transposition-fic

[transposition-fic]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62350501/chapters/163534765

Chapter Nine Sneak-Peek:

  “He did? You’re certain?” Red Alert directs a nervous glance over towards the Flame Mistress. “Well, we checked in with Optimus Prime to get approval to bring in supplies, and to update him on the situation overall. He seemed willing to negotiate with a free Caminus in the future, but, uh… I guess, he said to be careful?” 

        Jazz can only guess that means that Optimus Prime isn’t a huge fan of the Flame Mistress, literal hero-worship notwithstanding. Obviously, Red Alert wasn’t willing to say that in front of their company.

        “Oh, please, when am I not? You know, my predecessor actually considered naming me ‘Circumspect,’ but he refrained ‘cause there were too many syllables.” Jazz’s joke falls on deaf audials, and he groans. “Anything else?” 

        “Uh, yeah. Your physician accosted us and shouted at me a lot, about making sure you took proper care of yourself. He gave us some documentation which I’ve already sent over to your copilot in a datapacket to be certain he got it. Sorry, sir. After that, I went over to Head Tactician Prowl. He… is keeping up with our strategy, but otherwise didn’t recommend that we change our course of action.” 

        Jazz is deeply suspicious of this. Prowl loved to meddle in other people’s projects, and would never give up on the opportunity to tell someone else what to do when prompted. Unless… he was warned away from the project. 

        “Did you yell at him?” 

        Red Alert’s vocalizer lets out a horrified crackle. 

        “...yes. How did you know that?” He asks, optics darting back and forth between the Flame Mistress and Jazz. 

        “Everyone in his department is neurotic, bossy enough to verge on insubordinate, catty, rude, humorless… and worst of all , half of you want to ‘junx the Autobot Codex. Of course you’d yell at your boss; he trained you all to do it.” Jazz snorts. “You’re exactly what the Flame Mistress needs, though, so I suppose I’ll have to be grateful for that.” 

        Red Alert holds out his servo for the Flame Mistress to shake. She seems vaguely disgusted by the gesture, but concedes, discreetly wiping her servos on her robes a moment later. 

       “Charmed,” she lies, politely.

[transposition-fic]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62350501/chapters/163074292

Chapter 8 Sneak-Peek:

         Red Alert is staring across a steel table at Optimus slagging Prime , trying not to blow his lid, when Ratchet bursts through the office with a snarl. 

         “THERE you are!” He shouts at Red Alert. “I apologize for interrupting your debrief, Optimus, but this will only take a cycle. Red Alert, I must impress upon you the INCREDIBLE importance of the favor I am going to ask of you!” 

         Red Alert’s vocalizer lets out a sad squeak and Perceptor pats his pauldron awkwardly. 

         “Hold on—” Optimus attempts to intercede. 

         “Is your conniving glitch of a Captain doing his physical therapy? I know that he still has my write-ups explaining precisely what I wanted him to do, and how, and when. He doesn’t throw scrap like that away!” Ratchet demands, ignoring the Prime’s muted complaint. 

         “... uh, I don’t know. Maybe?” Red Alert looks away, hurriedly. “I’ve never seen him do it before, but I don’t think I would have even if he was doing it… dutifully. Which he probably is.” 

         Ratchet scoffs. 

         “How often is Jazz walking around, on average? He’s using the cane, correct? I told him to lay off of his struts for the foreseeable future— and to cool it with the social events . If he can’t walk around with ease, he most certainly should not be dancing on any bars!”

         “Well, I’m not with him most solar cycles, but I guess I would say… a lot?” Red Alert has no idea what Ratchet wants him to say. He also knows for a fact that the Captain was holding so-called ‘social events’ all the way to Caminus. “It’s hard to keep the mech in one place, nevertheless sitting down . I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand what’s got you so agitated.” 

         Ratchet groans. 

         “I gave him the PT guide, and realized half a megacycle after you all left that I’d made a terrible mistake. Knowing the unrepentant slagger, he’d likely not so much as read the thing, nevertheless do it! What I should have done— and have been thinking about since— is hand off an additional copy to someone else to ensure at least half of my instructions are heeded.” 

