the peephole, and gesticulated to his onlookers, the doorwings were fixed, mute.

“Eugh,” Hook said.

“You understand?”

Hook glanced up, though there was still no one there.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You don’t believe me, that this is beyond your ability to fix,” Prowl said. “I’m showing you proof.”

Prowl’s processor was big, beautifully complex, able to solve problems with such elegance the rest of the swooned. But he was being shortsighted when he claimed there was nothing they could do. They were a team of builders, able to fix pretty much anything, and they did it together. Though they might have been temporarily pulled apart, Prowl just needed to come out of hiding and they would prove it to him.

Instead, he just said, “Keep going,” and Hook was obliged to obey.

He knew the next window before the entire scene had come into view. It was one of his favorite memories, one of the few he’d kept locked up tight during Scoop’s brief stint with the team: Megatron gave the order to combine, and after months of laying low, Devastator’s components came together again. The feeling of reconnecting had been like a rush of sweet coolant through Hook’s lines, and then invigorating energon, as a new mind swept them up with its incredible power.

Except, here, that perfect moment of synchronicity was delayed, and instead the view swept down. It found Prowl, splayed on the ground, screaming. All the way through that first transformation, as the power of combination lifted him into his place as Devastator’s head, his expression was warped in agony. Hook stared the whole way through, until the silent screams were encased within Prowl’s own body, folded and reshaped into the head of their combined forms. When Devastator’s mouth opened, it was to bellow with rage.

It… unsettled him. Hook had always known that first combination had been without Prowl’s consent, but the bliss that followed, Devastator’s purpose reborn, swept over his limited misgivings. Now, Prowl’s expression permanently etched in his memory core and knowing that Prowl had intended it so, the misgiving crept back in.

“You didn’t want to be a part of us at first, I get it,” Hook said as he moved to the next window. “But that’s not really unusual. Long Haul didn’t want to combine either, when Megatron first told us about it. You learn to like it more as time goes on, though, right?”

The next scene, not far ahead at all: Cybertron under siege from Shockwave’s assault, Metroplex barely holding out and in need of backup. Prowl looked up, into the sky, and Hook swore he saw his optics flicker the moment he made his decision. A second later, he gave his first order to combine.

“After that first time combining, though, things change,” Hook said. “You see each other, and then you can never imagine yourselves apart again.”

He hovered by that window, watching as Devastator met Monstructor head on, his rage and brutality underscored by a long-term strategy the rest of the team hadn’t been prepared for. The first time they’d combined with Prowl had been good, but this was the moment that had made them realize that they needed to keep their new teammate, that he was going to be a part of them forever, the same way Scrapper still was. He missed it, he realized, that moment of epiphany. It had been less than a cycle before they disconnected again, but in his memory, it stretched out, a breathtaking expanse of violence he wanted so badly to reclaim.

Prowl sighed, though it was more like Hook felt it than an actual noise he heard. Before his optics, the window stitched itself closed again, empty space left where one the chaos of battle had waged. To either side of him, the others did the same, once more enclosing Hook in the timestream.

“I hoped I would be able to show you and you would understand, but I guess I forgot what you used to be like.”

There was direction to the voice now. Hook whipped around.

“Prow—you’re not Prowl.”

The mech, standing a dozen or so meters away, had an all-black paint sceme and stood at eye-level with Hook. He was a vehicle, likely a car of some sort, but it was a queer blend of Cybertronian and Earth design, rubberoid wheels embellished with thick treads. His posture could have been described as casual or confident, Hook couldn’t decide which, though his doorwings twitched faintly.

The luxurious black was was so silky that the mech’s features faded against the bright background, though the matte gray Autobrand centered stark on his chest. The other most visible features were his gray faceplate and purple optics, frame under a familiar red chevron.

“…are you?”

The doorwings fluttered up.

“That’s my name, yes,” he said, the grin he bore making Hook doubt himself again.

“But you’re not my Prowl.”

“I am who ‘your Prowl’ is going to become,” he said. “I’ve come from your future.”

“Neat,” Hook said, and immediately wanted to punch himself in the face. Prowl was here, dropping revelations like that, and the best he could come up with was ‘neat’?

The smile, though, did not fade, even as Prowl strode forward to collapse the distance between them. Hook startled when the hand came up, fingers resting against the side of his helm, tilting it like he was a fine weapon being observed.

“You’re nervous,” future Prowl said.

“Yeah.” Prowl’s fingertips were smooth on his plating, barely making a sound as they glided along the delicate seams. “You said you were going to kill me a few minutes ago. Uh, years? How far in the future you from?”

“Several centuries.”

“Ah.” They caressed his audial receptors, the curve of his jaw. Was Prowl looking for something, a stasis switch hidden in the nook between lower jaw and throat cables? He didn’t know of anything like that on his frame, but it seemed more likely than what his processor desperately wanted to believe this was.

“Is the team, you know, still together?” he asked.

“That’s what I’m here to address, actually,” Prowl said, his hand pulling back with a final brush along Hook’s cheek. He could not help that his optics trained to the hand as it returned to his side, though the steady purple glow of Prowl’s optics eventually regained his focus. “This moment is a turning point, Hook. The team is about to enter a new phase in its legacy, and it’s on you to determine how this transition resolves.”

“Me?” No, that couldn’t be right. That wasn’t how they did things; they were a team, they smashed through their problems together. Yes, he’d decided that retrieving Prowl would be his responsibility, but there should still have been time to go get the others before anything important happened. “Shouldn’t we all be here for that?”

“No. You were alone when you found me,” Prowl said.

“Yeah, but I can go grab them and—”

“I mean the first time,” Prowl interrupted. “My first time. Your second.” Hook’s (voluntary) lack of comprehension must have shown, because Prowl sighed and tilted his head. That smile was back, and it didn’t seem to be mocking. “You’re about to go find him. I know, because I remember it happening.” He said it like a conspiracy.

Something inside Hook was rattling. Not audibly, but he swore he could feel it, a deep feeling that was probably going to shake his frame until it fell apart, limbs and plating in an undignified heap in this nowhere place.

“So, I’m going to go get the real—present—my Prowl, and I’m going to do… something that causes him to become,” he waved his hands in front of the tall, black mech, “this.”

There was a glimmer in Prowl’s optics, a tremble in his doorwings, but his vocalizer stayed silent. Hook sagged.

“Come on, Prowl, what do I do?” he asked.

Nothing.

“I don’t want to mess up.” He hoped it didn’t sound like he was begging. “You’re from the future, you know everything.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” Prowl asked with a shrug. “That you find me, make a few more empty promises, and that’s what convinces me to come back to the present? That we finish up the mission, lock up our culprit, and spend the rest of our lives as Windblade’s secret task force?”

He advanced a step closer.

“Or the one where we leave Earth entirely? Travel from planet to planet, mercenaries one day and construction crew the next. Cybertronians are still generally disliked by most of the galaxy, so we spend nights piled up in whatever seedy motel won’t rat us out to the local militia.”

Another step. The rattling grew more violent.

“Our relationship gets pushed back to square one. We learn from the mistakes of our past, make more in the future, and figure out how to put together something that works. We stop letting the trauma that first brought us together continue defining what we could be to each other.”

Hook’s vents caught when he heard that word, though Prowl’s voice was so hushed he almost missed it. They were so close; he would only have to lean forward to…

But he stopped himself. He needed to know, first, “Do we ever combine again?”

This close, Hook could see Prowl’s lenses as they contracted, narrowing as he straightened himself into the rigid, unreadable posture Hook was more familiar with. Not mission relevant, he guessed, but not irrelevant, either. The futures Prowl described sounded… weird, but good. The team stayed together, got work doing things they were good at. He didn’t know how he felt about their employers, Autobots or aliens, but he could handle anyone if it meant he was with the whole team.

Could if be whole, though, if they were missing their giant, invisible seventh? The thought stung, a sharp pinch he felt in his inactive combination ports. To never again feel Long Haul’s ambition, Mixmaster’s curiosity, Bonecrusher’s protectiveness, Scavenger’s blend of emotions they’d never been able to put words to… Prowl’s brilliance… When they combined, the best parts of his favorite mechs flowed into him, meshed with his own processor to produce something greater, a feeling that they would never have to worry about being alone. Combining had become the means by which they understood each other, and even if they stayed together for centuries, he couldn’t see how they would last through millennia without it.

This was fear, he realized, even as the rattling inside of him stilled.

“Hook.” Gentle hands on his frame again: one back to cradling his helm, the other squeezing his arm, rubbing glyph-like patterns along the plating. Unfamiliar though they were, Hook found himself leaning into the touches. “Remember, that was all hypothetical. I can’t tell you what happens in the future. But I can tell you this: it’s good. No, better than that. It’s peaceful.”

“What does that mean?” Hook asked, even as his optics threatened to power down. When was the last time they’d recharged?

“What do you think it means?”

Prowl didn’t want to kill them. They fragged a lot. All the pests left them alone. They made a living working hard, working for themselves, without Shockwave or Starscream or Autobots telling them what to do. They were together.

