#ferrum-negative

[galacticproblems]

Commission for @ferrum-negative, of Cyclonus and Scourge together! These two were really fun to draw, thanks so much for commissioning me! ^^

[xensilverquill]

((part of fanwork trade with @ferrum-negative. i hope you like it!!))

"Hm, it does not seem to be faring well for my old friend," Scourge remarked, chin in servo and nodding solemnly. "I believe the eons might have finally caught up to him and his reflexes."

"Hey!" His grave judgement earned him a none-too-gentle tweak on the beard from the minibot sitting beside him. "That's my conjunx and your amica you're talking about!"

"Yes," he agreed, not skipping a beat, "and as such you should trust me to know better than anyone when the old gallium goat is in over his helm."

"That--!" Tailgate sputtered as he threw his arms up. "That doesn't mean you start talking about him like he's got one pede in the Well!"

A pained grunt and the crackle of metal being dented had them both forgetting their debate and glancing up for a moment. Cyclonus lay prone on the padded floor of the training hall with twitching optics and both horns slightly crumpled. Whirl was on top of him and holding him lovingly but firmly in a headlock between his pincers, the end of his chest-cab pinning the other mech between the shoulders.

"You realize we can hear both of you quite clearly?" Cyclonus groused as his claws gouged the flooring for purchase.

"Aw, let the old wallflowers gossip, hornhead." The helo's single optic was bright and upturned in what could only be a patent smirk. "Besides, the more they gab, the less attention they're paying to how much I'm kicking your sorry af-- Frag frag frag frag frag FRAG what did we say about the teeth?!"

In the midst of his sparring partner's boasting, Cyclonus had taken the opportunity to bite down on one of the offending pincers. And if the determined set of his hollow jaw was any indication, he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

"Then again," Scourge hummed thoughtfully as the pair went rolling and punching across the hall again, "he has always had a stubborn streak."

"Yeah, but I'm kinda scared someone's gonna poke out an optic out or lose a servo at this rate." He slumped over slightly until his helm tokked against the other's pauldron. "... How long do you think they're gonna keep this up?"

"Until one of them has the good sense to surrender." The taller mech's wings flicked as he shrugged. One arm came to rest around the minibot's high shoulders. "Or until they both pass out from rotor fatigue and engine overheating. The latter, most likely."

"Think we should call First Aid and get them a spot in the medbay in advance?"

"And miss the opportunity to see Ratchet lecturing them on the mad futility of wrestling each other to within an inch of their spark? I think not."

Companionable silence spread between them. (Or at least as silent as it could be with his trinemates fighting and grunting like a pair of rival charger boars during mating season.) Tailgate took to toying absentmindedly with Scourge's digits. The energon magenta of his claws stood out starkly against the white plating. He noted with an amused frission in his EM field that the same matching pink still covered Tailgate's digits.

"How do you keep these looking so nice?" Tailgate murmured, a hint of envy in his own field. "I can't go three shifts without mine wanting to flake or lose their shine."

"Anodizing." His vocoder clicked and buzzed as it worked through one of its regular kinks. He slid his servo beneath Tailgate's and splayed his claws out to accentuate his point. "If you take the time to treat the surface and mix the desired color in a bit of hot solvent, the color seeps into your plating and does not fade so easily. Regular reapplications of sealant also maintains their gloss."

"Hm, neat. Think you could teach me how to-- Ow! Hey, what gives?!"

All at once Tailgate's world was spinning at Scourge suddenly snatched him up. Arms wrapped firmly around him, and wings came up quick as lightning to shield his small frame. The minibot had little time to wonder what had gotten into the old mech before an audial-breaking CLANG! sounded not a mechometer beside them. The minibot cursed under his breath as he shimmied up in Scourge's grasp to peak over his wings.

"What happened? Let me see, dang it!" The other complied immediately, wings dropping away to reveal Whirl in a crumpled heap right where they had been sitting scarce nanokliks ago. There was a Whirl-shaped dent in the wall to match. Both slowly turned their helms to see Cyclonus venting heavily, arms still up from where he had thrown the helo bodily across the room.

"I'mmmmmm gonna call th't a draaaaw," came the helo's slurred surrender, one warped claw waving weakly around in the air. His vocoder sounded burnt out as if he had just binged a whole bottle of high-grade. With that dent in his helm, he would likely be feeling a similar hangover later. "Yoooo, Tee, when'd you and Sc'rgey get triplets?"

Still in Scourge's arms, Tailgate glanced up to share a dubious look with the other. "So... think we should comm the medbay now?"

"... Yes, I am beginning to think that might be wise," he rasped, kneeling and letting the minibot go. "My apologies for the rough handling. Are you injured?"

"No no no, I'm fine," the minibot insisted, reaching up to pat the side of Scourge's faceplate. "Not so sure about these two, though. C'mon, let's get them a medic before they decide to go at it again. You get Whirl and I'll get Cyc?"

