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The next part of my stupid oc's backstory 'cause why not
When Flashbang came too, he was on a medical berth, a medic hovering over him. Flashbang couldn’t quite think at the time, but looking back he found this rather odd; who in the known universe would go through a raging inferno to save a probably-offline Decepticon?
The medic noticed he was awake, and spoke, “Your stabilizers have been replaced and your frame repaired. Though you will be unable to function properly for a long while, you should eventually make a full recovery.”
Her voice was firm, yet oddly comforting; a tone Flashbang had only ever heard from Autobot field medics. This put him on edge.
“Where am I?” It was less of a question and more of a demand.
The medic sighed, “You’re in a medical facility on Luna 1.”
Luna 1? He was back on Cybertron!? In Autobot territory?!
Flashbang shot upright. He quickly jumped off the medical berth, only for his stabilizers to give out. He managed to brace himself on the edge of the berth as the medic frantically called for him to calm down.
He swiped at the medic with a clumsy servo, his sharp digits grazing her chassis. “Get back!” he shouted at her.
She backed up with her servos raised. “Please, calm down! You are not in danger!”
Flashbang didn’t believe that. He let out a tsk. Or tried to. What came out was more like the sound of dropping a ball on a body of water.
He paused. Suddenly, he was no longer concerned with his location, as previous events came rushing back to him.
He had been blown up. He lost both his stabilizers and his lower jaw. His stabilizers had been replaced and his plating looked shiny and new, but something was missing.
He reached up to feel his faceplates, only to find a battle mask fixed onto them. He let go of the berth and fell to his knees, his optics wide with horror. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.
The medic approached him. “Shall we begin your treatment?”
Okay, so I've been in a writing mood lately, and I was like, what if I finnally put down this entire epic saga I have in my head down on paper. (Well, down on google docs) So then I was like, ykw I kinda like this, maybe other people will, so I'm posting it here. This is about my main Transformers OC, and I would really like y'all to give me thoughts on it. (Also this is just the first tiny little bit in a very long series so-)
Flashbang was a very successful Decepticon. He always followed the rules, always came out on top, always gave his every being to the Decepticon cause. So when Megatron gave him the promotion of a lifetime, it wasn’t the biggest surprise.
Flashbang had met other Decepticon assassins before, and most of them were adept in mele; sneaking up close and going for the throat. Flashbang, however, was much more handy when it came to ballistics. Though still very capable with such weaponry as an assassin’s dagger, he was a sharpshooter at his core. He excelled behind a sniper rifle, and even more when it came to executions.
It was on his 9th mission that it all went wrong. Flashbang had made quite the name for himself. His last eight missions had been roaring successes. When Lord Megatron sent him to get rid of a high-risk senator on Velocitron, Flashbang jumped on the opportunity. He was gaining traction fast, and this would make him even more famous.
Flashbang, young and gung-ho, knew that if he continued to climb at this rate, he might even be made Decepticon elite.
He got into position on a roof a few buildings away from his target, making sure to keep his excitement in check as he got down and propped up his precision blaster. He took aim, and just as his digit brushed the trigger, he heard a voice.
“I don’t think so, Decepticon scum!”
Flashbang whipped around, but before he could see anything, his entire world was engulfed in a white light. His audial receptors rang horribly, and he felt weightless. He hit hard against something - the balcony of the opposite building, he guessed - and quickly lost consciousness.
When he regained consciousness, he was surrounded by flames, screaming from every direction. Then the pain hit him. He tried to call for help, but his voice box must have been jammed, because only static came from him. He lifted a servo to his throat, and then he felt his jaw. Or rather, the lack thereof. He lifted his servo higher, only to feel his top row of dente.
He looked down, panicked, only to become more so. Through the flames and the horrible searing pain, he saw what had become of his body. His stabilizers were gone, and his frame was a mangled mess of protruding circuitry and burnt plating.
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Okay, so I was looking at @keferon's mecha pilot Jazz au, and I just had to write abt it because oml the angst
Also, keep in mind I haven written anything in a very long time
Prowl was still having a hard time wrapping his processor around it. His emotions were a hurricane of confusion, rage, and betrayal. As he stared down at the organic infront of him, he couldn’t help the deep frown that formed on his faceplates.
“I guess this is a lot for you, huh Prowler?”
The organic stared back up at him with an apologetic smile. It rubbed the back of its neck awkwardly. Jazz was never awkward. At least, not that Prowl could tell. Though, it wasn’t like Jazz had an EM field to show that.
“A human, you said?”
Prowl needed to hear it again to believe it. There was no way this tiny little bag of flesh had been controlling Jazz. No way it had been Jazz.
The organic nodded. “Yeah. I know it’s probably very confusing, but imagine my confusion when I found out you were all actually sentient mechs, not pilots in mecha suits.”
This was indeed all very confusing, and yet it also made a little too much sense. It explained why Jazz had always felt so… hollow.
Prowl scoffed at the organic’s words. The implication that he was just some lifeless suit to be worn was insulting in the very least.
