Hi! Here is my new Transformers story, Not Alone!
Also, apologies for not updating in forever. So here's an apology piece (kind of).
Title: Not Alone.
Rating: M. (To be safe)
Summary: Some believe that they are alone in a cold and cruel world, that there is nothing that could ever provide them solace or relief. But that is not true. There is always someone there, someone with that one shoulder they can lean on. All they have to do is let go and search for it. For their souls will forever be tormented without it.
Characters: Mirage, Nightwish (OC), Whiteblade (OC), Redwing (OC), Jazz, Prowl
Pairings: Mirage/Nightwish (OC), Whiteblade/Redwing (OCs), Jazz/Prowl
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Warnings: None at the moment. I have, however, decided to take a different take on the Autobots who were former Decepticons, as you will see in the first story. In "Despair," Mirage is a defector much like Drift, and his former Decepticon name is Whiteshadow.
Notes: Multiple pairings. Set in a slight AU of my stories "A Spark in the Darkness," "Nameless," and "New Member." With some random stuff thrown in here and there, as well. Just stuff...Also, this is a collection of multiple stories. Each chapter is an individual story and will not connect in any way with the other chapters, aside from the occasional reference.
List of Stories: Despair, Relief, Torment, Pride, Hunger, Revenge
Cybertronian Units of Time As I Use Them:
Breem: Minute
Joor: Hour
Solar Cycle/Orn: Day
Stellar Cycle: Night
Quartex: Week
Vorn: Year or Century
Despair
It has to be emphasized that if the pain were readily describable most of the countless sufferers from this ancient affliction would have been to confidently depict for their friends and loved ones...some of the actual dimensions of their torment, and perhaps elicit a comprehension that has been generally lacking; such incomprehension has usually been due not to a failure of sympathy but to the basic inability of healthy people to imagine a form of torment so alien to everyday experience. ~William Sytron, "Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness."
...
For a torture to be effective, the pain has to be spread out; it has to come at regular intervals, with no end in sight. The water falls , drop after drop after drop, like the second hand of a watch, carving up time. The shock of each individual drop is insignificant, but the sensation is impossible to ignore. At first, one might manage to think about other things, but after five hours, after ten hours, it becomes unendurable. The repeated stimulation excites the nerves to a point where they literally explode, and every sensation in the body is absorbed into that one spot on the forehead-indeed, you come to feel that you are nothing but a forehead, into which a fine needle is being forced millimeter by millimeter. You can't sleep or even speak, hypnotized by a suffering that is greater than any mere pain. In general, the victim goes mad before a day has passed. Yōko Ogawa, "Revenge."
The night was cool and dark, as expected. A soft wind blew, moaning as it lapped at the edges of any being, whether alive or inanimate, in its way.
A chill settled its way into his inner workings, making any movement stiff and uncoordinated. It was not something he was used to, and it only irritated him even further. This new base held nothing that appealed to him, and he knew that its occupants found nothing appealing about him in any way.
The large, unearthly rock known as the moon of the earth loomed above him, an ever-watchful eye scrutinizing his every movement. The thought of such a monstrous yet inanimate being keeping him beneath the thumb of unrelenting surveillance nearly made him laugh.
At least the illuminated rock had enough sense to give him a bit of privacy.
Running around chasing hearts
Chasing bodies to fix the parts
He knew he was not trusted, not in the slightest, by anyone. Yes, he was trusted by no one at all. They all murmured warnings and phrases wrapped in poisonous and velvety deceit whenever he passed them, not caring for his own feelings, something they seemed to believe he did not have despite his cold and distant exterior appearance. They mocked his every action, whether it held beneficial or ill intent, somewhat desperately holding onto the horror that was his gruesome past.
To anyone who did not know him, or his past, in this case, they would be curious about him the moment they first laid optics on him. He was tall and slim for a mech, with sleek white armor with large and powerful wings embellished with red and black decals. He moved with a haunted sort of grace, never making a sound and startling enough mechs and femmes with his appearance so much that they often unsheathed their weapons and spewed forth a stream of curses so vicious that even the cruelest Decepticon would become uncomfortable with it.
However, that was not what made most mechs and femmes ill at ease around him.
He had not bothered to change the color of his optics.
I don't know how I reached this place
They were spark-stopping and distant, devoid of all of the unnecessary troubles known as emotions. Containing no pupils, it was almost constantly a hassle to try and figure out where the mysterious mech was looking, unless he was directly speaking -a rare and outlandish sight indeed- to someone who dared to approach him or had his helm turned in their direction.
His optics were crimson.
And he knew they pierced their sparks with the blade of everlasting terror.
He never understood how those around him could be so expressive with just their blue-tinted gazes. It did not matter if they had crystal optical visors or complete facial ones that covered all except their optics. There was always some sort of puzzling emotion that was churning within their depths, something that hinted at storm or cloud of contentedness swirling around inside of them.
So far from heaven, so far from grace
His gaze held no emotion.
His gaze was not expressive in the slightest.
He just could not understand why he was hated for it.
Am I wrong to give in to the pressure?
Yes, his past was gruesome. There was no denying that he had slaughtered his fair share of Cybertronians during that horrid time, enough to be comparable to the amounts that the faceless and dark cassette master and to his tyrant master.
But he was changed now. Why could they not accept that?
'Cause I feel like this city's got the better of me
Keeping everything inside of him like this could not be beneficial for his health in any way whatsoever, that he knew, and he knew that he needed someone to converse with in order to relieve his soul of the venomous and unrelenting, violent beast that engorged itself on the flesh of his mind so violently.
