Cinder. Confirmed Bayverse Optimus Prime Apologist and General Bayverse Girlie (gender neutral). They/Them. Adult. Bookbinder, gif maker, playlist enthusiast... This blog may have NSFW themes at times. Proceed at your own risk. NSFW posts will be tagged with "frag time." I follow/like from @ellariel.
Hi! I'm Cinder. I've been a fan of the Transformers franchise ever since the first live-action movie came out in 2007.
I know the live-action movies suck. I hate Bay as much as you do. I'm not particularly interested in having people show up in my inbox to remind me of that fact.
I'm a working adult that's also going to college (unfortunately, my degree is not in robotics). This blog may experience long lapses in activity, or it might suddenly switch to a different fandom entirely. Who knows? The world is a funny place.
My inbox and PMs are open, and I am extremely eager to make new friends, because my fandom bestie is getting tired of me showing them a bunch of gifs of big robots and being like "DON'T YOU LOVE THEM?!?!?!?" So yeah, if you also love Bayverse Optimus, or uh, really anything Transformers, feel free to chat with me. I'm absolutely not normal at all about my big shiny robots.
Continuities I Know
I've watched all of the Bayverse movies, and I've also watched the first season of Transformers: Prime and hope to watch the rest at some point.
I'm interested in the MTMTE comics, but I'm chronically ill and don't have a lot of energy to invest in new things, so I might not get around to reading them, like, ever. I hear they're very good, though.
I've also seen Rise of the Beasts. It was fun! I liked it. I started Bumblebee, but didn't manage to finish it. Maybe one day.
Ships I Like
When shipping, I usually sort of blend together the continuities that I know (Transformers: Prime and Bayverse), so keep that in mind.
If the ship has Optimus in it, chances are I'll at least hear it out. OptiRatch is definitely in my top three, along with Nemesis Prime/Ratchet.
I do like MegOP. I've also seen Optimus/Starscream, which, like...kind of worked, actually? I dunno, I gave it a chance because I was curious, and then I was like, damn, okay, this is actually pretty good.
I like Optimus/Cade (Barn Husbands), but I kinda hate Cade as he's characterized in the movies, so it has to be written with the fanon version of Cade for me to like it.
Mirage/Noah from Rise of the Beasts is top tier.
Bumblebee/Sam isn't particularly my thing, but I'm not mad about it.
I'm a very easygoing person when it comes to ships — there are very few dynamics that are a hard no for me.
Yeah but the look that Knockout does when tapping on Cylas's optic is my favorite, i do that all the time
Like yes that's the man who practically gutted his husband alive, and motherfucker has the audacity to come back wearing the dead body like a damn springlock suit. I'd be pretty eager to dish out some revenge too.
“And to think, the Doctor of Doom’s mad quest for power continues…! His marauders pursued us to this planet’s orbit.”
What gets me about Megatron telling Orion Pax that the current dilapidated condition of Cybertron was brought about by the Warlord Ratchet, Doctor of Doom (aside from the concept in and of itself) is that he also states that Ratchet has a legion of marauders who carry out his bidding
and because marauders are raiders, and Megatron states they were “pursued by marauders” to Earth, the implication is that Ratchet is not on Earth himself–
– which is smart on Megatron’s behalf, because this would deter Orion from potentially attempting to leave in order to confront Ratchet and instils a concern that perhaps marauders may appear at any time (at this point, Orion Pax does not yet realise that he is armed and is operating under the belief that he is still an Archivist and therefore not Warrior Class)
but also, this gives us the incredible mental image of Ratchet milling around in some kind of rusted fortress made from the remains of several different Cybertronian buildings, quite possibly the remnants of Iacon – maybe even the central hospital there, converted into a hive of terror
still living on an otherwise uninhabited planet, with a loyal band of raiding troops who scavenge the remains of their world and possibly other planets as well (as we know these marauders supposedly have space capable vessels), quite possibly doing so in order to source spare parts and other various salvage – Ratchet is a medic, who knows how he’s been having to piece together his army, repairing them from the remains of random citizens?
and he supposedly, presumably either from his makeshift base in the shadows of Cybertron or from a war ship of some kind, commanded an army of raiders to chase Megatron and his followers as far away as Earth
“I cannot imagine Ratchet capable of such horrors!”
