#Onslaught/Blastoff

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

Mecha Au-Au continues with OnOff and some more backstory to make the present Extra Hurt. <3

The desert was strange. The day was so hot heat had physical form. You could see it in waves in the air, shimmering and dancing. The nights, in contrast, were inhospitable and cold. All the heat suddenly dissipated, lost to the air. The wind had a chill to it that cut through you.

Tonight was one of the warmer nights. Balmy, Blast Off thinks he’d heard it before. The nights where you could get away with shorts and a short-sleeved shirt.

He couldn’t sleep.

He was tossing and turning so much he was sure that he had fucked his memory foam mattress topper. With a long, deep and weary sigh, Blast Off accepted that he wouldn’t be sleeping, so he pulled on some clothes that were more appropriate than his pyjamas and stuffed his lighter and a pack of cigarettes into his pocket before marching off to the courtyard. He slipped past the curtain and slid the panelled door open, running his fingers through his hair.

Someone was already there. Broad shoulders, wide back, big strong hands and arms with veins that popped-

“Jean?”

Onslaught.

He caught himself on the doorway, weighing up if he should join him or climb back into bed and be miserable.

He slipped on his sandals and took a seat beside him, doing his best to not make a racket as he pulled the chair out.

“Oscar.”

“What are you doing? It’s two in the morning.” Onslaught asked.

“Couldn’t sleep, so figured I’d go for a smoke.” Blast Off said. “Cigarette?”

“Thanks.”

They held them between their lips, pressing the tips together. Blast Off opened his lighter and struck the flint, lighting them both in one go. He leaned back and took a deep drag, slowly releasing it.

“So, your turn. What brings you out here at this time?”

“… Couldn’t sleep either. Lots to think about.”

“Oh yeah? Such as?”

Onslaught shook his head. “Complicated.”

“I am your second, you know. You’re supposed to talk to me about these things.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not-“ he shook his head again. “Swindle’s… striking us a new deal. I need to figure out how we’re going to keep our end of the bargain.“

And he didn’t want to talk to me about this? He tried to not let how much it stung show on his face.

“I see.” He icily replied. “Well, good luck with that.”

“Jean-“

“No, no, it’s fine, you don’t want my opinion or expertise. That’s your prerogative.” He went to stub out his cigarette, but Onslaught caught his hand. “What? I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“No, you’re not, you’re pissed. Finish it with me.”

He tutted. Onslaught let go of his hand, and he took a long drag of his cigarette instead, tapping the ashes to the floor in a petty display of disobedience. “I don’t think there’s much for us to talk about.”

“It’s highly sensitive.”

“So sensitive you can’t trust me, but you can trust Swindle?”

“Lockdown’s his contact. Won’t speak with me. But he’s willing to work with us.”

“Lockdown?” Blast Off hissed. “Isn’t he doing some real sketchy work with those guys who fuck around with the quintessons now?”

Onslaught nodded. “I don’t like it, but work is work.”

“We’ve never had to worry about money before. Is something going on?”

His face was strangely guarded and it had him on edge. He jumped when Onslaught replied.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Jean-Luc.”

His proper name. He frowned. It wasn’t often Onslaught used it, reserved for scolding and punctuation, for when he really needed to pay attention.

Nothing for him to worry about. The thing that was keeping him up at night was none of his, his second-in-command’s, his right hand, his confidant and dare he say it, his friends, business.

As he’d said. It was his prerogative. It just hurt a bit.

He looked away and nodded. The message was clear. Shut up. Don’t press it.

Suddenly, he felt tired. He yawned and rubbed his eye. Fuck. This would be the worst kind of sleep - the one tortured by wondering just where he went fucking wrong. It made it worse that it felt like a snub - that he simply wasn’t good enough, that he was losing to someone else. The thought of anyone else being better than him was despicable. Fuck. Why did he have to like him so much. Why did so much have to hinge on how one single man saw him?

“It’s a shame you can’t see the stars here.” Oscar muttered.

Despite being in the desert, civilisation had bled too closely. They couldn’t see the Milky Way, the North Star was the only thing bright enough to pierce through the light that polluted the sky. The worst light came from behind them - tens of miles away was a factory that built the parts for the mecha suits humanity used to fight quintessons. As a high profile target, it was perfect for any attack, so they kept it well lit.

A boon for them, but pretty shit for everyone else. People used to come to this town for its pristine view of the sky. Now it had slowly slipped off the map.

“I bet you get a better view by the creek a few miles west.” He gestured vaguely in the direction he assumed was correct. “Further away from that eyesore of a facility.”

