Flash Fiction Fills Take 61 Part Three
For Jenn-oddballpunk
Prompt: Jazz/Ratchet, the cleansing effect of rain and the brutal nature of it
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: not related to any other series, SFW
Ratchet was on the verge of a grump. He glared out the Ark bay doors and into a gloomy, wet afternoon, cursing the rain. So much for an accurate forecast. The rain was supposed to have cleared up hours ago, with plenty of time for what he and Jazz had planned.
And yet here it was, still raining. Still windy. The clouds were thick and gray above him without so much as break in sight.
Ratchet frowned, crossing his arms under his bumper as he leaned against the frame, waiting for Jazz to arrive. This was a disappointment. He might as well have not bothered skipping out early from his shift. Their plans were ruined. They couldn’t go out in this.
The sound of a whistle made him turn to see Jazz striding up to the entrance, a bebop to his step that gave no hint to the disappointment he must be feeling.
“Wow. It’s comin’ down,” he said, pretend-shielding his visor to stare out at what could only be described as a deluge. “Ready for a bath, my mech?”
Ratchet cycled his optics. “Beg pardon? Surely you don’t intend to actually go out in that?”
“Why not? A little bit of rain never hurt anyone.” Jazz grinned, his hand sliding along Ratchet’s arm to link their hands together. Their fields sizzled with contact, reflecting the fact that they’d had so little time to spend together as of late.
Ratchet took a step backward, shaking his helm. “Take one look into my medbay and then tell me that again,” he retorted and it was nearly a snarl.
The only thing worse than injuries caused by Decepticons and rampant stupidity, were injuries caused by genuine accidents. And right now, Ratchet had three such patients taking up space in berths, recovering from a collision at high speeds thanks to an unfamiliarity with Earth weather patterns and something the humans called hydroplaning. If they had been constructed of anything other than Cybertronian metals, Tracks and Mirage would not have survived. Sunstreaker was still iffy and Sideswipe was beside himself.
So no. Ratchet did not consider Earth’s rain harmless, for all that it was not acidic.
“Ratch, those were accidents,” Jazz said, squeezing Ratchet’s hand. The other touched Ratchet’s windshield gently. “And we’re not gonna be drivin’ recklessly. We don’t even have to drive at all. We can just walk.”
Ratchet still balked. He glared past Jazz at the rain as though the natural cycle of Earth’s water system was a worse threat than the Decepticons.
“Jazz…”
“Come on, I’ll show ya,” Jazz said, and he tugged, pulling Ratchet toward the exit.
He tried to dig in his heels, for what little good it did him. Jazz was surprisingly strong for being smaller. His grip was firm, his grin enticing, his field sliding along Ratchet’s in a promise for more.
“It’ll be fun,” Jazz added as he yanked Ratchet into the heavy rain and then left him there to do a little walking dance in the mud. Rain pattered down on Ratchet’s frame, cool as it slithered down against his internal components.
Ratchet’s hands formed fists. “I’m not helping you clean that out!” he snarled and whirled on a heelstrut, intent to heading right back into the Ark.
Jazz intercepted him, field warm as it pressed against Ratchet’s, leaving a faint tingle behind. “You need to open yourself to the possibilities, my mech,” he said, spreading his arms out. His plating lifted and flexed, opening up to the streams of water. “Learn to let it flow.” He tipped his helm back, rain pattering against his visor and faceplate, some of it evaporating on contact.
Ratchet sighed and had to admit, the fragger did look pretty damned attractive like this. Even if Ratchet couldn’t shake the unease. He didn’t want to go driving in this, frag you very much. But he did want to spend time with Jazz.
He crossed his arms and looked away. “I don’t want to go driving, Jazz.”
“Don’t gotta.” He felt hands on his arms, Jazz’s field pulsing reassurance at him. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk. You ‘n me. Like we planned.”
“No driving,” Ratchet insisted.
“Cross my spark.” Jazz rose up on the tip of his pedes to press a kiss to Ratchet’s windshield above his crossed his arms.