I can only guess at what Orion Pax was thinking in this moment, aside from his immediately stated disbelief: What drove Ratchet to such lengths? What happened to turn his compassionate, caring friend into a warlord capable of carrying out inconceivable destruction? How could such a thing occur, especially at the hands of a respected medic, someone he thought he knew so well?
Would Orion Pax start to blame himself, for what was clearly the brutal decline of one of his greatest friends? I can imagine him starting to wonder if there was anything he could do, any signs of discontent, any indication that Ratchet was headed down a violent, dark path.
And I’m sure he would be concerned about Ratchet himself, as well. How is Ratchet faring, nearly entirely alone on their planet save for his loyal bandits, as aged and worn as he ever has been, possibly accepting a lonely inevitable death on an already dead world?
Or does Warlord Ratchet have yet more plans in store, his instruments of destruction poised to afflict themselves upon other worlds as well?
The Doctor of Doom: How Could This Happen?
It’s somewhat easy to dismiss the idea of Ratchet being this “Doctor of Doom”, because it so wildly opposes what we know of the character and what we know actually occurred with the war.
But when you think about it for a little bit, an unhinged Ratchet would very much be a formidable opponent, especially with his social position in pre-war Cybertron giving him more immediate access to higher class/caste areas than many others would have been able to reach…
…Perhaps this Warlord Ratchet was able to work his way into the Council’s good graces, possibly after attending to one of them after an injury and restoring them to health, gradually manipulating the Senate from the inside in order to secure more power, resources, allies, and ultimately the whole of Cybertron for himself– Leading to a violent conflict which resulted in the destruction of their world?
With his medical knowledge, even if he started out with a fairly small number of followers and whatever troops he could finesse away from the Council, he may very well have “built” some himself– We do see in TFP that protoforms may be possible to manipulate into certain frame types, or some types of “cloning” may be possible.
Any version of Ratchet without morals (or at the very least without any medical ethics) is a very dangerous Ratchet.
Repairing the injured via patching them together with the remains of fallen comrades, creating a “zombie” army. Ghoulish, lumbering soldiers, marauders held together with armour designed for other frame types. Instructing his former colleagues (who would likely have at least started out with some inclination to follow him) to carry out “repairs” in such a way.
Warlord Ratchet himself may have chosen to ingest dark energon much like Megatron actually did, perhaps out of a desire to create a new fuel source once Cybertron began to go dark and natural fuel sources began to dwindle. We already know that our actual Ratchet wasn’t afraid to test synthetic energon on himself, with similar motivations.
His base of operations would quite possibly be Iacon’s medical centre, turned into a horrific hive-like structure, some wards actively still in use for repairs (at least for his own followers) and other areas dedicated to terrifying research, with supply basements full of experimental tech and defensive weaponry.
Ratchet’s more support class (as opposed to warrior class) approach to things may well carry over to Warlord Ratchet’s approach to war– An emphasis on intelligence ops, R&D, indirect and direct manipulation, initial political manoeuvring from within the existing system, and defensive systems to counter any munitions etc. that may come his way from opposing forces.
His initial goals may well have genuinely been intended to improve Cybertron, to help people. Much like Megatron, back when he was Megatronus and wanted a more egalitarian, fair society.
After working on lower class/caste bots who were nearly offlined from a lack of maintenance, poor to no access to healthcare prior to being dragged to him, etc. it may have been the catalyst for his decision to start using his upper class social contacts in an effort to change things from the inside out.
Unfortunately, in this universe in which Warlord Ratchet rose to power, things may have derailed just as severely as they did with Megatronus and his initially well-intentioned efforts.
The longer you think about it, the more plausible it could be.
It would be easy for Megatron to build further upon this idea to manipulate Orion Pax, that Ratchet truly could have done this.
I’m sure Orion Pax did not recharge well, his first night on the Nemesis.
Where did things go wrong? What happened to his friend? How could he do this to their world, a world that Ratchet loved so much?
