Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Is it Optimus? No, the boss bot is pretty, but... You seem like a femme-type bot. Possibly Arcee? Or what about Bumblebee? He kind of acts flouncy-"

"Stop trying to guess the bot on the team that I like," Ratchet snapped, focusing on the holoscreens in front of him, optics darting from reading to reading. Optimus and Bumblebee were still scouting for Deception activity in New York (in the less active part of the state, which was good) after Agent Fowler accused them for the military losing a special compartment no one told him about. He'd have to open the groundbridge soon. He wagged a wrench over his shoulder, showing it to Wheeljack, even if he couldn't see the other mech. "While you may be here, that doesn't give you the right to just mosey into my business, Wheeljack. You know what will happen. Besides, your not even close."

"Oh?" Wheeljack chuckled, leaning on a nearby wall and crossing his arms over his chassis - Ratchet could see that much out of the corner of his optic. "Really?"

"Yes," Ratchet ground out. He just wanted some peace in quiet, but of course, Jasper, Nevada was never like that in his opinion. He tuned his audials, and heard Wheeljack push off the wall and take a few light steps toward him. He tensed, shoulders bunching up slightly, but didn't move.

Ratchet could feel Wheeljack's frame radiating warmth behind him, and it took all of his willpower to not backhand him or elbow him in the codpiece.

"Am I closer now?" Wheeljack whispered.

Afthole.

Chapter Text

Megatron and Optimus.

Megatronus and Orion Pax.

They are the same bots, really. From friends to lovers to archenemies.

They could've changed Cybertron for the better, if they worked together. And yet, Megatronus's greed got a hold of him, and suddenly, trapped by circumstance, a war of hearts and loss commenced — fated to fight on opposite sides of the battlefield by the higher powers, Primus and Unicron. Forever entwined, but instead of beautifully, it is a hanging, black knot that is pinned to a wall, a ruined weaving of a timeline of what could've been a tapestry praised throughout history.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee tugged on the metal chains that were embedded into the solid wall, connected to the cyber-cuffs clasped around his wrists, but to no avail. He was binded at the ankles as well, in between the plating and digging into his soft protoform. He yelled, "Let me out!" and again, nothing happened, except for his voice ringing across the hallways of the Nemesis. His doorwings twitched nervously, flattening against his back. He was still a sparkling, still new to training as a scout, and barely knew anything. He did know how to find hiding spots, but that didn't even help him beforehand, and that got him caught. But, he could immediately tell the guard literally didn't give a single slag about him (he only knew that word from Ratchet). And he was annoyed that the guard didn't even care. He was Optimus Prime's soon-to-be scout! They should be trembling.

"No one'll hear you except me, and until Lord Megatron comes to you, have fun waiting in that cell," the guard said, glaring at the other mech from over his shoulder. His voice was smooth and sweet, despite the words cutting knifes into Bumblebee's spark. He was a thin and agile-looking mech, kind of like Arcee, green and purple with silver patches dappled all along his body and wings that had no intent of showing any emotion. His optics were an interesting shade of vermillion, taking in Bumblebee's frame - his expression, body language, everything. The wicked-looking spear was held tightly in his servos, like he was ready to jab. Yet a medical kit was next to his pedes. Weird.

"Lucky me," Bumblebee snapped. "Now let me go so I'll spare all of you when I escape." Never let your emotions show - that's one thing he'd learned. Make them think the opposite.

"Anger shows you're weak and scared but want to prove you aren't," Jazz once told him after a one-on-one training session. "Fear is used to their advantage. Nutreal can change quickly, unless you are loyal to the cause, then it would change to determination. Smiling, though, keeps them guessing. They can't be sure if you're bluffing or if you're being realistic." But he couldn't control his annoyance right now. It was simmering over the pot and very close to boiling over.

Alas, Bumblebee knew that wouldn't work here. Also, he would bet twenty of his own shanix - if he had his own shanix - that the guard was a sadist and definitely wipe the fake grin off his face. But then again, why did he have a medical kit? He's seen enough of them when Ratchet and the campus medic rushed over with one in servo to help a bot-in-training that was injured and sprawled on the ground. Maybe the guard was a medic, but the ready-like way he held his weapon said otherwise.

