Flash Fiction Fills Take 62 Part Two
a/n: Four more flash fics down, seven to go. These are entirely SFW and self-edited. Enjoy!
For thepheonixqueen
Prompt: Jazz/Prowl, Western AU, Prowl as Sheriff
Fandom: Transformers AU. Warnings: None
It wasn't the worst day he'd ever had. But it was frag sure close.
Jazz cursed and threw his wrench down with disgust. He snatched a nearby cloth to wipe the oil and energon from his fingers. His cycle was toast. There was no ifs, ands, or buts about it. He'd have to get Wheeljack to look at. No matter how much he tinkered with it himself, this cycle wasn't going to be up and running anytime soon.
Jazz sighed and sent in the maintenance request, the plucky engineer responding almost immediately. Morning people were not Jazz's favorite people, but Wheeljack was good people so he supposed he could deal with it. Especially since Wheeljack was going to hop on over to take a look at it shortly.
Jazz checked his chronometer. Double frag. Too much fiddling and he was minutes close to being late for his shift.
Jazz darted back into his bungalow, splashed some solvent over his arms, and wiped away the flecks on his dermal plate. He adjusted the tilt of his badge. Deputy, not the best job he'd ever had, but not the worst. There were perks.
He left the door to the shed unlocked for Wheeljack - if some bandit wanted to make off with the broke cycle, he was more than welcome - and bolted out the door, only to have to dart back into his bungalow for his hat. He always forgot the slagging hat.
He wouldn't even wear the hat if it weren't for Prowl. Mech was a stickler for protocol. He said if Jazz was gonna make something of himself, he could start by following the rules.
Hat retrieved, Jazz bolted back out the door, letting it flap in the wind, and straight into a hot, dry, and dusty morning. Business as usual here on the edge of the Rust Sea, a misnomer Jazz thought, cause there wasn't a bit of moisture out here. Just miles and miles of flat land covered in layers of grit and rust. Perfect breeding territory for outlaws and ingrates. Jazz should know. He used to be one of 'em.
His visor instantly darkened in the face of the glaring sunlight. Jazz's plating crawled. He didn't think he'd ever get used to standing out in the open. Shadows were more his friend, but he'd been told he couldn't hide in those anymore either.
Frag Prowl to the Pit and back. Not literally, but Jazz was quite happy to blame Prowl for this, too.
Jazz folded into alt-mode, a low-slung skiff that was ill-suited to the desert-like terrain and headed for the station. His chronometer was already clicking toward tardiness and he could just imagine the look of disappointment on Prowl's face. Those little sensory panels of his - targets really - would flick a couple times, reflecting his ire.
Jazz's field rippled with amusement. He almost slowed down to be late on purpose. Riling Prowl was the most fun he had right now. Well, other than the occasional fight up at the Old Oil House or down in the Red Light Alley. They didn't get raids too much here in Ibelex. Too many bandits feared Prowl.
If only Jazz had heard of Prowl's reputation, he might not have gotten caught. Ah, well. Ya live, ya learn, ya get a badge slapped on your chest and a busted cycle in your shed, and a patrol partner who was the sexiest sheriff this side of the Rust Sea. Unavailable, unfortunately, because Jazz had asked. But still sexy.
Sadly, Jazz arrived at the station on time. He popped out of alt-mode and strode into the station with a whistle and a fine “how do you do?” to their desk monitor and dispatcher, Rewind. He was a good kid, little small, but Jazz didn't mistake his size for lack of threat. Rewind would be downright dangerous when he wanted to be.
“You're almost late,” Rewind said. “Cycle break again?”
“Jack's gonna look at it,” Jazz replied with a tip of his hat. “The boss in?”
“Since sun up.”
Figured. Jazz chuckled and rapped his knuckles on Rewind's desk of overflowing lock-up registries and wanted posters. He headed for the back, where the door to Prowl's tiny office was open. Not because he wanted visitors, but because Jazz had broken it the last time they'd scrapped and Prowl hadn't fixed it yet.
Jazz didn't enter, choosing instead to lounge against the door frame. Prowl didn't so much as look up, entirely focused on frowning at a wanted poster flickering on his desk. From here, Jazz couldn't see the face on it. But the bounty was high. Like Sixer, high.
“You are precisely on time,” Prowl said as he slowly lifted his helm. “Happy accident?”
Jazz grinned. “I don't know what you mean. I'm always punctual.”
Prowl arched an orbital ridge at him as he flipped the wanted poster over, concealing the face from view. “Your definition of punctual and mine vastly differ,” he said and pushed to his pedes. “You are ready for patrol?”
“So long as you're ready to give me a loaner.”
Prowl cycled a ventilation and circled around his desk, every bit of his plating gleaming in the light from the window. How anyone could stay shiny in this dusty wasteland, Jazz didn't know.
“I don't have one. We'll walk,” Prowl replied with that little flutter in his sensory panels that indicated exasperation.
“We could always--”
“No, Jazz, we are not doubling-up,” Prowl said with a cutting glance at him. Seriously, those ice-blue optics of his could slice titanium.
“You take the fun out of everything.”
“This is not meant to be fun,” Prowl retorted as he edged past Jazz out of his office and headed in a steady clip for the front door. “Rewind, comm us if anything comes up. We may lose signal a little later as we approach the Dead Zone.”
“Yes, sir.” Rewind sketched a salute and half-lit his optical band in a wink at Jazz.
In turn, Jazz gave him an exaggerated sigh. Walking around Ibelex? That was going to be exhausting. Wheeljack better get his cycle finished fast.
Rewind snorted and Jazz sketched his own salute before hurrying after Prowl, who would chastise him for dawdling.
Just another day on the edge of the Rust Sea, Jazz thought. Just another day.
For Tumblr Anonymous
Prompt: Rescue Bots, introducing the parents to the Burns family
Fandom: Rescue Bots, post High Tide's appearance, kinda crossover with MTMTE. Warnings: author's headcanons
The signal came in to the console from a long distance, so quiet Chase almost didn't catch it, but when he did and replayed it for himself, an overhearing Blades gave a little squeal of happiness.