If he was being honest, though, then Prowl probably knew all of that, and there were more pressing matters.

“What am I supposed to do with all this?” Hook asked.

His gaze had shifted down. He realized this when gentle persuasion from Prowl’s hand had him look up again, and he was met with those unfamiliar purple optics.

“You were on the right track,” Prowl said. “You go find me, and you say what needs to be said. We go from there.”

“But what is it? What do I say?” He didn’t care anymore if it sounded like begging; this was too important. He couldn’t screw it up. For as weird as this Prowl was, the futures he described sounded worthwhile. Hook wanted it, he realized, regardless of whether they could combine. It would be more work, to learn how to know each other without a direct connection, but it would be worth it to keep Prowl in their lives. For a few centuries, forever, anywhere in between, would be worth it.

Prowl’s expression softened again, his doorwings giving little flutters, and Hook wondered if he’d somehow revealed what he was thinking anyway.

“You’re going to keep this secret for a long time,” Prowl said. “From the other Constructicons, and especially from me. Once we’re collectively in a steadier place, then you’ll tell me about it. You need to tell me about this conversation, and that I need to trace our steps back through the mission and doctor things, a bit.”

“You…”

“Just a few details, to make me notice you all more, question some conclusions I’d come to,” Prowl specified. “Trigger one of Mesothulas’ experiments to combust; make Bonecrusher think I’m about to walk into a firefight.”

“You were the one leading me around Cybertron!” Hook gasped. “When you—past you took off, you knew where to find him!”

“My directions were a little off, but I got you there in time,” Prowl agreed. He sighed, a pleasant sound, pulling back again as his expression turned serious. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, Hook. All I have to offer is my trust that you will do this to the best of your abilities, and in return I’m asking you to trust me that, regardless of the details, it will be worth it. The conversation we’re about to have is…” But he stopped himself, started over. “I’m asking you to give me another chance. Can you do that?”

“Of course, Prowl,” Hook said. The answer was automatic. Regardless of the weird paint and far-fetched stories, he knew in his spark that this was still his teammate. “Always.”

Another smile. Hook realized that there were more to look forward to, in some hypothetical distant future, and a tentative excitement built in his spark. Yes, he could trust Prowl.

“I know,” Prowl said. He reached forward again, wrapping his fingers around Hook’s hand just long enough to squeeze, before letting go and stepping back as time started to stitch itself over and around him. “See you again soon.”

Then Prowl was gone, and Hook was alone. Something stirred within him, an old feeling, pointing off to the side. He turned toward it, letting it guide his steps until eventually he came upon the past.

He’d only heard rumors of the Arctic, a dreadful patch of Earth that was cold enough to freeze the fuel in your lines and with snow high enough to swallow a Cybertronian. Stumbling into the past, he was a little disappointed at what had turned out to be an exaggeration. Not a lot, just thinking it might have been cool. The snow barely covered his pedes, just enough to make driving a pain, though not impossible. He reasoned it wouldn’t be necessary, though, going by the deep tracks that led away from the portal and into a covering of dark trees. There wasn’t room for hesitation here: Hook stepped into the tracks and let them guide him forward. If Prowl had been lying, Hook would know soon enough.

He wasn’t surprised when the barrel of a gun appeared through the trees.

“I warned you, Hook,” Prowl said, stepping out. He didn’t have his finger on the trigger, but Hook raised his hands in surrender.

“We’re not great at the whole listening thing.”

“I’ve noticed.” Prowl’s optics, familiar blue, narrowed. He glanced to either side, not taking his sight off Hook for longer than a nanoklik. “Where are they?”

“The rest of the team?”

Cold silence.

“They stayed behind,” Hook said. “I told them to. I screwed up, so it’s on me to make things…” Well, not right. That had been future Prowl’s whole point, and he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity he’d been given. “We need one more chance,” he tried instead.

“This was your chance,” Prowl said, his hand tightening around the gun, “and you failed. I can’t trust you to follow orders or respect my decisions. How do I know you wouldn’t have killed Springer on sight?”

There was no victory in learning their target’s identity; what had once seemed so crucial, the in that would give them access to everything else Prowl was holding back, became insignificant when spat from a face glowing with hate.

“Do you want to know why I really chose you?” Prowl asked.

Hook did. He didn’t. It didn’t matter, because he wasn’t the one holding the gun.

“You aren’t the only bonded Cybertronians still alive. There are other active combiner teams, and even splitspark twins would have done the job. I picked you,” Prowl’s doorwings trembled, “because I knew I could live with it if the timestream killed you all.”

Hook’s internals shifted. He hadn’t thought he’d expected an explanation like that, but he found no trace of surprise in his systems, nothing to indicate that this was outside of Prowl’s usual behavior. He’d been more shocked to wake up to that message left over their comms, a cryptic command left while they recharged, and it was that realization that had his engine rumbling in arrhythmic pulses.

“The timestream?” he managed to ask. Any other part of the admission would have been impossible to address.

“We’re not built to exist in a place like that, let alone survive,” Prowl said. “Excess exposure gradually tears your spark across multiple dimensions, photon by photon. Agonizing, and once you’re sealed in, eternal.” His optic flared. “I was ready to see every one of you fall to it.”

He couldn’t help it, Prowl’s stare too intense, his tone too earnest: Hook thought of Scavenger. The wild, honest fear he would feel, to be trapped in a place like that, and it was all he could do to keep his systems running normally. He forced a memory in, played it back multiple times until it maxed out his processing power and the dreadful fantasy was pushed aside: gentle hands, a kind voice. A promise.

“What about you?” he asked. Another chance. “You’ve exposed yourself just as much. More, since you can’t even sit out. What’s going to happen to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Prowl snapped.

The deflection was exactly what Hook needed to banish the ugly thoughts from his mind entirely, because it did matter. The future he’d envisioned was staked on Prowl being alive, and he wasn’t about to let anyone risk that, least of all Prowl himself. Hook wanted to assure him of this, but his first instinct was to step forward and Prowl’s finger moved to the trigger.

“Don’t!” Prowl shouted.

Hook froze. His arms dropped to his sides and stayed there, where they wouldn’t be taken as a threat. He knew to be wary of a scared mech holding a gun, but for each moment that passed he became more aware of the fact that it hadn’t gone off.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Prowl,” Hook said. What were they supposed to do next? “We need to talk.”

“You’re a bunch of brutes who kill without remorse and decimate populations for fun,” Prowl said. “You forced yourselves into my mind and took whatever you wanted. What could you possibly want to talk about now?”

The same thing he’d been shown in the timestream, just phrased in a few more words. For as gorgeous as Prowl’s mind was, as endlessly fascinating and precise and meticulously designed, it wasn’t something Hook had been offered. He’d taken, grabbed for that beautiful thing, because that was how you got anywhere in the Decepticons: you grabbed the things you wanted and stepped on anyone who tried to keep you from them. The whole team had been operating on that hard-learned principle when they drew Prowl in that first time, not realizing that by doing so, they’d inadvertently been crushing the mech, too.

That had been the basis for their new team, and it was a structurally stable as a building without supports, a project with no plan. They’d jumped straight to the best parts and doomed the whole structure to fail.

“We won’t touch you again, if that’s what you want,” he said. He turned his palms toward Prowl, though kept them low. “We’ll give you space. We won’t get repaired. We—”

“Your combination ports?”

“Yeah.” Didn’t matter that he hadn’t gotten the rest of the team in on the idea, yet. He would find a way to keep that promise if it were what Prowl wanted.

“You would put Devastator to death,” Prowl said. The wording made Hook a bit queasy, too reminiscent of Scrapper, but he nodded. “How? What are you if you can’t combine?”

A team, Hook’s spark wanted to say, but he stopped himself. Something had been lost in translation when they’d tried that before, he was sure, and maybe specificity here would ease whatever steps lay ahead.

“You took my spot,” he said. “I used to be Devastator’s head. Mechs who never saw us combined assumed it had to be Scrapper, since he was the leader, but he was a leg. Bombshell had to reformat me, because it was easier than making you bulky enough to hold up everyone’s weight.”

Prowl’s optics narrowed, and even from this distance Hook swore he could hear his processor working, plugging in all the variables to try to figure out where this was headed. Hook sped up: he needed to be the one to say it out loud.

“We didn’t need Scrapper to be the head to be an effective leader, and we didn’t want you to take over from him because you became the new head. Where you fit in Devastator and your role on the team are two different things, and we want to keep you as the leader. Or whatever you want to call it. You don’t have to stay a part of Devastator to do that.”

Four million years ago, on a planet that existed permanently in the past, the Constructicons had been a nameless construction crew, its foreman an imperfect and brilliant mech. Scrapper had the gift of a clear vision and ability to maximize his crew’s innate abilities, and it was under his leadership that they found purpose among the lowest rungs of Cybertronian society. They’d become a team deep in the foundations of future skyscrapers and city blocks, and when the benefits of that spilled into their off hours, Hook had thought nothing would ever compare. Scrapper’s death should have signaled the end of a dream. Instead, it had opened a door to something strange and new, and though the other side was looking less and less like what they were leaving behind, Hook knew that they had to go ahead through.

