Random things, various characters finding porn fics, a quick death, Shattered Glass D.J.D., and some strange AUs.
Title: Candy From Strangers, Pt. 27
Warning: Embarrassment, porn, suggested nonconsensual, voyeurism, xeno, scandalized Phase Sixers, spoilers for MTMTE, death, justice.
Rating: R
Continuity: IDW, G1, Shattered Glass
Characters: Everyone.
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): Silly memes off Tumblr, continuing ideas from others, stuff and sundry.
[* * * * *]
"Ratchet - medic's hands"
[* * * * *]
Blue and red entwined, sensitive to the pressure they put on each other.
Pharma's hold always started delicate, testing out Ratchet's limits. His hands held red hands lightly, a barely-there pressure that served to tease instead of satisfy. Ratchet had more confidence; he gripped firmly and rolled blue knuckles between his fingers.
Pharma's optics flashed, and he buckled forward to dig sharp chevron tips into Ratchet's shoulders. The older medic smirked and capitalized on the advantage before the flyer recovered. Pharma had always been such a sucker for dirty talk and flattery, and Ratchet did so love to make the mech lose his composure with nothing but the filthy language. Experience counted for a lot when talking with one's hands, after all.
[* * * * *]
"Fortress Maximus - a group of 'Cons"
[* * * * *]
They looked up at him. They looked at the way he pounded his fists into each other.
No amount of money from Pharma was worth what they saw thundering toward them.
He charged. The two Decepticons dropped to their knees, forehelms to the floor, hands tucked to the back of their necks, and every interface and access hatch popped open in utter, blatant offering. It was complete surrender made in the most obvious way, Decepticons throwing themselves at a superior's mercy by making it absolutely clear they'd do anything to save their miserable lives. Their body language screamed, 'Please please please don't kill us,' combined with 'Look, you can use us, please use us, we won't stop you.'
The room held its breath.
Fortress Maximus came to a dead stop standing over them, and nothing made it more terribly clear how thoroughly outclassed they were than to have feet the size of their bodies stomping down beside their helms. They cringed lower but arched to present their arrays. This was the very worst place in the universe to be standing, so they wouldn't be getting to their feet for all the money in Delphi. Not unless or until they were ordered.
It was a mercy when he reached for them.
[* * * * *]
"Rewind - secret footage"
[* * * * *]
"What are you watching?"
"Nothing interesting."
Chromedome was immediately interested. "You only say that when you recorded something really good. What is it?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Not a thing. And nobody."
"Nobody?"
"Nope."
"Nobody at all?"
"Of course not. Would I record anyone?"
"No, no, what was I thinking," Chromedome murmured. "So we'll be watching nobody and nothing when, exactly?"
"Tonight."
"Tonight?"
"It might set the mood."
"Oh, I see."
[* * * * *]
"Tarn"
[* * * * *]
He knew there was something off the moment he got the file. It was the wrong size for a report, unless the traitor had been particularly significant. There would have been a broadcast of such an execution, however. How strange.
Soundwave scanned the file, curious but cautious. It came up clean, nothing but text and a lot of it. Huh.
Five minutes after he opened it, a second message from the Peaceful Tyranny arrived. It was one of Tarn's verbose, rather florid messages, this one apologizing for the mistakenly sent file and requesting he delete the previous message because this message had the actual report Soundwave had requested attached to it. The other file was something unimportant. Nothing business-related at all. He could just delete it. Tarn's was most apologetic for the small mix-up.
Soundwave ignored the message.
A third message arrived a minute later. More ornate language shaped a profuse, humble apology for the first message and wasting his time, so sorry, Soundwave should just erase it. Immediately, if he would, and send a confirmation that Tarn's little faux pas was forgiven. Forgotten, even. Ah hah hah, no harm, no foul. Tarn felt terribly ashamed for having wasted Soundwave's time by mistakenly transferring such an unimportant file like that.
This was beginning to entertain him.
The fourth message dumped into Soundwave's message queue soon after. It was interesting how far Tarn could strain his linguistic skills to write formal, persuasive, civilized 'Should I be apologizing? Give me a clue what you're doing over there? Please?' messages when he was quite clearly starting to panic.
Soundwave didn't even bother reading the fifth message. He attached the edited first pages of the pornography he was slogging through and sent it back.
Tarn took it well. There was nothing like brutal spell-checking and grammar-hacking to cut a mech down to size. The sixth message was a cringing, debased apology that crawled into Soundwave's inbox like it could feel disdain pouring down upon it. Soundwave's commentary on the feasibility of the next chunk of badly-written sexual acts stomped all over that apology and kicked it back to Tarn in a bedraggled, humiliated mass. Bad enough that Tarn had sent him porn, but it was just insulting to have been sent porn of such low quality it was nothing but poor research and a lack of understanding of how interface equipment worked.
