Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Title: Training
Warnings/content advice: The Twins being the Twins, Ironhide not checking his inbox, and Prowl being Prowl.
Rating: PG
Continuity: ... G1?
Characters: Ironhide, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Prowl
Disclaimer: Hey, if I owned Transformers, I probably wouldn't be writing fanfiction.
Prompt: Scenario: invigilating an exam
Ironhide snarled at the red mech. “Get back into position!”

The red mech grimaced. “What's the point of this?” he asked as he slid back into a fighting stance, and the mech across from him, a golden one with flaring helm finals, did the same.

“Training.”

Red snorted. “Like we need training.”

Ironhide stared for a moment. “All Autobot recruits go through training,” he grumbled, and Red rolled his optics.

“Yup. Hey, Sunny, helms up!”

“Don't call me that!” the yellow mech rumbled, but easily deflected the red mech's lunging attack. They spun gracefully on the training mat, back and forth, winding in and out and sideways. Occasionally, a hit was landed, and a shower of sparks flared from the scraping metal.

Ironhide watched as the two practically danced on the mat before revving his engine and snarling. “Enough! Obviously, you've got some training.” The mechs grinned. “However, in order for me to approve you and let you go on to the next test, I’m going to have you fight me.”

The smiles were gone. In their places were two identical predatory glowers as they watched the old bodyguard slide with surprising dexterity onto the mat. Once he was sure of his footing, he settled into a fighting stance and glared at the two recruits.

“Come at me,” he ordered, and the two shared a glance.

“At the same time?”

“Come at me.”

The two shared another glance, then, without warning, lunged. Ironhide, as experienced as he was, was caught off guard. The two lashed out, one on each side, in perfect synchronization. Red's fist caught him in the shoulder, and his elbow on the helm. “Sunny” ducked down and whipped his arm around Ironhide's right knee, yanking it out from under him.

Ironhide, the Walking Cannon, Scourge of the Decepticons, Bodyguard of the Prime, fell without landing a blow.

“Twins!” a hard shout came, and the two mechs immediately stood and stepped away from the downed mech. Not without wicked grins on their faces, though.

Ironhide groaned and rolled over. Looking up, he saw the mech who had shouted. “Prowl.”

“Ironhide. I see you have met the Twins.”

His observation was met with a grunt.

“Yes. I understand. I suppose it was good that I was here to invigilate, then.”

“You were here to inviga-what?” the red Twin asked, blinking. Prowl sighed, and if he were a mech to do such a thing, his hand would have most likely been pressed very tightly to his forehelm.

“Invigalate. To keep watch. And to intervene, in this case. Ironhide, I suppose you checked your inbox today?”

The bodyguard stood awkwardly, a sheepish expression on his face. “Ehh... maybe?”

“I see. Please do so in the future, or I will be forced to take action. I left a note saying Sunstreaker and Sideswipe did not need to undergo this part of the training. As former gladiators, they have more than proved themselves capable of fighting.”

“Oh.”

“Indubitably. Twins, come with me. Ironhide, you have more exams to... invigilate.”

The Twins snickered as they jumped from the mat. Ironhide just rolled his optics.

Chapter Text

Title: Silence in the Storm
Warnings/content advice: Bluestreak not talking
Rating: PG
Continuity: AU G1
Characters: Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe
Disclaimer: Um. Still don't own it.
Prompt: Challenge: Choose a prompt from this master list (28 July, “Task – Choose a character and write a scene in which they convey emotion with no dialogue), and one from this master list (Jan. 26, “Setting – An electrical storm”), and use them both to write a story.

Bluestreak stood, silent, on the edge of the building. Storm clouds loomed high above. Lightning flickered through them, lighting them up from the inside.

These weren't the acid storm clouds the Decepticons had developed during the war. These were the simple electrical storms that had plagued the planet since before memory began.

An interesting way to celebrate a peace treaty, the gunner – former gunner – mused. A storm to start the era of peace.

With a quiet vent, Bluestreak lowered himself to the floor and dangled his pedes off the edge of the building. The lightning was picking up now, the loud boom of thunder echoing through the rather bombed-out streets below. The Praxian's doorwings twitched with each boom.

War was ended. Megatron had pleaded for peace. Had simply decided that the war was getting too costly, and decided that peace was the better option. Though his way of asking for it had brought amusement to both factions.

Bluestreak's doorwings twitched gently upwards and his pedes swung back and forth, tapping gently against the wall with each back swing.

It wasn't often that Megatron got the upper hand in his tussles with Prime. That last time, when he had managed to separate Optimus from his gun, and had forced the Matrix-bearer to his knees... Prowl had been frantic, shouting orders, scrambling to get someone into place to down Megatron before Megatron downed Optimus. Ironhide, when he had seen the Prime with arms raised, kneeling at the pedes of the Decepticon Warlord, had gone berserk, tearing Menasor apart single-handedly, then shooting the Elite trine out of the sky. Jazz had thrown off Soundwave's symbiotes and tentacles and rushed to help his leader before Megatron blasted the blue helm off the red shoulders.

Megatron had shot them all dry, withering glares, then pressed his fusion cannon into the Prime's helm. Everything froze. Bluestreak remembered staring into his commander's optics, searching for the fear that just had to be there, but wasn't.

Looking back, it was amusing, thinking how many times the Prime had died, only to come back to life in some way that, had anyone else tried it, wouldn't have worked. Optimus had long ago stopped fearing death. Why should he? He would just be thrust or pulled back into life eventually. Bluestreak's doorwings twitched again, and a smile grew across his lips.

When Prowl had icily asked what Megatron wanted, the Decepticon had thrown back his helm and laughed. “I thought you'd never ask!” he had chortled, before letting his cannon wind down and offering the Prime a hand. “I want peace. I’ll take whatever peace you can give me in exchange for the Prime's life.”

The stunned silence had stretched for what seemed like orns before the warlord started laughing again.

Bluestreak stifled a chuckle and leaned back, turning too look at the flashing clouds above. His doorwings fluttered back and forth. His frame was relaxed and calm.

Peace... What an odd idea!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

From the doorway, the Twins watched the Praxian lounging on the edge of the building.

~Dunno, Sunny. He looks good to me.~

~Then why is he out here?~ the yellow twin asked, tilting his helm and running a critical optic over the gunner. ~He's so... quiet.~

Sideswipe shrugged. ~We all need our quiet times, bro. Even Bluestreak.~

With a frown, Sunstreaker stepped out of the shadowed doorway and walked over to his intended and sat down beside him.

Bluestreak offered no words of greeting, simply dipping his doorwings and shooting the yellow frontliner – ex-frontliner – a grin.

Sunstreaker simply regarded him with a frown, and the gunner shrugged, a tiny smile on his face. Sunstreaker tilted his helm to the side. Bluestreak responded with a flick of his right doorwing, tapping the frontliner gently on the back, before glancing upwards with a quirk of his optic ridges.

Sideswipe sighed as he came up on the other side of the gunner and sat down, shooting Bluestreak a smirk.

The Praxian replied with rolling optics.

Sideswipe chuckled and leaned back on his hands, staring up, like Bluestreak, at the lightning-edged clouds.

The three sat, content, happy, and silent, on the building for a long time, content with each other and the silence, reveling in peace.

Chapter Text

Title: Story Time
Warnings/content advice: Sam reading The Hobbit, the Protectobots asking for storytime.
Rating: PG
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Sam Witwicky, First Aid, and a few others who are only mentioned.
Disclaimer: Still don't own.
Prompt: Scenario: embarking on a long journey.
“'That leaves you just ten minutes. You will have to run,' said Gandalf.

“'But-,” said Bilbo.

“'No time for it,' said the wizard.

“'But-,' said Bilbo again.

“'No time for that either! Off you go!'” Sam read from the big book resting on his lap. It had started two days before. He had been reading The Hobbit in the Rec Room, and a few of the 'bots had gotten curious. The newly arrived Protectobots, to be precise. First Aid had asked him what it was. When he replied a story, his brothers gathered around and asked if he would mind reading it to them.

When the startled teen had asked why they wanted “story time,” Hot Spot had smiled and told him that their creators had often spent long joors reading Cybertronian stories to them, and ever since then, they had never turned down hearing stories.

Laughing, Sam had agreed, flipped back to the first page, and started reading aloud.

Over the course of the next two days, more and more bots, and a couple humans, had joined the Protectobots in listening. Sam would be the first to admit that his babbling could be annoying, but to his surprise, as well as most of the other occupants of the base, when he was reading, his voice fell into a sonorous, lilting, pleasant rhythm.

Everyone on base had spent at least a few minutes listening to the teen reading the familiar, classic tale of the long journey. Prowl, Ratchet, even the Prime.

And they were only on the second chapter!

Chapter Text

Title: An Unlikely Movie Night
Warnings/content advice: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Starscream landing in an unlikely place during a battle and spending an hour doing the unlikely
Rating: PG
Continuity: G1, I think.
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Starscream, and three human girls who may or may not be based off me and my two best friends.
Disclaimer: Still don't own. *sigh*
Prompt: Challenge: pick three characters before reading the rest of the prompt. Now think of a film. The characters you've chosen end up at a drive-in cinema/movie theatre together. The film you thought of is playing. What happens?
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Starscream (apparently I like Ss.)
Movie: Scott Pilgrim vs. The World

After millions and millions of years fighting, the Autobots and Decepticons had battles down to a science. Or perhaps a dance.

Everything was always the same, whether it was Megatron attacking somewhere and the Autobots coming to the rescue or... well, that really was all that happened now. The times of Autobot attacks had long since ended.

There hadn't been any Autobot attacks since they had crashed on Earth. How could the Autobots attack, when the Decepticons lived under the sea?

And anyways... here on Earth, the bases seemed to be kind of “safe” areas. Sure, the two sides sent spies, but there were never any all-out attacks.

But back to the battle. Megatron and Prime would get into their little tussle, the Seekers would make bombing runs over the Autobot forces, the Autobot and Decepticon melee fighters would clash on whatever battlefield Megatron had chosen while the snipers and long-range fighters would choose what cover they could and take pot-shots at the enemy. Prowl and Soundwave would hash out genius plans that very few bots would follow, leading to chaos. Or increased chaos.

And then the gestalts would form (if the battle was big enough), and the surrounding area would soon be rubble. The Twins would take to the sky and attempt to rip the wings off the Seekers, and the Seekers would throw them off, usually after taking major damage, and usually going down with the Twins. The Seekers would fly off with their tail-fins between their legs, and Sideswipe would catch his brother and hope that they could find somewhere soft to land, because his jetpack (by that time in the battle), was rather low on fuel and its ability to hold up two bots was king of doubtful.

Which was what was happening when the Terror Twins and Starscream (who Sunstreaker was still holding on to for some reason) crashed into the parking lot of a drive-in theater.

Thankfully, there weren't many people there. Three girls were sitting on the back of an old pickup truck in the very front of the lot, numerous junk food wrappers scattered around them. Two couples were sitting inside their cars on opposite ends of the parking lot. Other than that, it was empty.

So when Starscream (living up to his name), Sunstreaker (living up to his reputation – his paintjob was slagged, and the world needed to know it!), and Sideswipe (living up to tradition – he had followed the script perfectly, of course, flying up to catch his brother; Sunstreaker was the one who had broken the pattern by holding onto the Seeker) slammed into the pavement, no one was injured.

With a groan, Sideswipe lifted himself out of the crater. “Whelp. That went well.”

“Aft. Look at my paintjob! It's completely ruined!” Sunstreaker moaned as he climbed out alongside his brother.

A screechy growl echoed from inside the crater (how Starscream had gotten below them, nobody really knew). “You're complaining about your paint? Look at my armor! Look at my wings!” the Seeker whined as he struggled to his knees. “Um... A little help?”

Venting and rolling his optics, Sideswipe held his hand out to the Decepticon Aerial Commander. “Up ya get.”

“Do you guys mind?” a feminine voice interrupted, and all three Cybertronians whirled around. One of the three girls was standing on top of the pick-up, fists on hips, glaring at the two Autobots and one Decepticon. She twitched her head to the side, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. “We're trying to watch a movie here!”

“Jenny! Sit down!” the girl on the left said.

“I won't, Adeline! I don't care if they are giant alien robots! I’m trying to watch a movie! The best part is coming up in a minute!”

“Ellie, help please?” the curly-haired girl asked the other, the long-haired one who had yet to say anything.

Ellie shrugged. “Hey, I don't care. I know the movie by heart. Though... Hey, 'bots! Which ones are you?”

Starscream growled and stalked forward. “I am Starscream, rightful leader of the Decepticons, Winglord of Vos, Aerial Commander of Cybertron, and you will bow before me!”

The long-haired girl stared at the Seeker in amusement before dipping her head in a polite nod. “Pleasure to meet you, Winglord Starscream. My name's Ellie. These are my friends, Jenny and Addy. We would appreciate it if you quieted down a little. This is a very good movie. And Jenny, you think the whole thing is the 'best part'.”

Jenny snorted as she sat back down. Starscream stared as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe snickered behind him.

Adeline glanced back at the three Cybertronians and shot them a small smile. “You're welcome to join us, you know.”

“Why would I deign to watch a miserable little film made by ugly flesh... lings... What on Cybertron is he doing?”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker walked up next to the Seeker and stared at the huge screen. On it, a human boy was beating up another. It was strange though... the laws of physics didn't seem to apply. The two boys were... practically flying as they attacked each other.

Then one of the boys started to sing.

“Oh, Primus, that's horrible.”

“I know, right?” Jenny said, grinning.

“That's the point!” Adeline said. Ellie just chuckled.

“Hey, Screamer, it sounds like you singing!”

“You have no idea what I sound like singing, slagger!” the Seeker snarled. “In seeker-cant, my voice is actually rather... well, attractive.”

Sunstreaker snorted as he settled on his aft next to the pickup. “I'll believe that when I hear it. Just sit down. I’m not really in the mood for fighting today.”

Sideswipe sniggered. “Oh, goodness, the universe must be coming to an end! Sunshine doesn't want to fight!”

Sunstreaker just waved his hand in his brother's direction. “Mute it. This is actually rather amusing.”

“As in pitifully pathetic?”

“As in so lame it's hilarious. Now mute it.”

Sideswipe followed his brother's instructions, staying silent (though it was clear he was hiding his giggles) as he sat down next to his brother.

Venting heavily, Starscream did the same. “You know, I’m not really into fighting today either. Might as well wait out the battle here.”

“See? I told you he wasn't as dim as you said, Sunny!”

“Mute. It.”

Sideswipe snickered, but didn't say anything else, ignoring the glowers shot his way by the two other robots.

They spent the next hour sitting in front of the giant screen, the three girls in front of them, watching the human movie, snickering and laughing at the sheer improbability and stupidity of it.

Some time after the credits rolled (they had spent a long time debating where that door to nothing the main characters jumped through in the end went to and if it was or was not a space-bridge), the three mechs went their separate ways. The three human girls had long since left, saying their goodbyes to the robots as they drove away.

“So. This was fun,” Sideswipe said, smirking at Starscream. The Seeker smirked back.

“Surprisingly, it was. Perhaps we should do it again sometime.”

Sunstreaker snorted. “Right. Fraternizing with the enemy. Prowl's gonna really lay into us.”

Sideswipe groaned. “Don't remind me. Really. Let's just say we got lost.”

“We've got built-in GPSs.”

“... Well, frag.”

Starscream laughed. “Well, it's been great. I’ll be seeing you!” he said cheerily, and ignited his thrusters. The Twins watched as the Seeker disappeared into the night sky, then transformed and slowly drove back to the Arc.

Prowl actually didn't punish them at all. They told him they had crash landed and had taken a while getting away from Starscream (true, technically speaking. They had crashed, and they had been a while in leaving the Seeker – or him leaving them; it was semantics, really, and neither of the Twins were really into that kind of stuff).

Starscream returned to the Nemesis with little fuss. The Decepticons were used to him coming and going at odd hours.

The next time they met in battle, after the wingleader of the Elite Trine had been dragged to the ground, Sunstreaker punched Starscream across the face, throwing him a few feet. The Seeker landed belly down in the mud. With a grin, the Aerial Commander grinned up at the yellow Twin, mischief in his optics.

“You made me swallow my gum!” he cried indignantly, an evil smirk on his face.

Sideswipe, standing somewhere behind his brother, collapsed in giggles. Sunstreaker's scowl was twitching at the edges, fighting to become a smile. Starscream, lying on the ground, broke out into gales of laughter.

The rest of the assembled armies stared in confusion at the three mechs, normally the deadliest of enemies, laughing together on the ground and wondered, exactly, when the world had ended.

(The three laughing mechs knew it was when Sunstreaker didn't feel like fighting, but it wasn't like they were about to tell.)

Chapter Text

Title: Detail Oriented
Warnings/content advice: Prowl being Prowl, Prime getting frustrated.
Rating: PG
Continuity: Any, really, that has Prowl as Prime's Second in Command
Characters: Optimus Prime, Prowl
Disclaimer: Still don't own.
Prompt: Scenario: getting detailed.
(Utter crack. Possibly a tiny bit OOC?

Optimus stared forlornly at the datapads. He had never hated paperwork as much as he did now. Sure, it had been annoying, and frustrating, and time consuming, but... now?

His new Second in Command, a Praxian designated “Prowl”, had an attention to detail that was positively insdane. He listed everything in his reports. Every minor detail, every little thing, whether it mattered or not.

Perhaps it mattered to him, tactician as he was, but... couldn't he condense things a little? Did the Prime really need to know the exact shade of the paint of the mech who had attempted to assassinate him the orn before? He had been black. Just black. That was all that mattered, if it mattered at all. He didn't need to know the exact number of the color chip he was painted, or the fact that the silver lining on the edges of his dorsal and chassis plates was the same color as Jazz.

He didn't need to know that the blade that had been heading for his spark was exactly seven decimeters, three centimeters, and four millimeters long. He just needed to know that it had been a knife.

Or did he? Did he even really have to know that? All he needed to know, in his opinion, was that an assassination attempt had been made and stopped.

Grumbling, he commed his second.

::Prowl?::

::Yessir?::

::Please come to my office.::

::I will be there momentarily, sir.::

The comm link closed, and the Prime rubbed his nasal ridge between thumb and index finger. A quarter breem later, the Praxian came through his door after politely pinging for entrance.

“Prowl, I need you to do something for me.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Please, please stop being so detailed in your reports!”

Chapter Text

Title: Sparklings
Warnings/content advice: Babies've gotta come from somewhere, and the resident younglings/Dinobots of the Arc are curious
Rating: PG-13?
Continuity: G1
Characters: Dinobots, specificall Grimlock and Swoop, Wheeljack, Ratchet
Disclaimer:... Nope. Still don't own.
Prompt: Challenge: choose a character, and write a pivotal moment in their early life.
(Not sure if I completely filled this one to specifications, but... I tried, and I had fun doing it. That's the whole point of this, no? ^.^)
The day that Grimlock asked how sparklings were made, the whole Autobot army froze.

It had been in the Rec Room, on an ordinary day. Grimlock had stormed into the room, trailed by his fellow dinobots, and walked straight up to Wheeljack.

“Me Grimlock want to know where sparkling come from.”

Cue the freezing.

“Ah... What?” Wheeljack managed, vocal indicators strangely dead and dark.

“Me Grimlock... want to know... where sparkling... come from,” the Dinobot repeated slowly, as if he were talking to someone a few motherboards short of a CPU.

“Well... Usually... ahem. Maybe it'd be better if we continued this discussion in the Med Bay with Ratchet?”

“Okay. Me Grimlock fine with that.”

“Good,” Wheeljack practically breathed, and stood up. “Come on, then.”

They walked out of the Rec Room, but it was silent for a long time after their departure. Then everyone present broke out into snickers, giggles, and chortles, all of them feeling a tiny bit of pity for Wheeljack, and Ratchet, of course, until they remembered the wrench the medic always had in hand, and that Wheeljack, for all his love of Ratchet and his common presence in the Med Bay, was horrible at dodging flying wrenches. Then all the pity went to the engineer.

In the Med Bay, Ratchet was frowning, and Wheeljack was clutching his newly dented helm.

“Where sparklings come from, eh?” the medic said slowly, and Grimlock nodded enthusiastically. “Where'd this come from?”

“Well, him Swoop watching human show, and Sally get pregnant. Him Snarl see, and say that how sparklings made. Him Swoop say he know it not, but he not know how they really made. They argue, and me Grimlock say that we ask Wheeljack, because he our creator, so he know how to make sparklings,” the Dinobot leader finished with a nod and a toothy grin.

Ratchet vented and ran a hand over his helm. “Primus. No, Cybertronians do not reproduce like humans. Sort of. Two people who... like each other very much will merge sparks, and if they want one and conditions are correct, a new spark will be formed next to the carrier's spark. A very small protoform is created in the carrier's gestation chamber, and once it's been completed, the newspark moves into the protoform, and the sparkling is ejected.”

“See!” Swoop crowed. “It not like humans!”

“It is!” Snarl cried. “Sort of! Him Ratchet say so!”

“Please! Quiet!” Ratchet called, and the Dinobots obediently settled. Then Swoop, always one of the most intelligent of the prehistoric-looking Autobots, perked up.

“That mean you Ratchet and him Wheeljack merge sparks?”

The two Autobots shared a loaded glance. Then Wheeljack vented.

“Sort of. We have merged sparks before. We are sparkmates, after all. But neither of us have carried a newspark before.”

There was a quiet moment as the Dinobots mulled that over. Then, “That mean you Wheeljack and you Ratchet not our creators?”

“No, no, we are! Just... neither of us are your carriers.”

“... Huh?”

“We... Your sparks were in storage. When the war was beginning, many mechs and femmes had their newsparks extracted and put in storage, so that once the war ended, a medic or engineer, such as myself or Wheeljack, would be able to build frames and put the sparks in them. War wasn't a time for sparklings.”

“However,” Wheeljack jumped in when Ratchet paused, “we needed you. We were losing to the Decepticons. We needed heavy frontliners. Prime, Prowl, Jazz, and Ratchet made a decision; get a few of the stored sparks and put them into upgraded, fully adult frames. We... We're as much creators to you two as any creator is to their sparkling, but neither of us actually... carried you.”

There was a long silence. Then Grimlock stood and walked out. The other Dinobots followed. Only Swoop paused, looking back at his mentors and... caretakers.

“Him Grimlock... Us Dinobots okay. We just need to think.”

Ratchet nodded slowly, as did Wheeljack. “Go think, Swoop,” the engineer said quietly. “I know it's kinda hard to get... I hope you understand?”

Swoop grinned. “Oh, me Swoop understand. So do them Dinobots. They just never think where we come from before.”

“Oh.”

Swoop grinned and ducked out of the Med Bay, following after his brothers. The bonded couple stared after them. “Well, that was interesting,” Ratchet finally said, breaking the silence.

Wheeljack chuckled. “Tell me about it. Think it'll affect them any more than Swoop seems to be letting on?”

Ratchet grunted as he turned and started wiping down a berth. “Oh, no doubt about it. Just wonder how it's going to affect them. Good or bad?”

Wheeljack flashed his helm fins as he bent and picked up the wrench that had previously dented his helm and handed it back to the medic. “Time will tell. And... Ratch? You ever think about making a sparkling of our own? One that one of us actually carries?”

The medic turned and looked at his bondmate, a truly predatory grin stretched over his face. “A couple times,” he murmured as he stalked forward. Wheeljack giggled as his medic pinged the Med Bay doors, locked them, and put both of their statuses for the next day as off duty, per instruction of the CMO.

Chapter Text

Title: Holes in the Sky
Rating: G
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Prowl, Optimus Prime, Will Lennox
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt: Prompt 1: Hole Punch or Fallstreak Clouds (info and great pics on the link)

“The humans are starting to notice our presence. Our cloaking shields protect us from sight. They do not make us intangible,” Prowl said as he walked up to the Prime, a datapad in hand. “They have been noticing the holes we create when we come through the atmosphere and break through cloud cover.”

Optimus took the datapad, glancing at the pictures. Pictures that showed the brilliant blue sky of Earth, and clouds with holes punched through them. “Is there any way to coordinate landings in areas where there is no cloud cover?”

Prowl frowned. “No. I have already looked into that. Unless we have everyone land in the desert or the ocean when there is no one around to see it, I can find no solutions. There is too much water in the atmosphere. There are clouds over all of the preferred landing sites almost constantly, and we cannot simply wait for breaks in them. We would have huge numbers of Cybertronians staying on the moon, and as possible that is, the number would continue to build up until the humans' scanners would no doubt pick something up.”

Lennox, standing on the catwalk against the wall, snorted. “Not to mention that we'd notice a ton of new cars around when there weren't any before.”

“That, too.”

“What do you propose, Prowl? I know you have a plan.”

The tactician gave a small smirk. “I do. We blame the holes on the human aircraft.”

“How? The airplanes do not move quickly enough, and do not have the correct shape to leave the holes.”

“We know that. The humans don't. I will simply post a few articles online and talk anonymously to a few specialists. It is easy enough to plant ideas. It will protect us for some time, at least until the majority of Cybertron's remaining population arrives and the humans are ready to learn of us.”

The Prime nodded, handing the datapad back. “Very well. Do what you must.”

Lennox simply shook his head and smiled.

Chapter Text

Title: Infiltration
Rating: PG
Continuity: G1
Characters: Jazz, Starscream
Disclaimer: I seriously do wish.
Prompt: Prompt 2 and 3: Betrayal; Setting: An abandoned public place.
(Am I allowed to do two at one time?)

They met, as always, somewhere discreet. This time, it was a small human park, abandoned for the night. They were discreet, as was needed.

The Autobot arrived first, drifting to a stop on silent tires. He idled in the parking lot, knowing the Decepticon he was waiting for would be there soon.

A breem later, jet engines could be heard overhead. The Decepticon transformed and landed on his thrusters, crouched before the Autobot.

“Jazz,” he rasped.

“Starscream,” the Autobot Head of Special Operations replied as he transformed and stood up. “Ya said ya have information for me?”

“I do.” The Seeker pulled a datapad out of his subspace and handed it over. “The designs for Megatron's latest weapon of doom, and his mission plan.”

“Thanks, Screamer.”

Starscream frowned, but said nothing against the hated nickname.”Jazz, when are you going to pull us out? Megatron is getting more and more unstable, and I fear for the safety of my trinemates.”

“An' yerself. Ya can say it, y'know. We know what the slag-head does t' ya.”

“And myself,” Starscream murmured, frowning.

Jazz smiled softly at the infiltrator. “Soon. Ah can promise ya that. Prowl's already workin' on an extraction plan. We're thinkin' durin' some battle, we can get th' Twins t' take you out – with instructions t' keep ya in good health, if possible – pretendin' t' take ya captive, 'n lettin' everyone not in th' know that ya've been on our side th' whole time.”

Starscream nodded. “Very well. I must get back to my patrol route.”

“An' Ah've gotta report back t' base. See ya later, Screamer.”

“It's Starscream, Jazz,” the Seeker said. “And... thank you,” he murmured as he ignited his thrusters and blasted into the sky.

“Ya're welc'me,” Jazz said as he smiled fondly, then frowned at the scorch marks left behind. “Wonder what the humans'll make o' that,” he muttered to himself as he transformed and drove away.

Chapter Text

Title: Why Do Rats Abandon Ship?
Rating: PG
Continuity: G1-ish?
Characters: Wheeljack, Ratchet, Prowl, two unfortunate unnamed 'Cons
Disclaimer: I really, really do wish...
Prompt: Prompt 4: June 18: Rats leaving a sinking ship. (Also inspired by a conversation with silberstreif)

“Hey, Ratchet, have you seen my ship?”

“What? Wheeljack, you don't have a ship.”

“Yes, I do. That experimental one I was working on last orn. You know, the thing you called an 'explosive heap of wasted metal'?”

Ratchet snorted as he pulled two tangled wires apart. “'Jack, that's what I call all of your 'experiments'. You'll have to specify a bit more.”

Wheeljack vented and rolled his optics. “The big one in the shuttle hangar?”

“Oh. That one. What would I do with that? And why do you always assume it's me who takes your stuff?”

Wheeljack glared at his bondmate. “You're the only one who dares. And anyways, who else would want an experimental shuttle?”

“RED ALERT! RED ALERT! DECEPTICON SPARK SIGNATURES DETECTED EXITING THE SHUTTLE BAY!” Red Alert screamed over the intercom.

Wheeljack's optics faded to an almost-white color in terror, and his audial indicators were dark and silent for a moment. “Except them,” he practically whispered.

“Hm? What's... Wheeljack?” Ratchet called as he turned away from the pile of spare parts he had been sorting to the now empty door frame. He strode to the door of his small Med Bay and stuck his head out. “Wheeljack! Get your aft back here and explain yourself!”

“No time!” the inventor called over his shoulder as he practically sprinted down the hallway. “That thing isn't tested! I haven't even run the specs through computerized simulations yet! And the Cons were just in the shuttle bay!”

Ratchet simply stared for a moment. Then it clicked, and he started running after his bondmate. A klik after he started moving, he opened a comm. ::Prowl! Those Cons! They stole 'Jack's experimental shuttle! We need a base-wide evacuation NOW!”

::How-?::

::'Jack's running for the shuttle bays. Said it wasn't tested. Think he has some theories.::

::Understood.:: The comm linen closed, but a moment later, Prowl's voice crackled over the intercom. “ATTENTION! WE HAVE A CODE 115-94! ALL PERSONEL, EVACUATE! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! GET TO YOUR DESIGNATED SHUTTLES AND GET AS FAR OUT OF THE SOLAR SYSTEM AS YOU CAN! I REPEAT! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”

The Autobots, as a whole, ran for the shuttles and followed Wheeljack out of the solar system as fast as their thrusters could carry them.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Lookit that! They's runnin' scared! We steal this wicked ship an' they run!” the purple Decepticon crowed, staring gleefully at the fleeing ships, now just sparkling dots against the blackness of space. His companion, a slim, pale blue mech, was not so enthusiastic.

“I dunno. I mean... my sire was a seaman. Ran ships across the Great Rust Sea. Had a saying; why do turbo-rats abandon a ship?”

His purple companion glanced at him sideways, a knowing smirk on his face. “Since yer already gonna do it, just tell me; why do they abandon a ship?”

“When they know something you don't.”

“Huh?”

The blue mech sighed. “The idiots I work with,” he mumbled, then spoke loud enough for the purple mech to hear. “It means they know something bad's ab-”

The rest of his words were lost in fiery oblivion.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The Autobots watched as the explosion grew, enveloping planets, moons, and finally blotting out the sun they orbited. They hovered barely outside the blast radius, and though the sight of the brilliant supernova of fire stunned them all, they heard nothing, as sound waves don't travel through vacuums.

When the fire had faded, and empty space was all that remained of the solar system, everyone in the cockpit of the command shuttle turned to stare at the inventor, who was trying (and failing) to cower behind Prowl.

“Heh...” he chuckled weakly. “It... was a nice boom...? And,” he hurredly added when he saw Ratchet heading in his direction, “nobody got hurt!”

“Are you sure about that?” Ratchet hissed as he stalked forward, wrench settled easily in his hand. Everyone flinched as the heavy metal met the reinforced helm of Wheeljack.

The inventor gazed pitifully up at the raging medic from where he was sprawled across the floor of the shuttle.

“See?” Ratchet growled. “One Autobot injured. And I’ll bet good high-grade that the report will describe more than just a bump on the helm!”

“Ratchet!” the inventor yelped. “It wasn't actually my fault this time!”

“He does have a point,” Prowl murmured, then flinched and lowered his doorwings as the medic turned his icy glare on the tactician.

Wheeljack just let his helm thunk back onto the floor. “You do have to admit... It was a big boom...” he muttered with a smirk, though thankfully, no one could see it through his mask.

“I'll show you a big boom,” Ratchet rumbled as he raised his wrench once again.

Chapter Text

Title: Unrequited
Rating: PG
Continuity: G1
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Anonymous
Disclaimer: *sighs* Does anyone have a genie in a bottle I can borrow?
Prompt: Prompt 5: Scenario: One character has a deep crazy burning crush on another. The other doesn't have a clue.

I always loved him, even if I never said. Always harbored those burning feelings in my spark.

I never spoke. Never said a word of my affections. Always stood by when he found a new fling, but was always there when he was left, or did the leaving, and hurt. I offered myself to ease his pain, but he never saw me as any more than a friend.

When we joined the Autobots, I thought it might be different. I thought that we might finally have something. A new environment, strange mechs, strange lifestyle.

But he didn't. We didn't. Instead, he found someone else. Prowl. Everyone else saw him as simply a tight-aft, walking rule book. But Jazz saw something else, just like he did with everyone. He always saw straight into a mech's spark.

It made me wonder why he never saw through me. Maybe because we had always been friends, back since our sparkling orns. Maybe because I never presented myself as anything other than a friend? He had often complimented my acting skills.

I watched from afar as the two black and whites grew closer. As they started spending more time together, and Jazz started spending less time with me.

I was still his friend – that, I highly doubted, would ever change – but something had shifted. I was no longer in the center ring of his universe. That center ring belonged only to Prowl.

How I hated that name. Prowl. The mech who stole my beloved, my unrequited love. I still respected him. He was a good mech, a smart mech, and he did his best to keep us all alive. But that didn't change the fact that he took what was mine.

Or perhaps it wasn't mine? These humans were full of sayings. That one I heard a few local solar cycles ago... “If you truly love something, let it go, and if it never comes back, then you will know that it was never yours. But if it does come back, you know it's yours forever.”

Or something like that. And I never made a move on Jazz, never held on enough that I'd have to let go. I had spent too long waiting in the shadows, and had never presented myself as an option. Jazz had never known, and I had never bolstered up the courage to tell him.

I sank lower in my chair as I watched the two talk over their energon, a cube of high-grade in my hand. They were both smiling, and the expression looked strange on Prowl. They were happy.

I vented. Jazz wasn't mine. As much as I may have wished it, he had made his choice, and it wasn't me.

I downed the cube in one gulp, shuddering slightly as the energy hit my systems. Another flash of rage twisted my circuits as I watched as the two linked hands on the table.

Perhaps Jazz wasn't mine, but I sure as pit didn't like that he was Prowl's.

Then my spark filled with gleeful hope. Jazz's flings never lasted long. He would abandon Prowl, or Prowl would abandon him soon enough, and this time, this time I would tell him. This time I would sweep him off his pedes and declare my love.

I smirked in my dark corner as I unsubspaced another cube of high-grade and knocked back a drink. Jazz would be mine soon enough.

Chapter Text

Title: Sensitive
Rating: PG
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Jazz, Sam Witwicky, Ratchet
Disclaimer: Seriously. I want that genie.
Prompt: Prompt 6: Virus

There were many things about the Cybertronians that surprised the humans. Or simply made them stop and think. This was one of them.

When Sam had heard that Jazz had gotten a virus, he had gotten rather panicked – he knew what viruses did to his computer. He didn't want to wish that on any Cybertronian.

So when he walked into the Med Bay, fully expecting to see Jazz prone on a berth, perhaps twitching, or perhaps simply “shut down,” he was surprised to see Jazz sitting up, grinning, and kicking his pedes.

“Uh... Hi, Jazz,” he said, striding quickly over to the stairs installed against the wall at the head of every berth.

“Hiya, Sam!”

“I heard you had a virus,” the boy said as he reached the top of the stairs and walked onto the berth.

“I do.” Jazz smirked and nodded. “Though it ain't much like anythin' you humans get.”

“Yeah, I figured... What do viruses do to you guys?”

“Oh, all kinds o' things. Ah remember one time, Prowler got a virus that made him speak in rhymes. 'T was funny. Ah! Watch... y' don' wanna touch me.”

Sam gave him an odd look. “Why? I can't catch it.”

Jazz grimaced. “Ah know. But this virus's messin' with mah energy regulation. Ah'm... Ah guess y'd call it super sensitive. 'N y' know how we've all got energy runnin' though out frames 'n armor? Well, with this virus, Ah can't c'ntrol it.”

Sam nodded in understanding, and kept a healthy distance, not wanting to get shocked. “How'd you pick it up?”

Jazz chuckled nervously. “'S... 's actually a virus Ah made mahself. Makes th' energy hard t' control, but also makes meh much more sensitive. Ah was jus' on a mission... Ah use it 'lot t' keep 'ware o' mah surroundin's.”

“He does this far too often,” Ratchet rumbled as he strode out of his office, a datachip in hand. “Enough that I’ve learned to keep the antivirus ready when he comes back.”

Sam frowned. “Wait. Didn't you say you made the virus yourself? Why does Ratchet have the antivirus and not you?”

Jazz chuckled and ran his hand over the back of his helm, a nervous gesture many of them had picked up from the humans. “Well... sometimes... it kinda... mutates. That's what virus's do, y'know. Ah picked up another little virus from th' Con's computer. Jus' a little thing, s'posed t' disable motor functions. Ah've had the antivirus fer that one fer a long time, but it kinda messed a bit with mah virus a'fore Ah could stop 't. Ratch' keeps a basic antivirus fer mine, and his medical codin' 'llows him t' modify it much quicker 'n Ah could.”

Ratchet sighed as he handed the chip over. “Jazz is right. I just wish he wouldn't use that fragging virus as much as he does. It gets corrupted far to easily.”

“Hey, Ah'm jus' givin' ya practice, Ratch'!”

“I already have enough of that without you. How is it?”

“Done 'n done. Thanks, Ratchet.”

“No problem Jazz. I don't expect to see you for at least a month.”

“Yup! Wanna lift, Sam?”

Sam eyed the offered hand for a moment. “I suppose. As long as you're sure that the virus is gone.”

“Cross mah spark 'n hope 't die. Ow! Ratchet! It's jus' a sayin'!” Jazz yelped as he clutched his helm.

Ratchet scowled playfully. “Even so. I spend enough time keeping you from death without you joking about it, much less in my presence. Now get out.”

“With pleasure!”

Jazz hurried from the Med Bay, human in his hand and virus free.

Chapter Text

Title: Lessons
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz, an OC or two...
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt: Prompt 2: Scenario: Any cybertronian meets a a non-human organic alien race

Trips through the Matrix were always disorienting, thought Optimus Prime as he was thrust into the frame of a former Prime.

“It's good for you,” the Ancients, his teachers and mentors, had told him. “Learn from your predecessors' mistakes, so you do not have to make them again. Learn, and become one of the Great Primes, those who their people would die for not because of loyalty to whomever the Matrix chose, but because they are loyal to you, because they know that you will not mislead them.”

It was motivation enough to enter the memories of other mechs. But Optimus Prime would never, he was sure, find it easy to suddenly find himself looking out of someone else's optics.

“You are sure?” he/the old Prime was asking a slim silver mech. The silver mech nodded grimly, red optics flashing.

“Ah'm sure, Saevus. It's a Quintesson.”

With a start, the current Prime recognized Jazz. Jazz!

… He was that old? Because this was an old memory – one from before the War of the Quintessons. Before the Revolution. Before, if Optimus was correct, the Quintessons had even taken over Cybertron.

“Persecutus confirmed it?”

“Yup. He did.”

Optimus/Saevus let out a vent. “Very well. Take me to it, Cantus.”

“Right 'way.”

The two bots started down the hallway, Optimus/Saevus shortening his strides so Jazz/Cantus wouldn't have a hard time keeping up. They turned at the end and headed down a long flight of stairs. Down and down they went, deep underground, before they turned out of the staircase and walked down a long, dim hallway.

A mech was waiting for them. He was mostly red, with black, white, and gold accents. His proud doorwings arched in a stiff, formal, V over his shoulders. The posture alone cued Optimus into his current designation; Prowl.

“Persecutus,” Optimus/Saevus greeted, nodding to the Praxian.

“Saevus,” Persecutus/Prowl responded, returning the nod. “The Quintesson is this way. We have him in Holding Cell B-13.”

Saevus nodded and followed the red mech down the hall and through the specified door. A creature was lying in the holding cell, the thick bars between it and the rest of the world humming with energy. The creature was strange. Its greenish skin was not slimy, exactly, but it looked shiny. Its face was composed, for the most part, of a wide, gaping mouth, filled with sharp, black teeth. It was a bipedal, with seven fingered hands and claws. It also had tentacles, which flowed over its back like some disgusting, living, writhing cape.

“Do either of you have the Quintesson language modules?”

“Ah do, Saevus. You want 'em, or you want me t' translate?”

“Just translate, thank you. Ask him what he's doing here.”

Cantus let off a string of warbling growls and clicks. The Quintesson hissed back. “He says he ain't here fer anythin'.”

Saevus vented, turned away, and looked to Persecutus. “Do what you must to get the truth. I don't want those organics on my planet, and I want to know why he's here in the first place.”

“Yes sir,” the Praxian said, frowning. “What is off limits?”

Saevus cast him a dark look. “Nothing.”

The world faded, and Optimus found himself in the Construct, an area that was constantly shifting to accommodate the Ancients' wishes. At the moment, it looked like a large office, with walls lined with shelves of datapads, desks pushed against the walls, and drab colors.

“What have you learned, Young One?” many voices whispered together as shadowy figures flitted through the room.

Optimus thought for a moment. “I do not know. What was I supposed to learn?”

A single figure solidified into a graceful, if rather larger than average, femme. Prima. “What do you believe the lesson to be, Optimus Prime?”

The Prime shook his helm, but spoke as requested. “That was from before the Quintessons took over... Did Saevus...?” he trailed off, hesitant to even imply that one of the ancient Primes, though not one of the Ancients, had condemned their planet to vorns and vorns of slavery under the Quintessons.

