#g1 bombshell

• “We’re moving,” Bombshell snarls instead of answering you and the other two start gathering things and subspacing them. And you yelp when he abruptly goes back to full size and transforms, trying to snare you in his mandibles as you dance out of reach to his annoyance. “Come here.” Freezing when you huff at him and dart around his side, he feels your hands on him and he tips sideways slightly when you climb up onto his back and sit straddling him. Aware of his brothers staring he hisses at them to get them moving again. Because apparently you’re going to ride him and he vents tiredly at the indignity.

• Trying not to laugh at Bombshell’s annoyance as their little queen sits on him apparently intending to ride him, Kickback keeps subspacing everything he can. Doubts Barricade will come back any time soon, but there’s a possibility he’ll go for reinforcements and return immediately. If the mech doesn’t bleed out his energon in the woods first. Chirping unhappily at losing that tasty meal, he transforms and follows Bombshell when his brother heads out of the cave.

• Taking the lead since Bombshell has you, Shrapnel hisses softly and vents. It’s not like they hadn’t already planned to move to a better home, but getting forced to move bothers him. That the mech had gotten away alive bothers him more. “We should have given chase,” he growls and Bombshell hisses back as you tip your face up toward the sky when it begins to drizzle rain. “He found us once, he’ll find us again, again.”

• “And he’ll die,” Bombshell snarls as you splay your palms on his back, his swaying gait wholly different from the one time you’d ridden a horse as his many legs claw at the leaf litter and dirt. And the rain picks up as you feel leaves and branches slide against your legs and arms, scratching you. It occurs to you that you could slide off of him and run, but really, what’s the point? There’s no getting away from them ever. “We’ll devour him and any he brings with him,” Bombshell continues, tone furious and you wonder if he was worried for you. If he was afraid of you getting hurt. And if it was only because you’re bonded to them instead of any genuine affection. You don’t love them, barely know them, so how could they love you? They’re monsters, but they’re monsters you’re stuck with for life and you let the rain chill you. Numb you.

Previous

• Chuckling at your anger, because it’s better than the numb, emptiness, Bombshell cups your butt in a clawed hand and you elbow him in the head. Prefers you fiesty. “If you act like prey, we’ll treat you like prey,” he murmurs and you elbow him harder. Bending, he dumps you in the middle of your bedding, laughing at your startled yelp when you fall. Leaning over you, he catches your chin and retracts his mask. Sees the alarm there that he’s going to drug you and he bares his sharp denta. “Show me your fangs, little queen,” he says, snapping his denta and your eyes narrow before you bare your blunt, human teeth in a pitiful mockery of a snarl. “Pathetic,” he says, reaching out to lay a clawed hand on your hand, clawed servos ruffling through your hair.

• Head turning to watch Bombshell leave you, Kickback hisses when his brother seizes him by a wing and drags him with him. “Ow-ow,” he growls, antenna back and chirping. Playing that he’s no threat. “I didn’t do anything.” Had only encouraged you to let him play with you. And Bombshell had stopped him. Following tilted at an angle since Bombshell won’t let go, denta gritted in pain, Kickback watches their leader grab Shrapnel by one of his m altmode’s horns and yank. “Where are we going?”

• Snarling as he claws at Bombshell’s arm, Shrapnel hisses. Aware of you watching the interaction with wide eyes as Bombshell drags him and Kickback out of the cave. “Hunting,” Bombshell growls, ignoring as Shrapnel makes him bleed. ‘Leaving our little queen alone to run away again, again,’ Shrapnel snarls, snapping his sharp denta trying to bite. Hears Bombshell clear his vents as he shoves him and Kickback toward the trees. “Won’t run,” Bombshell says, bringing his gouged plating to his mouth, glossa sliding against the wounds Shrapnel’s claws left.

• They’re leaving you alone? Tensing with the need to run as your heart goes racing, you hesitate. If what Bombshell said is true, there’s no point in running. No escaping period. This is your life now, queen to those feral psychopaths. If you act like prey, we’ll treat you like prey. So what then? Own up to this bullshit? Take back up the act you’d started with Bombshell? Pretend you’re in charge. That you’re the queen they want you to be, because otherwise they’re going to bully you into it. Dropping your face in your hands in frustration, you hear peds and groan. Back already? Head lifting, you freeze at the sight of an alien mech you don’t know.

