k666-ya

Latest Posts by k666-ya

Ashes of Cybertron

Hi hey helloo, haven't posted on here in forever but it's wtv. This is a little project of mine that I'm working on (essentially what it is, is a rewrite/fan continuity inspired by the Aligned continuity). I haven't written anything for this in quite a while but wanted to share the first chapter anyways :D Chapter warnings include character injury, allusions to violence, potential derealization/dissociation (i think) Word count: 2781

There was a ringing in his audials. 

An uncomfortable feeling encompassed his entire body, his chassis feeling uncomfortably tight. It didn’t make sense, though. He shouldn’t be feeling like the world has collapsed on him, pressing down against his chestplates and rendering his legs useless. 

A shouting voice broke through the static in his audials, and Orion groaned soundlessly in pain. It ached, and his overwhelmed processor couldn’t handle that much more. An agonizing feeling made itself known right at the base of his spinal strut, spreading through his hydraulics and hip joints. It forced out another groan, this one louder and at a higher pitch than his previous cry. 

Someone must’ve heard it, as urgent steps made their way over to him. He still couldn’t get his optics to focus on anything, everything in his sight was blurry. A servo entered his field of vision, brushing lightly over his cheek. “-ime? Can you.. –ar me?” The voice cut in and out through the haze in his audials. Orion gave a nod, so small he worried the bot wouldn’t see it. It seemed that they did, if the relieved sigh was anything to go by. “Can you move? Wait no, that’s a dumb question to ask since you’re technically still pinned down. Unless your legs aren't in as bad of a shape as they look? But that would be dumb, and would surely land one of us a scolding by the medics. Apologies–” The bot cut themselves off as they noticed Orion’s growing panic.

“Hey, hey calm down. You’re fine, I promise. It’s just a support pillar that had crumbled over your legs, but it hasn’t done any extensive damage from what I’ve checked, I did try to remove most of the debris that had fallen over you. Ratchet’s going to fix you right up, as soon as we get out of here.” It did little to soothe the anxiety gnawing at Orion’s spark, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless. 

The ground shook suddenly, dust falling from the damaged ceiling above them. Orion bit back another sound of pain at the vibrations making their way through his injured frame. The bot who he now could see more clearly, was crouched down in front of him, the Elite Guard insignia visible on their chestplates. Oh, right, he was supposed to meet with them and the Council to discuss something regarding—

Wait, the Council! Frag, how could he have forgotten?! 

“Uh, Sir? Forgive me if I appear out of line, but is everything alright? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” The youngling muttered carefully, afraid to cross some boundary Orion hadn't set. He coughed as he reset his vocalizer. “Yes, my apologies. What exactly happened?” Orion croaked out, watching with growing apprehension as the mech’s faceplates shifted into a frown. “You don’t remember, sir? We were ambushed by the Decepticons during the meeting with the High Council.” They paused as they glanced over at Orion with something unreadable in their optics.

“We managed to move you out of the building before any major damage had been inflicted upon the Citadel, but unfortunately the Primal Basilica was also under heavy fire. We’re currently waiting for reinforcements to ensure we can get you to safety.” Orion offlined his optics for a moment, collecting his shambled thoughts before glancing at the mech again. “Alright, thank you…” He trailed off, realizing he didn’t even know the scout’s name.

The youngling seemed to realize the same thing, as they suddenly perked up with giddy embarrassment. “Oh, right! The name’s Windsweeper, sir! I was one of the guards who was assigned to escort you to Polyhex about three orbital cycles from now.” 

“Well, thank you, Windsweeper. For keeping me company and ensuring I am alright.” Orion said with all the gentle affection he could muster at the moment, noticing how the cadet puffed up in delight from his words. “Of course, sir! Just doing my job.” They laughed, wings flicking with mild embarrassment at being acknowledged. They halted as their comms beeped, signaling an incoming message. “I’m sorry, one moment.” They hastily muttered before opening up the comm link. 