In a past life he spent a lot of time staring up at the sky. All of his education had pointed him squarely to a life studying the stars, envisioning distant worlds and exploring the galaxy through probes and rovers and mathematics. It seemed so far away now - his world had been reduced down to what he could see through the scope of his rifle.

Staring up at the sky reminded them both of old times, too - for a while it was just the two of them, them against the world. Then Swindle came along, Brawl and Vortex in tow, and the rest was history.

Blast Off could feel Onslaughts gaze. He delicately plucked his cigarette from his mouth and exhaled, the cloud of smoke wispy and delicate like the smoke from a stick of incense, and looked back at him.

He tapped the ashes to the floor. Onslaught held his eyes, not saying anything.

It was like he was trying to say something to him. Blast Off couldn’t figure it out, and the thought frustrated him to no end. He should know. He used to know.

He broke eye contact to stub out what was left of his cigarette.

“I’ll see you in the morning then. Goodnight, Onslaught.”

It was childish. It was petty. He was throwing a tantrum. Onslaught would never see him as anything other than a perpetulant child if he kept pulling shit like this.

“… Goodnight.”

The door clicked shut behind him. Vortex whistled from the kitchen island.

“Coooold. Thought you were on first-name basis. You fighting? He smell of another woman’s perfume?”

Blast Off growled at him as he stalked past.

“Hey, just asking. Coffee?”

“It’s two in the morning!”

He shrugged. “Helps you sleep!”

Blast Off stared at him in disbelief before turning and storming off to his room. “You are so weird!”

Vortex’s cackle followed him down the hall.

------------------------------------------------------- He couldn’t tell you when it started to happen, but he could tell you when the final nail of his acceptance of the new status-quo had been hammered in.

They didn’t know he was there. His footsteps had always been so quiet, perfect for sneaking around. It had let him find the best spots. The good places to go to for good, clean shots. The best places to go to when guarding something. But it also let him snoop, and right now he wished he hadn’t. He’d have been able to pretend a bit longer if he didn’t know.

Onslaught was careful with their names. Swindle was even more so with his own. Blast Off wasn’t even sure if he knew his real name - he was just Swindle. Or Sean Cook, if he wanted to use his supposed birth name, but he never responded to Sean. It was Swindle.

And Onslaught was using it. And Swindle was saying his back to him, casually and practiced.

He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Before, Onslaught would drive up in the front with him. They would do things together, they were in sync. His most common cover was Onslaught. Blast Off would feed him what he was seeing, and he would update the plans and the others accordingly. Plans he was a part of, a valued contributor to. But now he sat in the back with Swindle, Brawl up front with him. Brawl and Vortex were his cover now, alternating between them. He preferred it when he had Vortex. Vortex left him alone. Brawl felt the need to talk to him. Onslaught hadn’t mentioned anything to him since that night in the courtyard. He hadn’t even brought up any other plans, any missions. He’d asked at first, demanding an update. He’d told him that there wasn’t anything for him to handle, that he’d done it all, that he was free to use his down time as he wanted. But he didn’t want to use it to catch up on the books he’d been wanting to read or the albums he’d wanted to listen to or to drive out deep into the desert to gaze at the stars. He wanted to be useful, to feel needed, for someone to want him around.

Onslaught hadn’t called him by his name since then either. It was always Blast Off, his call-sign. At first he’d thought that maybe he’d seen or heard someone nearby and was just taking a precaution, but now he was sure. Onslaught wasn’t using his name any more.

At this point, he was just a taxi. Nobody was listening on the other end as he gave his reports, he was sure of it. If he just sat in the car and waited, nobody would know any different. He could make some shit up on his half hour check ins and it would change precisely nothing.

Eventually, he did decide to go down to the creek to look at the stars. He checked the weather app religiously out of habit, tracking the air pressure and where the dew point was, the humidity, wind, cold fronts and warm fronts - it was both a source of comfort, a sense of normality, and a ritual he just couldn’t abandon. So, on an evening where the air was warm and still and the clouds were but distant thoughts on the horizon, he grabbed the keys to his car - his car, the janky one that was his pride and joy and the last remnant he had left of a normal life - and walked to the garage.

“Where you going?” Brawl asked, tipping back dangerously far on his chair as he walked past. He was surrounded by scrap metal and wires and screws, a screwdriver tucked behind his ear and another in his hand. Probably tinkering with something or other - he wondered if it was another bomb.

“Out for fresh air. Need anything from the shop?”