The organic seemed to recognize Prowl’s disdain, quickly revising his previous statement, “But that makes so much sense now! It makes sense why you’re so expressive, and how you have all these little ticks and habits. Like whenever you’re flustered your wings turn forwards a little.”
It noticed? The organic took notice of his mannerisms. That would imply that it cared enough to pay attention to those things. Well… Prowl knew Jazz cared enough to notice those things, but this organic, this human…
It made Prowl think. Think of something other than the fact that his crush friend had just opened up, and a small organic crawled out of said friend’s chassis.
“Prowl. It’s still me. It’s still Jazz. I’m just… smaller.”
The organic was giving him a hopeful smile, its voice soft as if comforting a close friend. It made Prowl’s spark melt. A part of him wanted to take the small organic and hold it in his embrace for all eternity. He just wanted Jazz back.
But the other part of him wanted to squeeze the organic till it popped. He just wanted Jazz back.
Prowl glared at the organic, and its smile faltered. This sent a pang of hurt through Prowl, but he ignored the aching in his spark.
He turned to walk away. Being there talking to it wouldn’t make things go back to how they were. Things would never go back to how they were.
“Prowl, wait!”
Prowl turns to see the organic running after him. It gets to the edge of the table and tries to stop, but it’s going too fast. It stumbles, loses balance, and falls.
But Prowl is quick, and catches the tiny being in his servos. His expression is that of fear. He felt like he was about to lose Jazz. Again.
The organic smiles. “So you do care about me.”
Prowl’s expression swiftly turns to annoyance. But… the organic did have a point, he had to admit.
Prowl began to look at the organic differently. Instead of being the parasite that crawled out of Jazz’s chassis, it was now what remained of said mech.
And maybe… just maybe… Prowl could get used to him.
Okay, so I was looking at @keferon's mecha pilot Jazz au, and I just had to write abt it because oml the angst
Also, keep in mind I haven written anything in a very long time
Prowl was still having a hard time wrapping his processor around it. His emotions were a hurricane of confusion, rage, and betrayal. As he stared down at the organic infront of him, he couldn’t help the deep frown that formed on his faceplates.
“I guess this is a lot for you, huh Prowler?”
The organic stared back up at him with an apologetic smile. It rubbed the back of its neck awkwardly. Jazz was never awkward. At least, not that Prowl could tell. Though, it wasn’t like Jazz had an EM field to show that.
“A human, you said?”
Prowl needed to hear it again to believe it. There was no way this tiny little bag of flesh had been controlling Jazz. No way it had been Jazz.
The organic nodded. “Yeah. I know it’s probably very confusing, but imagine my confusion when I found out you were all actually sentient mechs, not pilots in mecha suits.”
This was indeed all very confusing, and yet it also made a little too much sense. It explained why Jazz had always felt so… hollow.
Prowl scoffed at the organic’s words. The implication that he was just some lifeless suit to be worn was insulting in the very least.
The organic seemed to recognize Prowl’s disdain, quickly revising his previous statement, “But that makes so much sense now! It makes sense why you’re so expressive, and how you have all these little ticks and habits. Like whenever you’re flustered your wings turn forwards a little.”
It noticed? The organic took notice of his mannerisms. That would imply that it cared enough to pay attention to those things. Well… Prowl knew Jazz cared enough to notice those things, but this organic, this human…
It made Prowl think. Think of something other than the fact that his crush friend had just opened up, and a small organic crawled out of said friend’s chassis.
“Prowl. It’s still me. It’s still Jazz. I’m just… smaller.”
The organic was giving him a hopeful smile, its voice soft as if comforting a close friend. It made Prowl’s spark melt. A part of him wanted to take the small organic and hold it in his embrace for all eternity. He just wanted Jazz back.
But the other part of him wanted to squeeze the organic till it popped. He just wanted Jazz back.
Prowl glared at the organic, and its smile faltered. This sent a pang of hurt through Prowl, but he ignored the aching in his spark.
He turned to walk away. Being there talking to it wouldn’t make things go back to how they were. Things would never go back to how they were.
“Prowl, wait!”
Prowl turns to see the organic running after him. It gets to the edge of the table and tries to stop, but it’s going too fast. It stumbles, loses balance, and falls.
But Prowl is quick, and catches the tiny being in his servos. His expression is that of fear. He felt like he was about to lose Jazz. Again.
The organic smiles. “So you do care about me.”
Prowl’s expression swiftly turns to annoyance. But… the organic did have a point, he had to admit.
Prowl began to look at the organic differently. Instead of being the parasite that crawled out of Jazz’s chassis, it was now what remained of said mech.
And maybe… just maybe… Prowl could get used to him.
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Imagine you got turned into a mech and teleported to the middle of the Quintesson attack on Cybertron. But the catch is - all the characters whose Transformers toys/figures you own are in your squad and they are on your side.
If you have two Megatrons or like three Ratchets you can have all of them. Can't wait to see if someone's squad is just them and their 200 Bumblebees
On a scale. How fucked are you?
I'm fucking dead/Quintesson's slave
Kind of miserable and suffering
Eh It could've been worse
You know what. I have a pretty solid team!
I'll need like 5 minutes to save the entire Cybertron
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