Flash Fiction Fills Take 65 Part Three
May. 28th, 2016 08:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22For Gamercat
Prompt: Prowl/Sunstreaker
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: BDSM themes
For jenn-oddballpunk
Prompt: Jazz and Ratchet
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
For daniellethehanyo
Prompt: Starscream/Thundercracker/Skywarp/Jazz/Prowl
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
For yamiquietshadowflow
Prompt: Lugnut/Strika+other Decepticons, “I dunno if I’d describe the crushed helm of one’s enemy as a romantic gift, but if they find it sweet…”
Fandom: Transformers Animated: Warnings: slight gore
“General Strika! Oh, mighty and destructive one!”
Lugnut's bellow echoed across the entire length of Kalis' Lament, rattling in the audials of everyone present, and only a dim whisper to General Strika's, who always had the foresight to turn down the gain whenever she had word that Lugnut was within flying distance.
“I have a present for you!”
The whispers and the chuckles started then, Decepticons exchanging glances with one another as they turned their attention to their leader. General Strika stood at the helm, hands clasped behind her back, her gaze focused on the main screen. If she heard Lugnut, she gave no sign. Not even a twitch.
Made of stern stuff, General Strika was.
Lugnut lumbered onto the bridge, and there wasn't a single Decepticon present who bothered to pretend they were working.
Especially considering that Lugnut was dragging a rather large bundle of something dripping energon and coolant behind him.
Wait. That wasn't a bundle. That was a corpse.
Oh, my.
General Strika turned slowly, not an ounce of expression on her face. “Lugnut, you are making a mess,” she said disapprovingly.
Lugnut lost an ounce of moment, one that he quickly shook off as he slung his dripping package between them. “One Decepticon traitor, helm intact this time, for the most lovely and destructive general ever to serve the great and powerful Lord Megatron!”
“Lugnut,” General Strika repeated, very slowly, “you have dripped fluid all throughout my ship.”
“I will mop it for you, my love! But first! A humble offering.” Lugnut dropped to one knee and held up, well, it was a head.
There was nothing else one could really say. It was some poor mech's helm, gaping mouth, empty optics, with wires and cables hanging out the neck column. The mech had been spiky, but other than that, no one could identify him.
“Ah. Crosswise. I've been looking for him. Thank you, Lugnut.” General Strika's vocals warmed by several degrees, almost affectionate. “You do bring me the best gifts.”
Lugnut's multiple optics glowed with delight. “Thank you, my lovely empress of destruction! I seek only to please.” He offered the helm with both hands now. “What shall I do with him?”
“Throw him in a smelter. He's of no further use to me.” General Strika waved a dismissing hand and turned back toward the main console.
“At once, my queen!” Lugnut lumbered to his pedes, gathering up Crosswise's remains. “And have I earned a moment of your time, my merciful warrior?”
Strika half-turned, looking over her shoulder at him. “You did well, Lugnut, but we shall see.”
You would think Lugnut had been offered praise of the highest magnitude, given the way he all but vibrated and danced from the room.
“And who says romance is dead?” one of the observing Deceptions joked, perhaps a touch too loud, because General Strika twitched.
“Get back to work!” she barked.
Every Decepticon on deck obeyed. Though one sharp-opticked mech observed the tiniest of smiles on their General's lips.
a/n: Twelve done, six to go? Ten to go? I honestly forgot to count. XD
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Prompt: Prowl/Sunstreaker
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: BDSM themes
There were three words never spoken. Not because they were anathema, but because Sunstreaker wasn't sure what they meant. He didn't know if he could recognize them.
Trust was simpler. Easier to identify.
When Sunstreaker bowed his helm and offered his wrists to Prowl, that was trust.
When he heard Prowl's voice on the comm, giving him his orders, directing him to his next target on the battlefield, and Sunstreaker obeyed without thinking -- that was trust.
When Sideswipe was laid up on a medical berth, with only Ratchet and Hoist there to keep him together, and Prowl came to Sunstreaker and quietly led him away, and he agreed to it -- that was trust.