To be honest, Soundwave was enjoying himself by the time the seventh message oozed into his inbox to prostrate Tarn at his feet via words, but he wasn't going to let Tarn know that. The leader of the Justice Division was a lot more manageable like this.
He decided to hint that he might be passing this thing on to Megatron. Maybe Tarn would implode from shame.
[* * * * *]
"Onslaught"
[* * * * *]
"He's my boss," Vortex said, wary.
"Yup."
"No, look. He's my boss." The Combaticon looked at the eager fingers wriggling over the keypad. Reflector usually did entertainment for the Earth-stranded Decepticons using visual media, but there was a portion of the faction that preferred reading over watching vids. What they preferred to read was what had trapped Vortex here, in a far too small a room, brainstorming ideas for stories that he'd rather not come into existence.
Duty was duty, however. Megatron's word was law, and Vortex was scheduled to be Reflector's flunky for the next six shifts.
The 'copter covered his visor with his hand and groaned. "What I'm saying is that I've never fragged him, and he'd never frag me even if I offered. I don't have anything to tell you over than that one time we pretended to make out in an alleyway to shake the Enforcers chasing us. It really didn't go anywhere other than - " Reflector was already writing. "For Primus' sake, nothing happened! He didn't even sneak a grope of my rotor hub!"
They gave him eerily synchronized smirks. "He will have by the time we're done."
Onslaught was going to kill him for this.
[* * * * *]
"Grimlock"
[* * * * *]
"Someone stop him!" someone yelped on the Autobot side of the battlefield, and it drew a few curious stares from the Decepticons. Being that this was during the middle of a battle, they quickly went back to punching and shooting. Someone always needed to be stopped during battle. That was why they were fighting, after all.
It drew more attention when Bumblebee cannonballed out of nowhere, tossed across the battlefield by Ironhide, and hit Megatron in the chest. "You dare!" the silver tyrant roared, staggering back under the sudden weight that scrambled and climbed, refusing to sit still or get off.
A disturbance started on the far side of the battlefield. The fight parted before it like water before the prow of a ship. Even flailing at the Autobot climbing him, Megatron could tell the Dinobots were on the move.
Bumblebee grabbed him by both sides of the helm and ordered, "Run. Now. You don't want to know what he's going to do to you," right as Grimlock reached the base of the hill and transformed.
Oddly, the Dinobot leader didn't seem to be armed. He was, however, holding a pair of handcuffs and some jumper cables.
Megatron didn't stick around to find out why.
[* * * * *]
"Starscream"
[* * * * *]
Skyfire hit Starscream like a boulder falling from the sky, slamming the smaller flyer down in a punishing, crunching crash. Starscream slammed into the ground so hard he didn't wake up until after repairs back at base.
"What'd you do?" Skywarp asked. "Usually you two ignore each other. I thought you guys were, y'know, cybering it up."
The Air Commander shot him a black look, because in theory that was a secret and in practice everyone knew. They all wanted in on the virtual sex. Starscream had a way with words, alright? Soundwave looked scorched about the vents anytime he intercepted a transmission.
The disapproval slid into a sly grin. "He was using his size in ways I didn't approve of." Optics glazed as the eavesdropping mechs in the repairbay happily imagined that.
"So?"
"So I decided to cash in one of my 'interface toy' cards."
Oh Primus, there were cards. Everyone knew there were rules and whatnot between those two, but what were the cards? Details, please!
Except that Starscream's smile was viciously self-satisfied, and that never ended well. "He didn't appreciate me choosing ice as the toy."
[* * * * *]
"Tracks"
[* * * * *]
It'd been a long, long time since Ratchet had needed an instruction manual for interfacing. It'd been even longer since he knew the author of the manual he was perusing. He sternly told his fans that they weren't needed, so please stop spinning. He wasn't some kind of pervert getting off on a second-hand account of how to frag a human. He was a medical professional being called upon for his services in a potentially delicate situation.
That Tracks and Raoul had well in hand, apparently.
"Everything feels okay?" he said after resetting his vocalizer. Oh dear. That didn't seem physically possible, but if Tracks had written it into the guide, then it'd already been done.
"Yes."
"Raoul's been to see a doctor?"
"The hospital was most accommodating. His physical came back clean. Not even a bruise." Tracks preened, proud of himself.
"Then I'll just…file this." In case other Autobots wanted to frag a human at some point in the future.
Considering what he'd just read, the future might be soon in coming.
