Flash Fiction Fills Take 52 - Part One
Aug. 25th, 2014 06:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: These flash fiction came to me a lot faster than usual. Huzzah! I hope you enjoy!
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: Super/Bat, Alfred, “Let me tell you about the time...”
Fandom: Justice League Universe. Warnings: None.
For ladydragon76
Prompt: OptimusxMegatron, making up is hard to do
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse, pre-series. Warnings: twincest and the rise of sparksmut
“How long are ya gonna keep up this silent war?” Ironhide asked as they walked down the hall, from one conference room to another.
Megatron grunted a noncommittal reply.
“Ya know he didn't mean it,” Ironhide continued, ever on Optimus' side even though he was supposed to be Megatron's mech.
“It's not a matter of intent. It's that he thinks he can so easily gain my forgiveness with a few petty gifts,” Megatron retorted, careful to keep his snarl in check. His growling engine gave his anger away.
Ironhide made a thoughtful noise. “I think it's more likely that yer just stubborn.”
There was no denying that. “Don't you have better things to do than focus on us?”
“Not when yer my boss and Optimus is my friend,” Ironhide said with a grin and a roll of his shoulders. “I'm invested in both of ya.”
Megatron harrumphed. “I'm not going to make it easy for the bratling.”
Ironhide, at least, chuckled. “Ya never do, my lord.”
They shared a berth but Megatron was content to recharge in the receiving room, sprawled uncomfortably across the large but torturous couch. If Optimus thought interfacing would fix his error, he was grossly mistaken. And Megatron had successfully ignored all advances for the past decaorn.
Megatron, unlike many others, was immune to that pathetic look. Oh, he was sure Optimus was sincere but he didn't understand. And until he did, Megatron was going to continue to ignore every attempt at apology.
Until Optimus, craftier than many suspected of the “adorably innocent Prime” started to play dirty.
Their bond hummed, tangible despite how tightly Megatron locked down on his end. He could feel Optimus, his brother's desire and longing. He heard the crooning, not audible, but a presence through his spark. Promise was inherent in those soft pulses.
Megatron had expected this tactic and hardened himself to it. But as usual, he was not prepared for the continued efforts of his brother. His own spark became traitorous, telling his processor to forgive and forget, for surely being beside Optimus was much better than in another room.
Megatron growled to himself. In the end, it always came down to their bond. And it was why Optimus won their arguments more often than not. It was, without a doubt, unfair.
He pushed himself off the couch, making a point to stomp as loudly as possible. He would not forgive without a fight, frag it.
The door slid open silently, not bothering to reflect his ire, and Optimus lay there on the berth, in the dark, his optics lit blue and inviting.
“I am not forgiving you,” Megatron snarled as he stormed into the room, his field an agitated whirl of outrage and offense.
Optimus met him with patience and love and beneath it all, a barely concealed thread of amusement. “I am aware,” he said, and he held out his arms, tempting enough that Megatron hated himself for wanting to give in. “Though I am sorry.”
“No, you're not,” Megatron grumbled, sliding into those arms and doing his level best to ignore the feeling of satisfaction that his spark purred as their plating came into contact. Behind the safety of Optimus' chestplate, his spark surged with recognition and Megatron's own danced in happy approval.
“I regret your anger with me,” Optimus conceded, field wrapping around Megatron and guiding him deeper into the embrace. “But not my actions.”
Playing politics as usual.
“Some orn I will break this hold you have on me,” Megatron said, nuzzling his way into the vulnerable plating of Optimus' throat. “And then I will, at last, have won an argument.”
Optimus chuckled, the sound vibrating against Megatron's lips. “If that should happen, brother, then I will lose my only advantage.”
“Seems like a fair trade to me.” His chestplates unlocked, eager to join with the spark that had once been part of his own.
Optimus purred, his own plates parting with a spill of pale blue light.
And in that moment, when their sparks met, all was forgiven and anger forgotten. Such was the way of things.
a/n: Clark's tale of youthful hilarity is borrowed from Smallville canon. Bruce building a ladder out of LEGO at a young age is a real-life story. Sometimes, reality is stranger than fiction. :) I also must admit to guessing at what Alfred would have called Thomas and Martha Wayne. If anyone knows of what would be more accurate, please tell me. I tried but my google-fu failed me today.
