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[personal profile] nkfloofiepoof posting in [community profile] deceptikitty
Title: Sanity is Subjective
Rating: PG
Pairing: Optimus Prime/Primus
Prompt: "If you don't stop apologizing, I will grab you somewhere unpleasant." (from [livejournal.com profile] camfield)
Notes: So, in [livejournal.com profile] shibara_ffnet's stream last night, [livejournal.com profile] camfield roped a bunch of us into having a prompt orgy. There were five of us total – one gave everyone a prompt, and the other four had 15 minutes to write something for it. Unfortunately, the 15-minute time limit was pretty strict – we could finish sentences, but we couldn't finish where were going with what we were writing, so these are all really rough and end rather abruptly.

I actually had a lot more fun than I expected to. I normally can't write under pressure and especially not for something I didn't think up on my own, but all of these came to me pretty easily, so I was very pleasantly surprised. And I actually rather like how most of them turned out, so...yeah.


“If you don’t stop apologizing, I will grab you somewhere unpleasant.”

Optimus paused in his prayer mid-sentence and let his gaze drift up. He knelt before a small altar in his quarters - well, sort of. A few crates stacked on top of one another with an effigy of the Matrix carved out of obsidian from the volcano could hardly be called an “altar”, but there it was. He had put it together shortly after the Autobots’ awakening on Earth out of some need to commune with their god, if Primus was even still alive after their several-million-year-long slumber on the organic planet. Optimus had needed it at the time, needed to have some way to communicate with Primus whether he still lived or not, and even though he had felt silly for it at the time, he had knelt before it and prayed nearly every orn since.

But it had never talked back to him before.

“...um.”

“I mean it. I’m tired of it. You keep apologizing for everything. For Prima’s sake, one would think every single thing that goes wrong in the universe is your fault, whether it’s Wheeljack blowing himself up in his lab for the millionth time this year or someone taking the wrong exit on the interstate.”

Okay. Either he had been hit a lot harder in that last battle than he’d originally thought, or his seemingly never-ending question as to their god’s survival had finally been answered. Logic would indicate it was the former; after all, Primus had never spoken to him before, even prior to their evacuation of Cybertron in the middle of the war.

“So what if Cliffjumper’s calling Mirage a traitor again? You can’t honestly tell me you’re surprised at this point!” Well, that was true. “And yeah, so Ironhide and Trailbreaker got into it over whose fault it is that Trailbreaker can’t keep his shields up. They’re both rusted old gears - they shouldn’t expect any different. It’s Trailbreaker’s own fault that he’s too stubborn to take that blue medicinal energon Ratchet keeps concocting for him. You can’t make him take it, so tell me why his inability to perform is your fault.”

“...um.”

“And if you think apologizing for the war not ending yet sounds any more sincere now than it did four million years ago, you have another thing coming. Just go bang Megatron’s bolts and call a truce already. It’s not like the blatantly obvious sexual tension between both of you isn’t so thick you could cut it with a rusted spoon, and I know you’ve been lusting after that second in command of his for vorns anyway.”

Okay, that was enough. “Now, wait just a second-” Optimus started to protest with a glare at the Matrix effigy.

“Don’t you ‘wait just a second’ me, young mech. Remember who you’re asking for help and advice. Now, go bang one or both of them and end this stupid war or let me nap in peace!”

Optimus could have sworn the last outburst was followed by a burst of sound remarkably similar to a door being slammed shut, leaving him wondering several things at once: what in creation had just happened, had he imagined that, and if he had, when would Ratchet be available to examine his processor?



Title: The Cat and the Hound
Rating: PG
Pairing: Hound/Ravage
Prompt: Run until you can't run anymore (from [livejournal.com profile] dellessa)
Notes: So, in [livejournal.com profile] shibara_ffnet's stream last night, [livejournal.com profile] camfield roped a bunch of us into having a prompt orgy. There were five of us total – one gave everyone a prompt, and the other four had 15 minutes to write something for it. Unfortunately, the 15-minute time limit was pretty strict – we could finish sentences, but we couldn't finish where were going with what we were writing, so these are all really rough and end rather abruptly.

I...joygasmed at this prompt. I won't even deny it. I ship these two so hard it's ridiculous, and nothing exists for them beyond [livejournal.com profile] iiiskaaa's old one-shot.