“Nah, I’m good.” The chair settled back down onto all four legs.

The door to the garage opened soundlessly. The lights hummed and buzzed as they came on, and he stuck his key into the handle of the car door.

She still turned on. She still purred for him, her lights coming on effortlessly. Satisfied, he opened the garage door, cringing when the metal shrieked against metal.

Why now, of all times?

“Oooh, she still turns on? I’m surprised.” Swindle had his arms folded across his chest, leaning casually against the door frame. “Real impressive, she is.”

Blast Off really wasn’t in the mood. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

“What do you want?” He was stood by his car, one hand on the top of the door and another on the roof. He drummed his fingers impatiently.

“Nothing, just passing on a message.” Swindle waved him off. “Onslaught says to not go too far.”

He felt something thin snap.

“He can tell me his-fucking-self.” Blast Off snapped. He slammed the car door behind him as Swindle’s smirk burned a hole into his chest. Once he was clear of the garage, he swore loudly and smacked his steering wheel in frustration.

The drive down to the creek happened in a blink. Pushing the thought of any fines he was sure to receive if he’d ended up speeding or blowing through red lights to the back of his mind, he sprawled out on his bumper and looked up. The night air had a chill to it, raising the hairs on his arms. He wanted to stay until he froze, to wait for the ancient heater in the car to kick in to warm him through again, anything to prolong his time out under the stars. Anything to give him an excuse to stay out longer. The base was starting to feel suffocating.

Nothing. The sky was clear, there were no clouds, but…

Nothing.

The mech factory was too bright, even this far away. The sky had been blotted out.

Quietly cursing, he closed his eyes and sighed.

How far did he have to go to see the stars again?

The drive back was much more sedate. Instead of feeling driven by spite, by anger and by the unjustness of it all, he felt… tired. Exhausted. The wind had been torn from his sails. He didn’t even have the stars now.

Onslaught was still up when he got back, flicking absently through a book Blast Off didn’t think he was actually reading.

“How were the stars?” Onslaught asked.

“You can’t see them.” Blast Off replied.

His bedroom door closed behind him with a sharp click.

------------------------------------------------------- He’s laying flat on a hillside, covered in foliage and dried grass, when the need to check the car suddenly possessed him. Something was wrong. He could sense something in the air around them. Straining his ears, he could hear a clicking sound, the hum of crackling electricity. A sour taste sat on his tongue.

Quintesson.

Vortex noticed it too. He was on his loop back to him whilst on patrol when he did, loudly swearing.

“Shit!” He hissed, vanishing in the direction of the sound.

Towards their car.

“No!” Blast Off hissed through his teeth, throwing off the foliage and ducking between the trees. The aliens had started to take notice of their vehicles - they knew they had fuel and power and engines, and had started to dismantle them for their gain. They’d already lost cars to them. Blast Off was rather attached to this one, she drove well and staved off bullets better than their old one had, and they’d put so much work into her suspension that she drove over all terrains like smooth butter. He wanted to keep her.

He was meters away when he felt a sharp pain in his thigh. Like he’d been punched by something sharp. The wind was ripped from him and he staggered, not quite understanding what he felt or what he was looking at until the echoing crack of a gunshot reached his ears.

Had he just been shot?

Stumbling behind cover, he pressed a hand to his thigh. It came back bright red.

“Fucking shit! What an awful day!” He spat, grabbing a fistful of leaves and cramming it against the wound. He grabbed his gun, smearing her with red, and took a deep breath to stop his head from spinning and to try and ignore the thudding hot pain radiating down his leg and up his side.

Two sets of footsteps. Amazing. Onslaught had always said they came in pairs.

He prepared his gun, took a deep breath, and swung around to take aim-

And woke up at the bottom of the ravine.

He thinks that’s where he is anyway - he’s not sure. He can’t see out of one eye and everything’s blurry, but he can see steep rock faces dotted with shrubbery and sharp rocks and boulders and trees clinging on for purchase. So. Probably a ravine.

He blinks and the sky has changed. Or maybe there’s something standing over him now? Groaning, he turns his head.

He sees Vortex. He knows it’s him because who else has the ridiculously shaggy ashy hair and the shiny arm? His mouth might be moving - it was really hard to tell - but he can’t understand a word he is saying.

Ugh. Fuck. This isn’t good.

Hands firmly wrap around him, and he doesn’t realise he’s screaming until his throat hurts and his chest feels concave and empty. His legs won’t respond but he can feel them, feel every movement and every bump and jolt and scrape.

He doesn’t like it. He hates it. He wants it to stop.