Prowl’s optic was still narrowed, but his finger was back to the barrel of his gun.

“I said I would kill you if you came after me,” he said. “How do we trust each other if you can’t hold me to that?”

“We’re a team,” Hook answered. “I’m going to take back what I said earlier. We’re not going to ask for another chance to prove it, because we’d just screw it up again. This time, we don’t make it about proving anything. Megatron threw us all into this without a plan or nothing, because nobody thought we’d stick together this long. We need to sit down, figure out what we’re doing, and then go after Springer or whoever. Once we’ve got our schematics down.”

He thought about turning his back on Prowl, a show of trust, but decided against it. There was a difference between trust and stupidity, and he liked to avoid being accused of the latter when possible.

The gun stayed pointed at him several seconds longer before, slowly, it lowered, pointed to the halfway point between them. Prowl’s optic was still fixed, but his doorwings no longer trembled.

“I’ll come with you to the present,” he said. “That’s the only guarantee I’ll make. I’m not promising to talk, or even that I won’t shoot the rest of the team on sight. Just that I will accompany you back through the timestream. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Hook said, and now he did turn around, following the tracks back to the tear in time. His footsteps were the only sound for a moment, before he heard the gentle crunch of another following him, their strides matching the prints in the snow.

#maccadam #prowl week #prowlastator #prowl #constructicons #transformers #my writing #longfic #schematics #peace

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ratchet-says-i-needed-that · 5 years

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How I interpreted Cyberverse Soundwave and Shockwave’s tension the fic

In the Decepticon Base, everyone was going about their business. Shockwave and Soundwave stood in the hallway, facing each other. They squared their overly bulky shoulders, puffing up their chests. They curled their fingers, tilting their faces. Soundwave was playing over the top, “threatening” music that had stood in beat with each step he had to take. He dramatically stopped the music to a halt once he stopped mere inches of Shockwave.

“I will be the second in command,” Shockwave told him surely, his voice was confident, but somehow dead inside.

“Shockwave lacks the personality,” Soundwave chimed back, his shoulders soundwaves going beating along steady. He finished off that sentence with a tsk.

“That conclusion is logical, no one shows levels of personality compared to our former second in command,” Shockwave reasoned fairly, taking a step closer.

Soundwave’s red visor narrowed even more, forming the earth letter V. “I will deliver Starscream and the allspark personally to Megatron, he will for sure see I am more suitable. Shockwave belongs in the lab.”

“My information far exceeds yours, Soundwave. The chance of you defeating Starscream with your…” If Shockwave had a face, it would have been disgusted. “choice of music is estimated at 32 percent.”

Soundwave stepped close enough to Shockwave that their chests bumped, their glass making a clink sound. “The chances of me proving superior to you are much greater.”

“I will give you that, you have a 39 percent chance of proving that correct.” Shockwave said, his one singular eye narrowing even more than it already did.

Soundwave leaned forward, his shoulders puffing up to the extreme.

Shockwave matched the pose, their faces only mere inches together.

They stared at each other, practically scoffing and making grr sounds until one of them, it did not matter who, leaned closer. But one of them did. Before one would know it, the two were bumping their faces passionately. Soundwave’s shoulders went completely silent before beating rapidly, the waves practically going out of sight at times.

They were rubbing their faces together. Shockwave was holding onto Soundwave’s monstrous shoulders, it was merely logical to do so since he did not want to fall over. Their faces were making clank noises each time they decided to bump faces instead of nuzzling them.

Both mechs were wrapped up with what they were doing than they did not see Acid Storm and Nova Storm walk behind them, in their arms were clearly energon cubes. Why did they have them, well, cyberverse spoilers obviously. The seekers had no reason to be carrying them and were heading toward one of the exits of the decepticon ship.

The two seekers noticed the pair smashing face, looked at each other, concerned, only to realize the communications officer and the scientist had yet to actually notice them. So they continued along their way.

Slowly over the course of the day, most of the seekers were walking past the pair with various items. Mostly from Starscream’s bedroom like the berth, the space stuff, or it was stuff from Shockwave's lab.

Soundwave and Shockwave did not notice a red coloured autobot being chased around by Clobber and Lockdown.

Hot Rod skidded to a stop, tilting his helm when he noticed the two decepticons were knocking their heads together in such a romantic way.

“Oh, Bumblebee isn’t going to believe this,” Hot Rod breathed.

“Get him!” Clobber shouted, right on Hot Rod’s heels.

“Scrap!” Hot Rod said and drove off.

Soundwave and Shockwave continued, bang bang bang. Followed by the scrapping of metal.

A little while later, Thundercracker forgot he needed to be sneaky, so he was waltzing down the hall, watching some dog videos in one hand and Starscream’s lava lamp in the other. He was walking past both two mechs. Thundercracker stopped, tilting his helm, confused. He opened his mouth, closed it, before realizing he needed to go back before Starscream thought he got lost again.

It was uncertain how long they were doing that.

Finally, Shadow Striker was stomping down the hall. She noticed the two immediately and stomped her foot with a growl, “Of course.”

She rushed over to Soundwave and Shockwave, and separated both of them, “Can you two knock it off. I’ve been looking for both of you. Megatron keeps calling Optimus and Optimus keeps ignoring it or not caring that we’ve spotted Hot Rod once more in the base.”

Soundwave and Shockwave both seemed stunned, still feeling the head bumps on their faces. They both gave a nod and followed after Shadow Striker, mostly likely going to ignore they did that until they ended up doing this again.

#bird writes #this is actually my resume on why i should write for the show #cyberverse #transformers cyberverse #shockwave #soundwave #wavewave #tf soundwave #tf shockwave

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autobuttonsanddeceptistitches · 4 years

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Viper’s Vengeance Chapter 2: Beware the Wild Weasel

Chapter 1

Hey guys, so I’m finally returning to this story. There’s been a lot going on right now, so hopefully updates won’t be too far between. This chapter also contains graphic depiction of gore for one short part near the end as a trigger warning.

Grand doors opened up to the sight of three thrones. The three Megatrons resting upon their high horses. All different bodies, yet the same name of an atomic weapon as powerful as one million tons of dynamite. Soundwave took attention of the sudden appearance, a new bulky body with Cobra armor. Viper clenched his servos, detesting the sight of another bearing the same curse as him. The true blue mech bowed down, wings remaining high. The gray leader smirked, getting off his chair.

“Viper, how good to see you again, I didn't expect you to come back. It seems Cobra was much weaker than I expected.” He said in such a twisted glee. Armada Megatron scoffed, as Beast Wars Megatron paid attention to the T-Rex head for an arm. Viper rose, his true blue sight unseen before.

“Its over now, we don't have to worry about them or the traitor anymore.”

“So you got rid of Luca as well?” The Cobra prototype nodded, remembering the flesh melting from his bones. How the calcium fell apart.

“I told you it wasn't a good idea to team up with those humans!” Came a shrill shriek. Everyone turned to face Starscream and his two Seeker buddies. Among them being Skywarp, wearing far uglier armor than before. Viper glared at the jet, feeling pity oozing out of his seams. The dark armored bot ran up to the snake, gripping his wounded shoulder.

“Hey, could you tell me that you salvaged my body?!” Came such a loud noise that echoed across the room.

“Sorry Skywarp, I didn't want any humans to use those parts, so they're all melted down. You should go to Cybertron and get a new one.” He teased, right as a fist crashed into him.

“Enough! Viper's done his work and we're moving on from that.” Armada Megatron interrupted, his powerful frame standing up and glaring at the fliers.

“Indeed Armada, I am happy to see your attack was successful.” The gray mech replied, he seemed to be happy to see another one of himself, let alone two of them bearing his name. Sure, on the surface it seemed they all detested each other. Yet, Viper could tell something lied beneath that. Soundwave detected it as well, but chose not to speak. The dark blue mech got up, wiping his face of the purple fist that whammed into his.

“Thanks, I needed a warm welcome from the likes of you. Lord Megatrons, may I request a few days off from the raids? Hook mentioned that I needed more repairs on my armor before I can fight.” Blue optics reflected the three Emperors of Destruction as they whispered among themselves. Starscream and Thundercracker dragged Skywarp off as he screamed out various Cybertronian swears.

“Fine, it seems you've done far much more compared to the rest of the army. Go on then, before we change our minds... Yessssss.” The Predacon leader hissed. The former Cobra soldier exited, making sure to avoid the bitter Nightraven. Who knew he loved his old self that much.

Back here again, staring at nothing as Hook tinkered. This time, a lot more precise with the sensitive wings. Good thing the irate Seeker's fists weren't strong enough to make a dent. The vibrant red mouthplate came off, showing the forever hidden white armored face. In the green mech's reflection is markings of a scar. New one gained from the chaotic battle from last night. Nothing to worry over, not if it doesn't hurt.