Sunstreaker could identify trust. It was the rest of it that lacked meaning.
He knelt before Prowl, sometimes restrained by words alone, and it should have made him anxious. He should have looked for the nearest weapon, the nearest exit. He should have tensed to bolt, strike back, protect himself.
Instead, he tilted his helm back. He bared his intake. His ventilations quickened as the thin, delicate collar snapped into place. As Prowl's fingers lingered, briefly brushing over his main energon line.
The glow of Prowl's optics was a promise. The embrace of his field offered even more. He called Sunstreaker beautiful, and he could believe it then.
He trusted Prowl like no one else, save Sideswipe. He would guard Prowl with his very spark. He would bow to Prowl when he would bend his knees for no one else.
Those were things Sunstreaker could qualify.
Emotions. Feelings. Love. Those were things he didn't know. Those were things he didn't want to try and define.
Trust was easier. Trust made sense.
'I put my spark in your hands.' That was what Sunstreaker said every time he gave himself to Prowl, and that was worth more than its weight.
Fortunately, Prowl understood.
"Thank you for your trust," he murmured, each and every time, with a stroke to Sunstreaker's cheek. "I will treat it well."
Sunstreaker's spark fluttered. This, right here, was enough for him.
Trust was simpler. Easier to identify.
When Sunstreaker bowed his helm and offered his wrists to Prowl, that was trust.
When he heard Prowl's voice on the comm, giving him his orders, directing him to his next target on the battlefield, and Sunstreaker obeyed without thinking -- that was trust.
When Sideswipe was laid up on a medical berth, with only Ratchet and Hoist there to keep him together, and Prowl came to Sunstreaker and quietly led him away, and he agreed to it -- that was trust.
Sunstreaker could identify trust. It was the rest of it that lacked meaning.
He knelt before Prowl, sometimes restrained by words alone, and it should have made him anxious. He should have looked for the nearest weapon, the nearest exit. He should have tensed to bolt, strike back, protect himself.
Instead, he tilted his helm back. He bared his intake. His ventilations quickened as the thin, delicate collar snapped into place. As Prowl's fingers lingered, briefly brushing over his main energon line.
The glow of Prowl's optics was a promise. The embrace of his field offered even more. He called Sunstreaker beautiful, and he could believe it then.
He trusted Prowl like no one else, save Sideswipe. He would guard Prowl with his very spark. He would bow to Prowl when he would bend his knees for no one else.
Those were things Sunstreaker could qualify.
Emotions. Feelings. Love. Those were things he didn't know. Those were things he didn't want to try and define.
Trust was easier. Trust made sense.
'I put my spark in your hands.' That was what Sunstreaker said every time he gave himself to Prowl, and that was worth more than its weight.
Fortunately, Prowl understood.
"Thank you for your trust," he murmured, each and every time, with a stroke to Sunstreaker's cheek. "I will treat it well."
Sunstreaker's spark fluttered. This, right here, was enough for him.
For jenn-oddballpunk
Prompt: Jazz and Ratchet
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
Of all the ways Jazz had tried to tempt Ratchet away from the medbay, and there had been many, many doozies, this was by far the most interesting.
Every other mech in the medbay was staring, though Jazz's antics had to be nothing new by now.
"Are those giant cat ears?" Ratchet demanded as he squinted at the furry abominations jutting from Jazz's helm next to his sensory horns.
Jazz beamed at him. "Yep!"
Ratchet gripped his wrench a little tighter, just in case. "And is that a collar around your neck?" A lacy, ribbony one with a pretty bow and a shiny bell.
Jazz's visor flashed. "As observant as always, sweetspark." Half his visor lit in a wink. He then spun on a heelstrut and waggled his aft at Ratchet.
Jazz had a tail. He had, somehow, affixed a long feline tail to his aft, at the end of which was another bow and bell to match the one on his collar.
"And a tail," Ratchet said, faintly. His vents stuttered. His face grew hot.