Orion listened with mild interest as the scout spoke, figuring out that the reinforcements were almost there. At least that is how it appeared to be until Windsweeper cursed, the static audible even to Orion’s audials. The youngling didn’t say anything to him after the link was closed again, seeming rather interested in the floor before their pedes. The ground rumbled again, this time with the ceiling shaking dangerously, the slightest bits of debris falling around and on them. 

“Slag–” Windsweeper cursed again, a servo brushing off the bits that had fallen on their shoulder pauldrons. “The others are here in just a few moments, I’m sure of it. We’ll get you out and patched up, Prime.”

Orion could only hope so, as the world started fading into black. ______________________________________________________________

Angry steps thundered through the hallway, followed by the sound of sprinting.

“Megatronus! Please, can’t we talk about this?” The clerk shouted pleadingly, chasing after his friend. He stared at the broad back turned to him, now having come to a stop as Orion heaved. “What is there to talk about, Optimus?” the gladiator all but growled, blazing red optics glaring at the archivist over his shoulder. “Would you prefer to talk about how you set out to usurp the title of Prime from me, or rather of how you used me for your gain?” 

“I didn’t want this title, Megatron, nor did I usurp it from you! I didn’t use you just get a chance to speak with the Council, I simply don’t believe that you had the right approach–”

Orion grunted as he was slammed into the wall, a giant servo on his chest pinning him down. Megatron loomed over him, optics lit aflame with fury. “I didn’t have the right approach?! The Council wouldn’t have heeded my words otherwise! I haven’t risked my life, my existence, for this cause simply for you to tell me I should have approached the Council differently.” His words were vehement, almost dripping with the saturated rage that was all the more present in Megatron’s voice. 

“The Council would not have listened had I not threatened them. The Senators would simply look down upon me and my brothers as vermin. The Gladiators of Kaon, lowest of the low. I had to get my point across, be it through protests or a call for action,” he continued, now having eased the pressure on Orion’s chestplates. but still adamant about not letting the archivist go. “And you, brother, should’ve been the one to encourage me the most.”

The gladiator dropped down to his knees in front of the new Prime, looking up at the wide optics right above him. The shattered look in them made him want to tuck the smaller mech against his frame in protection, to ensure no hurt would befall his beloved. But the rage he felt was stamping the protective protocols down into submission.

He reached out to Orion who, after a moment’s hesitation, held the offered servo in his. “Dearspark,” Megatron began. “You betrayed me today. You betrayed us all. You know as well as I do that peace has no place in a revolution and Cybertron does need a revolution.” The wide optics widened further, emphasizing the hurt the Prime felt, before narrowing in uneasiness. 

“No. No, Megatron, you betray yourself. You talk of war, of violence as if it is justice. You would have this planet tear itself apart, and then you could reshape it as you see fit.” The archivist rose up to his full height, sudden and fierce determination blazing in his optics with a ferocity Megatron has come to admire. “You have always told me that freedom is the right of all sentient beings, but what you seek is tyranny. I believe you want the best for Cybertron, I really do, but there is no peace through tyranny. There will only be misery, resentment and heartbreak as the result of your ways. I cannot allow that. I cannot.”

With anger so unusual for the usually timid clerk, Orion pulled himself out of Megatron’s hold. He cradled the gladiator’s helm in his palms, helmcrest leaning against the gladiator. Megatron was caught in the righteous fury that had only ever been directed towards their opposition. Until now.

“I always vowed that I would follow you to the ends of the universe, my dearest spark, but I cannot do that if violence is the only language you are willing to speak. I cannot allow you to lead our planet down that path, I’m sorry.”

The Prime sighed, a shaky and watery sound. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, in-vents just a bit too unsteady. Pressed close to the Prime like this, Megatron could see the coolant pooling in those captivating optics. “I'm so sorry,” Orion whispered, so sincere and honest. His servos shook minutely from where they were holding Megatron’s helm. That same touch would soon be turned into a vicious, cold bite of an enemy if Megatron couldn't convince him.  

