Flash Fiction Fills Take 63 Part Five
a/n: Three more fills ahoy!
For BingeStudyAnon
Prompt: Targetmaster Recoil/Kup, Recoil has heard the slanderous rumors before, that the only way to get a senile old vet like Kup to agree to a caregiver was to dress him up like a gun.
Fandom: Transformers G1/IDW. Warnings: None
He had a mission.
Recoil wasn't supposed to talk about said mission, but rules be damned. He was not the sort for covert operations. If they wanted a spy, they should have asked for a spy. But they'd wanted an older mech with attitude and that was what they got.
“I'm supposed to watch out for you,” Recoil said bluntly as he stared up at the pale green mech who was to be his partner and planted his hands on his hips. “Apparently, you've got the sparklings worried.”
A smoking cy-gar moved from one side of Kup's mouth to the other. “Is that so?” he said and he laughed, a static-laced rasp that echoed his age, not that Recoil was fooled.
They were both old. Practically ancient. But they'd forgotten more about battle than these uppity sparklings and their equally young Prime had ever learned.
“Who's yer contact?” Kup asked.
Recoil winked. “Springer.”
“Hah. Should've known. Mech can't stop worryin' no matter how hard he tries.” Kup barked a laugh and puffed out another curl of smoke. “And what're you watching me for?”
“I guess they think you're going to keel over one day and no one'll be around to drag your rusty aft to the medcenters,” Recoil offered. He popped an orbital ridge. His empty connector rustled, reminding him that he had a link to make.
Not yet. Recoil had a mission. But he wasn't going to go through with it if Kup didn't agree. Springer might have been… insistent, but he wasn't a Targetmaster. He didn't know what it meant to link. Recoil wasn't about to be attached to a mech who didn't want him.
“Hah.” Kup snorted and peered at him, sharp optics assessing Recoil from top to bottom. “And what do ya turn into?”
Recoil smirked. “I'm a Targetmaster. What do you think?”
Kup unfolded his arms and produced his blaster. “Better than this?”
“Of course.” Recoil didn't bother to keep the pride out of his vocals. He and Kup, at least, had something in common. Age and experience was worth a lot. He knew his value.
“Hmm.” Kup twirled the blaster - a musket laser really - with expert motions. “And what do ya think about all this?”
“I think that it's time we showed these younglings a thing or two.” Recoil lifted his chin and fluffed his plating. “If I have to be bonded to anyone, I want it to be you.”
Kup smirked. “Two old bots, taking on the war together?”
“If you agree.”
Kup spun the musket again and then tossed it aside, planting his hands on his hips. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? At least if I give in and let the sparklings think they're watching out fer me, I could have worse partners.”
Recoil winked. “Yeah,” he said. “They could have offered you, Peacemaker.”
For Ladydragon76
Prompt: Blurr/Jazz/Starscream, this is what happens when we play those kinds of songs
Fandom: Transformers IDW RiD. Warnings: threesome, dirty dancing
Starscream folded his arms and frowned. His fingers tapped against his armor. His wings twitched.
They were making a spectacle of themselves out there.
Starscream's optics narrowed, but he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away.
The music throbbed through the air and the floor. Multi-colored lights strobed across polished plating. It was so loud, Starscream could barely hear himself think.
He didn't know what to call their behavior except that it wasn't dancing. They were interfacing with their panels closed. They were flirting in front of everyone and groping each other shamelessly. It was positively indecent.
No, Starscream wasn't jealous.
He continued to watch anyway as Blurr and Jazz bumped and grinded against each other, as Blurr snagged Jazz and rolled his hips against Jazz's aft. Or Jazz reached back, hooked a hand against the back of Blurr's neck, and shimmied their frames together. Blurr grinned and grabbed Jazz's jaw with his free hand, fingers sliding over Jazz's lips. Jazz's other hand reached back, grabbing a handful of blue aft.
And Starscream absolutely was not jealous.
His engine revved. His cooling fans rattled into a roar. He glared at them, wishing his optics shot fire.
--Should just join us,-- trickled across his comm and he didn't have to check the sender to know it was Jazz taunting him. A bright visor had slanted his direction and as Starscream watched, Jazz made lewd motions with his glossa, thoroughly treating Blurr's fingers.