         Perceptor clears his vocalizer. 

         “Uh. With all due respect, I think Captain Jazz would not appreciate that, sir. He would find it patronizing.” The scientist points this out with perfect confidence in himself, as if convinced that the idea has yet to occur to Ratchet. 

         “Obviously!” Ratchet rolls his optics, and slams the datapad onto the table vindictively. “He’ll probably try to put you through the wall the first time you tell him to go take a break. Deal with it, and choose the most audacious son-of-a-glitch you’ve got available for the job. Jazz will settle down eventually— and if he doesn’t, you can tell him that his primary physician will fly all the way to Caminus to cuff him over the helm if he gives his crew any more trouble. This is a serious injury, and if he doesn’t take care of himself… there are going to be serious physiological consequences! Namely, me, if I have to reconstruct his leg strut a second time.” 

[transposition-fic]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62350501/chapters/162362689

      “ Dude, how could you take a nap in the middle of your interrogation?” Frenzy asks, optics wide. 

        Jazz leans back, and pretends to stifle a yawn. 

        “The chair you provided was a marked improvement from the holding cell floor… anyway, ya can hardly be mad that I occupied myself— you were late!” 

        “WHAT?” Rumble interrupts. “No, we weren’t! That’s not how it works!” 

        Frenzy elbows Rumble, and Rumble thoughtfully returns the gesture by punching his arm. Frenzy ignores this in a show of extreme restraint, and turns back to Jazz.  

        “Where were you, on the night of the crime?” Frenzy snarls, in the lowest voice he can manage. He has to jump in order to effectively hit the table as hard as he can. 

        “The ‘crime’ didn’t even occur at night?” Jazz responds, honestly confused. “Also, I was in the square. You two were also there, with me.” 

        Frenzy scuffs his pede against the ground in frustration, and huffs. 

        “... well, that’s just what the bad cop is supposed to say in the holofilms! I have to say it! That, and he shouts ‘YOU DID IT! ADMIT YOU DID IT!’ but I didn’t say that yet, ‘cause we’re not at that part of the interrogation.” 

        Jazz nods sympathetically at this, as if it makes perfect sense. 

        “HEY, wait a second!” Rumble shouts. “You’re the good cop this time, Frenzy! I’m supposed to be the bad cop!” 

        “Not true!” Frenzy whines. “You always make me play good cop, and we already agreed on it before we went in! Plus, you’re the one who yelled at the boss for this guy, so it makes more sense for YOU to be the good cop, anyways!” 

        “I’m the oldest, so you have to listen to me! Also, that’s not even relevant— right now I’m working my other job… so he isn’t actually my secretary! He’s just a prisoner. Duh. Symphony, you don’t care if I yell at you, right?” Rumble looks over at Jazz, a frown pulling at his face for a moment. 

        Jazz wonders for a moment if the cassette would legitimately be upset if he responded ‘yes’… but decides not to push his luck. He shrugs, and watches with mild interest as Frenzy shoves Rumble, hard. 

        “YOU ARE NOT OLDER! We’re literally SPLITSPARKS!” 

        Rumble shoves Frenzy back, and in kliks they’re rolling around on the ground, beating the scrap out of one another. Jazz pushes his chair back to steer clear of all the flying limbs and… gnashing teeth? 

[transposition-fic]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62350501/chapters/161822755

Chapter 6 Sneak-Peek:

  “Are you just going to stand there, or what? ” A familiar voice inquires, from directly behind Jazz. The mech snickers, when Jazz nearly jumps out of his mesh. “.. . yeah, yeah. I know— I scared ya. Boss says I’m real good at hiding in the shadows… but only when it suits my interests.” 

         Rumble snickers, mischievously. 

         “Well, does it ‘suit your interests,’ now?” Jazz asks. “If so, I’d like to know if I should be hiding too.” 