[* * * * *]
"Whirl"
[* * * * *]
Rung sighed, letting stress disperse through his vents until he felt calm enough to speak again. "That was not what I meant by engaging in a team-building activity," he said quietly, "but I suppose as long as it was well-received, there is no actual rule against it."
"Not yet, but he's working on it."
He tried not to look disappointed in his patient. Whirl had, after all, done as he'd requested. Admittedly, he'd done so in a typically Whirl way, but he'd stuck to the letter of the request by writing something meant to engage the interest and positive attention of someone else aboard the ship. Rung had emphasized the 'positive' part. Whirl had made a point of having perfect grammar.
That was progress, of a sort. The piece was crafted well, researched and written with an optic for detail that did catch interest, even if it then used that interest to sucker the reader into reading explicit pornography. And, as Whirl said, there wasn't actually a rule against sending Ultra Magnus such a thing under the guise of cooperating with counseling.
It might even explain why Ultra Magnus had pinged him with an appointment request at long last.
[* * * * *]
"Prowl"
[* * * * *]
"This is a bad idea. This is a really bad idea. He's going to murder us in our sleep. He's going to string us up by our tires." Scavenger cringed as Hook hit the 'Send' key. "Nooooooooo. We're gonna die. We're gonna die."
"But what a way to go, eh?" Bonecrusher slapped him on the back. "We'll be fine!" Yet the Constructicons were carefully keeping their backs to the nearest walls, Scavenger noticed.
Walls that they abruptly plastered themselves to when the rigidly indignant form of their reluctant sixth appeared in the doorway. There might have been a couple of involuntarily, terror-fueled transformations. A few. Five, at most.
Glacial blue optics swept over the alarmed, scared-motionless herd of construction vehicles before settling on Scavenger. "You!" Prowl barked, stabbing a finger at him, then at the floor in front of himself. "Here. Now!"
A pathetic, frightened little noise bled from his engine as he obeyed. It sounded a lot like, "I don't want to dieeeee."
Prowl turned on a heel tire and stomped off with Scavenger rolling in his wake.
Two hours later, the Constructicons were nervous, jumpy, and ready to storm Prowl's office. Not a peep had been heard from their fifth and sixth since judgment and doom had descended on the team. They'd have felt it if Prowl murdered one of them, right? Right?!
Then Scavenger limped back to them.
"What happened?" Long Haul demanded the second they were sure he wasn't about to collapse.
Scavenger blinked up at them blearily. "Chapter three."
Dead silence.
"…what, all of it?"
Scavenger managed a nod.
"…you…you might want to lie down."
"Thanks," Scavenger mumbled right before he passed out.
They couldn't blame him.
[* * * * *]
"Thundercracker"
[* * * * *]
"Um."
Thundercracker checked to make sure Buster wasn't under his hand before clenching it into a fist.
"Um."
Now that he read it, that was a much more authentic interfacing scene between humans. It was just…unexpectedly personal reading what Josh Boyfriend was doing to Susan Journeyer, and Thundercracker shifted around, fidgeting the further he read. Making fanfiction about a show was what human audiences did, but he hadn't really expected the humans to do - well, this.
He'd never thought about Josh Boyfriend that way, and now he couldn't stop, and Thundercracker couldn't keep himself and Susan Journeyer entirely separate in his head and desires anymore.
[* * * * *]
"Constructicons"
[* * * * *]
The Stunticons were a lot of things, young and insane being the most noticeable. They were also shiny, sleek, confident, and the newest technology available for gestalts and ground models. They made head turns everywhere they went, and it wasn't always because the person was turning to yell, "Shut up!" at them.
When they merged, all hope was lost. Devastator was in love.
Well, lust. But that was close enough to love among the Decepticons.
It was something about the helm spikes, or how the muscle cars that made up Menasor's limbs were so temptingly curvy while attached to the brutal, blocky strength of his torso. Sure, he was psychotic, but who didn't get a little crazy during battle? Really, it wasn't like Devastator wanted him for his mind.
Menasor only combined for battle, which made courting the other combiner rather difficult. Megatron would heartily disapprove if his two powerhouses went at it on the battlefield, especially if they went at it the way Devastator wanted. There was a way around that, however! Part of Menasor's psychosis came from the fact that he was a conglomeration of the Stunticons' minds instead of a separate personality. Devastator, being more stable, was a personality of his own that slumbered in the back of the Constructicons' heads until a merge woke him.
He slept restlessly, these days. The Constructicons started merging outside of battle, their standard method of figuring out what was wrong with their team dynamics. It didn't generally give them insight into each other's minds, but Devastator could figure out what was going on and settle them down one at a time once they were merged.
Or he could write filthy dirty smut and send it to the Stunticons under their names. That was also an option.