Every mech and femme on this base had scheduled appointments with the psychologist.
Everyone except him.
Why, would someone ask?
It was because he was a wretched, foul, ugly, disgusting excuse for a mech that would never amount to anything other than cold-blooded homicide and other unspeakable horrors.
Oh, this casual love isn't what it seems
He bit back a groan of pain as the aching in his spark roared, momentarily making his processor swim with a sudden and unrelenting current of static. Oh, how he just wished to rest and just be left alone...why could they not just leave him alone?
His tanks churned uncomfortably and he winced, almost imperceptibly, shuttering his optics against the pain as his protesting and weakened body threw warning after warning at him. He could not stand the enraged and horrified stares he received whenever he went to the recreation room for his daily Energon, and as a result he had merely stopped going altogether, saving what little lowgrade he had in his barely used berthroom to replenish his stores when the gnawing pain became too much for him to handle.
He had no more of the liquid energy, and he was not going to head inside and retrieve more. It was not like anyone cared if he keeled over and went into stasis-lock from low Energon storage. They all just probably wanted him to die cold and alone, anyways.
And I try to imagine something closer
And somebody who is good for me
Momentarily golden optics onlined dimly, powerful wings twitching on his back as he stared forlornly out at the quiet and moonlit world beneath him. Such wonder and such terror all wrapped into one measly organic planet, and the only thing the dominant race could do with it was destroy and build and suck the poor and defenseless planet dry of its rich and plentiful resources.
The moon seemed to soften her glare as the enormous winged mech seated below her pressed his mouthplates together, his chassis was racked by a violent sob. He relented beneath the force of emotions pressing down on him, and he felt no regret in the tears that appeared. It was not like anyone wanted to be near him in the first place...
A shudder ran through his frame, and his ferocious scowl exposed his fangs. He forced his suddenly unresponsive body to allow him to rise to his pedes, and as he did so, his frame swayed and black darted in and out of his vision as his sensors strained and attempted to adapt to the sudden movement.
I'm so tired of all this searching
Do I, do I, do I, do I?
The rage and despair burning inside of his spark writhed and laughed in sadistic glee, and his electromagnetic field warped and flared throughout the empty and rock-covered area. His claws flexed and his armor flared, the tremors racking his frame increasing in brutality. Why? Why did everyone hate him so? He tried to change, he had changed, but no one seemed to want to accept that. He was useless, unwanted...a disgusting faction-changer that would never have a spark or any type of emotion.
Go home to nothing or stay out for more?
With a shaking servo, he unsheathed his sword. The massive blade glinted in the colorless light of the moon, giving it a haunted sort of luminescence. Its handle, engraved with many ancient sayings of power and fate and acceptance, things that were all but inconsequential now, fit exactly into the taloned grip of his palm. He knew, by his current actions, that his sensei would have been furious...
Give into someone or lock down my door?
His sensei...
The elderly mech that he had murdered with his own hands, without a weapon, without remorse. The one he had terminated so brutally, with a dark and twisted sense of humor cloaking him as he watched the aged mech wither away...
His throat constricted, and he found it suddenly difficult to cycle air throughout his rapidly overheating frame.
He could remember it oh so clearly, remember how he had savored his screams and the disgustingly disappointed look he had received as he had consumed his spark whole right before his very optics...
His claws tore through the sensitive metal of his palms, and his spark and tanks wrenched in excruciating agony. With a strut-shaking and spark-stopping roar, the blade rose and lingered in the air, as if deciding whether to offline its owner or the nearest unlucky soul. His emotions battled, and his homicidal urges reared their ugly heads once more. Just one more, just one more before he gave in to the eternal darkness...
Or drown all my shadows, drown them like before?
He gave a rumbling snarl, and with a hoarse exvent the blade sunk deep into the ground.
I'm drowning shadows once more
He fell to his knees, chassis racked by violent and heaving sobs. He could not, he just could not...no, no, no. Why? Why? What made it so hard for these idiots to understand? The tears streamed in unrelenting rivers, but he could care less. No one would ever care...
The more I drink, the more I drown
"Mirage?"
The swordsmech trembled, biting down on his mouthplates and not caring as his fangs -there it was, another reason for them to hate him- tore through the soft and thin metal. His tanks lurched once more as the hot Energon trickled into his mouth, and he bit back a disgusting heave even as his poisoned glossa savored the taste of his own blood. Even if he had purged, there would be nothing to come up.
If I'm not thinking, I won't get down
He was empty.
He was cold.
He was devoid of everything.
The more I rise above it all
The sudden thought came to him, so random in such a time of suffering. He knew he looked absolutely horrible, but there was no one to care, no one to care for him or about him.
In the end he found that it was useless to care for anything at all.
The less I care about the fall
A cool servo rested against his shivering frame, running over his armor in smooth circles, a futile attempt at comfort. He buried his helm in his crossed servos, drawing long and slender legs closer to his ice-cold frame. There it was...his body temperature, the myths of being undead, the Cybertronian equivalent of the human monster known as a vampire...if anything, it was true, with his recently restrained bloodlust and his homicidal urges that told him to attack them all and leave not a single trace behind...
Am I wrong to give into the pressure?
'Cause I feel like this city's got the better of me
Oh, this casual love isn't what it seems
Energon trickled from his mouth as his fangs dug deeper into the thin metal, slicing with an unrelenting ease to have the dark and silvery lifeblood rise to the surface. He must have looked feral, for all he knew...they would blame him for that, too.