Nothing is responding to him. He tries to move, to stop his hands from catching the floor and to rip the detritus that has worked its way into his boots out, but it’s as if it’s not there. It’s as if he’s not there, that he’s not in control of his own body.

“Fucks sake.” He quietly manages.

Vortex swore loudly in his native tongue. “You’re awake! Fuck, I was worried - Ons is on his way.”

“Oh no. Oh, no. He’s going to scold me so badly.”

“Only once he’s done with me. I’ll soften him up for you.”

Blast Off blinked, and the next time they open the scene had completely changed again.

He was looking at the roof of the car and was leaning against something - it stank of grease, blood, and sweat, familiar in a way that made his chest ache. He scrunched his nose.

He must have said something, because suddenly his field of view was full of Onslaught. He looked distraught. Why did he look so upset? He was fine, wasn’t he? He only fell. He wanted to reach up and brush his hair out of his eyes, loose curls and gentle waves falling into them, but his arms felt like lead and he couldn’t move them.

Blast Off couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there, but he didn’t mind where he was, so he was happy to close his eyes again and enjoy the warmth.

Finally, his eyes cracked open again in a dim room full of medical equipment held together with duct tape. Swindle. He always knew where to go where they wouldn’t ask questions, where if you gave them the money they’d duck their heads down and pretend you never existed if anyone asked.

He could smell cologne. A familiar one - it was one of his favourites. His commander always wore it, it was his signature at this point.

He looked to the side, head throbbing.

“Onslaught?” His voice didn’t sound like it belonged to him. He felt a strange sense of relief at seeing him - he knew he was in trouble if his thunderous expression was anything to go by, but it was Onslaught. If he was around, it would work out in the end.

“Blast Off.” Onslaught sounded furious, and the corners of his lips swiftly downturned.

Vortex was supposed to soften you up for me.

“What time is it?” He went to stretch out his legs, but sudden twinge and a lack of feeling felt like a bucket of cold water had been tipped over him. Slowly, he turned to look down at his legs. One was entombed in plaster, the other a patchwork of gauze and bandages.

Oh.

“Are you stupid?!” Onslaught demanded. He looked him up and down, as if not quite seeing the bandages and the casts and the IV. “Well? Are you thick?!”

Blast Off couldn’t reply. He couldn’t really hear him over the loud, high pitched ringing in his ears.

His leg was broken. His right one. The one that operated the gas and the brake. His left was intact - bruised and sore, but intact. He can still use the clutch, at least, but it’s of little comfort when he can’t make the car go any more. His leg was broken, and he was rendered completely and utterly useless. He felt numb. The broken arm didn’t register until Onslaught reached out to him and touched his shoulder - the pain was blinding but he could barely muster an intake of breath.

No legs, no car. No arms, no gun.

Oh. Oh, my god.

“Careful! He’s really hurt! Be gentle with him!”

Swindle. His voice cut straight through, cleaving his thoughts in half. He looked up at him but his eyes refused to focus. Swindle was looking sternly at the blurry shape next to him. Onslaught. Probably. He couldn’t bring himself to look at him.

“Am I in a hospital?” The question felt stupid and redundant, but fitting. It was just like him.

“Yeah, buddy. How’d you end up in the ravine? Vortex had to drag you up on his own!”

“I got shot. I think.” Blast Off frowned. He couldn’t feel anything. He remembered feeling like he’d been punched in the thigh, and the wet feeling of it as his ears rung and he suddenly lost the ability to stand. “I needed to get to the car. I can’t remember why - fuck, it was something so important, I can’t remember what it was.”

“You’d best remember. Quickly.” Onslaught snapped. Blast Off instinctively shrunk away from him, hissing when it pulled awkwardly on a needle. Swindle snapped something back at him, the bells in his ears too loud for him to hear what they were saying. He groaned and rubbed his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Onslaught suddenly sounded concerned, at complete odds to his previous tone. “Do you need more medicine?”

“He’s got enough in him to take out a horse.” Swindle chided. “Don’t offer him more, Jesus. The boy can only take so much.”

“I’m older than you.” Blast Off frowned at him.

Swindle shrugged. “We’ll leave you in peace. Get some sleep.”

The chairs noisily scraped backwards, echoing in his head. Onslaught leaned down to whisper something into Swindles ear, and the door clicked shut behind them.

And the heart monitor behind him suddenly spiked.