Dirty work, that song they listened to earlier, quite symbolic of such a situation. Done working for Decepticons, done working with everyone. A few days off is what he needs. It was nice that the dinosaur gave him an agreement. A lot of time to think, to question life's choices. One grew in his head as the Summer Breeze made him feel fine.

How did Cobra get the idea to make him? It couldn't be an idiotic idea that some crazy scientist could come up with. Come up to the boss and proclaiming they could make a jet that'd transform into a large fighting warrior. That urge to dig deeper, to discover why he came to be in these dark times. Who is he?

“I repaired your visor the best I could with what little I had. Sure its not the right color, but at least it'll shield your optics like it did before, so be happy with that.” Hook moved back to pick up a thick orange visor. Must've ran out of black and ditched the primary color for one not found on dark blue armor. The left part of it still broken that'd expose the optic. Its not the prettiest job, but it'll do for now. Servos soon placed the visor back on, fragments of glass included, but tight enough not to go loose and stab him. Hook smirked, knowing how much of a patch job this is. It'd contrast well with his vibrant blue vision. Then came back on the mouthplate, hiding the most human aspect of him.

After Hook finished, Viper sat up, looking towards the medic. “Thank you, I needed that a lot.” He exhaled, wings moving to show that they looked a lot better.

“You know, I could use a paint stripper and get rid of those ugly symbols.” Hook suggested, yet the former Cobra soldier got off the medical berth and adjusted his visor.

“Your repairs are all I needed. Our Megatrons agreed that I needed a break from the fighting. Its my time off now.” Blue armor left the room, closing the door behind him. Hook scoffed as the door opened again. A damaged Build Bot and Shrapnel getting dragged in by Kickback, with a cheeky grin on his face. How wonderful.

The human made machine got out of the shade and into the sunlight. The bright light displaying the restored paint on the weary body. What a strange part of the world to be at, a desert with hidden patches of life. Its often nice to listen to the soft sounds of distant animals and birds. I'd be best to go to the best spot to observe the vast wilderness of this planet. Time to concentrate and think, think over what to do with his past and how life became the way it is.

Viper saw two figures standing on the edge of the ravine. One that guarded the place from any ground vehicles from reaching the base. Breakdown and Drag Strip, two of the Stunticons enjoying their time off from the battles as well it seems. The Rattler came closer, noticing little rodents popping out of the ground. Some traveling across the large holes they dug up.

“Hey, look at those weasels, they're all over the place. Isn't that wild!? Hey, wild weasels!” Breakdown laughed, right as his brother smacked his helm.

“No you dummy, those are gophers! Or groundhogs? I remembered hearing a crazy old man tried bombing his farm to get rid of them. Left a giant hole that's used for tourism in Japan! Best place to dump you off!” His brother chided, before noticing Viper staring at them. “Hey, what's bothering you?”

“Wild....Weasel....” Came a whisper, optics going blank before his processor bloomed into a familiar pain. This damage came from when Cobra tore through his head. The last sight before shutting down was Drag Strip running up to him while Breakdown kept screaming apologies...

A sight returned of blue skies over a forgotten base. An old place with worn out red paint hidden in a faraway jungle. A figure sat inside of the cockpit of a Cobra Rattler. One bearing the iconic symbols, yet having the Decepticon ones embedded as well. Before a consciousness, all that existed was a lifeless husk, a prototype.

“Wild Weasel, how is the Viper performing?” A harsh voice came out, Cobra Commander's own, escaping from the radio into the cockpit. A pilot wearing red, hiding his face behind that intimidating helmet of black and red. He picked up the message, glancing back at the other prototype Rattlers.

“Wild Weasel here, this change to my plane is performing well. I haven't heard anything from the others yet. But I can tell they're performing the same as always.” A blank voice chimed, his pronunciation of s emphasized. An older one, still bearing a cocky attitude matched by his flying skills.

Wheels landing onto the ground, a sweet sensation to anyone bearing a fear of flight. Such bliss for anyone as the other tires began to land onto the soft surface. Overgrown plants, the typical sign of forgotten memories. A row of Cobra Rattlers, seven in total, yet one had the unique marking of purple. Upon command, six had changed their shape, walking on two legs rather than the three wheels. All remained static as their faces showed silver and black. Regular Cobra soldiers hiding at the back of the armored heads, adjusting to the new shape. All eyes left onto the main one, piloted by the great Wild Weasel. His fingers rested onto the controls. Muscles tensing, to soon hear the transformation as everyone watched.

Then, everything came to life. The flickering of an ember, growing into an inferno at the pouring of gasoline. A harsh scream filling his cockpit, crushing of bones as machinery filled the small spot. Never giving the weasel a chance to weasel away from the rising metal. Life, upon the begging of death. The firstborn stood, staring upon the crimson red dripping in his optics. Blood, what flows in the veins of humans. So much of it, the first memory, to hear a horrid screech, then watch the fear on the small creatures faces. A gun slipped out as armor malfunctioned, acid fired and melting the other prototypes. How could they be under full control, yet he could not?

Vision flooded, death, screaming, orders refused to follow. Then, a horrid shot hit his face, breaking the glass. More shots filled the sky as his vocalizer began to function. A scream of his own, startling everyone before they kept firing. Like a feared animal, fighting back against what he couldn't understand. Angry creatures, others identical to him melting down into puddles consumed in green. Such horrid sights, before one powerful blast took him down. Broken glass, staring at the strange color up above. Blue, its so beautiful, glistening the blood before going to sleep.

The prototype couldn't move, arms and legs tied down to slabs of steel. He struggled, making random noises towards the creatures, startled upon his awakening. Right in front of him, a man in the same color of the up above. Face hidden by a shield of silver, black gloves clenching the worn railings. Two other figures stood there, a woman with black, and a man of white. They whispered among each other, before a scientist ran up to the three. This person gave mention for something to be ready. Ready?

Upon the orders, a tremendous pain broke the functioning processor. New thoughts silenced, a forgotten voice. A vegetable, a robotic cabbage, never to be seen again...

“Viper?” Came a whisper, oh that sweet voice. Nightbird's, but, why is she here? Viper turned his numb helm, vision clearing up to find her staring down at him. He perched up, seeing Breakdown and the other Stunticons close by.

“How long was I out?” Came the first words, armor burning at his frame remembering the forgotten memories. The ninja rose a hand to his shoulder.

“A few hours, we thought of taking you to Hook, but he was busy. But, it seems we don't. Alright you five, the show's over.” Leading to the groans of the five mechs. They transformed and drove off into the desert. Ready to do their usual dangerous stunts for the others and their self amusement. Nightbird helped the former cobra mech up.

“What, were they going to ditch me in the middle of nowhere during that?” Came irritation in blue optics upon Nightbird's nod.

“You know them, I would've expected them to use you for their ramps. I've seen what they do with overcharged Decepticons. Need to go somewhere?”

“Yes, I was going to head somewhere, until I heard Breakdown and Drag Strip talk about the darn weasels.” An emphasized hiss on the rodents.

“Well, we'd better get going to wherever you're going. The sun's starting to set, what happened in your vision?”

“Its the reason I'm going there. I wouldn't suggest you coming along, its all for me to take care of. Although, you did make sure I wasn't Stunticon roadkill, so I should repay you in that way.” Viper transformed as Nightbird performed a cartwheel before entering into her alt mode. She drove off alongside him towards the one path able to let anyone in and out of the base.

Gotta pass the long roads that are famous for their tourist attractions in this side of Nevada. Few cars tonight, which is good for any Cybertronians during this time of the dying day. Viper seemed to be feeling a lot calmer since his episode, which should be a good thing. Nightbird remembered the first time she saw him on the floor during a large meeting. Stuck unconscious due to remembering another one of his 'memories'. She remembered hearing Soundwave and Hook discuss the cause of these episodes. The fracturing of his neural systems, vital parts to a Cybertronian to function. It may be repairable, given the time and resources from Cybertron come together. Viper did come into the Earth Wars a few months after her, so they were new back then. Now, a lot's changed since those days. More soldiers, more adjustments to the base's inner structure. What strange days, still having their sense of joy. Although the questions rose in her helm during the drive. Pondering of Viper's intentions.

What seemed to be forever lead them to California in the dead of night. Nightbird's engine hummed, used to long drives after frequent testing by her creators. Oh those days in the labs, born and built for one purpose, yet her own Spark lead her to this. She noticed Viper swooping towards a tunnel in the side of a mountain. A bridge abandoned for so many years. He waited on the old bricks, finding his tag along nearby landing onto the said bridge. Both their optics and armor lighting helped illuminate the tunnel.

“So, what was your memory about?” Nightbird chimed, seeing how Viper remembered his way down these long unforgiving paths.

“My birth, how I had my first kill. Tell me, have you seen blood?”

“In the horror movies Swindle and others watch.” Nightbird chuckled to herself. She'd often sneak into their little parties, such a shame it'd be American and British horrors. They needed some Japanese stuff to watch too.