“Really?” he said, bouncing up and down on his feet, rotors juttering on his back. “They're coming? They're really coming?”
“It is a short visit, Blades,” Chase tried to remind him in a stern tone. “Optimus has far more important things for them to do than stay in Griffin Rock.”
“But they're coming!” Blades said with a big smile. He bounced forward and threw his arms around Chase's neck. “I can't wait. Ohhhh. I better go tell Heatwave and Boulder!”
He ran off, shouting for the rest of their team as he did so. Luckily, they had no rescue at the moment, but still.
Chase shook his helm. Restraint was not one of Blades' strong points. Still, he had reason to be excited. Their caretakers were not only in the same galaxy, but in the same solar system, and their message indicated they would swing by for a visit.
Boulder should be happy. Heatwave... probably wasn't. Chase didn't blame him one bit. And yet, the best part would be telling their human counterparts.
Chase expected fireworks.
And he was not disappointed.
There was not a lot of space down in the bunker for a little under a dozen Cybertronians. High Tide offered his ship way out in the ocean instead, and it was there that they gathered, human and Cybertronian alike, caretakers arriving in a garish shuttle that made Heatwave groan and hide behind his hand. Chase suspected his primary caretaker was to blame.
“Are you excited, Chase?” Chief Burns asked as he looked up.
“I have not seen my mentors in quite some time,” Chase admitted. “I am glad that they survived.”
“I'm excited!” Blades gushed with a little bounce. “Fire's going to be so happy that I'm a flyer and Red's going to pitch a fit.”
“Wow. And you're still afraid of flying?” Dani asked. “Even with one for a parent or... what did you call them?”
“Caretakers,” Chase supplied and held up a finger. “Or mentors in some instances. Usually bonded couples, romantically or platonically, take on the burden of preparing a newly emerged mech for the trials of their function.”
“Parents then,” Dani said. “Pretty much the same thing.”
“What about you, Boulder?” Graham asked.
Boulder's field was a happy, bubbling burst. “Mentors,” he said. “But parent is an apt term. My mentors are very nice, Graham. They are scientists, too. I wonder how long they will stay.”
“Not too long,” Kade said with his arms folded over his chest. “We have work to do.”
“I assure you, Kade, we will not let this interfere with our main duty as Rescue Bots,” Chase said even as Dani elbowed her brother in the side.
“It's their family, Kade. Show a little respect.”
“They'd better not stay long,” Heatwave said, however, cutting into Dani's point. “Otherwise, I don't think my patience will last.”
Cody bounced on his feet, as excited Blades. “I can't wait to meet your guys' parents. This is so awesome!” He was probably the happiest of everyone present.
The shuttle hissed as the ramp extended and all of them fell silent as they waited for their respective caretakers to emerge. Heatwave's primary was the first to stride off the ramp, his secondary a massive shadow behind him.
“Heatwave!” Rodimus Prime exclaimed as he threw his hands into the air. “You look great! Look, Magnus! He's red!”
Heatwave groaned as though he knew what was coming and stood there, like a statue, as Rodimus threw his arms around Heatwave and hugged him. Or tried, to. Rodimus was two-thirds Heatwave's size.
“He is,” Ultra Magnus said, following on the heels of his amica. He opted for a more dignified handshake. The resemblance was uncanny. They must have modeled some of Heatwave's frame design on Magnus.
The pounding of feet made Chase look away from the reunion to see a red and white mech - jet possibly, given the wings - come running off the ramp and launch himself toward Blades with a gleeful cry of “my dearspark!” And Blades' happy shriek of “Daddy!”
They collided with a crash and collapsed into a giggling, happy pile of tangled limbs and babbling that Chase could not make sense of. Thank Primus Boulder had the good sense to pull Graham and Cody out of the way at the last second.
That, Chase assumed, was Fireflight. Because surely well-known Director of Security Red Alert would not behave in such a bold manner.
“Well, I see where he gets it from,” Chief Burns said. But he was smiling and he looked happy about it. “What about you, Chase?”
Chase looked back toward the ramp and his spark did indeed give a little pulse of happiness. There was his secondary right now, descending the ramp with dignity and poise, a gentle smile on his lips.
“My secondary, my father, is coming right now, Chief. I will introduce you,” Chase said and he moved to intercept, taking Mirage's hands as they were offered to him.
Mirage squeezed his fingers, his field full of the warmth that Chase remembered. “I am so happy to find you in good health, Chase,” Mirage said. “We were so worried when we received the report that the Sigma was missing.”
“I am sorry to have worried you. Where's Prowl?”
Mirage lifted his shoulders in a genteel shrug. “Someone had to stay behind and keep the order. You know how he is.” Mirage's conjunx, Prowl, was Optimus Prime's second in command. It made sense.
Though Chase was a little disappointed. As much as he loved Mirage, he'd always been a bit closer to Prowl.
“He'd be so proud to see you,” Mirage added though. “Look at you, symbols of the law on this planet, I take it?”
“Yes.” Chase smiled, unable to help himself. He squeezed his secondary's hands again and then let go to gesture down to his human partner. “This is Chief Charlie Burns, Mirage. He is my assigned partner and a very good friend. Chief, this is Mirage.”
Mirage pressed a palm to his chestplate, over his Autobrand, and bowed his helm. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Chief Burns. Thank you for taking such good care of my ward.”
“You're welcome. It is nice to meet you, too.” Chief reached up and shook the finger Mirage offered him. “Chase is the best partner I could have asked for. His dedication to his work is remarkable.”
“He gets that from Prowl, I must say. My conjunx is devoted to his work.”
Chief and Mirage continued to chat, giving Chase a moment to look up and check on his teammates. Heatwave was deep in conversation with Ultra Magnus while Rodimus and Kade were crowded around some kind of portable video device with Cody offering up commentary.
