Aaaaas promised.
It's the 100-Prompt Challenge, part 1! I'm going to try to release these in five-fic sets, but we'll see how that goes.
1. Mistake (Roddy)
Mistake after mistake.
Rodimus's order to send Defensor in left the left flank wide open, and Galvatron was only too happy to take advantage: they lost good mechs that day.
Mistake after mistake.
A diplomatic duel, and Rodimus was the first to stumble, losing the Autobots on Earth another square mile or so of land they could have used for training purposes.
Mistake after mistake.
Running, striving, pushing himself until he collapsed and had to be dragged back to base like a misfiring drone.
Asking Magnus again to take the Matrix from him, begging to be released from this burden, and seeing only a loss of faith in his second-in-command's optics as Ultra Magnus once more refused.
A steel grip on his neck, held helpless while his hero was shot. Over and over, until he...
Optimus, forgive me...
...fell.
Mistake after mistake.
2. Need (Scourge)
There comes a point in every 'Con's life when watching over the monitors while the two mechs that define your world 'face each other senseless is no longer enough. Scourge came down from his feedback-overload with a groan and stared accusingly at the main screen, where Galvatron and Cyclonus were still at it and no end in sight. Motherslagging typical of them, really.
Yes, he wanted to be the one under Galvatron's merciless hands. He wanted to drag his claws down Cyclonus's wings just to hear him cry out - just like that. He longed for it, burned for it. The only question now was whether he dared.
Scourge sank down in his chair, circuits humming with thwarted need.
3. Grumpy (Scourge)
Scourge slammed the door to the Sweeps' communal area, kicked over a stack of pilfered video games, and snarled at the pair of huntsmen busy scratching each other's paint. They froze, staring at him with pale-bright optics, and Scourge growled and stomped past them to claim his couch (no Sweep ever sat in it, for it was His Couch, Dammit) with a thud and rattle of metal.
He took his sweet time getting settled; when he was ready, he looked up to glare at eight pairs of worried optics. "Master?" one of the Sweeps hedged.
Scourge leveled a wicked claw at the speaker. "The next one of you to try to seduce Cyclonus by pretending to be me," he growled, "gets fed his own wings."
4. Loud (Roddy/Galvatron)
Galvatron's voice was forged to be loud: to crack and boom over the noise of a battlefield. Like every other centimeter of him, it was powerful - no. Irresistable. No wonder the Decepticons followed him.
Crouched behind cover, Rodimus's felt Galvatron's voice fall on him like a lash. Laserfire and hot wind screamed over his head, but they were barely a whisper in his awareness compared to the least of Galvatron's commands to his own troops. Beside him, Magnus organized the Autobots in preparation for their final charge, obstensibly allowing the Prime to rest and gather himself. Rodimus turned his face down so Magnus couldn't see, and tried to claim just a little of that strength and will for his own. That power, the charisma and fire to shift the very stars - yes. Yes. That's what I want.
"Show no mercy!" Galvatron roared. Rodimus's body jerked.
"Attack!"
With a war cry of his own, the Prime obeyed.
5. Bitter (Roddy/Galvatron)
Galvatron acted like it was such a grand favor, letting Rodimus cuddle with him post-overload. Although if Rodimus didn't fall for it every single time, he might've had more right to call him out on it.
Galvatron purred, sated and smug, as Rodimus fit his body around his lover-slash-rival's and tucked his head down against the purple blazon on his chest. He was exhausted, and ached in unspeakable places, and he knew that if he cared to look he would be marked in Galvatron's colors. It was always that way: Galvatron's goal was never really overload, though he took them when they came along. It was all about claiming ownership. And I let him, Rodimus thought. Every single time.
Galvatron's hand curled around his shoulder and shifted him closer. Rodimus's engine hitched. Galvatron... I love you. Primus, he wanted to say it.
"Mine," Galvatron purred.
The words, so painfully sweet in Rodimus's mind, turned bitter on his tongue.
***
Today I also crocheted most of a hat, and watched in amused horror as the local news went into low-level panic over another coming snowstorm. MY GOD WHEN DOES IT END.