Someone snickered. It had better not have been Wheeljack. Because if anyone was to blame for Jazz's new accessories, it had to be him. Or Sideswipe. That red menace always had his fingers in whatever nonsense managed to cross Ratchet's medbay.
"Why do you have a tail?" Ratchet demanded.
Jazz spun around, the bell at his intake jingling happily. "Because I'm your kitty," he said brightly. His engine came to life, purring rather accurately, before he attached himself to Ratchet's front.
He nuzzled Ratchet's windshield with his cheek. "And I'm dying for some attention. Aren't ya off shift yet?"
Ratchet resisted the urge to touch. Those furry ears demanded to be stroked. He wanted to make that bell jingle.
"Not yet," he said, and was that his voice striped in static and halfway faint?
"But you need to feed me," Jazz said with a pout. The way he said feed was positively obscene. He pawed at Ratchet's armor with -- Ratchet checked -- yep, those were talon-tipped fingers all right. Had to be glued on.
"I haven't gotten any love or attention at all today. Ya neglect me," he added with another whine.
Behind Ratchet, someone coughed into their palm. "Technically, your shift ended three hours ago, Ratchet."
That traitor was First Aid. They would have words later.
"I have work to do," Ratchet insisted, even as Jazz ramped up the purring. "Lots of, um, work."
"Just go already!" Someone else shouted.
"Yeah. Cause if you don't, I'll take him home," Wheeljack said with a snicker.
Jazz's grin widened, and yep, there they were. He'd sharpened his denta, too. He was really committed to this cat thing, wasn't he?
"You're going to be right on my heels if I don't, aren't you?" Ratchet asked as he rested a hand on Jazz's helm, stroking the length of one furry ear. It was surprisingly well-attached.
Jazz turned his helm under Ratchet's hand, demanding more affection. "Ya know that I will."
Ratchet knew when he was defeated. "You win this time," he said, and grabbed Jazz's hand, tugging him along. "All right, folks. Show's over. Back to work. Especially you." The last was directed at First Aid, who beamed innocently back at him.
"Have fun!" First Aid chirped.
"Oh, I'll make sure he does," Jazz promised.
Ratchet rolled his optics at both of them. He'd let it slide for now, however. Because he had a pet who needed his undivided attention.
He really wanted to see how loud he could make that bell jingle.
Every other mech in the medbay was staring, though Jazz's antics had to be nothing new by now.
"Are those giant cat ears?" Ratchet demanded as he squinted at the furry abominations jutting from Jazz's helm next to his sensory horns.
Jazz beamed at him. "Yep!"
Ratchet gripped his wrench a little tighter, just in case. "And is that a collar around your neck?" A lacy, ribbony one with a pretty bow and a shiny bell.
Jazz's visor flashed. "As observant as always, sweetspark." Half his visor lit in a wink. He then spun on a heelstrut and waggled his aft at Ratchet.
Jazz had a tail. He had, somehow, affixed a long feline tail to his aft, at the end of which was another bow and bell to match the one on his collar.
"And a tail," Ratchet said, faintly. His vents stuttered. His face grew hot.
Someone snickered. It had better not have been Wheeljack. Because if anyone was to blame for Jazz's new accessories, it had to be him. Or Sideswipe. That red menace always had his fingers in whatever nonsense managed to cross Ratchet's medbay.
"Why do you have a tail?" Ratchet demanded.
Jazz spun around, the bell at his intake jingling happily. "Because I'm your kitty," he said brightly. His engine came to life, purring rather accurately, before he attached himself to Ratchet's front.
He nuzzled Ratchet's windshield with his cheek. "And I'm dying for some attention. Aren't ya off shift yet?"
Ratchet resisted the urge to touch. Those furry ears demanded to be stroked. He wanted to make that bell jingle.
"Not yet," he said, and was that his voice striped in static and halfway faint?
"But you need to feed me," Jazz said with a pout. The way he said feed was positively obscene. He pawed at Ratchet's armor with -- Ratchet checked -- yep, those were talon-tipped fingers all right. Had to be glued on.
