DVD Commentary meme - Response 1 :3
Oct. 23rd, 2011 01:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wicked3659Title: Surrender
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wicked3659
Verse: G1 AU
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: mentions of character death, suicide, hinted genocide, disturbing psychological problems may make sensitive readers uncomfortable.
Characters: Red Alert, Prowl, Jazz, ensemble.
Word Count: 7500
Prompt: Transformers,(G1, Season 3), Any Autobot, now that the Autobots have won, one character realizes that...he can't adapt to peace. PTSD.
Summary: The war ended, the Autobots won, but one mech finds the adjustment to peace to be that of a life sentence
antepathy asked for this fic and here is my commentary :3
His position secure, Red Alert knew he could make the best of it by taking pot shots at incoming Decepticons as they charged towards the rest of the battling Autobots. It had been a devious tactical manoeuvre but one that Prowl had expertly seen through. The tactician had prepared for this battle thoroughly with Red Alert’s help, it wasn’t everyday the Decepticons made an all out run for the Ark. That was their last line of defense on Earth, if their base fell; the Autobots were as good as dead.
Taking aim and firing, Red Alert computed how secure his location was, on his own he would probably get overrun, he’d sent out a comm. call but the rest of the Autobots were too tied up handling Megatron’s main assault. Despite popular opinion, Red Alert knew how to fight and he knew how to fight well. His preoccupation with security and infiltration however, often led ‘bots to believe he was a little bit of a coward, a pacifist, more interested in preventing the fight rather than winning the war. Many saw his methods as a temporary stop gap, delaying the inevitable but Red didn’t really care what they thought. His directives and regulations and security measures had saved their afts more times than anyone had bothered to count and he was not about to change for anyone.
The way this story started out was more me wanting to paint Red Alert in the 'atypical' characterisation of him. Fandom and canon portray him as paranoid and neurotic and with some serious issues but my thinking is; he didn't get to the position of Security Director and all the responsibilities that entails without having some smarts about him. I wanted to put this across straight away because it becomes evident throughout the fic how much he's changed by the war from being a competent officer and soldier to something that is more recognisable to fandom as the typical Red Alert.
Standing cautiously, Red Alert scanned the surrounding area and detected the shimmer of Mirage’s cloak. “Glad to have you on my side.” He stated graciously.
The noble came into view and turned to face him. “Always a pleasure.” He replied. “Maybe now you’ll consider copying the specs of my cloak so other members of the team can utilise it?”
“No, absolutely not. Can you imagine the carnage within our own base if the likes of the twins or Jazz got hold of such a modification? Besides, Optimus has already seconded my recommendation.”
“No he seconded Ratchet’s claim that it would be too much of a drain on most ‘bots’ systems. It is unfortunate that the majority of Autobots aren’t constructed as well as myself.”
Honestly; I never used to like Mirage. But now, I like to think of him as the quiet, misunderstood (if arrogant) type. This little scene was a way to paint the interactions between them as a unit. I wanted to show how they worked together and I kinda wanted Mirage to be the good guy here, especially considering what happens to him later on. Ending on a high is always the best way to end in my view.
Their optics met and for a split second, Red Alert saw fear in the noble’s optics before his chest exploded in a shower of sparks and energon. Red couldn’t move, could only stare, his frame was spattered with the pink energon of his fellow Autobot and his friend. He didn’t even move when the ‘cons approached him, his vision was filled with that of Mirage’s graying corpse and the last thing he felt was a processor shattering pain as a hard force smashed into his face. He felt plating give beneath the force and his grip on consciousness wavered, he was thrown to the ground and the blows continued to rain upon him. A pulse rifle was held to his head and the last thing Red Alert knew was the shrill charge of the weapon burning into his processor, destroying his cognitive processes as the world ceased to exist around him.
I needed this scene to be as vivid as possible as it is a crucial plot point for the story. Plus I do have a thing for the shock tactic in fic. I like to think the reader gets hit 'BAM' and the hand covers their mouth as they gasp in horror but can't look away and have to read on to see what comes next - even if they know they aren't going to like it. Bit like watching a car crash ^_^;;
He dreaded heading out on duty. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his work it was just his role was more redundant now. That battle had been one of the last. It had gone a lot worse than he’d first realised. He should have suspected when Prowl had been the one to call the cease fire, not Optimus. A lot of mechs had died that day, friends and enemies but it had brought the war to a standstill. Resources were no longer an asset, Cybertron was dry of energon and they simply weren’t converting the fuel fast enough to accommodate for the amount required to fight a war.
He had been in stasis when the peace treaty had been signed. The pulse charge to his helm had only just missed vital parts of his processor, thanks to a surprise attack from Prowl. Jazz had sent the Decepticons packing but Prowl had been the one to physically drag the ‘con from Red just as he fired, saving his life, what little life he had now.
The bitterness came in waves, souring his moods. Some days weren’t as bad but others gave him the urge to crawl into a smelting pit and die; like today. Reluctantly heading out into the bright corridor, Red tried his best to be civil to the cheery greetings. It had been a good five years since the mutual surrender and the Ark had grown into Metroplex. A Cybertronian city on Earth, shared by Autobots and Decepticons alike. Most now had their emblems removed, factions didn’t exist anymore. It was a co-existence they had only dreamed about and all it had cost them was their planet, thousands of lives, and the final obliteration of the two faction leaders. Megatron had survived the final battle but had succumbed to his injuries sometime later, Starscream had announced himself leader and his first act had been one that had stunned almost all Cybertronians. He was finally tired of fighting, with Megatron gone, there was nobody else left for him to usurp power from and he agreed to fully cooperate with the Autobots under the conditions that all crimes be forgiven on both sides.