February sucks so far, you guys. (What does it need that extra R for, anyway.)
1. Mistake (Roddy)
Mistake after mistake.
Rodimus's order to send Defensor in left the left flank wide open, and Galvatron was only too happy to take advantage: they lost good mechs that day.
Mistake after mistake.
A diplomatic duel, and Rodimus was the first to stumble, losing the Autobots on Earth another square mile or so of land they could have used for training purposes.
Mistake after mistake.
Running, striving, pushing himself until he collapsed and had to be dragged back to base like a misfiring drone.
Asking Magnus again to take the Matrix from him, begging to be released from this burden, and seeing only a loss of faith in his second-in-command's optics as Ultra Magnus once more refused.
A steel grip on his neck, held helpless while his hero was shot. Over and over, until he...
Optimus, forgive me...
...fell.
Mistake after mistake.
2. Need (Scourge)
There comes a point in every 'Con's life when watching over the monitors while the two mechs that define your world 'face each other senseless is no longer enough. Scourge came down from his feedback-overload with a groan and stared accusingly at the main screen, where Galvatron and Cyclonus were still at it and no end in sight. Motherslagging typical of them, really.
Yes, he wanted to be the one under Galvatron's merciless hands. He wanted to drag his claws down Cyclonus's wings just to hear him cry out - just like that. He longed for it, burned for it. The only question now was whether he dared.
Scourge sank down in his chair, circuits humming with thwarted need.
3. Grumpy (Scourge)
Scourge slammed the door to the Sweeps' communal area, kicked over a stack of pilfered video games, and snarled at the pair of huntsmen busy scratching each other's paint. They froze, staring at him with pale-bright optics, and Scourge growled and stomped past them to claim his couch (no Sweep ever sat in it, for it was His Couch, Dammit) with a thud and rattle of metal.
He took his sweet time getting settled; when he was ready, he looked up to glare at eight pairs of worried optics. "Master?" one of the Sweeps hedged.
Scourge leveled a wicked claw at the speaker. "The next one of you to try to seduce Cyclonus by pretending to be me," he growled, "gets fed his own wings."
4. Loud (Roddy/Galvatron)
Galvatron's voice was forged to be loud: to crack and boom over the noise of a battlefield. Like every other centimeter of him, it was powerful - no. Irresistable. No wonder the Decepticons followed him.
Crouched behind cover, Rodimus's felt Galvatron's voice fall on him like a lash. Laserfire and hot wind screamed over his head, but they were barely a whisper in his awareness compared to the least of Galvatron's commands to his own troops. Beside him, Magnus organized the Autobots in preparation for their final charge, obstensibly allowing the Prime to rest and gather himself. Rodimus turned his face down so Magnus couldn't see, and tried to claim just a little of that strength and will for his own. That power, the charisma and fire to shift the very stars - yes. Yes. That's what I want.
"Show no mercy!" Galvatron roared. Rodimus's body jerked.
"Attack!"
With a war cry of his own, the Prime obeyed.
5. Bitter (Roddy/Galvatron)
Galvatron acted like it was such a grand favor, letting Rodimus cuddle with him post-overload. Although if Rodimus didn't fall for it every single time, he might've had more right to call him out on it.
Galvatron purred, sated and smug, as Rodimus fit his body around his lover-slash-rival's and tucked his head down against the purple blazon on his chest. He was exhausted, and ached in unspeakable places, and he knew that if he cared to look he would be marked in Galvatron's colors. It was always that way: Galvatron's goal was never really overload, though he took them when they came along. It was all about claiming ownership. And I let him, Rodimus thought. Every single time.
Galvatron's hand curled around his shoulder and shifted him closer. Rodimus's engine hitched. Galvatron... I love you. Primus, he wanted to say it.
"Mine," Galvatron purred.
The words, so painfully sweet in Rodimus's mind, turned bitter on his tongue.
***
Today I also crocheted most of a hat, and watched in amused horror as the local news went into low-level panic over another coming snowstorm. MY GOD WHEN DOES IT END.
February sucks so far, you guys. (What does it need that extra R for, anyway.)