More animations from the forbidden storyboard hoard.
This time it was scrapped because at the time I didn’t have a design for Rumbleclutch. But now that I have one for him I was able to clean it up (a bit) and add the audio.
@thebrokenmechanicalpencil- slowly but surely I’ll get through my collection.
Have some Saberfire babies! Wanted to show off the toddler and egg stage of their sparklings!
Thresh had orange lights on his egg that signaled he’d have golden optics, His sister Rollie Pollie’s were green, and his other sister, Racket had a very insect like yellow-green.
Thresh and Rollie look more like their carrier, but Racket takes very much after her sire!
Yeah, this is kinda random, I started talking about Nova and Saberfire with @thebrokenmechanicalpencil and now this exists. Yay me I suppose. I don’t love it but I rarely ever do love what I write so that’s nothing new.
But I thought it would be fun to finally introduce my buggers. Well, Nova has been here before but that’s beside the point.
—
Nova sat in near silence, save for the hum of the overhead lights and the faint ticking of his console. His own systems were idling quietly, near silent. Smooth, perfect, professional.
He was looking through reports, making sure they were sorted into the correct files, sent to the proper people to be looked over. He was looking over Echo’s most recent mission report and decided to take the time to help the sniper with his lackluster grammar and save Rumbleclutch the headache.
Sporting and checking reports and files wasn’t particularly difficult, it could have been done by anyone really. However, it was the kind of work no one wanted but had to be done—unglamorous, unthanked, but mandatory for the bases functioning. Rumbleclutch at least seemed thankful occasionally, on the rare occasion he actually bothered to drop by and say hello to Nova.
The small mech paused a moment, rereading a sentence a few times and scoffing—Echo was a gifted sniper all things considered. He was not built for the task and yet his record challenged many military frames that were built for the art of sharpshooting. Unfortunately for them all, saying Echo was scatterbrained was an understatement. Nova shook and moved the sentence to the paragraph above, where it belonged, where it had context. It was apparently too bothersome for Echo to move his cursor up so he didn’t have to backtrack.
“‘Position compromised. Took the shot anyway.’” Nova read the line aloud, dryly, a single amused noise left his throat, “Really poetic, Echo.”
He deleted the sentence and rephrased it, fingers tapping rhythmically against the console. Precise. Focused. Sharp.
Then the door chimed. Once. And immediately opened before he could say anything. Nova didn’t bother looking up. It was most likely Jeopardy, the young medic had formed quite the attachment to Nova and had decided to take it upon himself and routinely bother him. It was becoming rather irritating as of late.
“Jeopardy, I’m actually on shift—”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” came the unmistakably smug, sharp-edged voice that definitely wasn’t Jeopardy. “I’m not that emotionally invested.”
Nova’s fingers twitched against the keyboard, a small flinch running through him. He sucked in a breath, gaze still firmly set on the screen before him. He didn’t need to look up, the distinct voice was etched into his processor like shrapnel. The orange mech fought the urge to let his plating press into himself.
It was Saberfire.
Nova didn’t respond right away. He adjusted a line of text on the screen, jaw tight, expression unreadable behind his golden visor. He remained still at his desk, posture rigid, optics scanning the screen with forced focus. His fingers hovered just above the keys, still as if frozen mid-command. She hadn’t said anything else yet, and that was worse somehow.
Saberfire stepped fully into the room, the door sliding closed behind her with a low hiss. The sound of her footsteps was deliberate — not stomping, not stealthy, but assertive. She didn’t walk so much as take up space, even when there wasn’t much of it, even though she wasn’t much bigger than himself.
“Still doing the paper-pusher routine, huh?” Saberfire finally said, her tone light, breezy, laced with venom. Her electric eyes monitored him, sparkling with twisted amusement, “You know there’s a war on, right?”
Nova’s jaw clenched, he took a small breath in, keeping his voice cropped and emotionless, “I’m well aware.”
Something about that simple statement must have been rather ironic, his sister let out a brief snort. She shook her head, a sly smile tainted with mock kindness spreading across her face.
“I’m not so sure,” she drawled, circling around his desk like a predator sniffing for weakness. “I mean, I was just down in the hangars prepping for my next deployment and I swear I passed at least four mechs who don’t even know you’re stationed here.”
The orange mech shifted in his seat, trying to slightly widen the gap between them that Saberfire had the audacity to close. She was leaning on his desk now, peering down with a clever smile. Something dark twisted in Nova’s gut, he let his plates bristle, “Making friends isn’t my priority right now, I have more important things to focus on.”
Saberfire hummed to herself, clearly bemused by the response, and leaned in just slightly closer—far enough that Nova could feel the subtle hum of her near silent engine through the air between them, close enough that her breath made Nova shiver.
“Right,” she said, lips twitching in a smirk, cold eyes trained on his face, “Because fixing grammar in field reports is so essential to our survival.”
Nova didn’t flinch, but it took effort. He tapped a key on the console, saving and closing Echo’s file with a sharp click, more forceful than necessary. Hopefully it got his disdain across to his boarish sister—he doubted it.
“It is when half our field operatives submit reports with missing coordinates, contradictory intel, and enough typos to be legally classified as encryption,” he said, flat. Precise. “Command needs clear records. I make sure they get them.”
Saberfire made a noise in the back of her throat—half laugh, half scoff—and leaned away at last, stretching her arms overhead in a casual, theatrical motion like she was already bored. “Frag, Nova. You even sound like a bureaucrat now. It's depressing.”
