there's an unfortunate idea banging on my head, not leaving me alone... worst thing's it would have to be longer that whatever i've written so far... and i dont wan that,,,,,, wahhhhhhhhhh
It’s about rage, it’s about obsession, it’s about making that two-person war your entire raison d’être. It’s about loving and mistaking it for hatred and loving and loving and loving to the point of destruction. His or yours, it doesn’t matter. And you think seeing him dead at your feet will make you feel better, but all you feel is a whole lot of nothing.
KEEP IT UP. KEEP IT DOWN.
(A Superion x Menasor fic.)
Menasor and Superion get stuck underground.
CW: blood (energon) drinking, but done without real intention. AND vomiting too
Menasor doesn't like being on his back, doesn't like small spaces he couldn't freely fight in, and definitely doesn't like finding himself in a combination of both.
This Prison isn't like the one in the Ark, holding his team separated; but rough, uneven and pressing down with the weight of heavy rocks.
"Want out."
Without Megatron around; no order for him to follow, there's no reason to stay. He itches to leave, drive away, fast, faster; far, far off from here.
"No." Superion's voice and a sudden tug holding his head in place brings him from borrowed memories of wide roads leading to an orange sunset back to the dark space with a low ceiling and his back against the ground. "Your fault."
"Not Menasor's"
"Megatron's!"
"No."Menasor remembers: the sunken ship, kilometers away from dusty deserted roads and crowded towns full of cars ready to be crushed. Megatron, his voice closer and clearer than he's used to, giving out orders, promising fuel. They were assigned transportation duty; collect, deliver and back again and again. For fuel, they could obey.
Besides, why are they being blamed?!?!? Didn't the autobums imprison the stunticons before?! This is the kind of things they do. What Superion is doing to him now: stranding Menasor, keeping him on his back, holding his helm to stop him from retracting, and separating inside this small and dark makeshift prison.
"WANT OUT!"
His nearly stretched arms hold the weight of the ceiling pressing down on him, THEM! Shot! Shot! Drag Strip encourages. Make way, Dead End adds.
With a clacking laugh echoing from bottom to the top, Menasor releases a growl and two power surges from his forearms directly towards the roof. Instead of the sky opening overhead, everything goes black.
"Is everything ok down there, Superion?" Optimus's voice comes through his comm devide. "The tremor just now…"
"ok." Superion has one job only, speaking more than he should has just brought him one more problem. "How long?" he asks, because that information is pertinent to the mission not because he wants to know for how much longer he'll stay trapped with Menasor, ONLY Menasor.
"The rescue mission will be over before night falls. You'll have to keep the rest of the structure from collapsing for a couple of hours, although we don't yet know what caused the…."
Superion stops listening after the first sentence. It's all he needs to know. Now he should carry the weight of the debris over his back on his own; Menasor having gone unconscious after a falling rock, dislocated thanks to his failed attempt to escape, hit him square in the face, causing viscous pink liquid to ooze from its side.
Menasor doesn't like onlining, it was a pain in the neck the first time, this second time doesn't seem better.
"Finally."
Superion is looking back at him, so close Menasor can see his reflection on his visor; red lights coming closer and closer. Menasor puts his arms up, bracing himself, the weight of the rough roof above them presses down, but his reflection keeps getting bigger, the alarmed grimace with his feautures now clearer.
Whoosssssssssssh. CLANG!
Superion's frame is scalding hot against him. Steam makes his torso wet wherever it makes contact with him. But it's wetter next to his helm where Superion vents.
Menasor reacts by freezing; a pasive response to whatever Superion dedides to do next. He just lies there and vents.
Confusion quickly turns to anger when nothing happens. Arms busy and legs pinned down, Menasor must use his head.
Clank.
Clank. Clank!
Helm against helm.
A good aimed hit could smash Superion's visor into tiny pieces. But he doesn't get to find out; Superion tugs at his head, keeping it in place.
Again.
The strong flare of irritation and indignation coming from him and the others is abruptly interrupted by vacuum like noise in addition to Superion's venting. Move. shove him. Leave. Menasor stills, listens and feels like a circuit that starts from the top extending to his whole body and back again.
H-he' testing us, Brekadown screams. Testing? Tasting, Dead Ends corrects; that doesn't make more sense. Blows, zaps, beams, tha's what he's used to; not this soft violence, leaving him beat and producing sounds like it's causing him pain when he doesn't clearly feel it. Put an end to this, Motormaster urges him, as an alternative to remain unmoving, holding up the prison that cages them here.
The vacuum nips, pulls back, nips again, soft and swift, then latches and slurps, always hungry.
Something clicks.
The realization hits him, Menasor's learning that not only punches can do that, and he shudders from bottom to top. First his right leg, then his whole body starts trashing, trying to stop Superion from take from him.
And it does the trick. Superion holds himself as uptight as the low ceiling permits it, his back shares the weight of the roof, decreasing just the physical burden for Menasor.
In the middle of Sperion's mask, there's a vertical line smeared with a viscous pink liquid.
A rumors overhead takes them out of their confusing stillness. Optimus's voice is calling Superion, asking if he's ok and why aren't the aerialbots responding.
The ceiling is not as heavy as before, Menasor sees a way out of whatever this is. He pushes up and up until the starry sky greets him, decombining and leaving the rest to the stunticons who waste no time to drive away.
///
"Your were stuck down there with those maniacs?!"
"Superion you must share that type of information."
"We though you were all alone in there!"
"hey, are you ok, big guy?"
Superions opens his mask and purges the energon he just consumed.