And the Constructicons, who weren't conscious while Devastator was awake, had no idea why the Stunticons were suddenly eyeing them speculatively.
[* * * * *]
"Overlord"
[* * * * *]
"Phase Seven Warrior Elite? Oh, that seems like a poor idea," Overlord murmured, and Sixshot and Black Shadow were immediately interested.
It wasn't often that the three of them were in the same solar system, much less peacefully sitting about in circumstances where they didn't want to murder each other on sight. They'd been scheduled for maintenance before deployment, however, so here they were. There was only one medibay set up to handle the Empire's super soldiers. Sharing space would have to be tolerated for now.
The other two Warrior Elite slid up behind Overlord's chosen seat, not-so-subtly peering over his shoulders at the datapad in his hand, and they went still and silent as they read. It seemed the Empire thought them capable of sharing a lot more than a waiting room. And that certainly went above and beyond tolerance.
"Where did you get this filth?" Sixshot asked, voice a little strangled by indignation. Unexpected mental images were doing things to his mind that his mind didn't really know what to do with.
Overlord barely glanced up before continuing to scroll down as he read. "Convenience store outside the docking tube. I don't think they expect anyone above a grunt rank to walk into those, but I do believe I'm going to make a habit of it from now on. There was a whole display rack of these novellas. The cover art on the download tab alone was worth the price." He jerked his head at the tab discarded to the table his elbow rested on.
Black Shadow tore his optics away from the screen long enough to look at the tab, and then he couldn't look away. "I don't - I can't - "
"I'd rather not know if you do or can, thank you," Overlord said drily. "According to the last chapter, all of us apparently can and do rather frequently."
"What am I even reading?" Sixshot squeaked as indignation was overrun by stark disbelief.
"Repopulation of the Empire, as done by the three of us. Four." Overlord's optics widened fractionally as the next chapter came up. "Twelve."
[* * * * *]
"Sixshot"
[* * * * *]
Fragging Pit. Overlord had been right.
Sixshot walked past the frozen enegex snacks and pushed through the group of genericons bickering in the ammo section to get to what looked like an interfacing aid display right next to the check-out. The apathetic clerk grunted a vague question - "Whaddyawant?" - in the style of bad customer service everywhere. He didn't even look up from the game he was playing on his commpad. Sixshot probably registered as a blur of 'customer; not currently throwing purchases on the counter or shooting at me; safe to ignore.'
Sixshot was rather glad to be ignored. His visual field flickered erratically as he took in the display. Aside from an assortment of cheap toys, luridly colored and flavored lubes, and a holoprojector chock full of erotically posed mechs with…nonstandard equipment…there was also an array of download tabs for novellas.
He noted, somewhat disturbed, that the slot for the novella Overlord had shown him was bought out.
There were plenty of other options, all well-stocked. Sixshot picked up one tab to read the summary on the back and nearly swallowed his vocalizer. He and Ratchet? Who would put him with an Autobot, much less the Autobot Chief Medical Officer?! That was sick! Wrong!
The clerk didn't bother to look up as he rang up the purchase.
[* * * * *]
"Black Shadow"
[* * * * *]
This all started with a bad idea, but it got progressively worse from there.
Bad idea: reading the thing Overlord had bought.
Worse idea: talking about it with each other. In their defense, they had been stuck in a waiting room with nothing else to do. Their choices for entertainment had been slim. Discussing lousy pornography probably wasn't any worse than any other idea they could have come up with.
Except they then went on to the worst idea: mocking the novella until Black Shadow stupidly called Overlord out on one flamboyantly condemning phrase, whereupon Overlord did indeed insist that he could write something better. A claim that neither Black Shadow nor Sixshot believed until they got it in their inboxes in all its engine-sputtering glory. He could indeed write better.
At the end of the story, of course, was an insufferably smug dare from Overlord to top that.
There should be a law somewhere against daring mechs like them. They were unable to back down from challenges.
[* * * * *]
"A quick death"
[* * * * *]
"Don't do it. Don't," Drift pleaded from where Tesarus' machine hands held him helpless. It'd started out as a demand, an order, then choked down to this quiet, earnest, hopeless plea. "Don't. They'll kill us all anyway. Don't do it." He didn't think he'd change Ratchet's mind, but he had to say it. He couldn't accept this.
Beside him, held in Helex's grasp and equally helpless, Hound trembled violently. He seemed unable to process the deal Ratchet had brokered out of grim, desperate determination. He'd been knocked out for the first few minutes of negotiations, dragged behind the walking smelter after losing his fight. The blurry memory of a crowd of gurgling, gasping, feebly twitching Autobots clearly left to die made him think he'd been chosen for this simply because he was still coherent.
