More Speedwriting Prompt Fills!
Title: When Wise Mechs are Banished -- Interlude -- BOOM
Word Count: 560
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse/G1 AU
Characters: Wheeljack, Ratchet, mentions of others
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt: Prompt 1: Mass Effect (Basically, the more mass there is in a chemical reaction, the larger the reaction)
Summary: Prequel to Where Wise Mechs Fear to Tread. A little interlude with Wheeljack.
Link to Post
Title: Lessons
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz, an OC or two...
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt: Prompt 2: Scenario: Any cybertronian meets a a non-human organic alien race
Trips through the Matrix were always disorienting, thought Optimus Prime as he was thrust into the frame of a former Prime.
“It's good for you,” the Ancients, his teachers and mentors, had told him. “Learn from your predecessors' mistakes, so you do not have to make them again. Learn, and become one of the Great Primes, those who their people would die for not because of loyalty to whomever the Matrix chose, but because they are loyal to you, because they know that you will not mislead them.”
It was motivation enough to enter the memories of other mechs. But Optimus Prime would never, he was sure, find it easy to suddenly find himself looking out of someone else's optics.
“You are sure?” he/the old Prime was asking a slim silver mech. The silver mech nodded grimly, red optics flashing.
“Ah'm sure, Saevus. It's a Quintesson.”
With a start, the current Prime recognized Jazz. Jazz!
… He was that old? Because this was an old memory - one from before the War of the Quintessons. Before the Revolution. Before, if Optimus was correct, the Quintessons had even taken over Cybertron.
“Persecutus confirmed it?”
“Yup. He did.”
Optimus/Saevus let out a vent. “Very well. Take me to it, Cantus.”
“Right 'way.”
The two bots started down the hallway, Optimus/Saevus shortening his strides so Jazz/Cantus wouldn't have a hard time keeping up. They turned at the end and headed down a long flight of stairs. Down and down they went, deep underground, before they turned out of the staircase and walked down a long, dim hallway.
A mech was waiting for them. He was mostly red, with black, white, and gold accents. His proud doorwings arched in a stiff, formal, V over his shoulders. The posture alone cued Optimus into his current designation; Prowl.
“Persecutus,” Optimus/Saevus greeted, nodding to the Praxian.
“Saevus,” Persecutus/Prowl responded, returning the nod. “The Quintesson is this way. We have him in Holding Cell B-13.”
Saevus nodded and followed the red mech down the hall and through the specified door. A creature was lying in the holding cell, the thick bars between it and the rest of the world humming with energy. The creature was strange. Its greenish skin was not slimy, exactly, but it looked shiny. Its face was composed, for the most part, of a wide, gaping mouth, filled with sharp, black teeth. It was a bipedal, with seven fingered hands and claws. It also had tentacles, which flowed over its back like some disgusting, living, writhing cape.
“Do either of you have the Quintesson language modules?”
“Ah do, Saevus. You want 'em, or you want me t' translate?”
“Just translate, thank you. Ask him what he's doing here.”
Cantus let off a string of warbling growls and clicks. The Quintesson hissed back. “He says he ain't here fer anythin'.”
Saevus vented, turned away, and looked to Persecutus. “Do what you must to get the truth. I don't want those organics on my planet, and I want to know why he's here in the first place.”
“Yes sir,” the Praxian said, frowning. “What is off limits?”
Saevus cast him a dark look. “Nothing.”
The world faded, and Optimus found himself in the Construct, an area that was constantly shifting to accommodate the Ancients' wishes. At the moment, it looked like a large office, with walls lined with shelves of datapads, desks pushed against the walls, and drab colors.
“What have you learned, Young One?” many voices whispered together as shadowy figures flitted through the room.
Optimus thought for a moment. “I do not know. What was I supposed to learn?”
A single figure solidified into a graceful, if rather larger than average, femme. Prima. “What do you believe the lesson to be, Optimus Prime?”
The Prime shook his helm, but spoke as requested. “That was from before the Quintessons took over... Did Saevus...?” he trailed off, hesitant to even imply that one of the ancient Primes, though not one of the Ancients, had condemned their planet to vorns and vorns of slavery under the Quintessons.