He quickly spiralled. What was he going to do? What was he going to do? What could he do? Injuries like this didn’t heal in a couple of weeks. He’d be fucking useless and worthless and forgotten, left to rot here in the shady hospital Swindle liked to put them up in. They were fine without him. They were totally and completely fine without him. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. The only reason he’d managed to stick around them for so long was because they’d humoured him, because he offered some form of convenience. He was their backup. He was the afterthought.

He felt sick. His stomach turned, and he gagged. There wasn’t anywhere he could go, nobody he could turn to. He had made such a name for himself with the Combaticons it was unthinkable for him to ever clear his ledger and turn to more legitimate employment. If even his own team didn’t see any point to him, why the fuck would anyone else?

He found a bucket by the bed and held it close as he gagged and dry-heaved. He may have been a complete utter waste of space, a disgrace of a human being, but he was not vomiting on himself, and especially so when he couldn’t even get himself clean after.

Why did he need to get to the car so badly?

He didn’t remember. There weren’t any mirrors in the room, but he vaguely recalled falling. Did he hit his head? His face felt numb, but he didn’t know if it was the pure fear and realisation of his complete utter redundancy that caused it, or the pain relief that must have been making up the majority of his blood volume. He vaguely felt the uncomfortable scratch of a bandage against the tender flesh of his cheek. He must have hit his head. He couldn’t remember anything.

He realised then that his vision was obstructed. He couldn’t see-

He finally vomited.

It was too much. He didn’t even know where he was.

[siberat]

Ok. We need to geek it out and make a list of on/off movies. So far me and @anony-man came up with:

Broke back mountain

Titantic

we gotta keep the list going- any one else got any for the books?

[luxnovas-draws]

WW2 Combaticons

what if they stayed with their orginal alternate modes

[goobygnarp]

not dead.

but heres somethin i worked on a few weeks ago .

somewhat concerpt designs of the bombat boys

[tsukasa0820]

Hey Leader!

[saxandviolins77]

A coin-operated boy With a pretty coin-operated voice Saying that he loves me That he's thinking of me Straight and to the point That is what I want A coin-operated boy Coin-Operated Boy, The Dresden Dolls

[minniethemoocherda]

Stars and Stripes and Suns

A/N: Merry Christmas @keferon! I could not stop thinking about your Jazzprowl Mecha Au! I am obsessed! And I could not stop myself from thinking how Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would fit into it! So feel free to ignore any of this for your own personal headcanons lol! It is your Au after all! I tried my best to fit this into the established au lore but there's a lot so I might've got some stuff wrong 😅. Anyway I hope you enjoy the fic! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

It had been a no brainer, back then.

Spend another stint in juvie or fight in a giant metal robot.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe hadn't even needed to share a look before they both said yes.

Shockwave had selected them specifically. Sunstreaker still didn't understand the science of it all but those early mecha that Shockwave built were too much for one brain to handle. However with him and Sideswipe not only being twins, but being identical down to their DNA, they were able to survive the neural load in a way that non of the scientists other test subjects had. Whenever he hocked them up they weren't Sunstreaker or Sideswipe or the mech anymore. They were just one.

Sure having their brains ripped apart and stuck back together over and over and over again hurt like shit. Still, Sunstreaker would take it over going back into foster care and being separated from his brother.

It helped that they were already a formidable pair of fighters, synched to each other's side in ways neither could explain that the neural link only made even closer. Sunstreaker could turn their left arm into a sword the same second Sideswipe stabbed it through a drone whilst both twisted their torso to gracefully glide over the electric fence Shockwave had flung at them.

And even when the aliens showed up, Sunstreaker couldn't complain. He knew he shouldn't, but he enjoyed cutting them up. He enjoyed the thrill of slicing the tentacles from their heads and their heads from their amalgamation of faces like they were cuts of meat. Having been told his whole that he would never amount to anything, Sunstreaker felt a sick sense of satisfaction that he had proved to the world that there was something he was good at.

Technically they had been working under Shockwave as an apprenticeship so whilst the tests themselves were shit the pay was even shitter. But they had their own room that they could decorate however they wanted. So Sunstreaker had covered his in paint from the window of the art shop they used to sleep outside of whilst Sideswipe built a wall out of every toy car he had ever wanted.

The pay got better when Swindle showed up with other pilots. And even more so when they were revealed to the public.

Sideswipe was a pro at talking to the press whilst Sunstreaker preferred to pose for the camera. As usual the pair perfectly balanced each other.