–
IDK I just think “Warlord Ratchet” is an incredible idea, and I would have been totally fine if they did a whole season of TFP with the Orion Pax concept lmao
also holy shit Ratchet in a built up fortress of a former hospital with a band of marauders under his command is such a powerful mental image
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7
noah diaz x mirage (the ship of dreams or whatever that old bitch said in titanic)
warnings : reek gets his own flirt on, noah is tired™️, and breanna diaz is here but she ain't here to play
side note: this fic is also on ao3!
Noah’s kind of glad that as soon as he has the apartment door unlocked, Reek shoves him aside and barges his way inside like he owns the place. Because not a second later, a chancla comes flying across the room and slaps into the wall not one foot away from Reek’s head— the poor guy freezing up immediately, his eyes wide.
“Ma!” Noah admonishes, pocketing his keys and pushing past Reek so he can set down his box of electronics atop the short bookcase his ma insists on using as a foyer table. “You can’t just be whippin’ those around! You’re gonna seriously injure somebody that ain’t me one of these days.”
His ma has both her hands over her mouth, like she recognizes her mistake too, and when she lowers them, Noah can see she has the decency to at least look sheepish about nearly clocking his friend with her slipper. Still, it doesn’t stop her from also outright glaring at him— like it’s his fault.
“Pero escuché tu voz, so I thought it was you, and you deserve it,” she snaps at him pointedly, before she looks to Reek. “Reek, honey, I’m so sor—” she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp at the sight of all the blood on the lower half of Reek’s face.
“What the hell happened?” she demands instead, clearly concerned. Although the concern doesn’t last very long. Because she seems quick to come to her own conclusions and narrows her eyes at the both of them.
“You boys weren’t out gettin’ into trouble, were you? I swear to God, you two are gonna—”
The loud slam of a door sounds from down the hall.
“Is that Sonic?” Kris cries, rushing into the room like the namesake should be his instead.
Noah grins widely, toeing off his sneakers and simultaneously slipping off his backpack— letting it fall to the floor beside the bookcase with a small thud— just in time to catch his little brother who comes flying at him and nearly knocks the breath straight out of him with what feels like the world’s tightest hug.
“You missed it!” Kris proclaims eagerly, pulling back only far enough to look up at Noah. “I almost beat Bowser! I was so close!”
“Damn, really?” Noah inquires, reaching up to ruffle the kid’s curls affectionately. “That’s cool, bro. Just a few more tries and you gon’ get his ass. I know it.”
Kris beams and pulls away completely, releasing Noah, before he looks over at Reek and frowns, one brow arching.
“Who beat the shit out of you?” he queries openly.
“Language, Kris!” their ma shouts from the kitchen, where she’s already gathered some napkins and is bent over under the kitchen sink, probably looking for that bottle of rubbing alcohol they keep down there. “Reek, sweetie, come over here so we can get your face cleaned up.”
Reek relaxes— his momentary stupor fading— and his lips curl up into a dreamy sort of smile as he kicks off his sneakers then floats across the room to lean against the kitchen table.
Noah narrows his eyes at the other man, already knowing where this is going.
Noah’s ma slaps Reek’s knees open so she can step in between them to be able to reach his face— she’s already kicking up a fuss, telling Reek he has to take better care of himself— and Reek, of course, can’t help the self-satisfied little smirk he shoots in Noah’s direction.
Noah’s hands ball into fists at his sides.
“You hit on my mama one time today man, just one, and I’m throwing your ass out the window,” Noah warns him. Because, unfortunately, it’s a thing.
Reek, the absolute bastard, swears that one day he’s going to bag Breanna Diaz.
Which is absurd.
The only way that’s ever going to happen is if it’s right over Noah’s dead body.
“Ay, Noah, don’t be ridiculous,” his ma chastises casually, shaking her head as she dabs at Reek’s nose with a wad of wet napkins— completely oblivious to the fact that Reek is practically preening under her care. “Reek, how did this happen?”
Before Reek can respond, Kris looks up at Noah with a frown.
“And why didn’t you come home for dinner last night?” he questions. Their ma scoffs.
“You mean why he didn’t come home at all,” she points out, glancing over with a look on her face that clearly reads as disapproval. “You could at least call, mijo.”
Noah releases a sharp sigh, his shoulders drooping as he deflates under the weight of the guilt.