“Yes, he did. The Quintessons wished to explore. Wished to trade. When their emissary was captured, tortured, and killed, they retaliated. At the time, they were fueled by their anger and wish to avenge one of their own. Later on, they began to revel in their power over our kind. In the beginning of the Cybertronian enslavement, before the last rebellions had been put down, they were kind, for the most part. They could not forget that we had killed one of their own, but they did understand that it had been the actions of a few, and not of the whole planet. It was later that they became what every Cybertronian is taught of. Do you understand, my young Prime?”
Optimus frowned. “I believe I do. Saevus acted hastily. If I understood correctly, his opinion on organics was biased. He believed them all primitive, violent, barely sentient beings. I must not do that.”
Prima smiled gently. “Yes. You must remember, even if a being is organic and small, and if their culture is filled with war, that does not mean they are not sentient. It does not mean they are much like ourselves, capable of love and hate. A time will come, very soon, my young Prime, where you must remember. Where you are going, you will need this knowledge.”
The Prime nodded. “I understand. I will remember.”
“I have faith, Prime. Go now. Return to your friends and journey. It is almost done. The AllSpark is within reach.”
The Prime bowed, and the Construct faded. Within kliks, he was back in his own body, kneeling on an asteroid, which in turn was part of a belt of asteroids that stretched between the fourth and fifth planets of this solar system. Jazz and Bumblebee were staring out into the stars as they drank their energon. Ratchet and Ironhide were bickering somewhere behind and to the left of him.
Letting out a low rumble, the Prime unfolded his legs and stood. “Mechs,” he called, and his four subordinates and friends were immediately next to him. “We are close. Bumblebee, I would like you to go ahead. The third planet. Land there and scout around, and keep in mind to be careful of any local life. Ratchet, Ironhide... Cantus... stay with me.”
Jazz stared, dumbstruck, for a moment, before grinning wildly. “Yes, sir, Prime!”
Title: Fight For Life
Rating: T
Continuity: Non-Specific
Characters: ?, ?, ?, ?. No names mentioned, no specific Autobots/Decepticons implied. So, four OCs? Sort of? Not really? Maybe?
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: Prompt 3: Fighting for your life
“What have we here, mechs? A little Autobot far from home?” the Seeker sneered as he hovered before the gray minibot. His trinemates hovered around the minibot as well, blocking his way.
“Looks like it,” one of the other Seekers said with a smirk.
“What do you think we should we do with it?” the third asked, looking on with a hungry expression.
The minibot, spark cold, lifted his rifle and said nothing. He had already commed the base. Reinforcement was three breems out. He didn't have three breems.
“Come on, little Autobot, you must have something to say!”
The Autobot frowned. “Not to the likes of you.”
The Seeker snarled and lunged forward, gun forgotten, claws outstretched. The minibot whipped up his gun and fired, catching the winged mech on the side of the helm, leaving a long, black scorch mark. The Seeker let out a long keen and aborted his lunge, hurrying back to circle with his trinemates.
His two companions laughed. “Taken out by a puny minibot? Psha! You're getting soft! This is how it's done!” one of the others crowed, and trained his blaster at the Autobot. The 'bot ducked as five shots ripped through the air where his helm had been and blindly returned fire. One shot hit the Seeker on the thigh. The others missed.
The Decepticon snarled, examining the scorch mark. The minibot didn't bother even hoping he had disabled the Seeker. His blaster was low on power. It may have been a painful wound, but it was by no means even slightly hindering.
The shout of, “That little fragger burned my paint!” confirmed his beliefs a klik later. The other two Seekers laughed, though they kept their guns on the minibot.
He was done for. That much was obvious. Reinforcements were a long ways out. Barely a breem had passed since they had been dispatched. With a heavy vent, the Autobot resigned himself to his already certain fate.
And if he was already going to die, might as well go down fighting. He dropped his gun; it was useless now. A small dagger was pulled out of subspace and held, hidden, against his forearm.
“Come and burn mine, then!” he snarled, optics cold, hard, and empty. He had nothing to lose.
The Seekers, startled by the sudden defiance, glanced at each other. Then the burned Decepticon grinned evilly. “With pleasure!”
He flew forward, claws outstretched. The minibot leaned into the attack, plunging the dagger into the Seeker's side even as the sharp fingers ripped into his chassis plating.