The only time they got into a true disagreement was over what colour the mech should. It had been grey originally but Swindle had wanted something distinct to put on posters. Sideswipe had voted for red whilst Sunstreaker wanted yellow. In the end Swindle settled it with a coin toss that Sunstreaker still wasn't convinced his brother hadn't bribed the result of. But at least his twin let him pick out the shade as Sunstreaker was not going to be seen in that gaudy cherry that Cliffjumper was somehow happy to walking around in. Instead opting for a shining crimson the same shade as blood.

They both decided on the name. They'd been calling it the Lambo anyway after the mech's resemblance to their favourite sports car. And after Swindle cleared it with their copyright team, it became official.

Sunstreaker wouldn't say that fighting the Quintessons was easy. And ultimately he'd rather countless amounts of people weren't dying due to the invasion.

But he couldn't deny that he enjoyed being a mech pilot. That he enjoyed the fame and freebies and fashion he finally had the freedom to afford. And that he and Sideswipe wouldn't have to worry about being starving or separated ever again.

Then as per usual, everything in their life went to shit.

Jazz disappeared. Then the base got blown up. Not that they had been aware, because they had been on the other side of the country, where for the first time, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe found themselves in a fight they could not win.

"Finally a fucking fight!" Sideswipe grinned, glaring up at the Quintesson ship the size of a city.

Sunstreaker had always known what his twin was thinking even before both their minds had melted into one. So he knew that under Sideswipe's bravado, his brother was scared shitless.

That didn't stop Sideswipe from smiling as they charged towards the ship.

With their shield, they blocked the incoming blasts, giving civilians time to escape whilst their sword slashed through the remaining fire.

Together, they were the perfect balance of stealth, speed and strength. And eventually, miraculously they actually made it within touching distance of the ship.

Out of the corner of his scope, Sunstreaker saw a Quintesson soldier strike. He didn't even have to think to ask before Sideswipe had slammed their shield into its neck. At the same time Sunstreaker soared themselves over the now dead soldier, striking the sword into the side of the ship. Sunstreaker felt the air shake as something inside it shrieked then blew up.

"Think we might actually succeed in shish-kebabing these shitheads!" Sideswipe smiled, surrounded in the smouldering embers of the burning alien spaceship.

Then a tentacle shot out of the ship, slamming into their side like a skyscraper. Sideswipe didn't even have time to scream. But Sunstreaker did as he experienced his brother's death. He screamed as his soul was stretched and squished and shattered between himself, his mech and his twin. He shot and sliced and screamed until something finally snapped and everything went black.

The next thing Sunstreaker knew was shouting. He opened his eyes, to see the blurred shape of grey and ginger hair next to his bed.

"He was a child!" The blur yelled and Sunstreaker belatedly recognised the voice as Ratchet even though their injuries hadn't been severe enough to see the head medical officer before now.

"Sunstreaker is twenty-one." Shockwave replied in his usual monotone, apparently unaffected by the fact that one of his pilots was now dead.

"And you've been fucking with his head since he was FIFTEEN!" Ratchet screamed. The entire med-bay silenced at the outburst, not even Shockwave daring to make a sound until Ratchet spoke again.

"Once I've fixed him up, I am done. I will not be apart of this anymore."

But Sunstreaker barely registered the words. All he felt was the emptiness of his brother being gone.

He had felt the feat and the pain and the nothing of his brother's death. He had experienced what no living human could and his head could not comprehend it. All it could do was hurt.

Shockwave had ordered him to pilot the Lambo again, to compare how it functioned with only one twin instead of the set. Sunstreaker tried to strangle him, only being held back by the combined force of Brawl, Blast-Off and Onslaught. Even Swindle told Shockwave to fuck off.

But in the end, Sunstreaker couldn't blame Shockwave for his brother's death. They had both signed up of their own free will after all.

Sunstreaker had been in it for the fight and for the fame. Sideswipe had been the one with heroics in his heart. It should have been him who had lived. He would have stayed because it was the right thing to do. Whilst Sunstreaker stuck around because he had nowhere else to go.

Blurr was still around, even more broken than before but still posing for the camera and doing PR. Sunstreaker couldn't do press anymore without his brother.

He couldn't do anything anymore with out his brother.

And if it weren't for the nothing that he knew was waiting for him that no one else could ever understand, then he would have joined his brother in death.

Stuck in stagnation, he did Shockwave's stupid experiments and signed his name on posters he couldn't even look at and tried and tried and tried mech after mech after mech. But he couldn't even sit in one without being sick, the melding of his mind with the mechs making his skull split in half. Each day bled into the other until eventually Swindle came to see him.

