Moar weird drabbles, though only two this time.
Title: Dusk's Holy Mark: Hearts of Fire.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Weirdness all around.
Pairings: None.
Characters: Inferno. Firestar.
Summary: Many call themselves Autobots and wear the badge proudly, yet only a handful are emblazoned with the true mark of an Autobot.
Notes: AU drabbles and weird as heck.
It burned. It stung like acid rain falling over his plating mercilessly, and yet, he found an unusual pleasure in that pain. A Pain that quenched the fire of a spark so bright, so powerful, that its casing was but a prison that kept it away from its rightful freedom.
He knew he was not alone in this strange state of mild pain and absolute bliss. His sister next to him whimpered in a strange delight, feeling the same sacred fire burning his casing, opening their optics to truths their young processors had never ever imagined, a divine mission being bestowed upon them.
Inferno heard his sister cry, a cry not of physical pain but of emotional anguish, she could see what he could see. Firestar could see the deplorable state of their kind, the vices taking hold like a virus, consuming little by little each good mech and good femme. They both cried tears that burned like the fire that were their sparks, holding each other close, knowing a separation was imminent, and that Inferno would not see his sister for a very long time.
They both had a mission to fulfill, an important role for which they had been hand picked by Primus himself, for the good of their species, for the salvation of their kind. They both were young, a little in the reckless side, but always well intentioned, and they held each other dear, as they were the only thing that mattered to one another.
Firestar cried. Her tears burning open new wounds on Inferno's already wounded, aching spark so bright as the molten metal of the smelting pools, perhaps even more. He heard her whisper to him, holding him close with desperation, he heard her say she did not want to leave him, as a different kind of call had been issued for her.
He didn't want to let her go, he wanted to cling to his older sister, the one being for whom he had nothing but feelings of love and kindness. In a world that rarely minded youngsters such as them, she was his everything. Eventually, they both had to let each other go, she had to part now.
Firestar kissed her younger brother's forehead tenderly, assuring him these sacrifices would be worthy, that they weren't exchanging farewells, just a 'see you another time'. No matter how many vorns could pass, they'd see each other again, each more beautiful and stronger than they were now.
Inferno held his sister close, kissing her forehead just as tenderly as he had done to him, and watched her leave, without turning back, without ever looking back. Inferno waited impatiently for the moment of his own calling, for everything to happen faster, just so he could see his sister once again. He knew himself not to be alone, and took comfort in the knowledge when his own calling came, he wouldn't be so alone anymore.
Title: Dusk's Holy Mark: Praying Hands.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Weirdness all around.
Pairings: None.
Characters: Ratchet.
Summary: Many call themselves Autobots and wear the badge proudly, yet only a handful are emblazoned with the true mark of an Autobot.
Notes: AU drabbles and weird as heck.
There used to be a time he was almost completely colorless. As a sparkling he dreamed of a brilliant future, a future where he would be able to ease the pain others felt. To heal the injured, to nurture those in need of tender cares and loving attentions.
As a sparkling, he was always tending to whatever wild life crossed his path with injuries. He wanted nothing more but to ease pain, to make others feel good, like his sires would do for him after he'd scrap a leg or come home with a sore little aft. He felt loved, he felt cared for, he felt a warmth spread through his beautiful spark.
He wanted others to feel this kind of love, to feel soothed after being injured, to feel cared for. He wanted to love everyone in equal measure, to make his love ease away the pain, because Ratchet decided at a very young age, that he disliked the suffering and the pain. There was just so much love within his spark for everyone and anyone, he wanted to heal broken bodies, to ease worn out sparks.
There used to be a time when he was almost completely colorless, only a patch of red adorned his whole body, pale and white as a ghost. He grew to feel discouraged, to realize no matter how hard he studied, how hard he practiced the trade he choose to follow as profession, he couldn't possibly save everyone and anyone from the pain.
It hurt him so deeply, each loss was like dying a little inside himself. He wondered if anything he did even made a difference, and as he asked to a dark sky what good he was for, a pain like no other broke through him, his spark's casing burning hot, invisible fingers tracing a pattern with their acidic touch. The white hot pain revealed to him a world full of terrible suffering, a future that was bleak and sure torment.
Ratchet cried, begged for it all to stop. He didn't want to see any more. He couldn't stand to think of all the suffering he and his kind were about to go through. Soothing thoughts he knew had not come from him, assured him he'd be a healing hand that would help to pull their people back from the dark abyss they were being swallowed by. A gentle warmth wrapped around his hands, once white, now bright red.
Ratchet knew some day he would join others that, like him, were instrumental for the well being of their kind, that one day those red hands, whose fingertips were now pressed gently against each other in a silent prayer nobody would have ever guessed it for what it was, would be the instruments through which he'd work little miracles, easing pain, healing bodies, nurturing sparks that no doubt would need all the love he could give them.
He prayed this way every time a new mech or femme came to his medical berth, begging to Primus to not take them away from him just yet. Despite the dozens he lost through the vorns, he saved so many more. Each loss he felt deeply, adding a weight to an already weary spark. Yet he knew this was just training, for the real hardships and spark ache would become ten fold when Primus' chosen called for him.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Weirdness all around.