The Seeker howled in pain, and his two wingmates were immediately on the little minibot, tearing and shredding.
The Autobot shrieked as armor, wires, and tubes were brutally ripped and torn and violently dismantled. His optics flickered, whiting out in pain. The Seekers were a flurry of energon stained claws and rumbling engines above him.
Then a set of thick claws ripped through the chest plate, and the spark chamber was crushed. The bluish spark flickered for a moment, then disappeared.
For a few long moments, the Seekers stood around the graying form. Then, “He probably called for backup. We should go.”
Two nods met the statement, and the three Seekers ignited their thrusters and took off.
One and a quarter breems later, the minibot's reinforcement arrived too late, and carried his gray frame back to base.
Title: Winning the War
Rating: PG
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Jazz, Megatron, and named and unnamed younglings
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt:Prompt 4: Winning a small war
“Once upon a time, there was a gladiator named Megatron. He was happy with his life, but he knew that many were not. He was a good fighter, and so had everything he needed, but he knew that those who were not as good as him did not have everything. He knew that they needed better, and so gathered his forces. He talked, told people that he would overthrow the corrupt Council and lead them all to a better life.
“At first, he tried to do this peacefully. He preached his ideas to everyone, to anyone who would listen and even some who wouldn't. The Council did not like this. They had been in charge for a millenia, and liked having power. They didn't want this gladiator to come along and take it from him.
“So they started a war. They ordered Sentinel Prime to command their forces and exterminated the gladiator. He tried. He tried as hard as he could. But Sentinel Prime was no military commander, and was soon killed.
“The Council knew that their army would fall apart without a Prime to lead it, and so initiated a seach for the next Prime. The mech it chose was an archivist who lived in the lower areas of Iacon. They thought he would be easy to manipulate.
“They were wrong. Lower class he might have been, but he worked in the archives, and was desperate to learn. Optimus Prime loved learning, and was aware that the Council was corrupt. For a time, he fought for them. But as time went on, he began to rebel against the Council. They wanted nothing but their own gain, and Optimus, as a former lower class bot and a very well educated mech, knew that. He knew that Megatron was trying to do what was best for Cybertron, was trying to get a more equal system of government into power.
“Optimus organized a secret meeting with Megatron. 'I am tired of this war,' he said. 'I am tired of the Council.'
“'I am, too,' said Megatron. 'They take and take and do not care if it means that those below them have nothing. I aim to end that.'
“Optimus extended his hand in a symbol of friendship and smiled. 'As do I, brother,' he said.
“The next day, the combined forces of the Autobots and Decepticons marched on the Council Chambers. The Councilmechs were tried and imprisoned, and the Prime and Megatron took up leading Cybertron.
“They still rule, fairly and equally, as Lord High Protector and Prime, to this orn,” the caretaker finished, glancing over his captive audience.
“Tell it again!” a little youngling cheered, clapping his small hands, and a few other younglings took up the call. A deep chuckle from the doorway made them all freeze.
“Yes, do tell it again, Jazz. But don't forget the part where Megatron and Optimus Prime bonded,” the Lord High Protector said with a smirk.
The former saboteur shook his helm with a laugh. “Oh, yes, I forgot how Megatron and Optimus declared their eternal love for each other and merged their sp-”
“Eeeeww!” one of the younglings squealed, clasping his hands over his audios. “No, no, gross!”
Megatron chuckled. “Very well, that story will be told much later, I suppose. Rodimus, Galvatron, it's time to go. Your carrier will be home in a joor, and I thought you said you wanted to make energon goodies with Wheeljack to surprise him.”
The two younglings squealed and ran forward. Megatron smiled softly at them, then waved at Jazz. “Thanks, Jazz. I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Megatron. Tell OP hi for me!”
“Will do. And good storytelling, by the way!”
Jazz just smiled and nodded, turning back to the younglings in front of him. “Now, how 'bout I tell you all 'bout how I met my Prowler? It's more exciting than it sounds. It all started when an assassin made an attempt on Optimus Prime's spark...”
Title: Lost and Found
Rating: PG
Continuity: Movieverse G1 crossover. Sort of.