He wishes he could say it isn't the archivist's fault that they have come to this, but he can't bring himself to lie. Orion betrayed their cause the moment that he was granted the title of Prime, and the moment that he reluctantly accepted it. The closest a Cybertronian can come to Primus, their Creator. A symbol of hope, prosperity and peace. The Lifegiver, in some versions of ancient texts. The title which was supposed to be Megatron’s.

“I know.” The Champion settles for instead, equally as quiet as the Prime's apology. “It isn't too late for you to join me. We could still achieve our goal, and thus fight for the same cause. Although I assume it isn't likely. You'll return to your Autobots just as I will return to my Decepticons.” 

The Prime nodded. “You are right to assume that. It seems as though our cause has split into two, just like the followers of what we believe in. I cannot allow violence to guide those who follow me. That is what sets us apart, Megatron.” The coolant spilled over, silently making its way down the silver faceplates. Clawed servos wiped the tears away with surprising gentleness, and the Prime leaned into the offered touch. “I wish it did not have to turn out this way.” Orion muttered, optics dimming with sorrow. Megatron felt his expression twist into a similar state of regret and sadness as Orion's. He sighed, before standing up from his crouched position. 

The brief panic that flickered across Orion’s face didn't go unnoticed by the gladiator, but he found it best not to say anything. Instead he drew the archivist into a fierce embrace, tucking the slighter frame against his chassis as his servos settled around the mech's waist. Orion immediately tucked himself closer, grasping almost desperately at the plated armor on his back with his helm resting against a spiked shoulder pauldron. 

“Can I spend this night cycle with you? Just.. one more time, before all of this ends up bigger than us both. Will you allow me that?” 

The gladiator isn't surprised at the question. His spark cries out, pleads for him to say yes. He wants to decline, oh how he wants to say no. But he can't bring himself to crush the already shattered bond between them any further. “Yes, of course. I doubt it would do us any good to spend it apart.” He mutters against the blue helm, cradling the archivist, memorizing the feel of the slighter frame in his embrace before it too will turn to something from a previous life.

“Thank you.” Orion whispers against his chest, right above his spark chamber. He pretends he can't feel the coolant dripping onto his chassis, just like how the clerk pretends he doesn't hear the hitched breaths next to his audial. 

Pressing himself closer– as close as he can, Orion lets himself melt into the comforting hold of his lover. 

–because he knows this is the last time they'll hold each other. No matter the outcome, they will go their separate ways. No matter the outcome, they will not let themselves linger a moment longer than necessary.

“I love you, more than anything. I always will.” The Prime admits against the broad chest. He hears the gladiator suppress his sniffles and reset his vocalizer before answering.

“I love you too, my dearest. Through this life and the next.”

______________________________________________________________

“Orion, are you absolutely certain you’re up for it?”

Orion had to hold himself back from snapping at Ratchet. He knew the medic meant well, and that he was simply concerned whether or not Orion could handle the sudden meeting he had been called to attend, especially how things had turned out the last time he had anything to do with the Council. But this was his duty now, as Prime.

Prime. 

The title still felt more like a verdict rather than something he had achieved, and he knew others didn’t take his position seriously. He had seen the way the Senators had looked at him, all calculating and trying to figure out how a mech like him of all bots had been granted the title. He was but a mere archivist working under Alpha Trion, who was the only bot Orion could consider a tie to the political part of Cybertron’s society.

So was Megatronus, a treacherous part of him chided. Before the meeting with the High Council, when their worries were simply of the Gild and their approach to the rallying lower castes. 

“I’m certain, Ratchet. I have to be present. As the Prime, it’s a part of my duty to ensure we have the ties we need if we wish to meet the demands of the Decepticons. It would also assure our troops that Iacon isn’t the only major city under Autobot command.” Orion remarked kindly, watching fondly as Ratchet scurried around in the medbay. “Yes, yes of course. I’m not diminishing your duty as Prime, but still, you can’t blame an old bot for being concerned.” The medic chimed, waving the wrench in his hand as he spoke. “You make it sound as if you’re ancient.” The Prime chuckled, smiling brightly at Ratchet. 