It was a good looking weapon, too; the tip was jagged when it connected to the black metal base, engravings dented and pounded into the long metal rod for a better grip and much harder to knock out of his hands. Energon pulsed through it, which couldn't be a good sign. It was newly polished and clean, reminding Bumblebee of the days when Optimus told him stories about Cybertron with the beautiful lakes in Iacon that were glossy on the surface, and the library in Kaon in which he would visit often with some gladiator - Bumblebee knew it was Megatron because of gossip. Of course, they were told when he was much tinier and his frame didn't need bigger plating and other things. He didn't like being young back then; he couldn't do the same things like the older bots did.

Now, he slightly longed for it.

The guard barked a laugh, spinning his spear, either for show or for practice. "I'm tellin' you, kid, no one escapes from here unless we allow them to."

"Then how did Optimus Prime escape?" Bumblebee shot back.

The guard turned to face him, optical ridges raised in a amused way. His faceplate was sharp and precise, features cut like a knife. His lip components were curved upwards. Clearly, he didn't care about what other's thought about the expressions he makes. "You know, I love this banter. It probably gives you hope. Well, I pity you for that dream, because that hope will slowly dwindle away, crumb by crumb, until it is time for Megatron to decide what to do to Optimus Prime's son, and by then. Well. You'll be nothing but an emotionless wreck." He perked his helm and twisted it to the left at the sound of squeaky wheels, the pointy finials that were drooped now flicking high and proud, just an microinch taller than his helm. "Good. There comes your energon. Can't have you starve in here, can we?"

Bumblebee snarled, but his tanks were churning and twisting with the lack of energon in his system. He hasn't had it in a two solar cycles, probably more, if his chronometer readings were still working correctly. And he had to admit his spark sank with those words, pulling his EM field so close to his frame it was barely touching any area around it. He tried to speak, but all that came out was white noise. He reset his vocalizer and croaked out, "I'm not in need of energon."

"And yet your levels say otherwise." The guard took a datapad out of his subspace and clicked a button. 'Jungle's Property' was written on the back of it in the common Cybertronain glyphs. Ah. His designation was Jungle. Good to know.

Swiftly, the cuffs let go the icy grip on his wrists, and he gently rubbed them. What if he used a gun? He newly had them built in.

"Don't try any funny business," Jungle snapped, taking a energon cube from a automatic cart as it came into view, chiming happily, before it rolled further down the hallway and disappeared. "I don't want to hurt you physically." Balancing the cube on a flat side of his spear, he maneuvered it in between the bars (somehow) and slid it across the concrete floor, and it came to a stop at Bumblebee's pedes. "Drink up."

Bumblebee decided not to. But he did decide to drink up any information and gossip he got while he was stuck here.

"You like femmes?" Bumblebee asked, and regretted doing so.

Over the few cycles, they slowly started talking, bickering, and kind of acting like friends that weren't glaring at each other all the time, even though they definitely were. Bumblebee couldn't resist the urge to speak if there was someone else in the room, being the mech he was.

"Do you?" Jungle asked, turning the tables. Turns out, he was a medic, and didn't like seeing anyone in pain, Autobot or not. So he healed Bumblebee and kept his servos unlocked, unless another Decepticon was walking by and they had to set up the act again.

"Sure."

"You like femmes, and that makes you weak," he said blandly.

Bumblebee blinked. "You don't like femmes?"

Jungle barked a laugh. "No."

They didn't want to finish that conversation.

Jungle was standing alert in front of the cell when Megatron came. "My liege." He bowed.

Bumblebee's spark sank. He knew it would happen, he just wished Jungle would betray the warlord.

"Splendid job, Jungle," Megatron rumbled, ripping open the doors. He picked up Bumblebee by the throat pipe and hoisted him into the air. "I shall have fun seeing Optimus Prime look in horror as he sees his 'son' being ripped in half in the middle of a battlefield."