Blades and Fireflight extricated themselves from the ground, but Blades was now wrapped around a long-suffering Red Alert while Dani chatted with Fireflight. Probably asking if she could fly him.
Boulder's mentors had been the last to disembark and the three mechs were currently sitting on the deck in a cuddling circle with Graham perched on Boulder's knee. Boulder was sharing a holo-cube with them, pictures of the many things he'd found about Earth flashing to view. Hound and Beachcomber were discussing them with visible excitement.
All in all, it was wonderful to see. Especially given how badly the war had decimated their population.
“Chase.” Mirage's smooth vocals drew his attention back as Mirage slid his hand into Chase's and squeezed. “Chief was telling me about some of the cases you've worked on together. Care to share a few of your favorites?”
Chase offered Mirage a smile. “Certainly. I've even prepared a report. You can take it back to Prowl.”
“I'm sure he'll love that.”
Chase couldn't keep his own grin off his face. "I'm sure he will, too."
For Iopele
Prompt: Ratchet/Drift, trying to protect each other to the point of ridiculousness
Fandom: Transformers: IDW, post-Empire of Stone. Warnings: character death, organic gore
They should have known better. The number of planets welcoming to Cybertronian's was nil to none. But Drift had a “good feeling” about the spaceport and Ratchet recognized that their supplies were running low. At this rate, they might not make it back to the Lost Light.
How were either of them supposed to know that Embeye was a pirate trading post? Or that the resident organics not only recognized Drift but held a grudge?
“Is there anyone in this universe who you haven't fragged off?” Ratchet growled as he tried to pull Drift behind him.
Drift kept resisting, however, resulting in a tug of war that would have been amusing if laserfire wasn't pockmarking their meager shelter of supply crates. They were boxed in a closet, bringing back uncomfortable memories for Ratchet, though fortunately it was not Overlord on the other side of the doors.
“I've lost count,” Drift replied blandly. He tugged on Ratchet's arm. “Get behind me. My armor's sturdier than yours.”
“But they're less likely to shoot at someone with symbols like these!” Ratchet snarled, pointing to the universal symbol for healer stamped on his shoulders. He put them there when he left to retrieve Drift on purpose. They'd helped get him out of more than one jam while he was still hunting around looking for Drift.
“News flash, Ratch, they don't care about your paint job!” Drift retorted and he tugged a bit harder, not that it did any good.
Ratchet was a lot heavier than he looked. And when he planted his feet, nothing could move him short of Megatron or Optimus Prime or... or Overlord.
Another burst of laserfire and they were forced to duck down, the first line of supply crates nearly obliterated. “You're going to pay for your treachery, Deadlock!” A voice called out to them.
Generic threats. As if Ratchet hadn't heard worse before. He rolled his optics and returned his attention back to Drift, squeezing a grip around the speedster's wrist.
“And I didn't travel halfway across the universe to watch you die here,” he said. One good shove and Drift was behind him where he ought to be, Ratchet's greater mass easily concealing the slim swordsmech.
Drift shook himself free with all the slithering capability of Jazz, however. “And I'm not letting anyone else die because of me,” he snapped and before Ratchet could say or do anything, Drift had leapt over the secondary barricade of crates, swords leaping into his hands. “I'm right here, you slaggers!”
“Drift!”
Ratchet snarled every curseword he knew, not to mention a few choice phrases from a few other languages, and charged after the maniac swordsman. Laserfire split the air again and Ratchet's pistol leapt into his hand.
“Ratchet, stay back!”
“Like frag, I will!”
“There he is! Kill the traitor!”
These pirate organics weren't tiny by any means, unfortunately. They were about the size of the average speedster, which meant Ratchet was larger and heavier than them. In hand to hand combat, Ratchet emerged supreme, and frag it all, but Drift was right. They took one look at the symbols on his arms and shot anyway.
Drift was just ahead of him, hacking away with those overgrown knives of his, hollering something about revenge being a dish best served now which seemed like a mixed metaphor to Ratchet. But then another of those four-armed organics leapt at him from the side and Ratchet shot him in the face.
Ew.
“Die Cybertronian scum!”
Well, now they were just getting personal.
Ratchet looked back down the hallway to see Drift engaged with one of the aliens while another lined up a shot. Frag that. Ratchet skidded to a halt, took careful aim, and with another disgusting splat, that alien was down for the count. In the same moment, slash went one of Drift's swords, and his own opponent's head was severed from its shoulders.
“Can we get out of here now?” Ratchet demanded, feeling as though he were running on anger more than anything else.
Drift shook the blood from his sword and turned back toward Ratchet. His field spiked and his optics flashed.
“Down!” he shouted.
Ratchet didn't think, he obeyed, throwing himself to the ground and his arms over his helm. He heard a whistle, the squelch of metal through organic material, and a gurgling groan. Ratchet peered carefully over his shoulder only to see one of the slave traders collapsing, Drift's sword sticking out of his chest.
Well.
“That's one you owe me,” Drift said as he came into view, offering a hand to Ratchet.
He took it, letting Drift pretend to pull him to his pedes. Lifting Ratchet wasn't really a possibility, no matter how strong Drift thought he was. Ratchet had made sure to fully stock up before he left the Lost Light.
“Compared to the three you owe me?” Ratchet countered, on the verge of a grump. He took stock of their surroundings and grimaced. “Can we get out of here now?”
Drift retrieved his sword and offered Ratchet that dazzling smile of his that never failed to make Ratchet's spark whirl. “Race you back to the ship?” he offered.
Ratchet rolled his optics. “It's been centuries since I moved fast on anything, kid, tires or feet.”
“What happened here?” The shocked demanded floated toward them from the next hallway over.
Frag.
Ratchet looked at Drift, the swordsmech nodding his helm. Time to go.
Drift took off, leading the way, and Ratchet followed in his wake.
“You should let me go first,” Ratchet said. “I make a better shield.”
“Nope. I owe you,” Drift tossed back cheerfully.
