Alana (alanahikarichan) wrote in sweetsmallglow,

[fic] And Other Poisoned Devils [1/?] [TFA, Lugnut*Blitzwing]

TITLE: And Other Poisoned Devils [1/?]
AUTHOR: alanahikarichan
FANDOM: Transformers: Animated
PAIRING: Lugnut/Blitzwing
GENRE: Slash
RATING: G, so far
SUMMARY: Lugnut Minor had always been the most loyal of Autobots.
WARNINGS: None that can't be discerned from the above information~
NOTES: For 10_crackfics.
silver_drake is love for the betaing and emotional support~ and for making me fall madly in love with this pairing in the first place. XD
DISCLAIMER: TFA isn't mine; I just love it so much that I can't help but play with it~

Lugnut Minor had not been a rising star in the ranks of the Elite Guard.

An undefeatable fighter, dead loyal to the Autobot cause, focused -- he frequently took all these qualities to an extreme. Where another would follow instructions to the letter, he would execute them, paying no heed to anything but what he had been instructed to do. If he was told to subdue a potential enemy, there wouldn't be much left of the enemy at the end; incapacitate a Decepticon stronghold, and it would be incapacitated into shrapnel and filings.

Behind his back, he was nicknamed Not-So-Minor Overkill; to his face, he was reprimanded for excessive force and destruction of non-targets. Reprimands to his face usually didn't last long, as the Primes he was shunted between were uniform in their uneasiness facing that blank blue stare, despite their otherwise wildly varying traits.

And then the war ended, and he had no place in the Guard; no Prime would take him unless they could point him at a Decepticon and order him to charge, and the Decepticons were gone, reduced to occasional troublemakers at the edge of the galaxy-- never the kind of threat that needed Lugnut's unique brand of violence.

So, eventually, Lugnut Minor found himself serving with troublemakers, the oil-spilling brawlers and the cowards, the mutinous, the ones who had fled to boot camp to escape the eyes of civilian authorities. There were many, even in the Autobot ranks; most had come after the war, creeping out of their holes and claiming themselves true to the Autobot cause. There were many who had supported the Decepticons without taking up the purple brand.

Lugnut hated them with all his spark, a slow-burning rage he couldn't turn outwards; they were not the Decepticon menace, he had not been ordered to dispose of them, he could not take this initiative.

Very few knew how that fire raged in him; though he was ridiculed quite openly about his awkward form, his lengthy rants on the glory of the Autobot cause and their brilliant leaders, the slow way his mind moved when he wasn't trying to destroy something, none of his unwanted companions could read the emotions behind his blank-staring optic and beak-like face.


After a few hundred stellar cycles, Lugnut Minor was offered an assignment.

He took it. Anything, anything, to bring himself back into favor (even if he'd never really been there), even if it may well have been a clerical error or a mistake, someone new to the ranks only seeing his record of successes, not his record of reprimands.

He didn't care. He took it.

Investigate possible Decepticon activity in this hostile sector, it told him, use this code to acquire resources from any Autobot base, and report back only when investigation is completed. It was not a mission he was familiar with; he had always been sent to known strongholds, to utterly destroy them.

He didn't care. He went.


The sector, he learned, had been swept over and halfway-destroyed during the War; the people who lived there hated Autobots and Decepticons alike, and wouldn't hesitate to attack either. As the cities had been rebuilt, others disenchanted by the pain of the war went there, as did those who begrudged both sides and those who saw a living outside of either faction's control as freedom.

It pained him to remove the ruby-bright symbol from his chest, and he refused to disguise the vibrant blue of his optical sensors.


Somehow, Lugnut felt nearly traitorous as he gazed up in awe at the crystalline spires of the city, grand and shimmering in subdued splendor from the light of the tiny second sun.

"Pretty, aren't they?" a voice at his elbow commented, oddly accented, but clear and clean as the towers themselves. "It took a hundred stellar cycles for them to be rebuilt, you know-- the party when they finished was so much fun!"

... What?