Starscream snorted. --I don't know what kind of hedonist you think I am, but I am not becoming part of your display.--
Jazz's laugh burst across the comm playfully. Across the dance floor, Starscream saw his lips move and then Blurr's gaze shifted Starscream's direction. His grip on Jazz's hip slid inward, flirting over Jazz's interface panel.
--Are you sure?-- Blurr purred, the promise in his gaze enough to send a shiver down Starscream's backstrut. --You look so lonely over there, Star.--
Jazz rolled his hips and suddenly broke his way free of Blurr's embrace, whirling around and wrapping a leg around Blurr's hip so that they could grind their panels together. One hand wrapped over Blurr's shoulder as he tipped back, relying on Blurr's quick grasp of his hips to keep from tilting. One blue hand dragged down Jazz's thigh in full view of Starscream, teasing him.
The club was dark, the lighting erratic, but not even Starscream could miss the thin trickle of lubricant down the inside of Jazz's thigh.
Primus. Did neither of them have any shame?
Starscream's shoulders hunched. His faceplate burned. He tried to look away but their lewd dance was seared into his cortex.
They were taunting him.
--He's not coming, babe,-- Jazz said, his words meant for both Blurr and Starscream. --Guess we'll have to finish this without him.--
Blurr smirked and leaned forward, getting a mouthful of Jazz's intake as he slanted a glance toward Starscream. --His loss.--
Fragging Grounders. So that's how it was, hm?
Starscream inclined his helm. His thrusters spat fire on the floor. He rolled his metaphorical sleeves.
Enough of this.
It was time to show those two what beast they've awakened.
For Jack3dragon
Prompt: Ratchet/Deadlock
Fandom: Transformers IDW AU. Warnings: Violence
He should have listened to Orion.
That was the thought that crossed Ratchet’s mind as the explosion tore through the front of his clinic in Rodion, sending debris and shrapnel in all directions and causing Ratchet to duck for cover. Luckily, it was near closing time and he had few patients, but that didn’t mean that those few had managed to duck in time.
Ratchet’s audials rang. He felt debris ping against his plating. He smelled smoke and fire. One of his shelving units toppled over on top of him. Pain lanced through his leg and Ratchet gritted his denta as damage warnings cascaded through his stunned HUD.
He heard voices through the madness.
Orion had warned him. Ratchet hadn’t listened. He’d thought, maybe, he’d earned some kind of respect, some kind of amnesty from the mechs in the Dead End. He was here to help them. Why would they have turned on him?
Ratchet rebooted his sensory suites, but static eclipsed his audials and his optics fizzed. No, that was the smoke making it difficult for him to see. His sensors swept out, registering ten sparks. He’d only had three patients.
Six newcomers. Not good.
Ratchet tried to inch out from the shelving unit, but it had him trapped. His leg continued to broadcast distress signals to his processor. He moved, and felt the screech of metal against metal vibrate through the floor. He froze. Three of the spark signatures moved his direction.
He should have taken the pistol Orion tried to shove into his hand. Orion was right, Primus be damned. He should have allowed himself one for self-defense. Medics were no more protected from Megatron’s madness than anyone else.
His self-repair went into overdrive. Ratchet programmed a few quick redirects and tried to reboot his sensory system again. His vision clarified. His audials hissed static, but some sounds worked through.
There was rustling and cursing and pedesteps. Someone was snarling. Someone else was muttering.
“-him!” Someone shouted. Something in the vocals were familiar, though Ratchet couldn’t place him. His recognition protocols couldn’t get a clear audio match.
Ratchet pushed himself onto his forearms and twisted to look over his shoulder. One ankle was firmly pinned, a plating seam notched quite firmly into the edge of the shelves. He could feel it pressing in on his cables, cutting off circulation of his hydraulics.
Frag. Ratchet growled and hit his comm. Static. Of course it was.
Footsteps. Ratchet stilled and looked toward the end of the counter. Three pairs of feet came into view, the one in the forefront gray and yellow and red. Ratchet looked up to see three mechs, Decepticon brands bright and purple on their chestplates.
And there Ratchet was, newly painted Auto-brands fresh on his shoulders.
He really should have listened to Orion.
“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with,” Ratchet snarled. He was old. He’d lived a long life. He wasn’t going to beg for his spark.