Another round of laserfire split the air above their helms, forcing them into a ducking run with Ratchet getting a nice view of Drift's aft. Cheeky slagger probably planned it that way.
They did, eventually, make it back to their shuttle.
Final score?
Well, they came up even.
Until they found the berth.
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: FlashBat, water balloons
Fandom: Justice League/Young Justice future. Warnings: a kiss!
Bruce called it combat training.
Wally was pretty sure that it was really just fun and games, but Bruce had to dress it up in another name to make himself feel better about it. Whatever. Wally was just happy to see Bruce laughing, soaked in sweat and water, his dark clothes clinging to his body...
Dangerous thoughts there. Hold on, Wally. Hold on.
He ducked down behind a hedge, juggling his two pieces of ammo. Bright blue and green, lucky colors. He listened for the sound of Dick and Tim and Barbara, the whole Batclan really. Clark was here somewhere, too. He'd brought Connor.
There were others up on the Watchtower keeping eyes and ears out for trouble. For now, this was a time to relax and have fun and remind themselves what they were all risking their lives to protect.
Or, if you asked Bruce, they were training.
Wally chuckled to himself.
Wally peered around a corner. He could hear laughter in the distance, and a girlish squeal, which was probably Tim in all honesty. Otherwise, there was no one in immediate sight. Wally had the all clear.
He crept across the grass, tennis shoes crunching noisily. He hoped the sound of the others laughing and playing concealed all the noise he was making. Wally was not built for stealth. He was built for speed. But they weren't supposed to use any of their superpowers here.
That was part of the training exercise, according to Bruce. No superpowers allowed so that if any of them were ever in a situation where they didn't have them, they wouldn't be powerless. They would have the skills to defend themselves. Bruce was all about future planning.
Wally crept up behind a massive statue of a winged cherub. It was not Bruce's style at all. Probably belonged to his great-great-grandfather or something. The Wayne's were old money.
He peered around it. All clear.
Wally made a dash for a massive rhododendron. The bright red blooms might help to hide him. He hoped. Water jostled in his balloon.
He crouched and waiting. No shouting. No splashing. He was still in the clear. Grinning, Wally crept forward again, inching through the hedge maze. Why Bruce had a hedge maze, Wally didn't know. But it was all kinds of fun.
Wally ducked around another corner, keeping low to the ground. He heard another shriek and shout in the distance, followed by a splash. He was getting closer. Maybe he could sneak up on someone and get his hits in while the getting was good.
He took the next right-hand turn and froze. There, just up ahead, he could see the edge of the heel of a shoe. Someone was crouched down in the path, facing away from Wally, perhaps peering into the next corner. He had no idea who it was.
The shoe shifted. Wally 'eeped' and ducked back behind his wall, peering around the corner. His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat.
It was Bruce! Score!
Wally backtracked and crept up the path that paralleled the one Bruce was using. Through the gaps in the leaves, he could see Bruce just ahead of him, creeping forward with ninja stealth. Bruce didn't carry any ammo though. Probably didn't think he needed it.
There was a break in the hedge ahead of him. If all went well and Bruce didn't decide to take a right, Wally might actually get the drop on him. Exciting!
He steadied his breathing, focused on stealthy thoughts, and crept carefully forward. Luck stayed with him all the way until the end when he reached the break and Bruce had turned to the left. His back was to Wally, dark t-shirt stretched enticingly across broad shoulders.
Wally hefted his ammo in each hand and crouch-stepped forward. Closer. Closer. No twigs or leaves on the ground to give him away. Good. Doing great, Wally. Just a little further...
Now!
Wally launched himself forward with a fierce jungle cry. Bruce whirled just in time for Wally to tackle him, water balloons exploding between them in a splash. Wally was laughing as they both went down, limbs tangled, Bruce cursing under his breath.
“Got ya!” Wally said before he felt himself go flying. He hit the ground on his back, world spinning, sky very blue above him.
No. That was Bruce's eyes as he looked upside down into Wally's face, hands pinning Wally's wrists to the damp, grassy ground.
“I heard you coming,” Bruce claimed. His voice was tinted with amusement though and if Wally looked closely, he could see Bruce smiling.
Wally rolled his eyes. “No, you didn't. You just don't want to admit that I snuck up on you.”
“You did not.”
“Did so.” Wally grinned. His tongue swept over his lips. “Well, you caught me. What are you going to do with me?”
Bruce chuckled and leaned closer. Their noses brushed. “I am uncertain. I suspect you have a few suggestions?”
Boy, did he ever!
Wally listened intently. There didn't seem to be anyone nearby. No one to point and make embarrassing commentary. Perfect.
He tilted his head up. “Kiss me,” he said.
“I saw that coming, too,” Bruce said dryly, but he obliged. The tip of his nose stroked down Wally's before he tilted a bit further forward and pressed their lips together.
Upside down kisses were awkward, but a slight shift for both of them, and mmm. That was perfect. Wally shivered as Bruce's tongue slid over his, warm and wet and tasting like spearmint. Whoa. Was Bruce actually chewing gum?
Wally nipped at Bruce's lips and wriggled on the ground. “Do we have to keep playing?” he asked as his jeans started to get a little tight. “We can sneak into the manor. No one has to know.”
Bruce outright laughed. “You want Dick to come looking for you?”
Because he would. He so would.
Wally groaned. “No,” he said and his lips pushed together in a moue of disappointment. “But I'm going to say that you owe me.”
Bruce kissed him again. “Later,” he promised, and let Wally go. He stood up, brushing dirt from the knees of his denim.
It was better than nothing, Wally supposed. He let Bruce haul him to his feet, brushing grass and leaves from his own clothes.
Besides, they still had a game to win.
a/n: Well, that was heaps of fun. Had a lot more than I thought I would with the Western AU, world-building and all. I'm thinking I'm going to flesh out Meet the Parents a bit when I post it separately. And it was interesting to try my hand at DRatchet. Hope to give them another poke so I can find my voice for them soon.