"I haven't gotten any love or attention at all today. Ya neglect me," he added with another whine.
Behind Ratchet, someone coughed into their palm. "Technically, your shift ended three hours ago, Ratchet."
That traitor was First Aid. They would have words later.
"I have work to do," Ratchet insisted, even as Jazz ramped up the purring. "Lots of, um, work."
"Just go already!" Someone else shouted.
"Yeah. Cause if you don't, I'll take him home," Wheeljack said with a snicker.
Jazz's grin widened, and yep, there they were. He'd sharpened his denta, too. He was really committed to this cat thing, wasn't he?
"You're going to be right on my heels if I don't, aren't you?" Ratchet asked as he rested a hand on Jazz's helm, stroking the length of one furry ear. It was surprisingly well-attached.
Jazz turned his helm under Ratchet's hand, demanding more affection. "Ya know that I will."
Ratchet knew when he was defeated. "You win this time," he said, and grabbed Jazz's hand, tugging him along. "All right, folks. Show's over. Back to work. Especially you." The last was directed at First Aid, who beamed innocently back at him.
"Have fun!" First Aid chirped.
"Oh, I'll make sure he does," Jazz promised.
Ratchet rolled his optics at both of them. He'd let it slide for now, however. Because he had a pet who needed his undivided attention.
He really wanted to see how loud he could make that bell jingle.
For daniellethehanyo
Prompt: Starscream/Thundercracker/Skywarp/Jazz/Prowl
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
If anyone asked him later, Jazz would have no problems pointing the finger at Prowl. They wouldn't believe him, but that didn't make it any less true.
It started ages ago, when Jazz first caught Prowl kissing Starscream. It predated the war and was an image capture Jazz had found buried in some archive. But it was real.
It was creepy. Prowl was smiling. They both were. They looked happy. Creepier.
Now, in the midst of war, neither of them were remotely so.
How serious had they been? Jazz remembered wondering that. What did it even mean, given the war, given all the times Jazz had shared Prowl's berth and more. Stress relief, mostly, but also a spot of happiness in the midst of all the madness.
He debated ever asking Prowl about it, but curiosity won. He had to know.
"It wasn't just Starscream," Prowl admitted, his gaze softening as he took the damning evidence and looked at it. "I mean, yes, it was. At first. But--"
"--where there's one Seeker, there're two more behind him," Jazz finished. It was something the Autobots had all come to learn. "What is it now then?"
Prowl's fidgeting silence was all too telling. Especially when it came with something akin to a blush.
"Fine then," Jazz declared. "I wanna meet them. And I don't mean, here's my blaster and there's yours and let's trade bullets. I wanna meet them the way I'm guessin' you do."
Prowl looked up from the image capture. "I have never betrayed the Autobots."
"I didn't say ya did. I still wanna meet them."
Prowl had learned better than to argue. He could have. They could have gone round the bend, not long into the night. But all he did was touch the image capture again and nod.
It took time, between one battle and the next, before they could meet. Weeks, as a matter of fact, but one day Prowl came into Jazz's suite and said, "Follow me," and so Jazz obeyed.
They left the Ark and drove south. Prowl wandered over the dividing line a few times, jittery and agitated. Jazz almost felt bad about it, until he remembered the consuming jealousy.
They met the Seekers at some rocky outcrop near the shore. The nearest humans were miles away, and Jazz hoped Prowl had picked a time no Autobot surveillance would cross their paths. The Seekers were already there, waiting, and Jazz frowned, because the moment they transformed, Skywarp vopped across the distance and tackled Prowl, peppering his face with kisses.
"I missed you!" he chattered excitedly.
Jazz's engine growled.
"Skywarp, that's enough," Starscream snapped. "We have a guest."
"Can you blame him? It's been weeks," Thundercracker said, but his gaze was focused on Jazz, dark and aggressive.
"I don't care how long it's been," Jazz hissed. "I want answers."