“Yes, he did. The Quintessons wished to explore. Wished to trade. When their emissary was captured, tortured, and killed, they retaliated. At the time, they were fueled by their anger and wish to avenge one of their own. Later on, they began to revel in their power over our kind. In the beginning of the Cybertronian enslavement, before the last rebellions had been put down, they were kind, for the most part. They could not forget that we had killed one of their own, but they did understand that it had been the actions of a few, and not of the whole planet. It was later that they became what every Cybertronian is taught of. Do you understand, my young Prime?”

Optimus frowned. “I believe I do. Saevus acted hastily. If I understood correctly, his opinion on organics was biased. He believed them all primitive, violent, barely sentient beings. I must not do that.”

Prima smiled gently. “Yes. You must remember, even if a being is organic and small, and if their culture is filled with war, that does not mean they are not sentient. It does not mean they are much like ourselves, capable of love and hate. A time will come, very soon, my young Prime, where you must remember. Where you are going, you will need this knowledge.”

The Prime nodded. “I understand. I will remember.”

“I have faith, Prime. Go now. Return to your friends and journey. It is almost done. The AllSpark is within reach.”

The Prime bowed, and the Construct faded. Within kliks, he was back in his own body, kneeling on an asteroid, which in turn was part of a belt of asteroids that stretched between the fourth and fifth planets of this solar system. Jazz and Bumblebee were staring out into the stars as they drank their energon. Ratchet and Ironhide were bickering somewhere behind and to the left of him.

Letting out a low rumble, the Prime unfolded his legs and stood. “Mechs,” he called, and his four subordinates and friends were immediately next to him. “We are close. Bumblebee, I would like you to go ahead. The third planet. Land there and scout around, and keep in mind to be careful of any local life. Ratchet, Ironhide... Cantus... stay with me.”

Jazz stared, dumbstruck, for a moment, before grinning wildly. “Yes, sir, Prime!"

Chapter Text

Title: Fight For Life
Rating: T
Continuity: Non-Specific
Characters: ?, ?, ?, ?. No names mentioned, no specific Autobots/Decepticons implied. So, four OCs? Sort of? Not really? Maybe?
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: Prompt 3: Fighting for your life

“What have we here, mechs? A little Autobot far from home?” the Seeker sneered as he hovered before the gray minibot. His trinemates hovered around the minibot as well, blocking his way.

“Looks like it,” one of the other Seekers said with a smirk.

“What do you think we should we do with it?” the third asked, looking on with a hungry expression.

The minibot, spark cold, lifted his rifle and said nothing. He had already commed the base. Reinforcement was three breems out. He didn't have three breems.

“Come on, little Autobot, you must have something to say!”

The Autobot frowned. “Not to the likes of you.”

The Seeker snarled and lunged forward, gun forgotten, claws outstretched. The minibot whipped up his gun and fired, catching the winged mech on the side of the helm, leaving a long, black scorch mark. The Seeker let out a long keen and aborted his lunge, hurrying back to circle with his trinemates.

His two companions laughed. “Taken out by a puny minibot? Psha! You're getting soft! This is how it's done!” one of the others crowed, and trained his blaster at the Autobot. The 'bot ducked as five shots ripped through the air where his helm had been and blindly returned fire. One shot hit the Seeker on the thigh. The others missed.

The Decepticon snarled, examining the scorch mark. The minibot didn't bother even hoping he had disabled the Seeker. His blaster was low on power. It may have been a painful wound, but it was by no means even slightly hindering.

The shout of, “That little fragger burned my paint!” confirmed his beliefs a klik later. The other two Seekers laughed, though they kept their guns on the minibot.

He was done for. That much was obvious. Reinforcements were a long ways out. Barely a breem had passed since they had been dispatched. With a heavy vent, the Autobot resigned himself to his already certain fate.

And if he was already going to die, might as well go down fighting. He dropped his gun; it was useless now. A small dagger was pulled out of subspace and held, hidden, against his forearm.

“Come and burn mine, then!” he snarled, optics cold, hard, and empty. He had nothing to lose.

The Seekers, startled by the sudden defiance, glanced at each other. Then the burned Decepticon grinned evilly. “With pleasure!”

He flew forward, claws outstretched. The minibot leaned into the attack, plunging the dagger into the Seeker's side even as the sharp fingers ripped into his chassis plating.

The Seeker howled in pain, and his two wingmates were immediately on the little minibot, tearing and shredding.

The Autobot shrieked as armor, wires, and tubes were brutally ripped and torn and violently dismantled. His optics flickered, whiting out in pain. The Seekers were a flurry of energon stained claws and rumbling engines above him.

Then a set of thick claws ripped through the chest plate, and the spark chamber was crushed. The bluish spark flickered for a moment, then disappeared.

For a few long moments, the Seekers stood around the graying form. Then, “He probably called for backup. We should go.”

Two nods met the statement, and the three Seekers ignited their thrusters and took off.

One and a quarter breems later, the minibot's reinforcement arrived too late, and carried his gray frame back to base.

Chapter Text

Title: Winning the War
Rating: PG
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Jazz, Megatron, and named and unnamed younglings
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt:Prompt 4: Winning a small war

“Once upon a time, there was a gladiator named Megatron. He was happy with his life, but he knew that many were not. He was a good fighter, and so had everything he needed, but he knew that those who were not as good as him did not have everything. He knew that they needed better, and so gathered his forces. He talked, told people that he would overthrow the corrupt Council and lead them all to a better life.

“At first, he tried to do this peacefully. He preached his ideas to everyone, to anyone who would listen and even some who wouldn't. The Council did not like this. They had been in charge for a millenia, and liked having power. They didn't want this gladiator to come along and take it from him.

“So they started a war. They ordered Sentinel Prime to command their forces and exterminated the gladiator. He tried. He tried as hard as he could. But Sentinel Prime was no military commander, and was soon killed.

“The Council knew that their army would fall apart without a Prime to lead it, and so initiated a seach for the next Prime. The mech it chose was an archivist who lived in the lower areas of Iacon. They thought he would be easy to manipulate.

“They were wrong. Lower class he might have been, but he worked in the archives, and was desperate to learn. Optimus Prime loved learning, and was aware that the Council was corrupt. For a time, he fought for them. But as time went on, he began to rebel against the Council. They wanted nothing but their own gain, and Optimus, as a former lower class bot and a very well educated mech, knew that. He knew that Megatron was trying to do what was best for Cybertron, was trying to get a more equal system of government into power.

“Optimus organized a secret meeting with Megatron. 'I am tired of this war,' he said. 'I am tired of the Council.'

“'I am, too,' said Megatron. 'They take and take and do not care if it means that those below them have nothing. I aim to end that.'

“Optimus extended his hand in a symbol of friendship and smiled. 'As do I, brother,' he said.

“The next day, the combined forces of the Autobots and Decepticons marched on the Council Chambers. The Councilmechs were tried and imprisoned, and the Prime and Megatron took up leading Cybertron.

“They still rule, fairly and equally, as Lord High Protector and Prime, to this orn,” the caretaker finished, glancing over his captive audience.

“Tell it again!” a little youngling cheered, clapping his small hands, and a few other younglings took up the call. A deep chuckle from the doorway made them all freeze.

“Yes, do tell it again, Jazz. But don't forget the part where Megatron and Optimus Prime bonded,” the Lord High Protector said with a smirk.

The former saboteur shook his helm with a laugh. “Oh, yes, I forgot how Megatron and Optimus declared their eternal love for each other and merged their sp-”

“Eeeeww!” one of the younglings squealed, clasping his hands over his audios. “No, no, gross!”

Megatron chuckled. “Very well, that story will be told much later, I suppose. Rodimus, Galvatron, it's time to go. Your carrier will be home in a joor, and I thought you said you wanted to make energon goodies with Wheeljack to surprise him.”

The two younglings squealed and ran forward. Megatron smiled softly at them, then waved at Jazz. “Thanks, Jazz. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Megatron. Tell OP hi for me!”

“Will do. And good storytelling, by the way!”

Jazz just smiled and nodded, turning back to the younglings in front of him. “Now, how 'bout I tell you all 'bout how I met my Prowler? It's more exciting than it sounds. It all started when an assassin made an attempt on Optimus Prime's spark...”

Chapter Text

Title: Lost and Found
Rating: PG
Continuity: Movieverse G1 crossover. Sort of.
Characters: Skyfire, Starscream
Disclaimer: Don't Own
Prompt: Prompt 5: Setting: A very cold place

Skyfire was cold. It was all he was aware of. He knew how he had gotten here, why he was here, but he really couldn't think of any way to get out of this. He was frozen. His armor, specially engineered to keep out the cold emptiness of space, had protected his internals from the sharp spears frozen hydrogen dioxide formed, but the water around him had frozen solid, sealing his limbs and body in an airtight block. Even with all his strength, he wasn't able to break it.

As for why he was aware, that was easy enough to figure out. It had happened a few times before. As an explorer, he had specialized sensors and protocols that woke him up when anything possibly dangerous was near. In the past, he had been woken by passing creatures or shifting ice. The passing creatures always made him yearn to be free, to be able to examine them and catalog them. The shifting ice also made him wish for freedom, but a freedom of a different kind. The freedom of the skies and stars, where he could move freely.

He assumed that the ice had shifted and woken him again. He didn't feel any more tremors, but his energy was bound to run out eventually. He had probably simply taken a while to boot up.

Then something touched his fingers. Something warm, something not ice. A soft caress, and he could feel the vibration of words on his plating, even if the ice distorted and muffled it too much to hear.

Over the next long while, he could feel more and more of his arm plating exposed. He tried twitching his fingers, and was rewarded with a shriek that, even through the layers and layers of ice, was recognizable and familiar.

Starscream? He had told the Seeker to continue on, before his comms had shorted. Had told him to live on, because he was done for. Stupid Seeker, never following orders...

More and more ice was chipped away. Skyfire relaxed, enjoying the feeling of air, actual air, on his plating again.

Then his helm was free, and he smiled into the scowling, black faceplates of his partner.

“Starscream...”

“Skyfire, you glitch! I told you the atmosphere was unstable!”

Skyfire chuckled, then outright laugh. “I told you to get free and live on.”

Starscream's face fell. “I did,” he whispered. “I did, and it was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done, you stupid glitch!”

Skyfire frowned, finally realizing that his processors were running a bit slow. He felt dizzy. “What do you mean?” Starscream moved back to the ice on his torso, which was starting to melt as his systems started coming back online. “Starscream, what do you mean?” he repeated, and Starscream let out a choked sob.

“I moved on!” he screeched, leaning back from the shuttle. “I went back to Cybertron! I was expelled from the Science Institute because I had, apparently, murdered you! Then the war started, and... and...”

Skyfire used his one free arm to pull his partner against his warming chassis. Expelled? Murder? War?

But it didn't matter. He had Starscream in his arms, he was free – well, almost – from the ice, and he was happy for now. Starscream could explain later. For now, he was happy to be out of his icy prison with his almost-bondmate in his arms.

Chapter Text

Title: Strange
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Will Lennox, mentions of others
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt:Prompt 6: Setting: A very windy place

Lennox stared at the mechs assembled before him. Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz, and Ratchet.

“So... Prowl, you're saying that you almost crashed because it was windy?” he said incredulously, and the tactician shifted awkwardly.

“In a manner of speaking... Colonel Lennox, your planet's atmosphere is much thicker than any we've encountered for any length of time. It feels... strange.”

Jazz cackled, but the human had quickly learned that when the saboteur was making that noise, you didn't ask about it. “Right, Prowler. Strange.”

Prowl shot Jazz an annoyed glare before turning back to the Colonel. “To tell the truth, Colonel Lennox, your planet always feels windy to us. We aren't used to it.”

“Right. An' when we're drivin' fast, it feels... strange,” Jazz said, then broke out laughing again. Prowl vented and looked like he was desperately trying to keep his face from meeting his palm. Ratchet was holding back chuckles, and the Prime looked very amused.

“Yes, Jazz. Strange.”

The silver saboteur just kept laughing.

---------------

Besides the prompt, this one was sort of inspired by a short story where the Datsuns are constantly being effected by the thick atmosphere of the Earth when driving quickly. Then Smokescreen develops a theory: if the wind feels good on the outside, armored part of their armor, what would it feel like if they opened their doors at high speed? All three try it out, and end up getting the best overloads of their lives. Story's told from Prowl's perspective.

Thank you to silberstreif for getting me the story and author: The oneshot was written by Zea_T, and it's part of the anthology "Stronger Together" - Chapter 3: Caught in the Act.

Chapter Text

Title: Another Movie Night
Rating: PG
Continuity: G1
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Starscream
Disclaimer: Don't own. If I did, this would probably be an episode on TV, not a story on a fanfiction site.
Prompt: 1.Take something you have written before – a fic, drabble, anything – and write a sequel.

“Hey,” Sideswipe said as he transformed. His brother transformed next to him, not bothering with a greeting.

“Hello, Autodolts,” Starscream greeted from where he was sitting in a corner of the drive in theater parking lot. “You know what's playing tonight?”

Sideswipe shook his helm as Sunstreaker settled into a comfortable position near the Seeker. “Nope. You?”

“No.”

“I do,” said the yellow Twin. “It's called Real Steel. About... boxing robots or something.”

“Hm. Sounds interesting,” Starscream said with a grin, then reached into his subspace. “My turn to bring energon. You can be my... what to the squishies call it... 'guinea pigs'. Mixed it up an orn ago, and Skywarp and TC won't try anything else I make.”

Sideswipe laughed. “Right. Wonder why.”

Starscream just sneered and held the glowing cubes out to the Twins. Sunstreaker took them both, then handed his Twin's over after Sideswipe had settled comfortably on the concrete.

There were few humans in the lot. There never were very many on the weeknights, which was why they chose them for these meets.

Their chance crash landing in the parking lot of one of these theaters close to a year ago had resulted in more than a temporary truce. A while after that time, Sunstreaker had asked his brother if he would be interested in a repeat, then had asked the Decepticon Aerial Commander the next time they had met in battle.

One more time had led to another, and another, and another. Soon they were meeting at least once a month, sometimes twice. They found it relaxing. Their personalities clicked in a way that made a thing like watching a movie, whether it be romance, comedy, or action (and they had watched those and everything in between since this had started), Starscream's wry sarcasm, Sunstreaker's rather subtle humor, and Sideswipe's constant joking made for a pleasant time for all three parties.

The movie started playing, bathing the lot in flickering blue-gray light. War had hardened the three mechs, but they still stared in stunned horror as a robot was gored and torn apart by a bull.

“What the frag is this?” Sunstreaker asked as the main character human used a lift to get the remains of the robot back into his truck.

Starscream snorted. “Tell me about it. The anatomy is all wrong! It wouldn't be able to stand with knee-joints like that, much less run around and jump.”

Sideswipe chuckled a little. “I think he was referring to the goriness. Humans aren't usually very good at getting our... um... stuff... right.”

“Insides, you mean?” Starscream asked with a smirk, and took a gulp of his energon. Laughing, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker did the same. Sunstreaker examined the cube critically for a moment, then took another drink. Sideswipe did the same, then turned to the Seeker.

“Where did you learn how to make energon? This is good!”

“Oh, I picked a few things up at the Academy...” the Aerial Commander said, smirk widening as he swirling his own energon.

The rest of the night was spent in much the same way. They would watch the movie for a time, then start off on a conversation, then return to the movie. As this movie was filled with a lot of robot-demolishing, they actually didn't pay much attention to it. They got enough of that on a day-to-day basis.

Once the credits rolled, they once again moved to part on a friendly note, waving goodbye and organizing their next meeting.

But before any could leave, Starscream hesitated, then spoke. “Uh... I’m... I’m kinda glad we crashed that day.”

Sideswipe grinned. “I know, right? Who knew you'd be so good at snarking.”

“Sides... he's Screamer. Of course he's good at snarking.”

Sideswipe rolled his optics at his brother. “You know what I mean! This is almost as much fun as messing with Ratchet. And there are no wrenches!”

Starscream laughed; a genuine, happy laugh, not the evil, maniac cackle he so often sported.

Who knew that it would be human movies that would unite some of the deadliest of foes?

Chapter Text

Title: So Close
Rating: PG-13
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 2.“So close ….”

“Jazz.”

“Yes, Prowl?” the saboteur asked with an innocent look.

The tactician said nothing, simply looking down at him, gold optics sparkling fiercely from under the brilliant red chevron. Jazz wilted.

“I'll get rid of it.”

“See that you do. It is unbecoming of the Autobot Third in Command to be seen in such... apparel.”

Glancing down at his frame, embarrassed, Jazz had to agree. Sort of. He was posed in a rather seductive sprawl over their shared berth with a human “maid” costume on. He had expected Prowl to... well, Prowl did surprise him on a surprisingly regular basis. Perhaps this hadn't been the best way to get his attention this night.

A tiny portion of his processor argued that he had gotten Prowl's attention – just not in the way he wanted it.

“Slag it, so close...” he muttered under his ex-vents, and the tactician raised an optic ridge.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, leaning down and splaying a hand over Jazz's chassis plates, “a bit closer than you believed. Shall I help you remove those items, Jazz?”

“Frag yeah.”

And then again, perhaps it had garnered the exact kind of attention he wanted...

Chapter Text

Title: Sticky Situation
Rating: PG
Continuity: G1
Characters: Bumblebee, Prowl, Jazz, the Twins (offscreen)
Disclaimer: Stiiiiilll dooooonnn'tt oooooowwwwnnnnn....
Prompt: 3.Scenario: Characters stuck somewhere – maybe trapped in a sticky substance or wedged into a narrow space. (Or whatever!)

Bumblebee would never live it down. Ever. He just knew it. The mechs already playfully called him “Bug,” and to be honest, he really didn't mind. His name was Bumblebee, and his alt mode was a Volkswagen Beetle, but...

This was just too much.

He tried once again to pull his arms away from the wall, but the sticky substance it was coated with held them tight.

Bumblebee, the Bug, stuck in the Autobot version of flypaper.

Ugh. He would never live it down. Ever. Not in his entire life.

But it'd be better to get out of here as soon as possible, so he didn't have to stay there, hanging against the wall, for all the Arc to see. He thought for a moment, then opened his comm.

::Prowl? Bumblebee here.::

::Yes, Bumblebee? How may I be of service?::

::I've kinda... run into some trouble. Of the Twin variety. I need some help...::

::And you know I can keep my vocalizer muted. Very well. Where are you?::

::D-Deck, hallway C-45.::

::Very well. I will be there in a moment.::

Sure enough, a moment later, Prowl rounded the corner. He froze for a moment, blinking rapidly as though afraid his optics were malfunctioning. “Bumblebee?”

“Hi, Prowl,” the minibot said weakly, twitching his fingers in a wave. “Think you can get me down?”

The tactician vented heavily and stepped forward, examining the sticky substance. “Perhaps. This looks like mission-grade adhesive. Jazz should have the dissolution agent. Is it okay with you if I call him?”

The minibot's optics dimmed for a moment, but he gave his affirmative. Jazz was his superior and boss. It would be horribly embarrassing to have to admit the Twins had caught him off guard, but Jazz was another mech he could trust to keep his vocalizer muted.

A moment later, the black and white saboteur rounded the corner. He, like Prowl, paused and blinked, though he did recover quickly.

“Heh. When Prowler said ya'd gotten yerself inta a sticky situation, Ah didn' think he meant literally.”

Bumblebee gave a weak smile at that. “Yeah... The Twins caught me when I was talking to Cliffjumper. Um. Do you think you can get me down, Jazz?”

The saboteur took a moment to examine the sticky coating, then nodded. “Sure thing. Ah'll have ya down in a klik,” he said, pulling an unmarked canister out of his subspace. Prowl looked at him warily for a moment.

“You carry the dissolution agent on you all the time?”

Jazz and Bumblebee exchanged a glance, and they both giggled a little. Jazz answered his bondmate quickly, though. “Yeah. Firs' rule o' SpecOps, Prowler. Ya've always gotta be prepared. 'Specially fer those... sticky situations.”

The two Special Operations agents fell into giggles again, and Prowl smiled a little bit.

They soon had Bumblebee off the wall, none the wiser. Except for the Twins, of course, who earned a week of double duty shifts and a stern reprimanding involving the haphazards of leaving fellow Autobots in sticky situations.

Chapter Text

Title: Slap-Slap-Kiss
Rating: PG
Continuity: G1 ish
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Sideswipe, Bluestreak
Disclaimer: Don't own. Never have, probably never will.
Prompt: 4.Slap in the face.

It wasn't often that Prowl and Jazz's arguments got so heated that everyone in the room felt that they should leave. It did happen, though, and this was one of those times.

It had started small. A little complaint/question; Prowl asking Jazz to turn his audio-shattering music down. From there, it had just degraded into a full out shouting match. No one really knew how, or what exactly had prompted the downward spiral. To tell the truth, no one really cared. They just knew that when Optimus Prime's right and left hands got into fights like this, it was best to evacuate the blast zone.

So that's what they did. They casually filed out, one at a time, desperate not to attract the black and whites' attention.

The argument went on for a long while, the two shouting over each other. The loud screams went on uninterrupted for almost half an hour (“A new record!” Sideswipe had cheered quietly from where he, his brother, and Bluestreak were peeking around the doorframe).

Then there was a loud Clang!, and everything was quiet.

Prowl stared at Jazz, fingers barely brushing the dent on the gray cheek plating. Then he pulled back and landed a hard return slap across the saboteur's face.

They stared at each other for a long moment, then lunged forward. Their lips met in passionate embrace, and stayed there. (Sideswipe, from behind the door, was making gagging motions while Bluestreak giggled.)

The black and whites separated, fans whirring loudly. “Primus, Ah, love ya,” Jazz whispered.

“And I, you,” Prowl returned.

They kissed again, slaps and arguments forgotten.

Chapter Text

Title: It's a Small World
Rating: G
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 5.“I can’t get this darned thing out of my memory.…”

Optimus Prime usually avoided the Med Bay at all costs. It wasn't that he didn't like being repaired, exactly, or that he didn't like Ratchet. He just didn't like Med Bays.

So when he ambled in one day, looking rather dazed and confused, Ratchet was extremely puzzled.

“Ratchet?”

“What the slag's wrong with you, Prime? You look...”

“I can not get this thing out of my memory... I need you to remove it for me.”

“... Why? What happened?”

“Annabelle Lennox made me ride the It's a Small World ride with her at Disney. In my holoform, do not worry. The ride broke down for about three hours.”

Ratchet just stared. Prime vented.

“Have you ever heard the It's a Small World song, Ratchet?”

“... Can't say I have.”

“Well, it goes like this...”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Ratchet ambled dazedly into the Rec Room and looked about blearily for a moment. Spotting his targets, he stumbled forward.

“Sideswipe? Sunstreaker? I need some high-grade. Some of your strongest stuff.”

“Why?”

Ratchet shuddered, armor plating rattling loudly. “Optimus got stuck on the It's a Small World ride at Disney with Annabelle, and it broke down. He... enlightened me as to what the song is... I can't get the darned thing out of my memory...”

The Twins exchanged a glance. “Ten cubes of my strongest coming up, Ratch. Don't you worry,” Sideswipe hurriedly assured, and ran off to get just that.

Chapter Text

Title: Art
Rating: G
Continuity: G1 ish?
Characters: Ratchet, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 6.Scenario: A character represents Cybertron in some capacity, maybe as an ambassador, or in a sporting event or competition.

It was Ratchet who saw the advertisement first. He often read the human online newspaper, though, had he told anyone other than Wheeljack, they most likely wouldn't have believed him.

But he did. And when he saw the very obviously Cybertronian cityscape spread across the front page with the title "Art Show Comes to Town: Anonymous Benefactor Donates Multiple Pieces," he stormed ingot he Rec Room, datapad in hand. He was immediately the center of attention.

"What's this?" he snarled as he slapped the pad down in front of Sunstreaker. Sideswipe snickered as the yellow Twin shot Ratchet a dry look.

"It looks like Praxus to me. What do you think, Sides?"

"Yup. Looks like Praxus. See, you can see the Helix Gardens in the corner over there," he said, gesturing vaguely to the edge of the cityscape.

Ratchet growled lowly. "Why is it on the front page of a human newspaper?"

Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge and took his time answering, taking a long drink of his energon. After letting the medic stew for a moment, he smiled. "Because I donated it to the Art Show. Sides convinced me, with a little help from Prowl. He said something about human-Autobot relations, but to tell you the truth, I kinda tuned him out."

"Yet it's anonymous."

Sunstreaker shrugged. "If you know anything at all about us, it's pretty obviously Cybertron. And anyways, it should say something about it being from one of us. Keep reading."

Ratchet growled as he picked up the pad and fell into the open seat next to Sideswipe. "Fine. You're still an aft."

The yellow frontliner shrugged, a small smile twitching at his lips. "Whatever."

Chapter Text

Title: Healing
Rating: PG
Continuity: Movie'verse
Characters: Sam Witwicky, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Don't own. If I did, I wouldn’t be writing fanfiction.
Prompt: This Picture (from July 10, 2010)

Sam stared at the roots of the torn out tree. The trunk was covered with moss now, and looked a little saggier than he remembered. The once scraggly, bare roots had broken and rotted, now just greenish stubs sticking up like the bony crest of a Triceratops. A few stumps sat around it, similarly covered in moss, and ferns sprouted up where the grass and weeds of the forest floor had been torn away so long ago.

He could remember it all, despite the ten years that had passed. Here was where Starscream had landed. Those trees still sported the deep burns – now just warped bark. Here was where Optimus had ripped Blackout's face off. Here was where he had landed, and Sam was sure that, had he dug through the moss a little big, he would be able to find the gears and bits of metal the Prime had “spit” out.

And there... That clear area, behind the sharp stump. That had been where Megatron had thrust his sword through Optimus's chest plates and snuffed his spark. Sam could see it all happening in his mind.

“Is the future of our race not worth a single human life?”

“You'd never stop at one. I'll take you all on!”

The hiss of energized weapons. The grinding of overstressed gears. The clang of metal hitting metal. The grunts as fists met faceplates.

But the peace of the forest overlay those sounds.

Birds chirping. The clear sound of a nearby brook. The rustle of leaves and needles in the wind.

Heavy footsteps behind him.

Sam stayed where he was, gazing at the worn down roots.

“Sam,” a deep voice rumbled, and the boy – the man, finally turned to look up.

“Optimus.”

They stood in silence for a long moment. Then, “Why did you return here, Sam?”

The man shrugged. “I don't know. Just... I guess I wondered if I could find it again.”

Optimus Prime nodded. “I understand. I have visited this place before, you know. I, too, do not understand why.”

Sam snorted, though not rudely. “You died here, Optimus. I'd come back too. And anyways. As long as there aren't giant alien robots tearing it up, it is kinda nice.”

“I agree.”

Sam mumbled in agreement, and silence descended upon them again. Peaceful, happy silence. It was no longer a place of nightmares, of burned stumps and torn up ground. It had healed, come back to life. The human smiled at that.

“Well, I’m ready to head back, Optimus,” he said as he stood, arching his back and stretching. “Bee's probably wondering where I’m at.”

“No. I commed him when I found you.”

Sam snorted again, mumbling something about “nosy, gossiping robots.”

Optimus laughed. A deep, rolling sound that echoed over the green woods. “Perhaps, but it is only because we care.”

Sam glanced up at the leader of the Autobots with a soft smile. “I know. Thanks, buy the way. For saving my life back then.”

“It was my pleasure. Thank you for returning mine.”

The two exchanged nods, then started on their way back to base.

Chapter Text

Title: Sacrifice
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Jazz, Megatron
Disclaimer: Don't own. If I did, there'd be lots more character development between explosions.
Prompt: 1. Noble self-sacrifice

Jazz knew what the outcome would be. He was a quarter of Megatron's size, less than a fifth his weight, and for all his training as an assassin and saboteur, he knew he was hopelessly outmatched by the warlord.

But the Cube had to be protected. Someone had to distract the Decepticon Leader until Optimus Prime arrived.

“You wanna piece o' me? You wanna piece?”

“No! I want two!”

Pain. Splintering, fiery pain. He couldn't feel his legs. Error messages clouded his vision.

There were only two reasons he didn't scream; one, he was Special Operations, trained to resist pain. Two, he knew what he was doing. He would happily give his spark to protect the Cube. To protect his friends, and perhaps even the humans, as young and violent as they were. Really, who were they to complain about that? They had destroyed their planet with their war and violence.

The pain started to fade, along with everything else. Jazz managed one more comm to his friends.

::Nice knowin' ya all. Tell Prowler Ah'm sorry. Good... Good luck...::

::JAZZ!:: someone called back. ::NO!::

Then all was black, and Jazz knew nothing more.

Chapter Text

Title: We Will Be Remembered
Rating: T
Continuity: Crazily AU
Characters: Megatron, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 2. A heroic last stand, the outcome of which will decide the fate of the universe
A/N: “Isengard Unleashed” from the Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers soundtrack is a great song to listen to while reading this... ^.^

He had always believed in what he was fighting for. He had always stood for it; people deserved freedom. They deserved a chance to become more than they had been born into. Deserved a chance to rise. The Council had made that impossible. They hadn't listened to his first, peaceful attempts at getting mechs more rights, so he had d resorted to more violent means.

He had aimed to make a fuss. Aimed to make a deal.

The Council had sent their armies. Had beaten the newly named Decepticons back and back, until the only city they had left was Kaon.

This would be their final stand. Megatron knew that. He knew they wouldn't survive unless Primus granted them a miracle.

He joined his troops on the battlefield, as per his usual. His soldiers loved him for it. The Autobot generals and commanders always hid behind their soldiers. He fought with his.

“Decepticons!” he called across comms and out loud, deep voice echoing, as they stood, waiting, on the field of battle. “I cannot promise victory! I cannot promise that you will see your bondmates and creations again! I can only promise one thing! You have stood with me, and for that I am grateful! You have stood against tyranny and the cruel rule of the corrupt Council! You have stood for freedom and the rights of those born into poverty!

“You have stood! And for that you will be remembered! Even if we all die today, even if our city is wiped off the face of the planet, we will be remembered. The Council can wipe us from the records, can erase what we stood for, but mechs will remember! They will tell our story!

“'Remember,' they will say! 'Remember the mechs who stood for us! Who believed enough to give their sparks! Who cared enough to pay the ultimate price!'That is us, my Decepticons! We are mechs, beaten and bent, but not broken! We stand for our freedoms, our beliefs!

“This is our last stand! Our last march! I do not know if I will survive, but should I die today, let it be a death worth remembering! This is our chance to leave our mark on history! Our story will be told through the ages, and our legacy will live on forever! The universe will know, forever, that we were the mechs who stood where others would not!

“I cannot promise you life, but I can promise that this is a death worth dying! This is a cause worth fighting for! Fight now! Fight for freedom! For our creations and loved ones! For the future of our race and our planet!”

The Decepticons around him roared, shaking guns and swords. He roared with them, snarling, weapons charged and systems humming.

Two orns later, the city was silent. The Decepticons had been defeated and destroyed.

But Megatron had spoken true, and even though the Council erased them from records, their story was told in the shadows, and their names were remembered.

Until, at last, an age later, another mech took up the call. A mech named Optimus Prime shouldered the mantle of Megatron, becoming the Leader of the Decepticons, and led the downtrodden of Cybertron to war, and, eventually, victory.

Chapter Text

Title: Honorable
Rating: T
Continuity: Any
Characters: ?, ? (unnamed)
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 3. A good death

The Autobot spy stared at his interrogator with dim optics. He had told nothing. Said nothing. Had defended his processor through every hack, had deleted all pertinent information, had never screamed, had never cried for mercy.

He had attempted escape, earlier on. Then his leg struts had been broken – shattered, really – and he had simply resigned himself to enduring until they gave up and allowed him to die. He had nothing to give them. He had deleted everything but his core programming; his emotional response protocols, his core programming, and the Special Operations programs that allowed him to stay silent through everything. Even most of his memories were gone.

It would be soon. They had already stopped repairing him. He was leaking constantly, and he knew that there were times where his processor stopped functioning correctly, leaving his thoughts fuzzy and indistinct.

But his death would be a good one. An honorable one, at least on his part. He would die without fear. He would die without betraying his friends, who he only remembered hazily. Without begging for mercy. Without pleading for a life he knew wouldn't be given.

An honorable death, his spark given to protect what he cared about and believed in, even if those were indistinct.

His frame was numb. He saw his interrogator cursing furiously, optics glowing angrily. The curses sounded far away, distant. He couldn't make them out, the words lost somewhere in between his audios and processor.

He felt something deep inside him flicker. Then it flickered again, longer this time. With a jolt, he realized it was his spark. It stuttered as it faded.

Finally, he thought, expelling the air in his vents in one long gust. I am done.

Another flicker. A good death. An honorable one. Spark sacrificed to protect what is precious. And he was gone.

Chapter Text

Title: Belief
Rating: K+
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Optimus Prime, Primus, Sam Witwicky
Disclaimer: Still don't own.
Prompt: 4. Fighting against the odds

“You'll never stop at one! I’ll take you all on!”

His last challenge to Megatron echoed through his processor. Or whatever it was he had now. He knew his spark was no longer in his chassis.

“You fought bravely,” a loud, echoing voice announced, and Optimus fought back a shiver. “You fought like a true Prime; against the odds for a cause you believe in.”

The Prime whirled around, searching with (nonexistent?) optics for the one who had spoken. “Who are you?” he called.

“I am your creator, child. I am the one all sparks and souls return to in the end, the one who watches over and loves you all, even those who refuse me. Your kind call me Primus, for I was, am, and always will be the First. Others have different names for me.”

Optimus Prime paused for a long moment, then forced an insubstantial body into a bow, kneeling down in the presence of the First.

“I have always watched you, my creation. You have proved yourself worthy of the title of Prime time and time again. My little Prime...”

The flame-covered mech blinked and let out a long, shuddering vent. Worthy? Primus thought him worthy? After everything he had done wrong?

“Yes. Worthy. You have stood by your friends and beliefs for your whole life. You have fought against insurmountable odds and survived, even emerged victoriously in some cases. You have made mistakes, but you have repented and learned from them. You are worthy.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, still kneeling. “Thank you.”

He sensed Primus was smiling, though he could not see it, much less a frame for a smile to be shown on. “You are welcome, little one. You have served me well. However, my creation, I still need you. You serve a purpose no others can. I must send you back, and you must fight the odds again.”

Optimus Prime stood, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, regarding the blackness that somehow radiated comfort and light while still being dark and nodded. “Yes. I will fight.”

“Good,” Primus said, and he felt His presence turning to another, someone at his side. “Samuel Witwicky,” He said, and Optimus blinked as he turned to look.

The human was standing nervously at his feet, blinking rapidly, gaze darting about. His cloths were torn and dirty, and his right hand was bandaged with ragged strips of cloth. “Y- Yes?” he stuttered.

“I have watched you for a long time, Samuel, and have found you worthy. Worthy enough to know a secret; the Matrix cannot be found. It must be earned. You have proven yourself worthy to hold it and use it by giving your life for what you believe in.

“However, my child, you have given your life. You must decide if you wish to return to complete what must be done, or continue your journey onward.”

Sam stared at the full emptiness around them, breath coming in short gasps. “What... what happens if I don't... 'return'?”

“That is not for you to know. You must decide for yourself.”

Sam took a long, stuttering breath, flexing his hands at his sides. “I... People are depending on me. I have to go back.”

Again, Primus smiled. “A true Prime indeed,” He whispered, but the sound was just as clear as though He had shouted.

Sam faded, and Optimus looked back up into the light darkness. “I...” he started, then stopped. He had nothing to say.

The feel of a smile returned. “My creation. It is time for you to return. Your time to continue on has not yet come. Return, creation, and be the Prime I have named you.”

Optimus jerked up, whole frame aching, chest burning. His vents roared to life for a moment, clearing out dust and dirt with a cough-like sound. A gasp at his side made him look down. Sam.

“Boy, you returned for me.”

Sam said nothing. He simply smiled sadly and stepped back to stand at Mikaela's side.

Slowly, Optimus stood up, spark humming with joy and determination. Odds were against them – he knew that. But he was a Prime, in spark and processor and frame. Fighting for what he believed in, no matter the odds, was what he did.

Chapter Text

Title: Stereotypes
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own. Still.
Prompt: 5. An unwilling hero

“I never wanted the Matrix,” Optimus Prime said slowly, fighting off the haze high-grade induced. “Never wanted to be Prime.”

“No?” Prowl asked, the only sign of his charge the twitching doorwings and over-bright optics. Which could have been attributed to the silver saboteur stroking them, but the other two mechs knew that wasn't the case.

“No,” the Prime confirmed. “I was chosen for it, but I never wanted it. I was just a dock worker.”

“Yeah, we know. Ya've told us a'fore.”

Optimus nodded slowly, optics flickering. “Right.”

Prowl chuckled. “Yet you are still the best Prime we have lived through. You were the right choice.”

The Leader of the Autobots snorted and knocked back the last of his seventh cube of high-grade. Jazz giggled and swayed drunkenly as he did the same.

“So, ya're th' unwillin' hero o' our story? Never woulda pinned that on ya, Prime; yer so... confident. Heh. Ya know that'd make me 'n' Prowler yer trusty sidekicks 'n' believers. Prowler's th' teacher, 'n' Ah'm the playful one who's always gettin' ya inta trouble.”

Prowl rolled his optics. “Stop comparing us to those human stories, Jazz. It is ridiculous.”

Jazz just shrugged and grinned as he grabbed another cube.

Chapter Text

Title: Crash Landing
Rating: K+
Continuity: Movieverse?
Characters: Optimus Prime, Megatron, Cliffjumper, Starscream, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Disclaimer: Still don't own.
Prompt: 6. An accidental hero

The Decepticons attacked suddenly, as they were wont to do. The Autobots moved out quickly, their human allies moving with them.

It was a predictable attack; the Decepticons were again raiding a power plant, gathering energy that they would later convert into energon.

The battle had gone as they all usually did. Frontliners fought, snipers shot, Prowl and Soundwave orchestrated the chaos, and Optimus Prime and Megatron were beating each other with whatever came to hand. In this case, Optimus Prime was using an uprooted pine tree and Megatron was using a crumbling chunk of cement.

Then, somehow, Megatron had broken their stalemate and managed to force the Prime to his knees. The Decepticon pressed his fusion cannon against the Prime's helm, the barrel glowing with an eerie, deadly light.

No words were spoken by either of them. Megatron had learned long ago that boasting about his victory often led to his defeat. Taking time was not smart. So he powered up his cannon and prepared to shoot.

Which was when the flaming ball of metal fell from the sky and slammed into him.

The battlefield, already frozen, seemed to skip like a scratched DVD. There was a loud groan from the smoking pit where the meteorite and Megatron lay.

“What did I land on?” a loud voice practically whined, and a few mechs blinked.

“Wha?” Sideswipe stuttered from where he was clinging to the hovering Starscream's back.

A few others, Autobot and Decepticon, echoed him.

Another loud groan, and a small hand stuck up and gripped the edge of the hole. A mech followed, red frame slightly battered, armor scorched and pitted. “What the slag?” the mech swore as he glanced around at the bots staring at him. It was obvious that a battle had just been put on hold. Weapons were still charged and aimed. A few foes were locked in battle positions, frozen in place like defunct action figures.

“Cliffjumper?” someone asked incredulously, staring at the red mech.

“Yeah? What?” the minibot asked defensively, scowling at the assembled forces.

Optimus Prime finally unfroze, standing up and offering a hand to the newly arrived Autobot. “I owe you my thanks, Cliffjumper. You just saved my life.”

“Huh?”

An amused expression crossing the Prime's face, he gestured behind the minibot. “Look behind you, and you will understand.”

Hesitantly, the red mech did so, glancing behind him and blinking rapidly when he saw the prone form of the unconscious Megatron. “Oh. Uh... you're welcome?”

The Prime smiled and helped the minibot up.

Sideswipe, still up on Starscream's back, snorted quietly. “Talk about unlikely. Cliffjumper taking out Megatron?”

“I agree,” the Seeker said, a wicked grin on his faceplates. “And I’m definitely not letting him forget it.”

“Who? 'Jumper?”

“Ha!” Starscream laughed, startling a few mechs below him. “No, I’m talking about Megatron. Taken out by a minibot... heh... how embarrassing!”

Sideswipe snickered. “Yeah. Maybe 'Jumper's not so bad after all.”

Sunstreaker, standing somewhere below, shot his Twin a dry glare. ~Right,~ he said over their bond. ~Just wait 'til it sinks into his processor. Then tell me he's not that bad.~

Chapter Text

Title: Energon for Peace
Rating: G
Continuity: G1/Movieverse Mashup
Characters: Ensemble.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Still.
Prompt: (January 5, 2011) This Picture

The news report shocked every mech on Earth, Autobots and Decepticons. The humans in protective suits walking among the crystals, scientists explaining how they radiated a strange form of energy, the marvelous pictures of soaring spires of faintly glowing crystal.

It had been on the TV in the Rec Room. Bumblebee had been watching the news with Sam and Mikaela when it had come on, and he had called everyone in to see it with their own optics.

Optimus Prime had stared. Prowl had started twitching, and only Jazz's stroking hand and murmured words had kept him from crashing. Perceptor had immediately gone off in a flurry of polysyllabic words that only he understood. Wheeljack's fingers were twitching in a way that would normally scream “run!” to anyone watching. Everyone else was simply standing and staring in varying degrees of shock.

Save for the humans; Sam and Mikaela were just plain old confused. “What's wrong?” the boy eventually asked his guardian, and Bumblebee glanced down.

“It's...”