“I saw it drip down my face and pool out, my optics, stained in so much of it. I'm amazed that Cobra left me alive, but, that's why I'm here.” Said with no emotion. Both reached an aged door with the infamous symbol of red worn away by time. Upon pressing a few buttons, it opened to the sight of forgotten technology. Old machinery whirled to life for the first time in years.

#Viper's Vengeance #Viper #Nightbird #Soundwave #Transformers Earth Wars #Transformers #TF #Maccadams #fanfiction #fanfic #Transformers fanfic #G1 #TW: Gore

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thanksjro · 4 years

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Eugenesis, Part Four Scene Five: Prowl’s Self-Esteem Is Through the Floor At This Point.

Prowl’s sitting in an office, waiting for all the Autobots to vote on whether he gets to lead or not. It’s agonizing. He’s run out of things to organize.

Interesting that the Institute where the Headmasters worked might be doing some shady stuff. Guess it’s not all just frat keggers and failing sociology 101 at the Institute of Higher Programming.

Though I have to question the validity of a report written up by a guy who didn’t even exist in this universe until last month. Throwback, what are you even doing?

Perceptor comes in with the final tally.

108 for Prowl, 86 against. Oh hey, that’s the title of this Part!

Roberts really likes putting leadership positions to a vote. He does it again in MTMTE #26, when Rodimus invoked the Crisis Act on himself after the whole thing with Overlord happened. Good to know he supports democracy.

Prowl isn’t terribly thrilled about just how many folks voted against him, but at the end of the day, all that really matters is that Kup isn’t going to get his suicide mission.

While that’s happening, the Delphi medics are busy tending to an unconscious and bleeding Optimus Prime. Nightbeat’s in the way, pulling a Kup, until Siren pulls him away. Siren still can’t believe Optimus Prime is actually here. I’m in the same boat at this point, though probably not for the same reasons; his is an awestruck wonder, and mine a dulled exasperation.

Back on the Ark, Ultra Magnus is just plum baffled by the Enslaver having disappeared without a trace, but they don’t really have the luxury to think on it too hard, seeing as their transwarp drive is about to crap out. They’ve got to exit hyperspace.

Sorry if this post reads choppy, the narrative is jumping around a lot here. That usually means things are about to pop off.

Over in Haxian’s workshop, a Quintesson trooper- Q-6 is what he’s called- is watching one of his coworkers get outfitted for the teleport, as Galvatron is screaming his own name down the hall.

Oh, good, we’re finally getting back to this idiot.

Haxian tells Q-6 to go shut Galvatron up. He heads over to the cell block to check it out, when things suddenly go silent.

Curious just how the fuck that happened, but okay.

Galvatron’s gone missing. That’s a big problem.

One of the corpses makes a noise, and Q-6, not being terribly trope-savvy, takes a gander into the gaping wound that is Thunderclash’s chest.

R.I.P. Q-6. We hardly knew ye.

Back on Cybertron, the Micromasters Siren sent out for reconnaissance have just landed their ship, starting the walking part of their journey. We’re following Phaser, Sunrunner, Blastmaster, and Treadbolt.

Little character bung-up here: Blastmaster and Treadbolt’s name are spelled wrong. They’re supposed to be Blast Master and Tread Bolt, respectively. Treadbolt is especially glaring, seeing as there’s an actual character from TransTech with that spelling, and his whole thing is that he’s BIG. I know that’s a pretty minor thing, but after all the intricate character inclusions and references Eugenesis has thrown at me, it’s pretty glaring. I even checked to make sure the spelling wasn’t different for the UK comics. I LIVE on the Wiki for this breakdown.

Also, turns out Blastmaster wasn’t always a Micromaster. He got the surgery in the 90’s. That’s not a canon thing, just a funny little Roberts headcanon. Which makes it canon for this novel, it just isn’t… anything that was established by the source material.

It’s important to remember that, at the end of the day, Eugenesis is a fanfic Roberts sold out of a suitcase at conventions in the early 2000’s. Things start to feel a little crazy if you don’t.

ANYWAY.

There’s bit of banter- turns out Sunrunner can’t read a map- and then Blastmaster reveals that the mountainside they’ve been standing in front of is actually a hologram hiding the abandoned Manganese Autobase they’ll be traveling through.

The Micromasters enter Autobase and crawl into a vent, because Roberts is as obsessed with robots crawling through ductwork as he is with mechpreg.

Mechpreg that I have still yet to see, I will remind you.

The fellas move through the ducts for a while, until they hit the inside of the concentration camp. They take a look, communicating through the inter-Autobot radio.

That bodes well.

Back in Haxian’s workshop, our science-inclined tentacle monster is putting the finishing touches on the tele-armor, when Galvatron leaps into the room and attacks. He’s got Q-6 in a chokehold, which is really unnecessary, seeing as he’s very dead. Haxian immediately surrenders, and Galvatron demands to be sent home. He dons the armor, then makes to grab at Haxian to go with him- he’s still just as paranoid as ever, our Galvy.

Haxian refuses, seeing as the parameters this set of armor is set for won’t allow both him and Galvatron to survive the trip. Galvatron shoots him in the chest, and Sharkticons start pouring into the room.

Galvatron books it.

He’s still weak from the Inhibitor Chip, so he runs, only realizing the layout of the building isn’t terribly conducive to escape once it’s too late. The tele-armor then decides that now would be a good time to be ready to go. Galvatron punches the button, and is whisked away from the workshop

To the Kledji concentration camp.

Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire.

The Micromasters see him pop into existence, smoking and red-hot from the teleport, and are understandably confused.

The Kledji guards, not knowing that it’s Galvatron under the armor, welcome him with open arms. Galvatron responds accordingly.

Himbo supreme defending his title, I see.

The Micromasters are a bit thrown by this development, but opt to stay on-mission, and merely observe.

Galvatron approaches the prisoners who were being transported when he showed up, and tries to ask what’s going on. He doesn’t get anything out of them, seeing as they’re under the influence of the Chips. Galvatron isn’t feeling too hot himself, but he can’t worry about that now, because more guards are coming his way.

As Galvatron fights more Quintessons, the armor he was wearing gets kicked around until it slams against the grate the Micromasters are hiding in, revealing the aqua fortis the original trooper was supposed to deliver.

Then the Quintessential Flying Fucks show up- looks like the gang’s back together again.

Galvatron is subdued, and Jolup decides that it would be very funny to inject him. Galvatron disagrees, turning into a gun to escape their hold. He skitters towards the grate as well. This grate must be magnetized or something.

The Flying Fucks stomp on Galvatron a few times, knocking him out before injecting him again. Now, they don’t know where the hell is neural cluster is in gun-mode, so they just kind of eyeball it before throwing him on the ground again.

They takes their eyes off of him for two seconds, and then he’s gone.

…

So, Galvatron’s missing, but the grate he landed in front of is off. The Quintessential Flying Fucks remember that Micromasters are a thing, and order the ventilation shafts be flame-cleansed to deal with them. Hope it was worth it to save the head of that faction you’ve been at war with for several million years, guys.

Back at the College of Knowledge, Chromedome and Perceptor are having a little chat about frequency calibrators, like the huge nerds they are.

…Criminy, what body part is that supposed to be? I’ve seen it used to refer to hands before, both in fanfic and canon work- hello, Animated- but here that doesn’t really fit. I’m going to assume arms. It’s his arms.

Chromedome, don’t you lie. You’ve never been happy a day in your goddamn life.

Then Chromedome realizes it’s been nearly half an hour since he last dragged Prowl, so he asks Perceptor why he voted against the guy.

Perceptor reasons that Prowl is level-headed and responsible, but just not…

Chromedome coming for his life. Jesus.

He then asks who Perceptor would want in Prowl’s place. Perceptor avoids the question, redirecting to a very interesting-looking staircase. The stairs lead to a downloading theatre, where lectures were once held. As Chromedome reminisces on his alma mater, Perceptor finds some pieces of equipment that might be of use. Very peculiar pieces, that belong to a teleport system, and certainly not at a place of higher learning.

But Chromedome doesn’t care about that, because he’s just found motherfucking SOUNDWAVE hiding and passed out in a pile of junked computers.

Back at the camp, the Quintessential Flying Fucks are having a meeting about Galvatron. Xenon called and said they’d be improving the Chip, soon as Haxian stopped being grievously wounded. The Fucks didn’t mention Galvatron having escaped, or the Micromaster infestation. With two escapes in as many days, it would really make them look bad.

Then Sevax brings up a really good point: nobody- not one of the prisoners, or Galvatron- has recognized their Decepticon bodies. They’ve seen that they’re Decepticons, but no sense of familiarity, no being called a Cybertronian name, has happened. Just what the fuck were the Fucks before they were Quintessential?

The other two can’t be bothered to care.

Returning to Prowl’s crisis of self, Soundwave’s been dumped on a table, just laying there while everyone argues about what to do with him. Prowl just sort of watches it unfold around him.