Now I have a pet peeve in fan fic that it doesn't feel real. I know it's meant to be escapism and god do I love my happy endings but when I'm writing my dark fic, I want gritty, I want angst and I want the fact that these beings have been fighting a war for most of their existence - a war that has destroyed their planet and the lives they once knew and many of their friends and loved ones - to scar them. I want regret, bitterness, anger, hate; even among Autobots. Especially among Autobots as they're too often painted as pure and righteous and in war ANY war, there are no winners. Everyone loses in some way. I always want to get that feeling in my dark fics, I feel it gives the characters more substance and hopefully makes the reader care about them as much as I do.
Red knew how they looked at him, with sympathetic optics, pity. He hated it. Nothing lasted forever, least of all peace. They were being taken over from within, he could feel it in his spark and only he was willing to do anything about it, the rest of the Autobots had turned a blind idea to the wolf in sheep’s clothing lurking outside their very doors. He would be ready when the attack came. They would all thank him in the end.
“I thought I might find you here.”
Red Alert started and shot a glare at the calm voice interrupting his thoughts. He hadn’t even registered his journey to the monitoring room, so engrossed he’d been in preparing them for the final assault. “Prowl… you should know better than to sneak up on me.” He glowered momentarily before relaxing slightly in the black and white’s presence.
“Trouble recharging again?”
“I recharged fine.” Red turned away, not wanting to meet Prowl’s concerned gaze. He was probably the one mech who didn’t obviously pity him, showed genuine concern, listened rather than belittled him. The others meant well, at least Red Alert continued to tell himself, lest he succumb to the paranoia that they were all whispering about him and his increasingly erratic, anti-social behaviour.
This whole fic is based around Red Alert. Here I wanted to show how totally aware of himself that he is, and not the nervous, paranoid individual that is normally expected. Paranoia is a cruel companion but the sufferer is very well aware of its existence, it's only when the lines between imagination and reality become too blurred to be distinguished that things start going very wrong. Here Red is fully compus mentus, but the reader should be able to detect that hint of uncertainty, lurking, ready to pounce.
Prowl let out a non-committal noise as he ventured forward, not waiting for an invitation as he took the adjacent seat. “You logged off shift only 4 hours ago, you’re not due back on shift for another 5, so if you recharged well then this must be due to a sudden affinity for duties to which you’ve barely shown more than a passing indifference to for over the last two weeks.”
Red could practically feel himself shrinking in his chair, there was nothing on base that got past Prowl, he recalled a time when that used to be him, when he was aware of all the goings on, not anymore. Ultra Magnus - as much as he pandered to Optimus Prime’s older staff - only gave within his limitations; he preferred mechs he knew personally, mechs and femmes he could trust, those he had been used to working with on Cybertron in Optimus Prime’s absence, Red Alert could certainly relate to that.
Prowl is my favouritist bot ever, so of course he's going to be involved somewhere. He's in all my fics that aren't character specific, even if only as a supporting role. I like to think of him as observant, thoughtful and in my head, Prowl and Red should have at least a very amicable relationship due to the fact they're misunderstood so easily by the others. This is a feeling I relate to, you can see it in many of the fics I write.
“You don’t believe me.” Red Alert spat, clenching his fists in irritation, before viciously pushing his chair away and beginning to pace the small room. “Of all the people who I thought would be against me, I never suspected you.”
Sighing, Prowl remained unmoved by the increasing aggression, it was something he was regretfully getting used to. “I did not say that I did not believe you, Red but I cannot go to Ultra Magnus with just an accusation without evidence to back it up.”
“So you do believe me?” Red Alert couldn’t help the relief evident in his voice. Taking his seat once more, he scooted closer to Prowl and tentatively brushed a finger over his clasped hands, his tone soft. “Always been able to count on you, you’ve always helped me.”
Catching Red Alert’s hand before he pulled it away, Prowl squeezed it gently. “Only ever wanted to help you, Red.” He murmured, not meeting the red and white’s gaze. “I want you to gather as much evidence as you can and tell no one but me. When you have enough, we’ll take it to Ultra Magnus, together.” He straightened and was all business once more, leaving Red Alert struggling to hide his disappointment, it was so rare that Prowl showed his affections, let his guard down.
“I will, I’ll not let you down.” Red Alert managed a smile as Prowl stood. “Prowl…?”
The black and white flicked his doorwings slightly as he glanced back at the hopeful mech. “Mm?”
“Later..?”
“I’ll try.”
Red Alert nodded, and turned back to his monitors, not noticing the fleeting glance Prowl cast him, his smile faded, optics dim with a weary untold sadness before he left his friend alone.
Now I don't like it when Prowl and/or Red is given this persona of inexperienced, socially inept, cold, unable to form emotional bonds. I think in their positions it's almost vital to be able to do some if not all of these things. It just makes logical sense that these two would find a kindred spirit in the other given the circumstances they're forced to endure everyday during the war.
Ultra Magnus didn’t like the hesitation in Prowl’s reply. //It’s too early to tell, Sir. I will keep you informed.//
//I know this is hard for you and Jazz just… let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.//
//Thank you, Sir, I appreciate that but he’s our friend and it may only cause him more delusions if anyone else gets involved.//
//Just be careful, Prowl… //
//Always, Sir.//
//Oh and Prowl?//
//Sir?//
//Stop calling me Sir, I’m your friend too.//
//…Understood, my apologies, Prowl out.//
I quietly love Ultra Magnus. He is a very understated character and I just think he needs more love :3
“Yes, Jazz, we’ve been through this. I know you’ll never completely trust them but I work with a lot of them, I’m friendly with more, I would know.” Prowl stated in mild exasperation. He was tired of having the same argument with both his closest friends, it saddened him that peace had come at a price, for some it had been simply too high a price to pay. His tone softened, “You always trusted me before…”
“I know, I know… and I do trust you now, Prowl I just worry…” Jazz ducked his gaze, frowning at the door as Red Alert stepped through.