Pairings: None.
Characters: Inferno. Firestar.
Summary: Many call themselves Autobots and wear the badge proudly, yet only a handful are emblazoned with the true mark of an Autobot.
Notes: AU drabbles and weird as heck.
It burned. It stung like acid rain falling over his plating mercilessly, and yet, he found an unusual pleasure in that pain. A Pain that quenched the fire of a spark so bright, so powerful, that its casing was but a prison that kept it away from its rightful freedom.
He knew he was not alone in this strange state of mild pain and absolute bliss. His sister next to him whimpered in a strange delight, feeling the same sacred fire burning his casing, opening their optics to truths their young processors had never ever imagined, a divine mission being bestowed upon them.
Inferno heard his sister cry, a cry not of physical pain but of emotional anguish, she could see what he could see. Firestar could see the deplorable state of their kind, the vices taking hold like a virus, consuming little by little each good mech and good femme. They both cried tears that burned like the fire that were their sparks, holding each other close, knowing a separation was imminent, and that Inferno would not see his sister for a very long time.
They both had a mission to fulfill, an important role for which they had been hand picked by Primus himself, for the good of their species, for the salvation of their kind. They both were young, a little in the reckless side, but always well intentioned, and they held each other dear, as they were the only thing that mattered to one another.
Firestar cried. Her tears burning open new wounds on Inferno's already wounded, aching spark so bright as the molten metal of the smelting pools, perhaps even more. He heard her whisper to him, holding him close with desperation, he heard her say she did not want to leave him, as a different kind of call had been issued for her.
He didn't want to let her go, he wanted to cling to his older sister, the one being for whom he had nothing but feelings of love and kindness. In a world that rarely minded youngsters such as them, she was his everything. Eventually, they both had to let each other go, she had to part now.
Firestar kissed her younger brother's forehead tenderly, assuring him these sacrifices would be worthy, that they weren't exchanging farewells, just a 'see you another time'. No matter how many vorns could pass, they'd see each other again, each more beautiful and stronger than they were now.
Inferno held his sister close, kissing her forehead just as tenderly as he had done to him, and watched her leave, without turning back, without ever looking back. Inferno waited impatiently for the moment of his own calling, for everything to happen faster, just so he could see his sister once again. He knew himself not to be alone, and took comfort in the knowledge when his own calling came, he wouldn't be so alone anymore.
Title: Dusk's Holy Mark: Praying Hands.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Weirdness all around.
Pairings: None.
Characters: Ratchet.
Summary: Many call themselves Autobots and wear the badge proudly, yet only a handful are emblazoned with the true mark of an Autobot.
Notes: AU drabbles and weird as heck.
There used to be a time he was almost completely colorless. As a sparkling he dreamed of a brilliant future, a future where he would be able to ease the pain others felt. To heal the injured, to nurture those in need of tender cares and loving attentions.
As a sparkling, he was always tending to whatever wild life crossed his path with injuries. He wanted nothing more but to ease pain, to make others feel good, like his sires would do for him after he'd scrap a leg or come home with a sore little aft. He felt loved, he felt cared for, he felt a warmth spread through his beautiful spark.
He wanted others to feel this kind of love, to feel soothed after being injured, to feel cared for. He wanted to love everyone in equal measure, to make his love ease away the pain, because Ratchet decided at a very young age, that he disliked the suffering and the pain. There was just so much love within his spark for everyone and anyone, he wanted to heal broken bodies, to ease worn out sparks.
There used to be a time when he was almost completely colorless, only a patch of red adorned his whole body, pale and white as a ghost. He grew to feel discouraged, to realize no matter how hard he studied, how hard he practiced the trade he choose to follow as profession, he couldn't possibly save everyone and anyone from the pain.
It hurt him so deeply, each loss was like dying a little inside himself. He wondered if anything he did even made a difference, and as he asked to a dark sky what good he was for, a pain like no other broke through him, his spark's casing burning hot, invisible fingers tracing a pattern with their acidic touch. The white hot pain revealed to him a world full of terrible suffering, a future that was bleak and sure torment.
Ratchet cried, begged for it all to stop. He didn't want to see any more. He couldn't stand to think of all the suffering he and his kind were about to go through. Soothing thoughts he knew had not come from him, assured him he'd be a healing hand that would help to pull their people back from the dark abyss they were being swallowed by. A gentle warmth wrapped around his hands, once white, now bright red.
Ratchet knew some day he would join others that, like him, were instrumental for the well being of their kind, that one day those red hands, whose fingertips were now pressed gently against each other in a silent prayer nobody would have ever guessed it for what it was, would be the instruments through which he'd work little miracles, easing pain, healing bodies, nurturing sparks that no doubt would need all the love he could give them.
He prayed this way every time a new mech or femme came to his medical berth, begging to Primus to not take them away from him just yet. Despite the dozens he lost through the vorns, he saved so many more. Each loss he felt deeply, adding a weight to an already weary spark. Yet he knew this was just training, for the real hardships and spark ache would become ten fold when Primus' chosen called for him.