Kris wanders away from him, sauntering over to their ma and Reek so he can get a closer look at the damage on Reek’s face.
“I know, ma,” Noah acquiesces, defeated and exhausted, even as he reaches up behind his neck to grab at the collar of his Henley so he can pull it off— he’s been wearing it for over twenty-four hours at this point, and all he really wants is a shower. “I’m sorry. I just… I got caught up.”
His ma looks over for a second, both brows arched, before she returns to the task at hand.
“Ooh,” Kris teases. “Is it a girl? It’s a girl, isn’t it? What’s her name?”
Noah rolls his eyes at his baby brother’s antics, reaching down to unbuckle his belt and laughing when his ma presses a napkin soaked in rubbing alcohol to Reek’s nose, pulling an incredibly high-pitched yelp from the man’s throat.
Reek narrows his eyes at Noah.
“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?”
Noah grins crookedly at him, his shirt and belt clutched in one hand.
“It’s hilarious, dude.”
The slow menacing look-and-smirk combination that distorts Reek’s face is quite frankly terrifying and Noah stills, tensing.
Reek leans back, just slightly, and his gaze slides over to Kris.
“Nah, li’l man, there ain’t no girl,” he drawls wickedly. “Our boy Noah over here, he’s a man of taste. He’s got a preference for something different; little metal, some rubber, six cylinders.”
Noah wants to wrangle his thick ass neck with his bare hands.
Kris’ lips purse to the side, his forehead scrunching— clearly bewildered.
“For the last time, man,” Noah snaps. “I didn’t fu—” he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, throwing his hands into the air— completely done with trying to deny it any further— before he exhales at length.
Reek’s just going to believe what he wants anyway. Fuck it.
Noah’s ma glances over at him again, one perfectly plucked brow arched in question.
“I’ma go shower,” Noah decides, then points a long finger at Reek. “You better not still be in my damn house by the time I get out. I swear to God, bro.” He crosses the room and pretends not to hear Kris asking Reek what he meant by metal, rubber, and cylinders.
“Ay, mijo, por qué eres tan grosero?” his ma calls after him as he goes, and Noah does his best to not react when he hears her add on a quieter, “Well, there’s clearly no girl. He wouldn’t have a stick up his ass if he was seein’ any action.”
Reek’s raucous laughter echoes down the hall, following Noah right into the bathroom.
Noah slams the door closed behind him.
“Carajo, Noah! Don’t be slammin’ doors in my house!”
Noah huffs, dropping his shirt into the hamper that’s wedged in between the toilet and the sink— where it’s not supposed to be, because Kris has a habit of getting up during the night to piss, and being half-asleep, he drips all over the place. It’s nasty. His little brother’s kind of a slob but being the baby, their ma just keeps letting him get away with it.
Noah hangs his belt off of one of the hooks behind the door before he turns to the mirrored vanity cabinet and takes a second to study his reflection.
His curls are wild and he’s pretty sure he can still spot sand in there. The bags under his eyes are puffy and a slightly deeper color than usual and— Noah leans in closer— his lips look like they’ve been bitten raw, no doubt courtesy of the wild rollercoaster ride of emotions he’d experienced overnight.
All in all, he looks like shit.
With an utterly drained sigh, Noah slips out of both his jeans and boxer briefs and tosses them into the hamper as well, before he throws open the shower curtain and steps into the bathtub.
He showers rather quickly— which is kind of a miracle because he’d honestly thought getting all the sand out of his hair would take a lot longer. He washes up in a sort of automatic way, his hands and body going through the motions, while his mind wanders.
He finds himself going over every single moment of the last twenty-four hours with a fine-toothed comb. From heading into the garage the day before, wondering if he’d ever see his mech friend again. To Mirage’s sudden miraculous return— which Noah can still hardly believe even happened. To spending the night with the bot on that beach in Long Island under the lighthouse.
And getting the chance to meet Ratchet. Noah makes a mental note to thank the medic when or even if he gets the chance.
Ratchet had managed to do what Noah couldn’t; fix Mirage.
Ratchet had been the one to right Noah’s colossal fuck-up with the plate he’d cracked in half.