“Please don’t let Red see your concern; his mental state is fragile enough as it is.”
“That bad huh?”
Prowl’s doorwings wilted, a clear sign he was unhappy with the situation. “He accused Hound of disgracing Mirage’s memory and of fraternising with the enemy, not two breems ago…”
Jazz winced, shaking his helm. “Frag, that’s harsh.”
Right, before you scream CLICHE at me and hurl vitreol for my token nod at the ever popular PJ pairing; give me a chance to explain. When I first joined fandom, I HATED this pairing, it was f***ing everywhere in all forms and standards (a lot wasn't good). But in my slow exploration of fandom, I found some gems and these two and the dynamic relationship they shared stuck with me. Honestly, I include them as a pairing of at the very least; good friends in my fics because it makes sense to me. Jazz is a special ops mech, he's going to need support from Prime's number one, even if he has Prime's support. Even if his motives were initially self serving, Prowl's dedication, loyalty and passion that he puts into his work is just simply something that anyone in their right mind would admire. So in summary, I don't just commit fan service by having these two be close in any sense in my fics, it simply makes logical sense for them to be this way. Prowl would be proud of my reasoning, no? :p
Flashes of colour, white light, glaring in the blackness. He reached out, could hear screaming in his audio, hands assaulting his body, trying to keep him still. NO! Not again, not this time. He spun viciously, tearing his arms from the grasp of the enemy; they weren’t going to beat him. Mirage! He had to get to Mirage, his vision was blurred, his intakes ragged as he struggled violently. His fists made contact, smashing into fragile faceplates with enough force to crack the protoform beneath, he gripped hard on the shadow of the enemy as they wavered and found his wing. Red Alert knew all about wings, he dug in his fingers and jerked his arm back, yanking the wing from the mech trying to restrain him.
A holler of pain. Yes! This time he could save Mirage, fend them off. He could hear his name being called; Mirage was calling for him, begging him to help. He shook his helm as his name sounded over and over, the urgency in the voice growing with each klik. He felt the fragile wing plating buckle in his cruel grasp and he pulled hard, hearing the cabling snap at the joint. The ‘con stiffened and screamed filling Red Alert with dark satisfaction. The grip on his arms loosened and the blurry image of the mech fell away from him. In his blind state the ensuing silence was deafening.
Dreams in short; fascinate me. Why, how does this happen? It's something that I like using as a plot device quite often. It's very useful for creating a tone of the chapter/fic to come.
The pads of his fingers were slick and warm as he touched his mouth, unusual, tangy. Drawing his hands away, his optics flared bright at the pink fluid beginning to dry on the plating. Intakes hitched as a mech groaned behind him. Turning slowly, Red Alert stood staring, in shock as his optics befell the sight of Prowl on his floor, covered in his own energon, a door wing hanging loosely from his back. “…Prowl…?” He managed a stricken whisper, falling to his knee joints beside the downed enforcer. “Why are you… you shouldn’t be here… I don’t…I’m so sorry, I thought…” His hands shaking he reached out to touch him, spark pulsing hard in his chest.
I honestly don't know why but those characters that I love the most, those that always seem to be in control, I have to rip that control from them and see how they cope out of their comfort zone. Poor Prowl gets a raw deal from me ^_^;;;
Prowl had no words as First Aid helped him to his feet and guided him out the door. Casting a tired glance over his shoulder, Prowl met Red’s optics and returned his faint smile. “Be careful, Red… I can’t protect you forever…”
The red and white hesitated at the quiet words, not knowing quite what to make of them. The door slid shut, plunging him into darkness once more; only the cobalt blue of his optics gave any form of light, his voice but a whisper. “It’s my turn to protect you.”
I find a lot of dark fics, I've read or written or even films and TV that are dark tend to have the darkness exude from some kind of co-dependence. Here, we can see how Red believes he's in the right, we can see his control slipping even though he can no longer distinguish the lines of reality and paranoia. What is it they say; the road to hell is paved with good intentions?
“Frag, he did a number on ya didn’t he?”
Prowl shot him a dark look and grimaced as he tried to straighten, fighting the urge to flick his doorwings. “He didn’t mean to… wasn’t aware.”
“That doesn’t make it right, Prowl.” Jazz replied softly, resting a hand between Prowl’s doorwings, sending a soft sonic pulse through specially modified nodes in the pads of his digits.
Prowl sighed with relief as the pulses eased the stiffness in his back and his frame sagged. He leaned over his desk, supporting himself with his arms, taking deep intakes as Jazz helped the deep ache subside. “It’s not that simple, I’ve tried to get Red help in the past, you remember?”
“Yeah, he thought the medics at the facility on Cybertron were trying to poison him.”
“He was right!”
“It was a coincidence. The mech’s ill, Prowl, why are you the only one who can’t see it?”
“Because I lo—“ Prowl stalled as he straightened suddenly, grunting as a fresh wave of dizzying phantom sensations rippled over his injured door wing, prompting Jazz to catch hold of him once more, keeping him steady on his feet. “He knows he’s not well, Jazz… he knows… I just need time.”
Now we've all been that friend who's tried to talk our friend out of a bad decision or an unhealthy relationship. Even the best of us - the best being Prowl in this case - have flaws. Even when those we love hurt us, it's still hard to let go, not when you continue to believe you can help them. How do you decide someone is a lost cause? How do you know tomorrow won't be a better day? A dilemma many friends and ex's have undoubtedly suffered with me.