All in all, I consider it a success. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated, however.
Still more flash fics to come!
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/295845.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
For thepheonixqueen
Prompt: Jazz/Prowl, Western AU, Prowl as Sheriff
Fandom: Transformers AU. Warnings: None
It wasn't the worst day he'd ever had. But it was frag sure close.
Jazz cursed and threw his wrench down with disgust. He snatched a nearby cloth to wipe the oil and energon from his fingers. His cycle was toast. There was no ifs, ands, or buts about it. He'd have to get Wheeljack to look at. No matter how much he tinkered with it himself, this cycle wasn't going to be up and running anytime soon.
Jazz sighed and sent in the maintenance request, the plucky engineer responding almost immediately. Morning people were not Jazz's favorite people, but Wheeljack was good people so he supposed he could deal with it. Especially since Wheeljack was going to hop on over to take a look at it shortly.
Jazz checked his chronometer. Double frag. Too much fiddling and he was minutes close to being late for his shift.
Jazz darted back into his bungalow, splashed some solvent over his arms, and wiped away the flecks on his dermal plate. He adjusted the tilt of his badge. Deputy, not the best job he'd ever had, but not the worst. There were perks.
He left the door to the shed unlocked for Wheeljack - if some bandit wanted to make off with the broke cycle, he was more than welcome - and bolted out the door, only to have to dart back into his bungalow for his hat. He always forgot the slagging hat.
He wouldn't even wear the hat if it weren't for Prowl. Mech was a stickler for protocol. He said if Jazz was gonna make something of himself, he could start by following the rules.
Hat retrieved, Jazz bolted back out the door, letting it flap in the wind, and straight into a hot, dry, and dusty morning. Business as usual here on the edge of the Rust Sea, a misnomer Jazz thought, cause there wasn't a bit of moisture out here. Just miles and miles of flat land covered in layers of grit and rust. Perfect breeding territory for outlaws and ingrates. Jazz should know. He used to be one of 'em.
His visor instantly darkened in the face of the glaring sunlight. Jazz's plating crawled. He didn't think he'd ever get used to standing out in the open. Shadows were more his friend, but he'd been told he couldn't hide in those anymore either.
Frag Prowl to the Pit and back. Not literally, but Jazz was quite happy to blame Prowl for this, too.
Jazz folded into alt-mode, a low-slung skiff that was ill-suited to the desert-like terrain and headed for the station. His chronometer was already clicking toward tardiness and he could just imagine the look of disappointment on Prowl's face. Those little sensory panels of his - targets really - would flick a couple times, reflecting his ire.
Jazz's field rippled with amusement. He almost slowed down to be late on purpose. Riling Prowl was the most fun he had right now. Well, other than the occasional fight up at the Old Oil House or down in the Red Light Alley. They didn't get raids too much here in Ibelex. Too many bandits feared Prowl.
If only Jazz had heard of Prowl's reputation, he might not have gotten caught. Ah, well. Ya live, ya learn, ya get a badge slapped on your chest and a busted cycle in your shed, and a patrol partner who was the sexiest sheriff this side of the Rust Sea. Unavailable, unfortunately, because Jazz had asked. But still sexy.
Sadly, Jazz arrived at the station on time. He popped out of alt-mode and strode into the station with a whistle and a fine “how do you do?” to their desk monitor and dispatcher, Rewind. He was a good kid, little small, but Jazz didn't mistake his size for lack of threat. Rewind would be downright dangerous when he wanted to be.
“You're almost late,” Rewind said. “Cycle break again?”
“Jack's gonna look at it,” Jazz replied with a tip of his hat. “The boss in?”
“Since sun up.”
Figured. Jazz chuckled and rapped his knuckles on Rewind's desk of overflowing lock-up registries and wanted posters. He headed for the back, where the door to Prowl's tiny office was open. Not because he wanted visitors, but because Jazz had broken it the last time they'd scrapped and Prowl hadn't fixed it yet.
Jazz didn't enter, choosing instead to lounge against the door frame. Prowl didn't so much as look up, entirely focused on frowning at a wanted poster flickering on his desk. From here, Jazz couldn't see the face on it. But the bounty was high. Like Sixer, high.
“You are precisely on time,” Prowl said as he slowly lifted his helm. “Happy accident?”
Jazz grinned. “I don't know what you mean. I'm always punctual.”
Prowl arched an orbital ridge at him as he flipped the wanted poster over, concealing the face from view. “Your definition of punctual and mine vastly differ,” he said and pushed to his pedes. “You are ready for patrol?”
“So long as you're ready to give me a loaner.”
Prowl cycled a ventilation and circled around his desk, every bit of his plating gleaming in the light from the window. How anyone could stay shiny in this dusty wasteland, Jazz didn't know.
“I don't have one. We'll walk,” Prowl replied with that little flutter in his sensory panels that indicated exasperation.
“We could always--”
“No, Jazz, we are not doubling-up,” Prowl said with a cutting glance at him. Seriously, those ice-blue optics of his could slice titanium.
“You take the fun out of everything.”
“This is not meant to be fun,” Prowl retorted as he edged past Jazz out of his office and headed in a steady clip for the front door. “Rewind, comm us if anything comes up. We may lose signal a little later as we approach the Dead Zone.”
“Yes, sir.” Rewind sketched a salute and half-lit his optical band in a wink at Jazz.
In turn, Jazz gave him an exaggerated sigh. Walking around Ibelex? That was going to be exhausting. Wheeljack better get his cycle finished fast.
Rewind snorted and Jazz sketched his own salute before hurrying after Prowl, who would chastise him for dawdling.
Just another day on the edge of the Rust Sea, Jazz thought. Just another day.
For Tumblr Anonymous
Prompt: Rescue Bots, introducing the parents to the Burns family
Fandom: Rescue Bots, post High Tide's appearance, kinda crossover with MTMTE. Warnings: author's headcanons
The signal came in to the console from a long distance, so quiet Chase almost didn't catch it, but when he did and replayed it for himself, an overhearing Blades gave a little squeal of happiness.