“Energon crystals,” Ratchet interrupted when Bumblebee trailed off. “Energon crystals, here, on Earth... Primus!”

Sam turned back to the TV and stared. Mikaela blinked.

“You mean, you can... eat those?”

“Oh, Primus no!” Wheeljack said, bending down a little so he was closer to the girl. “They need to be processed first. But from what I see, those crystals would last us a centivorn or more. Primus... And if there's one deposit, that means there could be more...”

Mikaela grinned. “So you won't be running out for a while?”

“Provided it is adequately processed and rationed, and perhaps supplemented with your Earth fuels, we could last for a very long time.”

Prowl, who had managed to fend off a crash, shook his helm. “It's not that easy. What of the Decepticons?”

“Oh... right...”

Optimus glanced at his soldiers and friends, finally breaking out of his stunned awe, and smiled behind his battle mask. “I shall contact Megatron. The war started because of energon shortages. Perhaps we can work out a truce of sorts.”

Prowl blinked and nodded. “Yes. Perhaps with this as motivation, we can initiate a time of peace. Come, Prime. I will help you with negotiations.”

“Ah will too,” Jazz proclaimed, and followed them out.

“Well...” Sam said, blinking rapidly. “This is going to be interesting.”

“You can say that again,” his girlfriend snorted.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The peace treaty was, actually, very easily negotiated. Megatron, as insane as he was at times, knew that continuing the fighting could potentially result in the destruction of the energon crystals. They were very flammable, after all, and as it was guaranteed that there would be soldiers of both sides there, trying to harvest and process the energon...

Well, without creating a lasting peace, fights would break out and the energon crystals could be destroyed.

Peace, over all, was a better option.

And so, the Autobots, as the more publicly supported group, moved toward obtaining ownership of the crystals. It was a long, arduous process, filled with red tape and political objections. Jazz and Ratchet handled it for the most part, while Optimus Prime made appearances and speeches when necessary.

Prowl and Starscream were the main negotiators for the treaty, with Megatron and Optimus chiming in when they had something to say. The two Seconds were the best choices; they were smart, devious when necessary, and knew enough about the armies to negotiate a peace that would last.

Conditions and deals were hashed out. The soon-to-be mine was brought under Autobot ownership, then a joint ownership as the treaty was finalized. The Autobot and Decepticon scientists went to work on mining and processing. A nearby base was constructed, and the two factions had constantly shifting rotations of mechs, making sure everyone got a chance to participate in peaceful contact.

A few fights were fought, but eventually, everyone settled. Friends were made, and, for the most part, the factions were content with each other.

Starscream and Prowl became close friends – the time spent working over the peace treaty had initiated the friendship, and time after that had solidified it. They spent long hours talking together. Their mates (Jazz as Prowl's bondmate, and Skywarp and Thundercracker as Starscream's bondmates and trinemates) helped it along by growing close as well. Skywarp and Jazz even teamed up a couple times to play revenge pranks on the Twins after the Big Paint Fiasco of 2014.

Wheeljack and the Constructicons grew closer as well, as they spent much time working together at the mine. Skyfire and Starscream rekindled their relationship. Blaster and Soundwave started holding nightly parties, where they competed at the mixing stations. Their symbiotes soon considered each other friends, and, eventually, familiy. Friendships quickly sprung up between factions, and the number of fights soon settled out into the average amount – there would always be violence, especially with mechs like Sunstreaker or Blitzwing around.

Overall, everything was going well. Energon had started coming in, first in trickles, then in floods as the best processing systems were selected and implemented. A few mechs, the Twins included, had shown themselves to be wonderful brewers, both for high-grade and for regular energon.

Time passed, and faction symbols started disappearing. A few mechs kept theirs, but most got rid of them.

Peace prevailed, and they all lived happily ever after. For the most part.

Chapter Text

Title: Superior
Rating: K
Continuity: Any
Characters: N/A
Disclaimer: Don't own!
Prompt: 1. bearing witness

In the Golden Age, when Grounders thought of Seekers, there were a few traits that came to mind first. Aggressive, strong, beautiful, fast.

Untouchable.

And they were, and were known for those traits for very good reason.

Once every sixteen vorns, the Seekers would hold the flight that would determine their next Winglord. It was an aerial dance that spanned the entire planet. Seekers would flock to Vos first, and from there, they would speed through the sky, twisting and turning and looping and arching. None fell – if someone got tired, they would transform, drink some energon, then transform back into alt-mode and settle on a wingmate's back to recharge. For a whole groon, they would stay in the air, flying with each other, performing extremely wild and difficult aerial maneuvers. In that groon, not one Seeker pede touched the surface of the planet.

Some Seekers came to the Flight as competitors; those yearning to hold the title Winglord. Only the best fliers got it. They were the ones who did the most daring maneuvers, lasted the longest without recharging, and led their trine with enough respect and caring to make them look good as well.

But this tradition did more than just select the new Winglord. It allowed all of Cybertron to bear witness to the amazing abilities of the Seeker frametype. It made them the untouchable, beautiful creatures many saw them as. They were the sky-free, not the ground-bound. Above all. Superior to all – other fliers could, and often did, fly up to test themselves against the Seekers, but never lasted long.

Seekers. Those built for the sky, and only the sky. And they showed it, when they flew over Cybertron, letting all below them bear witness to their greatness.

Chapter Text

Title: Reminders
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Megatron, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Still don't own. Trust me, if you did, you'd know.
Prompt: 2. setting: a courtroom

Optimus Prime stood in the ruins of the old Courthouse. It had been one of the first structures taken out by the Decepticons, back in the beginning of the war.

Understandably, to be honest. The justice system back then had been corrupt and broken. Innocent lower class mechs had often been tried and found guilty then, just because they didn't have credits to hire a lawyer.

The place now was crumbling ruins where there had once been elaborate decorations and expensive materials. The Prime stepped slowly though the building, following the tugging at his spark, debris crunching under his large pedes. He wandered through the faintly familiar hallways. He had been an archivist, before he was a soldier, before he was Prime, and had often been called upon to bring documents here. The memories, like all memories from before the Matrix, were fuzzy and indistinct, but he remembered enough to know where he was now.

A court room. There was where the Judges – a council of five mechs who would determine the fate of the prosecuted – sat, a row of five elevated chairs that looked more like thrones. Then the two podiums where the accused and the accuser stood, with or without their lawyers. And the rows of benches where onlookers and witnesses sat.

It was desolate, now. The once white metal was warped and black in most places, dim and gray in all the others. Ashes covered every surface, and lumps of metal from the ceiling were scattered over the floor. The benches were warped and torn. Most would be impossible to sit in now.

A large, gray mech with pointed armor was sitting on the edge of the pitted dais where a prosecuted mech would stand.

Optimus moved slowly and quietly to the Judges' chairs and pulled himself into the center chair.

“Decepticon Megatron,” he said after a moment, smiling when the Warlord's helm jerked up, his expression one of surprise. “You have been found innocent of the accused crimes. Evidence has been supplied that you were under the control of a virus, created by a mech designated Shockwave. The guilty party has been accused and punished accordingly. You are free to do as you will; all charges have been dropped.”

Megatron smiled softly, a strange expression on the hard face. It looked more ferocious than gentle, what with his hard angles and sharp fangs.

But Optimus was more familiar with his one-time enemy than he once was, and knew now when he was being kind.

“Thank you, Optimus,” the old Decepticon said with a nod, optics crinkling at the edges. “However, I already know that.”

“I know,” the Prime said as he slid off the chair and walked up to his bondmate. “But we all need reminding every now and then. Us especially.”

“Perhaps,” the gray mech said, pulling the blue and red mech down to sit next to him. “And like I said, thank you.”

“You are welcome, Megatron. What were you doing here, anyways?”

“This is the next building the Constructicons are tearing down. I just wanted to see it one last time. Remember.”

“Mm,” the Prime hummed in agreement as he leaned against his mech. “You have been doing this for most of buildings.”

“Yes. I wanted... I...”

“To remind yourself what it was all for?”

Megatron blinked, staring with warm, red optics at his bondmate. “Yes. I suppose so.”

Optimus smiled. “I have done the same. Next time, invite me, and we will remember and remind ourselves together.”

Megatron smiled again, wrapping his arm around the Prime and pulling him close. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

Title: Smile
Rating: K
Continuity: Movie'verse
Characters: Elita-One, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 3. "Don't cry when the sun is gone, because the tears won't let you see the stars." Violet Parra

Elita-One smiled softly at her bondmate, delicate hand resting against his cheekplate. “You'll be back, Love. And I’ll be here. Don't worry about me. Just find the AllSpark.”

Optimus smiled back, one hand barely touching the one she held on his cheekplate, the other resting easily around her waist. “Of course, my Elita. I will miss you, though.”

Her smile turned slightly sad. “I know. I will miss you. But do not despair, Optimus. Smile. Live, for there is much worth living for.”

He smiled mischievously, moving the hand not on her waist and tapping her gently on the nasal ridge. “Now, Elita, it is I who has the Matrix and all its infinite wisdom, not you. Yet you speak these words of wisdom.”

She rolled her optics. “Right. But I am bonded to the spark that is bonded to the Matrix, and some stuff leaks through.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence, where they simply stared into each other's optics and reached across their sparkbond. Then, they nodded to each other and pulled away. Optimus Prime walked to the launching platform, where he and many others would be launched into space so they could track the AllSpark, and Elita-One back to base, where she would remain until the Cube and her Prime came back to Cybertron.

Chapter Text

Title: Lost
Rating: T
Continuity: Any
Characters: Unspecified
Disclaimer: I still don't own. How many more times do I have to write it?
Prompt: 4. a precious thing lost

I knew before they told me. He was gone. My spark was empty. It wasn't pain, exactly, though I had felt his when he had... moved on. It wasn't pain. It didn't hurt. It was a hole. An absence of everything. A deep, black abyss, sucking away at everything that had once mattered.

Because he was gone. His spark didn't spin anymore. I would never feel the heat of his armor as he lay next to me on the berth. I would never see that sparkle in his optic as he pounced on me as soon as we were through the door to our quarters. I would never feel his emotions pressed against mine, or hear his wry comments whispered across our sparks. I would never stare at him as he recharged, marveling at how this beautiful creature had let himself become mine, and how I had become his.

He would never be waiting for me in our quarters with a warm cube of energon after a long shift. Never visit me in Med Bay when I was injured, and never sneak back in at night to lay with me, curled against my side. Never again would he smile at me, speaking without words. He would never hold my hand as we walked down the hallway, and he would never sneak a kiss whenever we were in a dark, secluded corner.

I was empty. It didn't hurt, but I wanted it to. It should have hurt, without him there, but it didn't. It was just empty. Numb. Achingly, horrifyingly numb.

And I was dying because of it. Empty, disconnected, unattached. There was nothing for me here, without his precious spark beating in tandem with mine. No mech could pull me back. The war didn’t matter anymore. The ideals I once fought for meant nothing. Freedom? What was that, when I wasn't free to feel? Acceptance? What was that, when there was no spark waiting to accept mine at a moment's notice? Honor? What was that, when all I held dear was gone, my pride gone with it?

My one, my precious spark-bound love, the one I had tied my spark to, was lost to this world, and I was lost with him.

Chapter Text

Title: Recharge
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1/Movie'verse
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Do not own.
Prompt: 5. trying to sleep

Prowl rolled over, doorwings flopping ungainly, as he tried to get comfortable. It wasn't working.

The berth was empty and cold. The room was silent. The darkness seemed oppressive and heavy. The blinking lights of the chrono on the wall next to the door seemed malicious in a way he couldn't quite specify.

Jazz wasn't there.

There was no warm weight of his frame snuggled into his side, no arm or leg curled over his. No sound of the saboteur's systems, as quiet as they were, as they cycled down into recharge, and no faint sound of music the silver mech always played at night. There was no pleasant glow of a dimmed visor, which was always half-lit in his recharge. There was no bright spark pressed close to his, lightening the darkness of his mind. Nothing to distract him from the blinking numbers of the chrono.

No, Jazz wasn't there. He was on the Nemesis, where he was doing his job; gathering information and sabotaging Megatron's next big Superweapon of Doom ^TM.

And the room felt so empty without him.

Prowl rolled over again, doorwings to the room and face to the wall. He let out a heavy vent and pulled Jazz's pillow over, tucking it to his chassis.

He cycled his vents, dragging air across his olfactory receptors, and let his optics dim. The pillow smelled of Jazz – of that special brand of polish he used, that faint smell of ash and explosives that always clung to his armor, and another scent he could never place, but always brought to mind silver armor, flashing visor, and cocky grin.

Prowl slowly drifted into recharge, thoughts centered on his absent bondmate. His rest, as it always was when Jazz was gone, was restless and interrupted.

Then there was a soft touch on his shoulder. His doorwing jerked, brushing against an arm.

Then he recognized the field, and realized the blocks keeping their emotions separate was gone, and that Jazz was close.

He rolled as much as his doorwings allowed, turning smiling golden optics on a flashing blue visor.

“Hey, Prowler. Miss me?”

“Of course, Jazz. How did the mission go?”

“Mm, perfectly, as always,” the saboteur murmured as he pulled the pillow out of his bondmate's arms and slid down in its place. His place. The normally faint odor of explosives was a lot heavier now, as was that other, unidentifiable smell. Prowl pulled Jazz close and inhaled, saving the scent, backing up the memory of it and double-encrypting the file.

The room wasn't cold anymore, and the soft sound of human music floated on the air. That warm, alive spark pressed close to his, only their armor separating them, filled the room with a light airiness that held the darkness at bay. The numbers of the chrono were now simply numbers that meant nothing.

Jazz was back, now, safe in his arms.

“Recharge, lover,” the silver saboteur whispered in the tactician's audio. “You need it.”

And Prowl did.

Chapter Text

Title: An Unexpected Warp
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Skywarp, Thundercracker
Disclaimer: Still. Don't. Own.
Prompt: 6. This Picture

It wasn't like Skywarp tried to get them lost. It just sort of happened.

When he panicked, his processor and warp generator went into overdrive, and he transported, almost against his will, to somewhere safe.

This time, he happened to be in contact with Thundercracker, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker had been holding onto Thundercracker, and Sideswipe had been holding on to him. He had practically crashed into his wingmate, and that was when the warp generator kicked in and transported him to “safety.” Unfortunately, it also carried along everyone he was touching.

So he kind of brought the trouble along with him.

Skywarp gave a screech worthy of Starscream as he landed hard on his aft. Sideswipe gave a loud oof!, as he landed on the purple Seeker, then the blue Seeker and the yellow Twin landed on top of him.

There was a moment of silence, interrupted only by the loud hiss of overtaxed fans and the chirp of Earth birds.

Then Sunstreaker groaned and shifted slightly, grinding his knee into Thundercracker's face and his elbow into Sideswipe's midsection.

The red Twin growled and shoved at the mechs on top of him, pushing them off in a tumble of limbs and wings. Sideswipe rolled himself off the purple Seeker, kneeling next to the tangle of mech-parts next to him.

Then he looked around.

“Frag. Uh, Skywarp? Do you know where we are?”

Skywarp, who, until that time had been buried under three mechs, just groaned and shook his helm. “Warp drive works on it's own, sometimes,” he mumbled, lifting one hand to his helm and rubbing the tender metal. “Ow. Think I hit my helm.”

Thundercracker, who had managed to halfway disentangle himself from Sunstreaker (who was making more of a fuss about his scraped paint than he was trying to get out), growled lowly at his wingmate. “Warp, you hit your helm a lot. Sorry to break it to you, but I don't think that this time will make a difference. And Sideswipe, would you please tell your brother to stop whining and start trying to move? Because he's leaning on my wing, and it hurts.”

“You heard him, Sunny,” the red Twin smirked.

“Don't call me Sunny!” the narcissistic mech growled, but did as asked and started working on pulling himself away from the Seeker.

Sideswipe turned around and examined their surroundings. They were in a narrow trench, obviously man-made. There were shallow arches on the walls, and, when he glanced down, corroded metal tracks under his pedes. Moss and other organic growth covered everything. The tracks and trench continued on out of sight in one direction, while, in the other, they disappeared into a tunnel. Brilliant green leaves rustled above them, blotting out the sky.

“Well,” he said, turning back to look at the tunnel, “we definitely aren't anywhere near anything important. Think you can get us back to the battle, 'Con?”

Skywarp just shook his helm, blinking dazedly. Thundercracker groaned. “No way. Not while he's like this. We'll end up in Nigeria or something. Or maybe Kalamazoo. Or possibly ten miles under the surface of the Earth, or even on Mars. It's safer to just stay here until he regains whatever sense he has when he hasn't been hit on the helm.”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were staring at the blue Seeker. Thundercracker shifted nervously, wings twitching. “What?”

“That's probably the most either of us have ever heard you say,” Sideswipe said, owlish look melting into a smirk.

“Well, there's nothing else to do,” the Seeker said, turning to rest against the plant-covered wall. “Might as well act civil and talk to pass the time.”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared a glance.

“What is it with us and finding time to spend peacefully with Seekers?” Sunstreaker asked, moving to lean against the opposite wall.

“What? What do you mean?”

Sideswipe vented as he too sat. “We crashed into a drive-in theater parking lot once – us and Starscream. We've... kinda been organizing movie nights for... what, two years now?” he asked his Twin.

Sunstreaker nodded. “That reminds me. We're due for another night soon. What do you think we should see this time?”

“Well, that new Iron Man movie is coming out soon.”

“True. I wouldn't mind seeing that one.”

“Wait – you're saying that you and Starscream go out to see human movies? On purpose?”

“Yup!” Sideswipe said with a wicked grin. “You're welcome to join us sometime. I’m sure you'd enjoy it a bit. Humans are surprisingly good at making entertaining vids.”

“And surprisingly horrible,” Sunstreaker snorted. “Remember that one movie? Ah, Call of the Wild, or something?”

“Oh, Primus, that was horrid,” his Twin lamented, grinning at Thundercracker.

Skywarp moaned where he lay, closing his optics. His wingmate was immediately at his side, hands hovering over his chassis. “Skywarp? What's wrong? Are you hurt?”

The purple Seeker's optics snapped on, glowing an irritated red. “No, I’m just mad at Screamer! He'll never watch anything with me!”

Thundercracker sighed. “Right. Up you get, Warp. If you're good enough to be sad about that, you're good enough to get us back.”

Once on his pedes, Skywarp wobbled for a moment, but soon steadied, his usual cocky grin back in place. “Alright, so, I’ll transport us just a ways off the battlefield, and we can walk back like nothing happened. But tell us when you're planning another movie night – we'll surprise Screamer. Oh, here's my comm, by the way!”

The Seeker pinged the Twins, and they pinged back. There was then a bit of shuffling around as they tried to find positions around their ride home that didn't include hanging off his back like an Earth primate or holding his hands. Eventually, they got situated in another big tangle of limbs and wings, and Skywarp transported away, leaving the little trench back to its forgotten beauty.

Chapter Text

They met in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and grass and rocks and dirt. The nearest human settlement was miles away. The only life forms in the area were the two Cybertronians and a multitude of non-sentient organics.

Skyfire landed first, huge pedes churning up grass and dirt. He stood, silent, watching the sky, after he had set down.

Starscream arrived a few breems after the shuttle. He set down more delicately, smaller pedes settling to the ground lightly

“Starscream,” Skyfire greeted, turning to face the Seeker. “Why did you call me here?”

The flier shifted nervously. “I... I don't know. It's been so long, but...”

Skyfire shook his helm, spark twisting uncomfortably in its chamber. “Starscream, I was willing to give you the benefit of doubt and come here, but please tell me what you wanted to say. I don't want to waste my time.”

The Seeker shifted again. “I... Frag, this is hard. I still... care... Skyfire.”

The shuttle raised an optical ridge. “Why did you shoot me?”

Starscream huffed and sat down, curling his legs underneath him. Skyfire remained standing. “To protect you, you big aft. You wouldn't... You'd never survive as a Decepticon.”

It was Skyfire's turn to shift awkwardly. “You still shot me.”

“Primus! They say I hold grudges!”

A deep laugh filled the clearing. “Starscream...” Skyfire rumbled, sitting next to the Seeker.

Starscream smiled. “Yeah. Um. I’ve been thinking, and... well... I'd like to... continue... what we had before the war. I... When you crashed, I... I kinda lost it. That's why I joined up with the 'Cons. Megatron... he was strong. He reminded me of you, in a sort of twisted way, way back then. Before he went insane...”

Skyfire raised an optical ridge. “Megatron reminded you of me? I think I’m offended.”

“No, no! That was way back when the war was just starting... He was more sane then, more... We started fighting for equality. For rights. It's changed. You... finding you helped me see that.”

“Well... You're welcome?”

Starscream chuckled, then trailed off with a heavy vent. “You know... I never stopped loving you.”

Skyfire reached out and settled his large hand on the Seeker's shoulder. Starscream leaned into the touch, tucking himself neatly under Skyfire's wing.

“I didn't either. Even when you shot me.”

Starscream grinned up at his long-lost, and now found, love. “Well, then. This will be fun.”

“And incredibly awkward. I am, after all, an Autobot. You are a Decepticon.”

Starscream vented yet again, closing his optics and pressing into Skyfire's touch. Then he reched up and traced the purple decals on his wings. “There... It's not as... awkward as you think. You... what does it mean, when something it placed upside down?”

Skyfire glanced at the tricolor Seeker. “That it's upside down?”

The Decepticon snorted. “No, stupid. It's a very old... belief? I don't know what to call it. But when something is placed upside down, it usually means the opposite.”

The Autobot glanced down at the Seeker, then at the decals. The upside down decals.

“You mean...”

Starscream just smirked.

Chapter Text

He hadn't predicted it. It was just so illogical. Why would anyone target a neutral, non-threatening city? Why would they raze it to the ground?

Prowl stood on a ridge, one of the few outside of Praxus. It was coated in fine, delicate crystals that crunched under his pedes. They would regrow. They were a hearty batch, pretty much impossible to kill. There were a few larger crystals scattered over the hillock as well.

Minus the burning backdrop of the destroyed city, it was a beautiful place.

Prowl shook himself, twitching his doorwings, and forced his attention back to the smoldering wreckage. His home, destroyed.

Yet, he felt nothing. His mind was numb – not locked up by his battle computer, but... just... blank. He couldn't believe it. It was too illogical to be possible, yet all too real. Everything felt disconnected, distant and strange.

Praxus was gone.

Chapter Text

Jazz was literally bouncing. His whole frame was vibrating with excitement.

Mirage vented. “Jazz, calm.”

“Heh... why would I do that, 'Raj?”

The spy vented again as he looked at his superior. “Jazz. I know you like explosions, but this is getting a little bit... excessive.”

The saboteur bounced once more, visor reflecting the flaming ruins of the base they had destroyed. “But 'Raj! It was such a good one...”

Mirage just rolled his optics. Sometimes, that was the only possible response to... well, Jazz.

“Hey, do you think we could do it again?”

Oh, Primus.

Chapter Text

“So...” Lennox said, watching Prowl walk away. He had arrived a few weeks ago, and the human could already tell that the base was running much smoother now that there was an Autobot handling the paperwork. “When was the first time you ever met Prowl?” he asked the Prime, who was standing next to the catwalk the humans often stayed on while in the Autobot sections of the base.

“Hm? Oh, it was about a vorn or two after I ascended to Prime, when he tried to assassinate me.”

“Oh, okay. Wait, what?”

Optimus chuckled. “He was a bounty hunter, long ago. Involved with a very foul mech named Lockdown. He was one of the best... but this isn't my story to tell. I suggest you ask him yourself.”

Lennox jerked back slightly. “Wouldn't he... I dunno, not want to tell me?”

Optimus let loose another chuckle, the heavy sound vibrating on the air. “He doesn't mind. Most of the Autobot Army knows who he was before he joined, as well as some of the Decepicons. He was known by a different name back then, but... he hasn't changed much. He would be happy to explain to you, I’m sure.”

“Right,” Lennox said, eying the hallway the tactician had disappeared down.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

He had decided that he would just leave Prowl be and forget about what the Prime had told him.

Easier said than done. Lennox found himself wondering about Prowl whenever he saw the mech.

Eventually, he caved.

“Prowl?”

The mech glanced up from his datapad at the human standing in his doorway and nodded. “Colonel Lennox. How can I help?”

“Well... Optimus told me how you met, and...”

Prowl quirked a small smile at the human. “You wish to know the rest of the story?”

“Uh... yeah.”

“Very well. If you will come over here? I have a chair your size on my desk, if you would like.”

“Yes, please,” Lennox said as he walked around the desk to Prowl's side The tactician leaned down and gently picked him up, setting him in a corner of the large desk and gesturing to a small chair. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome. Now, how much do you know?”

“Only that you were a bounty hunter working with someone named Lockdown, and Megatron hired you to, uh, kill Optimus.”

“I see. Well, there is not much more to tell. I was indeed a bounty hunter, vorns ago. One of the best...”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Lockdown was standing in the door, green, purple, and black armor scuffed and dirty. “Barricade. We've got a new call incoming. You feel up for it? Initial credit offer's pretty high.”

The black and white Praxian looked up at his fellow bounty hunter. “Hit or capture?”

“Either. Both for the same amount.”

“Hm,” Barricade hummed and looked back to his datapad.

“C'mon, 'Cade! You haven't done anything in a groon!”

The bounty hunter looked up again, red optics glowing dully. “Nothing has interested me. I am bored with all that we have been asked to do.”

Lockdown snorted. “Well, you've got to do something to earn your keep, or else I’m not giving you any more energon.”

Barricade raised an optical ridge. “I can find ways of getting my own energon, Lockdown. I am not dependent on you. But perhaps this new hit will offer some form of entertainment. Let us see what it is.”

Lockdown rolled his optics as the black and white rose from his desk and followed him to the bridge.

The message was short. The sender was unexpected.

“Greetings, Lockdown and Barricade,” Megatron said from behind his desk, his grim visage displayed on one of the small screens in the bridge. “I have heard you are the best, and so I have decided to contact you. I wish for Optimus Prime's helm. Whether it be attached to his frame still or not, I do not care. The price I’m offering is ten thousand credits.”

The screen blinked dark, and the two bounty hunters exchanged glances.

“Interested, 'Cade?”

Barricade cast a small smirk in Lockdown's direction. “A bit.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The Fortress of Iacon was a huge, walled complex that housed the core of the Autobot army. It was guarded all orn long, never was there a moment where a guard post was empty. Shifts overlapped, someone was always watching, waiting. All of them the very best.

Lockdown knew he wouldn't be able to get in. His armor and look were very distinctly not Autobot. But Barricade... Save for his red optics and claws, he could pass as Autobot. And those he could easily hide. The claws he could simply keep retracted, and his optics could be quickly changed with a simple programming patch.

After that had been done, the bounty hunter downloaded a few bytes of information on the movements of the Decepticons, transformed, and drove for the base. At the door, he gave a code stolen from an undercover operative. He told them he had critical information on the Decepticons, and it needed to get to those who could use it.

They let him in.

Once past the wall, he disappeared, moving through shadows, virtually invisible. He darted through the building, running off plans taken from various operatives, as well as his quick hack into the base computers.

Finding Optimus Prime was easy. Getting into his office was even easier. There were guards walking on a circuit through the command deck, but most of the mechs here trusted the Prime to fight if needed, so there were none stationed permanently at his door.

Grinning to himself, Barricade waited for the camera to move, then darted out of his shadow and through the door, closing and locking it behind him.

The Prime looked up from where he had been typing at a datapad. His optical ridges rose, and he settled back in his chair with a loud exvent.

“I suppose you are here to kill me,” he said, voice even and a tiny bit... amused?

Barricade scowled. “Now, that doesn't really matter, does it? Because you're going to be dead.”

The Prime smiled gently. “Of course.”

Barricade blinked. “What? No calling for help? No pulling out weapons? No fighting?”

“You are Barricade, correct?”

The bounty hunter, surprised, nodded, then mentally slapped himself for giving that away, even if his only witness was the Prime.

“Then I do not have much hope. You are well known, Barricade. You do not do things half-way. You have this all planned out. If you wish it, I will be dead before anyone even receives my comm.”

Barricade blinked. “Right.”

“So I will not do anything to delay the inevitable. I accept my end with dignity.”

“Dignity? There's nothing dignified about being assassinated!”

The Prime shrugged. “It depends on how you view it, bounty hunter.”

Barricade vented. “I hate that.”

“Hm?”

“'Bounty hunter.' Never wanted to be that.”

“You don't have to be.”

Barricade snorted, and the Prime gave him a curious look. “Yes, I do. Not like anyone would accept me.”

“Are you so sure of that that you would not give anyone a chance?”

The bounty hunter glared at the Prime. “What? Are you saying you know someone who would?”

“Yes, actually, I do. Myself.”

Barricade took a step back. “You? You would trust me?”

“I would give you a chance to earn my trust. To become someone you want to be, rather than someone you feel you have been forced into becoming. Would you like to try, Barricade?”

“I... can I?”

“Yes, you can.”

Barricade sucked a deep draft of air through his vents. “Give me a moment to think?”

“Go ahead.”

He took a klik, then activated his comm link.

::Lockdown.::

::Barricade. You have him?::

::No. And I’m not going to.::

::Slaggit. Get back to the ship, then. We can try on the battlefield or something, then.::

::You misunderstand, Lockdown. I’m not going to.::

::... What?::

::The Prime has offered me something. I have accepted. This is the last time I’m contacting you. You're on your own, now, Lockdown. Good bye, and good luck.::

::You slagger!:: the bounty hunter shouted, and Barricade closed the comm line.

“I will accept, Prime. If... If it is okay, I would also like to use a different name?”

“Of course,” the Prime said, optics gleaming happily. “What would you like to be called by?”

“Prowl. I would like to be called Prowl.”

“As you wish.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“After that, I was introduced as Prowl. I still looked much the same as I do now, so many knew who I had been before, but they trusted the Prime. I was given very little trust when I first joined, but I earned it eventually. And here I am.”

Lennox blinked, startled that the story had come to an end. “So... Um... Okay.”

Prowl smiled faintly. “Yes. I understand. Thank you for listening, Colonel Lennox.”

“Yeah... No problem. Thanks for telling.”

Prowl gave the human a nod and lowered him back to the floor. After the human had gone, he opened up a comm link.

::Prime?::

::Yes, Prowl?::

::Thank you, again.::

There was a quiet chuckle. ::Colonel Lennox came, then?::

::Yes, sir. And I just wanted-::

::Prowl, you are welcome, as always. And thank you for taking a chance.::

::Thank you for giving me one.::

Again, the deep chuckle rumbled over the link, and both of them closed it with a smile.

Chapter Text

The Arc lifted off easily, engines rumbling loudly, mechs bustling back and forth on the bridge, busily making sure the ship ran. Optimus sat in the Captain's chair, watching out the viewscreen as Cybertron first grew, allowing the whole planet to fill the screen, then shrunk as distance grew between them.

Even from the air, from so far away, it was obviously war-torn. The once gleaming silver surface was rent with ugly black scars. Fires flickered where lights had once shone, the red light easily visible. The rest of the planet was dark and shadowed.

Prowl stepped up next to him. They said nothing. It had all been said before, and anything said now would simply be repeating what was already spoken.

Such a waste, such a pity, such a horrible thing. Our planet, so ruined, so full of destruction, that we believe ourselves to have a better chance out in the unknown than our home.

Optimus glanced over at his Second. “We go to find peace.”

Prowl dipped his helm and doorwings in acknowledgment. “And to leave our planet at war behind us.”

The Prime reached out, settling a large hand on the Praxian's shoulder. “Far behind us.

Chapter Text

He couldn't remember. It was just... gone.

And to make matters worse, he couldn't remember what it was. He just knew it was missing.

“You okay, Wheeljack?” someone asked, jolting him out of his musings.

He cast a quick glance around him. He was in the Rec Room. When did he get there? Ah, no matter. “Yeah, I’m fine, Bumblebee. Just trying to find something.”

“What is it you're looking for? I can help. I’m off duty right now.”

“Uh... Heh. See, thing is, I forgot what I’m looking for.”

The yellow minibot blinked, then started chuckling. “Ah. Are you sure it wasn't an electro-magnet?”

“Uh... Maybe?”

“It's on your helm.”

Blinking rapidly, Wheeljack reached up and ran his hands over his helm, finding the rather bulky thing stuck to the metal just above his right audio indicator. With a few quick flips, he turned it off and pulled it away. Clarity immediately returned to his processors, and he chuckled. “Ah. That's where that went. Thanks, Bumblebee. Must've been messing with my processor a bit.”

“Yeah... Just, um, be careful.”

“'Course. Thanks, 'Bee!”

“No problem, Wheeljack!”

With that, the inventor turned and jogged back to his lab, and Bumblebee, shaking his helm in amusement, moved to get a cube of energon.

Chapter Text

Prowl's engine rumbled lowly as he gazed across the Rec Room. Jazz, just coming up to his table, raised his hands in surrender.

“Whoa, there, lover. What's wrong?”

Prowl said nothing, just glared at his bondmate, then back across the Rec Room. Jazz followed his gaze.

“What? Blue's with th' Twins. So?”

“They are not good influences on him.”

Jazz sat down heavily. “Y' gotta let him go 'ventually. Let him learn himself.”

“Jazz... they kissed him. They kissed him.”

A scowl spread over his faceplates. “Did'ey now.”

“They did.”

“Hm. Prowler, Ah think Ah'm beginnin' t' think yer right 'bout them bein' bad company. P'raps we can... give 'em a little... warnin'.”

“I concur.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The Twins were rather confused when Prowl summoned them (they hadn't done anything worth summoning in close to five orns), and even more confused when he told them to report to one of the underground storage bays.

They went. One didn't just ignore the Second in Command, even when what he commanded was completely ludicrous.

“Prowl?” Sideswipe called as he and his brother entered the designated storage bay. The lights flickered as the door closed behind them.

“Come here,” a familiar stern voice commanded, and the Twins followed it toward the back of the room.

They rounded one of the huge shelving units to see Prowl, just as the lights flickered out.

There was a sharp pain on the backs of their helms, and they lost all processing functions, falling into the even deeper darkness of unconciousness.

They woke at the same time. ~Sunny?~

~Don't know. I’m fine. Can't move. You?~

~No more'n my fingers.~

~Same. What happened?~

~Not sure. Prowl was there, then... nothing.~

~So, same as me.~

~Yup.~

~Think it's safe to open our optics?~

~Not really.~

“Ah know y're awake,” a lilting, normally jovial voice said, tone dark.

Venting, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker onlined their optics and looked around. They were sitting back to back, strapped tightly to their chairs. Prowl was standing, arms crossed, doorwings flared angrily, in front of Sunstreaker. Jazz was standing in a similar position, sans doorwings, in front of Sideswipe.

“Um... Sir?” Sideswipe asked, blinking. One didn't normally call Jazz “sir,” but the way he was scowling...

Well, best to be safe.

“It has come to our attention-” Prowl started.

“-That ya've been hangin' wit' our Blue,” Jazz finished, resettling his aggressive stance.

“Well, yeah, but-”

“As his creators-”

”You're his creators?”

“Yes. And as his creators, we... Well.”

“We've found ya t' be a bit lackin' in th' 'good' d'partment.”

Sideswipe shook his helm as Sunstreaker blinked rapidly. “Look, you're missing something here!”

“Oh, Ah don' think so, Siders.”

Prowl snorted. “If we are, do enlighten us.”

“We didn't seek Blue out!” Sideswipe protested.

“He asked us out. Not the other way around.”

Prowl's angrily twitching doorwings stilled in shock, and Jazz's visor sharpened to a bright white. “What.”

Sideswipe stilled at the not-question. “We didn't ask him. He asked us.”

Prowl scowled. “Even so. As his family, we must issue the customary warning. Break his spark, we'll break yours.”

“Understood. Now, uh, mind letting us up?”

With a sigh, Jazz stepped forward to cut their bonds, then turned to his bondmate. “Prowler, it looks like there's someone else we need t' talk to.”

“Indeed.” The tactician grinned and activated his comm system. ::Bluestreak, please report to Storage Bay B-13...::

Chapter Text

The planet was small. Third from its star, one moon, full of dihydrogen oxide, nitrogen, and carbon. Primitive, organic life lived on its surface.

And, Skyfire thought, it was the perfect place to spend some time with Starscream.

Well, technically, they always spent time together. They were on a scientific mission, all alone in space, with only each other for company. But Skyfire wanted some personal time together, and this planet was perfect. The atmosphere was just thick enough to make the stars twinkle. The moon was fully visible tonight, and, if his calculations were correct, that cluster of space debris they had passed through was going to come crashing to the earth soon.

With a grin, Skyfire commed his partner. ::Stars?::

::What is it? I’m busy.::

::Come on. I know those deserts are good for flying, but... I’ve got something to show you.:: The shuttle grinned as he looked up at the shining, silver moon, slowly edging its way up through the sky.

::Fine. I’ll be there in a couple breems.::

::I'll be waiting.::

The comm line clicked off, and Skyfire smiled again. With a low hiss of hydraulics, he lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs in front of him and gazing up at the twinkling stars.

A moment later, something streaked across the sky. Silvery moonlight glinted off a tricolor Seeker as the mech banked and transformed, landing on thrustered pedes in front of his fellow scientist.

“Well?”

Skyfire smiled. “Come here, Stars.” Reluctantly, Starscream stepped forward, then yelped as Skyfire grabbed his hand and yanked him down next to him. “Look.”

“What?”

“The sky, Stars. Isn't it beautiful?”

The Seeker gave him an odd look. “Where did you get high-grade? We drank it all three systems back!”

Skyfire chuckled. “We did. I haven't had any. I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

They sat in silence for a long time, Starscream stiff and awkward under Skyfire's arm, before a bright streak of light dashed across the sky. Starscream leaned forward, and the shuttle next to him hid a smirk.

Starscream could always be counted on to be fascinated by the New Shiny.

“Wow... The atmosphere is thick enough that they burn up on entry... nothing like on Cybertron.”

“No, not like home. Isn't it beautiful?”

“I... Yes.”

Grinning, Skyfire gently pulled Starscream back to his side. The Seeker went willingly this time, curling happily into the bigger mech's warmth.

“Look at that one!” Skyfire said suddenly, pointing up at a massive streak of light. He glanced back down at the tricolor Seeker, and the two shared a happy smile before they returned to their stargazing.

Chapter Text

“Annabelle!” Sarah Lennox cried as she ran forward. The massive Prime held stock still as the human mother rushed up to his pedes. “Optimus Prime! I’m so sorry, I-”

“It is nothing to worry over, Mrs. Lennox,” he said, slowly lowering himself. In his hand sat a tiny, three-year-old Annabelle Lennox, clapping happily as the giant Autobot lowered her to the ground and her mother. “It has been quite a long time since a sparkling has sought me out. It was a welcome relief from work.”

“I...” Sarah Lennox trailed off as she picked up her child and examined her for any injuries. The toddler was perfectly fine, though, uninjured in any way. Actually, she was quite frustrated with her removal from the hand of the Prime.

Jazz chuckled, startling all of them as he dropped from the rafters. “Looks like yer still jus' 's 'tractive t' th' younglin's, Prime.”

“What?” Sarah asked when she recovered from the shock the sudden appearance of the silver mech had caused.

“Prime's always 'tractin' th' younglin's. Think it's th' Matrix 'r somethin', but... no matter where he goes, he's always surrounded by littlies. Don't matter what species, if they's organic or mechanical or what.” The saboteur smiled as he bent down and very, very gently tapped Annabelle on the head with a sharp digit. “Ah've been waitin' fer one'a yer younglin's t' find him fer a while now. Unfort'nately, there aren't many on base.”

“No,” the human woman murmured as her daughter giggled and grabbed at Jazz's four-fingered hand. The saboteur humored her, allowing the child to bend his digits as she wished as she chanted “'and, 'and, 'and!”

Optimus Prime's engine rumbled happily. “I have no objections toward younglings seeking me out. The young of any species are valuable, and I find all of them to be worth the time.”

Chapter Text

There were few sights as strange as this one, as every Autobot (and probably most Decepticons) would testify, as the one everyone was presented with as they gathered after a battle.

Prowl stood at the right side of the Prime, with Jazz standing on the opposite side. Smoke and fire roiled behind them. They looked like avenging, metal angels come to the mortal world, raining down fire on any who opposed them.

But that wasn't odd. That was actually quite a common sight. Common enough that for most, they no longer felt the sense of awe it had once provoked.

No, what was strange was the Second in Command. Or, more accurately, his expression. And what he was carrying.

For Prowl, the stick-up-the-aft, walking rulebook was smirking.

And he was carrying Megatron's fusion cannon.

The Autobots watched, stunned, as Jazz leaned over and lay a solid kiss on Prowl's lips – and practically crashed as Prowl returned it, instead of pushing the mech away like he normally would have.

“Heh. Seein' ya like that, Prowler...” the saboteur said with a smirk, and Prowl smirked right back.

“Well, I did defeat Megatron. I do believe I have earned whatever rewards I wish. And you, my dear Jazz, make a very excellent trophy.”

Jazz grinned as several mechs around them gave into the temptation and crashed.

Optimus Prime just shook his helm. “The mechs I work with...”

Chapter Text

Starscream was sitting on top of the docking tower when Skywarp found him.

“You saw the picture,” the tricolor said in greeting, and Skywarp sat down, uncharacteristically still.

“Yeah. Skyfire?”

Starscream huffed a wry laugh. “Yes. You heard what happened when I told Megatron.”

Skywarp shuffled closer to his trine leader, brushing their wings together. “But you aren't telling us something.”