Jazz scowled behind his visor as Prowl shook his helm and that all too familiar flicker of self hatred darkened the enforcer’s faceplates. “Hey, this isn’t your fault.”
“I could have—“
“—NO! You’ve done enough, Prowl. The best thing for Red now is—“
“—And since when were you the expert in what was best for me, Jazz?”
Both black and whites’ helms snapped up in surprise at Red Alert’s voice sliced through the tension in the room. Optics met and Prowl suddenly realised how close Jazz was holding him and instinctively backed away. “Red…?”
“So I’m guessing all the times you’ve been busy recently were because of this hm?” Red shot a dangerously dark look at Jazz, who opened his mouth to protest only to be silenced by Prowl’s hand on his arm.
“You know it’s not like that. Jazz was helping me with the pain.”
“Some help.” Red Alert sneered.
Prowl glared at the red and white and moved towards him with all the presence of his former role as second in command. “You will not do this here, Red.”
“Do what, Prowl? Expose you for who you really are? You’re one of them, come to think of it, you’re the only one who can arrange security detail on a single mech without it being conspicuous. You’ve been having me watched haven’t you?”
“It’s not like that, Red, please try to understa—“
“—HAVEN’T YOU?!”
“Hey, watch it, mech.” Jazz was between the two larger mechs in an instant, not afraid to face Red Alert even at his most unstable. “Prowl is only following orders.”
Red Alert barely spared Jazz a glance, his focus and anger solely directed at Prowl. “You knew what I told you about what was going on here, knew what they’ve been planning and you’re part of it?”
“Look Red, you’ve been under surveillance because you could hurt yourself, you’ve already attacked Prowl.”
The red and white’s optics flickered and finally registered Jazz’s presence directly before him. Taking a step back as if punched, his intakes hitched, he looked to Prowl, optics desperate, searching. “Is that what you’re telling everyone…?”
“Red, that’s what happened, you were having a memory purge… please try to remember… there was no attack… please…” Prowl reached for the stricken mech, halting when Red Alert recoiled from his touch, yanking his arm away.
“No, you’re doing this… making everyone think I’m crazy so you can ‘face that!” He gestured wildly towards Jazz, eliciting a low growl from the visored mech.
“Red, I wouldn’t…please remember…” Prowl pleaded desperately, his spark wrenching in his chest as his lover, his chosen scorned at him.
Jealousy is a tough thing to write for me. But it's something I've had great experience with. It hurts a great deal not to be trusted, you just can't help but blame yourself and it really does create a vicious circle when one half of a relationship doesn't trust the other half. Sometimes love just isn't enough. This scene was quite a poignant one to write for me. It was the beginning of the end.
Letting him go, Prowl growled and raced in the direction of the explosion, elbowing his way past the growing crowd outside the doors. He came to a dead stop upon reaching the exit. At the front of the crowd he could see everything. The smoke, the fire, the screams of mechs and femmes trapped inside. The habitation module – a new facility built by using the specs of Metroplex for the Decepticons as a first step into peace – was lying in ruins.
I like big epic dramatic scenes, what can I say :3
“RED! JAZZ!” Prowl hollered through the smoke and screams of destruction, forcing his way past the dying and the dead, uncaring as the heat started to warp the more fragile parts of his plating. He knew Hound and Inferno were following him, but he didn’t care, couldn’t stop not until he’d found them.
“RED!” Prowl slowed as he reached the clearing, not prepared for the sight that greeted him.
“I told you I’d protect you, Prowl.” Red Alert smiled fondly at his mech. The gun in his hand unwavering, steady for the first time since he’d woken up from stasis.
“Red, don’t do this…” Prowl whispered, optics flicking over to the side where Inferno and Hound rushed to the prone form of Jazz lying crumpled and broken on the ground. “I want to help you.”
“We both know you should have let me die.” Red replied softly, “this is the only way, we can be together...”
“Red, no do—“
Bang
The single shot pulse rifle rang out, shattering all other sounds. Hound screamed and Prowl could hear the rushing of feet as the strength in his legs left him.
Bang
Sounds became jumbled, chaotic as energon roared in his audio. Prowl tried to speak, tried to reach Red Alert, his optics watching as the red and white mech fell to the ground, his processor unable to register his own gaping wound in his chest as it tried to shut down non-vital systems, everything seemed to move in slow motion.
He could hear Inferno taking to him, telling him to remain calm, not to panic as he helped him lie back, his arms supporting his helm. Prowl found it strangely amusing. He was always calm, unflappable even, what a strange instruction to make. Prowl heard laughter, it sounded hysterical, strange and he wondered what joke he’d missed out on, or hadn’t understood this time, though he was certain Jazz would explain it to him later. Prowl was thankful when the laughter finally ceased, draping him in a blanket of dark silence.
So I cried a little writing this last paragraph. I could picture it so clearly in my head. Prowl's thoughts, the story coming full circle to end where it should have ended in the beginning. I also quite like open endings like this as darkness needs some kind of reprieve so I quite often leave the ending open to leave it up to the reader to decide what they want to happen. Optimists will believe Prowl lives and at least Jazz lives and Red was stopped before the worst could happen and he gets help. Realists will believe at least one of them is dead, more than likely; Red. And pessimists; well you get the idea :3 I think this is a crucial element for dark fics because too much dark is just too much, so I like to give the readers' the choice. It's their story, it's their imagination. What happens is up to them.
It's the least I can do if they're reading my stories ^_^;;
Hope this made sense!! :D
Author:
wicked3659Verse: G1 AU
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: mentions of character death, suicide, hinted genocide, disturbing psychological problems may make sensitive readers uncomfortable.
Characters: Red Alert, Prowl, Jazz, ensemble.