Characters: Skyfire, Starscream
Disclaimer: Don't Own
Prompt: Prompt 5: Setting: A very cold place
Skyfire was cold. It was all he was aware of. He knew how he had gotten here, why he was here, but he really couldn't think of any way to get out of this. He was frozen. His armor, specially engineered to keep out the cold emptiness of space, had protected his internals from the sharp spears frozen hydrogen dioxide formed, but the water around him had frozen solid, sealing his limbs and body in an airtight block. Even with all his strength, he wasn't able to break it.
As for why he was aware, that was easy enough to figure out. It had happened a few times before. As an explorer, he had specialized sensors and protocols that woke him up when anything possibly dangerous was near. In the past, he had been woken by passing creatures or shifting ice. The passing creatures always made him yearn to be free, to be able to examine them and catalog them. The shifting ice also made him wish for freedom, but a freedom of a different kind. The freedom of the skies and stars, where he could move freely.
He assumed that the ice had shifted and woken him again. He didn't feel any more tremors, but his energy was bound to run out eventually. He had probably simply taken a while to boot up.
Then something touched his fingers. Something warm, something not ice. A soft caress, and he could feel the vibration of words on his plating, even if the ice distorted and muffled it too much to hear.
Over the next long while, he could feel more and more of his arm plating exposed. He tried twitching his fingers, and was rewarded with a shriek that, even through the layers and layers of ice, was recognizable and familiar.
Starscream? He had told the Seeker to continue on, before his comms had shorted. Had told him to live on, because he was done for. Stupid Seeker, never following orders...
More and more ice was chipped away. Skyfire relaxed, enjoying the feeling of air, actual air, on his plating again.
Then his helm was free, and he smiled into the scowling, black faceplates of his partner.
“Starscream...”
“Skyfire, you glitch! I told you the atmosphere was unstable!”
Skyfire chuckled, then outright laugh. “I told you to get free and live on.”
Starscream's face fell. “I did,” he whispered. “I did, and it was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done, you stupid glitch!”
Skyfire frowned, finally realizing that his processors were running a bit slow. He felt dizzy. “What do you mean?” Starscream moved back to the ice on his torso, which was starting to melt as his systems started coming back online. “Starscream, what do you mean?” he repeated, and Starscream let out a choked sob.
“I moved on!” he screeched, leaning back from the shuttle. “I went back to Cybertron! I was expelled from the Science Institute because I had, apparently, murdered you! Then the war started, and... and...”
Skyfire used his one free arm to pull his partner against his warming chassis. Expelled? Murder? War?
But it didn't matter. He had Starscream in his arms, he was free - well, almost - from the ice, and he was happy for now. Starscream could explain later. For now, he was happy to be out of his icy prison with his almost-bondmate in his arms.
Title: Strange
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Will Lennox, mentions of others
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt:Prompt 6: Setting: A very windy place
Lennox stared at the mechs assembled before him. Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz, and Ratchet.
“So... Prowl, you're saying that you almost crashed because it was windy?” he said incredulously, and the tactician shifted awkwardly.
“In a manner of speaking... Colonel Lennox, your planet's atmosphere is much thicker than any we've encountered for any length of time. It feels... strange.”
Jazz cackled, but the human had quickly learned that when the saboteur was making that noise, you didn't ask about it. “Right, Prowler. Strange.”
Prowl shot Jazz an annoyed glare before turning back to the Colonel. “To tell the truth, Colonel Lennox, your planet always feels windy to us. We aren't used to it.”
“Right. An' when we're drivin' fast, it feels... strange,” Jazz said, then broke out laughing again. Prowl vented and looked like he was desperately trying to keep his face from meeting his palm. Ratchet was holding back chuckles, and the Prime looked very amused.
“Yes, Jazz. Strange.”
The silver saboteur just kept laughing.
---------------
Besides the prompt, this one was sort of inspired by a short story where the Datsuns are constantly being effected by the thick atmosphere of the Earth when driving quickly. Then Smokescreen develops a theory: if the wind feels good on the outside, armored part of their armor, what would it feel like if they opened their doors at high speed? All three try it out, and end up getting the best overloads of their lives. Story's told from Prowl's perspective.
Thank you to silberstreif for getting me the story and author: The oneshot was written by Zea_T, and it's part of the anthology "Stronger Together" - Chapter 3: Caught in the Act.