A heavy vent was his only response for a long time. Then, Starscream started talking.

“We were in the Academy together. Only fliers in our level, so we were always teamed up. For the first five vorns, I hated him. I couldn't stand him. He was a shuttle, created and upgraded to carry people around, to be... nice. I was a Seeker, a war model. We weren't supposed to get along. But... He kept at me. He never let me get away, or push him away... And eventually, I...”

“You started caring for him.”

Starscream turned dim red optics on his wingmate. “Of course. He was... heh. My coding settled on him as a wingmate. Him! Apparently, he was big enough to qualify as two. But...”

Skywarp leaned closer. “You started to love him.”

He got a glare for his efforts. “Not... I didn't...”

“You did.”

“Fine. I did. I... cared for him. More than I should have. More than... But he returned it. And... we were thinking about bonding when he crashed.”

Skywarp stared at his winglord. “Bonding? You... you loved him that much?”

“How could I not?” Starscream said, bowing his head, wings flicking against Skywarp's. “He was always just so kind, so... easy to care for, easy to trust.”

And that was saying something. Starscream did not trust easily. Or at all, really, save for his wingmates, and it had taken centivorns to earn that trust. Skywarp leaned against the lighter jet comfortingly. “Well... they do say that it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all,” he said, rumbling his turbines.

Starscream glanced down at his wingmate. “Try it,” he practically hissed, then pushed himself away from the other Decepticon and the tower, shooting off into the darkening night.

Skywarp watched him go for a moment before warping back to his and Thundercracker's quarters.

“Hey, TC!”

The blue jet, lying half in recharge on their berth, blinked slowly. “Hmm?”

“Think we can arrange a meeting between Screamer and an Autobot?”

Chapter Text

They waited. It's what people in the Hub did. It's what the Hub was for; lost souls waiting for their other half to finish in the mortal world and join them in the next.

These two met while waiting for their loves. They were from different universes. Different places, different times. They knew that they didn't exist in the other's past world.

But they were so alike. Both carefree, both the playful jokers, unofficial keepers of morale. Both loved by their crews, both missed more than anything by their soul mates.

Jazz spotted the human before the human spotted him. Even in this world of waiters, of smoke and mist and fog, he was sneaky and hard to spot. But this man, this human, seemed like a kindred spirit, so he showed himself.

“Hey,” he greeted, sidling up next to the man.

”Ai ya!” he exclaimed, whirling to face the dead Cybertronian. “Don't do that!”

Jazz chuckled. “Sorry. Old habits.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, tell me about it. Anyways. Name's Wash.”

Jazz raised an optic ridge. “Interestin' name. Mine's Jazz. Nice t' meet'ya, Wash. Who ya waitin' for?”

He smiled. “My wife. Zoe. You?”

“Mah bondmate, Prowl.”

“Mm. If he's anything like my Zoe...”

“Worth the wait?”

“Always.”

Jazz grinned. “Well, if Ah know Prowler, he wouldn' want me t' jus' sit 'round waitin'. You up fer some talkin'?”

“Peng you, it's so boring here, I'd do anything.”

“Mech, Ah think we're gonna get along real well.”

Chapter Text

Title: Inaccuracies
Rating: K
Continuity: G1ish
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own, Transformers or Kreos. Not even one. :(
Prompt: 1. Choose a Transformers Kreon. Their bio is your prompt.

Prowl found his bondmate giggling at the screen of his terminal in their quarters.

“Dare I ask?”

“Heheh... well, remember those humans who were makin' li'l toys o' us?”

“Hm. To which humans are you referring? There have been multiple corporations we have allowed to use our likenesses for human children.”

“Mm. True. These're th' people who make li'l buildin' blocks.”

“Hm. Yes, I do believe I remember them.”

“Yeah, well, their newest set came out th' other day, an' Ah was jus' lookin' them up, an', well...”

Prowl stepped forward and peered over his bondmate's shoulder at the screen. A small, blocky, black and white figure was frowning out at him. After a second of examining the figure, he determined who it was; himself.

Then he turned to the bio to the left of the picture. “My biggest fear is 'shapes that aren't bricks'?”

Jazz snickered.

“And my most prized possession is my graphing calculator? What, exactly, would I use a graphing calculator for? My processor is much more superior than a simple human graphing calculator!”

“Ah know. Now take a lookit mine.”

“... When, exactly, did you and Sunstreaker decide to switch personalities? You do not enjoy fighting Decepticons.”

“Oooh, it gets better mah mech.”

“... Should I be worried?”

“Very.”

A couple clicks later, and a familiar yellow figure popped up onscreen. A cheery grin framed by pointy audio horns.

And a very... strange... bio. “'Sweet human parties'? 'Cruising at dangerous speeds'? 'Pulling pranks'? This sounds more like Sideswipe, or perhaps you, Jazz, than Bumblebee. And the rebuilding part...”

“Ratchet?”

“Yes, that is what I was thinking. Speaking of which, does Ratchet have a figure?”

“Yup. Here.” A few more clicks, and another figurine popped up.

“He... makes you pay? And... 'energon-infused schematic of Optimus Prime'? What on Cybertron is that?”

“No idea,” Jazz said with a grin. “How're you not crashin' on me, Prowler?”

“I... do not know. He fears spiders? Oh, Primus, please do not let Sideswipe get his hands on these.” A shudder rattled Jazz's plating as his bondmate reached over his shoulder and clicked on another link. “Well, at least they got one profile right.”

The saboteur quickly read over Cliffjumper's bio, snickering through the whole thing. “Got that right. Now, who's next?”

“Mm. Ironhide.”

“'Optimus Prime's bodyguard since he was one brick high'? Heh. 'Hide's ancient! He's too old fer that t' have happ'ned.”

“Agreed. Though, other than that, I believe his profile is rather... accurate.”

“Heh. If there was such a thing's an 'Omega Black Hole Cannon'.”

“Yes, yes, very true. Now, Sideswipe...”

“Sudd'nly's soundin' a lot like Sunny.”

“Once again, agreed.”

“Well... Any others y' wanna look at.”

“No, I do not believe so. You?”

“Nope. Ah'll go 'n get Red t' lock down all sites involvin' these figurines. Like ya said, Ah really don' want Sides t' start readin' 'em.”

Chapter Text

Title: The Spigot
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Jazz, Starscream
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 2. Spigot

“Mech, remember Maccadam's? Primus, what I wouldn't give for a place like that today,” Sideswipe moaned as he practically fell on his aft into the soft couch in the practically empty Rec Room. His brother, already sitting on said couch, simply snorted at his brother and settled back again.

Jazz, who had been slouching on a bench set behind one of the multiple tables in the room, straightened. “Man, some good high-grade does sound good right about now. But it ain't the same without a place t' go t' relax.”

“Agreed. I even miss the 'Cons,” Sideswipe said wistfully, leaning back against the couch.

“Heh. Yeah. They're always good fer a party.”

Sideswipe smiled. Then he frowned thoughtfully, turning back to look at Jazz. “Hey... you think it'd be possible to set up a place here? Like, set up our own energon generators – solar, geothermal, that sorta thing – and set up our own bar? I know Mixmaster can brew pretty well, and Sunny and I could use some... skill-polishing.”

“Don't call me that. But sure,” Sunstreaker muttered before Jazz could answer.

The saboteur snickered, but nodded. “Yeah. Ah'm sure Ah could convince Prowler t' 'llow it. Prime'd be all for it. Dunno 'bout Megatron, but... Hey, Ah'm goin' on a mission soon. Ah'll leave a message.”

“Cool. We'll start working on plans and whatever.”

“Sounds good.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Hey. Ah got Megatron's response. He says he don' want trouble, but he wouldn' have a probl'm with lettin' his mechs go t' a bar. 'S long as th' 'Cons had 'n equal part in makin' an' runnin' it. 'N that no info's exchanged. Same rules's Maccadam's.”

“Okay. Optimus gave the go-ahead on this end, and you handled Prowl. Sunny and I have been thinking. I’ve got floorplans here... I could send them to the Constructicons?”

“Sounds good. Wait, you have their comms? Why?”

“Eh... Long story.”

“No it's not, idiot. I used to do commissions for them.”

“Heh. Okay. Give th' plans t' Grapple an' Hoist with the Structies' comms, if they're okay with it. They can coordinate.”

“Alright. Sounds good.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Hey, Jazz. I... I just got a comm from Starscream.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Said he found a good location for the bar. A little closer to us than them, but he said we can't fly, so...”

“Mm, true. So, coordinates?”

“Here.”

“Hm. Never been there. Up fer a little road trip, Sides?”

“Sure. Let's go.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Starscream was waiting for them. “Took you long enough,” he said with a sneer.

Sideswipe shrugged. “Yeah, well, I had to find Jazz. So, this is the spot?”

The Seeker twitched his wings. “Right. Well, I was thinking, we built it partially into the side of the hill, here. It's easy to get to for both sides, and... well, all kinds of available energy here.”

Jazz and Sideswipe glanced around, then at each other. “Looks good t' me,” Jazz offered.

“Same. Now we get the building teams out here?”

“Sounds about right. Screamer? You wanna get the Structies?”

“Don't call me that!”

“Heh,” Sideswipe laughed. “You sound like my brother.”

“Whatever.”

“See ya soon, Starscream.”

“Later, Autodolts.”

The two Autobots watched, amused, as the Seeker blasted into the bright blue sky.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Well, would ya lookit that. Turned out pretty well.”

“Yeah. It was a good idea.”

The two Autobots stared at the wide, flat face of the building. It was, as Starscream had suggested, built into the earth. It was a blank gray color on the outside, but everyone who had been involved in the building of it knew the inside was much more colorful. The walls were painted a deep, dark blue. Lights of all colors were placed generously throughout the massive building. Tables lined the walls, there was a bar in the corner, and the center of the room was one giant dance floor. A DJ station was pressed up against one of the walls. Smaller, private rooms branched out from the main one in the back, buried under the hill (though they went far enough back that there were quite a few back exits).

The scientists of both sides had installed a multitude of different energon converters. Some of them tests, some proven. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Mixmaster had worked hard in the past few days to get a good supply of high-grade stocked.

Tonight was opening night.

There was just one problem

“Hey, Siders, what are we callin' it?”

“Umm... 'The Bar'?”

“Li'l boring, don'cha think?”

Sideswipe rolled his optics. “Jazz, it's just a bar.”

“Yeah, but... It needs a name.”

“Fine. How about 'The Flashing Light'?”

“What? No,” Starscream protested, having walked up a moment ago. “No, no. That sounds like a pleasurebot house.”

“Eh... yeah, you're right.”

“How 'bout 'Th' Prancin' Pony'.”

“... Someone's been reading too much human literature.”

Jazz snorted. “Not me. Prowler's been readin' a lot in his free time, which he has, what with ya bein' involved with buildin' this. Anyways... Any other ideas?”

“It should be something Earthen,” Sideswipe mused, tilting his helm to the side. “I mean, we are on Earth.”

“True.”

“Ugh. Nothing too human. We aren't squishies, after all.”

“Oh, stuff it, Screamer.”

“He has a point, Sides.”

Sideswipe threw up his hands. “Fine! Whatever. Let's just call it 'The Garden Spigot and be done with it.”

“... What?”

Sideswipe rolled his optics. “Ratchet threatened to turn me into a garden spigot the other day. You know, something the humans hook a hose up to? They use it to get water.”

“Actually,” Starscream mused, “'The Spigot' isn't a bad name.”

“Hm. No, it isn'. What'cha say, Sides? The Spigot?”

“Really? Ugh. Fine. The Spigot it is.”

“Cool! Let's comm the mechs!”

That night, most of both armies gathered to (relatively) peacefully drink, dance, and laugh together.

Chapter Text

Title: Citation Needed
Rating: K
Continuity: Movieverse-ish
Characters: Sideswipe, Sam Witwicky
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 3. Citation

“Sam? What does this mean? 'Citation Needed'?”

The human boy glanced up from his book and over at the screen Sideswipe was sitting at. “Hm? What's that?”

“This article. It says 'citation needed'. What does that mean?”

Sam groaned. “Can't you just look it up on Google?”

The red mech shrugged. “I could, but... you explain better.”

Running a hand through his hair (and making a mental note to get it cut soon), Sam sighed again. “It means that there isn't a work cited. Like, whatever whoever is saying, there isn't a supporting article or text or work or whatever that they could find, or at least mention.”

“Hm. So, like, if it isn't a proven fact?”

“No... just that there isn't anything given to support it.”

“Okay. I think I understand.”

Sam turned back to his book, but not without a parting salvo; “If I hear from Prowl that you've gone and done something you shouldn't have that has something to do with 'citation needed', you'd better not blame me.”

Sideswipe's grin just widened.

Chapter Text

Title: Attention Deficit Dude-What's-That?
Rating: K
Continuity: G1ish
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, unnamed human boy
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 4. Limited attention span
Notes: The title comes from one of my brother's old friends. He had/has ADD, and that's what he called it. :) (Also, do to the limited attention span of the author, this almost didn't get written. ^.~ )

“ADD?”

“Yup. Attention deficit disorder,” the boy said as he grinned up at the yellow Autobot. Sunstreaker vented heavily as he slowly lowered himself to the ground.

Primus, he hated the “School Days,” as Jazz had dubbed them. The days where Autobots were sent to a nearby (or not so nearby) school and “forced” to interact with the children. Some Autobots, like Bumblebee, or Bluestreak, loved it. Others, like himself, hated it.

Yet... this time wasn't all that bad. Prowl had told them it was a special needs school, and that the children there were not like other children. That in and of itself made it better. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were by no means normal.

“What does that mean?” he asked the young, sandy-haired child, even as he used the human Internet to look it up.

“Means I’ve got a hard time focusing. My attention goes all over the place.”

“Hm. You sound like my brother,” the yellow Twin said, nodding over to the red mech, who was currently in alt mode with a child in his drivers seat, two in his passenger side seat, four crammed into the little half-seat behind, two sitting on the back, and five on his hood. The red Twin revved his engine, making the children resting above it giggle.

“Yeah, he does seem to fit in pretty well. Hey, you look like him. Do you change into the same kind of car?”

“A Lamborghini? Yeah.”

“Can I see it?”

Sunstreaker vented again as he stood, but his smile told the boy not to worry. “I suppose.” A moment later, a shiny, gold Lamborghini Countach was resting on the pavement.

“Cool!” the sandy-haired boy cheered, jumping forward as Sunstreaker's door flipped open. He bounced a couple times on the soft not-leather, a wide smile on his face. “This is awesome!”

Sunstreaker smiled internally. “Glad you think so.”

“Ooh, hey, have you seen Robots?”

“Um... what?”

“The movie. Robots.”

“Um... no.”

“Oh. You should. It's got robots!”

“I... assumed so.”

“Heh.” The boy glanced around. “You have any pets?”

“... No.”

“Oh. I do. I have a dog. His name is Rusty. I named him when I was, like, three. I also have a gold fish, but he's not really gold. He's orange.”

“Oh... Okay? Is... is this what you mean by ADD?”

The boy snickered. “Yeah. I call it 'attention deficit dude-what's-that.' It makes my friends laugh.”

“I... heh. Okay,” Sunstreaker said, thinking that Prowl would not be able to handle this. Primus, he was having a hard time following the conversation himself!

“So, who was the last Decepticon you beat?”

The conversation continued in much this manner for quite some time. They would start in on one subject, and the boy would change it almost as soon as it began. Sunstreaker found that he was, strangely enough, enjoying it. It was much like talking to Sideswipe, Bluestreak, Perceptor and Wheeljack at the same time.

Or, that's what he thought it would like. He had never experienced that particular torture.

An hour later, the human children were called back inside, and Sunstreaker said goodbye to his new... friend.

He could feel Sideswipe's curiosity toward his strange reluctance to leave, but said nothing.

Everything had already been said, after all, by the young, sandy-haired boy.

Chapter Text

Title: Smoke
Rating: K
Continuity: G1ish
Characters: Wheeljack, Ravage
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 5. Mushroom Cloud

Wheeljack was not allowed to experiment in Autobot City. After that first bright flash and mushroom cloud inside the city bounds, he had been told that he wasn't to do any sort of anything that could result in any type of explosion in any way anywhere inside the city.

The city had been built to hold up under attack. Wheeljack's explosions put that shielding to the test, and no one wanted to compromise their defenses. So they built him an underground bunker a mile out from the city.

Unfortunately for a particular Decepticon spy and cassette, the fact that this tunnel led to the dreaded Wheeljack's lab wasn't known. All Ravage knew was that there was some sort of lab down there, with its own ventilation system and heavy blast doors.

Seemingly robbed of his common sense for the day, he started down the tunnel, thinking of super-weapons and big guns.

Wheeljack stiffened when he heard something click behind him, but didn't stop in his movements. Ravage. Frag. He knew the Decepticons spies often frequented the labs – the Autobot scientists often did have lots of valuable things.

With a wicked grin, hidden by his blast-mask, Wheeljack's movements shifted slightly, his hands deftly connecting things that would...

Well, would make this particular device do what Wheeljack did best.

Ravage watched from his shadowed spot on the rafters, trying to decide if the... thing... in Wheeljack's hands was some sort of weapon he could steal and bring back to Megatron.

It certainly looked like it could be-

BOOOOOOOOOM!

Back in Autobot City, everyone sighed as smoke rolled out of the ground, released through the heavy-duty vents that cycled clean air into Wheeljack's lab and the fiery, smokey air out.

Inside the lab, Wheeljack grinned as he stared at the smoking feline.

Chapter Text

Title: Over-Thinking
Rating: K
Continuity: G1ish
Characters: Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 6. Over-thinking

“You are over-thinking this, you know.”

Optimus Prime glanced up from his datapad, frowning (though you couldn't see it what with his battle-mask). “Prowl.”

“He's right, ya know,” Jazz said, peeking out from behind his lover. “It don' really matter. Ya've gotta jus' choose.”

The Prime set the datapad on his desk, taking a moment to straighten it so that its edges were parallel with the edges of his desk. “But it does matter. We will be living with what I decide for a long time.”

Jazz rolled his optics, making his visor flicker. “Sir, all due respect, jus' choose already.”

“But-”

“Prime. Just choose. Please?”

The red and blue mech vented heavily and lifted the datapad again. “Okay. If... How does orange sound?”

Chapter Text

Title: A White Knight
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Ratchet
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 1. Setting: a waiting room

Ratchet was, perhaps, one of the most feared mechs in lower Iacon. Most of the lower class bots respected him more than anyone else. Most of the higher class bots looked down on him.

Yet everyone feared him. The former senator had an acidic glossa and a good arm, and wasn't afraid to use either. Actually, he was quite eager to use both.

Despite this, however, the waiting room for his clinic was always packed. His was a charity clinic, which was why the upper class bots looked down on him. He was a wonderful medic. One of the best. Perhaps even the best. Yet no number of credits would bribe him into becoming a noble's personal medic. Nothing had ever managed to convince him to leave those beat down, rusty, trash-filled streets. He stubbornly clung to his little clinic, surviving on donations, running it with help from volunteers.

And the people of the lower classes of Iacon loved him for it. Loved him more than the Prime. They cared for him. Everyone knew that he made no income, so they all made sure he had what he needed. None of them had much to spare, but they managed.

He repaired anyone who entered his Med Bay. Gladiators, druggies, sparklings, younglings... Mechs and femmes of every occupation and frame type.

It stood to reason his waiting room was always crowded.

He had help. There were a few regular volunteers. Wheeljack, a mech who had quit medical school and took up engineering, but still knew enough, and was a fast enough learner, to be of use.

First Aid, one member of a gestalt, who was interning in Ratchet's Med Bay in order to complete his medical certification. He had been one of many applicants, and thanked Primus every orn for being chosen.

First Aid's brothers, who were not medics, but picked up quite a bit from their brother. All of them had the inbuilt need to protect, to help. They did the little patch jobs, the heavy lifting, and the odd jobs that Ratchet, Wheeljack, and First Aid never seemed to have time to do.

Sometimes other mechs from other clinics came to volunteer as well, when they had the time. They learned quickly that Ratchet's Med Bay was not like others.

No payment was ever demanded. Ever. Quite a few medics had been kicked out on their skidplates because they had asked for a fee.

Ratchet was also the head honcho, and his word was Law. If someone defied that Law, they quickly received a wrench, or some other durable instrument or tool, to the helm.

But he was still loved. Respected. Cared for. Because he would do what no one else would. He would repair and encourage the lowest of the low. He never asked questions, save for when he suspected abuse, never turned anyone away, never demanded anything.

He was the city's healer and caretaker. Iacon's White Knight.

Chapter Text

Title: Divisions
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1/Movieverse
Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 2. digital divide
Note: The term “osa” is Gatekat's, and (sort of?) used with permission. And this ficlet kinda ran away from the original prompt and dragged me with it...

There was a very thin line between a drone and a preprogrammed mech. The programming the medics and engineers used to create them was much the same, only the tiniest little things marking the digital divide between a preprog and a drone.

No, the biggest difference was a spark. A preprogrammed mech had one. A drone did not.

Yet most of Cybertron didn't care. Preprogrammed mechs were mechs. They had emotions. They felt. They feared, they loved, they hated. But most sparked mechs considered the preprogs no more than drones. Smart, able to think for themselves a bit more, but drones.

Which, to Jazz, made no sense. He felt just as much as anyone. He was.

And no one would see it. He was stuck running patrol routes and processing data like any other preprogrammed Enforcer. He didn't often get the opportunity to do the things he enjoyed; singing, dancing, and the like. Sometimes, his fellow preprogs held parties – secret ones, quiet ones, hidden in the lower levels where their quarters resided. Jazz was often asked to sing at said parties, and he did so gladly.

But there were times when he feared that he would never be able to do so outside of those rare occasions.

Until the Enforcer's Station commissioned an osa, one of the sparked computers that would, could, run massive processors, keeping watch over security feeds, directing patrols, organizing shifts, doing everything a regular mech would have to do at a workstation but couldn't delegate to an AI, which would not be inventive or conscious enough to perform adequately.

Jazz was the first mech assigned to dark-cycle duty after it had been installed. The black and white Enforcer leaned back in his seat, examining the dim monitor and dark workstations with critical optics.

“Hey,” he finally said, and one of the screens brightened.

“Greetings, Enforcer J422,” a soft tenor responded. “I am PR0.W13.R.”

The black and white mech shook his helm. “Jazz, mech. Only the sparked mechs call me J422.”

“... Jazz? Why would you call yourself as such, Enforcer J4... Jazz?”

“Because it's a mech name. A real one. I’m a mech. Not a drone. Drones get numbers. Mechs get names.”

The screen flickered for a moment. “I... understand?”

Jazz shook his helm. “No ya don't. Not yet. You will, though, when your spark starts to tweak coding. When your emotions start to develop. Trust me.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

It was a groon later when the osa tentatively established a comm link with Jazz while the Enforcer was off-duty and lounging in his berth.

::Jazz?::

::Finally dropped the “Enforcer”?::

::I... I believe I understand, now,:: the osa said, emotion infusing his electronic voice, and Jazz smiled faintly.

::Cool. Chose a name?::

::I was hoping you would be able to help with that. I am unable to decide on anything.::

::Sure, mech. I'd love to help. Lessee... PR0.W13.R... Pr... Prowler? The glyphs are similarly shaped, like with my name.::

::You are suggesting I take a name that signifies a thief that sneaks into others dwellings? However, you do have a point... Is Prowl sufficient?::

::Sure, mech. That sounds great. But I think I’ll keep calling you Prowler.::

::... Why?::

::Because that's what friends do. They call each other by nicknames.::

::Do they? Why? And how is that a nickname? It is longer than my chosen designation?::

Jazz grinned up at the camera in the corner, knowing the osa was most likely watching him. ::Because it's something private between us. Because it's got meaning. Because you'll know whenever I call you by it, that I care.::

::... I do not understand.::

::You don't need to, mech. Not yet. You'll learn. Trust me.::

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

For vorns, PR0.W13.R, Prowl, served the Enforcers of the Lower Polyhexan Enforcer's Station of District 14. He watched security feeds far more closely and intently than any mech at a monitor station could or would. He organized everything with a precision unseen by most. He even made tentative friends with some of the other Enforcers.

Then war began brewing, and Sentinel Prime made an unusual request.

“What're you saying, mech?” Jazz asked, red optics narrowing.

“Sentinel Prime has requested that I be transferred to one of your walking frames so that I may aid the war effort. Or rather, the effort to prevent war.”

“Prowler, that makes no sense!”

“Actually, Jazz, it does. I am an osa in a lower section of a poor city. I am... while I am of use, I... they do not see it that way. They believe you can function without me. And you can.”

“Mech,” Jazz said, slumping down in his seat. “This is... I know we can, but... Primus, Prowler! We've... you're part of the team!”

“I know that. But I am in no position to deny Sentinel Prime's demands. The medics are coming in two orns time.”

Jazz choked out a strangled sound, something between a sob and a laugh. “Prowler...”

“I am sorry, Jazz.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Jazz wasn't even there when they did the transfer. He was out on patrol, and when he got back, Prowl was gone.

There was, however, a little flashing alert at his monitor, signaling a message left for him. It was a small file, with only a small note and an image file.

Jazz,

I thank Primus for you. You taught me all I will ever need to know about truly living. I regret that I am unable to tell you this in person. I am sorry I cannot tell you goodbye one last time, for I know that I will be taken away as soon as the transfer is complete.

However, my friend, my beloved (for I believe that, had I been in a walking frame from my sparking, we would have been much more than friends), I am able to give you one last thing before I am taken away. Attached is an image file, one taken with one of my cameras of my new frame, before they started the transfer. I pray that someday, sometime, somehow, we will meet again.

All my love,

Prowler

Jazz let out a strangled sob and folded in on himself, curling his knees to his chassis and resting his helm in his palms. After a few long breems of sitting this way, he slowly lifted his helm and rather reluctantly opened the image file.

Because once he saw that frame, it would be true. Prowl would be gone. He would never light the monitor banks, never be on the other end of the comms directing a mission or a drug bust, never again be there to talk to on those lonely nights when everything else in the world seemed to be conspiring against him.

The file opened quickly, and Jazz felt like his spark was shattering into a million pieces. The frame was wonderful. The colors were dull, muted, as were all unSparked frames, but it was still beautiful. The white and black contrasted wonderfully. Broad, sweeping doorwings were splayed against the gurney it was lying on. A sharp, wide, yet still sleek chevron crowned the helm, the red standing out brightly even though it was dull and dusty. Everything about the frame was sleek, streamlined, yet full of a subtle brand of power that very few mechs possessed.

It was perfect for the osa.

Yet, he would never see it full of life, never see those colors vibrant and shining, never see the optics shine with that subtle mischief Prowl had shown on occasion.

Jazz stayed curled on his chair, gazing with unseeing optics at his monitor for the rest of his shift.

The next day, he was gone, disappeared without a trace.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Jazz stood stiffly in the Prime's office, red Enforcer optics dim under the blue visor, silver plating held tightly to his frame. He was here to meet the new second in command. Had been ordered, really. He had heard little of the mech. He was a stick-aft. A drone. So full of rules that if someone broke one, he crashed. Never did he smile. Never did he show any emotion other than disapproval. He had two expressions; blank, and frowning.

“Ah, Jazz, you are already here. Good,” a deep, bass voice said, interrupting his staring contest with the wall. The saboteur turned around to face the red and blue Prime and froze.

Optimus smiled behind his mask, but Jazz, normally attuned to the mech's moods, was blind to it.

For beside and slightly behind the massive mech, stood a stiff frame. Black and white plating shivered. Broad, graceful doorwings spread beautifully behind a white helm, which was crowned in turn by a sleek, red chevron. Brilliant amber optics, bright with emotion, glowed beneath the chevron.

It was such a familiar frame. So familiar.

“Jazz, I would like you to meet my new Second in Command-”

“Prowler?”

A smirk spread over faceplates that usually remained passive. “J4- Jazz.”

A moment later, Prowl was holding a trembling silver mech in his arms. The Praxian-framed mech's doorwings shivered, and he bowed his helm. “Jazz, Jazz, Jazz, I’ve missed you so much.”

“Never got t' say goodbye.”

“Oh, Primus... Jazz...”

“Prowler...”

Unnoticed by both, Optimus Prime slipped out of the room, leaving the two to reunite, smirk hidden by his battle-mask.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Title: Object
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Wheeljack
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 3. Task: tell a story from the perspective of a nonsentient object (a datapad, a gun, etc)

The object, for that was what it was – even it had a hard time identifying itself, had a very short existence. It had been pieced together by confident, gray hands, every wire and fragment lovingly attached.

It resided on a tabletop. Accompanying it were various bits of wire, metal, tubes, and other miscellaneous scraps, as well as multiple tools and devices, many of which had been put into use in making the object.

Hat it been able to think and know and understand, it, perhaps, would have been frightened for its continued existence. For this object, whatever it was, had been built, was being built, by a certain Autobot inventor and engineer.

But it was unable to think, unable to know, unable to understand. And it was unable to feel, to fear, so it did not fear its death. It did not even know what ending was. What it would be, what it would mean.

So, a few moments later, when a wire was welded on and Wheeljack muttered, “Oh, slag,” it did not fear.

Barely a klik later, the object did not exist any longer. All that remained was a blackened spot on the table, the smallest fragments of shrapnel, and a the sharp tang of smoke hovering on the air.

Chapter Text

Title: Call
Rating: K+
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Optimus Prime, OC human (for the sake of the plot!)
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 4. Phoning it in

The soldier stared at the massive, gray frame of Optimus Prime, shocked. Optimus Prime... dead.

This particular human, one Corporal Jim Davis, hadn't interacted much with the Prime. He had conversed with the massive robot once, when they had been flying out to a suspected Decepticon location. He had been one of the men in the Prime's C-17. One of three, actually. The other two were dead now. But the Prime had talked with them, his voice deep and even, tone calm.

The Corporal never forgot that day. His first contact with the enemy. It had been his confidence in the Prime, spawned by the Prime's own confidence that had kept him alive.

And now, Optimus was dead. Deactivated. Gray and still and quiet...

The Corporal stared, throat feeling like it was full of cotton, eyes stinging, heartbeat audible in his ears. That deep, confident voice would never ring out through the base, prompting whoever he asked to do exactly as he asked, then and there, and screw whatever they had been doing before.

His heavy weight would never make the lights flicker as he took a step, never make the walls rattle, never make a human feel like their teeth were going to shake out of their heads.

He would never look on a human with those wise, glittering optics, so full of sadness and weight and optimism.

Never again...

But it was time to call it in. He was a soldier. Their commander might have been down, but... there were others. And maybe they would never see Optimus walking from hangar to hangar, massive feet settling gently on the tarmac, lest he crack it, but...

They could avenge him.

The Corporal lifted his radio, swallowing a couple times before he could manage a word. . “Corporal Davis here, Colonel Lennox... I have... Optimus... Optimus is dead...”

Chapter Text

Title: Bad Influence
Rating: K+
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Sam Witwicky, Bumblebee
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 5. Corrupted

“Slagging piece of scrap!”

Bumblebee blinked. “Sam?”

“My iPod keeps fritzing! What the frag is wrong with it?”

The Autobot blinked again. “What?”

“Stupid, glitching, piece of trash,” the boy hissed as he tossed the iPod touch on the counter.

“Sam?”

“Ugh. Waste of metal. What, Bee?”

“When... When did you start cursing like us?”

The boy blinked. “Huh? Oh. I dunno. Maybe after I started hanging around on base more. Or when I started taking repair lessons?”

“Oh, dear Primus, Ratchet has corrupted you.”

Sam snickered. “Now that is a very likely possibility...”

Chapter Text

Title: Make Believe
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bluestreak
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 6. Pick one line from this song. Lyrics here

Make believe that it's fine again

Sunstreaker was intimately aware there was a war going on. How could he not be? His brother had just been released from a week-long stay in the Med Bay, and he himself was riddled with countless dents, scrapes, and patched leaks. His paint job was slagged.

But at this moment, he just wanted to forget. Sideswipe was curled up on the berth, back against the wall. Sunstreaker was lying on the other side, back facing the room. Bluestreak was curled up between them, doorwings curled around Sideswipe, helm tucked neatly under Sunstreaker's chin.

From his position, Sunstreaker could see the long, shiny weld line along the gunner's wide doorwing. Courtesy of a certain Skywarp.

In retaliation, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had torn the purple Seeker's wings off. His trinemates, in turn, did their best to destroy the Twins, and had partially succeeded with the red half.

Sunstreaker could see the wide expanses of new, silver metal spreading over Sideswipe's side. His left arm had been destroyed, and had had to be completely reconstructed. Most of his left leg had been melted to slag. He had been in the Med Bay for a week, and would have still been there had Ratchet been any other medic. However, their CMO knew the value of a familiar berth and familiar sparks, and often allowed mechs to go back to their berths as long as they submitted to wearing a monitoring device. Sunstreaker could see that, too. A bulky, black box attached to Sideswipe's shoulder. The Twins were familiar enough with those to have gotten over the discomfort they caused.

No, the yellow Twin knew very well that there was a war going, that any moment, he, Bluestreak, Sideswipe, could be called back into battle. Knew that he and his Twin were one of the strongest lines of defense between the Autobots and Decepticons. Knew they risked their sparks every time they went out to fight.

But at the moment, he didn't care. He wanted to make believe that nothing was wrong, that they were simply an ordinary family, sleeping comfortably in their berth. That there wasn't a risk of an alarm blasting them out of recharge at any moment. That he and his brother and their lover didn't risk their frames, their sparks, their lives every week, every day.

He wanted to make believe that everything was good, that everything was fine. Venting heavily, Sunstreaker pulled Bluestreak tightly to him and reached over, settling gentle fingers on his brother's shiny side.

Make believe.

No war.

No battles.

Here, now.

Safe, comfortable, happy.

With a vent, Sunstreaker closed his optics. The illusion would be shattered when he woke up, but for now, he was content. Happy, in his little world outside the war.

Chapter Text

Title: Sneeze
Rating: K
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Sam, Ratchet
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: #1. Allergy

When Sam sneezed, Ratchet panicked.

The Autobots had only been on Earth for a few months; they had come in the fall, and it was now spring.

The humans had helped set up the Autobots' base, had been living with them, teaching them about Earth.

Though, Sam mused as he endured yet another scan, perhaps they had missed teaching something important.

“Ratchet, I told you, I’m fine. One sneeze doesn't mean that I’m going to die. Give us a little credit. Our species wouldn't have survived this long if we weren't able to stand allergies.”

“'Allergies'?” Ratchet asked, pausing. “What are...”

His optics flickered, a sign Sam had long ago learned to mean he was either on his comm with someone, or he was on the internet. Or both.

“Ah, I see,” the medic said a moment later. “But that's still stupid! There are plenty of ways to treat this! Nannites, for one! Or-”

“Ratch'. Keep in mind you're a super-advanced alien robot, okay? Us humans are not quite as advanced as you.”

“Humph,” Ratchet huffed as he crossed his arms over his chassis. “Controlled exposure is not 'super-advanced'. That is an easy enough fix.”

“What?”

Ratchet just rolled his optics. “I'm getting you over your allergies, Sam Witwicky,” the medic rumbled, and Sam resisted the urge to curl up into a ball under his bed and not come out. This... wasn't going to be fun.

Chapter Text

Title: An Unlikely Alliance
Rating: T
Continuity: G1
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Starscream, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: #2. Choose a prompt of the Master List 2011 and write for it.
Chosen Prompt: June 11, An unlikely _____ (fill in this blank with any noun: hero, lover, enemy, ally, etc.)
Notes: Also inspired by Starfire201. That second bunny you gave me... took a while to write, but... hey! Here it is! :D Sorta?

“I mean, it's really fragging obvious, why can't they just get it over with and get together!”

Skywarp paced in front of the four other mechs.

“Look, Skywarp, I don't care,” Sideswipe growled. “I'm trying to watch the movie. It's a good one!”

With a huff, the purple Seeker sat down next to his blue trinemate and stared grumpily at the wide screen, on which many explosions were occurring.

Starscream snickered. “I'm liking this Murdock character.”

Sideswipe grinned. Thundercracker rolled his optics.

“You would,” Sunstreaker mumbled. “He reminds me of Sideswipe.”

“Hey!”

“What are they... 'Flying a tank'?” Starscream asked a moment later, sounding baffled.

“Blitzwing!” Sideswipe cheered, and his brother smacked the back of his helm.

“What?”

“Urgh! It's just so stupid!” Skywarp interrupted, jumping up and pacing again.

“Skywarp, get down!” Starscream snarled, but Skywarp shook his helm.

“Come on! Haven't any of you guys seen it? The way they look at each other?”

Rolling his optics, Sideswipe growled, “Who, 'Warp?”

“Don't encourage him!” Starscream hissed.

“Sooner we get this outta him, sooner we can go back to watching the movie. Now, Skywarp.”

“Prowl and Jazz!”

There was a long moment of silence, interrupted only by the loud sounds of the movie.

Then, “You've got to be kidding,” Sunstreaker gawped. “Those two hate each other!”

“No, they don't!” Skywarp rumbled. “They like each other, but they don't know it, and avoid each other so they don't get hurt! Or something.”

“And when did you learn this?”

It was Skywarp's turn to roll his optics. “It's obvious, looking at how they act around each other. I mean, duh.”

“Um... not to us.”

“Well, I’m right, even if you don't believe me!” Skywarp growled, pacing again. “We've got to do something!” he proclaimed a moment later.

And received only odd looks in response.

“Come on, guys!”

“If we say yes, will you sit down and let us watch the movie?”

“If you promise,” Skywarp shot back.

“Fine, fine, we promise. Now sit.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

::You promised!::

::Fine, fine. Cool your thrusters, 'Warp.::

::Starscream? TC?::

::What?::

::What is it, Skywarp?::

::We're plotting.::

::Oooh, boy.::

::That's what I said.::

::Come on! You promised!::

::Fine. What do you have in mind?::

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Yeah, we are so getting brigged for this,” Sideswipe moaned as he and his brother raced across the battlefield.

“Yeah, but... I am interested to see what they do.”

“Gah. The one benefit to this crazy scheme. Now, where was that cave...”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Prowl wasn't sure exactly how he and Jazz had ended up trapped in a cave. Sunstreaker had called him, rattling off a set of coordinates before the comm cut off in static. He had raced to the position, knowing Sunstreaker would have called him for a reason, and Starscream standing there, a wide grin on his face, and he had then been shoved into a cave and held at gunpoint.

Then Jazz had been shoved in next to him, and then the entrance had collapsed...

And that wasn't even mentioning that strange comment on Starscream's part before Jazz had shown up.

Speaking of Jazz...

“Jazz?”

“Yeah, Prowler?”

“How did you get in here?”

“Sideswipe called meh. Said he'd found somethin'? Then 'Warp was right behind me, an' next thing I know, I’m in here.”

“... And? You're leaving something out, Jazz.”

“Fine, fine,” the mech growled. “He said they wouldn' dig us out 'till we'd fragged each other senseless.”

Prowl blinked. “Really?” Well, Starscream's comment was now even more confusing, considering one of the few words Prowl had understood was “frag.”

“Yeah,” Jazz mumbled, venting heavily. “What gives? How'd he know?”

“I do not know. I was sure we had hidden it perfectly...”

“Yeah, me too. Nobody's been s'spicious since we got pr'moted...”

Prowl vented again and slid down the rough wall. “Well. Might as well get comfortable. Optimus will have us out soon enough.”

“Mm... but Ah'm thinkin' that Skywarp had th' right idea...”

“What? Jazz!”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker watched eagerly as the last rocks were pulled away, recording the memory for later sharing with the Decepticon Elite Seeker Trine.

The Twins, as some of the least damaged and strongest, were up in the front row of Autobots, helping clear the debris, so they had a very clear view when light finally reached the pair of black and whites.

Prowl blinked sleepily up at them, then frowned. Jazz just burrowed deeper into his side.

“Nn, Prowler, Ah don' wanna get up yet...”

To the surprise of everyone watching, Prowl rolled his optics and moved to poke Jazz under the bumper, long familiarity in the movements. “Jazz. Up.”

“Nuu, don' wanna... Ah'm tired.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“Uhh...”

“Right. Most definitely not because of that party. Or the multiple overloads you just insisted on...”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were staring. “Primus, it worked! Skywarp was right...”

“What's that, Sides?” Jazz asked, finally lifting himself off the other black and white. “What was 'Warp right 'bout?”

“Uh...”

“Well...”

“Tell us and I will reduce your brig time to two orns.”

“He said you two were in love with each other...”

The two in the hole glanced at each other. “Really?” Jazz asked, visor flickering as he blinked.

“Yeah?”

“Hm. We must not have been as discreet as we thought, if a Decepticon noticed...”

“Wait, what?”

Prowl raised an optic ridge. “Jazz and I have been bonded since before the war. We hid it when it became obvious that we would become officers.”

“Guh...”

“Mm. Ah should thank ya, though, Sides, Sunny. Ya gave me a nice opportunity t' ravish mah bondmate-”

“No! No images! Mute it!”

Jazz just grinned evilly.

Chapter Text

Title: Hydrophobia
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Ironhide, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: #3. Scenario: Someone being scared of something others don't mind

Ironhide didn't like water. It was just a fact of life. He didn't mind other liquids – oil, energon, mercury, whatever – but water, that was something he could not stand.

The others didn't care either way. Sure, if you weren't careful, you'd rust, but that was only if you got lax and lazy. So they didn't mind. Some even enjoyed it; Jazz would drag Prowl out for long drives in the rain. Sideswipe absolutely adored playing in the mud – his Twin hated that, of course, and most of the Arc figured that was probably a deciding factor in Sideswipe's enjoyment.