Tarn wanted Ratchet willing to do anything. Using Drift hadn't been sufficient motivation, he felt, because a traitor just didn't have the ethical impact of using an innocent mech. Threatening to punish Hound alongside Drift had done the trick nicely.
Despite what Drift was trying to tell him, Ratchet was very well aware the D.J.D. would kill the three of them in the end. As he lifted his chin for the collar, he kept his face impassive, not even acknowledging Drift. He hadn't tried to bargain for life. He knew the D.J.D wouldn't honor that agreement. He'd gone for the one thing he thought they'd agree to: a quick death. Grant them a quick death, and Ratchet would serve.
He'd do what Tarn wanted, however he wished, for as long as Tarn told him to, and he'd do it because the alternative was unthinkable.
"There you are," the despicable creature masquerading as a mech purred, voice rich and satisfied. There was a flare of heat at the back of Ratchet's neck as Vos welded the collar shut. "Much improved, don't you agree?" An edge to that voice said he'd better agree or else.
"Sure, whatever," Ratchet said through gritted teeth. "Are you going to get on with it sometime today?"
Drift grunted. Hound's vents made a distinct whistling noise, air rushing in against the fans, although he didn't cry out.
Ratchet dimmed his optics and cycled air. When his optics lit again, his face had drained of all expression. "Forgive me. Of course it's an improvement, master."
"Good pet." The words were viciously sweet but directed over his head at the two Autobots struggling behind him. "Chief Medical Officer, pet of the Decepticon Justice Division. Perhaps we'll keep you." It was a tormenting sliver of hope that struck home if Drift's strained whine was anything to go by.
He didn't turn to look. He didn't resist in any way as his chin was lifted on a curled forefinger. Optics unfocused, he just accepted the little touches to his helm, his face, down his back, over his hubcaps. They were meant to mark him, claim him. Show the helpless ex-Decepticon forced to watch that the Justice Division could and was making his companions suffer for his crime.
Ratchet cooperated, because he'd bargained hard that the suffering of the other two Autobots be limited to humiliation and helplessness. Drift and Hound would watch what Ratchet willingly submitted to, and they would know it was for their sake. And, in the end, if Tarn honored the bargain, their deaths would be relatively swift. Considering what the other option was, it was a merciful bargain by the D.J.D.'s standards.
Vos began to pry between armor plates, looking for a reaction as much as just inspecting their prize. Ratchet relaxed as much as he could and tried not to feel the first minor pangs of pain. It would get worse before long, he was sure. Kaon murmured approval of the hands that turned to grasp his, and Ratchet kept his mind detached from what the mech guided his hands to do.
He could ignore the pain. He could imagine his hands busy in some sort of surgical procedure, the sighing groan a patient responding to the stroke of a finger, but the hand that'd been playing with the collar demanded his attention.
Tarn made him look up, far up, until their optics met. "Now, pet, what kind of tricks do you know?"
A thumb came to rest on his lower lip, a hint that might as well have been an order. It wasn't like he had a choice.
"Don't," Drift whispered behind him. "Ratchet, please. I'm - I'm not worth this."
Without breaking optic contact, Ratchet opened his mouth.
[* * * * *]
"Shattered Glass AU"
[* * * * *]
When the Decepticon Justice Division came for a mech, there was no escape. Run and hide as they might, no one could evade the D.J.D. forever. Their tenacity was notorious. Their trials made traitors tremble at the mere thought. There was nothing quite as horrifying as judge and jury hunting the guilty down.
They were excruciatingly fair. Judgment was the result of weighing the evidence and taking the Decepticon's own testimony. The D.J.D. were so known for their unimpeachable honesty and solemn vows of due process that even the Autobots called them the cruelest unit in existence. Nothing in the universe was more agonizing than making a guilty conscience endure the torture of Tesarus harshly grinding down the defendant's arguments, one at a time.
Helex did his best, scrupulous representing the worst mech's case as neutrally as possible, but usually in vain. By the time a Decepticon was put on the List, the evidence was overwhelming. More than one List mech broke while on the stand giving testimony, confessing to the crime and begging the court's forgiveness for what he'd done. It was why Kaon had a reputation as the hot seat.
Vos gave careful consideration to all new testimony and evidence brought by the Decepticon on trial, and after consultation with the rest of the Justice Division, he would pronounce the verdict. Rarely was it 'Innocent.'
He wasn't sadistic. If anything, his compassion made him more fearsome, because he believed that it was never too late for redemption. A death sentence provided nothing but cheap revenge. No one learned from it. The rest of the Decepticons would only learn terror and distrust if 'justice' were only a synonym for 'death.'