Kup, that’s not good gun safety.

Prowl makes the call to revive Soundwave. Kup agrees, much to everyone’s surprise. But there’s a problem! Soundwave needs an energon transfusion if he’s going to survive. A majority of the Autobots just straight-up leave the room at this point, not wanting to give the Decepticon anything. Prowl’s ready to donate all on his lonesome, when a few folks come back to help.

This is why he was dry in MTMTE; too busy giving it all away to Soundwave. The secret fifth Conjunx. Nobody tell Rewind.

Just outside, Kup watches the transfusion begin.

Okay, Kup, whatever. Be inexplicably creepy, I don’t even care anymore.

Credit to u/Araknidude on Reddit for the cursed transformation image.

#transformers #jro #eugenesis #part four #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing

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endthisfool · 5 years

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Dirge Eater

Summary: Getting his claws on one of Brainstorm’s untested inventions leads to Whirl being flung into an universe that isn’t quite ready for someone like him. Back in Jasper, Nevada Team Prime is faced with the task of reeling in the wayward whirlybird, but it won’t be pleasant ride for anyone.

Chapter 2: Coward’s Damnation

Request: Status update. No response. Requesting Report: Mining quadrant C location 6. Distress Signal: Acknowledged. Five klicks pass. No response. This would have to be dealt with.

Dark slender digits remove themselves from their terminal, smoothly coming to rest at the sides of a pair of digitigrade legs. The slim mech turns to face the rest of the bridge, awaiting his leader’s attention. It’s currently preoccupied, vapidly so if Starscream’s...screaming meant anything. It seems Megatron was quite publicly dealing out punishment for another one of his second in command’s foolish assassination attempts. A large chunk of Starscream’s arm, including its mounted weapon, clatters against the TIC’s terminal. He stares at it reproachfully, then nudges it out of his work space with his pede. The scrape of it against the flooring is enough to garner his master’s focus. Frustration bleeds from the hulking con’s frame, and his mood shifts in an instant. He steps toward his TIC calmly, as if he hadn’t just been performing a brutal act of violence on one of his underlings mere moments ago.

“Soundwave, what do you have to report of the energon mines statuses?” Megatron comes to rest a few feet away, respectful of the silent mech’s space. In turn the spymaster flickers on his visor, concisely displaying the current issue of the quadrant C mine. A frown graces his leader’s faceplate, then something cunning flashes in his burning optics. Soundwave had no need to to dip into his processor to sense the plan he was concocting, though for whatever reason something in his tanks gave a sharp twist. “A distress signal, hm?” The silver mech looks over his shoulder, down at the sulking form of his SIC. He smirks ever so slightly, in a way that would normally bring about a content thrum of the spy’s core. “Looks like we’ll have to send someone to investigate, won’t we?”

This was wholly beneath a mech of his caliber. Completely. Disgustingly so. He could still see Megatron’s stupidly smug grin as he gave him the preposterous order to take a squad of vehicons and inspect the mine failing to respond. Like he was needed for something as mundane as that! Idiot drones probably just broke their comm equipment. Starscream huffs, kicking a rock into the area below. It clatters against metal, loud against the odd silence. A mine of all places shouldn’t be silent, but if this mine was doing what it was suppose to then he wouldn’t have been ordered here. At least being here meant he wasn’t having to tolerate that tyrant, and his mute lapdog. The vehicons mill about behind him, awaiting orders. He draws out the wait, inspecting his claws primly, and resolutely refusing to acknowledge the ruined plating of his arms. The dumb warlord didn’t even let him replace his weapons before he was sent off. “What are you waiting for?” Starscream hisses at the drones, shooing them toward the edge of the clearing, where the mine lay below. “Go on, inspect.” They peer down the crevasse, but make no move to go any further. The seeker kicks a cloud of dirt at them impatiently. One vehicon swivels around to face him a bit frantically. “Uh, sir? The guards they’re...” It trails off nervously. Starscream groans at their incompetence, marching forth and pushing them aside. The reason for the mine’s silence becoming quite clear. There’s no-one there. Not a single guard nor miner working below. It’s feverishly still. Drag marks paint the earth in splattered blue trails, each leading straight into the mine’s gaping maw. His instincts screech at him to flee, just to fly back to the Nemesis and face whatever punishment Megatron had in store for him. But he doesn’t. Haughty pride taking precedence over that lingering fear, he would not be cowed by a task for drones. With a dismissive flick of his wings he drops into the crevasse, the vehicons obediently following his lead. He nears the mine’s entrance, unease trickling down his spinal strut. Planting himself in front of it he waves the drones ahead. “Go on.” The squad shares uncertain looks amongst themselves, but nevertheless obey. They drag their pedes as if in line for a firing squad, all tense frames and shaking plating. Then they’re gone, consumed by the depths of the mine, far into that simmering darkness of endless tunnels. Starscream is left alone at the entrance, silence baring its teeth in sharp droves. Time takes its pleasure in passing impossibly slowly. By all means the vehicons should have returned long before now. So with little choice to the contrary, Starscream enters the mine. Inside the air is stagnant with the overpowering reek of energon. It fluffs his plating in an unconscious effort to appear larger. At first he sees bits of wires, and plating littered about like garbage. However the volume of gore increases as he ventures further into the mine, becoming severed limbs, and pools of congealing energon. Nervously slipping past the drone parts, the seeker spots one of his squad idling halfway around the next corner. Starscream masks his relief with ire.“What’s taking you imbeciles so long!?” He stomps toward the vehicon into a much larger cavern of the mine. Unfortunately the vehicon can’t respond, seeing as it’s just a corpse skewered to the wall by one its own arm. The remnants of the rest of his squad are scattered about the room. A few aren’t entirely dead yet, greying frames twitching periodically. One reaches out for help, grasping feebly at his pedes. The pathetic gurgle of its fluid filled vents splashes energon around the remains of its dismembered frame. Purely on habit he kicks the dying drone away from himself, the racket of metal on metal blaring throughout the space. The drone’s heaving attempts at venting end, and the entire cavern is blanketed in an eerie hush. Something from the depths of the mine scrapes out its discontent across the rocks. He should leave now, clearly this operation had failed, there was nothing but spare parts here now. The scraping sound continues. His whole frame feels like it’s been dipped in ice, he can’t seem to get his pedes working. One of the entrances to the cavern bleeds another loud scrape, sending a shudder through the seeker’s plating. Whatever killed the vehicons hadn’t left. Dread curdles in his tanks like an infectious disease. He waits frozen in place as if being still would stave off his fate. A shambling blue monster rounds the corner, dragging the mutilated corpse of a miner with a crushed helm. Macabre golden light is cast in his direction, and the creature halts. It drops the body from its huge pincers with a muted thunk that echos ominously throughout the tunnels. Claws twitch haphazardly in an aborted motion, as if trying to grasp something from the air. A gaping hole in its abdomen drains pink down its gangly legs. It chuckles. Spark beating wildly in his chassis Starscream tries to retreat backward, reaching blindly behind himself for an exit. His servos skitter uselessly against the damning cold metal of a drill. His frantic movements provokes the creature into motion, and it’s on him in an instant. Its mechanoid body slams into him like a dead-weight, toppling him over onto the ground whilst it manages to catch itself on the wall. It staggers from its excessive momentum, ripping a shard of metal from its body and lunging forward. Desperately scrabbling away, Starscream manages to get out of the way when the creature stabs the shard deep into the flooring where he had been. It rears back to its pedes, leaving its makeshift weapon in the earth, and stalks toward him. Something stark red on its chassis stands out in the dim light of its optic valiantly. On most days Starscream would groan at the sight of it, but now floods him with relief. Because this monster was an autobot, and unlike decepticons autobots can be appealed to via their foolish moral codes. Megatron’s second in command holds his servos up in surrender. “Wait wait, I’m unarmed!” Starscream displays the ragged holes where his mounted weapons once were on his arms. “I’m helpless, I surrender.” “Cool.” The sound of those twin guns warming up might as well be deafening. Starscream gapes at the unexpected reaction, his silver-tongue faltering. “B-but you’re an autobot, you’re not suppose to shoot unarmed mechs!” “Yeah but, who’s here to enforce that dumb rule?” Starscream sputters. “Optimus Prime!? Your leader!” The name drop earns a blank stare and a cocked helm. “Is he here? On Earth? This is Earth right? Looks sorta like Swerve’s fantasy of it. Much less exciting. I miss the laugh track.” He pauses, as if expecting something, then gives his leaking frame a disappointed shake. The blue mech continues speaking as if he had never stopped. “Anyway, I was kinda hoping Prime died sacrificing himself to save some scraplets, or something equally heroically idiotic.” It’s safe to say Starscream is dumbfounded by the other mech’s causal death wish on the Prime.

“Are...you sure you’re an autobot?” He’s given an intimate view down the barrels of those twin guns, and hastily tries a different tactic. “No wait! Spare me, I can give you anything you want! Anything!” “Anything...?”