         “I was hiding from inventory reports, but then I remembered that I’m the boss here— so there’s no one higher-up to push the work off onto. Except for you, that is. Hooray!” Rumble ducks expertly underneath a pallet of incorrectly stacked freight (Optimus would have a conniption), and promptly realizes that it’s too low-hanging for Jazz to follow suit. “ Ugh. Go right, left, right, and you’ll get back around here. Don’t worry— it’s Ravage’s turn to be in charge of the copper mines next, and she’ll fix it then. It’s only fair— I do literally everything else. All the talkin’, the rabble-rousing, knocking stuff down when people don’t want me to, knocking stuff down when people do want me to, ventilation shaft repair, equipment maintenance, IT management, sassing people when the boss thinks they’re really dumb but doesn’t want to look like he cares too much… you get the drill.” 

         Uh-huh!” Jazz calls out, as he weaves lightly through the pigsty of a warehouse. “I totally feel ya, mech.” 

         “Well, no… you don’t ‘get the drill.’ That’s the problem— you can’t use a slagging power tool! We’re gonna be stuck working on paperwork for most of the day today ‘cause the tools are actually in pretty good shape, but some decacycles it’s like all the pickaxes give out at once and then I spend the whole day trying to get the mines in shape to be worked.” Rumble scoffs. “I’ll show you how to fix ‘em today, though, I’ve got an extra one we can take apart for practice.” 

         Jazz is starting to think that his fortune might be changing, after all, as his boss is physically incapable of shutting up. Rumble seems to place zero value on discretion, and no doubt sees the operations of higher government as inconsequential as any other minor squabble or inconvenience in his life. 

         Jazz nods and hums sympathetically all the way to the office. Rumble kicks the front door open, grouchily, and stands with his servos on his hips. 

         “This is the absolute worst job you can be stuck on, just so you know. It’s so boring! Laserbeak kinda likes it but that’s because he’s weird.” Rumble puffs up, suddenly. “But— that’s only because the job is SO important! Of course Soundwave would want me here, holding down the whole foundation of the place. The copper mine is the most important resource on Caminus, and almost all the copper comes from this mine. There’s two worse ones, but we let the utterly useless masked mechs handle those. ” 

[transposition-fic]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62350501/chapters/161291158

      "The door of the Dragstrip Dive jingles pleasantly as Arcee pushes it open and stares in awe at the interior of the restaurant. She runs a servo down the ivory-white steel wall. 

      The owner inspects them carefully— optics first taking in Arcee’s clueless expression, then Wheeljack’s frame, and finally Jazz’s cane. He smiles broadly, optics glinting with ill-intent. Jazz freezes… suddenly steeply aware of the fact that he was (at best) about to have the prices on his fuel raised up three or four times their going rate. 

      His archival optics shift and click rapidly as he takes in the surrounding decor— the minutiae of the owner’s frame, the small details that others might miss. Deduction complete, Jazz switches gears. 

      “ [Hello, friend!] ” Jazz greets the owner, casually, in Kaonian. “ [ My apologies. My companions here are off-worlders… hence the stupid looks on their faces. Do not worry; they will not bother you, and are only taking in the scenery. ]” 

      The owner nearly drops the glass cube he’s holding. 

      “ [Understood. It’s… not often that I see another Kaonite, around these parts. May the wind be under your wings, comrade.] ” 

     Ah. So the owner had assumed they were Decepticon-aligned— that was an old Vosian saying, co-opted very popularly among cold construct Seekers and swiftly adopted by the faction as a whole regardless of frame-type. He likely was a neutral… but ‘neutral’ didn’t mean the same exact thing for everybody. 

      Jazz spares a quick glance at his companions, who look vaguely frustrated to not be following the conversation, and smiles widely. 

      “ [Wind under your wings, comrade.] ” He echoes, before leading Arcee and Wheeljack up to the bar. “ [Would you mind if I switch to Neocybex, for their sake? I never got the opportunity to teach them my first language, though Primus knows I tried . We’re all too busy now, with the war.] ” 

      The owner nods, a weary smile on his face.

      “Of course.” He responds. “Would you like to take a look at the menu, then?” 

      He slides a few sheets of datafilm across the table. Arcee picks one up, and her optics immediately flicker with surprise. 