Bumblebee clawed at the servo and tried to pry the digits away, but he could barely vent. As his vision blacked out, he saw Jungle's faceplate, carrying and expression that said I'm so sorry.

And then he was gone.

Chapter Text

>] Knock "Sexy Sports Car Vroom Vroom" Out has created a comm/group chat.

>] Knock "Sexy Sports Car Vroom Vroom" Out has added Breakdown, Starscream, Airachnid, Soundwave, St3v3 and Ratchet.

>] Knock "Sexy Sports Car Vroom Vroom" Out has removed Ratchet from the group chat.

>] Knock "Sexy Sports Car Vroom Vroom" Out has renamed the groupchat to 'Decepti-slag'.

>] Knock "Sexy Sports Car Vroom Vroom" Out has made Soundwave [CO-ADMIN].

>] Knock "Sexy Sports Car Vroom Vroom" Out has nicknamed Knock "Sexy Sports Car Vroom Vroom" Out 'Knocks'.

Knocks [ADMIN]: Wow that was a lot of bullslagging commands

Breakdown: WTF ARE YOU DOING IT'S LITERALLY THE STARTING OF A SOLAR CYCLE
AND WE LITERALLY SHARE A BERTH WHY'D YOU ADD ME

Knocks [ADMIN]: I can't recharge, deal with it, big lug
But I'm also too achy all over to do work on datapads sooooooooooooo

Starscream: Knock Out, why do you have that disgusting medic's comm link?
And since when did you share a berth?

Knocks [ADMIN]: We always did, now stop snooping (:

Starscream: Then what was you're stupid point of adding me to this?

Knocks [ADMIN]: I dunno
I think my processor is rotting
*mentally

Airachnid: I would say that I wouldn't be surprised, but why the frag is  Soundwave here.

Knocks [ADMIN]: Lord Megatron said I could only create this if I added Soundwave; to make sure we ain't conspiring :\

Arachnid: I would never do that.

Knocks [ADMIN]: Sureeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Airachnid: Ah, so you want to be stabbed?

Knocks [ADMIN]: No, ma'am

Airachnid: Great, so shut it.

Knocks [ADMIN]: Yes ma'am, spider lady

Breakdown: COULD YOU GUYS SHUT UP FOR PRIMUS' SAKE

Knocks [ADMIN]: You're just mad you didn't get to dissect KA-87 to get a human bullet out of their chassis

Breakdown:  R E C H A R G E
NO I AM NOT MAD

Knocks: Bet

Starscream: We do not bet in the Nemesis, Knock Out. I say this as SIC.

Knocks [ADMIN]: You're sick? With what?
Do I need to assign you meds? :|

Starscream: You know what I mean, you smarmy little medic.

Soundwave [CO-ADMIN]: Megatron: Annoyed. Commands: Recharge.

Knocks [ADMIN]: u sure you don't wanna frag before then, hm?

Breakdown: I thought you promised you would only frag with me-

Soundwave [CO-ADMIN]: Soundwave: Superior. Knock Out: Inferior.

Knocks [ADMIN]: dw it's a joke
yeah yeah, stay a vigin, Wavey

>] Soundwave [CO-ADMIN] has set 'Decepti-slag' into Sleep Mode.

Knocks [ADMIN]: Aw what the frag

Chapter Text

"I just wanted to be part of something!" Spitfire yelled, dodging all the attacks the enraged Malto threw at her, but even so, she was slammed into the ground and forced to tuck-and-roll out of the tight grasp. Her broken shard still pulsed calmly in her chassis, no matter the damage.

Nightshade was growling like a feral animal. The moved they did were erratic, like a confused dancer still trying to do the choreography. They weren't being calculating right now - they were taken over by pure animalistic rage. The EM field that splayed around them showed that. Even their siblings were watching from afar, Jawbreaker and Hashtag tending to Twitch's mangled, lifeless body, Thrash and Mo' were yelling at the owl to stop fighting, Robby, Dorothy and Alex were stunned, Optimus Prime and Megatron (the old married couple) were scrambling around with the Decepticons, and Aftermath was grinning. Like the psychopath of a brother he was. And Spitfire loved him, and Aftermath loved her back, in a twisted little way.

