#transformers prime

Chase:yoo-hoo Arcee! Whatcha doing?

Arcee:nothin’.

Chase:hey! You’re not building a giant robot are you?

Arcee:(in the process of building a giant robot)no.

@wat7 (<- thank you for making me excited to share this fic!)

@mintaikkcorpse (<- thank you for tagging me for your amazing BumbleBlades fic, so wanted to share this angsty fic :D)

Caught in the Crossfire, So Much For That Happy Ending (14133 words) by Sol_Dial

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Transformers: Prime Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: past Breakdown/Knock Out, Breakdown/Knock Out (Transformers), Dreadwing & Knock Out (Transformers), Knock Out & Ratchet (Transformers), Team Prime & Team Prime (Transformers: Prime), Knock Out & Team Prime (Transformers: Prime)

Characters: Knock Out (Transformers), mentioned Breakdown, Mentioned Skyquake, Dreadwing (Transformers), Ratchet (Transformers), Arcee (Transformers), Bulkhead (Transformers), Bumblebee (Transformers), Optimus Prime, Megatron (Transformers), Starscream (Transformers), Soundwave (Transformers)

Additional Tags: Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, Knock Out-centric, Knock Out needs a hug, Angst, Angst and Feels, hurt/barely any comfort, Hurt No Comfort, there’s some angst and then less angst, definitely no fluff, Angst with a Bittersweet Ending, Megatron is the emotionally unstable leader that will be understanding but then so distant and cold, Alsooo look I love Bulkhead so much, But there is no way he and Knockout will get along, Or at least it will take them a while to get along, Bulkhead being Breakdown’s archnemesis, Knockout is not letting that slide, Also I love Bulkhead being a softy but when he loses his temper oh it’s OVER, No beta we die like Breakdown, (sobbing that that tag is perfect for this context)

Summary: Knockout learns the death of his conjunx, Breakdown, after a mission goes wrong. Trying not to drown in his grief—not that he would’ve had any time to properly grieve, anyways—Knockout decides to defect from the Autobots. All he cares about is finding Breakdown’s corpse and giving him a proper burial. But problem after problem is thrown his way: Breakdown’s body is gone, not getting along with the Autobots…what else could go wrong?

In a few days, I will be going into a long, very detailed ramble about this fic, basically an excuse to gush over my fic! I will go over: My motivation for the fic, small details about the fic (e.g. amount of chapters and alternate titles for the fic and chapters—there were so many), going over the plot (e.g. highlighting my favorite parts and if there were any specific references), characterizations (e.g. in terms of who was fun to write, who was scary to write, and who I wish I wrote more of OH and also listing my silly headcanons), and dynamics between characters (specifically with Knockout to others, as this is a Knockout-centric fic).

Yes!

I remember pitching an idea of an RWBY x Transformers Prime

"Do you understand anything he’s saying?" Sally whispered, tugging on her twin brother Michael's sleeve. They were both twelve, and far too used to strange encounters with alien robots, but this was a new level of perplexing.

Michael squinted up at the furious red medic, whose faceplate seemed to be contorted in an expression of pure, unadulterated rage. "I’m pretty sure he said 'bacon' a few minutes ago," Michael mumbled back, his brow furrowing. "Not what bacon has to do with anything, though."

Knockout, who had paused his tirade only to glare at them, seemed to pick up on their conversation. His optics narrowed. “Bacon? Bacon?!” he roared, switching suddenly to English, the sound vibrating through their chests. “You think this is about your ultra-processed animal fat strips?!”

Sally recoiled slightly. "Ew."

"Well, I think I’m done with bacon for a while," Michael added, looking genuinely horrified by Knockout’s description.

Knockout’s optic started to twitch, or at least, the plates around it seemed to strain in a way that mimicked a human twitch. By the Allspark, he thought, humans had to be the most infuriatingly stubborn species in the universe. He had just finished an impassioned, carefully articulated condemnation of their reckless decision to contact him – a decision that jeopardized not only their lives but the fragile, hidden existences of two other human children – and all they took away from it was a culinary revelation about breakfast meat.

Michael, ever the keen observer, then pointed a finger towards the splintered remains of their mailbox, currently residing in what appeared to be their neighbor’s rose bushes, two houses down. "You probably kicked our mailbox into another state when you first started your rant, you know."

Knockout scoffed. “What does it matter?!”

"It doesn’t, it’s just," Sally began, rubbing her arm, "Mom and Dad are going to be back soon, and they are going to wonder what happened to the mailbox."