      “ Whaaat … are there other kinds of energon? Enough to fill up a whole page? This is crazy … ” Arcee whispers, to Wheeljack. 

      “You can put additives in Energon, and distill it in different ways— when you have the resources. I’ll help you order, don’t worry.” Wheeljack tells her, as he looks through the datafilm with a critical optic. “Well… uh… slag it. I’ve never seen any of these before. You might need to ask Symphony, instead.” 

      Jazz hides his grin with his right servo, and scoots over to look over their pauldrons. This place really couldn’t hold a candle to a nice restaurant in Iacon— the selection was reminiscent of what the average fast-processed hole in the wall might have to offer, before the war."

[transposition-fic]

Gentle Parenting: is a cross factional W... opinions on freedom are still a work in progress

(written while I work on chapter 5 of Transposition)

[transposition-fic]

"The doorways hiss open, and everyone on the ship takes a moment to gawk. It had been a very long time since they last saw their planet— save for one of them, who had only ever seen it from Luna 1. They were currently far from the city-center; the surrounding area was a particularly barren section of land, only decorated by a few natural grooves in the metal below them. The wind whips around the ship fiercely, emboldened by the lack of nearby structures to stop it.

Chromia stands resolutely at the center of this clearing, barking orders at the team running the energy-shield disruptors, even as Jazz strolls down the ramp leading out of the ship. 

“Is there a problem, ma’am?” He asks, concerned that the ‘Cons may be on the way.  

“I work with a group of chatterboxes. There’s your problem.” Chromia snorts. “No sense of priorities! Firestar, when I get in contact with your superior, I am going to have you in for—”

“For nothin’!” Firestar responds, crossing her gauntlets over her chassis haughtily. “I rigged up the disrupters, monitored systems, and caught Lancer up on the latest gossip down at the base all at once. That deserves a commendation.” 

“I can’t argue with that!” Jazz jokes, before Chromia can gain the wherewithal to lunge forward and end Firestar’s reign of terror for good. “Ready to get this show on the road?” 

Chromia nods firmly, and Jazz retreats back into the ship to open up Pitchback’s cargo space and rouse the crew into action. Meanwhile, the team on the ground opens up a section of innocuous ground below them, an internal system of crypts revealing themselves. (Whether they were natural or not, Jazz wasn’t entirely certain. Much of the information on Cybertron’s internal workings were lost in the early quartexes of the war.)"

[transposition-fic]

I’m not super big on doing art anymore (I’m a writer) but I loved @mechncheese ‘s trine post so much I had to do one for (some of) the crew in Transposition

[transposition-fic]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62350501/chapters/160518523

Chapter 3 Sneak-Peek:

"Inferno comes rushing across the airfield, and tosses his crutches aside to crush Red Alert in a parting hug. Of course, this is a problem, as Inferno currently cannot support his own weight— so they both go toppling to the ground, and Red Alert starts shouting at his downtrodden, injured subordinate. 

“—I don’t know what you were thinking! Seriously, I cannot even CONCEIVE of what you were thinking, when you—” Red Alert lets out a startled shriek, when Inferno attempts to help him get off the ground. 

“We’re gonna break SO many rules while you’re gone!” Inferno teases, accepting his crutches back from one of the other members of the taskforce. “Yessir! It won’t even be fun, anymore, because you’re not going to be there to yell at us.” 

“I will!” Red Alert’s intern/replacement, who had previously been lingering at the back of the crowd, pipes up. “Don’t worry, Director Red Alert, I will do everything you outlined in your notes… and nothing that you didn’t say to do. Sir!” 

Red Alert salutes his intern, and blinks away the tears pooling in his optics. 

“Thank you. Please refrain from burning HQ to the ground, because I will be back.” Red Alert gives Inferno a stern look, before turning to Jazz and inclining his helm, in embarrassment. “Um— I’m sorry for the delay, sir. They will be returning to their posts now.” 

“Never apologize, that was adorable!” Jazz laughs. “Optimus, I expect you and Prowl to compare notes with Red Alert’s taskforce for our return. You’re letting down the whole team, as far as ‘tearful goodbyes’ go. More effort, next time! I believe in you!” 