Word Count: 7500
Prompt: Transformers,(G1, Season 3), Any Autobot, now that the Autobots have won, one character realizes that...he can't adapt to peace. PTSD.
Summary: The war ended, the Autobots won, but one mech finds the adjustment to peace to be that of a life sentence
antepathy asked for this fic and here is my commentary :3His position secure, Red Alert knew he could make the best of it by taking pot shots at incoming Decepticons as they charged towards the rest of the battling Autobots. It had been a devious tactical manoeuvre but one that Prowl had expertly seen through. The tactician had prepared for this battle thoroughly with Red Alert’s help, it wasn’t everyday the Decepticons made an all out run for the Ark. That was their last line of defense on Earth, if their base fell; the Autobots were as good as dead.
Taking aim and firing, Red Alert computed how secure his location was, on his own he would probably get overrun, he’d sent out a comm. call but the rest of the Autobots were too tied up handling Megatron’s main assault. Despite popular opinion, Red Alert knew how to fight and he knew how to fight well. His preoccupation with security and infiltration however, often led ‘bots to believe he was a little bit of a coward, a pacifist, more interested in preventing the fight rather than winning the war. Many saw his methods as a temporary stop gap, delaying the inevitable but Red didn’t really care what they thought. His directives and regulations and security measures had saved their afts more times than anyone had bothered to count and he was not about to change for anyone.
The way this story started out was more me wanting to paint Red Alert in the 'atypical' characterisation of him. Fandom and canon portray him as paranoid and neurotic and with some serious issues but my thinking is; he didn't get to the position of Security Director and all the responsibilities that entails without having some smarts about him. I wanted to put this across straight away because it becomes evident throughout the fic how much he's changed by the war from being a competent officer and soldier to something that is more recognisable to fandom as the typical Red Alert.
Standing cautiously, Red Alert scanned the surrounding area and detected the shimmer of Mirage’s cloak. “Glad to have you on my side.” He stated graciously.
The noble came into view and turned to face him. “Always a pleasure.” He replied. “Maybe now you’ll consider copying the specs of my cloak so other members of the team can utilise it?”
“No, absolutely not. Can you imagine the carnage within our own base if the likes of the twins or Jazz got hold of such a modification? Besides, Optimus has already seconded my recommendation.”
“No he seconded Ratchet’s claim that it would be too much of a drain on most ‘bots’ systems. It is unfortunate that the majority of Autobots aren’t constructed as well as myself.”
Honestly; I never used to like Mirage. But now, I like to think of him as the quiet, misunderstood (if arrogant) type. This little scene was a way to paint the interactions between them as a unit. I wanted to show how they worked together and I kinda wanted Mirage to be the good guy here, especially considering what happens to him later on. Ending on a high is always the best way to end in my view.
Their optics met and for a split second, Red Alert saw fear in the noble’s optics before his chest exploded in a shower of sparks and energon. Red couldn’t move, could only stare, his frame was spattered with the pink energon of his fellow Autobot and his friend. He didn’t even move when the ‘cons approached him, his vision was filled with that of Mirage’s graying corpse and the last thing he felt was a processor shattering pain as a hard force smashed into his face. He felt plating give beneath the force and his grip on consciousness wavered, he was thrown to the ground and the blows continued to rain upon him. A pulse rifle was held to his head and the last thing Red Alert knew was the shrill charge of the weapon burning into his processor, destroying his cognitive processes as the world ceased to exist around him.
I needed this scene to be as vivid as possible as it is a crucial plot point for the story. Plus I do have a thing for the shock tactic in fic. I like to think the reader gets hit 'BAM' and the hand covers their mouth as they gasp in horror but can't look away and have to read on to see what comes next - even if they know they aren't going to like it. Bit like watching a car crash ^_^;;
He dreaded heading out on duty. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his work it was just his role was more redundant now. That battle had been one of the last. It had gone a lot worse than he’d first realised. He should have suspected when Prowl had been the one to call the cease fire, not Optimus. A lot of mechs had died that day, friends and enemies but it had brought the war to a standstill. Resources were no longer an asset, Cybertron was dry of energon and they simply weren’t converting the fuel fast enough to accommodate for the amount required to fight a war.
He had been in stasis when the peace treaty had been signed. The pulse charge to his helm had only just missed vital parts of his processor, thanks to a surprise attack from Prowl. Jazz had sent the Decepticons packing but Prowl had been the one to physically drag the ‘con from Red just as he fired, saving his life, what little life he had now.
The bitterness came in waves, souring his moods. Some days weren’t as bad but others gave him the urge to crawl into a smelting pit and die; like today. Reluctantly heading out into the bright corridor, Red tried his best to be civil to the cheery greetings. It had been a good five years since the mutual surrender and the Ark had grown into Metroplex. A Cybertronian city on Earth, shared by Autobots and Decepticons alike. Most now had their emblems removed, factions didn’t exist anymore. It was a co-existence they had only dreamed about and all it had cost them was their planet, thousands of lives, and the final obliteration of the two faction leaders. Megatron had survived the final battle but had succumbed to his injuries sometime later, Starscream had announced himself leader and his first act had been one that had stunned almost all Cybertronians. He was finally tired of fighting, with Megatron gone, there was nobody else left for him to usurp power from and he agreed to fully cooperate with the Autobots under the conditions that all crimes be forgiven on both sides.
Now I have a pet peeve in fan fic that it doesn't feel real. I know it's meant to be escapism and god do I love my happy endings but when I'm writing my dark fic, I want gritty, I want angst and I want the fact that these beings have been fighting a war for most of their existence - a war that has destroyed their planet and the lives they once knew and many of their friends and loved ones - to scar them. I want regret, bitterness, anger, hate; even among Autobots. Especially among Autobots as they're too often painted as pure and righteous and in war ANY war, there are no winners. Everyone loses in some way. I always want to get that feeling in my dark fics, I feel it gives the characters more substance and hopefully makes the reader care about them as much as I do.
