dracoqueen22 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dracoqueen22) wrote2011-10-31 07:31 pm
dracoqueen22) wrote2011-10-31 07:31 pm
Entry tags:
Flash Fiction Friday 22 Fills (Final)
a/n: All Hallow's Eve. The last day of October. The prelude to November. The day before NaNo. Pretty important day all around. *laughs* And I now present the last two of the flash fiction, both of which exceeded the usual one page limit I set for myself. The two prompts kept trying to grow plot and it was all I could do to keep them to 1.5 pages.
Please enjoy!!
For animelover1993
Prompt: BeexBarricade, "Riot," Three Days Grace
Fandom: Transformers (Bayverse) Warnings for implied past Bee/Barricade, hints of plot, violence
For anciently broken
Prompt: Justice League, “You Look Better When I'm Drunk”
Fandom: Justice League (animated verse). Warnings for implied one-sided Batman/Flash. Some alcohol. Some OOC.
a/n: And now I return to belatedly plotting my SuperBat fic for NaNo and trying like hell to finish part one of this Ratchet/Sunstreaker fic (set in TF: Prime verse) that I've been promising for ages. It even has my first ever TF smut.
I do hope you enjoyed!
Please enjoy!!
For animelover1993
Prompt: BeexBarricade, "Riot," Three Days Grace
Fandom: Transformers (Bayverse) Warnings for implied past Bee/Barricade, hints of plot, violence
He's driving innocently down the street, a casual ride meant to help him relax, let his thoughts wander. Music is playing on the radio; he's tapped into the local rock station. Sam will be in class for another few hours so Bumblebee has time to kill. He's only halfway listening in on the chatter across the main Autobot line. Right now, Ratchet's being relentlessly teased by Sideswipe for some reason.
It's a Sunday according to the human calendar, which means the streets are, for the most part, nice and deserted. There's something about the pavement beneath his tires, the subtle crackling of bits of rock, the smell of tar and asphalt, that is soothing. Along with the warm sun on his frame and the light breeze coursing over him.
The peace is abruptly shuttered when Bumblebee's sensors scream into alarm, throwing him out of his meditative state and nearly making him swerve. A Decepticon signature is near, too near, getting closer – Crash!
Impact. Bumblebee's tires screech on the pavement, his entire frame rattling from the force of the collision. His attacker is black, ferocious – Barricade – slamming into him again and trying to shove him off the road. Bumblebee is forced into a spin, but halfway through he quickly transforms, halting his momentum by slamming his pedes into the ground.
Barricade transforms just as quickly, weapons snapping out in utter threat, his four optics gleaming Decepticon-red at Bumblebee. With a whine of full charge, Bumblebee's cannon comes into play, and they stare at each other from opposite sides of the single-laned street.
“Where's your pet human?” Barricade snarls, but he doesn't immediately attack.
Bumblebee hunches down, sliding carefully to the right, matching Barricade's careful prowl to the left. Circling one another. “Not here,” he says, glad that Ratchet's finally fixed his vocalizer. “No revenge for you.”
“Maybe I don't care about the fleshie. Maybe I just want to pound on you,” Barricade growls, full of threat, but still not making a move.
“Last time, that didn't go so well for you,” Bumblebee retorts, something like a sneer in his tone, though he can't approximate the human expression on his faceplates.
“Maybe I let you win.”
“That's a lot of possibility. What? Not sure about anything anymore?” Bumblebee revs his engines. “Did I rattle your processors last time?”
“I wish you had,” Barricade snarls, more vicious this time, his optics flashing blood at Bumblebee, his tone so savage that the yellow mech is momentarily taken aback.
He startles, pauses, and reconsiders. Old vid-files remind him of their presence until Bumblebee carefully locks them back away. The past is the past. But perhaps... not for Barricade.
Bumblebee snaps his battlemask closed. “You chose your side.”
“I never had a choice,” Barricade retorts and lunges at Bumblebee, all pretense of waiting gone, though his attack is not unexpected.
They clash with a resounding echo and screech of metal on metal, EM fields charged with anger and distrust, and underneath it all, so buried it is impossible to name for sure, lingering traces of regret.
It's a Sunday according to the human calendar, which means the streets are, for the most part, nice and deserted. There's something about the pavement beneath his tires, the subtle crackling of bits of rock, the smell of tar and asphalt, that is soothing. Along with the warm sun on his frame and the light breeze coursing over him.