And I try to imagine something closer
And somebody who is good for me
"Mirage." There it was again.
That soft and rumbling, sweet voice.
I'm so tired of all this searching
Do I, do I, do I, do I?
It was the Seeker femme, the one nearly as large as him. The one with the scarred wings and the thick Kaonian hybrid accent and the black and purple armor. Why was she here? What could she possibly...?
Go home to nothing or stay out for more?
Give into someone or lock down my door?
No, no, no. She was here to torment him, like all the others did. Why, why, why?
He did nothing to deserve this kind of punishment.
Or drown all my shadows?
Drown them like before?
He had attempted to change and reform, yet they would not listen.
They would not leave him alone.
I'm drowning my shadows once more
Just leave me alone.
Alone and cold.
Suffering in the darkness of my soul.
Her spark twisted in sympathetic pain as she watched the lethal and graceful mech slowly lower himself into a sitting position on the cool rock cliff. She had been watching him for some time, not in a possessive sort of way, but just to use her presence to ward off the unrelenting tormentors of the mysterious mech.
She understood what he was going through. She knew what it felt like to be known as the outcast, the social pariah, the one who had a dangerous past that would rear back and tear one apart with a merciless maw...
She shook her helm, her wings twitching as black darted in and out of her vision. Stopping for a moment to lean against the nearest rock wall, she vented in and out, deeply. No, no, no. Now was not the time.
This was not about her.
Her optics flicked up to lock onto the ethereal frame of the dark mech.
This was about him.
She lingered in the shadows, keeping well out of his sensor range. It would do no good to be caught watching him, and she knew he would suspect her of being one of the idiotic and wary femmes who feared him and watched his every move for something that would make him become imprisoned for vorns. But she was well aware that the enigmatic mech rarely relied upon his sensors, instead using his own enhanced senses to locate anyone or to let him know when someone was pursuing him.
Her spark leaped as she examined the larger one. His back was to her, and his large wings, ones that could easily overpower her own, were lowered and nearly pressed against his back. The soft and pale rays of the mother moon reflected off of his flawless and pure white armor, wrapping his lean and powerful frame in a chilling sort of supernatural light. Had he been facing her, his emotionless and dark crimson optics would have been burning with the storm of emotions she knew he let overwhelm him whenever he was alone.
Her sensors flared and screamed as a primal roar shook the earth to its very foundations. Her gaze moved back to the ethereal mech. He had forced himself to his pedes and was currently wavering on them. She watched in morbid interest as his shaking servo rose and unsheathed his sword. There were even legends about the weapon, that it was an extremely rare Great Sword, able to connect to the spark energy of its owner to give both immense strength and endurance. The moonlight glinted off of the enormous blade, its glare carving into her optical sensors, almost enough to give her a helm ache.
The monster of a mech swayed, his armor flared from his frame and his engines rumbling audibly. The swordsmech was a rare triple changer, a fact that somehow made the others fear him even more, as if his multiple alternate modes would somehow play a hand in their demise.
She could hear his hoarse ventilations that hid themselves beneath his terrifying snarling, and she knew that if he was facing her that his optics would be alight with the primal rage and hunger that he was known for in his past. It would have been long before she had ever seen him face-to-face and when she had merely heard legends about the monster that both factions feared enough to stay out of his way when he was deployed into the field.
The supernatural mech froze suddenly, his wings rising high on his back as he turned slightly. His intakes were barely audible, and she became motionless as he turned and glared over his shoulder panel. His optics were dangerously bright, and his wings were fanning the air in slow and lethal movements; the bladed tips were all but glowing in the pale light as his claws extended to elongated points. She remained still and silent as he approached her hiding spot, his fangs extended and coated with his signature poison, the same toxin that had caused the everlasting agony for those who had dared to come into the path of the feral mech long before his defection...
But before she could even think of leaving to avoid detection, the looming white mech recoiled, hissing in pain as his chassis was racked by unrelenting tremors. He doubled over, violent coughing racking his lean and powerful frame. She winced in sympathetic pain, her wings flaring and lowering behind her as she watched the other regain his bearings after a moment.
She knew that he was dangerously low on fuel, enough so that he was extremely ill. She had seen the pain that flashed, if not for a brief moment, in his optics during missions. She had seen the aching grimace that appeared on his mouthplates as he wrapped an arm around his abdominal area, as if the aching was originating from that site. Some believed that he was carrying, and maybe it was true. She was finding it difficult to determine what she actually and truly believed.
But she knew that there were others that knew he was ill, and they did absolutely nothing to help him.
It was that realization that made her sick. The fact that a comrade was clearly suffering was one thing, but for them to just let him remain in agony...
There was a tugging sensation on her spark, and she forced herself not to be influenced by her emotions and forced them not to overwhelm her as she watched the enormous mech. He was handsome, and there was no doubt about it, but she knew that there could be no relationships during this time, none at all during this horrible time where a vicious and bloodthirsty tyrant reigned over everything with a merciless hand and sought to rid this world of the infestation known as the Autobots.
The swordsmech gave a weak groan, falling to his knees as the trembling started once more. He leaned heavily against his massive sword, which was now planted deep into the defenseless earth, his poisonous talons scoring the protective metal of the curved handle; the toxin that resided deep within the icy claws left long lacerations that would have any mech wince at the thought of having such a gruesome wound inflicted upon them. She could not help but hear the spark-wrenching sobs that escaped his vocalizer, and her wings twitched and fanned the air in barely veiled agitation.