At that the bot tilts his helm in the other direction, sizing up the decepticon with his off putting gaze. Uncharacteristically the seeker finds himself without words, just waiting. The two fliers linger in a tense lull. It crawls past in an agonizing drawl of seconds, unblinking. Unbidden the blue mech’s frame sags as if releasing a deep sigh, his gaze flickering to himself for a moment. He no longer appears as threatening-despite the dried energon all over his frame-just tired. It’s enough of a reaction to brew confidence back into the silver mech’s lines. So he pulls himself back up to his pedes carefully, mentally preparing a speech about the benefits of a partnership. Further assurance comes in the form of a dirty claw dropping onto his shoulder lightly, giving it a companionable squeeze. Starscream fights the urge to slap it away. ‘With this dangerous of a monster on my side I’ll be unstoppable.’ He puts on a winning grin, preening internally over his ability to turn a bad situation in his favor. That friendly touch on his shoulder tightens near imperceptibly, and he thinks the mech is trying to smile back. “...No you can’t. So, I’m kinda just going to kill you a little.” Shock works like a catalyst, sending his emotions skipping straight over fear into anger. Who was this buffoon, to deny his capabilities and threaten him in the same breath? The seeker’s wings hike high up on his back, and he doesn’t quite resist the urge to stomp his pede. “Do you know who I am!?” He sneers at the other’s faceless helm, drawing himself up tall and prideful. “I am the great Starscream, and I will not be put down like an unruly turbo-fox!” If the strange mech is affected by the outburst he doesn’t show it. “Uh, no?” The words come bluntly, but feel like they’re being spat into his faceplate. “Pretty sure that slagger is livin’ it up on Cybertron. I know a lotta people think I’m dumb, but pal, you don’t even look like him.” “What!? How dare you! I am the one and only Starsc- uRK !” Wrenched forward painfully, the claws on his shoulder are joined by a twin pair around his throat. They squeeze tightly, biting into cabling and lifting him into the air. “Get a load of this guy,” The autobot jeers, addressing the nearby corpse as one would a partner in crime. Close proximity has the curling smoke from his rotors clogging into Starscream’s intakes. Likely on purpose. “Thinks he can pretend to be Ol’ Screamer just by having a really annoying voice.” The cavern becomes a tumbling blurr, and it takes a moment for it to register that he had been thrown. Metal protests in vehement screeches as he lands slam into the control panel of a parked drill. It surges to life. Lurching on its treads it races forward uncontrollably. Starscream squawks, bouncing off the drill’s platform when it collides with something far too fast. The cavern trembles. Several large rocks break loose from the ceiling, shattering against the ground. The blue mech releases a startled yelp, falling over onto his skid plate as the ground shifts beneath them. “Was that thing important?” From the floor the jet looks up, following the outstretched claw to see the chamber’s main support beam come crashing down. He blanches and the blue mech takes it as confirmation, spilling into a clumsy transformation. He shifts into a rotorcraft, and takes to the air, narrowly avoiding being crushed beneath a falling boulder. He moves with an unprecedented agility for a mech that had appeared previously injured, and clearly has no qualms about abandoning his quarry in the failing mine. The jet screeches, taking flight as well to avoid being entombed in the chamber. Alone now, the grey corpses remain as they were, blissfully unaware of the chaos around them.

Maybe the blue energon wasn’t agreeing with his tanks, or maybe it was the boulders that had nicked him several times over. Either way this tree was holding up his weight rather well. Having crashed into it several klicks ago after his harrowing escape from the mine, Whirl reasoned he could simply climb down in his root mode. However transforming had left him tangled in the branches, too sluggish from his injuries to tear himself out. His HUD blinks a torrent of red throughout his vision, refusing its dismissal. Urgent: primary energon line severed. Energon levels approaching critical. Oh, he had forgotten to deal with that. Stabilizing gyros functioning at 43%. Spinal strut severely fractured. GPS System Offline. Core temperature overheating. Abdominal plating ruptured, foreign object located. Left leg severely damaged- He ignores the rest of the report constructing a tide of errors across his HUD. A smoldering branch makes a nice pillow for his helm, another finds a cozy home through his stomach. Pink energon seeps down the tree’s bark in fanciful rivers. Whirl wonders how fast it’ll all go up if he inched a bit closer with his sparking wires.

The autobots had pinned down an unfamiliar energy signature coming from this area, and were fairly confident it was the reported mystery mech. However, actually locating the mech was proving difficult in the dense woods. Bulkhead skirts between the thick trunks of two trees, Bee beeping a negative for the area he was searching in his comm. They hadn’t been out here for too long, though if the mech wanted to avoid them he’d likely have heard Bulkhead’s lumbering and booked it awhile ago. Part of him thinks it would be better that way, he’d rather be back at base, he and Miko had plans later. A particularly bendy branch snaps back into his faceplate, and he groans in frustration. “ Hey !” A young voice breaks his train of thought, and for a moment he thinks Miko had hijacked the comms. “Big, green, and bulbous, over here!” He looks down, and deeper within the woods stands a human. It’s a little girl, younger than Miko maybe Raf’s age, with a pair of blue pigtails. He notes the eyepatch crossing her face briefly, confusion overriding the fact that he had just been seen by an unknown human. The girl’s face splits in an too wide grin, then she brings her hands up to the sides of her head and blows a raspberry at him. Whirling around the child races off with a high pitched laugh. With the knowledge that human younglings don’t belong in the wilderness, Bulkhead follows the girl, albeit at a slower pace. She leads him to a large tree that’s been partially uprooted and stands at its base, grinning as he makes his way into the clearing carefully. The girl doesn’t say anything and neither does the autobot, already pinging Bumblebee to get in contact with Fowler about any missing children. Suddenly she points upward, and he follows her gesture up the trunk of the massive tree to the sight of a twisted mass of blue metal staring down at him. He’s several different shades of blue, one of which he realizes isn’t paint. One of his legs is twisted strangely, the thin plating bent much too far. The mech is impaled through his abdomen, though the hole was likely created by something else then further exasperated by the branch fitted through it. Exposed wires spit sparks haphazardly from his frame. Pink liquid dribbles down the bark of the tree, a strange contrast against all the blue. It’s a sickening sight. Bulkhead rips his gaze back downward to tell the girl to move, it wasn’t safe under that tree, but she’s already gone. Regretfully he doesn’t have time for another chase through the woods, so he hopes she’ll be okay for awhile longer. Bulkhead reports his finding back to base, and a groundbridge swirls to life in the clearing a few moments later as he’s breaking branches to pull the mech from the tree. Ratchet as well as Optimus exit the bridge, and set to work untangling the blue mech. “He’s in stasis lock,” The medic reports grimly once the rotormech is laid out on the ground. He hovers his servos over the mech uncertainly, faceplate pulled into a frown. “I’m not familiar with this frame-type...” “Is he going to...?” Bulkhead wisely doesn’t finish his question, earning a scathing glare from the red and white mech. “I can fix him!” Ratchet says, tone clipped, but then his expression grows worried, and he looks to Optimus. “He’s critically injured though, and couple that with the fact that I don’t recognize his frame-type, I can’t do this without my medbay.” Taking an unknown mech back to their home base was beyond risky, they all knew that. But they also knew there was no way Optimus would stand by and let someone die. The bright red autobot emblem on the blue mech’s cockpit had nothing to do with it. Optimus nods solemnly, gathering the injured blue mech into his arms, and carrying him with gentle steps into the groundbridge. Back at the base, despite their protests the humans are sent to their homes immediately. Autobot or not, an unknown mech wasn’t safe for them to be around. At Fowler’s behest a human search party is sent to the area where Bulkhead saw the little girl, and they find nothing. Not a trace, like she didn’t even exist.