Red knew how they looked at him, with sympathetic optics, pity. He hated it. Nothing lasted forever, least of all peace. They were being taken over from within, he could feel it in his spark and only he was willing to do anything about it, the rest of the Autobots had turned a blind idea to the wolf in sheep’s clothing lurking outside their very doors. He would be ready when the attack came. They would all thank him in the end.
“I thought I might find you here.”
Red Alert started and shot a glare at the calm voice interrupting his thoughts. He hadn’t even registered his journey to the monitoring room, so engrossed he’d been in preparing them for the final assault. “Prowl… you should know better than to sneak up on me.” He glowered momentarily before relaxing slightly in the black and white’s presence.
“Trouble recharging again?”
“I recharged fine.” Red turned away, not wanting to meet Prowl’s concerned gaze. He was probably the one mech who didn’t obviously pity him, showed genuine concern, listened rather than belittled him. The others meant well, at least Red Alert continued to tell himself, lest he succumb to the paranoia that they were all whispering about him and his increasingly erratic, anti-social behaviour.
This whole fic is based around Red Alert. Here I wanted to show how totally aware of himself that he is, and not the nervous, paranoid individual that is normally expected. Paranoia is a cruel companion but the sufferer is very well aware of its existence, it's only when the lines between imagination and reality become too blurred to be distinguished that things start going very wrong. Here Red is fully compus mentus, but the reader should be able to detect that hint of uncertainty, lurking, ready to pounce.
Prowl let out a non-committal noise as he ventured forward, not waiting for an invitation as he took the adjacent seat. “You logged off shift only 4 hours ago, you’re not due back on shift for another 5, so if you recharged well then this must be due to a sudden affinity for duties to which you’ve barely shown more than a passing indifference to for over the last two weeks.”
Red could practically feel himself shrinking in his chair, there was nothing on base that got past Prowl, he recalled a time when that used to be him, when he was aware of all the goings on, not anymore. Ultra Magnus - as much as he pandered to Optimus Prime’s older staff - only gave within his limitations; he preferred mechs he knew personally, mechs and femmes he could trust, those he had been used to working with on Cybertron in Optimus Prime’s absence, Red Alert could certainly relate to that.
Prowl is my favouritist bot ever, so of course he's going to be involved somewhere. He's in all my fics that aren't character specific, even if only as a supporting role. I like to think of him as observant, thoughtful and in my head, Prowl and Red should have at least a very amicable relationship due to the fact they're misunderstood so easily by the others. This is a feeling I relate to, you can see it in many of the fics I write.
“You don’t believe me.” Red Alert spat, clenching his fists in irritation, before viciously pushing his chair away and beginning to pace the small room. “Of all the people who I thought would be against me, I never suspected you.”
Sighing, Prowl remained unmoved by the increasing aggression, it was something he was regretfully getting used to. “I did not say that I did not believe you, Red but I cannot go to Ultra Magnus with just an accusation without evidence to back it up.”
“So you do believe me?” Red Alert couldn’t help the relief evident in his voice. Taking his seat once more, he scooted closer to Prowl and tentatively brushed a finger over his clasped hands, his tone soft. “Always been able to count on you, you’ve always helped me.”
Catching Red Alert’s hand before he pulled it away, Prowl squeezed it gently. “Only ever wanted to help you, Red.” He murmured, not meeting the red and white’s gaze. “I want you to gather as much evidence as you can and tell no one but me. When you have enough, we’ll take it to Ultra Magnus, together.” He straightened and was all business once more, leaving Red Alert struggling to hide his disappointment, it was so rare that Prowl showed his affections, let his guard down.
“I will, I’ll not let you down.” Red Alert managed a smile as Prowl stood. “Prowl…?”
The black and white flicked his doorwings slightly as he glanced back at the hopeful mech. “Mm?”
“Later..?”
“I’ll try.”
Red Alert nodded, and turned back to his monitors, not noticing the fleeting glance Prowl cast him, his smile faded, optics dim with a weary untold sadness before he left his friend alone.
Now I don't like it when Prowl and/or Red is given this persona of inexperienced, socially inept, cold, unable to form emotional bonds. I think in their positions it's almost vital to be able to do some if not all of these things. It just makes logical sense that these two would find a kindred spirit in the other given the circumstances they're forced to endure everyday during the war.
Ultra Magnus didn’t like the hesitation in Prowl’s reply. //It’s too early to tell, Sir. I will keep you informed.//
//I know this is hard for you and Jazz just… let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.//
//Thank you, Sir, I appreciate that but he’s our friend and it may only cause him more delusions if anyone else gets involved.//
//Just be careful, Prowl… //
//Always, Sir.//
//Oh and Prowl?//
//Sir?//
//Stop calling me Sir, I’m your friend too.//
//…Understood, my apologies, Prowl out.//
I quietly love Ultra Magnus. He is a very understated character and I just think he needs more love :3
“Yes, Jazz, we’ve been through this. I know you’ll never completely trust them but I work with a lot of them, I’m friendly with more, I would know.” Prowl stated in mild exasperation. He was tired of having the same argument with both his closest friends, it saddened him that peace had come at a price, for some it had been simply too high a price to pay. His tone softened, “You always trusted me before…”
“I know, I know… and I do trust you now, Prowl I just worry…” Jazz ducked his gaze, frowning at the door as Red Alert stepped through.
“Please don’t let Red see your concern; his mental state is fragile enough as it is.”
“That bad huh?”