“Well looking after you certainly does feel like looking after a sparkling, on occasion. I’m bound to feel old because of you.” Ratched snarked playfully, swatting the back of the Prime’s helm. Orion laughed before gasping in mock offense. “You dare speak of your Prime in such a manner? Aren’t you crude?” He could barely get the words out without erupting into a fit of giggles, made even worse with Ratchet swatting at him again. 

He swung his arms at the medic, trying to push him away to little avail. Ratchet gave an affectionate pat to his helm before stepping away  allowing the Prime to calm down. He coughed suddenly, embarrassment tangible in his field. Orion just smiled, and let himself lean back on his hands against one of the med berths. 

Even with the little moment that eased the tightness in Orion’s spark, his thoughts still drifted to the upcoming meeting. It would be the first one he’d attend as Prime, and the worry that something would go awry was gnawing at his processor again. The Prime didn’t realize his field had communicated his anxieties so openly until the medic stepped close again, this time with a worried glint in his gaze. 

“What’s on your mind, kid? Something’s worrying you.”

Orion frowned, finials drooping slightly. “I– I'm just worried over the meeting. There is something that feels… off about it.” He sighed, flicking his finials in annoyance. Ratchet hummed, offering wordless reassurance to Orion. Reaching into his subspace, the Prime pulled out one of the datapads containing what would be discussed with the Senators and Commander of the Elite Guard. 

Well, better get to reading, Orion supposed.

______________________________________________________________

“–frag, someone get him stable, now!”

“–losing more energon than we tho–”

A multitude of voices were yelling, but he couldn’t remember why. The lights overhead flickered in a way that left Orion’s processor spinning. They winked at him, beckoning him to succumb to the ache in his frame.

“Prime? Slag, someone give me the energon drip–”

A consistent beeping was heard from somewhere to his left, but it only amplified the cacophony in his audials. The lights winked at him again, almost like the stars whispering ‘come home, child of Primus’. 

That’s the last thought that made its way through Orion’s head before he succumbed to the darkness.

(The Ao3 link is available here in case anyone's interested :D)

Oh, simple thing

A little ficlet about some h/c terzomega after a ritual. Unedited and written on mobile :)

Tw for slight mentions of child abuse, nothing graphic

800+ words

The ending of every ritual is something Terzo never looked forward to.

Being out there on stage with his ghouls, seeing all of their devoted fans and being able to forget about being Papa Emeritus, when he could simply be Terzo, was something that made his heart ache whenever it had to end. It was freeing in a way he never had gotten to experience growing up, to simply forget about all of his worries and just enjoy being in the moment.

His vestments were sticking uncomfortably to his back due to sweat and his face felt feverish underneath his facepaint, but Terzo didn’t care about that. All he wanted to do currently was to get back to the hotel, light a cigarette and to just let himself bask in the afterglow of the concert. 

The walk to the bus and the ride back to the hotel was a haze, and Terzo was quickly stumbling down the hall to his hotel room, eager to shed the many layers he wore. Usually they didn’t bother him all too much after rituals, but the feeling of sweat-soaked clothes starting to cool down was not the kindest to his sensory issues. He fumbled slightly with the roomkey before unlocking the door, closing it behind him in a haste as he scrambled for the bathroom.

He leaned heavily against the porcelain sink, the lights flickering momentarily as they turned on. Terzo was met with his rugged reflection, and couldn’t stop the churning in his gut even if he wanted to. He looked even more disheveled than normal, and the agonized look in his eyes only increased the disgust building in his chest. 

The stark contrast between his raven black hair and the white skull paint only served as a harsh reminder of the person he despised the most. Terzo hated how similar he looked to his father, the similarities sometimes making it difficult to distinguish who exactly was staring back at him. He feared that one day he wouldn't be able to find a difference in his paint and the one his father wore, unconsciously turning more into the man that plagued his life ever since his birth.