"We don't owe you any," Starscream snapped as Skywarp reluctantly climbed to his pedes, though he pulled Prowl with him.
He didn't return to the side of his trinemates, however, as he should have. He stayed frustratingly close to Prowl, his fingers laced through Prowl's.
"He was ours first," Thundercracker added.
Jazz's fingers twitched. He resisted the urge to grab his blaster. "Yeah, well, he's mine now, too," he insisted. "So we're going to have to work something out."
Starscream's optics narrowed, gaze shifting to Prowl. "Is this true?"
Prowl inclined his helm. "It is. And he can be trusted."
Starscream snorted. "Easy for you to say."
"We know what he is," Thundercracker added.
"There's nothing trustworthy about him," Skywarp muttered. His grip on Prowl's hand tightened, like he was going to pull Prowl behind him.
"Hey! I resemble that remark!" Jazz said. He folded his arms under his bumper. "I don't like the idea of Prowl cavorting around with you three any more than you like the idea of me and him swapping cables every night."
Thundercracker and Starscream blanched in unison. Skywarp twitched.
"Jazz, don't antagonize them," Prowl said. "And Starscream, yes, it is easy for me to say. Because it is the truth. You wanted to end the war, didn't you?"
Jazz huffed. "Yeah, like that's not a story I've heard before."
Prowl shot him a warning glance.
"Yes, I do," Starscream said.
"Then we stand our best chance with Jazz's assistance," Prowl said. He stepped closer to Skywarp, bumping him with his shoulder. It was the most openly affectionate Jazz had ever seen him.
"We win the war, and we no longer have to hide our relationship. We no longer have to sneak around, go weeks without seeing one another, or deliberately miss on the battlefield and risk the questioning of our loyalty," Prowl continued. "I do not know about you, but that is something I am willing to try for."
Thundercracker lay a hand on Starscream's shoulder, but said nothing. A silent communication passed between them. Starscream worked his jaw before his wings drifted down from their offended position.
"You know I hate it when you use logic on me," he said, but something in his stance softened. "Fine. We'll work with him. But I don't like it."
Prowl's lips curved in a soft smile. "That's enough for now." His gaze shifted to Jazz pointedly.
He sighed the largest sigh in his arsenal. He had a frustrating inability to say no when Prowl made sense. Especially if it meant putting that smile on Prowl's face.
"Fine," Jazz bit out. "And I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but, I agree with Starscream. I don't like it."
"You don't have to. You just need to be civil," Prowl said.
Jazz huffed.
"Since that's settled, can we go now?" Skywarp asked, pressing harder against Prowl, his lips pulling into a pout that Jazz would never admit was adorable. "We missed you."
Ugh. Gag him.
Jazz spun on a heelstrut. He flicked a hand over his shoulder. "I'm out, Prowl. Ping me when you want to discuss whatever plans you and Starscream are cookin' up."
"I will see you later, Jazz."
The sound of three sets of thrusters firing up echoed behind Jazz. He stopped to turn and look, unsurprised that Skywarp was carrying Prowl. He didn't ask where they were going. He didn't want to know.
He needed to process this. But not here. Away. Somewhere else.
It wasn't everyday that everything Jazz thought he knew about Prowl had been turned upside down. And he suspected, today wasn't going to be the last.
Primus help him.
It started ages ago, when Jazz first caught Prowl kissing Starscream. It predated the war and was an image capture Jazz had found buried in some archive. But it was real.
It was creepy. Prowl was smiling. They both were. They looked happy. Creepier.
Now, in the midst of war, neither of them were remotely so.
How serious had they been? Jazz remembered wondering that. What did it even mean, given the war, given all the times Jazz had shared Prowl's berth and more. Stress relief, mostly, but also a spot of happiness in the midst of all the madness.
He debated ever asking Prowl about it, but curiosity won. He had to know.