• Time. To think and decide, to find that attitude you’d shown him a glimpse of before. Because he liked your fire. Liked you making demands instead of cringing. Instead of numb. Venting as he moves through the trees, Bombshell hears Kickback chirp. “Someone’s been here,” Shrapnel growls. “Trespassing, trespassing.” And he pulls air through his vents, picking up the faint scent. ‘Free food,’ Bombshell snarls, denta bared as his head turns back toward the cave, alarm ringing through him because of how incredibly vulnerable you are. ‘Go.’ How vulnerable you make them.

• Racing through the trees for home, Shrapnel takes the lead. Knows this scent. Decepticon, one of their enforcers. Barricade. Sending the mech after them, to their home, a declaration of war. Lunging into the cave, he snarls spotting the mech mass displaced. In their home, servos wrapped around your arm to keep you in front of him. Hissing as he drops into a crouch, Bombshell pushes past him and Shrapnel notes the damage done to the other mech. “Saving a little snack for later?” Barricade asks, hauling on your arm to make you gasp. And the mech is going to die for that. For daring to touch you.

• “Nice of you to invite yourself to dinner,” Bombshell rumbles confidently as Kickback crouches, shifting closer to the wall. “You’re dinner, by the way.” Watches Barricade back up a step, dragging you as you struggle to get loose. And he can scent the other mech’s spilled energon to make him start drooling hungrily. How long has it been since they’ve devoured a still living mech? A pulsing spark. Groaning as his wings flick, he runs his glossa over his denta. ‘Megatron demands an audience,’ Barricade growls, the mech’s expression less certain as Shrapnel hisses. ‘What is it with you bugs and fragging humans?’

• Kicking at the stranger as your mates circle wider, you start laughing despite the terror. “You fucked up big time, buddy,” you tell your captor and he glances at you right as Kickback lunges, denta sinking into the mech’s arm and you hit the ground on your butt when he suddenly lets go of you. Rolling and scrambling to get clear as Shrapnel slams into the mech from the other side, clawed servos shredding into plating to spatter you with energon. You watch as the Insecticons drag the snarling, fighting mech outside the cave. Covering your ears with your hands when the snarling becomes screaming and your skin crawls.

Previous

• “They’re half human,” you singsong, pressing a kiss against the top of Benji’s helm to make him chirp, peds kicking. Because if your cannibal husbands have their way, your toddlers would be fighting to the death for supremacy. Probably while your husbands make bets on who survives. And you’re not thinking about how bloodthirsty they are, pushing that reality into the back of your mind. “And there’s nothing wrong with learning how to talk out problems instead of just beating the crap out of each other.” Or eating each other.

• “Little queen always wants to talk, talk,” Shrapnel growls as he stalks in, lip curling at what you’re making their offspring watch. And he bends to seize the biggest sparkling by a leg, the youngling shrieking as Shrapnel bares his denta with a hiss. Pleased when the youngling hisses back, swinging his tiny hands, servos clawing at the air and wings buzzing. Several other sparklings watch, their antenna back and wary. A few hissing uncertainly. Don’t you understand how vulnerable your young are just because they’re Insecticons? They can’t afford to be soft like you are, need to be able to defend themselves. “Insecticons don’t talk. We conquer and take what we want, want.”

• Chirping as he reaches to snag the upside down sparkling from Shrapnel, Kickback picks his way through the swarm and sits down beside you making several younglings scatter out of his way. Holding the little one in his lap to mimic what you’re doing, he’s aware of his brothers scowling at him. But he knows how these arguments usually end. With you and Bombshell screaming at each other. And he’s figured out it’s in his best interest to side with you unless he wants to be included in your retaliatory no touching you ban.

• Clawed servos flexing as he enters the hive, Bombshell hisses spotting you and his brothers sitting and talking like you didn’t just try to abandon them and your duties. Lip curling behind his mask, he tosses the skinned chunk of meat and bone at your feet and you recoil into Kickback with a yelp. Nose wrinkling and unappreciative that he hunted for you to set his temper off all over again. “What is that?” You demand and he rumbles a warning at your tone. ‘Meat,’ he growls, stalking past without offering to start a fire for you if you’re going to be like that. You can eat it raw.