Prowl’s doorwings wilted, a clear sign he was unhappy with the situation. “He accused Hound of disgracing Mirage’s memory and of fraternising with the enemy, not two breems ago…”
Jazz winced, shaking his helm. “Frag, that’s harsh.”
Right, before you scream CLICHE at me and hurl vitreol for my token nod at the ever popular PJ pairing; give me a chance to explain. When I first joined fandom, I HATED this pairing, it was f***ing everywhere in all forms and standards (a lot wasn't good). But in my slow exploration of fandom, I found some gems and these two and the dynamic relationship they shared stuck with me. Honestly, I include them as a pairing of at the very least; good friends in my fics because it makes sense to me. Jazz is a special ops mech, he's going to need support from Prime's number one, even if he has Prime's support. Even if his motives were initially self serving, Prowl's dedication, loyalty and passion that he puts into his work is just simply something that anyone in their right mind would admire. So in summary, I don't just commit fan service by having these two be close in any sense in my fics, it simply makes logical sense for them to be this way. Prowl would be proud of my reasoning, no? :p
Flashes of colour, white light, glaring in the blackness. He reached out, could hear screaming in his audio, hands assaulting his body, trying to keep him still. NO! Not again, not this time. He spun viciously, tearing his arms from the grasp of the enemy; they weren’t going to beat him. Mirage! He had to get to Mirage, his vision was blurred, his intakes ragged as he struggled violently. His fists made contact, smashing into fragile faceplates with enough force to crack the protoform beneath, he gripped hard on the shadow of the enemy as they wavered and found his wing. Red Alert knew all about wings, he dug in his fingers and jerked his arm back, yanking the wing from the mech trying to restrain him.
A holler of pain. Yes! This time he could save Mirage, fend them off. He could hear his name being called; Mirage was calling for him, begging him to help. He shook his helm as his name sounded over and over, the urgency in the voice growing with each klik. He felt the fragile wing plating buckle in his cruel grasp and he pulled hard, hearing the cabling snap at the joint. The ‘con stiffened and screamed filling Red Alert with dark satisfaction. The grip on his arms loosened and the blurry image of the mech fell away from him. In his blind state the ensuing silence was deafening.
Dreams in short; fascinate me. Why, how does this happen? It's something that I like using as a plot device quite often. It's very useful for creating a tone of the chapter/fic to come.
The pads of his fingers were slick and warm as he touched his mouth, unusual, tangy. Drawing his hands away, his optics flared bright at the pink fluid beginning to dry on the plating. Intakes hitched as a mech groaned behind him. Turning slowly, Red Alert stood staring, in shock as his optics befell the sight of Prowl on his floor, covered in his own energon, a door wing hanging loosely from his back. “…Prowl…?” He managed a stricken whisper, falling to his knee joints beside the downed enforcer. “Why are you… you shouldn’t be here… I don’t…I’m so sorry, I thought…” His hands shaking he reached out to touch him, spark pulsing hard in his chest.
I honestly don't know why but those characters that I love the most, those that always seem to be in control, I have to rip that control from them and see how they cope out of their comfort zone. Poor Prowl gets a raw deal from me ^_^;;;
Prowl had no words as First Aid helped him to his feet and guided him out the door. Casting a tired glance over his shoulder, Prowl met Red’s optics and returned his faint smile. “Be careful, Red… I can’t protect you forever…”
The red and white hesitated at the quiet words, not knowing quite what to make of them. The door slid shut, plunging him into darkness once more; only the cobalt blue of his optics gave any form of light, his voice but a whisper. “It’s my turn to protect you.”
I find a lot of dark fics, I've read or written or even films and TV that are dark tend to have the darkness exude from some kind of co-dependence. Here, we can see how Red believes he's in the right, we can see his control slipping even though he can no longer distinguish the lines of reality and paranoia. What is it they say; the road to hell is paved with good intentions?
“Frag, he did a number on ya didn’t he?”
Prowl shot him a dark look and grimaced as he tried to straighten, fighting the urge to flick his doorwings. “He didn’t mean to… wasn’t aware.”
“That doesn’t make it right, Prowl.” Jazz replied softly, resting a hand between Prowl’s doorwings, sending a soft sonic pulse through specially modified nodes in the pads of his digits.
Prowl sighed with relief as the pulses eased the stiffness in his back and his frame sagged. He leaned over his desk, supporting himself with his arms, taking deep intakes as Jazz helped the deep ache subside. “It’s not that simple, I’ve tried to get Red help in the past, you remember?”
“Yeah, he thought the medics at the facility on Cybertron were trying to poison him.”
“He was right!”
“It was a coincidence. The mech’s ill, Prowl, why are you the only one who can’t see it?”
“Because I lo—“ Prowl stalled as he straightened suddenly, grunting as a fresh wave of dizzying phantom sensations rippled over his injured door wing, prompting Jazz to catch hold of him once more, keeping him steady on his feet. “He knows he’s not well, Jazz… he knows… I just need time.”
Now we've all been that friend who's tried to talk our friend out of a bad decision or an unhealthy relationship. Even the best of us - the best being Prowl in this case - have flaws. Even when those we love hurt us, it's still hard to let go, not when you continue to believe you can help them. How do you decide someone is a lost cause? How do you know tomorrow won't be a better day? A dilemma many friends and ex's have undoubtedly suffered with me.
Jazz scowled behind his visor as Prowl shook his helm and that all too familiar flicker of self hatred darkened the enforcer’s faceplates. “Hey, this isn’t your fault.”
“I could have—“
“—NO! You’ve done enough, Prowl. The best thing for Red now is—“
“—And since when were you the expert in what was best for me, Jazz?”