Any resemblance the Hentafloraxians have to existing TF aliens is purely a coincidence. :)
That being said, two flash fiction down, three to go. Huzzah!
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: Super/Bat, Alfred, “Let me tell you about the time...”
Fandom: Justice League Universe. Warnings: None.
“What we didn't realize was that the sun flares were messing with my abilities. So when Pa asked me to pick up the tractor, I ended up tossing it way into the air. It crashed several miles away, in the middle of Mr. Tate's cornfield.” Clark laughed, eyes sparkling as he remembered the incident.
Bruce shook his head, his own lips quirking. “I imagine you were quite the handful as a child, powers or no powers.”
Clark shrugged his shoulders, flipping through another page in the book. “And you were the epitome of good behavior?”
“As a matter of fact, I was,” Bruce replied. The paperwork on his desk, all very important, was getting little of his attention. As was often the case when Clark came to call.
On the other side of his office, Alfred made a noise that better resembled a scoff.
“Hush you,” Bruce directed at his butler even as Clark took that small noise as an invitation to be nosy. Just like a reporter.
“Oh, really?” Clark's book snapped shut as he carelessly pushed it back onto the backshelf, upside down and out of order.
“Master Bruce could be quite the devil when he put his mind to it,” Alfred said, pretending full interest in his dusting and heedless of the glare Bruce directed between his shoulderblades. “I occasionally encouraged said behavior in light of the circumstances, but even before then, he was mischievous to his core.”
Clark bounced on the balls of his feet. “Care to share?”
“No, he doesn't,” Bruce said, adding a scowl for full effect.
“I wasn't asking you,” Clark retorted. “Inquiring minds must know, Alfred.”
Alfred laughed, duster swishing over the book spines in pretend nonchalance. “Then allow me to tell you--”
“Alfred.”
Only then did Alfred turn to look at him, expression reserved but laughter dancing in his eyes. “Master Bruce, what am I here for if not to embarrass you before your significant other.”
Clark was hardly significant. But that wasn't the point.
“It's unacceptable,” Bruce declared.
Alfred, however, was having none of it. He looked Bruce right in the eye and arched a single eyebrow as though in challenge.
“As I was saying,” Alfred continued, returning to his dusting. “When Master Bruce was a toddler, he devised quite the clever ladder out of toys, books, and other oddities to get to his favorite vitamins on a top shelf. By the time we realized he'd risen from his nap to construct this ladder, he'd consumed more than half the bottle despite the childproof cap.”
Clark's eyes rounded. “Oh, dear.”
“Quite.” Alfred nodded and continued, despite Bruce's vocal harrumph and pointed return to his paperwork. “Mister Wayne was distraught but Mrs. Wayne was cool as you please as she summoned the ipecac, a bucket, and a car for the hospital. I must admit, I was dreadfully concerned myself and of little help.”
“I don't remember this,” Bruce said.
“You were young.” Alfred gave him a fond smile. “But to this day, I cannot get him to touch a vitamin. They must be crushed, the taste buried in some other food.”
Bruce felt his face redden, though that explained his random revulsion for all things vitamin, whether they were children's chewable or large, nearly unswallowable adult ones.
“Somehow, I'm not surprised,” Clark said, leaning back against the bookshelf with a wink Bruce's direction. “What else?”
“Well,” and now Alfred's tone turned mischievous, the traitor. “There was the time Master Bruce attempted to make breakfast.”
Bruce, betrayed, ignored them both and buried his attention in his paperwork. Clark was going to pay for this later, he vowed. For he would make a call to Ma Kent and she, he was certain, would be completely willing to return the favor.
Yes, revenge would be sweet indeed.
Bruce shook his head, his own lips quirking. “I imagine you were quite the handful as a child, powers or no powers.”
Clark shrugged his shoulders, flipping through another page in the book. “And you were the epitome of good behavior?”
“As a matter of fact, I was,” Bruce replied. The paperwork on his desk, all very important, was getting little of his attention. As was often the case when Clark came to call.
On the other side of his office, Alfred made a noise that better resembled a scoff.
“Hush you,” Bruce directed at his butler even as Clark took that small noise as an invitation to be nosy. Just like a reporter.