"It wasn't just Starscream," Prowl admitted, his gaze softening as he took the damning evidence and looked at it. "I mean, yes, it was. At first. But--"
"--where there's one Seeker, there're two more behind him," Jazz finished. It was something the Autobots had all come to learn. "What is it now then?"
Prowl's fidgeting silence was all too telling. Especially when it came with something akin to a blush.
"Fine then," Jazz declared. "I wanna meet them. And I don't mean, here's my blaster and there's yours and let's trade bullets. I wanna meet them the way I'm guessin' you do."
Prowl looked up from the image capture. "I have never betrayed the Autobots."
"I didn't say ya did. I still wanna meet them."
Prowl had learned better than to argue. He could have. They could have gone round the bend, not long into the night. But all he did was touch the image capture again and nod.
It took time, between one battle and the next, before they could meet. Weeks, as a matter of fact, but one day Prowl came into Jazz's suite and said, "Follow me," and so Jazz obeyed.
They left the Ark and drove south. Prowl wandered over the dividing line a few times, jittery and agitated. Jazz almost felt bad about it, until he remembered the consuming jealousy.
They met the Seekers at some rocky outcrop near the shore. The nearest humans were miles away, and Jazz hoped Prowl had picked a time no Autobot surveillance would cross their paths. The Seekers were already there, waiting, and Jazz frowned, because the moment they transformed, Skywarp vopped across the distance and tackled Prowl, peppering his face with kisses.
"I missed you!" he chattered excitedly.
Jazz's engine growled.
"Skywarp, that's enough," Starscream snapped. "We have a guest."
"Can you blame him? It's been weeks," Thundercracker said, but his gaze was focused on Jazz, dark and aggressive.
"I don't care how long it's been," Jazz hissed. "I want answers."
"We don't owe you any," Starscream snapped as Skywarp reluctantly climbed to his pedes, though he pulled Prowl with him.
He didn't return to the side of his trinemates, however, as he should have. He stayed frustratingly close to Prowl, his fingers laced through Prowl's.
"He was ours first," Thundercracker added.
Jazz's fingers twitched. He resisted the urge to grab his blaster. "Yeah, well, he's mine now, too," he insisted. "So we're going to have to work something out."
Starscream's optics narrowed, gaze shifting to Prowl. "Is this true?"
Prowl inclined his helm. "It is. And he can be trusted."
Starscream snorted. "Easy for you to say."
"We know what he is," Thundercracker added.
"There's nothing trustworthy about him," Skywarp muttered. His grip on Prowl's hand tightened, like he was going to pull Prowl behind him.
"Hey! I resemble that remark!" Jazz said. He folded his arms under his bumper. "I don't like the idea of Prowl cavorting around with you three any more than you like the idea of me and him swapping cables every night."
Thundercracker and Starscream blanched in unison. Skywarp twitched.
"Jazz, don't antagonize them," Prowl said. "And Starscream, yes, it is easy for me to say. Because it is the truth. You wanted to end the war, didn't you?"
Jazz huffed. "Yeah, like that's not a story I've heard before."
Prowl shot him a warning glance.
"Yes, I do," Starscream said.
"Then we stand our best chance with Jazz's assistance," Prowl said. He stepped closer to Skywarp, bumping him with his shoulder. It was the most openly affectionate Jazz had ever seen him.
"We win the war, and we no longer have to hide our relationship. We no longer have to sneak around, go weeks without seeing one another, or deliberately miss on the battlefield and risk the questioning of our loyalty," Prowl continued. "I do not know about you, but that is something I am willing to try for."
Thundercracker lay a hand on Starscream's shoulder, but said nothing. A silent communication passed between them. Starscream worked his jaw before his wings drifted down from their offended position.
"You know I hate it when you use logic on me," he said, but something in his stance softened. "Fine. We'll work with him. But I don't like it."
Prowl's lips curved in a soft smile. "That's enough for now." His gaze shifted to Jazz pointedly.
He sighed the largest sigh in his arsenal. He had a frustrating inability to say no when Prowl made sense. Especially if it meant putting that smile on Prowl's face.
