A/N: Recently on my RP account on Tumblr, a Headcanon meme came by. It was simply "put a word in my ask and I will write a headcanon about it for my muse". Not feeling in the mood for headcanon, I decided to write a drabble for each word I was given instead. However, I found this was a lot more fun than I had expected, especially as I was given the freedom to write whatever I like.

So it's a simple deal. You want me to write a drabble, send me a word. Any word. You can suggest how you want it written, but no specifics please. The first batch are all Skyfire, since that's who the RP account is of, but I'll take prompts for any character. Some will be long, some will be short. I'll try to post them in sets of three, unless I have a really outstanding word.


"Vindicated"

When they finally caught up to him, the Energon splashed onto his frame had already dried into crusty patches. He appeared to be docile, a sentry of splotched purple and pristine white, but they weren't taking any chances. The twin frontliners tackled his unresisting frame to the ground, restraining him until the stasis cuffs had been snapped onto his wrists, and even then they were wary to release him when the Prime stepped forth. The former scientist finally drew his dead optics from the mangled remains of red and white, looking up into his Prime's face with no hint of apology or remorse.

"He deserved it."


"Penance"

They called it penance.

What he had done was wrong, they said. War is war, but murder is something else entirely. To rob another of his spark, to rip it from his body body while he was defenseless… it had been murder, and he must pay penance for it.

There had been some defense for his actions. A half-hearted revolt, pleas for mercy. This was war, and an advantage was an advantage. His actions had been fueled by rage and hate, but the results had been fortunate. The penalty should be lessened.

They said it was murder, and that he should pay penance, and he did.

The shuttle looked over his shoulder, examining the stumps where his wings used to be, and tried to ignore the way his spark screamed for the sky.

They called it penance.


"Agony"

They had taken the sky.

He knew, logically, scientifically, it was still there. If he stepped from his hole and asked, they would take him outside. They would show him that the sun still rose, that the stars still existed, that there was nothing above and below and around the planet but cold and empty space.

It didn't matter. To him, they had taken the sky.

He would wake up, sometimes, turbines whining in memory of flight. He would remember what it was like to fall through an atmosphere, fire licking at his plating. He would remember what it was like to use a plant's gravity to speed his own flight. He would remember the cold, and empty, and sheer beauty of the void.

It was painful. A prickling agony that only grew worse as the cycles ticked on. Even when he could no longer remember the designations of his guards, he could remember what it felt like to ride the wind.

They had taken the sky, and replaced it with a cloth backdrop. His life would end here, underground, where the sky was nothing but a painful, burning memory that would consume everything.