Foliage rushed by in a blur, whipping into her face, beating against her limbs, and still she ran. The forest was thick, almost too thick for even a mech of her size to venture without trouble, but it was too late to worry about that. She leaped over rocks, dodged around trees, and tore through bushes, and no matter where she turned, no matter what obstacles she put between herself and her pursuer, she could still hear him as if he was only a few steps behind her.

Her silver forelimbs were scratched bare from the thick brush, stinging with each step she took, but she dared not slow, not when she heard him growl just behind her. Spinning on one paw, Ravage bolted a different direction, trying to lose him despite the fact that she knew it was useless, impossible, an exercise in vanity.

Suddenly, the foliage ended, and her claws dug into the earth as she skidded to a stop before a wall of rock. Crimson optics stared at it in near horror, but a quick check of a map she had downloaded of the area told her she should have expected this. Of course the forest ended at this mountain. She knew that, and she knew immediately that she had fallen into his trap. He had herded her this way. It was all as he planned, and she wanted to claw his optics out for it.

Ravage turned and bared her fangs, snarling at the shadows in the trees. Deep blue light met the crimson light of her optics as he stepped out of the brush to confront her.

Black claws dug into the softened earth, flexing as plating shifted on green forelimbs. Green and white plating gleamed in the moonlight, each piece around the enormous gridwolf’s neck long and tapered to form a bladed mane. His muzzle pulled back, baring his own fangs as his three tails, each as layered with sharpened plating as his mane, lashed behind him.

Ravage knew Hound’s true body was outside the forest. This was only a hologram, crafted of hardened light and sent to pursue her where its host could not follow. It was not the first time he had chased her with it. It was just the first time he had caught her.

“Checkmate,” Hound snarled through the gridwolf.

Ravage crouched and thought. She could try to sprint past him, but the hologram was big and fast and could easily overpower her, and she was tired. Tonight’s chase had lasted much longer than their previous pursuits - she had given him a true challenge, and he had proven himself a worthy opponent.

“What do you plan to do now that you’ve caught me?” she asked, a combination of a growl and a purr rolling from her vocalizer.

He stepped forward again. The gridwolf form towered over her, nearly thrice her size. His growl reverberated through her, making her circuits tingle, her plating burn. The fang-filled snarl slowly turned into a silver grin.

“Inspire me.”




Title: Why Soundwave's No Longer Allowed to Upgrade Himself
Rating: PG
Pairing: Starscream/Soundwave
Prompt: Tentacles weren't designed for that, but okay (from [livejournal.com profile] lady_aquill)
Notes: So, in [livejournal.com profile] shibara_ffnet's stream last night, [livejournal.com profile] camfield roped a bunch of us into having a prompt orgy. There were five of us total – one gave everyone a prompt, and the other four had 15 minutes to write something for it. Unfortunately, the 15-minute time limit was pretty strict – we could finish sentences, but we couldn't finish where were going with what we were writing, so these are all really rough and end rather abruptly.

I've always been fond of this pairing, but I've never been able to write them together before. I didn't succeed much on that end this time either.


Starscream told Megatron letting Soundwave get an upgrade would be a bad idea. He told Megatron that Soundwave would only use that opportunity to his advantage. Very few of the Decepticons had been allowed to upgrade themselves ever since they awoke on Earth, primarily out of lack of resources but also partly out of pride. Their first forms were perfect when they first awoke, and most of them were not willing to admit they were outdated, even Megatron. It was why Megatron’s altmode was still a handgun he couldn’t even fire on his own. Pride and stubbornness, nothing more.

But no, Soundwave insisted he needed an upgrade, and because Soundwave was such an annoyingly loyal little sycophant, Megatron agreed despite Starscream’s continual protests. Sure, Starscream would begrudgingly admit that Soundwave was definitely the most out-of-date of all of them. Most humans didn’t even know what cassette players were anymore, much less used them or carried them around. Still, it wasn’t like Soundwave was unable to get his job done - the Autobots’ humans were still ridiculously dimwitted and carted Soundwave into the Ark unwittingly about three times a week. Out-of-date and obsolete or no, Starscream insisted Soundwave did not need or deserve an altmode upgrade when the rest of them had to go without.

But no. Megatron relented, and Soundwave got his wish.

At least Starscream could say “I told you so.” Even Megatron was beginning to think he should have put a limit to the kinds of altmodes Soundwave could choose. A car, a van, a tank - even an electric griddle would have been more reasonable. But a satellite? A satellite couldn’t blend in with the rest of the Decepticons on Earth, and a satellite certainly couldn’t sneak into the Autobot base! But they couldn’t spare the resources for another upgrade – upgrade, downgrade, whatever – so Soundwave smugly let them question their wisdom in not restricting him.