He had the most pleading expression on his face, one that put both Bluestreak and Sideswipe to shame. There was something, too, in his look that suggested staying cooped up in the Ark was the last thing Jazz wanted or needed right now.
Ratchet relented. Agitation still crowded at the edge of his processor, but he’d never been able to deny Jazz anything. Beside, the cool rain did feel good against his internals.
“Fine,” he said. “But you’ll be scrubbing the mud from my joints later.”
“It’s a deal,” Jazz purred and stole a kiss.
Ratchet didn’t mind that at all.
For Nkfloofiepoof
Prompt: IDW or G1 Optimus, “Origa's Rise”
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
One of the hardest parts was getting used to the weight of the weapons now attached to his frame. The weight was both literal and figurative. They were heavy, awkward, and Optimus had none of the frame-comfort that actual war-builds and soldiers had. He was also aware of the burden the weapons brought with the them.
The ability to take a life was not one Optimus had ever desired. Now it was necessary. Now in order to save a life, he had to take them. He did not like this change. He did not like nor want this burden.
But he quickly learned that he could not merely set his new weapons aside, hold his hands to the air, and sue for peace. Megatron was not content with mere peace. He wanted the utter annihilation of anyone or thing that stood in his way.
Training helped. Ironhide was a relentless taskmaster who ensured that not only did Optimus understand each and every weapon now attached to his frame, but that he was skilled in using them. That he could call them with barely a thought and use them to their full potential.
He had other instructors as well. Prowl, who was to be his tactician, schooled him in analyzing an opponent for weakness. He knew all of the better defensive arts and while Optimus was larger than most of the Autobots, he was on par with the Decepticons. All of the moves would come in handy.
Jazz was his offensive instructor. Optimus had been hesitant at first because Jazz was so small he wondered what the mech could teach him. But after the third time of Jazz effortlessly knocking him on his aft, Optimus had conceded and diligently studied each lesson. He would never become a master. Jazz would continue to defeat him every time. But it was enough. It would keep him alive.
Optimus would never forget the terror he felt the first time he faced the Decepticon army and the first time he stood between Megatron and his goals. Later, Ironhide would tell him that it was the mark of a hero to stand up and fight despite his fear, but Optimus would remain disappointed in himself. Megatron was a fearsome opponent that no amount of training could have prepared him for.
His knees had shook. His spark had wavered. His fingers trembled around the haft of his energy axe. The Decepticons were better armed, better trained, and though they didn’t outnumber the Autobots, they outclassed the Autobots. Optimus felt, in that moment, not only fear for his own spark, but also for the sparks of the Autobots.
He feared he led them all to their death. In that moment, there was the tiniest spark of anger, of hate. For Alpha Trion. The mech who had taken him, altered his frame without permission, shoved a holy relic around his spark, and replaced his load-bearing shoulder mounts with weapon battery mounts.
Orion Pax died that day in more ways than one.
Their first battle was little more than a stalemate. Optimus Prime walked away from Megatron alive, but there wasn’t a part of him that didn’t ache. Ratchet cursed over his beaten and battered frame as he lay there, having gained a new appreciation both for his trainers and the realities of war.
He had dreams every night after that first battle. He saw himself failing and dying, saw Megatron ripping out his spark and turning the Autobots into either corpses or slaves. He didn’t know which result was worse. The fear gripped him, made it near impossible to want to set pede upon that battlefield again.
But Optimus did, his weapons a little heavier this time. He’d been given a duty he hadn’t wanted, but that didn’t mean he would allow himself to fail.
So he charged his blaster, ensured his weapons batteries were prepared, and stepped onto the battlefield.
He would be the leader the Autobots needed. He would do his best to end the war. And he would do his best to save as many sparks as possible.