The mech in the forefront stepped forward and dropped to one knee in front of Ratchet. He leaned forward, bracing his weight across his knee.
“I don’t intend to kill you,” he said with a tilt of his helm, his red optics sharp and incisive. Like his voice, there was something familiar about his faceplate. “In fact, doctor, I came looking for you.”
“Well you can just lose me again because I’m not working for Megatron!” Ratchet growled and he tugged harder at his foot, not that it budged. He would have rather died on his feet than on his knees, but he didn’t have the luxury of choice.
Lips curled in a slow smile, revealing sharpened denta. “After I worked so hard to find you?” One hand lifted, making a vague gesture.
Goons number one and two stepped around the obvious leader and walked past Ratchet. He tensed, unsure what to expect, and found that they were lifting the shelving unit off of him. Ratchet pulled himself free, but his foot continued to ping back errors. The joint was crushed. He wouldn’t be moving on it anytime soon.
But he still had four tires.
All he needed was enough momentum.
The leader moved fast, faster than Ratchet would have expected, strong fingers gripping Ratchet’s chin and tilting his helm up until all he could see were those red, red optics.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember me, doctor,” he purred, his field reaching out and rasping against Ratchet’s with that edge of foreign familiarity. “Don’t you remember? You told me I was special.”
Ratchet’s ventilations hitched.
“Drift?”
Red optics flashed and his grin curved higher, with an edge of sincerity this time. “You do remember me. I’m touched, Doc.”
Hands grabbed him on either side beneath his arms, hauling him to his feet and Drift rose with him, never losing his hold on Ratchets chin. Though it gentled a little, less a restraint and closer to a caress. The hands wrapped around his arms were like iron bars however.
“Didn’t anyone tell you Rodion was a dangerous place to be right now?”
Ratchet leaned heavily on his one functional foot. Drift’s grip kept him from turning his helm, but peripheral vision gave him a glimpse of the ruin the front of his clinic had become. He could hear the clanks and crashes of looting in the back room as well, now doubt the other Decepticons raiding his clinic for whatever supplies they could use.
What had they done with his patients?
“Didn’t anyone tell you about a thing like common decency?” Ratchet hissed in return, unable to ignore the dread pooling in his spark. “There were patients here, Drift.”
The grip tightened and Drift leaned in, until their faces were close enough that Ratchet could taste his ex-vents. “It’s Deadlock now. You might want to remember that.”
Ratchet winced and flexed his arms, but neither of the two mechs restraining him budged. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he said. “What do you think you’re doing, Deadlock?”
“Recruiting.” Deadlock chuckled and leaned back. He released Ratchet’s chin, but the tip of his finger tickled beneath Ratchet’s jaw. “We need medics. We need the best.”
He almost laughed. “And you think you can convince me to join you?”
“I think I’m going to try. I’m just trying to prove you right, Ratchet,” Deadlock smirked at him and spun around, his back kibble shuffling and resettling as though defensive. “Let’s load ‘em up!” he shouted as he stepped around the counter.
Ratchet grunted as the two goons dragged him forward and he hobbled on the one foot that refused to respond. He caught sight of crates of medical supplies going out the ruined front door and Deadlock directing them all.
Megatron had almost corrupted Orion, should Ratchet be so surprised he’d taken in a poor, defeated mech from the Dead End and turned him into this?
No, he shouldn’t.
But that didn’t make Ratchet any less furious.
He glared at Deadlock as he was loaded into the back of a truck along with crates of supplies and two of his surviving patients.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Deadlock said, some of the sneer vanishing from his faceplate. He had one hand on the back door of the truck, prepared to shut and lock it. “I’m saving your life.”
“You have a funny way of doing it,” Ratchet snapped. “This is a Pit of a way to repay the mech who saved your life.”
Deadlock’s optics narrowed. “Well, then I guess you only have yourself to blame,” he growled and slammed the door shut. The noise echoed in the dim.
Ratchet cycled a ventilation and tried his comms again.
Still nothing.
He really should have listened to Orion.
a/n: Lots more to come still! Keep your eyes peeled! :)
The Deadlock/Ratchet one can be considered the introduction to a long, extensive Deadlock/Ratchet fic I am in the process of outlining and working out. I’m not sure when exactly it takes place in canon cause timeline-wise, I’m a little shaky. But I’ll get that all settled by the time I actually post the whole fic.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/306761.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
For BingeStudyAnon
Prompt: Targetmaster Recoil/Kup, Recoil has heard the slanderous rumors before, that the only way to get a senile old vet like Kup to agree to a caregiver was to dress him up like a gun.