"Part of something?" Nightshade hissed, transforming into her alt mode and trying to make Spitfire into her name, but the chaos Terran dodged them easily, being 'Twitch 2.0'. "YOU KILLED MY SIBLING!" The roar bounced off the mountaintops.

Spitfire bit back a grin.

"Yes, and she died like a pussy."

Chapter Text

Ratchet stared at the grave in front of him, wishing that he was hallucinating and that it wouldn't read 'Optimus Prime, formerly known as Orion Pax'.

He wished there was a warm body beside him that had red-and-blue plating, but he got yellow and black plating that had trembling shoulders from held-back sobs. Ratchet wrapped a arm around Bumblebee, gently stroking his side and not minding much when the warrior broke and snuggled up against him, soft crying filling the air and cleanser running down his cheeks. Ratchet seemed to be in a trance, rubbing circles into Bumblebee's back plating.

Primus, he wished that Optimus was still alive.

But that'd never happen, would it? Because his lover's body was at the bottom of the planet, right at the Allspark, and he would die before getting to see his corpse if he went down there.

Ratchet would kill to see him one more time.

But it was wishful thinking. All of it was wishful thinking.

He once remembered joking darkly to Optimus, "Will you miss me when I'm gone?"

Now, it felt like the universe was taunting him with that one phrase, and making it sound like Optimus' voice was repeating over and over in his audials.

And he had no doubts that Optimus was dead.

For real, this time.

Chapter Text

::You better give that back before I beat the Primus out of you,:: Bumblebee threatened Smokescreen, trying to lunge for the ball, only for the scout to be grasping air and light laughter filling his audials. It was all in playful banter anyways, the Earthling game they were playing - basketball, was it? - had nothing about hitting each other until they were offline. The last time the base played it, it was Bulkhead against Bumblebee. But he decided to take a break this time, even though Megatron was out of his helm.

"Then come get it from me, 'Bee," Smokescreen taunted, weaving under another unsuccessful snatch for the makeshift, metal ball. The horribly-made welds made it easier to get a grip on, but also easier to rip it to shreds if you tugged it in the right way. Otherwise, the welds were strong enough. For now. The rookie slid out of the way, but the ball was taken from him as he did so. A goofy grin spread across his faceplate. "Hey, I was winnin'!"

"You can do it, 'Bee!" Rafael shouted, watching the game from the risen platform that served as the human area. The controller he held was forgotten in his hands, even as Jack won the racing game against him from the couch and let out a whoop. Miko just pat him on the shoulder and told him he only won because the champion was distracted, making the other teen scowl and lightly whack her arm.

"Way for encouragement," Smokescreen shot back. All in jokes and the game, of course. "Give it here, you fuzzy lump of yellow!"

::Get over here, you coño!:: Bumblebee said.

Immediately, Rafael shut up, complexion paler then normal.

Smokescreen paused, confused. Bumblebee took that as a chance to dunk the ball into the makeshift hoop, and pumped his fists in the air in celebration as it went through cleanly.

"What does that mean?" Smokescreen asked. He turned to the child. "Raf, what does it mean?"

"I-" Rafael shook his head, blinking.

Bumblebee answered, realizing what he said. ::It's better if you didn't know.::

"Why not?" Smokescreen was met with silence. "Oh come on, you won't leave me in the dark about this. Right?"

"C'mon guys, right?"

Chapter Text

The Decepticon snarled, still in his alt mode, which was for some reason, a wolf. Like Steeljaw, except Steeljaw didn't transform into an organic and this one was a royal blue, with hints of dark lapis along it's sides and lavender optics. It's mouth was full with rigid denta, a pearly white. The tail swished back and forth, and Strongarm was guessing that was supposed to be menacing.

Fixit identifyed this one as Chromeburner "Feral". Known for sexism (in human terms) to femmes and bending light to his will to change it into dangerous forms, he's ferocious and will do anything to get his way. Even if it meant massacring many innocent bots out in the open - making his nickname appropriate - before he was captured by some stupid police femme that was promoted after her fearless feat. That wasn't Strongarm, but she wouldn't take it to spark.