Without a second thought, she rose and headed over silently to the grieving mech, reaching out with a gentle yet hesitant servo. Her servo was instantly chilled by the ghostly mech's extremely low chassis temperature as she rested her talons lightly against the smooth white metal that was the same shade as the omniscient moon above them. It was an action that was oh so light, comparable to that of the softest ventilation or the sweetest kiss...
She could not help but worry when the towering mech did not show any signs of knowing that she was there.
"Mirage?"
The ghostly mech froze, chassis still affected by those unnervingly brutal tremors even as his sobbing died down to slight and rasping ventilations.
The Seeker femme hesitated as she felt the white mech's powerful electromagnetic field brush against hers. It was full of raw and unrestrained emotion, from boiling rage to grief and despair so powerful that it would render even the strongest shocked and weakened by the onslaught of emotions.
She could not help but move back slightly as the large mech turned his helm to face her slightly. His faceplate was devoid of tears at the moment, and although their icy remains clung lifelessly to the smooth metal of his faceplates, there was not doubt that the mech was being tortured ruthlessly by the storm of emotions that roared above his head.
My apologies, Nightwish. His deep and resonating telepathic voice sounded in her processor, rumbling and cracked slightly at the edges by the harsh anguish that plagued him so mercilessly. I...was merely lost in my thoughts.
"You know as well as I that you are not speaking clearly." Her own accented voice tore through the silence, and to anyone passing by it would have given the impression that she was merely talking aloud and to herself. "Do you care to tell me what is on your processor?"
Her wings fanned the air as the leviathan of a mech growled, the noise echoing throughout the rocky mesa and through both of their chassis. She knew that had he been well, he would have most likely pinned her to the cold ground beneath them and placed his sword at her throat wiring, giving a haunted and demented detailing on how he was mere nanoseconds away from peeling her metal flesh from her body at a slow and agonizing pace.
She knew that he was suppressing that clear and taunting urge, however, as she watched him clench his servos into fists. The tremors that had racked his chassis made their appearance once more, unnervingly brutal, and the deep and echoing drone of his engines tore through the silence that covered the world. His mouthplates were pulled back to expose his glistening fangs, and his crimson optics burned with a fury that could match up to that of their insane tyrannical foe.
Watch your tone, femme. The wings of the ethereal mech rose to a threatening position on his back, reflecting the supernatural rays of the moon glowering above them. I am not in the mood to be toyed with.
Nightwish was quiet for a moment, her pale optics narrowing as her own wings hitched up in an aggressive movement. When she spoke, however, her voice was cold and devoid of all emotion. "I did not mean to insult you, swordsmaster. I am merely trying to start a conversation."
Mirage looked over at her, his optics, which were flickering between an almost heavenly shade of gold and a violent hue of crimson, dim in his exhaustion and sickness as he vented heavily. Pardon my tone, Seeker. I am not at ease this stellar cycle.
"Did you really have to tell me that?" The slim black Seeker flicked her wings down in a slight and irritated gesture. "I am not as blind as the others."
The former Decepticon let out a deep exvent, his wings falling and pressing against his back as he gave a slight shudder. Forgive me if I sound rude, but I do not need to be reminded.
There is no need for apologies. She used her telepathic voice to communicate, irritated with speaking aloud to the chilled air around them.
The wind moaned around them, writhing in the caressing hands of the light of the moon.
Crimson optics narrowed and flashed in the dim light as the enormous mech turned to look down at her. You are a telepath?
She gave a slight chuckle, flicking her wings. Obviously. She shifted, her pedes dangling over the cliff edge. How long have you been out here?
The elegant and feared mech shuttered his optics, drawing in a deep draft of icy air. While I was keeping track, I believe that I have been out here for a few Earth hours.
Nightwish shifted, stretching her wings and tracing her talons over the cool and smooth rock beneath her. You have missed the designated time for refuel, then, have you not? The recreation room will be locked down by now.
Mirage looked down at her, his optics darkening a few shades. I seem to find that during this time, my refuel has not been the least of my worries.
What has been occurring during this time, if I may ask? She was careful to keep her tone neutral and her thoughts blank, not wanting the strange defector to be able to retrieve her real reason for such an inquiry from deep within her mind. She was well aware, as well as the others within her current base, about the immensely powerful telepathy the other one had, and that even though he restrained the ability during most of the orn, he could still sense their thoughts and be able to discern what they were, whether they were a chaotic mess or not.
A slight shudder ran through the pure white mech, his armor flaring the slightest bit from his lean and powerful frame. Those are things that I do not favor speaking about, Seeker. The slightest flicker of pain and exhaustion appeared in his molten glare, and the faintest hint of an aching grimace flitted over his mouthplates. He turned away, his wings pressed against his backstrut as another bout of coughing wracked his lean frame.
My apologies, Nightwish. I... The lethal triple changer forced himself to his pedes suddenly, moving away from her as he wrapped his servos around his abdomen. His frame swayed precariously, and in an instant she was next to him, steadying him as his legs gave out beneath him.
You are unwell? Nightwish nearly lost her grip as the paint on her servos was charred immediately by the scorching heat radiating off of the huge mech. Worry reared its head as she could all but feel the fire roaring within him. Had he not been overwhelmingly cold mere moments ago?
Mirage gave a rumbling snarl, brutal tremors racking his powerful chassis. Release me at once, Seeker.
Her wings hitched up in barely restrained irritation. You do recall what you said about watching my tone? Her pale optics flashed with a violent and sinister light. I do believe that I am telling you that now.