The weight of his weapons would be all the reminder he needed.
a/n: Nine of the ten flash fiction done. Whee! Only one more to post and then I'll be done for June, just in time for July to get going. lol
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/292878.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Prompt: Jazz/Ratchet, the cleansing effect of rain and the brutal nature of it
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: not related to any other series, SFW
Ratchet was on the verge of a grump. He glared out the Ark bay doors and into a gloomy, wet afternoon, cursing the rain. So much for an accurate forecast. The rain was supposed to have cleared up hours ago, with plenty of time for what he and Jazz had planned.
And yet here it was, still raining. Still windy. The clouds were thick and gray above him without so much as break in sight.
Ratchet frowned, crossing his arms under his bumper as he leaned against the frame, waiting for Jazz to arrive. This was a disappointment. He might as well have not bothered skipping out early from his shift. Their plans were ruined. They couldn’t go out in this.
The sound of a whistle made him turn to see Jazz striding up to the entrance, a bebop to his step that gave no hint to the disappointment he must be feeling.
“Wow. It’s comin’ down,” he said, pretend-shielding his visor to stare out at what could only be described as a deluge. “Ready for a bath, my mech?”
Ratchet cycled his optics. “Beg pardon? Surely you don’t intend to actually go out in that?”
“Why not? A little bit of rain never hurt anyone.” Jazz grinned, his hand sliding along Ratchet’s arm to link their hands together. Their fields sizzled with contact, reflecting the fact that they’d had so little time to spend together as of late.
Ratchet took a step backward, shaking his helm. “Take one look into my medbay and then tell me that again,” he retorted and it was nearly a snarl.
The only thing worse than injuries caused by Decepticons and rampant stupidity, were injuries caused by genuine accidents. And right now, Ratchet had three such patients taking up space in berths, recovering from a collision at high speeds thanks to an unfamiliarity with Earth weather patterns and something the humans called hydroplaning. If they had been constructed of anything other than Cybertronian metals, Tracks and Mirage would not have survived. Sunstreaker was still iffy and Sideswipe was beside himself.
So no. Ratchet did not consider Earth’s rain harmless, for all that it was not acidic.
“Ratch, those were accidents,” Jazz said, squeezing Ratchet’s hand. The other touched Ratchet’s windshield gently. “And we’re not gonna be drivin’ recklessly. We don’t even have to drive at all. We can just walk.”
Ratchet still balked. He glared past Jazz at the rain as though the natural cycle of Earth’s water system was a worse threat than the Decepticons.
“Jazz…”
“Come on, I’ll show ya,” Jazz said, and he tugged, pulling Ratchet toward the exit.
He tried to dig in his heels, for what little good it did him. Jazz was surprisingly strong for being smaller. His grip was firm, his grin enticing, his field sliding along Ratchet’s in a promise for more.
“It’ll be fun,” Jazz added as he yanked Ratchet into the heavy rain and then left him there to do a little walking dance in the mud. Rain pattered down on Ratchet’s frame, cool as it slithered down against his internal components.
Ratchet’s hands formed fists. “I’m not helping you clean that out!” he snarled and whirled on a heelstrut, intent to heading right back into the Ark.
Jazz intercepted him, field warm as it pressed against Ratchet’s, leaving a faint tingle behind. “You need to open yourself to the possibilities, my mech,” he said, spreading his arms out. His plating lifted and flexed, opening up to the streams of water. “Learn to let it flow.” He tipped his helm back, rain pattering against his visor and faceplate, some of it evaporating on contact.
Ratchet sighed and had to admit, the fragger did look pretty damned attractive like this. Even if Ratchet couldn’t shake the unease. He didn’t want to go driving in this, frag you very much. But he did want to spend time with Jazz.
He crossed his arms and looked away. “I don’t want to go driving, Jazz.”
“Don’t gotta.” He felt hands on his arms, Jazz’s field pulsing reassurance at him. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk. You ‘n me. Like we planned.”
“No driving,” Ratchet insisted.
“Cross my spark.” Jazz rose up on the tip of his pedes to press a kiss to Ratchet’s windshield above his crossed his arms.