Tesarus always took responsibility for holding the judged Decepticon during the sentencing. "I can't prosecute a mech and look away when I win," he'd said when first accepting the position as prosecutor. For a similar reason, Helex always stood beside him. The defendant's advocate would see the case to a close.
Sometimes that required being at a condemned mech's side until the very end. The D.J.D. was no stranger to crimes that turned good mechs' tanks, and Vos' compassion couldn't save everyone. There were times that Tesarus pressed for a death sentence, and Helex couldn't plead the court's mercy every time. Justice sometimes had no other outlet but that of execution, even after other options were explored.
Their executioner took his duty extremely serious. It was said that he covered his face in a mask out of shame, but the Justice Division knew better. "I serve the Cause," he'd said to them in his odd, spectral voice. Their sparks shivered to hear it. "I am no one behind this mask. This is my face, now."
Tesarus and Helex averted their own faces when he came forward. In Tesarus' hands, Black Shadow shuddered in long waves of grief and fear. His trial had been a painful thing, dragged out by the sheer amount of evidence that had to be presented. He'd stopped protesting his innocence while on the stand, just shutting up mid-sentence as it finally began to sink in what he'd done.
So many lives lost. So few survivors. Nothing would bring them back, and his guilt had stacked up until it crushed him as Tesarus ruthlessly piled names of the deceased on his bent head. When Kaon released him, Black Shadow had simply slumped to his knees. He didn't confess. He didn't protest. He just accepted.
Helex hadn't wanted to, but he'd solemnly passed on Black Shadow's request for the death sentence. Vos had agreed only after extensive debate over rehabilitation options. The court didn't normally let a criminal determine his own sentence, but Black Shadow was utterly certain death was the only way he could pay for his crime.
Now Tarn guided him to the ground, kneeling down beside him. The rest of the D.J.D. stood back and respectfully didn't listen to the whispered conversation.
It was mercifully brief.
[* * * * *]
" Hound/Anybody - Pen Pals!AU"
[* * * * *]
A scout didn't typically get much attention in a war, but this wasn't war yet and Hound wasn't a typical scout.
He was good at his job. One of the best, for sure. The rebellion had many uses for a hologram projector attached to such a skilled user.
Building toward a civil war, however, his greatest usefulness actually came from his connections. Turned out that this scout had pen pals far and wide, most of a nature that the Decepticons often intercepted and read their letters closely but let them through the postal system in the end. The 'Cons didn't want to cut off their supply of well-written porn, after all. The Autobots wouldn't be surprised if Hound's missives were being expedited through in order to speed up replies.
Red Alert stiffly thrust the latest letter at the scout, standing rigid beside the table. "Mail's here," he barked.
Hound looked from the letter to the guy in charge of scanning all mail. Red Alert was dedicated to his job. He must have forced himself to read it all.
"Good one, huh?" Hound asked.
"Just take it!" The mech's optics bleached further as he almost threw it at Hound's head before turning to stalk from the room.
Hound grinned at his back. Mirage must have been at the top of his game, this time.
Still grinning, Hound took himself and his letter off to SpecOps territory to get it decoded. Oh, those clever pen pals of his.
[* * * * *]
" Tarn/Pharma - Met In Detention!AU"
[* * * * *]
"I swear to the Cause, I'll have your helm for a desk tidy if you move from that chair!" Tarn swore, pointing a finger across the room at Black Shadow. "Kaon! He doesn't get out of here until he stops whining and accepts his sentence!"
Black Shadow's optics went wide as cruel hands clamped down on his shoulders and yanked him back into the chair. Kaon gave him a disturbing smile and nodded to his boss. The hands didn't let go. Black Shadow wouldn't be moving from the chair until Tarn judged him to have had enough, and even then, there would be one of the notorious lectures to endure before he'd be allowed to crawl free, thoroughly chastised.
The group of rejects milling about the desks in the middle of the room wouldn't be cornered so easily. "We shouldn't be here!" Misfire was protesting, and Helex and Spinister snarled at each other as emphasis.
Krok was glaring at Vos, both of them equally pissed off. "You do not have the authority to drag us in here, much less keep us," the group's leader bit out, icy and pointed. "We'll be leaving now, thank you very much."
"No you won't," Tarn snapped back across the room, then promptly lost interest as white and red wings walked in escorting a mech who put on a brave face but clearly wanted to be anywhere but here. "Ah, Pharma! Bringing us our List to detention personally, are we?"
"No." The doctor stuck his nose in the air and stared down at it. "This is my new ward manager. I'm aware of his disciplinary record and his place on your wretched List. Ambulon, Tarn. Tarn, Ambulon," he said, mockingly courteous. "He has immunity as my employee. You will not be attempting to detain him," Pharma glanced around, openly scornful of the messy room and its variety of twitchy, sullen, and outright scared offenders, "here."