The triple changer raised his wings, attempting to regain his sense of balance. Let go of me, Nightwish. I do not want to hurt you. He shuddered violently, armor and wings rising and falling in sporadic movements. My hunger and rage is rising, and I will not be able to restrain myself from attacking you should I succumb to my homicidal urges.
Hurt me? The enormous Seeker bit back a hoarse laugh. What could possibly you do to hurt me? She leaned closer as she bared her fangs and hissed at him. I was not always an Autobot, if you did not know.
Crimson optics flickered and flashed as the ghostly mech gave her a peculiar stare. You were a Decepticon?
A soft chuckle escaped the femme's vocalizer. Believe it if you will. Her optics flashed as the ethereal mech's chassis was shaken by another bout of violent tremors. Are you certain that you are well?
I am not certain about many things anymore, Seeker. The pale mech shuttered his optics as his wings flattened against his backstrut. Ever since I have defected, many matters are that way. Another shudder, stronger than the previous one, traveled through his chassis, and the grimace on his mouthplates revealed the pain he was in. A long and hoarse exvent of chilled air escaped flared manifold intakes as talons moved briefly to cover his abdomen. She could not help but notice the pained flicker that burned within the violent crimson depths.
The mech formerly known as Whiteshadow did not seem to notice her realization as his free servo rose to steady its owner as he rose unsteadily to his pedes. Forgive my ending our conversation so early, Nightwish, but I... He snarled softly as his wings flared and scraped against the damp rock walls around them, the bladed tips leaving shallow scrapes in their wake as silver-white paint fell in light flakes. ...I need to...rest...
Elegant wings flicked the air as the femme watched the other move away, concern and slight irritation burning in her clear crystal gaze. Mirage?
There was no response, even as the large mech stopped moving and leaned against the sword still implanted in the cold ground. After a long moment, the pure white assassin let out a heavy exvent and turned his helm to look at her. Yes, Seeker?
She shuttered her optics briefly, seeming to collect her empty thoughts, before rising to her pedes and approaching the other. The looming mech gave a thundering snarl as he felt the almost overwhelming caress of their electromagnetic fields colliding, and the femme's wings tensed and her armor flattened against her lean frame as her optics flickered in guarded caution.
It is clear that you are not well. Allow me to take you back to the base. Nightwish shifted her weight as she narrowed her optics. They will not bother you, regardless if I am with you or not. Her servos, almost unconsciously, wrapped around her body, as if her own embrace would offer some sort of futile comfort. The others do not trust me, either, though it is not nearly as much as when they are around you.
Mirage gave another great vent, lowering his flared wings. The assistance would be appreciated, femme, but I cannot be within range of the others at the moment. My emotions are not under control, and I am a danger regardless of that fact.
Regardless? Burning white optics flashed as the powerful femme warrior looked up, her servos unfolding from around her lean chassis. You would harm another Autobot even if your raging emotions were kept under control?
Dark claret optics narrowed to slits as pure white armor shifted and rippled over a powerful frame like deadly water. Harm an Autobot...? The assassin gave a hoarse and strut-chilling laugh, one that held the insanity the defector still possessed even after his changing. I will admit, I still have moments when the desire to rip a mech or femme into minuscule pieces becomes nearly overwhelming. But I... He cringed suddenly, baring glistening and razor-like dentia as he shuddered slightly, the torment and despair plaguing him making itself known once more. ...I believe that those desires will be terminated. The swordsmech's intense golden glare boiled a vicious crimson as a cruel smirk curled back full mouthplates. ...for now.
A cold and cruel smirk curled back the femme's mouthplates, exposing her long fangs. Remind me to give you my list if you do lose control. She grimaced, her wings twitching and lowering as her optics flickered. Before she could stop herself, a moan of pain escaped her as she swayed precariously; she was only steadied by her servos tearing into the cool earth beneath her.
Nightwish. Mirage narrowed his optics, staring down at her as he shifted his weight and fanned his wings. Some strange emotion rose deep within his spark, writhing in nearly uncomfortable delight as he leaned forward. You are unwell?
Hoarse and strut-chilling laughter escaped the enormous female. I have been ill for many, many centuries, triple changer. Her helm tilted backwards as she stared up at him, a rather disturbing grin pulling back her full mouthplates to expose long and pointed dentia that were startlingly similar to his own. I just have a habit of not showing it...much like you do.
I am not ill. The large mech shuttered his optics for a moment, his engines rumbling faintly. I merely have not been at my best lately.
And what does your best include? Not refueling at all, or moping out here during the solar cycle instead of its opposite? Pale optics reflected the light of the moon, momentarily bleaching the optical circuitry.
A gravelly laugh escaped the towering beast of a mech. The stellar cycle is often associated with me, as you well know.
Nightwish laughed softly, lowering her wings to press them against her backstrut. Most fear the night, but it actually holds more comfort than one would care to imagine. She turned to look at the mech crouched beside his sword, an unusual warmth in her usually frozen optics. It is what I have learned to cherish throughout the vorns.
Our pasts are dark. The former Decepticon's voice deepened to a grave rumble, his tawny glare fixed on the glowing rock above them. There is no mistaking that. Yet despite what we do currently, there are still those who wish to see us rot and fester in prisons, as if we are the ones to blame for their own misguided transgressions.
It is not our fault that they think such a thing. She glanced over as the mech's wings fanned the air. They are simply too ignorant to truly understand our means.
Clearly. Mirage vented heavily and shuttered his optics, the moonlight reflecting off of his pure white armor. I am surprised at how this irrational and unpredictable group interacts with each other. Despite their faults, they seem to be able to function like a family.