"Look kid, I know you don't want to hear this and I hate to he the one to tell ya. But we've tried every pilot we got left and the Lambo ain't working for anyone. So if you don't give it a go, then I got no excuses left to not strip it for scraps."

So Sunstreaker forced his feet into the hanger he hadn't been in since the day his brother died.

They had repaired the Lambo's right side. It's crimson coat as clean as the day Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had spent painting it.

Sunstreaker touched the tips of it's pedes. For some reason, he had been expecting it to be cold. But it felt as warm as before, the thumping pump of machinery pulsing away underneath the metal.

Something snapped inside Sunstreaker's head. But instead of it all falling apart, it felt like the pieces of a picture snapping into place.

Sunstreaker could not save his brother. He might not be able to save the Lambo either. But he had to try.

Besides the single chair, the cockpit was the same as ever. Someone had even kept their stickers.

Sunstreaker hocked himself up to the neural net and instead of being sick all he felt was a sense of serenity. Suddenly the pain in his head was gone, replaced with the sound of Sideswipe's voice that snorted "Took you long enough."

[siberstudios]

Here are the colored version- one with an art nouveau style, and the second with just a cutesy bg. Just lookit how happy they are- and how blushy Onslaught is!

[devilart2199-aibi]

Combaticon redesigns 🪖🚀💵

Mine compared to G1 + Earth alt modes! ⬇️

Not 100% happy with Swindle, he still needs some work. The gang is so big compared to him OTL The short foot of Bruticus lol

[plastyi]

My Bruticus design for my Au

[lexisrobotcollection]

Combaticons line up

[serendipitoushousepet]

The Combaticons based off a sketch thanks to Obilim! Megatron's ruthless and highly volatile mercenaries loyal to her cause. Onslaught leads with precision and absolute authority. Swindle is always looking for a good arm's deal. Brawl want's to smash as many bot heads as possible, and more. Vortex is the sadist interrogator and bandit. And Blastoff is the unbound aerial specialist and no one forgets that.

[siberat]

Kissing Lessons

so, Blast Off wants his upcoming date with Onslaught to be the best possible…he just needs some help with one aspect… poor vortex got suckered into helping. Hints at on/off. Silly humor.

“You promised, Tex!” Blast Off pouted as he stomped a pede and thrust clenched fists to his hips. “I completed your chores this morning!”

“I had NO clue that you would need this kinda help!” Vortex spat, holding his servos up as he took a few steps back. “It’s not fair!”

“Not fair? You going back on your word! Vortex, please!!!” The shuttle's face twisted in his plea. He really needed this help! “There’s only so much online tutorials will help…”

Vortex looked as if he was glancing at a horde of unruly, filthy kids. “Ah man, come on Blasty…. For real?”

“Oh my gawd, Tex, I’m serious here!” Blast Off desperately took another step forward, trapping the other member against the wall. “You’re the only one I can come to with this! You just gotta help me!”

“Okay! Okay,” Vortex caved, scared at how persistent the shuttle became. “Slag, it’s my lucky day, huh?”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” His hands flapped as a joyous tip-toe dance was performed.

“Calm yourself there, buddy. And give me some space. You’re suffocating me here.” Vortex relaxed a smidge as the other stepped back. “Now, just why do you need to do this?”

“Onslaught and I are going on a date tonight, and I just don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Well, I doubt that’s possible with your over-enthusiasm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nevermind. So, you need to learn how to kiss, huh?” Of all the things his geslaltmates could need assistance with… kissing was not on the list. Primus, this was so awkward!

“Yes! I don’t want to disappoint-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got that. You really think Onslaught has much experience?”

“What do you mean? Who wouldn’t wanna make out with him?” The brown and purple mech tilted his helm.

“Me. But whatever.” Vortex huffed. “Ok, so… let’s see what you got.”

The helicopter leaned in, lips slightly puckered, and was greeted with something wet jabbing at his lips. The grossness of this caused him to jump back. “What the slag?” Opening his optics, he caught Blast Off staring at him with his tongue out.

“Aw man, Blast off, what the fuck was that?”

“I’m kissing you… like in those romance holovids-“

“You don’t just shove your tongue everywhere! You gotta work your way up to that!” The teal mech shook his helm- just what did he get himself into? “Got it?” Once the other nodded yes, the pair went at it again.

This time, their lips pressed together, gently rubbing against each other. However, the shuttle's lips were so wet and slimy that saliva smeared everywhere as if he were consuming a tasty hard candy. 