The peace is abruptly shuttered when Bumblebee's sensors scream into alarm, throwing him out of his meditative state and nearly making him swerve. A Decepticon signature is near, too near, getting closer – Crash!
Impact. Bumblebee's tires screech on the pavement, his entire frame rattling from the force of the collision. His attacker is black, ferocious – Barricade – slamming into him again and trying to shove him off the road. Bumblebee is forced into a spin, but halfway through he quickly transforms, halting his momentum by slamming his pedes into the ground.
Barricade transforms just as quickly, weapons snapping out in utter threat, his four optics gleaming Decepticon-red at Bumblebee. With a whine of full charge, Bumblebee's cannon comes into play, and they stare at each other from opposite sides of the single-laned street.
“Where's your pet human?” Barricade snarls, but he doesn't immediately attack.
Bumblebee hunches down, sliding carefully to the right, matching Barricade's careful prowl to the left. Circling one another. “Not here,” he says, glad that Ratchet's finally fixed his vocalizer. “No revenge for you.”
“Maybe I don't care about the fleshie. Maybe I just want to pound on you,” Barricade growls, full of threat, but still not making a move.
“Last time, that didn't go so well for you,” Bumblebee retorts, something like a sneer in his tone, though he can't approximate the human expression on his faceplates.
“Maybe I let you win.”
“That's a lot of possibility. What? Not sure about anything anymore?” Bumblebee revs his engines. “Did I rattle your processors last time?”
“I wish you had,” Barricade snarls, more vicious this time, his optics flashing blood at Bumblebee, his tone so savage that the yellow mech is momentarily taken aback.
He startles, pauses, and reconsiders. Old vid-files remind him of their presence until Bumblebee carefully locks them back away. The past is the past. But perhaps... not for Barricade.
Bumblebee snaps his battlemask closed. “You chose your side.”
“I never had a choice,” Barricade retorts and lunges at Bumblebee, all pretense of waiting gone, though his attack is not unexpected.
They clash with a resounding echo and screech of metal on metal, EM fields charged with anger and distrust, and underneath it all, so buried it is impossible to name for sure, lingering traces of regret.
For anciently broken
Prompt: Justice League, “You Look Better When I'm Drunk”
Fandom: Justice League (animated verse). Warnings for implied one-sided Batman/Flash. Some alcohol. Some OOC.
Parties are, in Batman's opinion, unbecoming of superheroes. This, of course, did not stop the Justice League from throwing one at any and every opportunity. Holidays? Check. Birthdays? Check. National Hot Dog Day? Check.
He strongly suspects that the perpetrator of these plans is Flash. Flash who can wheedle and cajole and wobble those big, lens-covered eyes with the best of them, easily persuading even the more stoic members of the League into his schemes.
Batman usually finds his way out of these parties. He cites patrol. He cites a need to monitor the planet for danger. Someone has to stay in the monitor room after all. This time, however, he's been outwitted. The batclan is patrolling in Gotham. J'onn's at the helm, but only for the next hour as they plan on rotating it amongst all the members of the League. They've given him no excuse.
So here he is. At a party. Watching the members of the League and their new expanded members proceed to get drunk and giddy and act very unbecoming of superheroes. Also, there is also the matter of Flash, who's being particularly annoying about the whole thing.
All night it's been: “Hey, Bats! Want another drink?” or “Try some of the dip! Captain Atom made it!” or “Do you like this song? I like this song!” and most recently, “Here! Have some more punch!” Doesn't he have anyone else he can bother?
Superman, of course, finds this most amusing. “I think someone has a crush,” he says, leaning in close to Batman, taking up his personal space with all of his suffocating Boy Scout do-gooder-ness.
“I think you need your eyes checked,” Batman retorts and takes a long sip of the bright blue punch which actually isn't that bad. He is, on a matter of principle, refusing to sample any of the alcoholic wares. Someone will need to be sober enough to handle a potential villain attack.
“I have x-ray vision,” he says as though Batman needs the reminder. “And I know what I'm seeing.”
Batman gives him a sidelong look. “I think Diana is trying to beckon you for a dance.”
“No, she's not.” Superman laughs. “And look. Your secret admirer is on his way again.”