Tarn didn't even seem to notice Krok's crew slipping out the door. "Doctor, you are going to have provide us more incentive than employment. Why should we respect that?"
Pharma narrowed his optics. Time to bargain.
[* * * * *]
" Tarn/Tesarus - Prison!AU"
[* * * * *]
"How did he even escape? It makes no sense!"
Tarn was overworking again. Megatron was off arguing the politics of the Cybertron Penal Facility with the Guard Union and that insufferable Prime guy who had taken over the Senate-appointed bureaucracy that had formerly controlled the Facility. That left the mech's top officers trying to coordinate the prisoner rebellion, and that meant Tarn was busy policing the prisoner population. There were always guard moles and rebels even among an inmate population that should be united. The inmates wouldn't be taken seriously if they didn't present a solid front. Someone had to keep the traitors and weak from straying.
It was a lousy job, but someone loyal had to do it. Thus Tarn and his mounting stress levels.
Tesarus might be only a minion, but he had a duty to his Cause and his boss. "You can worry about it tomorrow, Tarn. You should rest."
The soothing tone got an irate glare. "Stop talking like that."
"Get your aft into recharge before I sit on you."
"Ah. Well."
[* * * * *]
" Silas/Ralph - College!AU"
[* * * * *]
Interdepartmental bureaucratic warfare didn't typically descend into fisticuffs, but the memos had been flying fairly heatedly before the University Dinner. Silas' tolerance for alcohol was tricky at best, a clusterfuck at worst. Tonight, according to his luck, things had skewed toward the clusterfuck side of things.
Hence the reason he'd been dragged off the Sports Director by some old football star-turned-professor, both of them still yelling at the other and bleeding. Breakdown had immediately stormed out, predictably whining for his pet department medic as he went.
Silas was the one without the personal doctor friend. He got stuck with the University doctor, who'd been there to witness the whole fiasco.
That might have been how the split lip and black eye got joined by a knock on the back of the head and a sore toe when Ralph got sick of his drunken, angry grumbling. Silas didn't really remember the rest of the night, but he woke up with a healthy respect for the intimidating man. They might have met at an official University function, but Ralph had apparently dragged his protesting ass home afterward and made him take two aspirin before stuffing him into bed. There weren't many people willing to do that, much less able.
It was the start of a beautiful relationship.
[* * * * *]
" Starscream/Prowl - Camp Counselors!AU"
[* * * * *]
"I'm king of the A-G cabins!" Starscream crowed as he came into the counselors' messhall. The rest of the counselors scoffed. It turned into laughing when they realized he was still wearing his cape and crown from his self-done coronation. Whatever they personally thought about his leadership style, the guy certainly made camp interesting every summer. "They're already throwing stuff at me when I walk by."
The laughter picked up, mixed with a few groans from people who'd lost money in the betting pool. "That's one out," Optimus Prime said, reaching into the jar to remove the slip labeled 'Throwing Slag At Me.' "I thought for sure you'd have it first, this year."
Megatron rolled his optics and grumbled without looking up from his meal.
Prowl came in behind Starscream looking ready to murder a glitch. It got him some curious looks.
Arcee gleefully danced in behind him. "He won the pot, fraggers! Pay up!"
Dead silence ruled the hall. Rodimus looked three seconds from an apocalyptic fit. He'd been trying for the pot since he'd gotten cabins L-T, and all he'd gotten so far was mockery and chaos.
Starscream just gave Prowl an impressed look as Optimus, dumbfounded, dug the appropriate slip out from the bottom of the jar. "The whole cabin?"
Prowl peeled a lip up to sneer. "All five of them."
"Declaration of eternal devotion, right there in front of the campfire." Arcee shaped a fire with her hands, grinning like a maniac. "They just loooooooove him!"
"I hate you all," Prowl muttered.
Starscream laughed and laughed.
[* * * * *]
" Prowl/Chromedome - Magic!AU"
[* * * * *]
"It's not that I don't trust you with a hacksaw near my internals," Prowl said, looking between the box and his partner. "It's just that I don't trust you with a hacksaw near my internals."
Chromedome hefted the hacksaw. "Aw, c'mon. If you won't go on stage with me, I'm going to have to find another partner."
"Pfft, like you could."
"Someday, I'm going to figure out how to do that."
"Probably about the same time you find someone else to put up with your sleight-of-hand and grandstanding during a show."
"It could happen!"
"As I already said: pfft."
"Says the guy who levitates desks for his act. Figured out how to make them spin in midair, yet?"