But Ironhide... he hated it. Hated the rain, hated the snow, hated the standing pools of it, hated it frozen, liquid, or vaporized.

There was a reason; he had been infected with a bad case of rust once in his long history, on a small organic planet long, long before. But he wasn't telling anyone. He wasn't telling that he had almost died, the rust invading his processors and spark chamber.

So most mechs just figured he had an illogical fear of water. Hydrophobia, Jazz had called it, grinning all the while.

Ironhide had just grunted and left the Rec Room.

Because he knew he wouldn't ever be able to convince them. It wasn't fear. He could go out in it, did go out in it, when he had to. He just didn't like it. At all.

It wasn't fear, he told himself over and over, every time he saw the water that covered this planet. It was dislike, and that was that. Dislike, hate. He wasn't scared. He wasn't some little weakling, quivering in his armor at the first hint of a storm.

“Hello, Ironhide,” a deep voice rumbled, and he jumped, whirling away from where he was staring out the entrance of the Arc, watching the rain spatter on the ground. “I will admit, I never thought I would find you watching the rain.”

“Yeah, well,” the red mech rumbled back, reaching up and running one hand along his helm crest. “I've been doin' some thinkin'.”

“I see,” the Prime said, and Ironhide could hear the smile in his voice. “You know, Old Friend, fear is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Ironhide cursed the Matrix. Why did it have to give Optimus telepathy? Or maybe that's just how he had always been, and the Matrix had nothing to do with it? “I ain't afraid.”

Optimus just blinked at him, that indulgent smile still hidden behind the mask. “Ironhide, fear is fine. Fear is natural. It helps us survive. The mark of a true mech, of true bravery, is facing the fear and not letting it overcome you.”

“I ain't afraid, Prime.”

“Of what, Ironhide?”

The red mech shifted, grinding the gears in his jaw. “I'm... I ain't...”

“Ironhide...” the Prime said, exasperation coloring his voice. There was a quiet chuckle hidden in the words too.

Ironhide frowned. Optimus clasped a hand on his shoulder plating, then turned and walked away, heavy pedesteps echoing down the hall.

Once more, dark blue optics turned back to the rain. Ironhide debated going out in it, just to prove that he could. That he could face this... obstacle... and overcome it.

Ah, frag. Maybe he did fear it...

Chapter Text

Title: I’m Sorry
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Hound, Jazz, Mirage
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: #4. Inappropriate sympathy
Notes: Also inspired by this: I'm Sorry

“Ooh, buddy, Ah’m sorry,” Jazz said sympathetically as he eyed Hound's now neon-pink paint-job.

Hound shook his helm, spattering pink droplets everywhere, and Jazz ducked behind his raised arms. “What are you sorry for, Jazz? You didn't do it. This is pretty clearly Sideswipe's work. Heck, I saw him running around the corner.”

Jazz eyed Hound, giving him a thoughtful little half-smirk. “Nice o' ya t' say so, mech, but Ah know what Ah did. Anyways, see ya!”

And the saboteur wandered off down the hall, whistling through his vocalizer, a habit he had picked up from Sparkplug. Staring after him, Hound stood, frozen in the hallway, still dripping pink paint.

Mirage found him there a moment later, walking around the corner kliks after Jazz had passed. He was staring over his shoulder, frowning in the direction his superior had been going.

“Hound? Why did Jazz look so... evil- Oh, my goodness...”

The once green mech vented (more pink paint spattering the walls) and shook his helm. “I have no idea. But I think your commander had something to do with it...”

“It would not surprise me. He has been in a rather cheerful mood.”

Hound just rolled his optics. “Help me get this off?”

“Always.”

“Wait, what? 'Always'? You expecting this to happen again?”

“Hound... The skunk? Tree sap? Mud?”

“Uh... okay. Point. Now, let's go before it dries.”

Chapter Text

Title: Insanity
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Smokescreen, Sideswipe, Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: #6. “I'm not insane. Nine of the ten voices in my head tell me so. The last one is humming.”

Smokescreen was in the Rec Room, hunched over a cube of high-grade, optics unfocused, expression blank.

Sideswipe sidled up next to him and plopped down in an empty seat. “S'up, Smokey?” he said cheerfully, pulling out a cube of high-grade for himself.

“I just did Prowl's psychiatric evaluation.”

“Um... okay? Isn't he like, the most stable one of the bunch?”

Smokescreen cast a baleful glance at the red Twin. “No. The only one more unstable is Jazz.”

Sideswipe blinked, chuckling a little bit. “Well. That's reassuring. Two-thirds of our command structure are insane.”

“Oh, I’m not insane,” a light tenor said from behind them, and both mechs whirled to see the black and white Praxian, tactician, and Autobot Second in Command, doorwings spread wide. “Nine of the ten voices in my head tell me so. The last one is humming.”

“Heh,” a familiar, lilting voice chuckled, and a black helm popped up over Prowl's shoulder. “That's me, darling.”

“Oh. Would you please stop, then, Jazz? You're drowning out the tenth voice.”

“Hmm... Ah dunno, Prowler, Ah don' really like yer tenth voice. It's kinda rude.”

“All the same...”

“Fine.”

“Mm. Thank you, Jazz. Ah, yes. Now I can hear him.” Prowl turned back to the the psychologist and the trickster. “Never mind. The tenth one agrees as well. I’m not insane. It's unanimous.”

Sideswipe was edging slowly to the side. Smokescreen was staring, optic twitching.

“Uh... right,” the red Twin said, continuing to slide sideways. “Well, Sunny's calling, I’ve gotta go! Bye!”

And he ran off.

Jazz collapsed, snickering. Smokescreen finally broke, loud belly-laughs echoing through the room. Prowl's doorwings twitched, and a smile curved over his lips.

“That,” Jazz gasped, using his bondmate as a ladder to pull himself back up, “was a wond'rful idea, Prowler.”

“Thank you, Jazz.”

The three mechs exchanged smirks.

“So...” Smokescreen started, glancing toward the door Sideswipe had disappeared through. “How long do you think it'll take him to realize it was just a prank?”

“Oh, I don't know. I think I could keep up the act for some time, should the situation call for it...”

“Oh, Prowler... Yer lookin' really hot right now. Ah love 't when ya get sneaky.”

Prowl just smiled indulgently and turned to lead his bondmate out of the Rec Room. Before they left, however, he stopped and turned back to Smokescreen.

“Though, I’m afraid that I might have to brig you for a time, Cousin. You did reveal confidential medical files.”

“Right. Like anyone else will believe them.”

Prowl just smirked, a hint of mischief coloring his golden optics.

Chapter Text

Title: DIE!
Rating: K
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Carly Witwicky, Ironhide, Sort-of half-way OC for Plot!
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 1. Unwelcome guest
Notes: My sister did this. With an ant.

The loud shriek made everyone jump and stare at the little girl. Ariel, Sam and Carly's second child, was snarling at the ground, stomping as hard as she could.

“DIE!” she screamed. “DIE DIE DIE DIE!” With every word, her foot slammed into the ground.

“Um... Sweety?” her mother tried, looking worried. “What's wrong?”

“DIE! DIE, SPIDER! DIE!”

A few giggles echoed through the large hanger.

“Unwelcome guest, Carly?” Ironhide rumbled, smirking.

Carly just sighed.

Chapter Text

Title: One for All and All for One
Rating: T
Continuity: G1
Characters: Starscream, Skywarp, Thundercracker, Megatron
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 2. Flock

They were trinemates. Flock. There was a bond between them no grounder, no mech who was not a Seeker, would understand. They weren't just bondmates. They were wingmates; they trusted each other with their lives, with their wings. They trusted each other to fly together, to watch tailfins and guard backs.

They were a slight bit strange, of course. Not many trines would regularly allow one of their members to be beaten into scrap, but they had an understanding. Starscream was Winglord. He had a duty to protect not only his trine, but every Seeker under his command. He did that by taking the brunt of Megatron's anger.

But when Megatron turned his attention to Skywarp...

Things broke. The Elite Trine had an understanding. Starscream could get beaten up, as long as it wasn't fatal. But none of the others. No other Seeker. It was Starscream's duty to protect, not anyone else's.

Loud screeches reverberated through the room, rattling audios and making every mech present shudder and curl in on themselves.

Twin blurs flew through the air, one a dusty blue, the other white and red. The pitch of the shrieks escalated, rising and rising as they dove toward Megatron and Skywarp, until they cut off sharply with a loud crash as Starscream and Thundercracker slammed into the silver warlord. Then a new sound, the shrieking of tearing metal. Growls emanated from the Seekers' vocalizers, their wings were held high behind their backs, their faces twisted into grotesque snarls.

In moments, Megatron was little more than a pile of shredded metal and energon on the ground. The two Seekers were painted with his life-energy, looking very feral and war-like.

Because they were trine. They were flock. They had an understanding. If you messed with one of them, you messed with all of them.

Chapter Text

Title: Marvels
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Hound, Seaspray
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 3. Underwater cave

(This picture)

Hound could never decide which place on Earth was his favorite. There were just so many different places, different things, different natural constructs to explore! Mountains, valleys, strange rock things, caves, caverns, crystals, plants, animals... it was all so much!

And then, Seaspray had showed him videos of under the sea. Massive caverns of crystalline stalactites and stalagmites, underwater volcanoes, coral reefs... Even more things, even more beauty to add to that on the surface.

Then Seaspray had taken him down to see them personally.

And he was even more in awe of the planet. This was... So beautiful, so strange.

The cavern the sea-going mech had taken him to this time was not large enough for a mech to fit inside, but it was open on one end, and Hound could peer inside. Long, thin spires of pale rock rose from the floor to touch the ceiling. They sparkled in the light cast from his headlights.

So beautiful... Earth, with all its water and rock and so many elements... It was so unique.

With a grin, Hound turned back to Seaspray, one of the few other mechs who understood how amazing this planet was.

“Alright, mech! You said you had a bunch of things to show me... What else have you got?”

Seaspray smiled back. “This way, Hound! I’ve got some wonderful fossilized coral reefs to show you...”

Chapter Text

Title: Precision Hole-Punching Equipment
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1ish
Characters: Unnamed human girl (who could or could not be a sort-of self-insert?), Bluestreak
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 4. Choose a character and write their first experience of a human sport.
Notes: The one sport I participate in is shooting. I’ve gone to a couple competitions, but I mainly just shoot for fun. It's awesome. :D Plus, you get badges. ^.^
And the title comes from a sticker I’ve seen on some people's rifle cases. Says “Caution: Contains Precision Hole-Punching Equipment.” Unfortunately, I couldn't find a picture of it. :(

I did, however, take a picture of my jacket and patches.

Bluestreak just stared, blinking slowly, at the young girl and her curiously shaped package.

“So,” he started, “you shoot for... fun?”

“Yup,” she said with a grin, glancing down at the long, flat-ish box. “Have for three years now. 22. caliber rifles. Not very big, but... Yeah. Fun.”

Bluestreak blinked again, slowly crouching down. “I've never known it was a sport. I mean, I have fun with shooting, when it's at a target, and it is fun to compete against Ironhide and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but I didn't know you could do it just for fun.”

“Oh, it's not just for fun. I do compete! Not much, but I do. Mostly I do just shoot for fun, though. And for these.” She reached across her chest with her right hand and tapped her left shoulder, where a few patches were sewn onto her jacket. Bluestreak took a short moment to examine them. First, a shield shaped badge that said “qualification” and had a slightly stylized eagle on it. Below that were six rockers; basic practical, pro-marksman, marksman, marksman first class, sharpshooter, and expert.

“Expert?”

“Yup!” the girl said proudly, puffing out her chest, showing off the medals pinned to the jacket. “In three years, too.”

“Um... Congratulations?”

“Thanks! But you said you shoot?”

“I do. But not really for fun, because we're in a war, and I need to shoot other people, and...”

“Oh.” The girl glanced down, then looked back up with a smile. “I don't usually shoot outside, and I’m positive you're better than me, but... up for a little hole-punching session?”

Bluestreak grinned and unsubspaced his rifle. “That sounds like fun. Let's do it!”

Chapter Text

Title: Working It Out
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Prowl, Bluestreak, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Jazz, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 5. Scenario: a space bridge malfunctions and sends your chosen character(s) back in time. What happens?

It wasn't Wheeljack's fault. Not really. Prowl didn't blame him.

Well, that wasn't true. Prowl did blame him. It was his fault, after all.

Then again, it was almost always Wheeljack's fault, so Prowl couldn't really hold it against him.

But... To relive this...

Smoking ruins. Charred out remains. Graying frames of dead mechs.

And this time, he wasn't in shock. He had no rescue effort to direct to help him cope. He bore the full brunt of the pain on his shoulders and processors.

Praxus was fallen.

Of all moments to be sent back to, why this? Why? Why did it always happen this way?

He fell to his knees, doorwings sagging so low they were practically pressed against his back. Mist and smoke blew around him, obscuring short strips of the destruction for short moments before they were blown away.

“I've got a spark signature!” a voice shouted in the distance, and Prowl's doorwings perked up.

There was something... he remembered this! They had reported someone getting away. A strong spark signature, not like that of one who had survived this. They had all assumed it was a lingering Decepticon, or a looting Neutral, but... if it had been him all along...

He had to get away! Somehow. They hadn't found him. Changing that would have untold repercussions on history.

As fast as he could, the time-transported tactician stood and started running, his long legs easily carrying him over the ruins. There was no time now to grieve. No time to waste mourning. Later. That could be done later, when he was back home.

Right now, he needed to get away. There couldn't be two Prowls in one place, in one time. That wasn't how this worked.

As he ran, he did what he did best; thought. That report... so many vorns ago, but... Hadn't they said the spark signature just disappeared, right under their nasal plating? If that were true, something would come up, something... Though it still felt as though he was forgetting something...

Vents cycling heavily, he flared his doorwings, activating every sensor he possessed, searching for something similar to what he sensed as he was walking by Wheeljack's lair. A portal, or malfunctioning space bridge, or whatever it was that had taken him here.

And... There! To the right!

Prowl took a sharp turn, pedes scraping on rubble and shards of broken metal. A blown-out house. He stumbled as he raced toward it, and, when he looked down, almost froze. There, huddled under a sheet of metal, was a small, gray youngling. His optics were fear-bright, his little doorwings tucked tightly to his back. His thin armor was rattling.

The tactician stared, blinking, for a long moment. Something came back to mind. That report...

It was...

“Bluestreak?”

The youngling squeaked and ducked its helm down, hunching up.

“No, no... Bluestreak, it's okay... Shh... listen to me. I’m not supposed to be here. I... People are chasing me, and I need to go. I won't remember you next time we meet, but you can trust me. My name is Prowl. Do you understand?”

Bluestreak slowly lifted his helm, red chevron shining faintly under the dust and grime covering it. “I...”

“I know you do. Now listen. Do you remember I said I had people following me?”

A slow nod.

“Well, they're friends. They'll find you and bring you back to where I... live. And remember what I said?”

“You won't remember me. Why?”

Prowl vented, doorwings twitching as he leaned forward slightly, reaching out to touch the youngling on the helm. “For the same reason I am not supposed to be here, Young One. I will tell you sometime, but... I will bring it up. Never speak to me of this. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.”

Standing, Prowl nodded to the youngling. “Remember, Bluestreak.”

“Wait! Don't go! Don't leave me!”

“I have to. You will not be alone for long, Bluestreak. I promise. The other mechs, the friends, will be here soon. Call to them, go with them, and you'll find me again. Unders- okay?”

The youngling's armor rattled again as his doorwings drooped and his optics dimmed. “Okay. Promise?”

“I promise, Young One. Now, I must go.”

Turning his back on the youngling, Prowl ran into the only half-standing building. A small swirl of light was sparkling in the corner, and he dove toward it without hesitation.

A moment later, he was sitting, sprawled out on the floor of Wheeljack's lab, the inventor hovering over him nervously, Ratchet glowering beside him.

“Prowl,” the medic growled. “Report. Anything injured?”

“No, Ratchet. I’m fine. Thought I do wonder what happened?”

Wheeljack's helm fins flashed an embarrassed pink, and Ratchet thwacked him on the back of the helm with a wrench. “The idiot here mixed up some wires while trying to build a space bridge. You just happened to be walking by at just the wrong time.”

“Hm.”

“You're lucky to be back, though!” Wheeljack said. “I had to mess around with it for a while, but I finally got it working again, and you just sorta fell through...”

“'Finally'?” Prowl asked, optics going wide. “Wheeljack? How long has it been since I... was walking in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Eh heh... Um... would you believe me if I said two days?”

“No.”

“Oh. Um...”

“You were gone for almost a week, Prowl,” Ratchet answered lowly, optics dim. “We've all been worried sick. Jazz, too, though he was a little better. He kept insisting you were alive.”

Prowl nodded. “I see. Well, I believe it is time for me to reassure the crew, and Jazz?”

“Past time.”

“Very well, then. I will see you... later.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

When he arrived at the Rec Room, he was practically mobbed. Jazz was immediately at his side, stuck to him like he was magnetized there. Other mechs swarmed around him; Sideswipe and Sunstreaker flanking him, almost touching his doorwings. Optimus Prime was standing close to his side, in the same position Prowl would be had their positions been reversed, had this been any other day.

Other mechs swarmed around him, talking over each other, until, finally, Prowl gestured for them to quiet down. Everyone did so immediately.

“I... Where I was sent... I...”

Everyone glanced around. To hear Prowl at a loss for words was... odd.

But then someone else spoke, surprising everyone.

“I understand, Prowl,” a certain gray gunner said, smiling. “You don't have to say anything else.”

Prowl smiled back, the faint expression looking a tiny bit strained. “Good. Very well, then. Prime, you will have my report at the end of the orn. The rest of you... I’m sure if you don't have anything to do, I can find things for you.”

The room was empty in moments, save for Prowl, Bluestreak, Jazz, and Optimus. Then, Prowl nodded to Bluestreak and left, Jazz trailing behind.

“Bluestreak?” the Prime asked, glancing from the sniper to the door.

“It's a very long story, Prime, and I think you'll understand when Prowl gives you his report, and it has to do with a long time ago, but... Um...”

“I understand, Bluestreak. No need to tell me if you do not wish to.”

“Thanks, Prime.”

Slowly, the gunner stood and left the room, leaving the Prime alone to muse on thoughts of absent-minded inventors, misbehaving space-bridges, and time traveling tacticians; for he was a Prime. He knew all.

Chapter Text

Title: Friends
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bluestreak, Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 6. “You want to know who your real friends are? Screw up and see who's still there.”

Sideswipe was sitting dejectedly in a corner, shoulders slumped, a cube of high-grade in his hand. There was a bubble of space around him, like there normally was around, say, Prowl, Sunstreaker, or Mirage. But not usually around Sideswipe. Sideswipe didn't do bubbles of space. That was for other mechs. Sideswipe liked crowds, liked people, liked the noise and comfort offered by many EM fields pressed close to his.

But now, he was alone.

And as far as he thought, he deserved it. He hadn't been where he needed to. Hadn't done what needed doing. Hadn't listened to Prowl. And now, Optimus Prime was in the Med Bay with a fractured spark chamber.

Because of him.

Another swig of high-grade was downed.

He deserved the space, the isolation. They all blamed him. Heck, he blamed himself! It was his fault. He didn't deserve to have friends ar-

“Hey, Sides,” a quiet voice greeted as a frame settled into the chair beside him.

The red Twin glanced up to see a familiar, gray frame. Blue optics gazed at him kindly from under a red chevron, and plainly colored doorwings twitched.

“Hm,” someone else hummed from his other side, and his head swiveled around. Prowl was sitting down, doorwings hitched high on his back, and though they were tense, it seemed to be an unusual of stress that held them there. Not just the tension that came with being Second in Command, but... something else. “It is unlike you to sit alone, Sideswipe.”

“Well, isn't like anyone wants to sit next to me today, is it?” the red mech rumbled lowly, ducking his black helm again.

“Well, I find that statement to be rather... false. We are here, are we not?”

“He's got a point, bro,” Sunstreaker said as he sat down in the chair next to his brother, the one Prowl had left empty. “We're here.”

“Why?”

“Why what, Sideswipe?”

“Yeah. And why wouldn't we be here?” Bluestreak asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

“It... I mean... it's my fault.”

“Hey, mech,” Jazz chimed in from across the table, where he had just sat down with a load of mid-grade energon. “Don't be doin' that t' yerself. Heck, if Ah start'd blamin' mahself fer every death Ah'd caused...” He trailed off. As cheery as he often was, everyone had seen him at least once in “Saboteur and Head of SpecOps” mode, and his record spoke for itself. Everyone knew what he was capable of.

“Yeah, but-”

“Sideswipe. Stop. We are here. We obviously don't care. Yes, you did not follow my orders. However, Prime can handle himself in most situations, so you did not worry about him, as it is normally right to do. Sideswipe, everything is going to be fine.”

“Yeah, Sides,” Bluestreak agreed. “Don't do this to yourself, because nobody likes it when you're grumpy, and it wasn't really your fault, and everyone gets it, they're just-”

“They don't, Blue. They're avoiding me.”

“We aren't.”

Sideswipe cast a rather surprised glance at the tactician. “Why is something I’m still trying to figure out.”

“'Cause we care, Siders,” Jazz answered with a grin. “Somethin' a friend told me a long time 'go... 'Wanna see who yer real friends are? Screw up n' see who's still there.' Sides, ya messed up. But we still care 'bout you. We mess up too.”

Slowly, Sideswipe looked from one mech to another, first Bluestreak, then Jazz, then Prowl, then Sunstreaker.

“You mean it?”

“We're you're friends, Sideswipe,” Prowl said, a faint smile on his face. “Though not everyone would believe it, I know. However, we will stand by you. As you have for me. As anyone would do for their friends. I know I speak for all of us when I say that.”

“Thanks, guys. I... Thanks...”

“Ain't nothin', Siders. An' anyways, y've done th' same fer us, an' Ah know y' still will.”

“It's what friends are for, bro.”

Chapter Text

Title: Retelling
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bluestreak, Ironhide, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer:
Prompt: 1. Task: Take a short fic you wrote and have one of the characters in that story having to tell that story to someone else. Who do they tell? How does that story go over? (For example, I wrote a little Whirl and Skids for last week—how would skids report this little adventure to, say, Ultra Magnus? How might whirl tell it to Swerve or Rung, etc).
Notes: Got two fics out of this one. And the credit for writing a “sequel” to this story goes to kkcliffy and Wildwhisker. They both requested it when I asked for help, so... here it is! And I also managed to clock out two stories for this one, though they sorta go together. Sorta.

“Oh, Primus, that was awesome,” the red mech snickered as he sat heavily at the table.

The gray mech already sitting there stifled a squeak of surprise as the heavy frame landed. Then did so again, as another frame, identical in size, shape, and alt mode, though not in color or kibble.

“It was rather amusing,” a deep voice rumbled from the yellow frame.

“What was?” Bluestreak blurt out, unable to control himself. “Because whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll hear it sooner or later, I mean, you know how gossip runs through the army, I think, or maybe you don't, because I haven't seen you before, and I’ve seen everyone on base, at least, I think I have. But anyways, gossip always goes fast, here, so-”

“Primus, do you always talk that much?” the yellow mech growled lowly, and Bluestreak silenced himself with a yip.

Then, when he received two questioning glances, he started up again.

“Yeah, I guess I do, I mean, my name is Bluestreak – I’m Bluestreak, by the way – so it kinda makes sense, but everyone always tells me to shut up, but I don't like being quiet, because – well, I just don't. I do talk a lot, though, everyone says so, and I know it's annoying, but I start and I just can't-”

A black hand was slapped gently across gray lips. “Shh,” the red mech hummed with a grin. “You said you wanted to hear what we were talking about. If you wanna hear it, you've gotta be quiet.”

Bluestreak nodded, wide blue optics gazing earnestly into the red mech's.

“Alright, then. My name's Sideswipe, by the way. And that's my better half, Sunstreaker.”

“If I’m your better half-”

“I know, I know, the world is doomed, Sunshine. I meant to say 'prettier half'. Anyways, that's Sunstreaker.”

“You guys are bondmates? Because there aren't really many bondmates left, you know, I mean. There are a few people who a lot of people think are bonded, and then there are Optimus Prime and Elita One, and Ironhide and Chromia, and I think Ratchet and Wheeljack, and maybe-”

The black hand once again landed on his lips, stopping the tide of words, and Sideswipe smiled. “No, not bondmates. At least not in the ordinary sense. We're twins. Yes, yes, split-sparked twins. Get over your surprise now. We're used to it, so you'd better get used to it, too.”

“Yes, sir!” the gray Praxian squeaked.

“No 'sir',” Sunstreaker ordered. “We're frontliners, not officers. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are fine.”

“I... Okay,” the gunner managed, rather cowed.

“Good. Now, Sideswipe. You were going to tell a story.”

“Oh, right! Well, see, Ironhide missed Prowl's notice, telling him that we don't need the fighting evaluation. We were gladiators, before – shh, don't interrupt. Yes, gladiators. Some of the best – and we know how to fight, but, like I said, Ironhide didn't get Prowl's message.” Sideswipe chuckled, smirking.

“So, anyways, we get in there, and the old rust-heap orders us on the mat, together, at the same time (how rusted is he, anyways?)-”

“You forgot the part where he had us spar.”

“Oh, right!” Sideswipe exclaimed, “He had us spar, first, which is fun, but we sorta know what the other's gonna do before he does it, so it doesn't... well, anyways. Then he gets up on the mat and orders us to come at him. And this is where I start not believing the... 'legends' about him, because we do like he says, and we knock him down in one hit!”

Bluestreak's optics widened almost comically. “You... you knocked Ironhide down? Are you sure it was Ironhide, because he doesn't get knocked down, like, ever, and if you really did do that, that would be, like-”

“Yeah. We know. But we did it,” Sunstreaker said, barely smirking.

“How?”

“Well, we did say we were gladiators, remember?”

“Yeah, but Ironhide is, like, well, he's like, never been beaten! He's the Prime's bodyguard, so-”

Sideswipe shook his helm, and Bluestreak cut himself off.

The Twins smirked to each other. “Well, that isn't all we've done. We got a Seeker out of the sky, once, in a match.”

“What?”

“Yup. Jumped on his wings and brought him down... It was a long time ago, but I still remember it like it happened last orn...”

And in a dark corner of the Rec Room, a black and white doorwing'd shadow glared out at the two mechs chatting up his creation.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Ironhide sat down heavily, hydraulics hissing loudly, gears creaking rather ominously.

“Ironhide, is something wrong?” Optimus asked from behind his desk, where he was reading a datapad.

“Nah, I’m fine. Just my pride that's dented.”

“Pride? What has happened?”

Ironhide vented heavily. “Well... Y'know how I was going through the new recruits t'day?”

“Yes?”

“Well... I shoulda payed more attention to my messages... 'Cause we had two gladiators in t'day.”

“Ah, yes, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.”

Engine rumbling, Ironhide glared at his Prime. “Yeah, well, they're better than I thought they would be.”

“They survived in the Kaonian Gladiator Pits, Ironhide. They are very good,” Optimus said, his smile visible in the way his optics crinkled at the edges.

“Yeah, but I didn't know about that.”

“Mm. Do you wish to tell me what happened?”

“Might as well. You won't leave me alone until I do. And don't you dare try to deny it. I know you, Prime. Ugh. Well, I told 'em to go up and spar with each other, and they did, and I could tell that they were pretty good. So then I got up to fight them, and...”

“What happened, Old Friend?”

The red mech mumbled something under the sound of his ex-vents, and, amused, the Prime leaned forward, pushing a few datapads aside.

“Ironhide?”

“They took me out, okay? In one move!” the mech exploded, standing up, swinging his arms over his helm, pacing back and forth. “Me! They just jumped, and I was on the ground!”

“Then we should be glad that they have decided to join with us, rather than the Decepticons, no?”

“I... Arrhhh, Prime...”

“Yes, Ironhide?”

“Stop making me feel guilty. I don't deserve it.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Ironhide.”

“Yeah, right.”

“What was that?”

“Nothin', nothin'...”

Chapter Text

Title: Visiting Hours
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1ish
Characters: Ratchet, others mentioned
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 2. Visiting hours

Ratchet had very strict visiting times. Nobody followed them, though, and, despite his moans, groans, and sighs, he didn't really care. He understood, and, to be honest, he liked having the mechs come in during the night joors.

Normal visiting hours were during the daylight joors. During the active shift. But Ratchet allowed people to visit during the off joors, as long as they weren't causing trouble. He fussed about it, but never kicked them out.

The truth was, the sight of his mechs caring for each other encouraged him.

Prowl, sneaking in after one of Jazz's missions got too close, to sit beside the saboteur for the long, silent night, soft music emanating from his speakers.

Jazz doing the same, after some hot-helmed Decepticon decided to take a shot at Prowl.

Mirage, sneaking in and sitting, usually invisible, by either Hound or Trailbreaker's berths after a bad scouting mission. Sometimes, he sat at both of their berths at the same time. Ratchet always made sure they were next to each other.

And Hound and Trailbreaker doing the same for the spy, whenever something went wrong.

Sideswipe, curled up at his brother's side, squeezing in a space that should have been much too small for him, determined to fit anyways.

Sunstreaker, coming in and sitting at the side of his brother's berth, humming soft lullabies under his ex-vents, stroking one hand gently along Sideswipe's arm.

Then both of them coming when Bluestreak was injured, and Bluestreak coming for them.

Cliffjumper and Bumblebee, who would always sneak in to see each other, along with, occasionally, the horde of other minibots.

And Optimus Prime, who would come in the middle of the night-cycle and take a short tour of the Med Bay, smiling to those who were awake, taking just a moment to watch those who were in recharge.

They always came. There were always mechs who were not currently patients in his Med Bay.

But Ratchet, as much as he would grumble and moan, didn't care. Because they did, and they were showing it. That was why they came. Because they cared. Cared about their fellows. Their lovers and friends and comrades.

And to Ratchet, that was good to see. That his patients had lives outside his realm. That his good work went to good use. That they were living.

So he pretended to enforce strict visiting hours. Told people they had to leave as the light-cycle came to a close. Told them they could come back in the morning.

But everyone knew. They knew it meant he was going to recharge, that they could stay as long as they liked, that they could keep loving, keep living, and keep caring.

Chapter Text

Title: Steam
Rating: K+
Continuity: Severely AU.
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Starscream
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 3. Task: Write a steampunk AU involving two of your favorite characters.

Prowl glared at the schematics the ship's computer was currently displaying.

“What's wrong, love?”

Doorwings twitching, Prowl turned his glare on his bondmate.

“Whoa, Prowler, calm down. S'up?”

“This planet... We cannot go here! We will not be able to scan their transportational units.”

“Why not?”

“Look!” Prowl growled lowly.

Jazz leaned forward to examine the screen. After a moment, he cycled air through his vents. “Steam power? They've got a whole planet runnin' on steam? How... inefficient.”

“I know. But we can not replicate the process. There is no way for us to blend in! No way for us to fit... We run entirely too strangely compared to their machinery to blend in.”

“So... We pass on?”

“I suppose, though the Prime will not like the fact that we have to leave a planet unexplored.”

“Eh, tell him it's populated with sentient lifeforms.”

“Are they sentient?”

“Dunno. But we can say we think so, an' we ain't s'posed to start wit'out his permission if we think that, so... it'll put the prob'lm off fer a bit.”

“... Very well. Starscream?” Prowl said, opening a comm channel to their pilot.

“Hm, Prowl?” came the response over the comm channel.

“We're passing by this planet. We think it might be occupied by sentient life.”

“Gotcha. Next planet up is in three joors.”

“Thank you, Starscream. Prowl out.”

Chapter Text

Title: Web of Light
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Cosmos
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 4. This image. (If you're curious, Here's a little blurb about the pic)

Cosmos had long since decided that he liked Earth. It was such a pretty planet. Not to mention the best team he had ever been part of was stationed there. He loved space, but he always spared a moment to regret leaving Earth's atmosphere.

But there were times, like right now, when he could hold only awe. He had seen populated planets before, but none like this. Cybertron, for example, had been one mass of glittering lights, as had been most of the other populated planets he had seen.

But Earth... The humans hadn't spread to cover the entire planet yet. Well, they had, but they hadn't built over the whole planet yet.

The planet wasn't one mass of light. It was... dark, with webs of sparkling lights. He could see the human cities laid out like glowing dots, with glimmering chains connecting them. The main highways, along which grew towns and cities. The dots spread out along the whole continent, ending abruptly at the shorelines.

It was so beautiful. A galaxy of lights on the surface of a planet.

For a few long moments, the little shuttle allowed himself to float a bit, simply staring at the webs of lights. Then he reminded himself that he had a mission to get on with, and that Earth would be here when he got back. And who knew? Maybe Skyfire would bring up a few of his closer friends; Hound, Bumblebee, Perceptor; and they could all stare at the beautiful lights for a time...

Chapter Text

Title: Downrange Conversation
Rating: K
Continuity: G1ish
Characters: Bluestreak, Unnamed human girl who may or may not be myself.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 5. Downrange
Notes: This is, apparently, a week for sequels...

“Well, I did say you'd be better than me,” the girl said, smiling up at the gray mech. “All bulls-eyes. Wow.”

Bluestreak shrugged, doorwings twitching as he looked at his companion's target sheet. “You didn't do too bad yourself. Overall score of ninety five out of one hundred... That's pretty good.”

“Eh, it's okay. I totally blew that one,” she said, pointing to the bottom left target, where the bullet had passed through one of the outer rings.

“But the rest...”

The girl chuckled. “Stop trying to encourage me. I know it's pretty good, but I also know I’m capable of doing better. Anyways, I told you before, I do this for fun. I like it when I do well, but...”

Bluestreak smiled. “Okay, okay, I see your point, I guess. And it is fun. Thanks for doing this with me.”

“Hey, thank you. It's always more fun to shoot with someone rather than alone. Not to mention I now can brag about shooting with one of the Autobots,” she said with a grin as they started walking back up-range, away from their newly set targets, their spent targets in their hands.

Chapter Text

Title: Crash
Rating: T
Continuity: G1ish
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Unnamed Seeker
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 6. Pick a line of lyrics from this song to inspire your fic. (Here's the song if you're curious.)
Notes: Okay, so, the prompt was to choose just “a line,” so... I listened to it, heard this line, and decided to completely disregard the whole meaning of the song/whatever in favor of just using the one line. Well, okay, two lines. These:

Come crashing down on me
I’m taking you with me

Sideswipe clung to the edges of the Seeker's wings as he careened through the sky. Jet Judo, they called it. Tackling the jets out of the air, snatching them from their element, bringing them down to a level where they could beat them, where they could rip out their sparks and tear them apart and win another match.

The Seeker was green. A sort of sickly, gray-green, Sideswipe thought absentmindedly as the flier tipped his nose downward. The color copper turned when it started to corrode, or the color of spoiled medical-grade energon.

Not that he had seen much of that in his lifetime, but...

~Focus, Sides,~ Sunstreaker ordered, poked his Twin mentally. ~You've almost got him.~

~Right.~

Sideswipe focused again on what was going on around him. The roar of the crowd pulsed in his audios. He could feel the wind as it rushed past him, through him. The Seeker was vibrating under his tight hold, tension, exhaustion, and time wreaking its havoc on the flier.

The red Twin suppressed a smile. This was the only part of this that he enjoyed. Finally beating someone. Seeing their submission, feeling it in their field. Then came the part he didn't like; the resigned part of the surrender. The knowledge finally sinking in, that the Twins would win, that a spark would soon be going out, and two frames, one yellow, one red, would be leaving the arena alive, while another was carted away for spare parts.

“I'm not just going down!” the Seeker finally screeched. “I know how you work!” Another heavy shudder. “You'll get me down. But that doesn't mean I can't bring you down with me!”

A small speck of dread rose in Sideswipe's spark.

This was the other part he hated. When the resigned surrender turned into the desire to do a last little bit of damage. To bring one of the Twins down with him.

~Watch, Sunny. He's a fighter.~

~Got it. Bring him low.~

With a grunt, the red Twin managed to heave himself more completely onto the Seeker's wings, then leaned forward, forcefully tipping the Seeker's nosecone toward the ground, and Sunstreaker.

~Pull up... now!~

And Sideswipe did, leaning back, yanking on the leading edges of the Seeker's wings, hissing as hydraulics strained and groaned with the stress of turning the fall.

Sunstreaker gave out a shout, half a feral snarl, half a rumble of his engine, as he leapt up and raked clawed fingers down the Seeker's belly.

The Seeker shrieked and tipped upward, and Sideswipe moved.

Keeping his grip on the edge of the Seeker's left wing, he leapt to the right, yanking, tugging, ripping.

He landed on his shoulder and rolled, springing up, back on his pedes, a moment later, wing in his hand.

The Seeker screamed as he plowed, nose-first, into the arena floor. Then the Twins were on him, claws out, faces twisted into feral snarls as they tore him apart. Shards of armor, twisted tangles of wire, bits and pieces of everything a mech was made of flew everywhere. Energon spattered over everything.

In barely half a breem, the Seeker was demolished, and the Twins stood, victorious, on their bloody, twisted, field of battle.

~I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this, Sunny,~ Sideswipe whispered to his brother as the crowds roared their approval.

~I know. This weighs on my spark. Our spark.~

~It does. How...~

~Soon. Very soon. Things are changing. Kaon is falling apart. Can't you see it? The news feeds... We can go to the Autobots.~

The two exchanged a knowing glance as ten heavily armored and armed guards herded them back to the underground cells where the fighters were kept.

~Soon,~ they whispered together.

Chapter Text

Title: Repeat
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Wheeljack, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 1. Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting the same results. -Albert Einstein

Wheeljack smiled to himself, helm fins flashing happily as he fiddled with the mess of wires, duct tape (such an amazing invention, and from those primitive little humans, too!), solder, and plastic resting on his work table.

“Now, where was that – ah! There.” Grinning, he reached over and grabbed his soldering iron. “Let's see... This needs to connect here, and that goes there, and-”

BOOM!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Okay, I’m sure this wasn't where that goes,” the inventor murmured, poking at the (repaired) bundle of parts on his scorched work table. “I put that there, and that one goes in through there and around and up... Red goes with blue, and gray goes with turquoise... or was it the other way around? Hm... No, that's right, this one goes-”

BOOM!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The bundle of parts had been completely rebuilt now, and Wheeljack was, once again, fiddling with it.

“Right, this through here, has to be touching that, and – oh, whoops. That shouldn't go there. This should-”

BOOM!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Slowly, the inventor's steady, gray hands pulled a couple wires apart, then fused two more together. A heavy vent was released. “Oh, good, I didn't think-”

BOOM!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Whoops! I-”

BOOM!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Oh, that doesn't go-”

BOOM!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Okay, I’ll try-”

BOOM!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Wheeljack sighed as he followed Jazz down the hall. The saboteur had followed the sound of the booms. Jazz loved watching the explosions Wheeljack caused, and would often visit the inventor in his lab, and, sometimes, played “Escort the Crazy Scientist to the Insane Medic's Lair.”

Actually, Jazz played that a lot, now that he thought about it.

At the moment, Wheeljack had his left arm slung over the black and white's shoulder, while his detached right arm was held in the saboteur's grip. His left pede was scorched and rather melted, but he could still walk on it.

“What'd ya do this time, Jackie?” Jazz asked suddenly, grinning widely.

“I was trying to see how many different ways I could accidentally set off a bomb.”

“You... Jack...”

“What?”

“You do realize that a bomb's gonna go off no matter what if ya don' defuse it?”

“Yes. So?”

“I... Urgh. I give up.”

Chapter Text

Title: Fluff
Rating: K
Continuity: G1 or Movieverse. Could be either.
Characters: Sam/Spike, Bumblebee
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 2. Fluff

“What... What is it?”

“A cotton ball.”

“Why do you have it?”

“I dunno. Carly gave it to me earlier. I guess I forgot it in my pocket.”

“Why did she have it?”

“Not sure.”

“What do you use it for?”

“Eh, cleaning stuff up, stopping bleeding. Carly uses it with nail polish remover to get nail polish off her nails.”

“... Why?”

“Bumblebee...”

“What?”

“I... ugh. I don't know, Bee. It's a little ball of fluff. We use it for whatever we use a little ball of fluff for.”

“... Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Title: Speechless
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 3. Rendered speechless

They hadn't known it was possible. Sure, when he crashed, he was quiet, and he used a minimum number of words most of the time anyways, but...

To render Prowl speechless was...

Well. It sort of rendered them speechless also.

It had been an ordinary day. Wheeljack blew himself up no less than three times, Ratchet threw a few wrenches, Prowl made plans, Optimus wrote speeches and was his usual noble self, Sideswipe pranked everyone he could get his hands on, Sunstreaker whined about his polish, Mirage was walking around invisible, and Jazz was planning a party.

Just a normal, Friday night party, with no real reason as to why, other than, “it's Friday night, we aren't busy (as long as the 'Cons don't attack), and, well, why not?”

Then, things started taking a turn for the strange. Jazz managed to convince Prowl to attend. No one was quite sure how, and they were pretty sure they didn't want to know.

So, Prowl sat in a corner booth, deep in the shadows, and everyone forgot he was there.

Until, of course, Jazz made a scene.

Or rather, a serenade.

With, of all things, a Disney song.

The music started, and Bluestreak (who had a penchant for such things) and Bumblebee (who had seen many movies in his time watching the Witwicky's children) exchanged amused, rather frightened glances. They recognized it.