“Oh, really?” Clark's book snapped shut as he carelessly pushed it back onto the backshelf, upside down and out of order.
“Master Bruce could be quite the devil when he put his mind to it,” Alfred said, pretending full interest in his dusting and heedless of the glare Bruce directed between his shoulderblades. “I occasionally encouraged said behavior in light of the circumstances, but even before then, he was mischievous to his core.”
Clark bounced on the balls of his feet. “Care to share?”
“No, he doesn't,” Bruce said, adding a scowl for full effect.
“I wasn't asking you,” Clark retorted. “Inquiring minds must know, Alfred.”
Alfred laughed, duster swishing over the book spines in pretend nonchalance. “Then allow me to tell you--”
“Alfred.”
Only then did Alfred turn to look at him, expression reserved but laughter dancing in his eyes. “Master Bruce, what am I here for if not to embarrass you before your significant other.”
Clark was hardly significant. But that wasn't the point.
“It's unacceptable,” Bruce declared.
Alfred, however, was having none of it. He looked Bruce right in the eye and arched a single eyebrow as though in challenge.
“As I was saying,” Alfred continued, returning to his dusting. “When Master Bruce was a toddler, he devised quite the clever ladder out of toys, books, and other oddities to get to his favorite vitamins on a top shelf. By the time we realized he'd risen from his nap to construct this ladder, he'd consumed more than half the bottle despite the childproof cap.”
Clark's eyes rounded. “Oh, dear.”
“Quite.” Alfred nodded and continued, despite Bruce's vocal harrumph and pointed return to his paperwork. “Mister Wayne was distraught but Mrs. Wayne was cool as you please as she summoned the ipecac, a bucket, and a car for the hospital. I must admit, I was dreadfully concerned myself and of little help.”
“I don't remember this,” Bruce said.
“You were young.” Alfred gave him a fond smile. “But to this day, I cannot get him to touch a vitamin. They must be crushed, the taste buried in some other food.”
Bruce felt his face redden, though that explained his random revulsion for all things vitamin, whether they were children's chewable or large, nearly unswallowable adult ones.
“Somehow, I'm not surprised,” Clark said, leaning back against the bookshelf with a wink Bruce's direction. “What else?”
“Well,” and now Alfred's tone turned mischievous, the traitor. “There was the time Master Bruce attempted to make breakfast.”
Bruce, betrayed, ignored them both and buried his attention in his paperwork. Clark was going to pay for this later, he vowed. For he would make a call to Ma Kent and she, he was certain, would be completely willing to return the favor.
Yes, revenge would be sweet indeed.
For ladydragon76
Prompt: OptimusxMegatron, making up is hard to do
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse, pre-series. Warnings: twincest and the rise of sparksmut
It started with a cube of energon, placed on the edge of his desk and slowly pushed across the surface until it nudged his knuckle.
Megatron, mouth pressed to a tight line, glanced at the energon, reading the inherent start of an apology. That it was his favorite blend was a matter of course. That it was much needed at the moment was also true.
That he didn't want to take it – and the apology – twisted at his spark.
He ignored the cube, and the mech who had offered it, and continued to concentrate on his datapad. While the details of the recent treaty with the Hentafloraxians wasn't the most stimulating of reading material, it was important. Megatron had to sign off on this draft before he could even consider sending it off to Optimus and his team of soft-sparked councilors.
The silence in the room grew. Megatron, displaying more patience than anyone gave him credit for, waited. He counted the beats, listened to the sounds of another mech's systems, one he knew more than intimately, and waited.
There was a soft sound, one of regret, before Megatron was left alone.
Apology unaccepted fragger, he thought, and concentrated on his work.
Megatron, mouth pressed to a tight line, glanced at the energon, reading the inherent start of an apology. That it was his favorite blend was a matter of course. That it was much needed at the moment was also true.
That he didn't want to take it – and the apology – twisted at his spark.
He ignored the cube, and the mech who had offered it, and continued to concentrate on his datapad. While the details of the recent treaty with the Hentafloraxians wasn't the most stimulating of reading material, it was important. Megatron had to sign off on this draft before he could even consider sending it off to Optimus and his team of soft-sparked councilors.