Word Count: 560
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse/G1 AU
Characters: Wheeljack, Ratchet, mentions of others
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt: Prompt 1: Mass Effect (Basically, the more mass there is in a chemical reaction, the larger the reaction)
Summary: Prequel to Where Wise Mechs Fear to Tread. A little interlude with Wheeljack.
Link to Post
Title: Lessons
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz, an OC or two...
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt: Prompt 2: Scenario: Any cybertronian meets a a non-human organic alien race
Trips through the Matrix were always disorienting, thought Optimus Prime as he was thrust into the frame of a former Prime.
“It's good for you,” the Ancients, his teachers and mentors, had told him. “Learn from your predecessors' mistakes, so you do not have to make them again. Learn, and become one of the Great Primes, those who their people would die for not because of loyalty to whomever the Matrix chose, but because they are loyal to you, because they know that you will not mislead them.”
It was motivation enough to enter the memories of other mechs. But Optimus Prime would never, he was sure, find it easy to suddenly find himself looking out of someone else's optics.
“You are sure?” he/the old Prime was asking a slim silver mech. The silver mech nodded grimly, red optics flashing.
“Ah'm sure, Saevus. It's a Quintesson.”
With a start, the current Prime recognized Jazz. Jazz!
… He was that old? Because this was an old memory - one from before the War of the Quintessons. Before the Revolution. Before, if Optimus was correct, the Quintessons had even taken over Cybertron.
“Persecutus confirmed it?”
“Yup. He did.”
Optimus/Saevus let out a vent. “Very well. Take me to it, Cantus.”
“Right 'way.”
The two bots started down the hallway, Optimus/Saevus shortening his strides so Jazz/Cantus wouldn't have a hard time keeping up. They turned at the end and headed down a long flight of stairs. Down and down they went, deep underground, before they turned out of the staircase and walked down a long, dim hallway.
A mech was waiting for them. He was mostly red, with black, white, and gold accents. His proud doorwings arched in a stiff, formal, V over his shoulders. The posture alone cued Optimus into his current designation; Prowl.
“Persecutus,” Optimus/Saevus greeted, nodding to the Praxian.
“Saevus,” Persecutus/Prowl responded, returning the nod. “The Quintesson is this way. We have him in Holding Cell B-13.”
Saevus nodded and followed the red mech down the hall and through the specified door. A creature was lying in the holding cell, the thick bars between it and the rest of the world humming with energy. The creature was strange. Its greenish skin was not slimy, exactly, but it looked shiny. Its face was composed, for the most part, of a wide, gaping mouth, filled with sharp, black teeth. It was a bipedal, with seven fingered hands and claws. It also had tentacles, which flowed over its back like some disgusting, living, writhing cape.
“Do either of you have the Quintesson language modules?”
“Ah do, Saevus. You want 'em, or you want me t' translate?”
“Just translate, thank you. Ask him what he's doing here.”
Cantus let off a string of warbling growls and clicks. The Quintesson hissed back. “He says he ain't here fer anythin'.”
Saevus vented, turned away, and looked to Persecutus. “Do what you must to get the truth. I don't want those organics on my planet, and I want to know why he's here in the first place.”
“Yes sir,” the Praxian said, frowning. “What is off limits?”
Saevus cast him a dark look. “Nothing.”
The world faded, and Optimus found himself in the Construct, an area that was constantly shifting to accommodate the Ancients' wishes. At the moment, it looked like a large office, with walls lined with shelves of datapads, desks pushed against the walls, and drab colors.
“What have you learned, Young One?” many voices whispered together as shadowy figures flitted through the room.
Optimus thought for a moment. “I do not know. What was I supposed to learn?”
A single figure solidified into a graceful, if rather larger than average, femme. Prima. “What do you believe the lesson to be, Optimus Prime?”
The Prime shook his helm, but spoke as requested. “That was from before the Quintessons took over... Did Saevus...?” he trailed off, hesitant to even imply that one of the ancient Primes, though not one of the Ancients, had condemned their planet to vorns and vorns of slavery under the Quintessons.