“All those days, watching from the windows, all those years, outside looking in. All that time, never even knowing just how blind I'd been,” he crooned, and the room was silent save for the faint background music and his voice.

Prowl was staring, gold optics wide, doorwings stiff and quivering. This had happened before, though no one here save for himself and Jazz knew of it.

“Now I’m here, blinking in the starlight. Now I’m here, and suddenly, I see. Standing here, it's oh so clear, I’m where I’m meant to be!” Jazz sung, slowly striding toward his fellow black and white.

Prowl stared some more, watching with pale optics as Jazz moved toward him.

“And at last I see the light, and its like the fog has lifted. And at last I see the light, and it's like the sky is new. And it's warm and real and bright, and the world has somehow shifted. All at once, everything looks different, now that I see you,” Jazz hummed, sidling up next to Prowl, tucking himself under the warm arm and wide doorwing.

The music continued playing for a moment as the two stared at each other. Then, the crowd was even further rendered speechless.

Because Prowl was smiling.

And Prowl was singing.

And Prowl didn't sound half bad.

“All those days, chasing down a daydream. All those years, living in a blur,” the Praxian practically trilled, looking down at Jazz, a soft light in his optics, a warm smile on his face. “All that time, never truly seeing things the way they were. Now you're here, shining in the starlight. Now you're here, suddenly I know. If you're here, it's crystal clear, I’m where I’m meant to go.”

The music reached a crescendo, and Jazz's smile widened.

“And at last I see the light,” they both sang.

“And it's like the fog has lifted,” Prowl sang alone.

“And at last I see the light,” they again sang together.

“And it's like the sky is new,” Jazz crooned.

“And it's warm and real and bright, and the world has somehow shifted,” they hummed together. “All at once, everything looks different now that I see you. Now that I see you,” they finished. Prowl tightened his arm around Jazz, and Jazz snuggled deeper into the taller mech's side.

The rest of the Rec Room watched in stunned silence. Their relationship wasn't a secret. Things like that couldn't be hidden from a crew like that of the Arc. But Prowl was never this obvious about it. Never allowed Jazz to hold or touch or kiss him in public.

And now, a public serenade, that he participated in?

“What... What brought that on?” Sunstreaker finally managed.

Prowl blinked, glancing up from where his optics had locked with Jazz's visor, and smirked. He said nothing, though. Neither did Jazz.

And they never would.

Chapter Text

Title: Haven
Rating: K+
Continuity: Complete and total AU. But G1 characters.
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Optimus Prime, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 4. Was that... a dragon?
Notes: This is some weird AU that got into my head a while ago. I can't get rid of it, but it just seemed incredibly awkward every time I tried to write it. Thankfully, this turned out okay. And yes, the Twins are centaurs and Optimus is a dragon. No idea where it came from, but it did, and it stuck. -_-

“Come on, Sides.”

The red mech glanced up at his brother with dim optics. “'M tired, Sunny. Wanna stop.”

“We can't,” Sunstreaker said softly, moving back toward his brother, hooves thumping quietly on the soft ground.

Mechanimals moved through the crystals and circuit-vines around them, hooting and calling and chirping. The road they were on was barely worn, rarely traveled, and empty save for them.

Just the way they liked it.

Sideswipe shifted on his hooves, the armor of his equine frame flaring out, then settling with a rattle. “Suns, we've been running for two orns now.”

“And they're still on us,” Sunstreaker insisted. “We need to go.”

“Please.”

The yellow half-mech glanced around, then vented heavily. “Fine. One joor,” he allowed, lowering himself to his knees, long legs folded up underneath his body. Sideswipe collapsed next to him, and was in recharge almost instantly.

Frowning, Sunstreaker allowed himself to fall into recharge as well.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

They woke to a shout.

“The hounds've got 'em again!”

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged a glance. A quick check of their chronos revealed that they had been recharging for more than four joors.

~Up, up!~ they said as one as they scrambled to their hooves.

~Which way?~ Sunstreaker asked, glancing between the open road and the tangled mass that was the woods.

~Woods are more difficult, but harder for them to track...~

~And we're still tired, so no flat-out out-running.~

~Woods.~

With that, they reared up on their hind hooves, wheeled around, and plunged into the thick mass of crystal trees and bushes and circuit-vines.

They stumbled as they ran, thick branches uneven under-pede, thin vines and wires grabbing at their frames.

~Keep going!~ one of them shouted across their bond, though neither was sure which said it.

Shouts and barks rang behind them.

~You still have your sword?~

~Yep. You?~

~Of course,~ Sunstreaker said, and managed a sly glance at his red half. Sideswipe smirked back, then unsheathed the long, sharp sword, the action mirrored by Sunstreaker.

They immediately went to work hacking at the wild growth in front of them.

That didn't last long, though. A petro-hound burst from the brush around them, lunging fearlessly at Sideswipe. The red Twin lashed out with a hind hoof, catching the canine on the chest, crumpling the armor, throwing the petro-hound back into the brush.

~Run!~ Sunstreaker shouted as the injured hound disappeared. ~Run!~

~Already on it!~

And they were off again, hooves pounding on the ground, fans working overtime, optics bright with fear and exertion.

They had been running for barely a breem when they broke through the brush and stumbled to a halt.

It was a wide clearing. The ground was flat and hard, covered with pale blue crysgrass.

“Come on!” Sunstreaker huffed as a petro-hound barked behind them, and he and his Twin took off, pounding across the clearing.

Moments later, behind them, petro-hounds and mechs riding cybersteeds exploded into the clearing behind the two half-equine mechs. They spent the barest fraction of a klik milling about in confusion at the sudden lack of branches, vines, and other cybertronian flora, then were once again after their prey.

A low rumble filled the clearing, and the petro-hounds slowed, then stopped. Then they turned around altogether, whining as they ran back the way they had come. The cybersteeds reared back, neighing. A few of their riders crashed to the ground. Others managed to hold on as their mounts, like the dogs before them, galloped away.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, hearing the chaos behind them, pulled up, hooves scrambling on the crysgrass.

~What the frag...?~ Sideswipe managed, glancing between the few remaining mechs and his brother.

~No idea.~

The rumble grew louder, then paused.

A great roar echoed through the air, and a shadow fell upon them all.

The Twins, who were almost out of the clearing, whirled around again, turning on hind hooves to see what the mechs on the ground were staring at.

Something loomed over the trees. Blue and red scale-like plating rattled. A deep, strut-shaking growl echoed from its chest.

“Is... is that a... a dragon?” one of the downed mechs stuttered, and the Twins exchanged a stunned glance.

~Dragon?~

~What- they don't exist!~

Sideswipe managed a dry, coughing chuckle. ~We're not supposed to exist either, Sunny. Sparks are supposed to be whole, not halves.~

~Well-~

“Dragon!” the downed mech shouted again, and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker turned to glace at where he was lying.

Or had been lying. He was disappearing into the brush now, along with his companions.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were alone in the clearing.

Alone with a dragon.

They backed up, hooves settling steadily, rhythmically, in step, their swords back in hand and lifted as they stared at the dragon.

It was massive. Wide, sweeping wings blew gusts of wind around them. It had broad shoulders and huge limbs. Large hands with sharp, curling talons clutched at the ground as it landed, scraping the crysgrass from the soft ground where it grew. Bright, yellow horns protruded from the sides of its helm.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker hefted their swords again, for once not grinning at the prospect of a fight.

A sharp set of fangs was revealed as it smiled.

“You have no need to fear,” a deep voice rumbled, and the Twins jumped.

“What the frag?”

The dragon smiled again, fangs showing, but... it wasn't... threatening. Somehow. “You have no need to fear. You are on the borders of my realm, a place many have taken to calling 'Haven.' You are welcome here.”

“What-” Sideswipe started again, but was interrupted.

“Hey, OP!” a cheery voice said, and a small silver mech strode from the edge of the woods. “Ya scare 'em off?”

“Most of them,” the dragon rumbled, optics sparkling.

“Most? Someone wantin' t' stay?”

“Perhaps. What do you think, Centaurions?” the dragon asked, turning to the Twins.

“'Centaurions'?”

“Yes. You do not know what you are?”

The two exchanged glances, thoughts flying between them. “We've... kinda... been alone. Forever,” Sideswipe said, glancing down.

“Well, ya ain't anymore,” the sliver mech said, and the dragon nodded in agreement. “Welcome t' Haven.”

Chapter Text

Title: No Place Like Home
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Carly Witwicky, Wheeljack
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 5. This Picture

Carly still loved Earth, but she would willingly admit, and often proclaimed, that her home was often outclassed by other places.

Like this one. A small, out of the way planet that had a binary star system. It had little atmosphere, so, had she not been wearing the exo-suit the Autobots had made for her, she would have been dead. But even with the heavy suit...

It was beautiful. One scarlet, flaming sun, backed by a smaller, bluish one. Stars glittering around them, dotting the dark air.

Yes, Earth was home, and it was beautiful, but there were wonders out there...

“Beautiful,” she murmured, and someone chuckled behind her. She turned, and was greeted with flashing helm fins.

“It is, isn't it?”

“Nothing like home, 'Jack, but...”

He didn't say anything, instead simply moving and sitting down beside her.

Chapter Text

Title: Leaving
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Don't Own
Prompt: 6. “Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.” - Dr. Seuss

“It's harder than Ah thought it'd be,” Jazz said as he leaned against his bondmate. They were sitting at the controls of the repaired Arc, staring at the monitors currently displaying the planet Earth fading away behind them.

“I know. It has become home.”

“Yeah.”

Optimus chuckled as he stepped up behind them. “I would agree, though it will be nice to return to Cybertron. I will miss our little friends.”

“Yeah. We had some fun times, down there,” Jazz said, a sparkling light flickering through his visor. “Gonna miss it.”

“Indeed.”

“Remember th' purple gryphon?”

“How could we forget?” Optimus asked as he lowered himself into one of the seats next to them.

“What about the Twins' first prank with duct tape?” Prowl asked, optics shining with a mischievous light not many would believe him capable of.

“Oh, Primus, that was amazing,” Jazz said with a grin. “Cliffy ain't ever livin' that down.”

“Hm. And all our blunders with the language?”

Prowl chuckled. “Of course. Yet, now...”

“We speak it over Cybertronian. Yes, Earth...”

“Is home. Was home.”

“Indeed.”

Chapter Text

Title: Enemies
Rating: K
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Megatron, Starscream, Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 1. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.” (Quote of Sun-Tzu, Chinese general and military strategist ~400 BC)
Notes: How come it always goes back to Prowl and Jazz? *bats at bunnies*

Everyone knew that Megatron didn't trust Starscream. He didn't trust him at all, and for good reason.

Starscream wanted to be leader of the Decepticons. He made no secret of it; made no effort to hide his attempts at overthrowing the silver warlord.

It provided much entertainment for the ranks, seeing Starscream try and try and fail again and again.

However, after some time, mechs began to wonder. Why bother keeping the Seeker around, if he was just going to keep trying to kill Megatron? Why not kill him, or banish him, or get rid of him in some other fun, gruesome way?

When Optimus expressed his confusion to his Second and Third, they laughed.

“It ain't all that hard, Prime,” Jazz said, smirking. “He's keepin' his enemy close. Screamer... well, not many know, but he's got an immortal spark. He ain't dyin' any time soon, an' Ah think Ol' Bucket-Helm knows that.”

“He keeps him close,” Prowl agreed, nodding, “because he can keep an eye on him. If he banished him, or tried to kill him, he would have no idea what he was doing, and would have no way of being prepared for him.”

Optimus, after a moment of thinking it over, nodded. Then he chuckled. “You sound very... experienced in this matter.”

It was one of his not-questions, leaving a way out if the mech he was “asking” didn't want to answer. Prowl and Jazz, however, kept nothing from the Prime. Or, at least, didn't keep it if he asked.

“Well... See, Ah was a thief. Master one, ya know.”

“King of Thieves, he was called,” Prowl said, smirking. “And I was Chief Enforcer.”

The two smirked even wider as Optimus shook his helm.

Chapter Text

Title: Deep Water
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Starscream
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 3. In deep water

Sinking, Starscream decided, was much like flying. Water caressed his plating, air bubbles danced around him. His wings twitched, and he could feel the resistance of the water against the flat plating. It was almost like flying in the dense middle layer of a gas giant.

That thought, though, just brought him back to what had landed him in this... position to start with

Skyfire.

Ever since the shuttle had been pulled out of the ice, his performance in the air had been drastically impaired. Or something. That was how Skywarp put it.

But as much as he denied it, as many times as he called the massive, white mech a traitor, he still loved him. He couldn’t bring himself to actually shoot. They had come so close to bonding, all that time ago... And now...

Now, the remains of that... the... love... held him back.

And he knew it.

The Seeker groaned and twitched, another burst of bubbles rising from inside his armor.

Frag it. He was, to use a human phrase, in deep water with this problem.

Chapter Text

Title: Swears
Rating: T
Continuity: G1
Characters: Ratchet, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 4. A character demonstrates a previously unrevealed creative ability

Everyone always knew that Ratchet was creative with his curses. Just how creative, though, they only learned when the medic first met a mech by the name of Wheeljack.

“YOU STUPID FRAGGER!”

“That isn't all that new,” Sideswipe commented to his brother.

Sunstreaker shook his helm. “Just wait. It gets better.”

“YOU GLITCHING PILE OF SCRAP!”

“He calls me that, Sunny.”

“I HOPE A HORDE OF ANTROIDS FIND YOU WHILE YOU'RE MEDICATED AND DISMANTLE YOU!”

“Um... Okay, that's new.”

“SURE WOULD SAVE YOU THE TROUBLE! I’M SURE YOU DO IT ON PURPOSE! I’M GOING TO GET A VIAL OF ACID AND SHOVE IT DOWN YOUR INTAKES IF YOU DON'T LEARN! I’M GOING TO FIND AN ICK-YAK AND WELD YOU TO IT!”

“Wow, he's on a roll.”

“YOU STUPID, FRAGGING, BOLT-BAT OF A MECH! I HOPE YOU GET INFESTED WITH ASTRO-TICKS! I HOPE YOU GET EATEN BY A CARNIVOROUS POLY-SLUG! THE QUINTESSONS WERE MORE PRODUCTIVE TO OUR RACE THAN YOU!”

“Ouch,” Sideswipe said, wincing theatrically.

Sunstreaker grinned. “See? He gets creative.”

And they continued listening as Ratchet ranted around his Med Bay, Wheeljack lying unconscious in one of the berths.

“YOU GLITCHING PIGEONOID! YOU STUPID, UNICRON-CURSED DEMON-SPAWN! I’M OF A MIND TO DISMANTLE YOU RIGHT NOW AND GRIND YOUR COMPONENTS DONW FOR ADDITIVES!”

Chapter Text

Title: Gamble
Rating: T
Continuity: G1
Characters: Optimus Prime, Prowl, Megatron
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 5. Gamble

Optimus was not a gambling mech. He didn't bet. He didn't put things he didn't have at stake.

But this...

Starscream had contacted him. Starscream, of all mechs! The Seeker had told him he found something; something erroneous in Megatron's core coding. How he got the coding in the first place, Optimus didn't know, nor would he ask.

Then the tricolored mech had given him another piece of information; the antivirus he had cooked up could only be administered at a spark-deep level. Optimus currently had his own scientists going over the program Starscream had sent – as of yet, it all seemed to be exactly what Starscream said it would be.

But it was the way it had to be given to Megatron that was putting him off. Spark-deep. That was spark-merging. Spark bonding, if it got deep enough, and from the soft tone of the Seeker's voice, which was strange enough in and of itself, the merge would have to get that deep. Deep enough for bonding.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The Autobot scientists had gone over every inch of the code Starscream had sent them. It was exactly what he had said it was; a counteractive virus, something that would reset core coding to its natural state, deleting any unwanted changes that had been made.

Optimus Prime had a choice to make. A gamble. This would work... or it wouldn't.

And he had to take a chance if he wanted to see.

The mechs around him exchanged glances as he once again vented heavily. The Decepticons were attacking. Optimus Prime had the chip holding Starscream's code in his hand.

“Prime...?” Prowl started, doorwings twitching.

Blinking, the Prime shook his helm and subspaced the datachip. “Let's go. Autobots, transform and roll out!”

Prowl and Jazz exchanged a glance as they moved to follow the semi racing from the Arc.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Unbeknownst to his soldiers, Optimus Prime had downloaded the code. He was willing to take a chance, and if it didn't turn out...

Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

He and Megatron met in the middle of their armies, as usual. But slowly, Optimus began maneuvering them out, away to the side, behind a long stand of trees and a low hill.

Before long, they were hidden from sight.

Optimus backed off for the barest of seconds, then lunged forward, tackling Megatron, pinning him to the ground.

It was quick work to open the silver warlord's chest-plates. Megatron froze as his silver sparklight shone out of the growing crack.

The Autobot leader took another second to compose himself. Then he loaded the code, opened his own chest-plates, and leaned down.

Chapter Text

Title: Inhumane
Rating: K+
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Agent Simmons
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 6. Choose a prompt from this master prompt list. Please indicate the date and prompt.
Prompt Chosen : August 25. 1. It'd be inhumane if they were human.

Agent Seymour Reginald Simmons liked his job. Working with aliens; every little boy's dream, and here he was, living it.

There were things, though, that he hesitated to even think about.

Those things the Cube made. The little ones.

Not all of them were killed.

He had seen the labs. Seen where they were strapped down and taken apart.

Had heard the cries, the cries that sounded so much like a child's, sounded so tortured, so filled with pain.

But he couldn't do anything. He was powerful, yes, but... the R&D department wasn't under his jurisdiction. He was one of the “Outside Agents.” He handled cover-ups, handled nosy government officials, handled the President, handled things like that.

He didn't deal with the little mini-monsters.

Except for once or twice. Those times when he managed to sneak in.

At night, when the R&D department was shut down. If he was around, he'd sneak in and do what he could to end their misery. He'd slide his finger between parted chest plates, caress the little chamber of glittering light, then press down. Gently, so he didn't leave a mark, but hard enough to put out the light. He could see the gratefulness in the tiny optics. Hear their thanks in the quiet chirps.

Then, after, when their bodies were dark and still, he would sneak out of the room, creep to his office, and pretend he wasn't crying.

It was inhumane, what the scientists did.

Or it would be, if they were human.

Then, one night, there were new robots. They hadn't been touched yet, simply strapped down and their weapons disabled. They were squeaking fearfully, optics flickering between bright and dim...

And Agent Seymour Simmons knew he could do something about it.

He knew he wasn't the most loving of people. Knew he could be incredibly annoying. Knew that most other people hated him.

But he... he didn't like what they were doing to these creatures.

Deftly, he undid the straps, keeping a solid hold on the little body of the first robot. It cheeped fearfully, but didn't struggle. It had already learned that wasn't going to help, and, for a short moment, the agent allowed himself to despair. Something this young, even though it was just a robot, shouldn't have to learn something like that so young.

After the straps were pulled away, he lifted the little being to his chest and cradled it for a moment. Then he put it in his briefcase, patted it gently on the helm, and moved to the next one.

He took home five that night, some larger than others. The first had been tiny, the size of, perhaps, a cell phone? The other five got progressively larger.

That night, he didn't go to his office. He put himself on vacation, claiming that all the noises at night were getting to him, and went home.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The little bots stared with wide, bright optics as he cracked open his briefcase. Five of them. Five! What was he going to do with five robots?

“Come out,” he said, smiling and backing away. “Come on...”

The first to peek its helm out was the largest. It was boxy, with heavier armor than the others. Another one peeked around it, cheeping curiously. This one was boxy too, but less so than the first. From the long, blade-like, shimmering spears that formed strange, fluttering wings, it was some sort of monitor.

The tiniest, the first he had taken out of its bindings, poked its helm out. It was so small, with armor that reminded the agent of a turtle's shell scooping over its back and two tiny red optics.

The two hiding behind the others gave impatient chirps and pushed, and all five came tumbling out.

The last two were of a medium size. One of them, the agent could see now, had computer keys plastered over its chest, the tiny pieces of modified plastic (for nothing that was brought alive with the Cube remained made of the same Earth materials) creating an ever-shifting layer of armor. The other had a screen-like chest plate.

All together, Simmons began to understand, and he couldn't hold back a small chuckle. “So that's where all the old computers went... You're the monitor,” he said, pointing to the one with the fluttering, glass-like wings. “You're the tower.” He pointed to the big, boxy one. “You're the mouse.” The tiny one. “And you two are the speakers and the keyboard.”

The five robots were looking at him curiously, blinking, twitching their helms.

Simmons sighed. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Chapter Text

Title: Nature
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Hound
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 2. Rockslide

Rockslides were not something that happened on Cybertron. There were no rocks to fall, nothing to slip. Occasionally, there were tumbles of metal shards in the Sonic Canyons or the Manganese Mountains, but those were small, and very rare.

Hound decided that he liked them. They were wild, crazy, destructive; everything that Earth was, and wasn't.

Earth was wild, crazy. Organic. The rockslides echoed that in their rumbling, echoing thunder of the falling rocks, mud, and other debris.

Wild. Crazy.

Everything they thought he wasn't. They thought he would freak out at the slightest hint of death, of blood. Didn't they realize? Didn't they understand? The wild wasn't at all kind or gentle. The wild was crazy and unforgiving. It survived through the deaths of individuals.

Which was why, perhaps, he liked the rockslides that happened around the Arc. He could watch their turbulent churning and rolling and revel in the total chaos that was nature.

Chapter Text

Title: Double-Cross
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Swindle, Mirage, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 3. Scenario: a double-cross gone wrong.

Swindle shifted as he waited on the docks. He knew he shouldn't have been here; he wasn't supposed to have Autobot customers, after all, but... well, what were a few bent rules in the name of profit?

“Ah. There you are,” a smooth, cultured voice called from the dark. “I was beginning to think I would never find you.”

Swindle shifted again, smirking at the former noble. “And I thought you would never show up. Pity, had that happened. I would have had a bunch of merch left with no one to take it.”

Mirage smirked and tilted his helm to the side. “Well, that just won't do. Let me see it.”

“What, you don't trust me?”

The white face stiffened immediately. “No.”

“Ouch.”

“I assure you, the distrust comes with reason. Now, I would like to see what I have ordered.”

Venting, Swindle moved over and lifted the lid of a nearby crate. “Look. All here, just as you ordered.”

Mirage moved closer, peering into the crate. Inside, nestled neatly next to each other, were rows of guns. All rather simple blasters, but they were reliable, used little power, and were easily operable. The spy nodded as he moved forward and nudged a few rows aside to peer into the bottom of the crate. “Very well. One crate accounted for. Now the rest.”

Swindle shifted, still smirking. “Of course.”

Another crate lid was lifted, and Mirage moved over. Once again, he bent over to peer into the bottom layers of the weapons.

It was then that Swindle moved. The former noble froze and cycled a long, deep draft of air through his vents.

“So, these crates are only topped with guns?” the Autobot asked.

“Of course. It's in my name, isn't it?”

“Which's why he brought backup,” a lilting voice said, cold and stiff, and it was Swindle's turn to freeze as the barrel of a gun was pressed into the gap between his helm and his back armor.

Mirage stood easily and pushed the gun that had been pressed to his helm to the side, lifting his own weapon to point directly at the Combaticon's spark chamber.

Swindle sighed. “A'right, a'right. The first box is full, the rest are only full half way. Half payment?”

Jazz, Mirage's backup, chuckled. “Quarter payment, Swin', fer th' 'tempt at trickery.”

The yellow and purple mech vented again. “But these are top-quality weapons, I’ve got here. Even at a quarter of th-”

The gun Jazz was holding pressed even deeper into the cords of his neck.

“Ah! Ah, but... Fine. Quarter payment.”

Smirking, Mirage unsubspaced a bundle of high-grade cubes and handed them to the yellow and purple mech, who snatched them, subspaced them, and ducked away from Jazz.

“Ah, thank you for your business! I look forward to our next transaction!” he said before quickly quitting the room, leaving Jazz and Mirage behind with their well-earned supplies.

Chapter Text

Title: Over
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Sam, Mikaela
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 4. Unrequited hate

“I hate you!”

“'Kaela-”

“No! Look, Sam! You're cute, you're smart... But you don't get it! You're an idiot! A childish, foolish, idiot!” the girl screamed, eyes red around the edges.

“Miki-”

“SAM! Listen! You don't think! You just... You're lucky! You've always been lucky! You know why I pretended not to notice you, that day you picked me up? Because I knew! You're a jerk! An idiot! You care about only yourself! I was just a trophy for you to carry around on your arm!” Tears were streaming down her face, now.

Sam was shaking his head. “No, 'Kaela-”

“STOP! STOP CALLING ME THAT! YOU IDIOT! SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” A crowd was beginning to gather at the door to the hangar.

Mikaela stared at the boy for a long time, breath coming in hitching sobs. Then she shook her head. “You were nice, once. Back in elementary, you know. But... You... Girls are just things to you, Sam. And I don't want to be a thing.”

And she left, leaving Sam staring after her.

Chapter Text

Title: Concordat
Rating: K
Continuity: Any
Characters: Prowl, OCs for the sake of plot and prompt-fill
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 5. Challenge: Using this random word generator, spin until you hit on the first TF-suitable name. This is your new OC. Without spending more than a minute or so planning, write a ficlet focusing on the defining moment of their early life.
Word: Concordat: Definition: A compact covenant or agreement concerning anything

“And so the Great War came to an end. The two leaders bonded, the armies merged, and Cybertron grew again,” the Praxian ended, doorwings twitching as he surveyed his students.

“So, who were the leaders?” a youngling asked as he waved his hand in the air, not waiting for his teacher to call on him.

Prowl cast him a disapproving look, and the youngling slumped down. “The two leaders are those we still have today; Optimus Prime led the Autobots, and Megatron led the Decepticons.”

“Yeah, 'Fall, didn'cha listen?”

The little mech slumped a bit lower. Prowl cleared his intakes.

“Whether Downfall listened or not, it is good to repeat. It is good to know.”

“So, you're saying that my creators were the leaders during the Great War?” another small mechlet asked, helm tipped to the side.

The old Praxian gazed with softening optics at the small youngling. “Yes, Concordat. You, actually, were one of the factors that helped finalize the War. It helped everyone see that it was really over.”

The little mechlet blinked again, and the other mechlings around him stared. He was average in appearance; nothing about him stood out. His developing armor was dark blue, with accents in red and gray. His helm was crowned by two long audial fins, his optics a very dark shade of violet.

“Concordat,” he muttered, then laughed. “My name makes sense, now,” he said, smiling.

Prowl smiled in return, nodding and dipping his doorwings. “Indeed. Your creation was, in essence, the finalization of a covenant. Assurance that another war will never come about between our leaders again. A covenant of peace.”

Chapter Text

Title: Gotta Go Back
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Jazz, Optimus, Epps, Lennox, Prowl, Ratchet
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 6. Setting: Inside the Matrix of Leadership

Jazz vented as he glanced upward, but, as always, nothing but the smokey, gray mists of the Matrix greeted him.

Another vent echoed from his left, and someone in front of him chuckled.

“Ya know,” he said after a moment, glaring benignly at the fog in front of him, “somehow Ah always thought th' Matrix might be a bit more 'citing than this.”

“You said it, mech,” someone to his right said, and Jazz shifted again.

A few long moments passed in silence – not that any of them could tell the time, but it seemed like a long while anyways.

Jazz vented again. “Anyone know what we're s'posed t' be doin'?”

“Nope.”

“Not a clue.”

“I've just been sitting here.”

The saboteur scowled. “Alrighty, then. Ah'm tired a' sittin'.”

He stood, then started walking, determinedly not looking at the insubstantial ground.

“Hey, where are you going?” someone called, but he did not look behind him, or to his sides. The only way to go was forward.

He had to get out. There was something... something he had to find.

More walking, through smoke and mist and fog and nothing.

No, not something. It was... someone. There was someone he had to find.

More steps, faster now.

No, he didn't have to find him... he had... he had to find his way back to him.

Even faster, now, almost running. Had he been on solid ground, his pedes would have been thumping loudly.

“Prowler,” he whispered as he ran. That was who he was looking for. Prowl. His... His bondmate!

Suddenly, there was someone in front of him. He skidded to a stop. This mech... He looked familiar.

Broad shoulders, thick armor, wise, blue optics.

Prime... Something Prime. O... Op... Optimus!

“Optimus?” the saboteur asked, cocking his helm to the side. The massive frame shifted.

“Yes, Jazz. What are you doing? You are dead.” The voice was bitter, angry.

“No, ya see, Ah've gotta get back t' Prowler. He needs me, an' Ah need him.”

“Oh, Jazz. You can't go back.” The wise optics darkened, the face falling as one large hand came to rest on Jazz's shoulder.

“No, no, OP, Ah've gotta go back. Prowler's lookin' fer me.”

“Jazz...”

“NO!” the saboteur shouted, snarling. With a rumble of his engine, he leapt up, clawed hands reaching for the exposed cables in the Prime's neck. “You let me out now! Ah've gotta get t' Prowler!”

The Prime did not move, simply standing there as the lithe silver form clung to his back and sharp claws dug into sensitive circuitry. “Oh, Jazz,” he said, voice soft. “You died. You're dead. Your spark went out. I'd bring you back if I could, but-”

Jazz snarled as he parted his chest plates. “No it didn'. 'S right here!”

“And we are in the Matrix.”

His vents were shaky. “No. No. Ah've gotta go back. Ah ain't stayin' here.”

“Jazz-”

“NO! Prime, ya gotta listen! Ah'm comin' back! This ain't where Ah belong! Ah'm goin' back wit'cha!”

“I-”

“Don'cha tell me it can't be done! Ah'm doin' it! Now take me back!”

Slowly, the Prime turned, the saboteur still clinging to his back, and started walking. The fog started lightening, but it reached out and clung to Jazz with tearing fingers. The saboteur, untouchable in life, screamed as they ripped through him. The Prime shuddered as he walked, but when he made to stop, Jazz screamed at him; “Keep goin'! Don' stop!”

Energon dripped down Jazz's frame. He had little plating left intact. Wires tangled together, sparking dangerously. Tubes were torn and emptied. Gears were stripped as they ground together. His vocalizer sputtered out, and the screaming stopped in a rasp of static.

Still, the Prime walked. The fog lightened more, and the fingers grew sharper. Jazz writhed against Optimus's back, screaming silently, but did not let go. He refused. He wouldn't give in. He wouldn't go back; he didn't belong there. Not without his Prowler.

Ever so slowly, the fingers of fog slipped away, leaving the saboteur clinging stubbornly to the Prime's back. He was a mess, more scrap than mech. Yet his spark beat strongly in his chassis, and his visor, though spider-webbed with cracks, glowed brightly.

The last lingering wisps of fog drifted away, and the two mechs were left standing in clear light. The Prime vented heavily and reached behind him.

“It's okay, Jazz. You made it,” he called, and the saboteur's fingers loosened. Gently, ever so gently, the Matrix-bearer lifted the tiny mech around him and cradled him against his spark.

“Oh, Jazz,” he murmured softly, bowing his helm and closing his optics.

“So he made it,” a soft, echoing voice called, a smile evident in the tone.

“Indeed he did. I always knew he was strong, but this...”

“He did it for the one he loves, the one to which he gave his spark. Of course he was strong enough.”

“But now what?” the Prime asked, looking up into the light.

“Now, you return to your world, and return his spark to his frame. He will be reunited with the one called Prowl.”

Venting happily, the Prime sagged in relief. “Thank you, Primus.”

There was no more answer, but the light around them faded, turned gray, then shredded into wisps of fog that drifted away on a nonexistant breeze. The Prime opened his optics to see the slightly rusty, dark roof of a plane hangar, one of the few he could stand in on the NEST base.

“Hey, Prime!” someone called, and he turned his helm to see two worried humans. “You okay? You just sorta collapsed.”

“I am fine,” he rumbled, and moved to stand, pushing one hand down on the cement floor, keeping the other instinctively curled against his chest.

“Whoa,” the second man, Epps, said as he stood, optics – eyes – wide. “What th' hell is that?”

Optimus looked down at his hand. Light filtered through the gaps between his fingers, and he could feel the flickering of a strong EM field fluttering against his own spark.

Before he could answer the human's question, the door was practically knocked inward as a Praxian flew into the room.

Prowl's optics were wide, his vents running at full capacity, his systems whirring audibly. “Prime-!” he gasped, staring.

Optimus smiled. “Yes, Prowl,” he murmured, and held his hand out. “He was searching for you. He would not let go.”

Slowly, the Prime's fingers uncurled, and the radiant spark was revealed, glittering, sparkling, shining in the dim light of the hangar. Prowl reached out and his fingertips barely brushed the spark before he lunged forward, cradling it securely between both hands.

“Jazz,” he whispered, and the two humans on the ground exchanged glances.

“Wasn't that-”

“Yes, Lennox,” Optimus answered, kneeling down, smiling. “And I must comm Ratchet. His spark must be returned to his frame.”

They looked back to Prowl, who had his optics closed tightly and had moved the spark to press up against his chest plates.

“While he is getting that ready, though, I believe it would be wise for us to leave.”

Prowl barely took notice of the mech and men leaving the hangar. He was reveling in the presence that was his bondmate's spark.

~Jazz,~ he whispered across their reawakened bond.

~P... Prowl... PROWLER!~

~Oh, Jazz, how I missed you!~

The disembodied spark did not reply with words. It simply pulsed happily.

With a happy sigh, Prowl opened his chest plates. His spark had dimmed since Jazz had gone; he had room enough in his spark-chamber to hold Jazz's life until his frame could be recovered. And anyways, after the break it had suffered, their bond could use with a renewing.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Jazz woke slowly.

It was unnerving. He was a saboteur. He was supposed to wake instantly, right away, without any confusion.

~You were not just recharging, love,~ a soft voice told him, and he mentally cuddled closer to the presence.

~Mmm... Still...~

~I know. But you must wake now. Ratchet is getting worried. He cannot feel your spark as I can.~

Ratchet... Ratchet... That had something to do with wrenches, didn't it? But the presence... Prowl... he said he had to wake up, now. So he did.

His visor onlined with nary a flicker, and he stared for a few long moments up at the dirty ceiling. Then a gruff voice greeted his audials.

“There you are. Finally. Welcome back, Jazz.”

But Jazz had no time for Ratchet. His optics locked on the still, black and white frame across the room. Not waiting for the medic to unhook the leads from the monitoring machines from his chassis, he leapt up and ran to Prowl.

“Prowl Prowl Prowl Prowl,” he chanted as he clung to the larger chassis.

The Praxian chuckled as he gathered the lithe, silver mech closer to his spark. “I love you, too, Jazz.”

Chapter Text

Title: Yo
Rating: K
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 1. Slang

“But this'un has a reason b'hind it! An' it works!”

“Jazz, whether it works or not, it is slang, and I would appreciate it if you ceased your use of it.”

“But Prowle-”

“No, Jazz.”

“But it fills th' gap! English needs a word like this!”

The tactician leveled a glare at the saboteur. “Jazz-”

“Jus' hear me out!”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Later that day, while reading a report, Optimus Prime had to pause and reread something. Then he reread it again, out loud this time.

“'In such a case, the offending Autobot would be confined to the brig for an Earth fortnight. As our human companions are not as tolerable to such conditions, yo would be confined to quarters for two days'...”

Quickly, he opened a comm link with his Second in Command. ::Prowl? Could I speak to you?::

::If this is about 'yo', talk to Jazz.::

::Ah... very well, then.::

The comm line clicked off. After a moment, the Prime opened another.

::Jazz?::

::S'up, Boss Bot?::

::Why is Prowl using the word 'yo', and what does it mean?::

Jazz just started snickering.

Chapter Text

Title: Straw That Broke the Camel's Back
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Starscream, Skywarp, Thundercracker
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 2.Task: Remember that scene in The Empire Strikes Back, when Luke encountered that vision of his worst fears in the Dark Side Cave? Your character encounters his or her worst fear.

Starscream didn't like it.

No, that was an understatement.

He hated it. Loathed it.

This prison cell... It was the bane of his existence. Dark, close, tiny. Megatron knew it, too. That was why he shoved the Seeker down in it. It was the one thing Starscream feared above all others.

He was a Seeker, after all. Confined spaces didn't agree with him any more than they did the rest of his kin.

It was torture, pure and simple, to leave him down here, alone, in the dark, where he could feel no air moving across his wings, feel nothing but the hundreds of tons of metal above him, pressing down, pushing him into the ground, where he'd never fly again, and-

No. Best not to think about it.

Instead, he reached out, tugging at his trinemates. ~Warp. TC.~

~He put you down there again,~ Skywarp accused, feeling the edges of panic lingering through their spark-link.

~Yes...~

~Starscream, he can't... you can't...~

~I know. But... I can't leave. I still believe in the Decepticon cause.~

~Yes... a cause which has pretty much become the rallying cry of the Autobots,~ the blue flier said, and there was a moment of silence. ~Think about it,~ he pressed. ~They're fighting for freedom now. Megatron's... he's fighting for his own gain. He's turned, Starscream. Become corrupted with power.~

~I... have to agree with him,~ Skywarp said softly, and surprise was shot at him from both of the other fliers. Skywarp had always argued that Megatron wasn't that bad, that he hadn't changed. ~Oh, come on. I may be a bit ignorant sometimes, but... a sane mech doesn't leave a Seeker, or even a flier, underground as much as he does to you, Screamer. It's time to go.~

The trine leader vented and leaned back, twitching his wings against the wall for the express purpose of feeling something. ~Then get me out. We go to the Prime.~

Chapter Text

Title: Flyting
Rating: K
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Wheeljack, Sideswipe, Ratchet
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 3. Flyting: A verbal slanging match: a ritualized form of invective in which insults are exchanged.

It quickly became obvious to anyone who bothered to watch; they did it on purpose.

This fast-paced, rapid slinging of slurs was practiced, vicious, and playful.

It was entertaining to watch, Wheeljack had to admit. It was his usual source of entertainment while he was stuck in the Med Bay after one of his... accidents.

Sideswipe never did learn to mute it. And Ratchet never learned that he would never get the red frontliner to listen. So they did this every time Sideswipe had to be repaired; they would throw insults back and forth, neither ever gaining the upper hand, neither ever really getting offended by what the other said.

And Wheeljack got some entertainment and a break from Ratchet's... loving care. It all worked out in the end, he thought with a smile as he settled back to listen to the next verbal barrage of insults.

Chapter Text

Title: Sin
Rating: T
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 4. Unforgivable sin.

Murder was forbidden by Primus. All sparks, every single one of them, were precious. Optimus Prime knew that now more than he ever had. Every single spark, whether they be sparked mechs, hatched mechs, Sigma-sparked, or preprogrammed.

Not all of Cybertron saw it that way. Many thought Sigma-sparked and preprograms were inferior to sparked and hatched mechs, but every Prime knew different.

And now... Now, here he was, the Supreme Ruler of Cybertron, the Speaker for Primus, the Prime, with an energon-soaked sword in his hand, energon spattered over his armor, energon soaking the ground...

And a spark in front of him, flickering out, the purple sigil that had once been bright on his chassis gone, the armor torn and rent.

It was unforgivable, what he had just done. Taken a spark... That was not his job. That was the anathema of his duty! The polar opposite. He was the Prime! He was supposed to welcome new sparks, he was supposed to be the herald of life and living!

Yet he was reduced to war, to killing, because his Lord High Protector, his Brother, had turned away from his duty and had brought war to Cybertron, instead of keeping it away.

Chapter Text

Title: Here There Be Dragons
Rating: K
Continuity: Complete and utter AU. But G1 characters
Characters: Optimus Prime, Megatron, Elita-One, Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 5. Master List Prompt
Prompt Chosen: August 13: Task: AU! Write your favorite characters in an AU setting: it could be Shattered Glass or turned into animals or sex slaves or before the war after it, or femmes secretly rule Cybertron or they're all pirates or fighting zombies or… whatever. But you know you have one! Show us what happens when you throw canon to the winds!
Notes: More of this weird AU, in which the Twins are centaurs, Optimus and Megatron are dragons, Elita-One is a siren, Jazz is a doppelgaenger, and Prowl is a naga. And everyone else is a strange assortment of other mythical beings.

“I won't stand for it!” the large, silvery dragon roared, and the small, pink femme leaning against the wall rolled her optics.

The other dragon in the large cavern, a massive, red and blue beast, snorted and shook, his plating rattling with the force of the motion.

“Megatron, our valley is-”

“I won't allow two war-frames into my valley!” he exclaimed

“Our valley, Megatron,” the femme cut in, pushing away from the wall. Her icy gaze bore into the gray dragon. “Or have you forgotten?”

Megatron settled back onto all four feet and shuffled backward a bit, tilting his helm to the side so that the long, curling horns that framed his face hid his red optics. “No, Elita. But I am charged with protecting this valley, and those-”

“They are not war-frames!” Optimus growled.

A chiming note filtered through the air, and both dragons flattened their flared plating and settled back. Once they had calmed, the Elita stopped the siren's call, frowning up at them. “Optimus, they are war-frames. But Megatron, their kind has not been part of a battle in centivorns. They have been forgotten, just as our kinds have. Just as everyone who lives here has been. They will be welcomed here, Megatron,” the siren warned, and the gray mech bowed his helm, cowed.

“Very well,” he rumbled. “But I will be watching them, as will-”

“Yes, yes,” Optimus rumbled back. “The very same as everyone who is invited here. I will tell Jazz and Prowl to show them around.”

The massive reptilian-framed mech walked from the cavern, tail slithering over the ground, leaving his two mates behind him.