And the others paid the price of Megatron’s foolishness.

“I swear, if those things touch me one more time, Soundwave...” Starscream snarled as he pulled his feet into his chair. Along the floor around his seat, Soundwave’s new, long appendages slithered from one console to the next. He insisted he needed to be able to hook up to every console he could with minimal movement on his part. That way, he could be even more efficient than before. He called them his new “data cables”. Everyone else called them his “extra, groping hands”.

“Query,” Soundwave mused as he lifted one of his tendrils to brush over Starscream’s wing. “Starscream will do what?”

With a pained screech not unlike the feedback of a wet microphone, Soundwave found out exactly what happened when he pushed Starscream too far. Tentacles were not meant to bend that way, nor were they meant to be tied into knots with one another and then tied around Megatron’s throne.

Especially not with Megatron still in it.

Megatron, for his part, simply twitched and made odd, grunting noises as he tried in vain to figure out if he wanted to scream, laugh, or cry while Soundwave tried desperately to unknot his new appendages and ignore how much it hurt doing so.

Starscream simply unleashed a screeching series of, “I told you so!” Nobody was sure who it was directed toward. Nobody cared.




Title: Fine Print
Rating: PG
Pairing: Swindle/??
Prompt: "It's always the fine print, mech. You should know." (from [livejournal.com profile] shibara_ffnet)
Notes: So, in [livejournal.com profile] shibara_ffnet's stream last night, [livejournal.com profile] camfield roped a bunch of us into having a prompt orgy. There were five of us total – one gave everyone a prompt, and the other four had 15 minutes to write something for it. Unfortunately, the 15-minute time limit was pretty strict – we could finish sentences, but we couldn't finish where were going with what we were writing, so these are all really rough and end rather abruptly.

Shibara actually did give me a full pairing in the prompt, but I twisted it around in my response, and I don't want to spoil what I did. I went to Darkville with this one.


For the tenth or twelfth time, Ricochet wondered how he had gotten himself into this situation. It had seemed innocuous enough: he needed an upgrade to his visor. He was scheduled to enroll into the Autobot militia in the next week, and he knew from past upgrades that it would take that long for the upgrade to settle. He did some research, asked around some, and discovered a mod shop that would perform the upgrade he needed for a price he could afford.

He needed it. He wanted to do his part for the defense of Cybertron. He wanted to ensure his enrollment was accepted, and to do that, he knew the better quality his modifications, the more spectrums he could see with his visor, the more information he could display on his HUD at one time, the more likely the Autobot army would be to enlist him immediately.

He needed it.

He was a fool.

“It’s always the fine print, mech,” the smooth voice of the salesmech purred against his audio horn. Ricochet lay helpless across the mod table, magcuffs securing his limbs, but even without them, he knew he would be unable to move. His motor relays had been severed - it was standard procedure for any upgrade, so it had not alarmed him when it happened. What had alarmed him was the plug in the back of his head, the infiltrating coding cutting through his firewalls. His vocalizer would no longer work - the only way he could voice his distress was his rapidly whirring fans and trembling plating.

Ricochet was a fool. He had signed the consent form without reading anything beyond the negotiated price and the main points of the upgrade. He had assumed it would be the same as all the other upgrades he had bought in the past. As new code scrolled across one side of his HUD, the contract scrolled down the other as the sadistic mech “upgrading” him pointed out what he had agreed to.

He would get his upgrade. He would get even more than he paid for - modifications and specialties that extended past the visor upgrades and extended into his circuitry and his frame, upgrades which would guarantee him a place in the Autobot army, not just as a grunt but even higher for their rarity and usefulness, but he would not be helping Cybertron as he had hoped.

Darkness was clawing at the edges of his vision even though all he could see was the ceiling and gleeful purple optics staring down at him. Despite the growing horror and despair, some part of him accepted what was happening to him, accepted that he was powerless to stop it from happening. He was being locked away. He could still see out of his own visor, he could still hear with his own audios, but he could no longer speak or control his own body.

Ricochet would not be the one to join the Autobot forces. Jazz would. Jazz, the Decepticon spy. Jazz, the Decepticons’ secret weapon.

All Ricochet could do was scream inside his new prison built from his own mind.
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