Ratchet had given him his best friend back.
Noah owes him a lot.
His mind shifts then, turning his attention to the metaphorical elephant in the room; the offer to join the autobots on their, hopefully simple, scouting mission to Colorado.
He purposely ignores the tiny voice in the back of his head— the one that, obnoxiously, sounds like Reek— that tries to remind him the mission isn’t the only metaphorical elephant in the room.
There’s also the matter of Mirage’s completely spontaneous flirting.
Because, yeah, Noah can definitely recognize it for what it is now. He might not have any game himself but he’s not that dense.
Plus, Reek had clearly read and interpreted it as just so— coming to the assumption after hearing just one of Mirage’s lines.
The man had badgered Noah the whole way up to the apartment over it; over whether or not Noah had ‘fucked the car.’
He’s honestly more surprised over the fact that the man had managed to go straight from ‘the car talks’ to ‘did you fuck it, Noah’ than over the fact that Reek apparently has zero issues with Noah theoretically fucking a car.
Which is wild. Especially seeing as Reek is completely unaware that the aforementioned car is actually a twelve foot alien.
But he’s not thinking about any of that though.
No. He’s thinking about whether or not he’s ready to drop everything— drop his entire life, not that he really has much going on at the moment— to go on an impromptu road trip with a bunch of aliens. To the Rockies. To possibly locate another alien. One that may or may not be one of the bad guys.
“Fuck,” Noah sighs, reaching out to turn off the water.
He wonders when his life got so complicated.
Unbidden, a vivid image of Mirage fucking with him as he’d tried to jimmy the lock and open the door on the Porsche simultaneously comes to mind.
Right.
That’s when.
Noah pulls a towel out of the bathroom closet— a blue one because his ma has them color-coordinated and assigned; Noah’s are blue, Kris’ are green, and hers are red. The woman’s surprisingly laid back about a lot of stuff— for example, Kris being an utter slob— but bathroom linens are not one of them.
Noah’s not sure why and at this point in his life, he’s kind of scared to ask. It’s easier to just roll with it.
He dries off then wraps his towel around his waist and steps back over to the mirror so he can try and get his curls under control. If he doesn’t, they’ll just dry up all frizzy and crazy. And he hates it when that happens. Because he’s kind of lazy and he won’t bother trying to fix it, he’ll just wear a cap over it every time he steps out of the house until he washes his hair again.
When he’s satisfied, Noah turns and steps out of the bathroom.
“Damn, mami, that’s cold,” he instantly hears— Reek’s voice coming from the kitchen. “Why you gotta do me like that?”
The asshole is still in his house, hitting on his ma. The kitchen’s out of view from where Noah’s standing just outside the bathroom so he can’t see his friend but he narrows his eyes in that general direction anyway.
Then, an idea pops into his head. And his lips curl.
“Reek, man if you don’t get yo’ ass outta my house, I’ma tell Rosie from downstairs about your special friendship with that white girl from Staten Island!”
He hears an abrupt thud from the kitchen and watches gleefully as Reek trips his way across the room, apologizing to his ma and telling her he has to go because he thinks he, ‘left the stove on.’
Chump.
Noah grins when the front door slams, signifying the other man’s departure. Then he spins around and strolls languidly into his bedroom, lips pursed smugly. He shuts his bedroom door behind him with a foot so he can change into a fresh pair of boxer briefs then throws on a random pair of basketball shorts and a wife beater, before immediately throwing himself face first onto his bed, groaning loudly as his body relaxes into the mattress.
He gazes up at the stuff on his wall— his Wu-Tang Clan poster and his vinyl sleeves— for a moment.
But he must fall asleep immediately after that because one second he’s blinking at the Puerto Rican flag on his wall and the next, he’s waking up on his side, facing the bedroom door, after hearing his name be called in a low sort of hiss.
Kris is standing underneath the frame of his bedroom door, staring at him with a sort of apprehensive look on his face. He keeps glancing back over his shoulder to his own room every other second.
“Hmm?” Noah slurs, still half-asleep and struggling to keep his eyes open. “Wassup, Tails?”
Kris’ wide-eyed gaze snaps back over to him.
“Dude, Knuckles is in my room.”