Even Lugnut couldn't ignore or dismiss the abrupt shift in the speaker's tone, and he turned just enough to see a distinctly Decepticon-ish body sculpt-- not so tall as him (very few were), but unmistakably a flier by the wings on his back-- and a dark face with its mouth and eyes grinning out a Decepticon-red glow, and a bright splash of purple centered on the flier's chest--

"Ooooh, a former Autobot! How exciting," the Decepticon crooned, and his face-- Lugnut wasn't sure what happened to the Decepticon's face, but suddenly it was long and lean with mismatched eyes (still Decepticon eyes, and Lugnut could feel the hatred inside of him fizz, as if splattered with etching acid), and he said in that first voice, the clean one, "Most of your kind don't like hanging around all these former Decepticons. Though that does make your eyes quite striking!"

... Former?

The Decepticon brand on his chest-- it had a bright bar of metal bisecting it, canceling its meaning, and the words of a training video from a millennia ago echoed itself through Lugnut's mind. The Decepticon symbol is burned into the very metal of a mech's body, and cannot be removed without replacing the plating.

It was a deserter he was looking at.

And the deserter looked back from a ruddy, rough-hewn face, suddenly snapping, "Are you dumb, or just stupid?-- Or, perhaps, new? We don't often get new additions here." He was thoughtful once more, and Lugnut felt vaguely disoriented by the rapidly-shifting moods of the unwanted conversationalist, but he took the opening easily enough.

"Yes, new," he agreed, "I was-- uh-- no longer wanted," and his spark panged at that because it was far too close to true.

"I see," he murmured, then, blandly, "Blitzwing."

After a few long moments of Lugnut's steadily uncomprehending stare, Blitzwing snarled, "That's my name, you slag-brained moron!-- though my friends call me Fritzwing, heehahaw!"

Oh, introductions.

... It had been a very long time since Lugnut Minor hadn't been known, often as the one who broke people and places without regard for the people or places around them.

"Lugnut," he said, tonelessly. "I am called Lugnut."

"You should come see the sights with me!" Blitzwing sang, hooking his elbow with Lugnut's. "The Crystal City is one of many wonders~"


Most of which seemed to be energon bars.

Lugnut had never partaken-- it had always seemed such a... Decepticon vice to over-energize-- and the dozens of red eyes in each bar set him on edge, made his claws itch with the urge to pull back and destroy them all, for the glory of the Autobots.

Each and every one had struck out insignias, or a slightly misfit patch of replaced armor.

Bar by bar, Lugnut's self-declared tour guide became giddier and giddier, attitude flipping ever more erratically between thoughtful, violent, and something distressingly close to insane; everyone around them took it in stride, and there were even some teasing jeers in later bars that Blitzwing must have hit a lot before. He could hardly go two words between faces, and his overly-companionable elbow-hooking had become heavy leaning and far too much giggling.

Lugnut wasn't sure why he had followed along for so long. Blitzwing was a Decepticon, and a deserter, and probably evil (even if he seemed more crazy and even more drunk)-- all things that Lugnut, as an Autobot, even as an Autobot on an investigative mission, should despise, like he had on reflex when they had first met.

And yet...

"Ahhh, this has been lovely," the thoughtful face hummed, smiling contently, almost glowingly-- there was a subtle shine under the thinnest parts of his dermal metal, where energon-flooded fuel lines ran close to the surface. "Most wouldn't tolerate me like this~ because I'm really annoying, heeheehee!" Crazyface sniggered for a moment, then rounded on Lugnut (which mostly consisted of stumbling in front of him and grabbing him by both shoulders). "Do you think I'm annoying?" he challenged, growlingly, and he twitched, as if bringing cannons he didn't possess to attention.

"Not really," Lugnut said, and compared to the troublemakers he was normally forced to endure, that was true. Blitzwing's only comment on his appearance had been on his Autobot-colored optics, which he'd seen WERE a rarity: the Crystal City filled was with the rainbow optics of neutrals and the red of ex-Decepticons. He'd made no comment at all about the failings of the grand empire of the Autobots, instead filling Lugnut's aural receptors with commentary on the local politics, the quality of the energon he was downing like he was running on fumes alone, growling threats upon the lives of anyone he saw, and random snippets of song. Evil Decepticon deserter he might have been, but...

Violentface actually looked a little surprised, though, and then it was Thoughtfulface that was beaming out at him, as if he'd just made the street flow with high grade, and then Crazyface was giggling madly and patting the side of Lugnut's jaw in a gesture he didn't understand. "I like this one," he commented to someone who clearly wasn't Lugnut, but didn't seem to be any of the few other people on the street.
Tags: fanfiction, slash, transformers
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