“Really?” he said, bouncing up and down on his feet, rotors juttering on his back. “They're coming? They're really coming?”
“It is a short visit, Blades,” Chase tried to remind him in a stern tone. “Optimus has far more important things for them to do than stay in Griffin Rock.”
“But they're coming!” Blades said with a big smile. He bounced forward and threw his arms around Chase's neck. “I can't wait. Ohhhh. I better go tell Heatwave and Boulder!”
He ran off, shouting for the rest of their team as he did so. Luckily, they had no rescue at the moment, but still.
Chase shook his helm. Restraint was not one of Blades' strong points. Still, he had reason to be excited. Their caretakers were not only in the same galaxy, but in the same solar system, and their message indicated they would swing by for a visit.
Boulder should be happy. Heatwave... probably wasn't. Chase didn't blame him one bit. And yet, the best part would be telling their human counterparts.
Chase expected fireworks.
And he was not disappointed.
There was not a lot of space down in the bunker for a little under a dozen Cybertronians. High Tide offered his ship way out in the ocean instead, and it was there that they gathered, human and Cybertronian alike, caretakers arriving in a garish shuttle that made Heatwave groan and hide behind his hand. Chase suspected his primary caretaker was to blame.
“Are you excited, Chase?” Chief Burns asked as he looked up.
“I have not seen my mentors in quite some time,” Chase admitted. “I am glad that they survived.”
“I'm excited!” Blades gushed with a little bounce. “Fire's going to be so happy that I'm a flyer and Red's going to pitch a fit.”
“Wow. And you're still afraid of flying?” Dani asked. “Even with one for a parent or... what did you call them?”
“Caretakers,” Chase supplied and held up a finger. “Or mentors in some instances. Usually bonded couples, romantically or platonically, take on the burden of preparing a newly emerged mech for the trials of their function.”
“Parents then,” Dani said. “Pretty much the same thing.”
“What about you, Boulder?” Graham asked.
Boulder's field was a happy, bubbling burst. “Mentors,” he said. “But parent is an apt term. My mentors are very nice, Graham. They are scientists, too. I wonder how long they will stay.”
“Not too long,” Kade said with his arms folded over his chest. “We have work to do.”
“I assure you, Kade, we will not let this interfere with our main duty as Rescue Bots,” Chase said even as Dani elbowed her brother in the side.
“It's their family, Kade. Show a little respect.”
“They'd better not stay long,” Heatwave said, however, cutting into Dani's point. “Otherwise, I don't think my patience will last.”
Cody bounced on his feet, as excited Blades. “I can't wait to meet your guys' parents. This is so awesome!” He was probably the happiest of everyone present.
The shuttle hissed as the ramp extended and all of them fell silent as they waited for their respective caretakers to emerge. Heatwave's primary was the first to stride off the ramp, his secondary a massive shadow behind him.
“Heatwave!” Rodimus Prime exclaimed as he threw his hands into the air. “You look great! Look, Magnus! He's red!”
Heatwave groaned as though he knew what was coming and stood there, like a statue, as Rodimus threw his arms around Heatwave and hugged him. Or tried, to. Rodimus was two-thirds Heatwave's size.
“He is,” Ultra Magnus said, following on the heels of his amica. He opted for a more dignified handshake. The resemblance was uncanny. They must have modeled some of Heatwave's frame design on Magnus.
The pounding of feet made Chase look away from the reunion to see a red and white mech - jet possibly, given the wings - come running off the ramp and launch himself toward Blades with a gleeful cry of “my dearspark!” And Blades' happy shriek of “Daddy!”
They collided with a crash and collapsed into a giggling, happy pile of tangled limbs and babbling that Chase could not make sense of. Thank Primus Boulder had the good sense to pull Graham and Cody out of the way at the last second.
That, Chase assumed, was Fireflight. Because surely well-known Director of Security Red Alert would not behave in such a bold manner.
“Well, I see where he gets it from,” Chief Burns said. But he was smiling and he looked happy about it. “What about you, Chase?”
Chase looked back toward the ramp and his spark did indeed give a little pulse of happiness. There was his secondary right now, descending the ramp with dignity and poise, a gentle smile on his lips.
“My secondary, my father, is coming right now, Chief. I will introduce you,” Chase said and he moved to intercept, taking Mirage's hands as they were offered to him.
Mirage squeezed his fingers, his field full of the warmth that Chase remembered. “I am so happy to find you in good health, Chase,” Mirage said. “We were so worried when we received the report that the Sigma was missing.”
“I am sorry to have worried you. Where's Prowl?”
Mirage lifted his shoulders in a genteel shrug. “Someone had to stay behind and keep the order. You know how he is.” Mirage's conjunx, Prowl, was Optimus Prime's second in command. It made sense.
Though Chase was a little disappointed. As much as he loved Mirage, he'd always been a bit closer to Prowl.
“He'd be so proud to see you,” Mirage added though. “Look at you, symbols of the law on this planet, I take it?”
“Yes.” Chase smiled, unable to help himself. He squeezed his secondary's hands again and then let go to gesture down to his human partner. “This is Chief Charlie Burns, Mirage. He is my assigned partner and a very good friend. Chief, this is Mirage.”
Mirage pressed a palm to his chestplate, over his Autobrand, and bowed his helm. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Chief Burns. Thank you for taking such good care of my ward.”
“You're welcome. It is nice to meet you, too.” Chief reached up and shook the finger Mirage offered him. “Chase is the best partner I could have asked for. His dedication to his work is remarkable.”
“He gets that from Prowl, I must say. My conjunx is devoted to his work.”
Chief and Mirage continued to chat, giving Chase a moment to look up and check on his teammates. Heatwave was deep in conversation with Ultra Magnus while Rodimus and Kade were crowded around some kind of portable video device with Cody offering up commentary.
Blades and Fireflight extricated themselves from the ground, but Blades was now wrapped around a long-suffering Red Alert while Dani chatted with Fireflight. Probably asking if she could fly him.