Poor combiner don't get enough time to even exist and when they do, it's just to fight... under those circumstances, who would be normal ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
The other aerialbots were probably as exhausted as Superion to react while it was happening, later tho? mostly grateful Superion didn't actually consume any of that energon. Much later, it's just something to laugh about for them, like dude that does the impossible to ignore them caugth doing something so unorthodox ("karma's bitch" if they believed in that.)
Can't imagine was a nice report for Silverbolt to hand over tho ^^;;
KEEP IT UP. KEEP IT DOWN.
(A Superion x Menasor fic.)
Menasor and Superion get stuck underground.
CW: blood (energon) drinking, but done without real intention. AND vomiting too
Menasor doesn't like being on his back, doesn't like small spaces he couldn't freely fight in, and definitely doesn't like finding himself in a combination of both.
This Prison isn't like the one in the Ark, holding his team separated; but rough, uneven and pressing down with the weight of heavy rocks.
"Want out."
Without Megatron around; no order for him to follow, there's no reason to stay. He itches to leave, drive away, fast, faster; far, far off from here.
"No." Superion's voice and a sudden tug holding his head in place brings him from borrowed memories of wide roads leading to an orange sunset back to the dark space with a low ceiling and his back against the ground. "Your fault."
"Not Menasor's"
"Megatron's!"
"No."Menasor remembers: the sunken ship, kilometers away from dusty deserted roads and crowded towns full of cars ready to be crushed. Megatron, his voice closer and clearer than he's used to, giving out orders, promising fuel. They were assigned transportation duty; collect, deliver and back again and again. For fuel, they could obey.
Besides, why are they being blamed?!?!? Didn't the autobums imprison the stunticons before?! This is the kind of things they do. What Superion is doing to him now: stranding Menasor, keeping him on his back, holding his helm to stop him from retracting, and separating inside this small and dark makeshift prison.
"WANT OUT!"
His nearly stretched arms hold the weight of the ceiling pressing down on him, THEM! Shot! Shot! Drag Strip encourages. Make way, Dead End adds.
With a clacking laugh echoing from bottom to the top, Menasor releases a growl and two power surges from his forearms directly towards the roof. Instead of the sky opening overhead, everything goes black.
"Is everything ok down there, Superion?" Optimus's voice comes through his comm devide. "The tremor just now…"
"ok." Superion has one job only, speaking more than he should has just brought him one more problem. "How long?" he asks, because that information is pertinent to the mission not because he wants to know for how much longer he'll stay trapped with Menasor, ONLY Menasor.
"The rescue mission will be over before night falls. You'll have to keep the rest of the structure from collapsing for a couple of hours, although we don't yet know what caused the…."
Superion stops listening after the first sentence. It's all he needs to know. Now he should carry the weight of the debris over his back on his own; Menasor having gone unconscious after a falling rock, dislocated thanks to his failed attempt to escape, hit him square in the face, causing viscous pink liquid to ooze from its side.
Menasor doesn't like onlining, it was a pain in the neck the first time, this second time doesn't seem better.
"Finally."
Superion is looking back at him, so close Menasor can see his reflection on his visor; red lights coming closer and closer. Menasor puts his arms up, bracing himself, the weight of the rough roof above them presses down, but his reflection keeps getting bigger, the alarmed grimace with his feautures now clearer.
Whoosssssssssssh. CLANG!
Superion's frame is scalding hot against him. Steam makes his torso wet wherever it makes contact with him. But it's wetter next to his helm where Superion vents.
Menasor reacts by freezing; a pasive response to whatever Superion dedides to do next. He just lies there and vents.
Confusion quickly turns to anger when nothing happens. Arms busy and legs pinned down, Menasor must use his head.
Clank.
Clank. Clank!
Helm against helm.
A good aimed hit could smash Superion's visor into tiny pieces. But he doesn't get to find out; Superion tugs at his head, keeping it in place.
Again.
The strong flare of irritation and indignation coming from him and the others is abruptly interrupted by vacuum like noise in addition to Superion's venting. Move. shove him. Leave. Menasor stills, listens and feels like a circuit that starts from the top extending to his whole body and back again.
H-he' testing us, Brekadown screams. Testing? Tasting, Dead Ends corrects; that doesn't make more sense. Blows, zaps, beams, tha's what he's used to; not this soft violence, leaving him beat and producing sounds like it's causing him pain when he doesn't clearly feel it. Put an end to this, Motormaster urges him, as an alternative to remain unmoving, holding up the prison that cages them here.
The vacuum nips, pulls back, nips again, soft and swift, then latches and slurps, always hungry.
Something clicks.
The realization hits him, Menasor's learning that not only punches can do that, and he shudders from bottom to top. First his right leg, then his whole body starts trashing, trying to stop Superion from take from him.
And it does the trick. Superion holds himself as uptight as the low ceiling permits it, his back shares the weight of the roof, decreasing just the physical burden for Menasor.
In the middle of Sperion's mask, there's a vertical line smeared with a viscous pink liquid.
A rumors overhead takes them out of their confusing stillness. Optimus's voice is calling Superion, asking if he's ok and why aren't the aerialbots responding.
The ceiling is not as heavy as before, Menasor sees a way out of whatever this is. He pushes up and up until the starry sky greets him, decombining and leaving the rest to the stunticons who waste no time to drive away.
///
"Your were stuck down there with those maniacs?!"
"Superion you must share that type of information."
"We though you were all alone in there!"
"hey, are you ok, big guy?"
Superions opens his mask and purges the energon he just consumed.
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