The lean warrior rolled her shoulders back, shifting her weight to a single leg, resting a steady hand on her hip as she looked over Nova. Her smug smirk remained for a moment longer before it grew into a grin, “Primus, I even think Rumbleclutch is less rigid than you. And that’s saying something, there is a wrench shoved far up that aft of his.”
Nova huffed, finally turning to look at her, light dancing across the surface of his golden visor. His plating flared with his rising irritation, “He lets you get away with your gambling schemes, I would consider that rather forgiving considering his nature.”
Saberfire’s smirk sharpened. Her optics glittered like broken glass. “Please, he doesn’t let me get away with anything. I just happen to be good at not getting caught.” She shrugged like it was a compliment. “Unlike some of us.”
Nova didn’t take the bait. Again. But her words struck true, and they both knew it.
“I do my job,” he said, his voice quieter now, more controlled, his plates drawn in tighter, pressing into his sides. “I don’t have to be liked for that to matter.”
There was a beat of silence. Nova felt oddly empty at the confession, he ignored it, focusing on his sister who watched him with a careful eye. Her smile had dropped as she processed what he had said, slowly it returned though, more sinister than before.
“That’s rich.” Saberfire stepped forward again, placing both hands on the edge of his desk and leaning down just enough to loom. Her smile fell into a firm, bitter stare. “You think what you’re doing matters? We’re in a war, Nova. Mechs are dying out there while you sit in your little office with your nose stuck up like you're better than the rest of us. Like you got here from all your good hard work and not because you're too glitched to shoot straight.”
Nova wasn’t able to hide his flinch at the words. Emotions churning in his gut, unpleasant and pressing against his chest. His plates pressed into himself further, suffocating, his vents stuttering. He looked away.
Her words were fast, sharp, biting—like she wasn’t aiming to argue but to bruise. Her gaze was intense, “You think command cares if a sentence has a comma in the right place when it’s soaked in energon? When are you going to grow up and learn how to actually contribute?”
Nova didn’t respond. Not right away.
His fingers twitched minutely on the edge of his desk, but he kept them still. Held himself still. If he moved, even slightly, he feared something inside him might break open—and Saberfire would see it. She would enjoy it. Something bitter crawled through him at the thought. She would enjoy watching him squirm, she always did.
The orange mech’s vents stuttered once more, the next intake shuddering through his frame. He couldn’t look at her—not now. His gaze dropped, golden visor catching only the faintest distorted reflection of her face in the polished surface of his console.
Saberfire’s words echoed too loudly in his processor, ringing in the hollows she knew how to find. The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong—not entirely. She never was. She was always right, always had to be the one to have the last laugh. And the moment she didn’t get what she wanted she would throw a fit—like a damn brat.
She waited for him to snap back. To bark something sharp and cold. That was their rhythm. He had nothing to say, nothing worth voicing. She had made her point, there was no winning, no point in trying to defend himself. After a long beat of silence she straightened, finally stepping back from the desk, optics narrowing just slightly as she studied him.
“Primus,” she muttered, not quite a scoff this time, “you really are broken, aren’t you?”
That got something—just the faintest flick of Nova’s fingers on the console, like a glitch in a looped command. He finally spoke, his voice lower than before, scraped raw and flat. “Get out.”
Saberfire didn’t respond or listen. Nova didn’t expect her to. He didn’t look at her either. Couldn’t. The command had left his mouth before he realized he was going to say it, and now it hung in the room like a live wire—quiet, thrumming, final.
She lingered.
Of course she did.
Nova kept his gaze fixed on the screen in front of him, though the report had long since blurred into abstract shapes. His hands were still braced on either side of the console, frame locked in that stiff, protective posture he couldn’t seem to break out of. Plating pressed tight, vents shallow. He felt heat crawling up the back of his neck cabling.
Saberfire shifted her weight again, slowly, audibly—making sure he heard the grind of her joints and the low thump of her steps, like punctuation. Then she spoke, voice quieter this time, but no softer.
“Dropmix wanted me to tell you that he needs you down in the medbay, something’s wrong with his computer” she said, not facing him now, just wandering vaguely toward the door. An amused hum escaped her as she leisurely made her way across the room, “Poor old man’s com system must be down.”
Nova didn’t move. Not at first.
The sound of her voice still clung to the air like smoke—thin, acrid, unwelcome. Even when her tone shifted, even when her words became utilitarian, the burn of her earlier venom still left scorch marks on his circuits.
“Fine,” he said, the word brittle in his mouth.
He waited until the door hissed shut behind her before finally letting himself breathe—really breathe. The kind that shuddered through his vents and made his frame sag, just a little. His hands slowly unclenched from the console. His shoulders felt like they had been locked in place for weeks.
For a brief, irrational moment, Nova considered ignoring Dropmix’s request. Just staying right here. Staring blankly at the glowing words on his screen until his processor cooled down. But that wasn’t how he worked. It wasn’t how he was allowed to work. There were things to be done. Always.
Sneak peak at the SaberFire family in the Blitzbee family au! You’ll see full bodies later!
Jetfire met Saberhorn after the war had ended when the Insecticon opened a fencing studio. He was smitten by Saberhorn’s voice, but was completely oblivious to the fact he was flirting with him for months.
After several year their triplets came as 3 unexpected goblins one night after several months of Saberhorn being moodier and pickier than usual.
Their three naughty little goblins were a mech and two femmes that they named Thresh (the muscle), Rollie Pollie (the ring leader), and Racket (the distraction)
The triplets are a rag tag team of trouble makers, but they only seem to get into a mess if Rollie Pollie is around. They learned that if they remove the ring leader from the room, Thresh and Racket behave more.