Outside, he stood for a moment, blinking, staring over his domain. It was a peaceful valley, full of folk who only wanted to live, to be among family and friends, without having to worry about the discrimination that would no doubt face them in the outside world.

Three Seekers flew overhead, the mythical beings tracing complex patterns in the sky. Among them was a larger flight frame – massive, really; a shuttle, just as legendary as the Seekers he was flying with.

On the ground was the happy chaos of a familial village. Ten mechs, two gestalts, were playing some kind of game that involved a lot of chasing and tackling and giggling in the village center, the six aerials among them occasionally taking to the air. Along the edges of the village, mechs were conversing happily. There, the village healer, an old, grumpy faerie, was talking to the resident chaos spirit. Past them, a twitchy kitsune was talking to a large, smiling fire daemon.

With a shout, the eleven familiars of the two mages of the village joined the ten gestalt-mechs, and the screeching got louder.

Optimus smiled, baring sharp dentae, and looked up.

Farther on, near the edge of the village, the cyclopes-warlock was standing guard, one of his golems next to him.

Barely visible, farther back in the forest, three wolves, the largest a matte black, the middle a deep green, the smallest a pale, shimmery blue, loped through the crystals.

“Well, what'd ya decide?” a lilting voice said from beside him, and Optimus hid a twitch.

“Jazz. I have told you before; do not sneak up on me like that.”

The silver doppelgaenger grinned widely, visor sparkling, and gave a shrug. “Can't help 't. Anyways, what'd ya decide? Are they stayin'? 'Cause Ah'm likin' that red one.”

“Yes, Jazz, they are. Where is-”

“I am here, Optimus,” a soft tenor said from behind the dragon, and the mech once again hid a twitch.

“Prowl...”

“I, like Jazz, cannot help it.” A soft rustle came as the naga slid down from the rocks that made up the mountain wall and settled in front of Optimus. Slowly, the long, snake tail that was the mech's lower body coiled up, and a hint of mischief filled golden optics. “It is, after all, in our natures to be silent.”

Optimus just vented and shook his massive helm. “I do understand, Prowl. At any rate, we have decided that we will allow the centaruions to stay here on probation.”

“And Jazz and I are to show them the village?”

Once again, the blue and red dragon smiled. “Yes, if you are up to it. I will fly you out to them now.”

“Of course.”

A moment later, a great shadow fell over the village as the dragon took to the sky, naga and doppelgaenger on his back, as they went to gather the two centaur-framed mechs they had found earlier that orn.

Chapter Text

Title: Fascinating
Rating: K
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Perceptor, Skyfire
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: This Video:

“What in Primus' name is occuring here?”

“I... don't know,” the massive shuttle said, bending closer. “It... Perceptor?”

“Yes, Skyfire?”

“I'm going to comm Prime.”

“Why, pray tell, would you do that?”

“To request some time off.”

“Hm. Well, please do request some time for me as well. This is fascinating.”

“Agreed.”

Chapter Text

Title: Break the Fourth Wall!
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Ensemble, me
Disclaimer: Don't own the Transformers. I do own myself. :)
Prompt: June 2, 2010: Too much/Not enough
Notes: In which I completely break two things: the fourth wall, and my own rule about no self-inserts.

“So!” I clapped my hands once, then wove my fingers together. “You all know this is the hundredth speedwriting fill I’m writing with all'a y'alls, and-

“How could we forget?” Sideswipe said, exasperated. “You haven't shut up about it since you realized you were at fifty.”

I glared at the red frontliner. He was easy to pick out among the other Autobots and Decepticons. “Sideswipe,” another voice interrupted, “shut up.”

A few mechs snickered, and I cleared my throat.

“Sunny, you know-”

“Sideswipe,” a deep voice rumbled, and the red Twin was instantly silent.

I smiled up at Optimus. “Thanks, Prime.”

“No problem at all, Miss Exactlywhat.”

“Still, thanks. Now. As I was saying, this is my hundredth speedwriting fill, so-”

“Oh! I know! It has to be epic! Why don’t Sunstreaker and I do some Jet Judo? I’m sure-”

“No way are you getting anywhere near me, Autodolt!” Starscream screeched.

I glanced up at Optimus again, and he let out a threatening rev of his engine. The assembled mechs settled down.

“I wanted to-”

“Optimus, I have those reports... Oh, I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt.”

I shook my head. “I know. It's fine, Prowl. Anyways, as I was saying-”

“DECEPTICON ATTACK! WARNING! MEGATRON IS OUTSIDE THE ARC!”

“Probably looking for us,” Starscream said.

“Statement: true,” Soundwave confirmed.

I sighed. “Fine. Fine. I’ll just put my announcement in the Author's Note.”

“I do apologize, Miss Exactlywhat.”

“Not your fault, Prime.” I shrugged. “Anyways, just writing in the Author's Note will work. Thanks for letting me play.”

The Prime just nodded before he followed his soldiers out of the Rec Room. I sighed again and quit the room as well.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

A/N: Ah, back to my computer and out of that chaos... ^.~

Anyways, my announcement! This is my hundredth speedwriting fill, and there are two things I can do now: one, keep posting “chapters” in this story, or start a second one for the second hundred. I have no problem keeping this one going, but I do want to know what you guys would prefer. Would it be easier to just continue this, or start a new one?

Chapter Text

Title: Defection
Rating: K
Continuity: Any
Characters: Optimus Prime, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, ??
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 1. The good man is the friend of all living things. ~Mahatma Gandhi

The mech was slammed down in front of the Prime, his knee armor denting with the force of his impact. Hissing, his vents cycled another stuttering draft of air as he looked up at the Leader of the Autobots. One optic cycled repeatedly as it tried to focus through the shattered lens. A thin trickle of energon ran from the corner of his dented lips. In front of the massive Prime, his small frame looked miniscule.

“What is the meaning of this?” Optimus Prime demanded as he rose from his seat in the Rec Room.

“Decepticon,” Sideswipe snarled, tightening his grip on the mech's arm.

“Found him snooping around outside the front gate,” Sunstreaker added, resettling his gun in his grip.

“I wasn't-”

A loud clang silenced the mech as Sunstreaker backhanded him. “Mute it, 'Con scum.”

The Prime raised his hand, waving the Twins back. They went, reluctantly. “Did he fight, Sunstreaker?” he asked.

“No, but-”

“Did he resist capture?”

“No, but-”

“Is there any reason at all for you to treat him as such?”

Sunstreaker glared defiantly back. “He's a 'Con.”

“And that gives you the right to hit him? He is an unarmed prisoner who surrendered willingly.”

“But-”

“Sunstreaker.”

The yellow mech stopped protesting and looked down.

Optimus turned to the Decepticon and regarded him for a long moment. The mech stared back, face impassive, vents stuttering only slightly as a broken fan hitched against something.

“You surrendered,” the Prime said, somehow making it a statement and a question at the same time.

“Yes,” the mech said without pause.

Raising an optic ridge, the Leader of the Autobots regarded the mech for another long moment. “I am curious as to why.”

“Why don't you just ask?” the mech replied, face finally revealing some emotion as the barest traces of a smirk spread over his lips.

“Very well. Why did you surrender?”

Shrugging, the mech tilted his helm to the side and let his smirk fade. “The Decepticons have changed. Megatron has changed. What he once fought for, he now fights against. Better to be captured and... well, I thought it'd be better to get what information I have to you, whatever way possible, and if that means my deactivation, then so be it. I have always been fighting for freedom. For equality. I won't stop now, even if my leader... former leader... has turned against everything he once stood for.”

“Quite a speech.”

“I've had a long time to think about it.”

There was a breem of silence before someone dared to break it.

“You aren't seriously thinking about accepting him into the Autobots, are you Prime?” Sideswipe asked, incredulous.

“I am.”

“Why? He's a 'Con! We have no reason to trust him!”

“A good mech is the friend of all living things,” the Prime murmured quietly, then turned to the Twins, who were still standing guard over the Decepticon. “All mechs deserve a chance. And what he says is true. Megatron did once fight for freedom. He does no longer.”

The two frontliners stared for a long moment, then exchanged a glance. “Fine, Prime,” Sideswipe grumbled. “But we'll be watching him.”

“I would expect no less,” he said before turning back to the small mech in front of him. “You have expressed an interest in joining the Autobots.”

“More than an interest, Prime.”

“Very well. Go to the Med Bay and have Ratchet give you an Autobot symbol.”

“Thank you, Prime.”

“What is your name, Autobot?”

Slowly, the mech stood and cycled his vents. “I am Bumblebee.”

Chapter Text

Title: Powers
Rating: K
Continuity: AU Movieverse
Characters: Simmons, Sam
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 2. Scenario: a character develops a superpower

Sam stared for a long time. Simmons stared back.

“So, what do they mean, you're the AllSpark?” the boy finally asked, frowning.

“Exactly what they said,” the man said, then nodded. “I'm the AllSpark.”

“But... What does that mean?”

Simmons shrugged. “How do I know? They don't tell me all that much. I just know that I can do what the Cube did.”

“Which is...?”

Simmons rolled his eyes and took a long step forward. Sam made to back up, but the former agent took a good hold on his shirt with one hand. His other hand grabbed for the boy's pocket, and a moment later pulled away, phone in a tight grip.

“Hey!” Sam protested as the man pushed him away. “That's my phone!”

“No duh.”

Then there was a flash, and the phone sprang apart in a flurry of moving pieces. Sam shouted again as Simmons held out the little sparkling.

“This is what I can do now,” he said, smirking. “Here's your sparkling.”

He dumped the phone in Sam's scrambling grasp and walked away.

Sam, behind him, yelped as sharp claws pricked at his hands. Then the former agent's words registered. “'Sparkling'?!”

Chapter Text

Title: Dimensional Travel
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Roger Rabbit, Eddie Valiant
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 3. Challenge: pick two characters and a movie. Your characters are watching that movie. But something went wrong and now they're stuck inside the movie. What happens?
Movie: Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker

“What the frag just happened?” Sunstreaker snarled as he lifted himself off the ground.

Sideswipe moaned next to him. “No idea, but my helm hurts, Sunny.”

“Don't call me that!” the yellow Twin growled.

“Whoooooaaaaa,” a high-pitched, squeaky voice interrupted. “I've never seen Toons like you before! Where'd you come from?”

A white rabbit wearing baggy, red overalls jumped in front of them. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stared.

“Hey! Eddie!” the rabbit called. “You ever seen anytoon like this before?”

A slightly portly man peeked around a set of crates. “No, I haven't.”

“Sunny?” Sideswipe started, eying the human. “Um... Is this... I think... Are we...?”

Sunstreaker closed his optics and cycled a long draft of air through his vents. “I think so. Doesn't make any sense, but I think so.”

“Are you what?” the rabbit asked, blinking up at them with wide, blue eyes.

“In your world. See, we're from a different world, where, well, there aren't any Toons, except for on TV.”

The rabbit and the human stared at him for a moment before they burst into laughter. “Imagine!” the rabbit cackled, the laughter making his squeaky words even harder to decipher. “A world without Toons!”

“Well, wouldn't be the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “Anyways. How'd you end up here?”

Sideswipe shrugged. “Dunno. We watched your movie last night, and today, during the battle, Megatron whipped out his most recent Weapon of Doom, and there was a bright flash, and here we are,” the red Twin said, smirk slowly spreading across his face.

“That is how it usually happens,” Sunstreaker said, venting heavily as he pushed himself to his feet.

“You mean this's happened before?” the portly human said, blinking rapidly.

“Yep. Well, we haven't come here before, but all of us have been zapped somewhere strange at one point or another.” Sideswipe shrugged. “Anyways, we always get back. Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Skyfire'll figure it out soon, and we'll be back home before you know it!”

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. “Right. You'd think it were scripted, how regularly it happens.”

“Yeah, well, you never know,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “Well, as long as you're here, you might as well have some fun.”

A wicked gleam filled Sideswipe's optics. “Well, if we are where I think we are, I think we're going to have a lot of fun.”

Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge, and Sideswipe snickered again.

“Take a look around, bro. Acme everywhere. You remember some of the stuff that was in here, right?”

A low groan filled the room as Sunstreaker slapped a palm over his face. “You have fun, Sides, and leave me out of it. I don't want any part in this.”

“Fine, fine,” the red Twin sighed, then gleefully skipped over to the nearest set of boxes. After a moment, he turned around, a tiny, orangish object in his hands. “Sunny! Extendable hammers!”

Sunstreaker just vented again and sat down, leaning against the wall.

“Ooh! Portable holes! Ha! Squeaky shoes! Wow! Anvil! A ten ton anvil! Isn't this exciting, Sunny?”

“Don't call me that.”

Sideswipe mimed his brother for a moment, rolling his optics and flapping his hand next to his helm. “Whatever. Hey, Eddie, right? Mind if I keep some of this stuff?”

The human shrugged. “Go ahead. None of it's been sorted or cataloged yet, so as long as I don't see it, it didn't happen.”

Sideswipe smiled at him for a second before turning back to his brother. “I like this guy,” he said. “When they figure out how to get us back, can we take him with us?”

“No, Sides.”

“Aw. Come here and help me decide what to keep.”

Venting heavily, the yellow Twin pushed himself to his feet and walked over to his brother.

After stuffing their subspaces with all manner of Acme products, the two bots went and sat down against the wall. Eddie came in a some time later and sat down next to Sideswipe.

“Well, Roger is off with Jessica, and I’ve got the night to myself. I was just curious, you said someone'd be able to get you back?”

The red Twin nodded. “Yup. Like I said, this happens with alarming regularity. I doubt we'll still be here in a week. Though I have been wrong before, and there are worse universes to land yourself in.” The last sentence was said with a happy twinkle in his optics and a warm smile.

“Agreed,” the human said, nodding. “Well, I mean, I’ve never been transported to a different dimension, but I'd imagine that there are worse places to go.”

“There are,” Sunstreaker said, venting heavily and closing his optics. “Trust me. We've been to some of them.”

There was a loud crack, and a bright light flashed through the warehouse.

“What was that?” Eddie shouted, jumping to his feet.

Sideswipe and Suntreaker also rose to their feet, and Sideswipe chuckled. “That, my friend, is most likely our ride home. Now, to find... Ah!”

A crate rattled, then tumbled from its position on the top of a large stack. A muffled, “What?” could be heard, and the Twins exchanged grins.

“Wheeljack!” Sideswipe called as a helm was stuck through a dark hole in the air.

Audial indicators flashed happily in place of the masked grin. “Sideswipe! Sunstreaker! There you are!”

The Twins grinned, then glanced back. “Well, Eddie,” the red half of them said as he knelt down and held his hand out. “Looks like this is goodbye. Thanks, and it was nice meeting you!”

The man shook the offered finger and grinned back. “Of course. It was nice meeting you two, too,” he said, and smiled as he took a long breath. “Well, you'd better be getting back home.”

“Yup,” Sideswipe agreed, standing. “Let's go, Sunny.”

The last thing Eddie heard as the two climbed through the hole was a grumpy, growled, “Don't call me that.”

Chapter Text

Title: Dawn
Rating: K
Continuity: Any
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 4. Setting: An uncomfortable place at dawn

There was sand in his gears. It ground into him with every little movement.

Dew was coating his armor, chilling him. He was, like all of his species, built for subzero temperatures. But that didn't mean the wet coldness was not uncomfortable. It was incredibly annoying.

And there was a crab climbing into his pede. Perfect.

This was definitely not the best morning he'd had.

Though, all things considered, it probably wasn't the worst, either.

“Mmmm...” Jazz hummed as he snuggled closer into Prowl's side. Prowl glanced down, faint frown melting into a loving smile.

Yes, it definitely could have been worse.

Chapter Text

Title: Already Ended
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Optimus Prime, Megatron
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 5. Death

::It's time, Jazz,:: Prowl commed.

A silence stretched between them before Jazz answered. ::Okay, then. All's ready.::

Prowl sent back an affirmative.

Explosions rattled the battlefield. Mechs from both sides fell to the ground. Optimus and Megatron, who had been grappling together, collapsed in a tangle of limbs. The Seekers were shot down with deadly accuracy, acid pellets burning through their wings.

“What the frag?” someone shouted.

“WHO SET THOSE CHARGES?” Megatron roared.

“Ah did,” Jazz answered, striding from the smoke that stained the air of the battlefield.

“Jazz?” Optimus asked, glancing quizzically at his Third as he untangled himself from his nemesis. “What is going on?”

Prowl appeared from the smoke and walked easily over to his bondmate. “It has been decided,” he said, doorwings flicking out. “This battle can go on no longer.”

“It's time fer it t' end,” Jazz added as Prowl stopped at his side. They both reached out and their fingers twined together.

“Prowl...” Optimus started, staring uncomprehendingly at his Second and Third.

“He is right. It is time for it all to end.”

Jazz pulled a small box out of his subspace. It took a moment, but the assembled armies recognized it quickly enough. An old-fashioned detonator.

Recognition, realization bloomed in processors all over the battlefield, and, as mechs rushed toward him, Jazz lifted the detonator and pressed his thumb to the button. Everyone froze.

“It's gone on for too long,” Prowl said, shaking his helm, optics over-bright, doorwings twitching erratically.

“Prowl, Jazz, do not do this,” Optimus protested, lifting a hand toward them as though he could snatch the detonator from the saboteur's hand.

“Why not, OP?” the visored mech asked, helm tilting to the side. “Why not? 'Cause ya've said oft'n 'nough yerself that this war needs t' end. We're jus' doin' that. Jus' doin' wha'cha said.”

“We are ending it,” Prowl repeated, and glanced down at their intertwined hands. “It is already ended.”

Megatron chose this moment to stride forward, though he stopped a good distance from the two black and whites. “What do you mean?” he snarled.

Blinking, Prowl took a moment to examine the silver warlord. “Exactly what we said. It is already ended. You all only need realize.”

“But-” the warlord said, optics widening.

Prowl shook his helm and glanced to his bondmate. Jazz nodded.

A moment later, a black finger tightened, and the small button was pressed.

And then war was over.

Chapter Text

Title: Allowances
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 6. High-Grade

“Hunt th' Still?” Jazz asked as he approached his bondmate. Prowl was crouched at the end of a hallway, peering around the corner and down the hall.

The Praxian glanced up at the saboteur, then turned back down the hall. “You know I do not like the fact that you named it as such.”

“What? 'S what yer doin'. Huntin' th' Still.”

Prowl just gave him a disdainful glance and turned back to watching the hall.

“Y'know,” Jazz said after a moment, “You could jus' watch through th' security cameras.”

“They have been disabled.”

“Oh.”

Another silence, and Jazz peeked around the corner as well, leaning over his bondmate to do so.

“Y'know... Ya could jus' ask me t' find it.”

“Would you do so?”

Jazz gave an unrepentant grin. “Ah'd find it. Dunno if Ah'd tell ya.”

“Hence the watching on my own.”

“Or you could jus' leave 'em be. Th' army profits off their moonlightin', ya know.”

Prowl vented and stood, but said nothing as he turned and walked with long strides down the hall. Jazz followed, snickering.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“What did we do this time?” Sideswipe moaned as he entered Prowl's office and took one of the two chairs in front of the large, imposing desk.

Prowl simply stared, waiting until Sunstreaker sat as well. For a long time, silence stretched between the three of them. Then, Prowl spoke.

“I understand you have set up yet another high-grade still.”

Sideswipe, as a professional liar and pranker, didn't react other than raising an optic ridge. “So what if I have?”

“I have also been led to understand that the Autobots, as a whole, profit from a small amount of high-grade.”

Again, silence stretched between them.

“Um... Prowl? What are you saying?” Sideswipe finally said, blinking rapidly.

“I am saying,” the tactician said with a sparkle in his golden optics, “that there is an unused storage closet in the lower decks. No one ever goes there save for routine patrols, and there is a registered energy leak in said room that no one has ever been able to fix, mainly because no one has time.”

It took the barest fraction of a klik for Sideswipe to get what Prowl was hinting. His optics widened. “Are you serious?”

“I was not aware I possessed a sense of humor. I am always serious, Sideswipe.”

That little sparkle was back, and Sideswipe was beginning to think that he liked this particular expression on the tactician.

“Thank you, Prowl,” he said, grinning.

“For what? I merely informed you that Storage Bay B-13 is currently not in use.”

Sideswipe exchanged a gleeful glance with his brother, then grinned at his commander. “Well... Um... I guess we'll see you around, Prowl?”

“Indeed you will. Have a good orn, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker.”

And as the Twins left, Prowl allowed himself a little smirk.

Chapter Text

Title: Improvements
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Red Alert, Bumblebee
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 1. Home improvements

Red Alert was not someone who could usually be found outside of his Security Station. So it was a rather surprised Bumblebee that came across the Security Director, very much not in his dark sanctuary.

“Um... Red Alert? Sir? What are you doing?” the minibot asked, blinking rapidly.

Red Alert didn't even look up as he answered. “Improvements.”

“Uh... Here?”

“Why not here?”

“Because... well, it's an air vent, sir.”

Red Alert shot a dirty look at the spy. “Of course it's an air vent.”

Bumblebee blinked again. “I... okay. Um. What is it you're doing, exactly?”

“Improvements. Like I already told you.”

“Yes, but-” Bumblebee cut himself off, then shook his head. “Improvements to the security camera, um, security?”

“What else?”

There was a moment of silence as Bumblebee watched the red and white mech tie a few wires off, then deftly maneuver his way down the vent.

“Um, Sir?”

“Yes, Bumblebee?” Red Alert sighed.

“Would... Would you like some help? I can get through the vents much easier than you can...”

The Security Director glanced back at the yellow minibot, then vented heavily. “I suppose you can be trusted.”

“Thanks,” Bumblebee said, only a hint of sarcasm coloring his tone. To be considered trustworthy by Red Alert was very high praise.

The red and white mech gave the spy the tiniest hint of a smile as he pinged him with a location.

Bumblebee returned the smile, then slithered down through the vents. The few details of the improvements Red Alert had shared were actually... Well, perhaps a tiny bit paranoid, but Red Alert would be anything but himself if everything he touched did not contain some measure of cautiousness.

Chapter Text

Title: Never Forget
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Smokescreen, Aerialbots
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 2. Master List Prompt.
Jan. 12: A picture.

He never forgot flying. Never forgot what it felt like to soar through the clouds, weightless, defying everything that held everyone else to the ground far below.

He could still recall the smooth slide of air over his wings, over his chassis, through the thin gaps in his armor, cooling overheated internals.

He remembered the lights of the cities far below, little, twinkling stars come to rest on the ground.

He could still smell the crisp, sharp air, could taste it on his tongue. He could hear it rushing over his audios, the sharp hiss of it as it caught and eddied around him.

Up here, on the top of Mt. St. Hillary, he could remember... he could remember it all, and, for a few long moments, allowed himself to be immersed in the memories.

Then, he brought himself back to the present. He still had his wings, but they were no longer capable of carrying him through the sky. He still had the heavy sensors, but they now fed him information that, while useful as a tactician and soldier, was not what was needed for flight.

He was Ground-Bound.

He had made the decision for a few reasons. Chief among them was that he did not want to follow the other Seekers to the Decepticons, and the best way to do that, the most effective way, was to separate from the fliers in a way they would never look for. Because no Seeker ever willingly grounded himself.

His doorwings drooped and his shoulders slumped as a breeze played across his plating.

“Hey! Smokey!” a cheery voice called from above, and he glanced upward.

Air Raid. And his brothers were swooping and spinning above him.

Smokescreen forced a smile over his face. “Hiya, Air Raid! How're you doing?” he shouted back, twitching his doorwings in a friendly greeting that was only half faked. The five young fliers were wonderful. He loved them. But they often did remind him of what he had lost, which lead to a rather convoluted relationship between them.

For he had given up the sky, and they still had it.

Chapter Text

Title: Searching for Sparks
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1?
Characters: Prowl, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 3. Setting: In a junk yard.

Prowl stumbled as his foot caught on a broken shard of metal, and his doorwings flared out to compensate for the sudden shift in balance. He knew it was rather stupid to come out here alone, but a flyover patrol had reported a spark signature.

The tactician could handle a single mech easily enough. He had also not been on patrol in quite some time, and, despite the rumors, did occasionally get a bit stir-crazy. So he had volunteered to investigate.

Which had brought him to this scrap yard.

Once, it had been a small town, out on the very edge of Iacon's borders. Now, all that remained was bombed out shells of buildings, ruined shards of metal, and the occasional empty frame. Nothing but waste and garbage.

And one, lonely spark signature.

Prowl continued on, heedless of the multitude of scrapes he was suffering on his legs and feet from the jagged spikes of scorched metal littering the ground. The sensors in his doorwings had picked up the spark signature, and he was determined to follow it, to find it.

If it was a Decepticon, he would kill him. If it was an Autobot, he would lead him back to base. If it was a Neutral, he would either leave him be or take him back to base for relocation.

The spark signature was close, now.

A curse echoed through the still air, and Prowl froze, save for his doorwings, which flicked even more erratically. The spark signature. The mech. Right in front of him.

Slowly, the tactician crept up to the broken wall and peered around it. A red mech was standing with his back to Prowl, shoulders hunched, crouched low, both hands in front of him.

Stifling a vent, Prowl pulled back. This was where things got tricky. He could see no symbol, and no faction identity was registering on his sensors. The faction ident could be hidden easily enough. The symbol could simply be on his front, where Prowl couldn't see it.

Numbers were already streaming from his battle computer. Possibilities, probabilities...

The best course of action, he decided barely a klik later, would be to show himself but have a weapon ready.

So he unsubspaced his rifle, but kept it pointed at the ground as he stepped around the corner.

The red mech whirled around immediately, before Prowl had a chance to announce himself. There was a long knife in his hands, and a snarl on his face.

“Who are you?” he growled as he settled into a practiced, natural fighting stance.

Prowl stopped and tucked his doorwings behind his back. The mech knew his way around a fight. Not that the tactician didn't, but he did want to avoid altercations, if at all possible. “I am Prowl,” he answered softly, keeping his voice low and steady.

“What are you doing here?” he snarled, side-stepping to the left. The slow, deliberate steps were telling, even if only that he knew the ground around him.

“I merely came to investigate a spark signature,” Prowl said, moving only enough to keep the mech directly in front of him. He did not want that knife anywhere out of his field of vision, and, though he could sense what was behind himself perfectly well with his doorwings, he was more comfortable if we was facing the threat.

Then something caught his attention. Movement, quiet, close.

And a knife was pressed up to the cabling in the back of his neck, and a frame pressed against his doorwings, pinning them to his back.

“Why?” the red mech snarled as Prowl fought off a lock-up. There was only one spark signature. He was still reading only one! But he could, now, clearly sense the mech pressed up against him. But there was only one signature!

The tactician blinked. “You are in Autobot territory,” he stated, slowly overcoming the surprise. Bondmates, maybe, with a high level of spark synchronicity? “It is prudent to identify strangers in your protected land,” he added.

The mech at his back stiffened, as did the red mech.

“Autobots? You're an Autobot?”

Prowl wasn't sure what to make of the tone. He couldn't decide if it was hostile or hopeful or something else entirely. “Yes,” he said, concentrating on making sure his doorwings did not twitch. “I am Prowl, Chief Tactical Officer and Second in Command.”

The pressure at the back of his neck lessened. “They send the Primus fragging Second in Command out to look for a strange spark signature?” the red mech practically laughed, optics wide, expression somewhere between stunned surprise and disbelief.

“I volunteered. I... needed to get out of the base.”

The knife pulled away entirely, and the mech stepped back. Prowl twitched his wings up, then stepped to the side, moving to take in both of them.

It was then that he realized why he could only sense one spark. The similar frames, the way they so easily moved next to each other, the way that, now that he was scanning, their sparks registered as two halves of a whole...

“Twins,” he breathed, staring.

The yellow mech, the one who had been standing behind him, snarled, his beautiful face twisting into an ugly expression. “So what?”

A touchy subject, then. “I have never encountered Twins before,” he said carefully. “It explains the single spark signature.”

The two did not exchange any sort of glance or words, but they moved together, slowly stalking toward the tactician. Prowl did not allow himself to back up.

Instead, he straightened as they approached, doorwings flaring out. “I came to do one of three things. Had you been a Decepticon, I would have killed you. Had you been an Autobot, I would have brought you back to base. But you are Neutral, which means I can leave you alone if you wish. Or I can take you back to base for relocation.”

Now, the Twins exchanged a glance. “How about something else?” the yellow one suggested, smirking slightly.

“Yeah. How about you take us back to base, but you don't ship us out. Instead, how 'bout you keep us.”

“Keep... You mean to imply that you wish to become Autobots?”

The yellow mech snorted, air gusting noisily from his vents. “We want revenge. Best way to do that is joining up.”

“What Sunny said. So. You'll take us?”

Prowl took a fraction of a moment to let his battle computer update. They both held themselves like warriors. Both stood like they knew how to fight.

The Autobots were in desperate need of good fighters.

“I will,” he said, nodding slightly. “Welcome to the Autobots.”

Chapter Text

Title: What You Wish For
Rating: K+
Continuity: G1
Characters: Cliffjumper, Mirage
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: 4. A character works up a fantasy about another character. This may be of friendship, love, lust, capture, revenge, hurt, torture, anything. Lo and behold, an opportunity presents itself for the fantasy to come true. What happens?

I hated him. Loathed him. I always imagined him crawling up to me, injured, alone, broken, and me turning away, leaving him, like he left me.

Some people would say that I was over-reacting. That he hadn't left me broken on the dirty ground of Earth, but... he had. He had left me alone, broken, bent and busted and not wanting to go on. Perhaps it was more metaphorical than they could imagine, but the injuries he left me were just as valid, just as hurtful, as any physical wound.

Mechs have died of broken sparks before.

Because we had once been together, as strange as that may sound now. Then he had decided that we weren't right for each other, and that he belonged to someone else.

And he left. Left me for the scout, for Hound, who, as much as I tried, I couldn’t hate. Jealousy, yes. Hate, no.

Because it wasn't Hound who had left me alone. Broken. Lying in the dirt with no one there to help me back to my feet, while he was off cavorting with the mech he loved, the mech who wasn't me.

So I had struggled up on my own. I had learned how to do things again, to not rely on anyone or anything but myself.

But now that it was happening, now that my wish was coming true...

Mirage was there, vents stuttering, sounding ragged and broken, plating more dents than armor. His optics flickered with intermittent charge.

He was injured, alone, broken – just the way I had wished him to be...

And I didn't like it. It was wrong. So, so wrong.

He lifted a hand. “Cliff,” he stuttered, and his gold optics dimmed.

“Slag it all, Mirage,” I growled as I stepped forward and took the offered appendage. I opened a comm link. ::Ratchet. Mirage needs you.::

::Frag it all to-! I'll be right there! Slagging-:: Ratchet snarled, and the comm link closed.

Slowly, I sat down next to him. Silence filled the space between us, only the sounds the distant rapport of blasters and explosions and Mirage's broken vents.

“Why?” he asked after a moment, voice filled with static.

I glanced down, my blue optics meeting his gold. “Why what?” I asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

“Wh-hy would y-you help m-me?”

Offlining my optics was easy. Speaking, however, was not. “I... You...”

I felt his hand move slightly in mine; just the barest hint of a twitch.

“It felt wrong!” I finally said, voice low and urgent. “I wanted it for so long! I wanted to hurt you! That's why I called you a traitor, that's why I... I... Mirage, I...”

“I know.”

And that... I suddenly felt... peaceful.

“I know, Cliff. What-t I did was w-wrong. I h-hurt you. I... I’m sor-rry.”

With those words, I knew that all was settled between us, and I onlined my optics again. “I hurt you, too.”

The former noble just shook his helm.

Silence stretched between us once again, all the way up until Ratchet got to us. But it wasn't awkward. It was comfortable. We would never be the lovers, the Intendeds, that we had once been, but... the hurt, the painful barbs that had been separating us... they were gone.

Chapter Text

Title: Due Warning
Rating: T
Warnings: Death, insanity, violence
Continuity: G1
Characters: Jazz, Soundwave, Megatron, Starscream, Decepticon Ensemble
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 5. “Don't say I didn't warn you...”

Jazz's visor glimmered an eerie purple in the shadowy darkness of the Nemesis's bridge. His incessant, insane giggling filled the otherwise silent air. His once black and white paint glimmered a flayed, dull silver.

Red optics watched him warily from the edges of the room. None would cross him. Not after what they had already seen him do. After what he had done.

Capturing Jazz had seemed quite the accomplishment. The saboteur rarely allowed himself to be caught, so this had seemed like a boon from Primus. The Autobots' greatest saboteur, here, in their grasp, theirs for the torturing, theirs for the eventual, slow, lingering killing.

Then things had gone, to use a human phrase, south. Way south.

Megatron had ordered the saboteur to be brought to him, and ordered the entire Decepticon army to the throne room. There, he had brought out his favored electrowhip and proceeded to flay every inch of the Autobot's plating, tearing off the black and white paint, leaving him the burnished, dull silver of the living metal they were made of.

Then he had ordered Soundwave to search the broken mech's mind.

Those were the words he used.

“Soundwave,” he boomed, voice loud and proud and arrogant. “Search the... broken mech's processor. I am sure there are some precious Autobot secrets still accessible.”

Jazz didn't like being called broken.

The blue host had stepped forward and placed one hand on the now silver saboteur's helm.

Two minutes later, the telepath was reeling backward, visor more white than red, vents whirring at full blast, vocalizer hissing static.

That was when Jazz started giggling.

“Don' say Ah didn' warn ya,” he said, mouth twisting into a sadistic grin. “'Cause Ah did when ya first brought meh in. Ah tol'ja, ya wouldn' like what'd happ'n when ya did what ya were thinkin' a' doin'.”

Starscream stepped up next, turning up his nose at the Communications Specialist, who had collapsed in a heap of overheated metal on the floor. “Fool,” he sneered.

Then he was within reach of Jazz, who wasted no time in leaping up, clinging to the Seeker's shoulders with one hand, both legs wrapped around his waist. His free hand plunged through the cockpit on the Decepticon Second in Command's chest, through the thick shielding metal underneath it, and into the glittering spark chamber. A flare of light radiated from the deep gash, and Starscream gasped, his optics flickering brightly for a moment before going dark. Slowly, he toppled backward. Jazz leapt lightly from the Seeker as he fell, silently landing on his feet, claws extended fully, visor tinting a violent purple, vocalizer still emitting those haunting giggles.

“Who's next?” he snickered, and his visor flickered once.

Megatron was staring, horrified.

He was also the closest to Jazz.

“Ah warned ya,” the saboteur said. “Ah really, truly, did. Ya jus' didn' listen. Mm. Too bad.”

And he lunged. Megatron fought; he punched and kicked and lashed out with everything he had, as strongly as he could, snarling and growling and howling as claws dug into the cracks between his armor and wires and lines were ripped to shreds.

But Jazz was strong. Jazz was angry. And Jazz was a slight bit insane. Unbalanced. Every Autobot knew it. Without Prowl, Jazz was a loose cannon, wild and uncontrollable. Only the Second in Command could keep the Third tethered.

And Prowl wasn't there. Jazz had no leash. Nothing to hold him back. And he didn't hold back one iota.

It did not take long for Megatron's steely gray to fade to the dull, lifeless gray of death.

It was on top of the warlord's lifeless frame that Jazz perched, crouched like some alien monster, every flayed edge of his armor glittering in the half-light, once blue visor glowing a menacing purple, claws extended to full length, vents hissing gently with each cycle, still giggling like a maniac, as though this were the most fun game in the world.

The rest of the Decepticons were cowering into the darkened corners of the throne room. This mech, despite being beaten half to deactivation, had just taken out Soundwave, Starscream, and Megatron in less time than it took to make a call to Cybertron.

It was intimidating, to say the least. And that wasn't even taking into account the thin, almost childlike laughter that had filled the room while he did it.

To put it very simply, the Decepticons were scared out of their plating. It occurred to some of them that they might be able to stop the Autobot if they all charged, all attacked at the same time, but the chances that they would all get out alive were slim.

So they cowered, hoping to be overlooked, to be categorized as nonthreatening.

Jazz was having none of it. His gaze, shielded though it was, darted from 'Con to 'Con. His grin twitched.

“Ah warned ya,” he said suddenly, grin widening beyond what most mechs watching thought to be possible. “Ah really did.”

With that, he pulled something out of his subspace. The Decepticons instinctively leaned forward slightly, trying to see what it was.

“See, Ah while back, Megsy here shot at Prowler. Mah Prowler didn' make it.”

They all flinched as they recalled that last battle. The scream of anguish that had echoed across the battlefield after the sharp blast of Megatron's fusion cannon had been one not easily forgotten.

“So, see, Ah have no more reason fer livin'. Prowler ain't here no more. Ah had t' take care o' th' mechs respons'ble fer that. An' Ah figured, why not take 'em all out?”

With a swift movement, Jazz tossed the object in his hands toward one cluster of cowering Decepticons.

A moment later, they were so much ash and scorched metal. The grenade had exploded as it hit them, igniting the energon in their lines, burning them up from the inside.

Jazz cackled, visor brightening, grin stretching into a horrid grimace. More grenades appeared in his hands, and he tossed them through the room. Screams began to echo through the bangs around him, his psychotic cackling ringing above everything else.

The last trick, he thought to himself. Always knew I'd go out with a bang.

A set of protocols he had written long ago engaged. A little timer flicked down on his HUD.

A few kliks later, he was naught but a writhing mass of flames and shrapnel, matching exactly the Decepticon forces around him.

Chapter Text

Title: Lazy Day
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Characters: Spike, Bumblebee
Disclaimer: Don't own
Prompt: 6. Lazy

Spike, when Bumblebee found him, was lying on the couch in the Rec Room, limbs sprawled in all directions, head pillowed on his backpack, watching a kid's cartoon on the massive TV.

“Spike?” he asked, trying to work out what his charge was doing.

“Mm?”

“What's going on?”

The boy turned his head, barely enough to see the yellow mech. “Lazy day.”

“... What?” This was odd. Spike was usually up and moving around. He didn't like being still.

“Lazy day. It's Saturday, I’ve got Monday off because it's a teacher-in-service day, and I haven't watched these cartoons since I was, like, seven.”

“So... why are you watching them now?”

The boy grinned and flopped his hand in a lazy wave. “'Cause I can. I mean, why not? C'mon, come watch them with me.”

Hesitantly, Bumblebee eased himself down onto the portion of the couch his charge was not occupying and turned his attention to the screen. The shows he found to be wildly illogical and nonsensical, but he had no qualms toward spending a lazy day with his charge.

Chapter Text

Title: Present
Rating: K
Continuity: G1 AU Post-war
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bumblebee
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 3. public exhibition

In the past, he hadn’t been able to paint with people watching. Something about it drove him crazy. He just couldn’t stand it.

Now… Now he could do it, though. War had changed them all. He had become a bit of an exhibitionist, what with fighting in front of basically both armies. Where had once been a shy, stay-in-the-shadows mech, there was now a bright, flashy, narcissist who loved being in the spotlight.

Granted, he still did feel slightly awkward having someone leaning over his shoulder as he stood in front of the canvas, but he could ignore the feeling and focus on the painting.

Which he was doing right this moment, but the looming minibot was really starting to get on his nerves.

“Hey-”

~Sunny!~ came a warning whisper through his processor.

~He’s looming, Sides!~

~A minibot? Looming?~

Sunstreaker growled, and the minibot behind him flinched back.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t- I didn’t realize I was so close. I’m sorry! I was just… You’re so good at that.”

That almost immediately mollified the ex-frontliner. “Of course I’m good at it. I’m the best!”

Bumblebee gave Sunstreaker a grin. “You are.”

The yellow Twin gave a heavy vent and a wry smile. “You learned well.”

Winking, the former spy leaned forward again and gazed at the painting. “I can’t believe how long it’s been since we’ve been there.”

The scene was one almost all of Cybertron was familiar with. The back end of an impossibly orange war-class shuttle sticking out of a rocky, organic mountain. Mechs of all shapes and sizes were standing around it, all of them familiar. Red and blue, black and white, white and red, black, green, yellow, red… Even a few little organics at their feet.

“I know,” the larger yellow bot said as he took a very small step back. “Why I’m painting it.”

“Hey, Sunn- er, Sunstreaker… Your prices are a bit... high… for me, but… I was wondering… do you think… maybe… you could make a small one for me? Um… with all of us in it, like this one? But smaller. I can’t really-”

Sunstreaker shot the minibot a glare and he shut up immediately and went back to watching the painter do one of the things he did best.

A couple more dabs of paint, and Sunstreaker took another step back, surveying his work. After a moment, he gave a grunt of approval and glanced sideways at the minibot.

Only then did he realize there was quite a crowd around them. Sideswipe’s stall next to his probably had something to do with the high-grade in their hands, but… They were all either watching him paint or gazing in awestruck wonder at the paintings he had hanging on the walls. Most he recognized, knew, as either his former comrades or former enemies, though there were a surprising number of mechs he was sure he had never seen in his life.

Only Bumblebee had dared to get as close as he had, though.

It struck something in the former warrior. The little guy, facing up to these terrible odds. It reminded him vaguely of himself during the war. He and Sideswipe were always the heavy hitters, the ones who took off after, say, a gestalt, or the Seekers, with no backup at all.

His face twitched slightly as he held back a smile.

Bumblebee was looking at him out of the corner of his optics. Scared, probably. Even though the little spy-assassin had probably taken out mechs thrice his size in the past.

~What’s got your circuits in a knot, Sunny?~ Sideswipe called, and the yellow Twin gave a mental glance in his direction. Sideswipe was busy, handing out high-grade as fast as he could, but the red Twin had, as both of them always did, a small portion of his processor focused on his brother.