Both black and whites’ helms snapped up in surprise at Red Alert’s voice sliced through the tension in the room. Optics met and Prowl suddenly realised how close Jazz was holding him and instinctively backed away. “Red…?”
“So I’m guessing all the times you’ve been busy recently were because of this hm?” Red shot a dangerously dark look at Jazz, who opened his mouth to protest only to be silenced by Prowl’s hand on his arm.
“You know it’s not like that. Jazz was helping me with the pain.”
“Some help.” Red Alert sneered.
Prowl glared at the red and white and moved towards him with all the presence of his former role as second in command. “You will not do this here, Red.”
“Do what, Prowl? Expose you for who you really are? You’re one of them, come to think of it, you’re the only one who can arrange security detail on a single mech without it being conspicuous. You’ve been having me watched haven’t you?”
“It’s not like that, Red, please try to understa—“
“—HAVEN’T YOU?!”
“Hey, watch it, mech.” Jazz was between the two larger mechs in an instant, not afraid to face Red Alert even at his most unstable. “Prowl is only following orders.”
Red Alert barely spared Jazz a glance, his focus and anger solely directed at Prowl. “You knew what I told you about what was going on here, knew what they’ve been planning and you’re part of it?”
“Look Red, you’ve been under surveillance because you could hurt yourself, you’ve already attacked Prowl.”
The red and white’s optics flickered and finally registered Jazz’s presence directly before him. Taking a step back as if punched, his intakes hitched, he looked to Prowl, optics desperate, searching. “Is that what you’re telling everyone…?”
“Red, that’s what happened, you were having a memory purge… please try to remember… there was no attack… please…” Prowl reached for the stricken mech, halting when Red Alert recoiled from his touch, yanking his arm away.
“No, you’re doing this… making everyone think I’m crazy so you can ‘face that!” He gestured wildly towards Jazz, eliciting a low growl from the visored mech.
“Red, I wouldn’t…please remember…” Prowl pleaded desperately, his spark wrenching in his chest as his lover, his chosen scorned at him.
Jealousy is a tough thing to write for me. But it's something I've had great experience with. It hurts a great deal not to be trusted, you just can't help but blame yourself and it really does create a vicious circle when one half of a relationship doesn't trust the other half. Sometimes love just isn't enough. This scene was quite a poignant one to write for me. It was the beginning of the end.
Letting him go, Prowl growled and raced in the direction of the explosion, elbowing his way past the growing crowd outside the doors. He came to a dead stop upon reaching the exit. At the front of the crowd he could see everything. The smoke, the fire, the screams of mechs and femmes trapped inside. The habitation module – a new facility built by using the specs of Metroplex for the Decepticons as a first step into peace – was lying in ruins.
I like big epic dramatic scenes, what can I say :3
“RED! JAZZ!” Prowl hollered through the smoke and screams of destruction, forcing his way past the dying and the dead, uncaring as the heat started to warp the more fragile parts of his plating. He knew Hound and Inferno were following him, but he didn’t care, couldn’t stop not until he’d found them.
“RED!” Prowl slowed as he reached the clearing, not prepared for the sight that greeted him.
“I told you I’d protect you, Prowl.” Red Alert smiled fondly at his mech. The gun in his hand unwavering, steady for the first time since he’d woken up from stasis.
“Red, don’t do this…” Prowl whispered, optics flicking over to the side where Inferno and Hound rushed to the prone form of Jazz lying crumpled and broken on the ground. “I want to help you.”
“We both know you should have let me die.” Red replied softly, “this is the only way, we can be together...”
“Red, no do—“
Bang
The single shot pulse rifle rang out, shattering all other sounds. Hound screamed and Prowl could hear the rushing of feet as the strength in his legs left him.
Bang
Sounds became jumbled, chaotic as energon roared in his audio. Prowl tried to speak, tried to reach Red Alert, his optics watching as the red and white mech fell to the ground, his processor unable to register his own gaping wound in his chest as it tried to shut down non-vital systems, everything seemed to move in slow motion.
He could hear Inferno taking to him, telling him to remain calm, not to panic as he helped him lie back, his arms supporting his helm. Prowl found it strangely amusing. He was always calm, unflappable even, what a strange instruction to make. Prowl heard laughter, it sounded hysterical, strange and he wondered what joke he’d missed out on, or hadn’t understood this time, though he was certain Jazz would explain it to him later. Prowl was thankful when the laughter finally ceased, draping him in a blanket of dark silence.
So I cried a little writing this last paragraph. I could picture it so clearly in my head. Prowl's thoughts, the story coming full circle to end where it should have ended in the beginning. I also quite like open endings like this as darkness needs some kind of reprieve so I quite often leave the ending open to leave it up to the reader to decide what they want to happen. Optimists will believe Prowl lives and at least Jazz lives and Red was stopped before the worst could happen and he gets help. Realists will believe at least one of them is dead, more than likely; Red. And pessimists; well you get the idea :3 I think this is a crucial element for dark fics because too much dark is just too much, so I like to give the readers' the choice. It's their story, it's their imagination. What happens is up to them.
It's the least I can do if they're reading my stories ^_^;;
Hope this made sense!! :D
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no subject
Date: 2011-10-23 01:19 am (UTC)I really think it's fascinating. I agree, while I love cuddly crack, there's also a place in fic for 'this is a war, it is ugly and it takes a toll'. I like my soldiers to be soldiers--still capable of cutting it up and having fun, but with an edge to them, that even in your non dark fic, you really capture.
And I remember at the ending of the fic--lol I definitely chose the darkest option. Oops.
Thank you for revisiting one of my favorite fics!
no subject
Date: 2011-10-23 01:28 am (UTC)It'll be interesting to see if they've changed any the next time I write dark!fic.
:3