• “I’m not eating it if I’m not sure what it is,” you say, tone angry and Bombshell whirls on you with a clicking hiss that makes Shrapnel clear his vents tiredly. And you’re scrambling to your little feet as Bombshell storms over, claws flexing as he looms over you. ‘It’s meat,’ Bombshell snarls and Kickback chirps nervously, looking from you to their leader. Probably ready to rescue you. “From what?” You demand and Shrapnel laughs. Realizing what you likely think, though honestly, it wouldn’t really surprise him if Bombshell decided to be that petty.

• Trembling as you glare up at him, because they’ve pretty much told you that humans are on the menu. The deer, there was enough to tell it was a deer. This? Could be anything. Or anyone. And Bombshell makes a chittering, clicking noise that shifts into low laughter that’s somehow so much creepier than the bug noises. “Ignorant, little queen,” he growls, reaching to cup your chin in his servos as his head tips. “You don’t know what a dead human looks like?” Like you should know? You’re not eating whatever that is. Was. He’s definitely still pissed at you as he lets go and stalks off. Without telling you what that is bleeding all over the ground.

• Watching Shrapel wordlessly crouch and start a fire for you, Kickback vents. Understands Bombshell’s anger and knows his brother is proud. Before he can try to go coax Bombshell with the lie about you looking for a new nest site to ease the tension, you turn. “The bond thing,” you say and he freezes. “Is it whoever’s death comes first?” And Bombshell turns to stare at you. “How long do you guys live?” Not liking your tone at all.

• Something about the way you’re suddenly smiling puts him on edge worse than dealing with Shockwave. ‘Cybertronians can live for millennia, millennia,’ Shrapnel volunteers and you’re staring right at him, not even acknowledging Shrapnel. “Sucks to be you guys then. Humans usually make it about eighty years tops,” you say with a little, bitter laugh, as Shrapnel hesitates in the act of getting the meat on the crude cooking rack he’d made for you. ‘How long is a year, year?’ Shrapnel asks. And Bombshell really doesn’t like your little smile as he turns and glares at Kickback, his brother wilting slightly. Because he’s the one that wanted a human mate.

Previous

• Smirking when you turn and give him a look, Shrapnel leans against the counter to steal a carrot and offer it to the little runt. “Benji, is just fine,” you growl, eyes narrowed as the sparkling gnaws on the carrot, legs kicking against you. “And I’ve seen how they play. They make each other bleed.” Amused, he pulls you and the sparkling into his frame and you lay your head against him. Such a soft mate, worrying over your brood and trying so hard to protect them. Still unable to understand that the world isn’t a kind place to Insecticons. That the Autobots or the Decepticons would eradicate the sparklings as a plague if they learned of them. Clawed servos tunneling into your hair, he rests his chin on top of your head. Wants to protect you and the younglings from that reality so bad it hurts.

• Drifting into your kitchen, Bombshell stops short seeing you leaning into Shrapnel and he hears his smallest son warble. Being carried around everywhere by you, because he’s too small, too weak. Wouldn’t survive without intervention and he’s not sure what to make of you. Loves how protective you are of your young, but you’re too attached and he exchanges a look with Shrapnel. Knows humans are different, that you don’t understand and he doesn’t want you to. Wants you to be happy, for his young to live. Sliding a palm against your arm, you offer him a small smile. “Burning perfectly good meat again,” he growls and your eyes flash in outrage to make him smile behind his mask.

• Head turning at a warbling note, you smile at Kickback, the mech covered in kids. One sitting on his ped, limbs wrapped around his leg, another hanging where he’s got an arm around their middle and a third sitting on his shoulders hanging onto his antenna. And for a moment there’s a funny feel of disconnect when you realize you’re almost content. Because you didn’t want any of this. They bullied you into it, threatened and scared you. When had you started feeling anything but anger toward your mates? When had you started loving them and this messed up family? This isn’t really your home. It’s not, right? You don’t belong here. They trapped you and that’s not love.

• “Don’t listen to him, Benji,” you croon, pressing a kiss against his helm, an antenna flicking to brush your cheek as your son gives a warbling chirp, clawed servos digging into your shirt. “They’re my kids. Since you didn’t name them, I am,” you add, shifting Ben to a hip to point at kids at random. “Sam, Jimmy, Cade.”