~Bumblebee. He reminds me of us right now.~

~He always was the most tolerable of of the minis.~

Again, Sunstreaker tried to hold back a smile. Face twitching, he turned to the yellow mini.

“You want it?”

Bumblebee blinked those impossibly large, impossibly blue optics. “What?”

“You want it?” he asked again, smirking, as he nodded toward the painting he had just finished.

“You’d- I can’t afford it!”

The smirk grew wider. “Take it as a present for being not-super-annoying while we were there.”

Bumblebee just gaped.

“Seriously. Take it before I decide to keep it. It is one of my better works…”

“OH!” the yellow minibot gasped, and made to take a step forward before stopping, arms half-lifted in the held-back offer of a tackle-hug. After a moment of shaking armor and stuttering vents, Bumblebee brought his hands together and clapped twice. “Really? Oh, Primus, thank you, Sunstreaker!”

The yellow Twin rolled his optics again and finally let the smirk become the smile he had been holding back. “Not a problem. I know you’ll value it for what it’s worth, at least.”

Bumblebee still looking on, the Twin picked up the painting and set it aside. A new canvas was placed in its place, and the paintbrush was picked back up.

There were definitely some benefits to letting people watch him paint...

Chapter Text

Title: Look Pretty
Rating: K
Continuity: AU G1 post-war
Characters: Prowl, Sunstreaker, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 5. Setting: a detailing shop or car wash

Sunstreaker growled. “It’s horrid. Horrible. I can’t stand it.”

Prowl regarded the yellow Twin with a dry look. “It is not that bad.”

“It’s awful.”

The black and white Praxian vented heavily and looked down at himself. He had, admittedly, let his paintjob go a bit after the end of the war. He was busy as Optimus’s administrative aide, and… well, Jazz liked him however he looked. He did occasionally polish up for his lover, but…

“I suppose I could have kept myself up a bit better,” the former tactician murmured.

Sunstreaker snorted again. “More like there’s no way you could have let yourself go any farther.”

Prowl rolled his optics. “So what can you do?”

Dark, almost purple optics examined him for a long moment, running critically over his frame. “Well. I’d have to start with a complete removal of all old paint, then give your armor a good sanding, then I’d give you a coat of primer nannites, then we can add the programmed nannites and do a final buffing and waxing, an-”

“You know what? I don’t care. Just get me looking as I did before.”

Sunstreaker smiled. “Of course. May I ask the reason for this overhaul?”

Prowl shifted. “Jazz and I have an… anniversary coming up.”

The smile stretched into a wicked smirk. “Alright, then. Let’s get started.”

Three joors later, after much work, Prowl stared at himself in the long, floor to ceiling mirror. His armor gleamed, the red and gold highlights even brighter than they had ever been before. His black armor shimmered in the bright light, and his white armor positively glowed.

Sunstreaker stood off to the side, regarding him happily. “There. Now you look decent.”

Prowl turned to face him and smiled softly. “Thank you, Sunstreaker,” he said, and gave a small bow. “You have no idea how much this means.”

The former frontliner snorted. “You’re paying me. Thanks for your business.”

Prowl twitched his doorwings as his smile widened. “Still. Your work, as always, is exemplary.”

“Whatever. Everyone know’s I’m the best. Now, scat, my next appointment will be in soon.”

Prowl did as asked and left the studio. A few breems later, another black and white mech wandered in.

“Jazz. Was wondering when you’d get here.”

“Sorry, was held up by Sides. He seemed really in’trested in givin’ me some o’ his new high grade for ‘old time’s sake’.”

Sunstreaker grinned. “He likes you. You’re honest about the stuff. Now, get over here. Gotta make you look pretty for Prowl.”

The ex-saboteur grinned and followed the detailer into the shop.

Chapter Text

Title: Newcomers
Rating: K
Continuity: AU G1/Movieverse -- Haven’verse
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Prowl, Jazz, Optimus, Elita One, Megatron
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 6. unexpected popularity
(a sequel to Here There Be Dragons)

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker trotted into the village, following behind the naga and mech the dragon had introduced to them at the edge of the woods.

They stared, and were stared at in turn. The mechs here were like none they had ever seen before.

A couple trines of seekers had landed moments before, a shuttle right behind them.

Ten mechs had gathered on the side of the main road, clearly split into two groups, one of aerials, one of grounders. Gestalts.

A red and white mech stood farther along, his arms crossed, the shimmery aura around him naming him as the faeries of legend. And next to him, a white, red, and green mech with scorched, scratched armor.

Between the houses, they could see a small, twitchy, red mech with pointed, sparking horns slinking through the shadows. He stopped after a moment, hiding behind a massive fire daemon.

Countless others stood around and stared. Two mage-mechs, their familiars clinging to their frames. A cyclopes standing in front of two rock-still golems. Three wolf-mechs, their scruffs bristling in sharp constras to their relaxed frames. A horde of minibots. Two more nagas. A massive warrior-class mech, red armor glimmering, cannons whirring. A few sleek femme-models.

Sunstreaker flexed slightly, a bit of a prance entering his step, weary as he was. Sideswipe gave a tired, mischievous grin,

“Hey, all,” the red twin said with a cheery wave, and someone in the crowd snickered.

Prowl, the naga, glanced over his shoulder at the centaurion twins, then around at the villagers. His gold optics narrowed dangerously. Jazz, who was walking at his side, grinned. “C’mon, Prowler, ya didn’ ‘spect this? We haven’ had newcomers ‘n decavorns!”

The black and white naga leveled his glare on the small, sliver mech.

Sideswipe glanced at his brother. Sunstreaker gave a very subtle shrug and glanced up. His twin did likewise, and they both stumbled slightly.

~Two! There are two of them!~ Sideswipe practically shouted across their bond.

For perched at the end of the road, sitting with nobly arched necks, wings folded neatly against their backs, optics blazing, were two dragons. One of them was the red and blue one, Optimus Prime, that had met them.

Optimus had seemed impossibly large when they had first seen him.

Now, he looked almost small. The other dragon was easily twice his size. His scales were a burnished silver, his underbelly a deep, dark, almost maroon red, as were his wings. Two horns curled forward from the back of his skull, framing his face with their dark mass. His optics glowed like fire, wicked, angry, and untamable.

The Twins stared.

“Welcome to Haven,” a soft voice said, startling them from their thoughts. From between the two dragons walked a slim, pink femme, her blue optics soft, her gait slow and easy. She was beautiful, but it was her voice that captured the two centurions. It was lilting, entrancing, all-consuming. They couldn’t look away, couldn’t think of anything else. “I am Elita One, Consort of the Prime and Protector. You are?”

“Sideswipe, and that’s Sunstreaker,” the red Twin, the usual spokesperson for the two centurions said, taking a half-step forward.

“You are welcome here, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, so long as you do not cause undue trouble.”

Sunstreaker snorted, and Sideswipe blinked, the siren’s spell broken.

They stood for a moment, and then Sunstreaker started full-out laughing, causing many of the assembled mythical mechs to stare at him oddly.

“Sunstreaker, is something amiss?” Prowl asked after a moment, and the yellow Twin fought back his mirth.

“Well, I don’t think we’ll be here long. Sideswipe and well-behaved do not-”

“Oh, mute it! I can be good if I want to!”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“What about with Switchback?”

“That was an accident!”

“And Runaround?”

“That wasn’t what it looked like!”

“That time with Killjoy?”

“Hey, I had to cheer him up somehow! It just… didn’t work right.”

“Jumpstart?”

“You know he was asking for it!”

“Skyfly?”

“He was an idiot.”

“Yellowstar?”

“He was stupid!”

“What about that time with-”

“Okay, okay, enough!” the red Twin shouted, rearing up slightly on his hind hooves. His face stretched into a grin as he turned to face the two dragons and the pink femme. “You got me. I’m a habitual trouble-maker and all around bad-doer.”

Jazz snickered again. “Well, ya’ll fit right in.”

Chapter Text

Title: Untangle
Rating: K
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Sam Witwicky, Optimus Prime
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 2. Sacred Space

After the barracks, Med Bay, and office buildings, the last things the humans of N.E.S.T. expected the Autobots to build was a temple.

The building was positively massive. Above the surface, it looked like no more than a large aircraft hangar. Below the surface…

The Autobots had dug down, laying the walls and foundations as they went, careful to not let the huge area flood, as they were on an island and they were digging below sea-level.

For months they worked on the foundations and walls. Then, when it was suitably large, they began decorating. Sunstreaker, one of the newly arrived bots, went to work painting, etching, and sculpting. Others helped place massive arches and mouldings against the walls and doors and colored tiles on the floor.

Slowly, it took shape. A circular center room, the floor designed in a spiralling, jagged, sun-like pattern. The humans that had been with the Autobots long enough -- Lennox, Epps, and a few others -- recognized it as a massive replica of the symbol they often used for their sparks.

Thirteen rooms branched off of the main one, each archway decorated in its own colors and design. Each room was circular, with the same spiral pattern on the floor, though each had its own peculiarities and specificities.

Lennox and Sam were the only humans allowed down into the building after the initial tour, but they did not visit often. It felt like trespassing for them, infringing on the sacred space -- for it obviously was sacred.

So, two years after it was built, the Prime was startled to get a comm stating that Sam was standing in the very center of the main room, non-responsive and unmoving.

The leader of the Autobots rushed from his office to the temple. Samuel Witwicky was, indeed, frozen, unresponsive, in the middle of the room, his muddy brown eyes glassy and distant, his body radiating far too much heat, though he was not sweating or panting or making any other indication of his elevated temperature.

“Sam?” the Prime said quietly, taking a half-step toward the human. The other mechs standing around the room watched with bright optics.

Sam moved slightly, slowly, as though he were trapped in molasses. He turned dull eyes to the Prime, then blinked.

His eyes, when he opened them, were glowing a pure, spark-blue.

“Optimus Prime,” he said, voice echoing through the chamber, sounding louder, more powerful, than any human voice had a right to be. It echoed with distinctly Cybertronian harmonics, the English words somehow carrying meaning in the alien language.

“Samuel Witwicky, a-”

“The human is fine. He is awake and aware, and conscious and allowing of my control of his frame.”

Optics all throughout the room blinked. “And you are?” Optimus said after a few long moments of staring.

A faint smile traced over the human’s face. “Come, Optimus Prime, do you not recall your old charge and sparkright?”

Blue optics flared and plating rattled. “My charge was the AllSpark, and was destroyed five local years past. My sparkright was the Matrix, which was lost centivorns ago.”

“Not lost. Hidden. In the AllSpark. Our combination resulted in confusion, which led to corruption in our absence. The Matrix is the guiding force of the Primes -- it keeps them honest and good. The AllSpark creates sparks only when it is necessary for the continuation of your race. In the confusion, there was no Matrix to guide the Prime, and sparks could be called forth at any time.

“You, Prime, were chosen by the Matrix and altered by means of an old student and follower, Alpha Trion, and placed in power before the Senate had a chance to choose another of their own corrupt, twisted Primes. You were always destined to receive the Matrix when such a time would come as it was possible.

“This world, however, was a slight setback. The AllSpark and Matrix were very close to separating when they were launched into space. Then their physical form was destroyed, thus setting their separation back farther again. However, there was a mode they could take to provide a sooner separation; one of the local life-forms was near enough to act as a host for the combined energies.”

“Sam.”

“Yes. Even unknowing of us, of what we are capable of, of what we are, he was willing, he was honest, a good mech -- man -- at spark -- heart. For the last five local years, we have been straightening our energies and untangling ourselves. It is now time for us to leave our kind host and become ourselves again.”

For a few very long moments, all was silence as the assembled mechs stared at the human with the glowing eyes.

Sam smiled softly after looking at each of them. “You have provided me with a home, now. The Matrix will assemble as a solid form for you, Prime, to carry, and the AllSpark will stay in energy form in this location. Should I ever need to move, I can again take refuge in a host.”

“You…”

“It is hard to understand, we know.”

And with that, Sam exploded. Light flared in wild spikes from his body, tendrils of the reaching energy dancing through the room before lowering, creating a swirling mass of pure energy that blanketed the floor. Slowly, bits drew back, and the energy slowly formed into the same spark shape the tiles showed below it. It flared brightly once again before sinking into the ground, fading slightly, until the spark design glowed with a faint, steady light.

Sam, who was lying in the middle of the glowing spark, stirred and groaned. “Ouch,” he said as he sat up and pressed a hand to his forehead. He blinked muddy brown eyes. “That was painful. And here, Optimus, I don’t want it anymore. It talks too much.”

From the hand still in his lap rose a spiked, swirled, glowing object that looked rather like a fancy cage with a small spark dancing inside.

Optimus took a hesitant step forward and reached out. The Matrix floated to his palm and flared brightly before he mechanically opened his chest plates and motioned it to his spark chamber.

For a moment, he bent over, clenching a hand over his now closed chest plating, a strained whine echoing from his vocalizer.

“Oh- Ratchet!” someone called, and the medic made to move forward.

“Wait!” a small voice called, and Ratchet hesitated, looking down at the human. “It’s fine. This is… It’s fine.”

Slowly, Optimus straightened. “Indeed, he is correct, Ratchet. I am fine. It was merely startling.”

The medic gave him a sharp glare and initiated a quick scan. Reluctantly, he stepped back again, finding nothing wrong.

Below them, the spark pulsed happily. Next to the Prime’s spark, the Matrix gave little joyful flares.

Finally, all was right in the world.

Chapter Text

Title: Oblivion
Rating: T
Continuity: AU G1
Characters: Jazz
Warnings: Character death Disclaimer: Don’t own.
Prompt: 5. A scary place in space.

(Thank you to Gatekat for reminding me to put extra warnings in!)

There was one area where the Cybertronians avoided at all costs. It was to this place that he returned.

It was a small system. Eight planets; four rocky, four gas giants, an asteroid belt between the fourth and fifth planets. The sun was young still, with millions and millions of years before it died. The third planet was origin to a small, bipedal, organic race. They had long expanded outward, leaving the system abandoned behind them.

Among the asteroids floated a Cybertronian craft. It was ancient, abandoned long before the organics had left the system. Small, round, more a drifting building than a ship. Its sides were stained with dirt and ash, strewn with dents and dings.

Once inside, though, the appearance of the structure changed. Inside was pristine. Clean, white walls. Beautiful crystal and precious metal inlays.

And caskets. Long, heavy boxes made of hard, gray metal. Some bigger, some smaller, all settled neatly into niches in the wall.

He stood in the center of the room, taking a moment to stare at each casket. The largest, set in the middle, the one he knew held Optimus Prime. Flanking him were Ratchet, Ironhide, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Blaster, Wheeljack, Skyfire, Powerglide, Smokescreen, Bluestreak, Cosmos, Prowl…

Here he faltered. Prowl. His beloved. He had gone on for so long without him, but now…

He could feel his spark faltering. His time was up, and he knew it. Just like all the others.

The ship had been constructed after Unicron had attacked, and his victims had been laid to rest in the monument. The war had been ended soon after, but mechs had been slowly making their ways back to join their comrades, brothers-in-arms, and lovers in their rest.

And now it was his time.

There was an open niche left next to Prowl for him. He had insisted. Slowly, he stepped up to the empty casket and stared into it.

Just an open box. Blank, dark metal.

He stepped in.

Lay himself down.

The activation sequence to close the casket and put it into place was easily sent and quickly received.

Jazz was quickly closed into darkness. He initiated a shutdown protocol, an old one, from back when he was still a lowly saboteur who could easily be replaced and forgotten.

Slowly, he fell into oblivion.

I’m comin’, Prowler.

Chapter Text

Title: Fatal Victory
Rating: T
Continuity: G1-ish
Characters: Megatron, Starscream
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: 4. Action Movie Title Generator - The title is your title.

Starscream’s plans often failed.

Okay, that wasn’t true. His plans were brilliant. It was just in this one area where they always failed; Starscream had never defeated Megatron.

Until today.

No one knew what, exactly, was different. Something just was.

And then Megatron was on the ground, and Starscream was standing over him, wicked grin on his face, null-rays pressed tight to the massive gray mech’s helm.

“Goodbye, Megatron,” he practically snarled, a wicked grin on his face.

The Seeker pulled the trigger the same time the warlord did.

Megatron collapsed, optics offlined, frame going dull.

Starscream staggered back, one hand coming up to clutch at the gaping hole in his chest. His canopy was gone. His internals were sparking and hanging out. Energon dripped slowly, steadily.

There was silence as mechs stared, stared and watched the Seeker gasp.

Then Starscream fell, armor graying, final goal completed just in time for him to die.

Chapter Text

Title: Hooky
Rating: K
Continuity: G1-Movieverse mashup. Mostly G1, though.
Characters: Optimus, Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don’t own.
Prompt: Playing Hooky
Notes: I… don’t really know what happened with this. I had a plot all sorted out and ready to go, and then Prowl went and decided that he and Jazz were going to race, and no Decepticons would show up after all (which is probably good, because if they had, it would have probably turned into like, a snowball fight or philosophical discussion or something.)

Optimus surveyed the room, optics skipping over each of the assembled mechs, noting, with a slight bit of humor, the two absences.

After a moment, he let a burst of static from his vocalizer. Immediately, everyone turned to face him. “It seems Prowl and Jazz will not be joining us for this meeting. Ratchet, I believe you were going to start us off?”

The medic hesitated, glancing around, then stood and began his report.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Prowl looked longingly back at the Ark. “Jazz, please, we’re missing the meeting!”

“Ain’t like ya already know everythin’ that they’re gonna say, Prowlie-bot. Ah know they all give ya reports a’fore th’ actual meetin’.”

Prowl scowled. “My name is ‘Prowl,’ Jazz. And even so, it is prudent to be there during the meeting. Were they to present something new-”

“Ya know that ain’t ever happened.”

“-or not, it is a show of courtesy to the Prime.”

Jazz just chuckled. “Ya know he’s always gettin’ on ya t’ take a break. Well, here’s your break!”

Prowl just frowned again

The saboteur vented and shook his head.. “C’mon, Prowlie-bot,” he said with a small smile. “We’re s’posed t’ be havin’ fun.”

“I thought we were skipping a very important meeting.”

“Hey now, nothin’ super urgent’s goin’ down, they ain’t got no need fo’ us t’day. Let’s jus’ relax an’ enjoy the road.”

With a low growl, Prowl folded himself into alt-mode and sat idling on the dirt track that led from the entrance of the Ark to the nearest road. Jazz smiled and joined him. As soon as the saboteur was settled on his tires, he took off, slush flinging in all directions as he sped away from the Ark..

::C'mon Prowler! Ah know ya can keep up!:: he commed, laughing.

Reluctantly, Prowl pulled out after him.

Jazz led them down the long highway and into the outskirts of the city, where he proceeded to drive aimlessly through the suburbs, slowing to look at the larger light shows, but never going a mile above the low speed limit. Prowl trailed after,engine rumbling threateningly, lights giving the occasional flash.

::Prowler, please?:: Jazz pleaded after about half an hourl ::Ah just wanted t’ have some fun with you.::

Prowl said nothing for a moment. ::You know I do not like being take away from my work.::

A low vent sounded across the comms. ::Ya’ve been so busy lately, though. Only come back to our quarters after Ah’m already in recharge ‘n leavin’ a’fore I get up. Ya’ve been kickin’ me out of yer office whenever I stop by… I miss ya, Prowlie-bot.::

The tactician idled on the road for a moment before reversing and pulling into a three-point-turn.

::Jazz. Follow me, please.::

Dejected, the saboteur did so. They wound back through the city, then out of it. The highway was deserted, and Prowl stopped, staring down the long, flat stretch. Jazz pulled in beside him.

They simply sat for a moment, watching as fat globs of snow fell from the sky. Then, Prowl revved his engine and took off, fishtailing down the empty highway.

Jazz stared, stunned, then whooped and took off after his mate.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Optimus was there to greet them when they stumbled back to the Ark, caked with snow, slush, and mud. Prowl’s doorwings were twitching periodically, and Jazz’s engine was rumbling in a low idle.

“I trust you had a good drive?” the Prime asked, smiling behind his mask.

“Yup,” Jazz said with a grin. “Now, Ah think it’s time t’ get all’a this organic stuff off’a us.”

Optimus nodded and stepped out of the way, still smiling. The couple walked into the Ark side by side, hands brushing every other step. The Prime’s smile widened when he caught a glimpse of Jazz snagging Prowl’s fingers in his own before the two turned the corner.

Chapter Text

Title: Public Relations
Warnings: Kidnapping
Rating: T
Continuity: G1(ish)
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Hound, Mirage, Trailbreaker, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Skyfire (little bit of Optimus Prime and Megatron)
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: January 18, 2014, Prompt 1: Epistolary: write a letter or exchange of letters (or emails or diaries or text messages or whatever) to tell your story

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 10, 10:37 PM PST
Subject: Trip
I do hope you arrived in New York safely. Skyfire checked in, but I have not heard from you.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 10, 10:42 PM EST
Subject: Re: Trip
Yeah, touched down about an hour ago. PR people and little kids distracted me, sorry
Attachment: Photo1

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 10, 7:45 PM PST
Subject: Re: Re: Trip
How you manage to attract so many children is beyond me. Why you let them climb all over you is even more confusing.
Have you already met with the humans yet?

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 10, 10:47 EST
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Trip
Just my natural charm, babe.
And I just got to the conference center. Think they’re gonna get us settled in for the night. Public relations meetings start bright and early in the morning. I’ll ttyl. Love ya

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 10, 8:00 PM PST
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Trip
I love you too, Jazz.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 11, 6:27 PM PST
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Trip
Jazz? No one has heard anything from you all day. We were expecting a check in at noon.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 8:00 AM PST
Subject: Where are you?
Jazz? Where are you?

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 12:00 PM PST
Subject:
Mirage, Hound, and Trailbreaker are on their way. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are en route as backup. Skyfire is patrolling aerial.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 3:03 PM EST
Subject: Re:
01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 12:05 PM PST
Subject: Hurry
I received a message from Jazz. It simply said “help” in binary. He’s in trouble. Hurry, please.

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 3:58 PM EST
Subject: Re: Hurry
Reached the building Jazz was housed in. Signs of a struggle.
Attachment: Photo1, Photo2, Photo3

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 12:59 PM PST
Subject: Request
Prime, request to go off base and help search for Jazz?

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 1:05 PM PST
Subject: Re: Request
Prowl, as much as I wish I could, we’re already shorthanded. With Red Alert gone, as well as approximately three-fourths our crew, I cannot afford to spare you. If the Decepticons attacked now, we would be lost.
I am sorry.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 1:11 PM PST
Subject: Re: Re: Request
I understand, and thought that would be the answer.

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 1:48 PM PM PST
Subject: Search
Notify me as soon as information becomes available.

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 4:55 PM EST
Subject: Re: Search
Of course, Prowl. Sunny and I haven’t found anything, neither have Mirage, Hound, or Trailbreaker. Skyfire spotted a trail headed west, but we lost it after a mile.

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 1:59 PM PST
Subject: Re: Re: Search
AND YOU DID NOT NOTIFY ME?

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 5:01 PM EST
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Search
Sorry. Didn’t think you’d want to know about a dead end. We’re still looking. Don’t worry. We’ll find him.

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 2:05 PM PST
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Search
See that you do.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 2:16
Subject:
If you have Jazz, you will pay.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: SD 1829993:7:8:27:10:5:8
Subject: Re:
How did you get this address?

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 2:36 PM PST
Subject: Re: Re:
That does not matter. If you have Jazz, you will pay.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: SD 1829993:7:8:27:10:5:9
Subject: Re: Re: Re:
I did not authorize his capture. If anyone has him, it is not with my knowledge.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 2:55 PM PST
Subject:
I miss you, Jazz. I’m panicking. Please be okay...

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 3:01 PM PST
Subject: News?
Megatron says he has not authorized the capture of Jazz. Whoever it is is working alone, or without his knowledge, or is not a Decepticon.

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 6:04 PM EST
Subject: Re: News?
Prowl, think I’ve got something. EM scans showing residual spark energy, frequency consistent with Jazz, ten miles South of the New York - Pennsylvania border. Tracking now.

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 3:05 PM PST
Subject: Re: Re: News?
Find him.

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 6:10 PM EST
Subject: Re: Re: Re: News?
Sideswipe and I are in pursuit. Mirage, Hound, and TB are about a mile behind us. Two minutes out from Skyfire’s coordinates.
And don’t worry Prowl, we’ll keep you updated.

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 6:58 PM EST
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: News?
I’ve got the trail. He won’t be getting away.

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 7:26 PM EST
Subject: Got him!
We’ve got him, Prowl. Tell Ratch to get the medbay set up, he looks a little bashed up, but his spark signal is strong and he scans just fine.
We’ll have him back in less than two hours, and will have reports ready to present for debriefing when we get there.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 12, 4:30 PM PST
Subject: Jazz
They found Jazz. Hound says he needs medical attention.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: March 13, 12:11 PM PST
Subject: Reports
Attached are the summarizations of the reports of Jazz’s abduction.
My advice? Next time we send someone to discuss public relations, we don’t send them alone.

Attachment: Document 1: Reconnaissance Team Reports Summary:
Jazz’s spark signature trail located south of the New York/Pennsylvania border by Skyfire. Aerial surveying located a semi and trailer heading south, the trailer large enough to contain Jazz. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Mirage, Trailbreaker, and Hound joined the pursuit. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker lagged to let the others join them. Hound caught the trail. They caught up with the semi and forced it to the side of the road. Jazz was unconscious in the trailer. The men inside the trailer and cab were taken into custody and handed over to local law enforcement.
Attachment: Document 2: Jazz’s Report Summary:
After being shown to his quarters, Jazz entered recharge. Hours later, he awoke to a strange feeling in his helm and spark. Moments later, he was immobile and unable to access communications. Armored and armed men came into the room and dragged him out into a trailer. From there, the trailer was moved for approximately an hour, then left stationary for some time, then moved again. From conversations overheard by Jazz, the Public Relations team was a front of some men to get their hands on one of us for technological advancement.
Attachment: Audio File 1: Report Recordings
Attachment: Document 3: Report Transcripts

Chapter Text

Title: The Harder They Fall
Warnings: Violence, death, gore, non head-canon compliant Twins.
Rating: T+
Continuity: AU
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Prowl, Unnamed Seekers
Disclaimer: Don’t own
Prompt: August 9, 2014, Prompt 5: “The higher they fly, the harder they fall.”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker spun around in a deadly dance, mechs falling before their swords like crops before the scythe. They both wore wicked grins on their energon-spattered faces.

This was where they were strong. This was where they excelled. Where they flew.

Literally.

::Sunstreaker! Sideswipe!:: Prowl’s voice called over the comms. Normally, he didn’t bother contacting them, knowing that they’d be in the thickest of the fighting and be taking care of more Decepticons than ten other soldiers. So when he called, they listened. :: Seekers incoming! Get to high ground!::

They listened because he would direct them to the even heavier fighting. Where they could really make a difference. He directed them to save the army. They went where he put them because they knew there’d be glory and stories after.

They twisted their way out of the center line of combat, transforming and speeding over the trampled and crushed terrain, to the ruins of some once-towering buildings nearby. They spun and flipped their way up the scarred and pitted side of the building, their rocket packs helping them make longer jumps when their legs weren’t powerful enough to get them within reach. The top of the building was scorched and cracked, treacherous, but they charged across it without worry.

The Seekers were within view. So close, close enough that one more high-powered rocket jump would get them within touching distance.

So that’s what they did. The warrior Twins launched themselves off the edge of the roof, rocket packs shooting them upwards.

Sideswipe reached the first Seeker. Clawed fingertips dug deep into sensitive wing components, and the flier let out a warbling screech. The red Twin grinned in twisted pleasure at the feel of wet energon on his fingers.

His momentum carried him upwards, over the back of the Seeker. His other hand came down, digging into aerilons, holding him to the Seeker’s back and preventing the components from moving. The Seeker’s movement was restricted. He couldn’t compensate for the extra weight. His nose edged downwards, toward the ground. Sideswipe jerked to the left, jerkily guiding the Seeker’s descent so that he would impact on his own faction members.

One more swift movement -- a sharp, downward plunge of his hand, deep into the inner workings of the Seeker, followed smoothly by a fast rip upwards, wires and lines trailing in its gory wake -- Sideswipe launched himself from the back of the Seeker, firing up his jetpack to tackle another as the first he had disabled tumbled to his fiery death on the ground.

In the little time it had taken him to do this, Sunstreaker had tackled another Seeker midair, sending him tumbling backwards, crashing into one of his trinemate’s wings, tearing it off and sending the trinemate falling through the sky. Sunstreaker unsheathed one sword and plunged it straight through the Seeker’s chassis. Spark energy danced in bright shocks along its length as he drove it deeper. When the light died down and the Seeker’s frame began to gray, the yellow Twin pulled the blade free and pushed the falling corpse away from him before rocketing back upwards.

Sideswipe watched from his position astride another Seeker as his brother dug sharp claws into the underbelly of yet another flier. The flier’s nose swung upwards and thrusters roared as the Seeker soared into the sky. Higher and higher he flew, Sunstreaker still clinging to his belly.

The red Twin, now far below, reached out along the bond the two shared.

~No worries, Sides,~ Sunstreaker said in reply to the mental poke. ~You know the rule.~

Sideswipe grinned as he refocused on his current conquest and recited with his brother:

~The higher they fly, the harder they fall.~

Sure enough, moments later, the damaged and mangled Seeker fell, beautiful ribbons of energon trailing through the air after him, sparks dancing along his dying frame. He crashed into the ground and an enormous explosion rippled around him, adding more flaming, red light to the already eerily lit battlefield.

Chapter Text

Title: Note #34,689
Warnings/content advice: None
Rating: G
Continuity: G1/Unspecified
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Disclaimer: Don’t own, of course
Prompt: May 5, 2014. Prompt 6. Challenge: choose a character. Click here. Do what it tells you. Remember to include the prompt it gave you in your header :)
Write 10 lines, each starting with the words, “I feel”...
Notes: Found this in the old docs in one of my nowadays rare moments online. Figured I’d share.

([Timestamp: 243663:25:658] [User: Prowl] [Security: Red] [File Type: Text] [File Name: Notes, #34,689])

I felt like they didn’t listen. Like I was just there. Like they cared only about the computer next to my spark and not the spark itself.

I felt like they wouldn’t care if I just disappeared. If one day, I didn’t go to my office, didn’t read through all those files, didn’t sign off on things and didn’t do the work.

I felt like they’d be happy if I didn’t work. If I didn’t demand the reports. Didn’t keep order and peace. They like the chaos.

I felt so alone. They didn’t see me for anything but a machine. A drone. Unsparked and insentient. Doing menial work that no “real” mecha would ever do.

I felt like I should just give up. That it didn’t matter anymore. That I was just drifting through this world where I didn’t matter. That I was just the remnant of a spark, drifting, ethereal, intangible.

But then you came, and everything changed.

Now, I feel respected. You taught me that they respect my abilities, both upgrad-enhanced and natural, spark-given.

I feel needed. You showed me how much they rely on me - took me away for one orn then showed me how much they questioned where I had gone, what had happened, how much they needed me to work.

I feel wanted. You showed me that even though they complain, they know the work is necessary to make this thing called the Autobot Army run. They may complain, but that doesn’t mean they won’t do it or resent me for assigning it.

I feel complete. Like I’m part of something. Included and loved and cared for. That people actually worry about me and care about the work I do.

I feel like I can’t give up and I have to see this through to the end. You showed me how much I actually mean to the Autobots, Jazz. Thank you.

([Timestamp: 243663:25:659] [User: Jazz] [Security: Red] [File Type: Text] [File Name: Notes, #34,689, Postscript 1])

You’re welcome, Prowler.

([Timestamp: 243663:25:661] [User: Prowl] [Security: Red] [File Type: Text] [File Name: Notes, #34,689, Postscript 2])
Jazz, stop snooping through my files.

Chapter Text

Title: Trouble

Warnings: None

Rating: PG

Continuity: G1/Movieverse

Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Prowl, Jazz, Optimus Prime

Disclaimer: Don’t own

Prompt(s): March 12, 2011: “You’re only in trouble if you get caught!” and “Setting: in a banned location”

Notes: Kind of inspired by this

“We’re not supposed to be here.”

“So?”

“We’re going to get in trouble!”

“You’re only in trouble if you get caught!”

“We still shouldn’t be here. Don’t you think it might be off-limits for a reason?”

“Rules are made to be broken!”

“The people who make the rules don’t think so.”

“Come on, Sunny! Lighten up. I’m tired of sitting around.”

“We’ve been sparring all day.”

“Sparring with you is the same as sitting around.”

“Why you-”

“Hah! You missed! And it’s not that challenging to fight someone who you know as well as yourself.”

“Point. But I can’t even keep watch here, with the hallway like this. We shouldn’t be here.”

“Who says?”

“The guys running this army?”

“Who put them in charge of us?”

“Um, we did? When we enlisted?”

“Oh, right. Well, I still say rules are made to be broken.”

“Sideswipe, we’re going to get in trouble. I don’t want to deal with that. We agreed we were starting new.”

“Starting new doesn’t mean I can’t explore a little bit.”

“It means not getting in trouble - which means staying out of restricted areas!”

“Relax, Sunny. Not like I’m going to go searching for top secret information or anything. I just wanna know why it’s restricted.”

“Come on, Sides. You’d still get in trouble. Let’s get out of here. I have a bad feeling.”

“Relax, will you, tight-aft? We’re not going to get in trouble!”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I’m just that good.”

“I still think we shouldn’t be here.”

“Ya’d prob’ly be wise t’ listen t’ yer brother there, mah mech.”

Sideswipe let out an unmechly squeak as he whirled away from the door he was trying to hack. Sunstreaker was standing behind him, looking sheepish. A small silver mech stood grinning at his side - with a small, energized dagger lifted to the yellow Twin’s chest seam.

“Ah will commend ya. Not many get this far,” the silver mech said. “An’ yer new t’ boot. Nobody new as ya guys has ever gott’n this far.”

Sunstreaker vented heavily, exasperated despite his precarious position. “You don’t know Sideswipe. He has a knack for getting into places he shouldn’t - and dragging me along with him.”

“Hm. Well, ya guys bett’r turn ‘round right now an’ get yer afts outta here. Ya ain’t actually in th’ restricted area yet, so I’ll let ya off with a warnin’. Jus’ don’ let me catch ya again.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Really, Sides? Again?”

“Yep.”

“Why? You almost got me killed last time!”

“If he’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. Pretty sure that was like, the Spec-Ops Commander or something. Looks like he’s supposed to. All tiny and silver and stuff.”

“And he held me at knife-point, and you brought us back here again?”

“Why not? He let us go with just a warning. They won’t be expecting it. And I’m still curious.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Why do I let you drag me along on things like this?”

“Because you love me with all your spark!”

Sunstreaker muttered something.

“You will not kill me.”

A quiet vent. “Probably won’t have to, actually.”

“What?”

“You know, when Jazz told me he’d caught someone trying to break in, I assumed he’d taken care of the matter completely. He is usually very thorough,” someone not the yellow Twin said.

“Eh heh...”

Sunstreaker vented again.

Standing in the entrance to the hall was a slim, black and white Praxian. The Second in Command of the Autobot army.They had seen him standing at the side of Optimus Prime when he gave a speech after they’d first joined. They had seen him walking the halls on occasion.

Sideswipe edged away from the door. “Um, what were we doing here, Sunny?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Just what I was thinking! We’ll see you later, sir! Have a good orn, sir!”

Prowl didn’t move from where he stood in the center of the hallway.

“Um... Excuse me? We’ll just be going, sir. Wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

The Second lifted an optical ridge. “You’ll just be going? Very well. Do not let me catch you here again.”

“Yes, Sir!”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“Sideswipe. This is getting ridiculous.”

“Third time’s the charm!”

“Sideswipe. We’re going to get in trouble. Seriously, this is the third time!”

“I know.”

“Why are you so fragging curious about this door anyways?”

“It’s marked as a storage closet on the building floorplans.”

“... You seriously studied the floorplans of the entire building?”

“Well... the entire compound, really.”

“... You astound me every day.”

“Why thank you, brother.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I choose to take it as one.”

“Fine then. That still doesn’t explain why a storage room is so important.”

“Well, it’s restricted.”

“So? Maybe they store explosives here or something.”

“Those are kept in the armory. I already asked.”

“... Asked?”

“Yeah. Ironhide.”

“Oh, good Primus. He’s suspicious now, isn’t he?”

“Probably. Who cares?”

“‘Who cares’..? Well, then some dangerous thing. Maybe Spec-Ops. We did see Jazz.”

“No, Spec-Ops is in the basement.”

“...”

“I didn’t ask him if that’s what you’re asking. It’s just common sense.”

“... Really.”

“Yeah, where else would they be? On the roof?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“I thought so.”

“I still don’t know why you’re so determined to get in here.”

Sideswipe turned away from the door and stood to face his brother at optic level. “Because three orns ago, I saw Optimus Prime sneaking in here all sneaky-like-”

“‘Sneaking in all sneaky-like’?”

“Don’t interrupt. Anyways, yeah. All sneaky like. And they say it’s just a storage room. But then Jazz was here, and Prowl was here, and this damned door has got insane security on it, way crazier than the storage room where they keep the paint-”

“Tell me you didn’t.”

“-or any of the medical storage lockers-”

“... Sideswipe...”

“-or any of the other supply rooms I’ve... been interested in.”

“We’ve only been here a groon!”

“Anyways. The Prime sneaking around all sneaky-like, super jacked-up security, being caught by both Prowl and Jazz, two of the highest ranked mechs in the army... Yes. I’m curious.”

Sunstreaker sighed as Sideswipe turned back to the door at the end of the little offshoot hallway. “Fine. I’ll admit it’s odd. But... do you really have to just keep coming back and trying to break in? We’re going to get in trouble.”

“Yes, one of these times I do believe you will be getting into trouble,” a voice said behind them both. “This is the third time we’ve caught you like this.”

“Yeah. Mechs, what’cha thinkin’?”

Sunstreaker’s shoulders slumped as he took a deep vent. “Sirs... My brother suffers from acute inability to restrain his curiosity. I come along just to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

“Traitor,” Sideswipe muttered.

Prowl and Jazz were standing side by side at the end of the tiny hallway.

Sideswipe eyed them. “You two were supposed to be in a meeting.”

The two commanders exchanged a glance. “How’d ya know that now, Siders?”

“Well, you guys have Command meetings every decaorn at this time.”

“Ya figured that out in a groon? Ah’m impressed.”

“Don’t compliment him, you’ll only make him worse,” Sunstreaker grumbled, and Jazz laughed.

“Prowl? Jazz? What’s going on here?” another voice asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Red Alert, nothing is wrong,” Prowl replied.

“Then why aren’t you inside yet?” A small red and white mech with faintly glowing sensor horns peeked around the corner.

“We’ve encountered a slight... delay, .”

“A delay?” a deep voice said. This one the Twins recognized. The Prime.

They exchanged a glance.

The Prime came around the corner and stared at the two mechs standing by the door. “What’s going on here?” he asked, not totally unkindly.

“These two have been tryin’ t’ get in there fer the last couple’a orns.”

“Unsuccessfully, I might add,” Red Alert added. “That door hasn’t been opened by anyone but us.”

“Why’re so many people standin’ out in the hallway?” Ironhide groused as he approached the group.

“We seem to have some infiltrators,” Prime said with a glimmer of amusement in his optics.

“Infiltrators..? Oh. Those two.”

“What remains to be understood, though,” Prowl said loudly, “is why these two seem so determined to be getting into a simple storage room.”

“No,” Sideswipe interrupted. “What remains to be seen is why so many officers are gathering at a storage room at a time when they’re supposed to be having a meeting.”

“Sides!” Sunstreaker hissed. ~Ever occur to you that this is where they go to have their super secret meetings?~

But despite the forwardness of Sideswipe’s interruption, the Prime laughed.

“What?” the red Twin demanded.

“They’re clever, I’ll say that,” the massive mech rumbled. “What do you think, Prowl? They might make good opponents.”

“Hm. Perhaps.”

“Opponents?”

Nobody payed Sideswipe any attention.

“Jazz?”

“Could be fun. Dunno, new mechs might mix it up a bit. An’ we wouldn’ have t’ worry about them breakin’ in anymore.”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged a glance.

“Red Alert?”

“I don’t know. I don’t trust them.”

“I say sure,” volunteered Ironhide without prompting.

“Well. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, do you know how to play Hexian Blitz?”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

“You totally cheated last time.”

“That’s kinda the point of the game.”

“But you’re supposed to cheat with me! We’re twins! We’re supposed to cheat as a team!”

“Now, now, Sideswipe, that would be unfair,” Jazz chided from where he sat across the table, his feet propped up.

“I thought that was the point of the game,” the red Twin threw back with a grin.

The door slid open and Optimus Prime stepped through. “Hm. I thought I’d be the late one this time,” he rumbled.

“Nah, Prowler’s sortin’ out some troublemakers, so he’s gonna miss the first round. Not these two, surprisingly.”

“Hey!”

“Sideswipe, you know you cause more trouble than anyone else on this base.”

“Traitor.”

“It’s the honest truth and you know it.”

“At least they make life interesting,” Optimus leaned over and whispered to Jazz, “even if they aren’t technically supposed to be here.”

“Yup. That they do,” Jazz said with a grin.

Sideswipe, who’d overheard, turned to them as he smiled. “I’m never where I’m supposed to be.”

“And you’re always getting in trouble,” Sunstreaker added with a sigh.

“Oh, not always, brother dearest. See, sometimes the rules are made to be broken.”