Boulder's mentors had been the last to disembark and the three mechs were currently sitting on the deck in a cuddling circle with Graham perched on Boulder's knee. Boulder was sharing a holo-cube with them, pictures of the many things he'd found about Earth flashing to view. Hound and Beachcomber were discussing them with visible excitement.
All in all, it was wonderful to see. Especially given how badly the war had decimated their population.
“Chase.” Mirage's smooth vocals drew his attention back as Mirage slid his hand into Chase's and squeezed. “Chief was telling me about some of the cases you've worked on together. Care to share a few of your favorites?”
Chase offered Mirage a smile. “Certainly. I've even prepared a report. You can take it back to Prowl.”
“I'm sure he'll love that.”
Chase couldn't keep his own grin off his face. "I'm sure he will, too."
For Iopele
Prompt: Ratchet/Drift, trying to protect each other to the point of ridiculousness
Fandom: Transformers: IDW, post-Empire of Stone. Warnings: character death, organic gore
They should have known better. The number of planets welcoming to Cybertronian's was nil to none. But Drift had a “good feeling” about the spaceport and Ratchet recognized that their supplies were running low. At this rate, they might not make it back to the Lost Light.
How were either of them supposed to know that Embeye was a pirate trading post? Or that the resident organics not only recognized Drift but held a grudge?
“Is there anyone in this universe who you haven't fragged off?” Ratchet growled as he tried to pull Drift behind him.
Drift kept resisting, however, resulting in a tug of war that would have been amusing if laserfire wasn't pockmarking their meager shelter of supply crates. They were boxed in a closet, bringing back uncomfortable memories for Ratchet, though fortunately it was not Overlord on the other side of the doors.
“I've lost count,” Drift replied blandly. He tugged on Ratchet's arm. “Get behind me. My armor's sturdier than yours.”
“But they're less likely to shoot at someone with symbols like these!” Ratchet snarled, pointing to the universal symbol for healer stamped on his shoulders. He put them there when he left to retrieve Drift on purpose. They'd helped get him out of more than one jam while he was still hunting around looking for Drift.
“News flash, Ratch, they don't care about your paint job!” Drift retorted and he tugged a bit harder, not that it did any good.
Ratchet was a lot heavier than he looked. And when he planted his feet, nothing could move him short of Megatron or Optimus Prime or... or Overlord.
Another burst of laserfire and they were forced to duck down, the first line of supply crates nearly obliterated. “You're going to pay for your treachery, Deadlock!” A voice called out to them.
Generic threats. As if Ratchet hadn't heard worse before. He rolled his optics and returned his attention back to Drift, squeezing a grip around the speedster's wrist.
“And I didn't travel halfway across the universe to watch you die here,” he said. One good shove and Drift was behind him where he ought to be, Ratchet's greater mass easily concealing the slim swordsmech.
Drift shook himself free with all the slithering capability of Jazz, however. “And I'm not letting anyone else die because of me,” he snapped and before Ratchet could say or do anything, Drift had leapt over the secondary barricade of crates, swords leaping into his hands. “I'm right here, you slaggers!”
“Drift!”
Ratchet snarled every curseword he knew, not to mention a few choice phrases from a few other languages, and charged after the maniac swordsman. Laserfire split the air again and Ratchet's pistol leapt into his hand.
“Ratchet, stay back!”
“Like frag, I will!”
“There he is! Kill the traitor!”
These pirate organics weren't tiny by any means, unfortunately. They were about the size of the average speedster, which meant Ratchet was larger and heavier than them. In hand to hand combat, Ratchet emerged supreme, and frag it all, but Drift was right. They took one look at the symbols on his arms and shot anyway.
Drift was just ahead of him, hacking away with those overgrown knives of his, hollering something about revenge being a dish best served now which seemed like a mixed metaphor to Ratchet. But then another of those four-armed organics leapt at him from the side and Ratchet shot him in the face.
Ew.
“Die Cybertronian scum!”
Well, now they were just getting personal.
Ratchet looked back down the hallway to see Drift engaged with one of the aliens while another lined up a shot. Frag that. Ratchet skidded to a halt, took careful aim, and with another disgusting splat, that alien was down for the count. In the same moment, slash went one of Drift's swords, and his own opponent's head was severed from its shoulders.
“Can we get out of here now?” Ratchet demanded, feeling as though he were running on anger more than anything else.
Drift shook the blood from his sword and turned back toward Ratchet. His field spiked and his optics flashed.
“Down!” he shouted.
Ratchet didn't think, he obeyed, throwing himself to the ground and his arms over his helm. He heard a whistle, the squelch of metal through organic material, and a gurgling groan. Ratchet peered carefully over his shoulder only to see one of the slave traders collapsing, Drift's sword sticking out of his chest.
Well.
“That's one you owe me,” Drift said as he came into view, offering a hand to Ratchet.
He took it, letting Drift pretend to pull him to his pedes. Lifting Ratchet wasn't really a possibility, no matter how strong Drift thought he was. Ratchet had made sure to fully stock up before he left the Lost Light.
“Compared to the three you owe me?” Ratchet countered, on the verge of a grump. He took stock of their surroundings and grimaced. “Can we get out of here now?”
Drift retrieved his sword and offered Ratchet that dazzling smile of his that never failed to make Ratchet's spark whirl. “Race you back to the ship?” he offered.
Ratchet rolled his optics. “It's been centuries since I moved fast on anything, kid, tires or feet.”
“What happened here?” The shocked demanded floated toward them from the next hallway over.
Frag.
Ratchet looked at Drift, the swordsmech nodding his helm. Time to go.
Drift took off, leading the way, and Ratchet followed in his wake.
“You should let me go first,” Ratchet said. “I make a better shield.”
“Nope. I owe you,” Drift tossed back cheerfully.
Another round of laserfire split the air above their helms, forcing them into a ducking run with Ratchet getting a nice view of Drift's aft. Cheeky slagger probably planned it that way.