“Hmmnnggg….” Vortex balked, pulling his helm away again, breaking off strands of saliva. “Aww gawd!” His servo quickly wiped the wetness away from his lips and cheeks. “Blast Off! What the hell?”

“What? What am I doing so wrong?”

“It felt as if you kissed me with a mouth full of energon!” The flier gagged. “Swallow your spit before going in for a kiss! That was gross…”

“S…sorry!” Blast Off’s optics turned to shaky, wide orbs as he wiped his lips. “I’ll do better! I promise- just please…. Can we try again?”

“Fine…. Just… don’t slobber all over me…” He rolled his optics and reluctantly leaned in for another kiss. Thank Primus it wasn’t wet. Or have a tongue stabbing at his mouth like a movie maniac killing their victim. This time, those lips gently slid against his, mimicking the actions he did. And when the kiss deepened slightly, Vortex peeked at the other.

And was met with open optics.

“Gahh…” Vortex startled. 

“What now?” Blast Off whined.

“Why are you kissing with your optics open?” The shuttle shrugged, looking confused. “Look…. Just close them…it’s creepy!” Blast Off nodded, and then the pair resumed. The kiss, while a little sloppy, went relatively smoothly. Lower lips were gently sucked and nibbled, and Vortex even brushed the tip of his tongue across them.

And that’s when he felt it. Something pressed against the back of his helm. And he knew just what it was! Quickly, the interrogator pulled the other’s servo away. “Don’t do that…” The shuttle’s wrist was restrained. “Just… keep your servos to yourself.”

“But I wanna rub my hands all over Onslaught-“

“I’M NOT ONSLAUGHT!” The outburst caused the shuttle to flinch and shy away. “Okay, look… one last go at it, ok? Don’t slobber. Don’t touch. Don’t jab… got me?”

“Yes….”

Once again, lips pressed together, gently gliding over each other, eventually leading to more. Vortex’s tongue gently slipped inside, parting those lips and brushing over the other’s glossa. Blasty’s tongue gently entwined with his, and for a moment, the kiss was decent.

Keyword: moment.

No sooner did the helicopter think perhaps the shuttle got the concept did that mouth suck his tongue deeply as if slurping up spaghetti noodles. And when the feeling of teeth became apparent, Vortex groaned in displeasure.

But Blast Off took this as encouragement and only sucked harder, pressing his frame into the other fliers and moaning. And when the tongue sucks relented, the shuttle’s tongue barged in, nearly ramming itself down the back of the teal mech's throat. Vortex couldn’t resist coughing at that intrusion and, thankfully, was able to break free.

“Ah…. sorry!” Blast Off cooed. “I-“

“It’s alright!” Tex fibbed as he nudged the other away. 

“So, how’d I do?”

Primus, what did his gestaltmate want- a detailed report? And would he really enjoy hearing the low remarks? “You…. You got this, Blast Off…”  He patted his comrade’s shoulder.

“Really?” The shuttle’s optics beamed. “Was I good?”

“Ah…. well….” Vortex rubbed a servo over the back of his helm. “It’s like anything else… ya know? Take practice to perfect…. But you got the gist of it…. Really!”

“Really? You’re not just saying that, are ya?”

“Let’s just say Onslaught is in for a real treat tonight, yeah?”

“Oh golly, is he!” The shuttle's optics went all dreamily. “We are doing the whole dinner and a movie date. And afterwards…..” He bit his lower lip as his cheeks flushed a tad. “Well, some things are best left unspoken.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Vortex quickly added. “Look, we done here?”

“I suppose.” Blast Off stepped back. “Wait…. I have one more question.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal-“

“Got any advice on how to suck sp-“

“NO!”

[randomposts-27]

Swindle: im telling you, it knocked half his engine block off

Blast off: nuh uh

Onslaught: what are you two blabbering about?

Swindle: Blast off really scrapped up Brawl

Blast off: NUH UH!!!

Onslaught: how so?

Swindle: YO BRAWL! What 2 + 2?

Brawl: carrots

Swindle: HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THEY ARE!!!

[toyboxcomix]

Random Old Comic: Geetooed https://www.toyboxcomix.com/2017/05/21/geetooed/

[raurquiz]

#happyfathersday #transfomers #masterpiece #autobot #wheeljack #dinobots #grimlock #slag #snarl #swoop #Sludge #unitedwarriors #technobot #computron #scattershot #strafe #afterburner #lightspeed #nosecone #decepticon #reissue #starscream #encore #bruticus #combaticon #onslaught #vortex #brawl #blastoff #swindle #actionfigures @hasbrochile @hasbro @takaratomytoys