[* * * * *]
" Rewind/Chromedome - Brand New Step-Sibling!AU"
[* * * * *]
Chromedome had no mouth, and yet he had to swallow hard.
The Autobots in the shuttle looked at him, varying expressions of caution, interest, and mischief across their faces. Skids looked like he expected him to explode.
Rewind, his Rewind, a Rewind missing an arm and possessing of a shattered visor and missing camera, looked at his twin. Who was, in a way, also his Rewind. Just not his-his, because there was a Chromedome who had died horribly, and now another Chromedome who had both Rewinds.
Nautica said it was impossible. She was spinning out quantum theories left and right trying to explain how both Rewinds could exist at the same time.
Honestly, Chromedome was too happy to react yet, but when he could, he intended to tell her he didn't give a scrap how it'd happen.
He'd gotten his Rewind back. The other was just a bonus.
[* * * * *]
" Prowl/Structies - Barista!AU"
[* * * * *]
He didn't even have to look up from his paperwork. The door mysteriously opened for him as he walked toward the shop, and footsteps ran past him to return to behind the counter as he walked in. The line was fairly long, but Prowl just kept reading as he waited. When he got to the front of the line, he registered the cashier as a vague blur at the corner of his vision. He grunted in its direction and held out the gift card Bombshell had made him accept last Christmas at the office party.
The card was deftly plucked from his hand, swiped, and slid back between his fingers. "One regular energon, venti-grande-extra-extra large, one shot of stims on the side. Microchip?"
It sounded like an endearment, but when Prowl glanced up, eyes narrowed suspiciously, the mech behind the counter gave him a limpid, innocent gaze. The microchip he held out was the perfect excuse.
"No, thank you," Prowl said slowly, still eyeing him.
"Are you sure?" The packaging rustled as the mech tried to entice him. "Mixmaster made this batch special." The way he said it implied it'd been made special for Prowl in particular, but there was just enough plausible deniability that Prowl couldn't accuse him of flirting.
It still made Prowl less than inclined to indulge in the treat. "No."
The mech smiled and nodded without skipping a beat. "Okay. Go ahead and sit down, and we'll bring your order out when it's ready."
The rest of the line watched in confusion and envy as Prowl did exactly that. The other customers had to stand there and wait for their orders to be called out, but not Prowl. Prowl could sit down and get some work done, because when his order was up, it was carried out and laid out on the table for him. Napkin here, packet of powdered silica positioned just so, a spoon slipped under the hand resting on the table.
Also a microchip packet. Prowl didn't look up while the barista fussed at the table, but he noticed the packet when he reached for the cup at last. It got a blink. The five mechs behind the counter were watching him without watching him when he glanced up, wondering if they'd screwed up his order.
They looked so slagging hopeful.
He sighed and tried the blasted microchip.
[* * * * *]
" Skyfire/ Starscream - Royalty!AU"
[* * * * *]
The day their esteemed lord and master the king exercised his right to lay with any of his subjects, Starscream knew he had to topple the mech. It wasn't the violation to Skyfire, although the shuttle returned somber, hand held over his chest as if something hurt inside. Starscream did hate that.
It was the way Skyfire never even protested that set Starscream's tanks on fire, and the fact that he, personally, was not even taken into consideration in any way, his claim on the shuttle never acknowledged, that made the Seeker ready to murder.
[* * * * *]
" Starscream/Jazz - Mundane/Domestic!AU"
[* * * * *]
One house. Two mechs. A history.
It should have been chaos, if not deadly. There should have been arguments, screaming fights, traps left in the hall, and a perpetually empty storage cupboard.
Somehow, that never happened. Oh, they argued, but mostly they avoided each other. Everything else just sort of developed from there.
Starscream couldn't stand clutter, so the first floor was soon cleared of rubble, and any personal effects that accumulated were neatly shelved. He had enough of a sense for interior decoration that Jazz found himself more agreeable than expected over that.
Jazz, in turn, needed to always have his next ration on hand. Not only was the storage cupboard always stocked, but he had a habit of impulse-buying whatever new flavors appeared. If they disappeared from the cupboard quickly, they were restocked just as quickly. If they stayed forever and ever, he'd end up consuming them himself and not restocking the lousy ones.
Starscream had to have everything neat. Jazz kept buying more stuff. Gradually, things slotted into place around the house until Starscream started looking up furniture for the first floor. He left a catalog open, and soon enough they were leaving passive-aggressive notes in it about which one they preferred and which one they'd burn if it showed up downstairs.
It took them a while to come to an agreement, but agreed they did. And that just kept happening.
They had a history, and history was always in the making.
[* * * * *]