Maybe he feels a little responsible for the weird mech he found, or perhaps Miko’s suspicion is rubbing off on him, but something in the back of his processor remains apprehensive about the bot being left alone and unrestrained. A little guilt rises up when he thinks back to those various dents and scratches on the fragile looking bot. Nevertheless, Bulkhead can’t help but feel the need to check-in on the mech they rescued yesterday. He enters the medbay as quietly as someone of his size can. The area is silent, save for the eerie monotone drone of flatlining spark monitor. There’s a little pool of pink liquid smeared over the berth which is considerably empty of injured blue mechs. Unease builds in a crescendo. Hydraulics hiss softly. He turns in search of the noise, calling out into the thick hush. “Uh, hello?” A weight suddenly crashes down on Bulkhead’s back and his vision is obscured, he staggers blindly into a nearby table its contents clattering onto the floor. Pain blooms around his faceplate and he realizes whatever is latched onto his back has claws. Claws that are currently scrabbling at his optics. “Just mixing things up, been going for the throat a lot lately,” A cheery voice explains helpfully, right into his audial. “Don’t want anyone thinking they can get off callin’ me predictable.” Pointed prongs hold his helm in place, preventing him from getting a glimpse of their owner. He grunts, a lance of hot pain striking him as the glass of one of his optics is cracked. Sharp claws jostle against his faceplate, messily trying for an entrance into his optic’s socket. Reaching around himself proves fruitless, his arms too short, and his adversary easily avoiding his grasp. He flails, but despite the mech’s light weight he can’t shake him off, ending up with those claws digging into his faceplate painfully. It doesn’t leave him with many options. Bulkhead stumbles backward and slams his back into a wall. There’s a sickening crunch. A strange keen peters off into a laugh, then something fierce rakes itself down his backstrut. Reacting to the pain Bulkhead smashes his attacker into the wall again, and again. The grip on his helm loosens on the fourth clash. With a grunt he manages to grab ahold of the pincers on his faceplate and pull. The mech follows, tumbling over his shoulder and onto the floor with a loud thud. Undaunted he shifts as if preparing to launch himself at the green mech again, but then swivels his faceless helm toward the entrance and falls limp against the ground. “Bulkhead! What are you doing!? I just finished repairing him!” Ratchet enters the medbay in response to the commotion, none to pleased with what he sees. The white and red medic fumes, optics flashing over the mess. “And my tools!? I needed those!” “Yeah Bulky,” Croons the rabid blue mech, looking far too comfortable from where he was still sprawled out on the floor. “What’s your problem?” “He attacked me!” Bulkhead protests, motioning helplessly to the leaking blue mech. Ratchet is unimpressed. “He’s been in stasis lock since we brought him here, I strongly doubt he’s capable of inflicting any real damage to you in his current state.” Ratchet makes his way over to the prone mech, casting a scan over his frame to inspect him for any new injuries. The blue mech seems to take that as permission to rear up and throw one of his arms around the medic’s shoulders, causing Ratchet to stumble halfway to his knees. Alarmed Bulkhead steps forward to pry the ‘copter off, but a glare from the medic stops him. Ratchet doesn’t try to escape the grasp, clearly assuming the mech simply needed help getting up on his pedes. However, when he attempts to pull his patient upward the mech resists, yanking downward instead in an impressive show of strength that leaves the medic kneeling beside him. Ratchet scowls, iconic temper flaring at the blue mech’s antics. “Quit that, I’m trying to assist you.” “Assist me? How about you start by tellin’ me where I know you from,” He’s leaning into Ratchet now, seemingly oblivious to the medic’s grimace. A single claw gives the old mech’s red chevron a flick. “You’re awfully familiar, and it isn’t just your shining personality.” Ratchet scowls further, and swats the prodding claw away from his chevron. “I’ve never met you before, I think I’d remember something that unpleasant.” In response the mech gasps theatrically, the sound in contrast with the joyful squint of his optic. Whatever nonsense he’s about to say next is thankfully stopped by the presence of another bot entering the room. Optimus Prime gives the occupants a look over, raising an eyebrow ridge at the two mechs on the floor. Embarrassed the medic stands up quickly, allowing his patient to spill back onto the floor with an undignified yelp. “Greetings,” Prime offers the mech a servo which is rudely ignored by the mech who rolls over onto his side instead, his back facing Optimus. He returns his servo to his side, sending his autobots a questioning glance and getting a pair of shrugs in return. “Welcome to Earth, I am Optimus Prime, the leader of the autobots. We found you in critical condition and brought you to our base for treatment. I understand you may be confus-“ “You here to arrest me again?” “Arrest you? No...I dont-“ He’s cut off again, now by the blue mech clambering up to his pedes. It looks painful, but he shows no signs of discomfort as he steps toward Optimus, plating creaking. “You’ve gotten shorter,” He comments, sounding almost awed. To his surprise and somewhat childish chagrin, Prime finds himself at equal optic-level with a mech that wasn’t in the process of shooting a fusion cannon at him. The rotormech appears to find some mirth in this, standing at the tips of his pedes to gain some more height on the autobot. “I like you better this way.” For diplomacy’s sake Optimus decides to ignore the claw that hovers over their helms, comparing their heights. He also ignores the fact that the other mech is several inches taller when he’s standing straight. Optimus clears his throat, a habit most of his team has picked up from the humans. “It would help us if you could provide us with your designation,” Perhaps they could find something about this strange mech in their database. Doubtful considering they didn’t have the same resources here as they did on Cybertron, nevertheless it was still important to figure out this mech’s identity. “As well as where you hail from.” The blue mech’s response is a bit unexpected, though it seemed unexpected was his forte. “You don’t remember me?” His singular gold optic is blown wide, and his blue plating ruffles about his protoform in a wave. “At all? Zero? Zip? Zilch? Nada?” Something unpleasant churns in his tanks at the reaction. “My apologies, I don’t believe we’ve met before no.” Optimus attempts a placating tilt of his helm. There was little doubt that one could easily forget this mech. That wouldn’t stop the other from perceiving his lack of recognition as an insult. Thankfully he isn’t offended, though the gleeful shine to his yellow optic is disconcerting. “In that case my name is Cyclonus of Whereeverthefrag .” He leans in and clicks the tips of his pincers together mischievously. “I enjoy brooding and threatening hugs.” “You’re from where?” Ratchet cuts in, crossing his arms over his chassis. The faceless mech contorts himself awkwardly to address him, instead of simply turning around. “ Wherewhatsitslag .” “Uh-huh. For some reason I don’t believe you.” “Rude. Wherewhothescrap may not be as fancy as Iacon, but it’s still home.” “No, that place doesn’t exist and you’re not Cyclonus.” The blue mech narrows his yellow optic with a huff. “Always the buzzkill huh, Doc-bot?” Not-Cyclonus uncontorts himself to face Optimus and strikes a pose. “The names Whirl. Don’t wear it out, or better yet don’t use it at all, you can call me ShootyMcFragU.” Optimus blinks. “...Whirl, if you’re feeling well enough, I’d like to discuss your options now that you’re here on Earth.” Further questioning would have to wait, he needed to establish some sort of framework before he accidentally set him off. Sadly, empurata victims were known for being unstable. “As of now we have been unable to confirm your status as an autobot. We’ll require you to answer some questions pertaining to that-“ Whirl’s rotors begin to spin. “ -later . If you do not wish to partake in that you’ll be reclassified as a neutral. For now though, I insist you stay on base.” Whirl’s single gold optic flickers wide, and he cocks his helm slowly, looking all too similar to the Earth creature known as an owl. In turn Optimus tenses slightly, watching the other carefully. “Wow. Why even say options when it all boils down to being grounded like a sparkling?” “I know this situation is unfavorable, however we have a duty to this planet and its inhabitants. I cannot allow you to roam unrestricted, until you are both understanding and willing to carry out that duty.” “I’ll have you know I don’t understand many things, and I do duties all the time.” Whirl retorts, claws on his narrow hips. Ratchet drags a servo down his faceplate with a long suffering sigh. “Optimus, we can’t just let him stay here, what if he’s a Decepticon spy?” Whirl’s plating flares, but instead of lashing out at the medic as Prime feared he just stares. “Yeah, he tried to rip out my optics!” Bulkhead chimes in, pointing an accusing digit at the rotormech. Indeed his faceplate did look as if a turbo-fox had been scratching at his optics. “ Still mad about that?” “It happened like five nanosecs ago!” “If you didn’t want to be twins you could have just said so,” Whirl looms over the other mech, forcing Bulkhead to bend back uncomfortably. “You probably couldn’t pull off the one optic look nearly as well as me though.” Prime steps in between the two, separating them without actually touching the blue mech. His knowledge of empurata victims now felt like it was woefully lacking, but he knew better than to grab at Whirl’s claws. “Enough. Where Whirl’s loyalties lie is a discussion for later .” Optimus stresses the last word, giving his autobots a pointed look. If they really wanted to do a full blown interrogation right now, it wouldn’t end well for any of them. They knew better than that. He returns his focus to Whirl who seems to be enjoying the autobots’s scolding. “I must ask you to refrain from attacking anyone.” Whirl’s entire frame recoils with disgust, then he falls into a deceptively lazy slouch. His burning optic regards Optimus with an odd glint, and Optimus dearly hopes he isn’t planning something. It’d been a long time since he had to deal with anyone completely unknown and unpredictable like this. Earth had certainly brought about it’s fair share of surprises, but this was something else entirely. While he was sure they had the advantage here he wasn’t keen on finding out what kind of damage Whirl could inflict when he was cornered. If the dried energon he had previously been covered in meant anything, it was probably a lot. “ Anyone is a bit of a broad term, can you pick something else? Like: don’t punch anyone yay high-“ Whirl gestures to about seven feet off the ground. “-or like shooting yes, stabbing no. I dunno, limiting my violence gives me the icks.” “...I see.” Part of him wonders if he should have expected this from a mech whose first words to him was to ask if he was getting arrested again.

#maccadam #whirl #transformers #tfp #optimus prime #ratchet #bulkhead #starscream #mtmte #lost light #my fanfics #soundwave #megatron #fanfiction #transformers prime #chapter 3 is up on my ao3 #my fics

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