“Yes, he did. The Quintessons wished to explore. Wished to trade. When their emissary was captured, tortured, and killed, they retaliated. At the time, they were fueled by their anger and wish to avenge one of their own. Later on, they began to revel in their power over our kind. In the beginning of the Cybertronian enslavement, before the last rebellions had been put down, they were kind, for the most part. They could not forget that we had killed one of their own, but they did understand that it had been the actions of a few, and not of the whole planet. It was later that they became what every Cybertronian is taught of. Do you understand, my young Prime?”
Optimus frowned. “I believe I do. Saevus acted hastily. If I understood correctly, his opinion on organics was biased. He believed them all primitive, violent, barely sentient beings. I must not do that.”
Prima smiled gently. “Yes. You must remember, even if a being is organic and small, and if their culture is filled with war, that does not mean they are not sentient. It does not mean they are much like ourselves, capable of love and hate. A time will come, very soon, my young Prime, where you must remember. Where you are going, you will need this knowledge.”
The Prime nodded. “I understand. I will remember.”
“I have faith, Prime. Go now. Return to your friends and journey. It is almost done. The AllSpark is within reach.”
The Prime bowed, and the Construct faded. Within kliks, he was back in his own body, kneeling on an asteroid, which in turn was part of a belt of asteroids that stretched between the fourth and fifth planets of this solar system. Jazz and Bumblebee were staring out into the stars as they drank their energon. Ratchet and Ironhide were bickering somewhere behind and to the left of him.
Letting out a low rumble, the Prime unfolded his legs and stood. “Mechs,” he called, and his four subordinates and friends were immediately next to him. “We are close. Bumblebee, I would like you to go ahead. The third planet. Land there and scout around, and keep in mind to be careful of any local life. Ratchet, Ironhide... Cantus... stay with me.”
Jazz stared, dumbstruck, for a moment, before grinning wildly. “Yes, sir, Prime!”
Title: Fight For Life
Rating: T
Continuity: Non-Specific
Characters: ?, ?, ?, ?. No names mentioned, no specific Autobots/Decepticons implied. So, four OCs? Sort of? Not really? Maybe?
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Prompt: Prompt 3: Fighting for your life
“What have we here, mechs? A little Autobot far from home?” the Seeker sneered as he hovered before the gray minibot. His trinemates hovered around the minibot as well, blocking his way.
“Looks like it,” one of the other Seekers said with a smirk.
“What do you think we should we do with it?” the third asked, looking on with a hungry expression.
The minibot, spark cold, lifted his rifle and said nothing. He had already commed the base. Reinforcement was three breems out. He didn't have three breems.
“Come on, little Autobot, you must have something to say!”
The Autobot frowned. “Not to the likes of you.”
The Seeker snarled and lunged forward, gun forgotten, claws outstretched. The minibot whipped up his gun and fired, catching the winged mech on the side of the helm, leaving a long, black scorch mark. The Seeker let out a long keen and aborted his lunge, hurrying back to circle with his trinemates.
His two companions laughed. “Taken out by a puny minibot? Psha! You're getting soft! This is how it's done!” one of the others crowed, and trained his blaster at the Autobot. The 'bot ducked as five shots ripped through the air where his helm had been and blindly returned fire. One shot hit the Seeker on the thigh. The others missed.
The Decepticon snarled, examining the scorch mark. The minibot didn't bother even hoping he had disabled the Seeker. His blaster was low on power. It may have been a painful wound, but it was by no means even slightly hindering.
The shout of, “That little fragger burned my paint!” confirmed his beliefs a klik later. The other two Seekers laughed, though they kept their guns on the minibot.
He was done for. That much was obvious. Reinforcements were a long ways out. Barely a breem had passed since they had been dispatched. With a heavy vent, the Autobot resigned himself to his already certain fate.
And if he was already going to die, might as well go down fighting. He dropped his gun; it was useless now. A small dagger was pulled out of subspace and held, hidden, against his forearm.
“Come and burn mine, then!” he snarled, optics cold, hard, and empty. He had nothing to lose.
The Seekers, startled by the sudden defiance, glanced at each other. Then the burned Decepticon grinned evilly. “With pleasure!”
He flew forward, claws outstretched. The minibot leaned into the attack, plunging the dagger into the Seeker's side even as the sharp fingers ripped into his chassis plating.
The Seeker howled in pain, and his two wingmates were immediately on the little minibot, tearing and shredding.