• “You’re not giving Insecticons human names,” Bombshell hisses as Kickback retreats slightly. Because he knows that look on your face. You’re about to start screaming at Bombshell until you end up getting your way. Or start crying and still, ultimately get your way. Hates when you do that, though. It makes him uncomfortable and half the time, the entire brood freak out and start screaming, too.

• “They’re half human. It’s not their fault their dads are idiots,” you snap back and Shrapnel growls, but then you shoot him a glare daring him to contradict you. “You had plenty of time to name them when you were hiding their existence from me.” And you’re never letting that go. Besides, he’s happy with that anger centered solely on Bombshell.

• Sharp denta gritted behind his mask as you stalk over, going up on tiptoe to grab his battle mask and pull. And he lets you pull him down as you glare up at him, your anger lighting through him to become hunger and need. “You want sex ever again, you’re going to stop arguing and let me name them,” you say, eyes narrowing as the runt whines and hides his face against you. Primus, he loves you and that temper. Chuckling, he catches the back of your head and noses against your face. ‘Name them, then.’

• “Why bother naming the weak ones that won’t survive to adulthood?” Bombshell growls and you stiffen as he points and your heart catches in your throat. Having to run to separate a much smaller sparkling from his bigger sibling, who was apparently about to try and take a bite out of him. Because of course they’re little cannibals, Just look at their awful dads. Hugging the tiny one to you as he warbles cheerfully oblivious to the fact that he almost lost an arm, you’re spinning on your mates. Shrapnel and Kickback at least have the decency to look uncomfortable. “Insecticons learn to fight to survive or they don’t,” Bombshell says, tone dismissive.

• And your face reddens, expression twisting with fury as you hug the little runt to yourself. Can understand why you’re upset, but the sad truth is that to other Cybertronians, their lives don’t mean that much. You see cruelty, but he’s only trying to give a chance. Teaching the young that life isn’t fair, that it’s cruel and sometimes short. “I’m not dealing with this lord of the flies bullshit and my kids aren’t going to eat each other. They’re all going to live,” you’re screaming at him, storming over and glaring up at him, livid as you defend your young. “They’re going to be fucking happy and they’re all going to have names!”

• Biting back a laugh as you scream up at Bombshell and every sparkling immediately transforms to their altmode and flattens down, being silent and trying to avoid your wrath. And Shrapnel just stares as the younglings all hunker down, apparently respecting you and your anger. “Terrifying, terrifying,” he murmurs and you hear him, turning that fury his way and he hesitates. You’re leaking? Tears sliding down your face as you swear at them all.

• “They won’t fall, little queen,” Kickback says, watching you following along underneath the sparkling, hands out like you’re ready to catch the mass displaced youngling if they do fall. Five more are out of alt mode, wobbling along on their peds behind you, one clinging to your leg. After getting permission to interact with you, the swarm pretty much follows you around. Several more are watching and a couple are in their alt modes climbing the walls. Doesn’t understand your worry, but likes watching you fuss over your young. Servos flexing as his spike stirs thinking about giving you more.

• Venting as he spots you and follows your stare to the ceiling and a sparkling, Bombshell vents and sets down the box of mini energon cubes. “Fuel,” he calls out and the swarm’s attention swings his way, rushing him to squabble over the cubes. “Insecticons don’t fall,” he adds, watching a bigger youngling shove its smallest sibling away from the energon with a warbling hiss. Figuring out a hierarchy among themselves.

• “Or have manners,” you mutter, reaching to pick up the smaller kid and settle him on your hip before wading into the middle of the fighting sparklings to pick up a cube and offer it to him. Amused, Shrapnel shakes his head at you. This is how they get stronger. Fighting for survival. “They’re like feral cats,” you add sounding exasperated as you use a foot to slide two fighting sparklings apart, both younglings looking up at you in confusion and warbling. Before immediately attacking each other again. Play fighting.

• “They’re not human, human,” Shrapnel growls and you narrow your eyes at him. Does he really think you don’t realize that? Human babies don’t crawl up walls or hiss at each other. Or have sharp little denta. They’re worse than cats. Bending you snag another of your kids around the waist, hearing them wail a protest. “You’re making them soft, soft.” Turning to give him a look that promises no sex, you struggle with the weight of the two kids. Because you’re over this and your idiot husbands have been letting your kids run wild while not even bothering to tell you that you had kids.