Feral was trembling, but more like he was laughing. "No mech has captured me, so surely you will not. The bot who captured me had a lucky streak."

Strongarm loaded her crossbow. "Put your paws up in the air. And yes, maybe that femme had a lucky streak, because I know them, and they are the stupidest bot I've ever even known besides Sideswipe. But the thing is-"

"What is it, runt?"

-I am no mech, am I?"

Chapter Text

"Master Drift? Hello?"

Drift snapped out of his trance, tearing his gaze from Fracture and down to Slipstream. "What is it?"

Slipstream shifted uncomfortably. He preferred to stay out of the spotlight, unlike Jetstorm. "This is by no means meant to be offensive, but you are staring at Fracture intensely. You usually do that when you are focusing, of course, Master Drift, but since Facture has put on polish today..." He trailed off.

Sideswipe scoffed, hiding behind a tree instead of joining the trio behind the larger bush. His sword was out, ready to use it incase they were caught, poised tall and straight, poking the air. Looks like he did do some research on how to use his sword, because until Bumblebee commented on it before, he was using it willy-nilly like it was some plaything and not a weapon. "What he means to say," he hissed, "is why you're staring at him like he's the fragging Allspark."

"Language," Drift muttered, looking back at Fracture. The sunlight did bounce off his plating much more than normal - at all the right angles, somehow - and his curves were more pronounced. He looked delectable in short and oh great was he just know noticing this was the wrong type of mindset? "And I am not staring at him. I am merely assessing-"

"Assessing what? His aft?" Sideswipe interrupted. "Either you want to fight him or frag him, and choose one so I don't go insane over here."

"I will never-"

"Your optics don't lie, Drift," he sighed.

Jetstorm seemed interested, staring up at his sensei. "You do spend more time calculating when staring at Fracture nowadays, Master Drift." He wilted under the glare that he received. "Of course," he added, "he is getting more dangerous. Perhaps that is reasonable."

Sideswipe rolled his optics, muttering something under his vents. "We attacking or we still being loverboy?" He was extremely cocky today. What was up with that?

Drift grumbled about impatience and stupidity, before drawing out one of his katanas. "Fine. Go."

When the red mech lunged out of hiding and immediately went to bodyslam Fracture, Drift murmured, "I am far from being a 'loverboy'."

If only that was true.

Chapter Text

He tilted the helm up with a sharp digit, letting the moonlight hit the chroma faceplate at just the right angle. A metal rod went through the bottom of the helm, keeping it upright so it wouldn't fall. A similar approach was done for the arms and legs, digging into sensitive wires and cables, breaking cyan armor. Dried energon was encrusted all over the rods, dimmed optics glassy and unseeing. Lip components stayed lax - a slash of dark gray with a hint of light blue around the edges. No insignia was bore on the chassis. Claw marks sat gleefully on where it should've been instead.

Soundwave stepped back, admiring his work.

Megatron would not like to see him do this.

But it wasn't really disobeying if it wasn't an order given by his Lord, was it?

The TIC turned away and transformed, watching the dark surface of Cybertron slowly grow more and more distant, flying back to Kaon. Leaving behind beautiful corpses.

While Soundwave may be a murderer, he wasn't one to leave the bodies laying in an unfashionable manner. Doing this was his hobby, to let his victims be posed.

They would be beautiful, even if they were Autobots. All deserved to.

Chapter Text

"Do you love me?"

Optimus looked up from where he was settled on the ground, the datapad in his servos momentarily forgotten. "I bonded with you?"

Megatron snorted, punching the stone wall one more time before settling down next to Optimus. Whatever cave they were in was heavily unsteady, and the former warlord's habits did not help with Optimus' anxiety about it collasping over their heads. "Yes, but did you bond with me as a friend or as a partner? It is unclear."

"Your processors are smoother than your cockpit," is all Optimus managed to come up with.

"Interior or?"

At times, Optimus briefly wondered how his lover could be denser than a solid, at times.