Batman huffs, but Superman is right. Flash blurs into the space in front of them. “Your glass is looking a bit empty,” he jokes. “But you always see it as half-empty, doncha?”
Batman feels himself twitch and Superman radiating amusement beside him. “Flash?”
“Yeah, Bats?” Everything about Flash is suddenly, completely focused on Batman. To the exclusion of anyone else. If he's even noticed Superman's presence, Flash hasn't shown it yet.
“Are you drunk?” Can Flash even get drunk? Wouldn't his metabolism burn away all effects of the alcohol.
Flash scoffs, wobbles a bit. “Nooooo.”
Which, of course, means that he actually is. Batman swallows down a sigh. “I appreciate the offer,” he says, “but I don't need any more punch. Thank you anyway.”
Despite the lens, Batman swears that Flash's eyes light up. “No problem, Bats!” he says, and pauses, practically vibrating in place. It's as though he's considering saying something further, debating with himself in rapid-fire thoughts, before he changes his mind. “See you later!” And then he's gone.
Superman makes a noise which sounds suspiciously like muffled chortling. “Told you so.”
“Shut up,” Batman says curtly. And maybe, just a fraction flattered. But only a fraction.
He strongly suspects that the perpetrator of these plans is Flash. Flash who can wheedle and cajole and wobble those big, lens-covered eyes with the best of them, easily persuading even the more stoic members of the League into his schemes.
Batman usually finds his way out of these parties. He cites patrol. He cites a need to monitor the planet for danger. Someone has to stay in the monitor room after all. This time, however, he's been outwitted. The batclan is patrolling in Gotham. J'onn's at the helm, but only for the next hour as they plan on rotating it amongst all the members of the League. They've given him no excuse.
So here he is. At a party. Watching the members of the League and their new expanded members proceed to get drunk and giddy and act very unbecoming of superheroes. Also, there is also the matter of Flash, who's being particularly annoying about the whole thing.
All night it's been: “Hey, Bats! Want another drink?” or “Try some of the dip! Captain Atom made it!” or “Do you like this song? I like this song!” and most recently, “Here! Have some more punch!” Doesn't he have anyone else he can bother?
Superman, of course, finds this most amusing. “I think someone has a crush,” he says, leaning in close to Batman, taking up his personal space with all of his suffocating Boy Scout do-gooder-ness.
“I think you need your eyes checked,” Batman retorts and takes a long sip of the bright blue punch which actually isn't that bad. He is, on a matter of principle, refusing to sample any of the alcoholic wares. Someone will need to be sober enough to handle a potential villain attack.
“I have x-ray vision,” he says as though Batman needs the reminder. “And I know what I'm seeing.”
Batman gives him a sidelong look. “I think Diana is trying to beckon you for a dance.”
“No, she's not.” Superman laughs. “And look. Your secret admirer is on his way again.”
Batman huffs, but Superman is right. Flash blurs into the space in front of them. “Your glass is looking a bit empty,” he jokes. “But you always see it as half-empty, doncha?”
Batman feels himself twitch and Superman radiating amusement beside him. “Flash?”
“Yeah, Bats?” Everything about Flash is suddenly, completely focused on Batman. To the exclusion of anyone else. If he's even noticed Superman's presence, Flash hasn't shown it yet.
“Are you drunk?” Can Flash even get drunk? Wouldn't his metabolism burn away all effects of the alcohol.
Flash scoffs, wobbles a bit. “Nooooo.”
Which, of course, means that he actually is. Batman swallows down a sigh. “I appreciate the offer,” he says, “but I don't need any more punch. Thank you anyway.”
Despite the lens, Batman swears that Flash's eyes light up. “No problem, Bats!” he says, and pauses, practically vibrating in place. It's as though he's considering saying something further, debating with himself in rapid-fire thoughts, before he changes his mind. “See you later!” And then he's gone.
Superman makes a noise which sounds suspiciously like muffled chortling. “Told you so.”
“Shut up,” Batman says curtly. And maybe, just a fraction flattered. But only a fraction.
a/n: And now I return to belatedly plotting my SuperBat fic for NaNo and trying like hell to finish part one of this Ratchet/Sunstreaker fic (set in TF: Prime verse) that I've been promising for ages. It even has my first ever TF smut.
I do hope you enjoyed!