The Autobot shrieked as armor, wires, and tubes were brutally ripped and torn and violently dismantled. His optics flickered, whiting out in pain. The Seekers were a flurry of energon stained claws and rumbling engines above him.
Then a set of thick claws ripped through the chest plate, and the spark chamber was crushed. The bluish spark flickered for a moment, then disappeared.
For a few long moments, the Seekers stood around the graying form. Then, “He probably called for backup. We should go.”
Two nods met the statement, and the three Seekers ignited their thrusters and took off.
One and a quarter breems later, the minibot's reinforcement arrived too late, and carried his gray frame back to base.
Title: Winning the War
Rating: PG
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Jazz, Megatron, and named and unnamed younglings
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt:Prompt 4: Winning a small war
“Once upon a time, there was a gladiator named Megatron. He was happy with his life, but he knew that many were not. He was a good fighter, and so had everything he needed, but he knew that those who were not as good as him did not have everything. He knew that they needed better, and so gathered his forces. He talked, told people that he would overthrow the corrupt Council and lead them all to a better life.
“At first, he tried to do this peacefully. He preached his ideas to everyone, to anyone who would listen and even some who wouldn't. The Council did not like this. They had been in charge for a millenia, and liked having power. They didn't want this gladiator to come along and take it from him.
“So they started a war. They ordered Sentinel Prime to command their forces and exterminated the gladiator. He tried. He tried as hard as he could. But Sentinel Prime was no military commander, and was soon killed.
“The Council knew that their army would fall apart without a Prime to lead it, and so initiated a seach for the next Prime. The mech it chose was an archivist who lived in the lower areas of Iacon. They thought he would be easy to manipulate.
“They were wrong. Lower class he might have been, but he worked in the archives, and was desperate to learn. Optimus Prime loved learning, and was aware that the Council was corrupt. For a time, he fought for them. But as time went on, he began to rebel against the Council. They wanted nothing but their own gain, and Optimus, as a former lower class bot and a very well educated mech, knew that. He knew that Megatron was trying to do what was best for Cybertron, was trying to get a more equal system of government into power.
“Optimus organized a secret meeting with Megatron. 'I am tired of this war,' he said. 'I am tired of the Council.'
“'I am, too,' said Megatron. 'They take and take and do not care if it means that those below them have nothing. I aim to end that.'
“Optimus extended his hand in a symbol of friendship and smiled. 'As do I, brother,' he said.
“The next day, the combined forces of the Autobots and Decepticons marched on the Council Chambers. The Councilmechs were tried and imprisoned, and the Prime and Megatron took up leading Cybertron.
“They still rule, fairly and equally, as Lord High Protector and Prime, to this orn,” the caretaker finished, glancing over his captive audience.
“Tell it again!” a little youngling cheered, clapping his small hands, and a few other younglings took up the call. A deep chuckle from the doorway made them all freeze.
“Yes, do tell it again, Jazz. But don't forget the part where Megatron and Optimus Prime bonded,” the Lord High Protector said with a smirk.
The former saboteur shook his helm with a laugh. “Oh, yes, I forgot how Megatron and Optimus declared their eternal love for each other and merged their sp-”
“Eeeeww!” one of the younglings squealed, clasping his hands over his audios. “No, no, gross!”
Megatron chuckled. “Very well, that story will be told much later, I suppose. Rodimus, Galvatron, it's time to go. Your carrier will be home in a joor, and I thought you said you wanted to make energon goodies with Wheeljack to surprise him.”
The two younglings squealed and ran forward. Megatron smiled softly at them, then waved at Jazz. “Thanks, Jazz. I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Megatron. Tell OP hi for me!”
“Will do. And good storytelling, by the way!”
Jazz just smiled and nodded, turning back to the younglings in front of him. “Now, how 'bout I tell you all 'bout how I met my Prowler? It's more exciting than it sounds. It all started when an assassin made an attempt on Optimus Prime's spark...”
Title: Lost and Found
Rating: PG
Continuity: Movieverse G1 crossover. Sort of.