Fandom: Transformers G1/IDW. Warnings: None
He had a mission.
Recoil wasn't supposed to talk about said mission, but rules be damned. He was not the sort for covert operations. If they wanted a spy, they should have asked for a spy. But they'd wanted an older mech with attitude and that was what they got.
“I'm supposed to watch out for you,” Recoil said bluntly as he stared up at the pale green mech who was to be his partner and planted his hands on his hips. “Apparently, you've got the sparklings worried.”
A smoking cy-gar moved from one side of Kup's mouth to the other. “Is that so?” he said and he laughed, a static-laced rasp that echoed his age, not that Recoil was fooled.
They were both old. Practically ancient. But they'd forgotten more about battle than these uppity sparklings and their equally young Prime had ever learned.
“Who's yer contact?” Kup asked.
Recoil winked. “Springer.”
“Hah. Should've known. Mech can't stop worryin' no matter how hard he tries.” Kup barked a laugh and puffed out another curl of smoke. “And what're you watching me for?”
“I guess they think you're going to keel over one day and no one'll be around to drag your rusty aft to the medcenters,” Recoil offered. He popped an orbital ridge. His empty connector rustled, reminding him that he had a link to make.
Not yet. Recoil had a mission. But he wasn't going to go through with it if Kup didn't agree. Springer might have been… insistent, but he wasn't a Targetmaster. He didn't know what it meant to link. Recoil wasn't about to be attached to a mech who didn't want him.
“Hah.” Kup snorted and peered at him, sharp optics assessing Recoil from top to bottom. “And what do ya turn into?”
Recoil smirked. “I'm a Targetmaster. What do you think?”
Kup unfolded his arms and produced his blaster. “Better than this?”
“Of course.” Recoil didn't bother to keep the pride out of his vocals. He and Kup, at least, had something in common. Age and experience was worth a lot. He knew his value.
“Hmm.” Kup twirled the blaster - a musket laser really - with expert motions. “And what do ya think about all this?”
“I think that it's time we showed these younglings a thing or two.” Recoil lifted his chin and fluffed his plating. “If I have to be bonded to anyone, I want it to be you.”
Kup smirked. “Two old bots, taking on the war together?”
“If you agree.”
Kup spun the musket again and then tossed it aside, planting his hands on his hips. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? At least if I give in and let the sparklings think they're watching out fer me, I could have worse partners.”
Recoil winked. “Yeah,” he said. “They could have offered you, Peacemaker.”
For Ladydragon76
Prompt: Blurr/Jazz/Starscream, this is what happens when we play those kinds of songs
Fandom: Transformers IDW RiD. Warnings: threesome, dirty dancing
Starscream folded his arms and frowned. His fingers tapped against his armor. His wings twitched.
They were making a spectacle of themselves out there.
Starscream's optics narrowed, but he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away.
The music throbbed through the air and the floor. Multi-colored lights strobed across polished plating. It was so loud, Starscream could barely hear himself think.
He didn't know what to call their behavior except that it wasn't dancing. They were interfacing with their panels closed. They were flirting in front of everyone and groping each other shamelessly. It was positively indecent.
No, Starscream wasn't jealous.
He continued to watch anyway as Blurr and Jazz bumped and grinded against each other, as Blurr snagged Jazz and rolled his hips against Jazz's aft. Or Jazz reached back, hooked a hand against the back of Blurr's neck, and shimmied their frames together. Blurr grinned and grabbed Jazz's jaw with his free hand, fingers sliding over Jazz's lips. Jazz's other hand reached back, grabbing a handful of blue aft.
And Starscream absolutely was not jealous.
His engine revved. His cooling fans rattled into a roar. He glared at them, wishing his optics shot fire.
--Should just join us,-- trickled across his comm and he didn't have to check the sender to know it was Jazz taunting him. A bright visor had slanted his direction and as Starscream watched, Jazz made lewd motions with his glossa, thoroughly treating Blurr's fingers.