They did, eventually, make it back to their shuttle.
Final score?
Well, they came up even.
Until they found the berth.
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: FlashBat, water balloons
Fandom: Justice League/Young Justice future. Warnings: a kiss!
Bruce called it combat training.
Wally was pretty sure that it was really just fun and games, but Bruce had to dress it up in another name to make himself feel better about it. Whatever. Wally was just happy to see Bruce laughing, soaked in sweat and water, his dark clothes clinging to his body...
Dangerous thoughts there. Hold on, Wally. Hold on.
He ducked down behind a hedge, juggling his two pieces of ammo. Bright blue and green, lucky colors. He listened for the sound of Dick and Tim and Barbara, the whole Batclan really. Clark was here somewhere, too. He'd brought Connor.
There were others up on the Watchtower keeping eyes and ears out for trouble. For now, this was a time to relax and have fun and remind themselves what they were all risking their lives to protect.
Or, if you asked Bruce, they were training.
Wally chuckled to himself.
Wally peered around a corner. He could hear laughter in the distance, and a girlish squeal, which was probably Tim in all honesty. Otherwise, there was no one in immediate sight. Wally had the all clear.
He crept across the grass, tennis shoes crunching noisily. He hoped the sound of the others laughing and playing concealed all the noise he was making. Wally was not built for stealth. He was built for speed. But they weren't supposed to use any of their superpowers here.
That was part of the training exercise, according to Bruce. No superpowers allowed so that if any of them were ever in a situation where they didn't have them, they wouldn't be powerless. They would have the skills to defend themselves. Bruce was all about future planning.
Wally crept up behind a massive statue of a winged cherub. It was not Bruce's style at all. Probably belonged to his great-great-grandfather or something. The Wayne's were old money.
He peered around it. All clear.
Wally made a dash for a massive rhododendron. The bright red blooms might help to hide him. He hoped. Water jostled in his balloon.
He crouched and waiting. No shouting. No splashing. He was still in the clear. Grinning, Wally crept forward again, inching through the hedge maze. Why Bruce had a hedge maze, Wally didn't know. But it was all kinds of fun.
Wally ducked around another corner, keeping low to the ground. He heard another shriek and shout in the distance, followed by a splash. He was getting closer. Maybe he could sneak up on someone and get his hits in while the getting was good.
He took the next right-hand turn and froze. There, just up ahead, he could see the edge of the heel of a shoe. Someone was crouched down in the path, facing away from Wally, perhaps peering into the next corner. He had no idea who it was.
The shoe shifted. Wally 'eeped' and ducked back behind his wall, peering around the corner. His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat.
It was Bruce! Score!
Wally backtracked and crept up the path that paralleled the one Bruce was using. Through the gaps in the leaves, he could see Bruce just ahead of him, creeping forward with ninja stealth. Bruce didn't carry any ammo though. Probably didn't think he needed it.
There was a break in the hedge ahead of him. If all went well and Bruce didn't decide to take a right, Wally might actually get the drop on him. Exciting!
He steadied his breathing, focused on stealthy thoughts, and crept carefully forward. Luck stayed with him all the way until the end when he reached the break and Bruce had turned to the left. His back was to Wally, dark t-shirt stretched enticingly across broad shoulders.
Wally hefted his ammo in each hand and crouch-stepped forward. Closer. Closer. No twigs or leaves on the ground to give him away. Good. Doing great, Wally. Just a little further...
Now!
Wally launched himself forward with a fierce jungle cry. Bruce whirled just in time for Wally to tackle him, water balloons exploding between them in a splash. Wally was laughing as they both went down, limbs tangled, Bruce cursing under his breath.
“Got ya!” Wally said before he felt himself go flying. He hit the ground on his back, world spinning, sky very blue above him.
No. That was Bruce's eyes as he looked upside down into Wally's face, hands pinning Wally's wrists to the damp, grassy ground.
“I heard you coming,” Bruce claimed. His voice was tinted with amusement though and if Wally looked closely, he could see Bruce smiling.
Wally rolled his eyes. “No, you didn't. You just don't want to admit that I snuck up on you.”
“You did not.”
“Did so.” Wally grinned. His tongue swept over his lips. “Well, you caught me. What are you going to do with me?”
Bruce chuckled and leaned closer. Their noses brushed. “I am uncertain. I suspect you have a few suggestions?”
Boy, did he ever!
Wally listened intently. There didn't seem to be anyone nearby. No one to point and make embarrassing commentary. Perfect.
He tilted his head up. “Kiss me,” he said.
“I saw that coming, too,” Bruce said dryly, but he obliged. The tip of his nose stroked down Wally's before he tilted a bit further forward and pressed their lips together.
Upside down kisses were awkward, but a slight shift for both of them, and mmm. That was perfect. Wally shivered as Bruce's tongue slid over his, warm and wet and tasting like spearmint. Whoa. Was Bruce actually chewing gum?
Wally nipped at Bruce's lips and wriggled on the ground. “Do we have to keep playing?” he asked as his jeans started to get a little tight. “We can sneak into the manor. No one has to know.”
Bruce outright laughed. “You want Dick to come looking for you?”
Because he would. He so would.
Wally groaned. “No,” he said and his lips pushed together in a moue of disappointment. “But I'm going to say that you owe me.”
Bruce kissed him again. “Later,” he promised, and let Wally go. He stood up, brushing dirt from the knees of his denim.
It was better than nothing, Wally supposed. He let Bruce haul him to his feet, brushing grass and leaves from his own clothes.
Besides, they still had a game to win.
a/n: Well, that was heaps of fun. Had a lot more than I thought I would with the Western AU, world-building and all. I'm thinking I'm going to flesh out Meet the Parents a bit when I post it separately. And it was interesting to try my hand at DRatchet. Hope to give them another poke so I can find my voice for them soon.
All in all, I consider it a success. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated, however.
Still more flash fics to come!
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/295845.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.