"With pleasure, little one," the other chuffed with a slight smile, already reaching out to heft the helo over his shoulders. "With pleasure."

[secretsolenoid]

Stocking stuffer for @ferrum-negative! Thank you for stepping in to do an emergency fill!

--

It echoed through the Lost Light in rumors and wary mutterings that had the whole ship on edge. Things started in Swerve’s, as they were wont to, because Chromedome told Skids, who mentioned it to Rung and was overheard by Bluestreak, who said something to Swerve. Or maybe it was that Perceptor complained to Mainframe, who tried to scare Jackpot with it, who complained to Trailbreaker who was very drunk at that particular moment and not especially good at volume control.

(The fact of the Lost Light’s particular gossip chain was that Swerve and Swerve’s were the end of the grapevine—the only question was how it had gotten there).

In any case, by the time it reached command, and command subsequently reached Brainstorm’s lab, the rumors were particularly aggrieved. As they stepped into the corridor, both Rodimus and Megatron were wearing the same kind of aggrieved frown.

“Maybe he’s just trying to build some good-guy-bad-guy gun again,” Rodimus suggested, but he didn’t sound particularly convinced of this.

“That,” Megatron said dourly, “sounds entirely idiotic.” And he slammed his fist against the door, making it echo. “Brainstorm. Come out of there.”

The door did not open, but after some ominous rattling and shuffling and yelps from inside, they heard Brainstorm’s voice. “What?”

“They’re saying you’re working on something big in there,” Rodimus called through the door. “And there’s something about mistletoe…? The complaint, uh, wasn’t exactly clear. But mind giving us a hint?”

“Yes,” Brainstorm said, stiffly. “It’s nothing dangerous. Ask Nautica. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to get back to.”

A few moments later, some sort of horribly loud grinding sound started up in the lab, and neither Megatron nor Rodimus could get any more response out of Brainstorm over the din.

Nautica, it turned out, wasn’t much help either. “He said something about a… interlude device?” she said, pulling herself out of the engines to look down at the two of them. “He was muttering about manipulating event probabilities and he said something weird about filler episodes and Swearth.”

“He was, was he,” Megatron said, thunderously.

“At least it’s not time travel,” Rodimus said, but he was on the edge of throwing up his hands. “We’ll send Percy after him. And then we’ll get someone else to translate Perceptor. And then we’ll make Brainstorm stop it.”

--

Perceptor, it turned out, could get into Brainstorm’s lab just by knocking on the door, but from the exasperated look on his face, he was not particularly pleased to see the state of it. Understandably so, considering how much clutter there was filling it.

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor said, crossing his arms. “What on Cybertron have you been doing in here? You haven’t left in a week.”

“I’m creating an interlude device!” Brainstorm crowed. “Working title. After the whole Unicron thing, I started getting this idea—couldn’t we use a break from time to time between saving the universe? To recover and reinvigorate our spirits and maybe get up to some goofy hijinks. Don’t you think we could use a break for a while? Think of it as my, ah, apology gift to the ship.”

“I think,” Perceptor said, “it sounds entirely impossible. I’m going to have to insist that you get out of the lab for a while—I’ll supervise you myself if I have to. I hear Swerve is throwing a celebration in his bar. That will suffice.”

“Not impossible,” Brainstorm corrected, even as he started setting down his datapads and locking down the lab. His optics twinkled at Perceptor’s startled expression. “I’d say the first test is going fantastically.”

[robot-trash-stash-blog]

"Do what you've always done. Do what you do best. Protect me." Gift to ferrum-negative on Tumblr-- Here ya go! Happy reads! ^-^

@ferrum-negative

Here it is!

[xensilverquill]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, The Transformers (IDW Generation One) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Scourge/Grotusque, Cyclonus/Tailgate Characters: Scourge (Transformers), Grotusque (Transformers), Tailgate (Transformers), Cyclonus (Transformers), Whirl (Transformers), Brainstorm (Transformers), Hot Rod | Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Megatron (Transformers), Ultra Magnus Additional Tags: PTSD, Fight Club - Freeform, body painting, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Slow Burn, Oblivious, Gay, GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY, Mutual Pining, rarepair hell Summary:

"I'm startin' to think you're goin' soft, Mustache. I didn't even feel that last pun--" He reeled as Scourge caught him square in the chest with a quick. "Oof, there we go!"

"If only you were as quick to move as you are to quip," the blue mech countered, wings snapping up to block the Monsterbot's punches. "You might win a few more matches."

"Aw, but then who else'd let you win as often as I do?" Grotusque took advantage of the moment to swiftly step behind Scourge. He wrapped his arms around his partner's sides, effectively pinning both his wings and arms.

"After all, someone's gotta keep that ego of yours from gettin' too dented," he rumbled cheekily.

"It is not the only thing about to get dented." After which he promptly snapped his helm back and hit Grotesque full under the chin.

---

Art-trade/gift with @ferrum-negative.