Nightwish pressed her mouthplates together, optics flickering. We know nothing of the sort.
On the contrary, my dear, you do know something about it. Golden optics pierced the Seeker's spark as he turned to stare intently at her. There are more that know of your caretakers than you would care to realize.
And what would you do if you were asked about them? Whiteblade and Redwing are not that well favored. Nightwish flicked her wings and shifted, resettling her armor with a noiseless ripple.
The large mech made a noise that was something of a mix of a laugh and a hoarse cough. They are not my secrets to tell. Besides, if I wanted to exact revenge or terminate you, spreading lies about your former caretakers would be far too easy for me.
Hmph. Then we do have something in common. The Seeker femme shuttered her optics, tilting her helm back as a cool wind began to blow. This planet has lovely weather, would you not say?
You are a strange femme. I hope you know that. Mirage grimaced suddenly and turned away, coughing violently and hard enough to bring up Energon.
It was silent until the Seeker spoke once more.
What happened? Nightwish remained unrelenting as the triple changer turned to fix a vicious glare on her. Relax, mech. I just want to know why you are coughing up blood, and why you have not gone to Ratchet.
Do you think I do not try? The ex-Decepticon snarled, baring his dentia. I am no longer tolerant of the glares and insults I receive. I know that if I go in there, I will be denied medical assistance because I will attack anyone who throws a look at me the wrong way.
Ratchet would not allow that to happen. She moved closer to him, placing a hesitant servo against his own and internally delighting in the fact that the action did not draw a vicious snarl from him. He would threaten to rebuild every mech and femme into toasters and then give them to Wheeljack for experimentation.
Nevertheless, I cannot have any more. I cannot deal with this anymore. He began to shiver again, fangs digging deep into his mouthplates. Every breem of the orn, I ask myself why I even defected. I ask myself what I was thinking—why I wanted to be part of this disgusting faction filled with nothing but hypocrites and liars and thieves. He was restraining himself from crushing her, his servos clenched into fists. His talons dug deep enough through armor and protoform to make dark Energon trickle out from beneath his digits. They are as bad as the Decepticons. They just do not show it on the outside.
He was facing her now, and the traces of furious tears were beginning to show in his optics. That is what makes it worse, femme. The secrets and the lies. The Autobots are the enemies, not the Decepticons. The ones that they call evil are far from it—they just do not want to admit that their faults make them worse than the bloodthirtsy tyrants and murderers and psychopaths. That is why they torment me—they know why they deserve to die just as much as the Decepticons.
Nightwish stared, at a loss for what to say. She had not thought about the Autobots in that sense. She just knew that they were all annoying, too-happy glitches—but with the way that Mirage looked at it, every word he said was true. They left him to wallow in his self-pity and deprecation and angst, they left him to suffer in the dark corners of the room, and they even laughed at him when he was in pain.
It was all their fault.
But...
No.
It couldn't happen again.
It wouldn't.
Mirage. She moved to kneel in front of the massive mech, forcing him to meet her gaze. Look at me. Please. The determination and pleading in her voice made him comply, and he was shocked to see that she was crying.
You cannot let this overwhelm you. Her talons were digging deep into his armor, and she ignored the warning hiss. I know what you are contemplating. Please, do not do it. Do not take your spark. It will only show that they are better than you. That eventually they won in the end, and you lost like you keep telling yourself they do.
Your words ring true, Seeker. His wings flicked and flared, broad sensory panels reflecting haunted light. But I do not care. I cannot take this anymore. Do you have any idea what I feel right now? How much I just want to give up and leave this wretched place? No one will miss me, and you know it.
You are wrong. Her voice was soft, and she would not meet his gaze. You are wrong. Wrong! Nightwish was dangerously close, fangs bared and wings fanned out in aggression. Do you hear me? You are wrong! I... She vented heavily, and seemed to deflate, wings twitching and manifolds spiraling open to release heated air. I would miss you.
There was a faint flicker in his crimson optics, something that gave the femme the slightest bit of hope until it withered away and died. He bared his fangs and snarled at her deeply, the feral mech that he had once been showing through the edges of his stance and his wildly pulsing electromagnetic field. Do not lie to me, Seeker. You are not being truthful.
How would you know? Nightwish spat, optics blazing. I love you, Mirage! Okay? I love you! She paused to stare at him, ventilations heaving, before continuing on. You are strong and handsome and brave—that is why my spark fell for you.
The triple changer stared, undecipherable emotions battling in his glare and electromagnetic field. Nightwish, I...
No! Shut up! She shivered and writhed, clamping her servos over her audio receptors. You have made it perfectly clear that you do not care. At all. So I do not want to—Mirage?
The white mech was overwhelmingly close, crimson optics boring deep into her own. The faint and pained rumble of his engines droned on in the silence.
Nightwish hissed at him, swiping with her talons in a weakened gesture. See? You do not—
Nightwish only had a moment to catch the slight and deceitful smirk that flitted across his mouthplates. In a flash, the ethereal mech was looming over her, pinning her to the nearest rock wall. Deceitfully gentle talons traced beneath sleek armor as sensitive circuitry was harassed, leaving her gasping in pleasure. Her chassis began to overheat as the nearly overwhelming weight of the former assassin ground against her.
Wait. Her telepathic voice sounded, soft and somewhat breathless. We cannot do this. You know what will happen sooner or later.
I do not care. The former Decepticon rumbled deeply, his forked glossa tracing over elongated dentia and leaving a trail of poison over the smooth metal. The others would not care.