"Fine," Jazz bit out. "And I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but, I agree with Starscream. I don't like it."
"You don't have to. You just need to be civil," Prowl said.
Jazz huffed.
"Since that's settled, can we go now?" Skywarp asked, pressing harder against Prowl, his lips pulling into a pout that Jazz would never admit was adorable. "We missed you."
Ugh. Gag him.
Jazz spun on a heelstrut. He flicked a hand over his shoulder. "I'm out, Prowl. Ping me when you want to discuss whatever plans you and Starscream are cookin' up."
"I will see you later, Jazz."
The sound of three sets of thrusters firing up echoed behind Jazz. He stopped to turn and look, unsurprised that Skywarp was carrying Prowl. He didn't ask where they were going. He didn't want to know.
He needed to process this. But not here. Away. Somewhere else.
It wasn't everyday that everything Jazz thought he knew about Prowl had been turned upside down. And he suspected, today wasn't going to be the last.
Primus help him.
For yamiquietshadowflow
Prompt: Lugnut/Strika+other Decepticons, “I dunno if I’d describe the crushed helm of one’s enemy as a romantic gift, but if they find it sweet…”
Fandom: Transformers Animated: Warnings: slight gore
“General Strika! Oh, mighty and destructive one!”
Lugnut's bellow echoed across the entire length of Kalis' Lament, rattling in the audials of everyone present, and only a dim whisper to General Strika's, who always had the foresight to turn down the gain whenever she had word that Lugnut was within flying distance.
“I have a present for you!”
The whispers and the chuckles started then, Decepticons exchanging glances with one another as they turned their attention to their leader. General Strika stood at the helm, hands clasped behind her back, her gaze focused on the main screen. If she heard Lugnut, she gave no sign. Not even a twitch.
Made of stern stuff, General Strika was.
Lugnut lumbered onto the bridge, and there wasn't a single Decepticon present who bothered to pretend they were working.
Especially considering that Lugnut was dragging a rather large bundle of something dripping energon and coolant behind him.
Wait. That wasn't a bundle. That was a corpse.
Oh, my.
General Strika turned slowly, not an ounce of expression on her face. “Lugnut, you are making a mess,” she said disapprovingly.
Lugnut lost an ounce of moment, one that he quickly shook off as he slung his dripping package between them. “One Decepticon traitor, helm intact this time, for the most lovely and destructive general ever to serve the great and powerful Lord Megatron!”
“Lugnut,” General Strika repeated, very slowly, “you have dripped fluid all throughout my ship.”
“I will mop it for you, my love! But first! A humble offering.” Lugnut dropped to one knee and held up, well, it was a head.
There was nothing else one could really say. It was some poor mech's helm, gaping mouth, empty optics, with wires and cables hanging out the neck column. The mech had been spiky, but other than that, no one could identify him.
“Ah. Crosswise. I've been looking for him. Thank you, Lugnut.” General Strika's vocals warmed by several degrees, almost affectionate. “You do bring me the best gifts.”
Lugnut's multiple optics glowed with delight. “Thank you, my lovely empress of destruction! I seek only to please.” He offered the helm with both hands now. “What shall I do with him?”
“Throw him in a smelter. He's of no further use to me.” General Strika waved a dismissing hand and turned back toward the main console.
“At once, my queen!” Lugnut lumbered to his pedes, gathering up Crosswise's remains. “And have I earned a moment of your time, my merciful warrior?”
Strika half-turned, looking over her shoulder at him. “You did well, Lugnut, but we shall see.”
You would think Lugnut had been offered praise of the highest magnitude, given the way he all but vibrated and danced from the room.
“And who says romance is dead?” one of the observing Deceptions joked, perhaps a touch too loud, because General Strika twitched.
“Get back to work!” she barked.
Every Decepticon on deck obeyed. Though one sharp-opticked mech observed the tiniest of smiles on their General's lips.
a/n: Twelve done, six to go? Ten to go? I honestly forgot to count. XD
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