Terzo reached angrily for the makeup wipes and began harshly scrubbing his face, desperately wanting to just get the damn paint off and not have to worry about it. His skin stung as if he'd been backhanded (He cradled his cheek as carefully as he could, biting back tears as Father continued to scream in his office, and Terzo wished he could curl up and hide in the shadows so that maybe Father would forget he ever existed.)  and Terzo felt the sudden onslaught of tears.

A shuddering breath left his lips as the first tears ran down his cheeks, and Terzo gripped the sink again to not collapse, suddenly feeling like the world was tilted on its axis as he fought to get his breathing under control.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his spiraling thoughts, and Terzo glanced up as Omega walked into the bathroom. The ghoul had removed their mask and jacket, and was clad in their dress pants and a simple tank top 

 "Cuore mio, what's wrong?" The question is murmured into his hair as Omega gently hugs him from behind, arms wrapped protectively around his waist as they place a gentle kiss to his neck. Terzo lets out a silent sob, not daring to speak aloud the things weighing down his mind at the moment. 

Omega doesn't force him either, they let him cry as long he needs to, cradling him with such carefulness it makes his heart twist painfully. He feels undeserving of their soft affection, of the simplicity in the way they show how much they love him. Terzo doesn't speak this out loud, Omega already knows.

At some point Terzo has turned around and buried his face into Omega's chest, clinging to them like they're the only thing keeping him afloat amidst all his turmoil. Terzo supposes it's not too far off from the truth. A clawed hand runs through his hair soothingly, a low rumble audible beneath his ear from where it rests on Omega's chest.

Eventually Terzo's sobs are reduced down to sniffles and the occasional hiccup, and when the tears finally stop he lets himself melt against Omega's larger body. "Mi dispiace, Omega. I did not mean for all this to happen. " 

"Nonsense, Papa. I don't mind." Terzo knows they don't, but he can't help but apologize. A gentle hand touches his cheek, cupping his face and urging him to look upwards. Omega kissed his forehead where the skin is reddened, and reaches for the package of makeup wipes. "Let's get this cleaned up, okay? There are warm clothes and food waiting in case you are hungry," Omega murmurs as they begin to wipe off Terzo's paint as tenderly as they can. 

He nods slightly, closing his eyes and letting out a quiet sigh. He's exhausted and wrung dry after his breakdown, and Terzo wishes to just lay down with Omega and forget the world that exist outside the door to their room. 

Omega hums quietly as they wipe off his makeup, and Terzo realizes they're humming 'He Is'. It makes a small smile appear om his face, letting himself sink into the warm of their voice and the gentle notes rocking him deeper into a sense of calm. "There we go, let's get you out of those clothes, shall we?" Omega asks after a little while, stroking their thumb over the apple of Terzo's cheek as he leans into their touch. "Si. Thank you, Caro."

They smile in reply before leading him out of the bathroom, making their way to the bed as they urge him to sit down. He complies, and lets Omega assist him in taking off his vestments. They're slow as they take off his jacket and undershirt, mindful of the scars on his shoulders as they get the dirty clothes off of him.

Once he's in his pajamas, Terzo slumps against Omega who has shifted to sit on the bed. He lets out another sigh, curling into their side as their arm drapes over his form comfortingly. "Do you wish to eat  before resting, or shall we send for Ifrit to have breakfast already prepared for tomorrow?" Omega questions as they move to lay down, cradling Terzo close to their chest as he wraps his arms around them. "Mm, I wish to just rest currently, my ghoul. Let's ask Ifrit tomorrow, okie dokie?"

Omega chuckles lightly before kissing the crown of his head, purring as they settle against the pillows. "Right, tomorrow it is. Goodnight cuore mio, may you rest well." 

Teroz yawns as he nuzzles into Omega's chest, mumbling out in broken Ghoulish, "I love you." 

He's already asleep before he can hear Omega's reply, swept away into a soft nothingness in the arms of his love. 

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milo / miles | minor | any pronouns ^__^

artist n editor , I write occasionally!!

rgbtrio and aimsey enjoyer :]

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