The silence in the room grew. Megatron, displaying more patience than anyone gave him credit for, waited. He counted the beats, listened to the sounds of another mech's systems, one he knew more than intimately, and waited.
There was a soft sound, one of regret, before Megatron was left alone.
Apology unaccepted fragger, he thought, and concentrated on his work.
0o0o0
“How long are ya gonna keep up this silent war?” Ironhide asked as they walked down the hall, from one conference room to another.
Megatron grunted a noncommittal reply.
“Ya know he didn't mean it,” Ironhide continued, ever on Optimus' side even though he was supposed to be Megatron's mech.
“It's not a matter of intent. It's that he thinks he can so easily gain my forgiveness with a few petty gifts,” Megatron retorted, careful to keep his snarl in check. His growling engine gave his anger away.
Ironhide made a thoughtful noise. “I think it's more likely that yer just stubborn.”
There was no denying that. “Don't you have better things to do than focus on us?”
“Not when yer my boss and Optimus is my friend,” Ironhide said with a grin and a roll of his shoulders. “I'm invested in both of ya.”
Megatron harrumphed. “I'm not going to make it easy for the bratling.”
Ironhide, at least, chuckled. “Ya never do, my lord.”
0o0o0
They shared a berth but Megatron was content to recharge in the receiving room, sprawled uncomfortably across the large but torturous couch. If Optimus thought interfacing would fix his error, he was grossly mistaken. And Megatron had successfully ignored all advances for the past decaorn.
Megatron, unlike many others, was immune to that pathetic look. Oh, he was sure Optimus was sincere but he didn't understand. And until he did, Megatron was going to continue to ignore every attempt at apology.
Until Optimus, craftier than many suspected of the “adorably innocent Prime” started to play dirty.
Their bond hummed, tangible despite how tightly Megatron locked down on his end. He could feel Optimus, his brother's desire and longing. He heard the crooning, not audible, but a presence through his spark. Promise was inherent in those soft pulses.
Megatron had expected this tactic and hardened himself to it. But as usual, he was not prepared for the continued efforts of his brother. His own spark became traitorous, telling his processor to forgive and forget, for surely being beside Optimus was much better than in another room.
Megatron growled to himself. In the end, it always came down to their bond. And it was why Optimus won their arguments more often than not. It was, without a doubt, unfair.
He pushed himself off the couch, making a point to stomp as loudly as possible. He would not forgive without a fight, frag it.
The door slid open silently, not bothering to reflect his ire, and Optimus lay there on the berth, in the dark, his optics lit blue and inviting.
“I am not forgiving you,” Megatron snarled as he stormed into the room, his field an agitated whirl of outrage and offense.
Optimus met him with patience and love and beneath it all, a barely concealed thread of amusement. “I am aware,” he said, and he held out his arms, tempting enough that Megatron hated himself for wanting to give in. “Though I am sorry.”
“No, you're not,” Megatron grumbled, sliding into those arms and doing his level best to ignore the feeling of satisfaction that his spark purred as their plating came into contact. Behind the safety of Optimus' chestplate, his spark surged with recognition and Megatron's own danced in happy approval.
“I regret your anger with me,” Optimus conceded, field wrapping around Megatron and guiding him deeper into the embrace. “But not my actions.”
Playing politics as usual.
“Some orn I will break this hold you have on me,” Megatron said, nuzzling his way into the vulnerable plating of Optimus' throat. “And then I will, at last, have won an argument.”
Optimus chuckled, the sound vibrating against Megatron's lips. “If that should happen, brother, then I will lose my only advantage.”
“Seems like a fair trade to me.” His chestplates unlocked, eager to join with the spark that had once been part of his own.
Optimus purred, his own plates parting with a spill of pale blue light.
And in that moment, when their sparks met, all was forgiven and anger forgotten. Such was the way of things.
a/n: Clark's tale of youthful hilarity is borrowed from Smallville canon. Bruce building a ladder out of LEGO at a young age is a real-life story. Sometimes, reality is stranger than fiction. :) I also must admit to guessing at what Alfred would have called Thomas and Martha Wayne. If anyone knows of what would be more accurate, please tell me. I tried but my google-fu failed me today.
Any resemblance the Hentafloraxians have to existing TF aliens is purely a coincidence. :)
That being said, two flash fiction down, three to go. Huzzah!
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