The others would no doubt reprimand our actions. I do not have the patience or the time to put up with their incessant ramblings. She shuttered her optics as talons traced over her wings, the flared appendages spreading into the gentle touch.
I thought you did not care for what others thought of you. Straightening suddenly, he pulled the femme closer, wrapping his servos around her slim waist. A soft drone came from his engines, sending a shiver down her backstrut.
Yes, but it would no doubt injure your so carefully kept sense of pride. The great Mirage, associating with a lowly femme? Nightwish rested her helm against the mech's broad chassis, rumbling in content as her manifolds flared and released chilled air in a soft whisper. You would not want that, would you?
Hmm. Perhaps I would. They would most likely be envious of the relationship we would have. The two social pariahs becoming involved with each other...a horrid romance. Who would have... The white mech paused, a noticeable hitch in his ventilations as his massive wings flared high above him.
Mirage? Nightwish glanced up at the larger being, white optics flickering as she placed a cool servo against his. What is it?
The former assassin pressed his mouthplates together, remaining silent and motionless for a moment as he shuttered his optics. Forgive me, Nightwish. I...have not used that term in a long time.
The femme Seeker gave a sudden soft smile, digging her talons in the rock only to tear minuscule gouges in the hard material. Then you can start with me.
Mirage smirked, his engines rumbling. Pulling her closer and tilting her helm back, he pressed his mouthplates against hers, their glossae entangling.
Nightwish moaned, wrapping her legs around her lover's waist. Her heated interface panel brushed against that of the assassin's, and a deep groan escaped both of them.
Pulling away suddenly, the triple changer stared down at the femme, faceplate and optics holding unreadable emotions.
Mirage? The Seeker femme looked up at him, wings fanning the air as she ran her servos against his broad chassis. What is it?
We cannot do this here. He caught the irritation and disappointment that flitted across her faceplate, and he gave a soothing rumble, resting his helm on top of hers. It is nothing to do with you, my love. I simply do not possess the energy.
Are you simply saying that because you are ill? A sudden smirk curled back her mouthplates as she ground her panel against his once again, slowly and sensuously, feeling the burning heat radiating from his panel. Then, by all means, let me service you in my quarters.
The mech's crimson optics burned brightly, and a deep snarl thundered throughout his chest as he bared his fangs. Nightwish frowned and moved back to stare down at him, noticing the violent tremor running through his body.
Nightwish. His telepathic voice was strained and as taut as a stretched wire, and the enormous mech had his optics shuttered as his ventilations heaved. Get off of me. Now.
The Seeker femme flicked her wings and hesitated, doing only as she was instructed when he gave a thundering snarl and snapped at her, his venomous fangs dangerously close.
Mirage? She kept back as the enormous mech shuddered violently, moving away from her as he hunched over, moving to be on all his hands and knees. The Seeker femme could not help but notice the venom that poured from his mouth as he shook, scalding and hissing as it connected with the ground.
Mirage. The obsidian femme backed away slowly. What is wrong?
The Seeker femme flicked her wings and attempted to help, but she froze when he gave a thundering snarl and snapped at her, his venomous fangs dangerously close to vital neck cabling.
He spoke once he regained part of his bearinggs, panting heavily as he forced his telepathy to work. Decepticons are not known for treating their lovers pleasantly. He turned away, ventilations heaving as his servos clenched into fists. I was known for rather gruesome things that I do not enjoy explaining.
You were a sadistic, sparkless assassin with no bit of concern for any being around you. Nightwish placed a hesitant servo on the mech's servo, running it around in small and comforting circles. Of course you are not proud of your actions.
Yet those urges still stand with me. A dark growl escaped the mech's vocalizer, rumbling through both of their chassis. I cannot be with anyone distance myself from any form of contact, whether intentional or intimate or not. It is why I cannot be open to others.
The others know that, and they still refuse to offer you assistance. Nightwish smiled softly at the larger Seeker, wings flicking in her method of reassurance.
I cannot, Nightwish. I am... He grimaced and forcefully took his servos off of her, digging his talons into the ground and flaring his wings wide.
Nightwish twisted around, optics widened. She glanced down to where he was cradling his abdomen and snarled softly. Are you carrying, Mirage?
The triple changer shuddered, shaking his helm. What would you do if I said that I was?
She stared, the corners of her optics crinkling before they flashed. You were forced?
The large mech vented deeply. I am not who you think I am, Seeker. My actions are irrefutable and horrific, and I do not deserve the chance of redemption.
How you can say that? Nightwish pushed herself up to be at optic level with the former assassin. Just the other orn, you saved Hound from being blown to pieces and injured yourself in the process. Last quartex, you fought Megatron head on and left him severely crippled, all because he had twisted Bluestreak's wing out of its socket. Is this not your method of redemption?
Redemption? Mirage laughed deeply, optics burning crimson for the briefest of moments. I told you before; I do not deserve it.
You are pathetic, do you know that? She turned and stood, stretching with a heavy groan before fixing her burning glare on him. Stop wallowing in your useless self-pity. You are much stronger than that, so prove it and quit acting like a youngling. Nightwish's glare softened ever so slightly, and a disappointed smirk curled back her mouthplates enough for the moonlight to reflect off of her fanged dentia. She moved without warning, and was pressing the mech against the rock wall with a iron like strength. Pressing her mouthplates against his roughly, they both moaned as their glossae entangled and their electromagnetic fields entwined.
Pulling back, Nightwish stared at the larger Cybertronian, a clawed servo trailing down his broad chassis as she stared directly into those fervid crimson pools. I know you are strong. And I hope that whatever has sparked between us will continue.