He had the most pleading expression on his face, one that put both Bluestreak and Sideswipe to shame. There was something, too, in his look that suggested staying cooped up in the Ark was the last thing Jazz wanted or needed right now.
Ratchet relented. Agitation still crowded at the edge of his processor, but he’d never been able to deny Jazz anything. Beside, the cool rain did feel good against his internals.
“Fine,” he said. “But you’ll be scrubbing the mud from my joints later.”
“It’s a deal,” Jazz purred and stole a kiss.
Ratchet didn’t mind that at all.
For Nkfloofiepoof
Prompt: IDW or G1 Optimus, “Origa's Rise”
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
One of the hardest parts was getting used to the weight of the weapons now attached to his frame. The weight was both literal and figurative. They were heavy, awkward, and Optimus had none of the frame-comfort that actual war-builds and soldiers had. He was also aware of the burden the weapons brought with the them.
The ability to take a life was not one Optimus had ever desired. Now it was necessary. Now in order to save a life, he had to take them. He did not like this change. He did not like nor want this burden.
But he quickly learned that he could not merely set his new weapons aside, hold his hands to the air, and sue for peace. Megatron was not content with mere peace. He wanted the utter annihilation of anyone or thing that stood in his way.
Training helped. Ironhide was a relentless taskmaster who ensured that not only did Optimus understand each and every weapon now attached to his frame, but that he was skilled in using them. That he could call them with barely a thought and use them to their full potential.
He had other instructors as well. Prowl, who was to be his tactician, schooled him in analyzing an opponent for weakness. He knew all of the better defensive arts and while Optimus was larger than most of the Autobots, he was on par with the Decepticons. All of the moves would come in handy.
Jazz was his offensive instructor. Optimus had been hesitant at first because Jazz was so small he wondered what the mech could teach him. But after the third time of Jazz effortlessly knocking him on his aft, Optimus had conceded and diligently studied each lesson. He would never become a master. Jazz would continue to defeat him every time. But it was enough. It would keep him alive.
Optimus would never forget the terror he felt the first time he faced the Decepticon army and the first time he stood between Megatron and his goals. Later, Ironhide would tell him that it was the mark of a hero to stand up and fight despite his fear, but Optimus would remain disappointed in himself. Megatron was a fearsome opponent that no amount of training could have prepared him for.
His knees had shook. His spark had wavered. His fingers trembled around the haft of his energy axe. The Decepticons were better armed, better trained, and though they didn’t outnumber the Autobots, they outclassed the Autobots. Optimus felt, in that moment, not only fear for his own spark, but also for the sparks of the Autobots.
He feared he led them all to their death. In that moment, there was the tiniest spark of anger, of hate. For Alpha Trion. The mech who had taken him, altered his frame without permission, shoved a holy relic around his spark, and replaced his load-bearing shoulder mounts with weapon battery mounts.
Orion Pax died that day in more ways than one.
Their first battle was little more than a stalemate. Optimus Prime walked away from Megatron alive, but there wasn’t a part of him that didn’t ache. Ratchet cursed over his beaten and battered frame as he lay there, having gained a new appreciation both for his trainers and the realities of war.
He had dreams every night after that first battle. He saw himself failing and dying, saw Megatron ripping out his spark and turning the Autobots into either corpses or slaves. He didn’t know which result was worse. The fear gripped him, made it near impossible to want to set pede upon that battlefield again.
But Optimus did, his weapons a little heavier this time. He’d been given a duty he hadn’t wanted, but that didn’t mean he would allow himself to fail.
So he charged his blaster, ensured his weapons batteries were prepared, and stepped onto the battlefield.
He would be the leader the Autobots needed. He would do his best to end the war. And he would do his best to save as many sparks as possible.
The weight of his weapons would be all the reminder he needed.
a/n: Nine of the ten flash fiction done. Whee! Only one more to post and then I'll be done for June, just in time for July to get going. lol
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/292878.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.