Starscream snorted. --I don't know what kind of hedonist you think I am, but I am not becoming part of your display.--
Jazz's laugh burst across the comm playfully. Across the dance floor, Starscream saw his lips move and then Blurr's gaze shifted Starscream's direction. His grip on Jazz's hip slid inward, flirting over Jazz's interface panel.
--Are you sure?-- Blurr purred, the promise in his gaze enough to send a shiver down Starscream's backstrut. --You look so lonely over there, Star.--
Jazz rolled his hips and suddenly broke his way free of Blurr's embrace, whirling around and wrapping a leg around Blurr's hip so that they could grind their panels together. One hand wrapped over Blurr's shoulder as he tipped back, relying on Blurr's quick grasp of his hips to keep from tilting. One blue hand dragged down Jazz's thigh in full view of Starscream, teasing him.
The club was dark, the lighting erratic, but not even Starscream could miss the thin trickle of lubricant down the inside of Jazz's thigh.
Primus. Did neither of them have any shame?
Starscream's shoulders hunched. His faceplate burned. He tried to look away but their lewd dance was seared into his cortex.
They were taunting him.
--He's not coming, babe,-- Jazz said, his words meant for both Blurr and Starscream. --Guess we'll have to finish this without him.--
Blurr smirked and leaned forward, getting a mouthful of Jazz's intake as he slanted a glance toward Starscream. --His loss.--
Fragging Grounders. So that's how it was, hm?
Starscream inclined his helm. His thrusters spat fire on the floor. He rolled his metaphorical sleeves.
Enough of this.
It was time to show those two what beast they've awakened.
For Jack3dragon
Prompt: Ratchet/Deadlock
Fandom: Transformers IDW AU. Warnings: Violence
He should have listened to Orion.
That was the thought that crossed Ratchet’s mind as the explosion tore through the front of his clinic in Rodion, sending debris and shrapnel in all directions and causing Ratchet to duck for cover. Luckily, it was near closing time and he had few patients, but that didn’t mean that those few had managed to duck in time.
Ratchet’s audials rang. He felt debris ping against his plating. He smelled smoke and fire. One of his shelving units toppled over on top of him. Pain lanced through his leg and Ratchet gritted his denta as damage warnings cascaded through his stunned HUD.
He heard voices through the madness.
Orion had warned him. Ratchet hadn’t listened. He’d thought, maybe, he’d earned some kind of respect, some kind of amnesty from the mechs in the Dead End. He was here to help them. Why would they have turned on him?
Ratchet rebooted his sensory suites, but static eclipsed his audials and his optics fizzed. No, that was the smoke making it difficult for him to see. His sensors swept out, registering ten sparks. He’d only had three patients.
Six newcomers. Not good.
Ratchet tried to inch out from the shelving unit, but it had him trapped. His leg continued to broadcast distress signals to his processor. He moved, and felt the screech of metal against metal vibrate through the floor. He froze. Three of the spark signatures moved his direction.
He should have taken the pistol Orion tried to shove into his hand. Orion was right, Primus be damned. He should have allowed himself one for self-defense. Medics were no more protected from Megatron’s madness than anyone else.
His self-repair went into overdrive. Ratchet programmed a few quick redirects and tried to reboot his sensory system again. His vision clarified. His audials hissed static, but some sounds worked through.
There was rustling and cursing and pedesteps. Someone was snarling. Someone else was muttering.
“-him!” Someone shouted. Something in the vocals were familiar, though Ratchet couldn’t place him. His recognition protocols couldn’t get a clear audio match.
Ratchet pushed himself onto his forearms and twisted to look over his shoulder. One ankle was firmly pinned, a plating seam notched quite firmly into the edge of the shelves. He could feel it pressing in on his cables, cutting off circulation of his hydraulics.
Frag. Ratchet growled and hit his comm. Static. Of course it was.
Footsteps. Ratchet stilled and looked toward the end of the counter. Three pairs of feet came into view, the one in the forefront gray and yellow and red. Ratchet looked up to see three mechs, Decepticon brands bright and purple on their chestplates.
And there Ratchet was, newly painted Auto-brands fresh on his shoulders.
He really should have listened to Orion.
“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with,” Ratchet snarled. He was old. He’d lived a long life. He wasn’t going to beg for his spark.
The mech in the forefront stepped forward and dropped to one knee in front of Ratchet. He leaned forward, bracing his weight across his knee.