Noah groans, lifting a hand to wave the kid away.
“That don’t even make no sense, Kris,” he grunts out. “He wouldn’t fit.” With that said, Noah pulls his pillow out from beneath his face and covers his head with it, hoping his little brother will take it for what it is; a dismissal.
“He says he’s taking you to Colorado?”
It takes a second for Kris’ words to register.
But when they do, Noah’s pretty sure he sets the world record for the fastest anyone’s ever jumped out of bed
Ngl I’m always delighted when I see people put autobot or decepticon decals on their car like yes while I’m sitting here in traffic I’m going to believe for a moment your Ford Fiesta can turn into a killer robot but has to suffer through 5pm rush hour instead
tfp optimus: is so consumed with grief and guilt. feels guilt for how things were on cybertron. feels guilt for becoming a prime. feels guilt for abandoning his friend. he grieves so much, countless lives, so many names, so many faces. mourns the fact he can't visualize them all. he grieves the loss of cybertron, grieves for the deaths of his fellow autobots and even decepticons alike, grieves the past allyship and friendship he once had with megatron. he wishes it never had to turn out this way. he loved him so much. he doesn't want to do this anymore but now its too late to change anything. he knows what he must do. he lost the person he called his brother. he has to tell himself its not him. he feels desperation creep up on him. ruthlessness too. part of him still hopes he doesn't have to do the deed. part of him wants to.
bayverse optimus: anger. has been fighting so long he doesn't know anything else anymore. turned into a violent person eons ago. forgot who he was before. imposter syndrome. forgot what life was like not being at war. forgot what his home looked like before the war. has so much hate in his spark. is becoming vindictive and cruel. is becoming what he originally fought against. can't tell. can't see it. all he feels is anger. all he feels is wrath. fury incarnate. he doesn't know anything else anymore. keeps fighting, keeps killing. he doesn't know how to do anything else anymore. can't stop either. sometimes thinks he doesn't want to. sometimes thinks he enjoys it. the thought's starting to scare him less and less. what is he becoming?
tfa optimus: he feels too young for this. too inexperienced. no one asked if he knew what he was doing, no one asked if he'd be okay with this. has too much responsibility. the weight of expectations. he can't let anyone down anymore. not after elita. has to protect his friends, has to keep everyone safe. so many people rely on him. frantic. guilt-ridden. feels alone in it all. takes the brunt of every issue, every problem. wants to forsake his rank. would give anything to keep his team safe. doesn't know if he's doing it right. how can he live up to the ideals people see in him? he doesn't know. he has the world on his shoulders, two worlds, the universe to be precise. why did it have to be him? he feels selfish to admit it doesn't want the power. he doesn't want to save the world. no one else can.
man's is literally consumed with guilt, haunted, suffering, grieving, full of regret and sorrow, absolutely besides himself, experiencing the horrors, etc etc...
You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you because he wants to fuck the car. He wants to fuck the car so bad. He can't stop thinking about wanting to fuck the car.
there's a lot going on in aligned knock out's tfwiki entry (text under cut) but I think my favorite bit is them calling Daran Norris' performance "somewhat campy" my brother in christ it's campy enough to blow my tits clean off
Some fans have interpreted Starscream's "you're one of those" line (referring to his car mode preference), Knock Out's wolf-whistling appraisal of Optimus's truck mode, the vanity about his appearance, and voice actor Daran Norris' somewhat campy performance to be clues that Knock Out is gay. Moreover, the term "knockout" is commonly used to describe an attractive woman. Make of all this what you will, as very little robotic sexuality of any kind is evident in Prime, outside of a very lightly-implied connection between Cliffjumper and Arcee.
/
When asked at BotCon 2011, the Prime writers said that there is no designation for gay, or straight, for that matter, on Cybertron, where Transformers are created by the AllSpark, not through sexual reproductions. They also said that Knock Out is a knock out, and that the Nemesis is a very "don't ask, don't tell" place. And then they jokingly deflected the matter, claiming that Knock Out's mannerisms are not caused by any particular orientation, but are simply eccentricities caused by "a glitch in the AllSpark" the day he was created... which is unintentionally so insulting to gay people that it could create an awkward silence in the Void.