Characters: Skyfire, Starscream
Disclaimer: Don't Own
Prompt: Prompt 5: Setting: A very cold place
Skyfire was cold. It was all he was aware of. He knew how he had gotten here, why he was here, but he really couldn't think of any way to get out of this. He was frozen. His armor, specially engineered to keep out the cold emptiness of space, had protected his internals from the sharp spears frozen hydrogen dioxide formed, but the water around him had frozen solid, sealing his limbs and body in an airtight block. Even with all his strength, he wasn't able to break it.
As for why he was aware, that was easy enough to figure out. It had happened a few times before. As an explorer, he had specialized sensors and protocols that woke him up when anything possibly dangerous was near. In the past, he had been woken by passing creatures or shifting ice. The passing creatures always made him yearn to be free, to be able to examine them and catalog them. The shifting ice also made him wish for freedom, but a freedom of a different kind. The freedom of the skies and stars, where he could move freely.
He assumed that the ice had shifted and woken him again. He didn't feel any more tremors, but his energy was bound to run out eventually. He had probably simply taken a while to boot up.
Then something touched his fingers. Something warm, something not ice. A soft caress, and he could feel the vibration of words on his plating, even if the ice distorted and muffled it too much to hear.
Over the next long while, he could feel more and more of his arm plating exposed. He tried twitching his fingers, and was rewarded with a shriek that, even through the layers and layers of ice, was recognizable and familiar.
Starscream? He had told the Seeker to continue on, before his comms had shorted. Had told him to live on, because he was done for. Stupid Seeker, never following orders...
More and more ice was chipped away. Skyfire relaxed, enjoying the feeling of air, actual air, on his plating again.
Then his helm was free, and he smiled into the scowling, black faceplates of his partner.
“Starscream...”
“Skyfire, you glitch! I told you the atmosphere was unstable!”
Skyfire chuckled, then outright laugh. “I told you to get free and live on.”
Starscream's face fell. “I did,” he whispered. “I did, and it was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done, you stupid glitch!”
Skyfire frowned, finally realizing that his processors were running a bit slow. He felt dizzy. “What do you mean?” Starscream moved back to the ice on his torso, which was starting to melt as his systems started coming back online. “Starscream, what do you mean?” he repeated, and Starscream let out a choked sob.
“I moved on!” he screeched, leaning back from the shuttle. “I went back to Cybertron! I was expelled from the Science Institute because I had, apparently, murdered you! Then the war started, and... and...”
Skyfire used his one free arm to pull his partner against his warming chassis. Expelled? Murder? War?
But it didn't matter. He had Starscream in his arms, he was free - well, almost - from the ice, and he was happy for now. Starscream could explain later. For now, he was happy to be out of his icy prison with his almost-bondmate in his arms.
Title: Strange
Rating: T
Continuity: Movieverse
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Will Lennox, mentions of others
Disclaimer: I wish.
Prompt:Prompt 6: Setting: A very windy place
Lennox stared at the mechs assembled before him. Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz, and Ratchet.
“So... Prowl, you're saying that you almost crashed because it was windy?” he said incredulously, and the tactician shifted awkwardly.
“In a manner of speaking... Colonel Lennox, your planet's atmosphere is much thicker than any we've encountered for any length of time. It feels... strange.”
Jazz cackled, but the human had quickly learned that when the saboteur was making that noise, you didn't ask about it. “Right, Prowler. Strange.”
Prowl shot Jazz an annoyed glare before turning back to the Colonel. “To tell the truth, Colonel Lennox, your planet always feels windy to us. We aren't used to it.”
“Right. An' when we're drivin' fast, it feels... strange,” Jazz said, then broke out laughing again. Prowl vented and looked like he was desperately trying to keep his face from meeting his palm. Ratchet was holding back chuckles, and the Prime looked very amused.
“Yes, Jazz. Strange.”
The silver saboteur just kept laughing.
---------------
Besides the prompt, this one was sort of inspired by a short story where the Datsuns are constantly being effected by the thick atmosphere of the Earth when driving quickly. Then Smokescreen develops a theory: if the wind feels good on the outside, armored part of their armor, what would it feel like if they opened their doors at high speed? All three try it out, and end up getting the best overloads of their lives. Story's told from Prowl's perspective.
Thank you to silberstreif for getting me the story and author: The oneshot was written by Zea_T, and it's part of the anthology "Stronger Together" - Chapter 3: Caught in the Act.