“I don’t intend to kill you,” he said with a tilt of his helm, his red optics sharp and incisive. Like his voice, there was something familiar about his faceplate. “In fact, doctor, I came looking for you.”
“Well you can just lose me again because I’m not working for Megatron!” Ratchet growled and he tugged harder at his foot, not that it budged. He would have rather died on his feet than on his knees, but he didn’t have the luxury of choice.
Lips curled in a slow smile, revealing sharpened denta. “After I worked so hard to find you?” One hand lifted, making a vague gesture.
Goons number one and two stepped around the obvious leader and walked past Ratchet. He tensed, unsure what to expect, and found that they were lifting the shelving unit off of him. Ratchet pulled himself free, but his foot continued to ping back errors. The joint was crushed. He wouldn’t be moving on it anytime soon.
But he still had four tires.
All he needed was enough momentum.
The leader moved fast, faster than Ratchet would have expected, strong fingers gripping Ratchet’s chin and tilting his helm up until all he could see were those red, red optics.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember me, doctor,” he purred, his field reaching out and rasping against Ratchet’s with that edge of foreign familiarity. “Don’t you remember? You told me I was special.”
Ratchet’s ventilations hitched.
“Drift?”
Red optics flashed and his grin curved higher, with an edge of sincerity this time. “You do remember me. I’m touched, Doc.”
Hands grabbed him on either side beneath his arms, hauling him to his feet and Drift rose with him, never losing his hold on Ratchets chin. Though it gentled a little, less a restraint and closer to a caress. The hands wrapped around his arms were like iron bars however.
“Didn’t anyone tell you Rodion was a dangerous place to be right now?”
Ratchet leaned heavily on his one functional foot. Drift’s grip kept him from turning his helm, but peripheral vision gave him a glimpse of the ruin the front of his clinic had become. He could hear the clanks and crashes of looting in the back room as well, now doubt the other Decepticons raiding his clinic for whatever supplies they could use.
What had they done with his patients?
“Didn’t anyone tell you about a thing like common decency?” Ratchet hissed in return, unable to ignore the dread pooling in his spark. “There were patients here, Drift.”
The grip tightened and Drift leaned in, until their faces were close enough that Ratchet could taste his ex-vents. “It’s Deadlock now. You might want to remember that.”
Ratchet winced and flexed his arms, but neither of the two mechs restraining him budged. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he said. “What do you think you’re doing, Deadlock?”
“Recruiting.” Deadlock chuckled and leaned back. He released Ratchet’s chin, but the tip of his finger tickled beneath Ratchet’s jaw. “We need medics. We need the best.”
He almost laughed. “And you think you can convince me to join you?”
“I think I’m going to try. I’m just trying to prove you right, Ratchet,” Deadlock smirked at him and spun around, his back kibble shuffling and resettling as though defensive. “Let’s load ‘em up!” he shouted as he stepped around the counter.
Ratchet grunted as the two goons dragged him forward and he hobbled on the one foot that refused to respond. He caught sight of crates of medical supplies going out the ruined front door and Deadlock directing them all.
Megatron had almost corrupted Orion, should Ratchet be so surprised he’d taken in a poor, defeated mech from the Dead End and turned him into this?
No, he shouldn’t.
But that didn’t make Ratchet any less furious.
He glared at Deadlock as he was loaded into the back of a truck along with crates of supplies and two of his surviving patients.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Deadlock said, some of the sneer vanishing from his faceplate. He had one hand on the back door of the truck, prepared to shut and lock it. “I’m saving your life.”
“You have a funny way of doing it,” Ratchet snapped. “This is a Pit of a way to repay the mech who saved your life.”
Deadlock’s optics narrowed. “Well, then I guess you only have yourself to blame,” he growled and slammed the door shut. The noise echoed in the dim.
Ratchet cycled a ventilation and tried his comms again.
Still nothing.
He really should have listened to Orion.
a/n: Lots more to come still! Keep your eyes peeled! :)
The Deadlock/Ratchet one can be considered the introduction to a long, extensive Deadlock/Ratchet fic I am in the process of outlining and working out. I’m not sure when exactly it takes place in canon cause timeline-wise, I’m a little shaky. But I’ll get that all settled by the time I actually post the whole fic.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/306761.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.