"Yeah," Michael chimed in, stepping closer to Sally. "And if they find out it was you, Mom’s probably going to go out and get a gun." He didn't sound particularly scared, more like he was stating a simple fact. Their mother had made similar threats before, after her terrifying encounter with Airachnid and her initial face-to-face meeting with Knockout and Breakdown.

Knockout rolled his optics, a deep, exasperated rumble echoing from his chassis. As if human firearms could do any harm to a Cybertronian. He truly despaired.

"And then she’s probably going to call the police, the military, the National Guard, the UN and maybe even NASA," Sally continued, listing them off with a practiced air.

"Not to mention that Agent Fowler guy," Michael added.

The mention of Fowler brought a flicker of genuine concern to Knockout’s optics. The children’s parents knew just enough to be dangerous, and Fowler, for all his sternness, was the kids’ best human link to the Autobots. But a larger, more immediate threat gnawed at him. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, ominous growl that sent a shiver down their spines despite themselves. “Do you want your two human friends to be Megatron’s newest victims? Do you want to be on the wrong end of a fusion cannon? Because that is precisely what will happen if you continue to involve yourselves with us.”

The two froze. Jessie and Mickie. The names hung in the air, heavy with unspoken weight. They had been on the missing children’s list in Japan (Jessie) and Canada (Mickie) for months now, disappeared from a world that assumed the mundane when the truth was far, far worse. Sally, whose past partnership with Knockout had made her privy to more of the Decepticon inner workings than Michael had with Breakdown, felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach.

"Are they… okay?" Sally's voice was barely a whisper.

Knockout’s expression softened, infinitesimally, for a fraction of a second. “They are alive,” he conceded, the words sounding grudging, as if dragged from him. Then his face hardened again, the red optics boring into them. “But if Megatron finds out I have been with you, if he learns of our… past association, not only will he kill Jessie and Mickie, he will kill you, Sally. He will kill you, Michael. He will kill your parents, and he will kill everyone you know. And he will enjoy it.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the distant squawking of gulls. Sally and Michael stared at the ground, the reality of Megatron’s ruthlessness, a reality they knew firsthand, pressing down on them. Knockout’s warning, though harsh, came from a place of genuine, albeit conflicted, concern.

Suddenly, with an explosion of shattered glass and splintered wood, Dither, Doc Greene’s perpetually malfunctioning helper bot, burst through the kitchen window in a cloud of glass shards, clutching the Johnsons' toaster in his mechanical claws.

“Toast? Toast?” Dither chirped, his singular optic blinking erratically.

All three of them – Sally, Michael, and the towering Decepticon medic – just stared, completely dumbfounded. Once again, stuff like this never used to happen in Nevada.

“Toast?” Dither asked again, tilting his head.

"No thank you?" Sally ventured, her voice laced with utter bewilderment.

“TOAST!!!” Dither shrieked, then zipped out through their back fence, leaving a perfectly Dither-shaped hole in the picket wood.

Complete silence descended once more, but this time it was a silence born of sheer, exhausted disbelief. Sally’s mouth hung open. She would never understand this town, and coming from a kid who spent the last eight months hanging out with giant alien robots, that was saying something.

"Did he just steal our toaster?" Michael asked, a faint giggle of hysteria bubbling up from deep within.

Knockout looked like his processor was ready to blow a fuse, or several fuses. His optical sensors whirred, attempting to process the sudden, nonsensical event. What exactly was it that Megatron saw in this Primus-forsaken planet? he asked himself, not for the first time. Nothing seemed worth dealing with the seemingly endless insanity humanity was capable of, let alone the particular brand of chaos unique to this bizarre island.

Before any of them could react further, a siren wailed, growing rapidly louder. Chase and Chief Burns’ police cruiser, lights flashing, sped past their house, hot on the trail of the runaway toaster thief. “You will be compensated for any damages, young citizens!” Chase’s synthesized robot voice boomed from the car’s loudspeakers as they disappeared around the corner.

Close behind them, a fire truck, an ambulance, and a bulldozer, all with their sirens blaring and piloted by the rest of the Burns family – Heatwave, Blades, and Boulder – flashed by, a blur of red, white, and orange. The whole Rescue Bot team, plus their human partners, joining the chase for a toaster.

The twins just stared. Michael even slapped himself lightly on the cheek to see if he was awake. "This town is so weird," he muttered, shaking his head.

"I want to lie down," Sally sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. They wondered if Agent Fowler hadn't just moved them here for their safety, but as some kind of elaborate punishment for being friends with Decepticons in the first place.

"On the bright side," Michael offered, a sudden, conspiratorial grin spreading across his face, "maybe we can tell Mom and Dad the toaster bot took the mailbox."