The triple changer vented heavily, smirking ever so slightly as he trailed a talon against her smooth faceplates. I do not make promises, Seeker, but for you I will try. He shivered violently suddenly, wavering on his pedes.
Mirage? She placed a servo against his faceplate, concerned at the burning heat. When he did not respond and became lax in her grip, she shook him. Mirage? Mirage, wake up.
Mirage!
The silence cloaking the Autobot base was pierced by a spark-stopping and rather infuriated roar.
"Ratchet!"
The tall red and white mech stormed out of his medical bay, optics narrowed in irritation, no doubt from being interrupted from whatever project or medicinal treatment he was working on. "What are you bothering me about now! Can you not see that I'm busy?"
Beside the fuming mech, an even taller one appeared out of the thick blanket of shadows. Thick and battle-scarred black armor covered his frame, and the expression on his faceplate was dark and strangely amused. "Aw, calm down, Ratch. Ya're project probably ain't all tha' important." The enormous cannons attached to his servos whirred as if in agreement, immense heat rolling off of it in waves comparable in power to that of those of the Earth oceans, and the heat was similar to the monstrous terrestrial monsters known as volcanoes.
Blazing cerulean optics locked onto the towering mech. "I do not like being interrupted from anything, Ironhide, as you well know!" He fixed his glare back onto the defenseless hall, crossing his servos as his armor flared from his frame in his rising irritation. "Now, what is the problem and why was it considered important enough to bother me?"
An extremely tall and sleek femme Seeker was stumbling down the hall, the dim lights glinting off of her polished obsidian and dark mauve armor. Gold-flecked white optics were blazing in pure and unadulterated fury, something that was common in the mysterious femme, but there seemed to be something that was raging beneath it...worry?
It was then that the medic realized that she was carrying the unconscious frame of the defector that had joined their ranks mere quartexes ago.
Ratchet immediately moved closer to the struggling femme, relieving her of the weight and restraining a shudder as he unintentionally came into contact with the ice cold armor of both her and the unconscious mech. Her wings fanned the air as she leaned against the wall, shuttering her optics as her ventilations began to rasp. He turned and gave the limp frame of the former Decepticon to his partner, turning to place a comforting servo on the trembling Seeker's frame.
Nightwish scowled and attempted to move back from the irascible mech, her talons digging into the metal wall that was her non-sentient crutch. "I am fine, Ratchet." Her voice was a low and hoarse growl, static hidden beneath the words as it hissed out of her vocalizer. Her pale optics darted over to the limp frame of the swordsmaster. "It is he that you should be concerned about, not I."
The red and white mech scowled, narrowing his optics. "Do not try and change the subject, Seeker. I know you almost had another attack."
A weak smirk, one that was a mixture between a rather disturbing snarl and a grin, curled the corner of the black Cybertronian's mouthplates. "It is all too obvious, is it not?" She grimaced as she leaned back against the wall, her wings pressed low against her backstrut. "I should be more careful around -" Swaying suddenly, the Seeker moaned in pain, her talons tearing into the armor of the mech steadying her as her optics flickered and fluttered shut.
"Enough." The irascible mech turned towards his sparkmate, his voice taking on the harsh and authoritative tone that he normally donned while in a situation that resembled the current one. "Ironhide, take Mirage into the medical bay towards the back. I do not want the others barging in and demanding that he be dissected or something along the lines of that."
The enormous black mech nodded, giving a deep rumble. "Right. Anythin' happens, feel free ta contact meh."
"Like anything would." Ratchet gave the femme a light push, electromagnetic field rippling as he urged her towards the main medical bay. "All right, in you go."
Nightwish hissed softly, wings rising as she bared her fangs. "Ratchet, I do not want - "
"Don't make me pull rank on you, Nights," the red and white mech snarled. "You're sick and you need help, so I'm giving it to you. End of discussion."
She groaned at the mech's statement, nearly collapsing as her equilibrium sensors readjusted themselves to unnecessary capacities. "Fine, then, if it will stop your unnecessary prattling."
"Unnecessary—Seeker, so help meif you don't shut that mouth of yours—"
"Yes, I know, Ratchet. You care for me internally, though, and you know it."
"Shut up."
Nightwish awoke to a comfortable warmth and the beeping of medical examination machines.
With a soft groan, she turned over on her side, only to connect with a cold and solid object.
Mirage was deep in recharge beside her, one powerful servo wrapped around her waist. His engines were rumbling faintly, and she was pleased to hear that they did not sound as painful as they had before.
Venting heavily, she shuttered her optics and leaned back against the larger Cybertronian.
Nightwish.
She startled as the deep voice of the mech sounded in her helm, and she turned to look at him once more. He was staring down at her, crimson optics faint but not holding the pain that had been present earlier.
Are you well—? He did not have the time to fully get the question out before her mouthplates were pressed against his. Groaning into the kiss, he felt her legs wrap around his waist and her talons dig into the armor of his back plating.
Easy, Nightwish. I am still recovering. He pulled away, trailing a servo over his wings to compensate for the lack of kissing. You are well?
I will be when you shut up and take me. Nightwish grinned at him deviously, optics bright.
With a rumbling snarl, the triple changer moved on top of her and snapped his fangs at her. As you command, my dearest.
So this is the first chapter. I lied about making all six stories one giant one; otherwise this would have been in my documents for months.
The song lyrics in the Mirage's reflection section is "Drowning Shadows" by Sam Smith.
Let me know what you think (which means R&R). Also, this chapter/story may be updated in a bit, so keep an eye on it.