[transposition-fic]

REBLOG IF YOU’RE IN THE TRANSFORMERS PRIME OR ANY BRANCH OF THE TRANSFORMERS COMMUNITY IN GENERAL

I NEED TO FIND MY PEOPLE

[transposition-fic]

Chapter Sneak-Peek:

Jazz hadn’t expected his next visitor to be Prowl, of all people . It was still the middle of the workday, and Prowl was not the kind of mech to take time off work for anything short of sudden planetary implosion. However, after noting the box of data drives the tactician is holding— Jazz begins to suspect that he may be work. 

       Ratchet seems to make the same realization, and clears his vocalizer. 

       “ Absolutely not . Get that scrap out of here; I don’t even want to KNOW what it is, because that’s just going to annoy me more. Jazz will not be doing any paperwork until he is dismissed from the medical bay.” 

       Prowl’s doorwings lower, and he attempts rather unsuccessfully to mask his guilty expression— despite the fact that this was possibly one of the tamest scenarios one could possibly be ‘up to no good’ in. Jazz realizes that Optimus might have been dead-on, when he said that there was no one less suited to spec-ops than their third-in-command. 

       “It’s not paperwork.” He deadpans. 

       “Oh, really ?” Ratchet feigns surprise, tone cold. “Then, what is it?” 

       “It’s— it’s … p—” Prowl looks over at Jazz as if to beg for help, before managing to force out the rest of a half-coherent lie. (Jazz wasn’t going to help the sorry sop, obviously , because this was the best entertainment he had available for the foreseeable future.) “Poetry… that I wrote?”  

       Ratchet struggles to respond to this, as he is far too busy laughing hysterically at Prowl’s expense. He holds up a servo, still gasping for air, and nearly loses it all over again when he sees Prowl’s perfectly expressionless face staring back at him. 

       “Oh, Primus, you’re shameless ! Obviously, I don’t believe that — if you could so much as recite a single line of verse, I’d let you get away with your scheme simply out of respect for the hustle and a self-evident need to get my processor checked. Seriously… I can’t even think of a more unbelievable lie! You could’ve said that you were carrying around priceless relics from the Golden Age …and I’d still believe that more easily!” 

       “I could write poetry if I wanted to.” Prowl snaps, irritably, before freezing up. “— and I do, all the time!”

[transposition-fic]

Speaaaaking of the fantastic playlist I made to accompany this fic: here it is!!! I really wanted to give it a super eclectic feel, so it's a mixture of a bunch of different genres. The kind of music someone with access to an interplanetary variety of music through an ancient archive for thousands of years would listen to... archivist jazz ftw

[transposition-fic]

JAZZ LOVERS OF THE WORLD... do YOU want to read an epic pre-canon deep dive into Jazz's character which explores how, exactly, the master saboteur became a spy??? Do you like hijinks, complicated spy plotlines, found family trope, and SPACE OPERA??? Do you appreciate a banging fic playlist??? If so... Transposition is for you.

Fic Summary:

“How can you laugh, in times like these? When you can see just how fragged up the world is?” Jazz frowned, and finished up the hack-job he was doing welding the other mech’s mesh together. It would hold, and keep him alive, but he’d need to see someone else to get the damage checked out… particularly if he was a dockworker, as the Enforcers had implied. “You want to change the world ‘cause you’re tired of seeing the people around you suffer. You want peace. That’s what everyone wants— and yet, when push comes to shove, we keep humming the same miserable tune we were given when we were forged. Whether you’re ‘transgressive’ or a toneless follower, most choose to add to that bitter status quo. Even those of us who claim to fight to ‘end’ suffering.” Jazz saw that Orion was not following, and sighed. “What are you fighting for, Orion?" … After Jazz suffers an injury in-field, he's forced to learn to navigate an entirely new kind of battle as a new, somewhat untrained saboteur, struggling with his ability to adjust to the reduced functionality in his leg & a crew consisting mostly of shut-in scientists and new recruits. Beginning of the war, pre-canon."