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silberstreifBeta: Starfire201
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, Thundercracker or anything recognizable.
Continuity: Pre-G1
Characters: Thundercracker, Starscream
Rating: PG
Prompt: Prompt #1 Task: Backstory. Pick a character and tell us a story from that character's life before the war.
Warnings: none
Summary: Thundercracker was a soldier, yes, but before the war he had a slightly different career...
Teacher Thundercracker
It was early in the orn, but all of the young fliers had been on time for their lessons. Twenty small and eager faces either looked at him impatiently or chatted loudly among themselves. They were future Seekers and already they hated inactivity. Well, it was time that he began his lesson anyway.
"Good flight, young seekers," Thundercracker greeted them with a smile. "Send your homework to my terminal as always. Today, we're learning about our ruler, the Emirate. Can anyone tell me his name?"
Some whispered loudly with each other, but he said nothing. If he scolded them every time, he would be hoarse by the end of the orn. Five hands went up, a few hesitatingly, a few confident. He chose a small purple seeker, who always knew the answer. Thundercracker suspected that this little one was a hidden genius.
"Icewing?"
"His name his Starfall. Emirate Starfall."
"Very good. And do you know the name of his son, too?"
"Starscream, I believe."
"You're right." He showed them holo-pictures of the last official ceremony. "This is the Emirate with his son. Starscream isn't much older than you, so if you're lucky you might get into a trine with him."
Now, the chattering rose up uncontrollably. Everyone wanted to be in Starscream's trine, and everyone was sure that he was the one who would be selected for it. He could understand their excitement, it was a great honour to be wingbrother of the Emirate. Though, Starscream... he was different. Instead of searching for his trine as any good seeker should, he was pursuing a career as a scientist. But it was admirable that he had managed to get into the Academy of Iacon as the first seeker ever. Maybe this move was an attempt by the Emirate to lessen the prejudice against their kind.
"Quiet, winglets! We have to move on." He looked sternly at them. "I'm sure all of you want this position, but you should know of the requirements." It went dead silent in the room, everyone wanted to hear this.
"First of all, you need to get a certain score at this very school. It can't be said that the wingbrother of the Emirate is stupid. And Starscream himself has set a new record for Vos." Here, let that be an incentive to study more. It had worked in all the other classes so far.
"Second, you need to be a good flier. You don't have to be the very best in aerobatics and combat, but you should be among the best in at least one discipline."
After school they would have to choose which discipline they liked more. Aerobatics were famous and admired for their beauty and represented Vos. The soldiers, on the other hand, were the true embodiment of all the lethal grace a Seeker had. Thundercracker himself had chosen combat, and then later became a teacher – a unique combination. But his pupils loved him for it.
"Third, as you know, every Seeker has a special talent given to him by Primus. These gifts can vary greatly. Some are useful like teleportation, others are merely amusing like the ability to create glowing writings in the sky. As wingbrothers of Starscream your gift should be able to help and protect him. This doesn't mean that exceptions aren't made, but a strong and unique gift helps."
He stopped for a second, looking at his pupils. A few already knew what their talents were, but most still had to find out. It was always a great surprise and he kind of missed this hoping and waiting in his youth. Of what great gifts hadn't he dreamed? He was satisfied when it turned out to be a sonic boom. It wasn't fancy, but powerful.
"Last but not least is a very simple requirement: Starscream has to like you." And this last one was the requirement they all had failed at. Starscream hadn't chosen even one wingbrother yet, claiming that he couldn't feel any connection. "Any questions?"
Nearly every hand went up. "Oh, well, let's begin in the back. Calamity, yes?"
"Eh," despite the strong name, Calamity always proved to be a bit shy. "I wanted to ask, if there is an age limit."
"No, there isn't. Theoretically Starscream can choose from every untrined seeker in Vos. You, every other student in Vos, even me. Next one, please?"
And it hurt to confess that he was still trineless, that nobody had wanted him. But he was determined that this small fact didn't rule his life. So what? He was still a very good flier, had a useful gift and a job he loved.
"How do you recognise your trine mate?"
"It's not easy. You feel comfortable around them, are always happy if you're with them and the thought that they could die is unbearable." Or at least that was what his siblings had told him. "You would kill to protect them."
"Sir," said a little light blue flier with a mouth that couldn't be stopped. "Why aren't you trined? And will you apply for the tests to be in Starscream's trine with us?"
Thundercracker froze. A part of him wanted to laugh. He, part of the trine of a future Emirate? As if. He was a normal soldier. Another part wanted to die of embarrassment. To apply with winglets vorns younger than him for a trine with a Seeker also much younger? Pit, Starscream hadn't left the Academy early he would have taught him! Finally, he pulled himself together, feeling the expectants looks of his pupils:
"It wasn't your turn to speak, Bluebreeze." But he saw by the faces of his class that they would keep asking the question until he answered. "I don't think it would be a wise move, if I applied. I'm already too old."
"But you said there isn't an age limit!" yelled Sunbridge, Bluebreeze's best friend.
"Still..."
"But you have to!" "With us, please!" his students tried to convince him. His attempts to refuse were ignored. And when even Calamity said "But sir, you have nothing to lose..." he gave up.
"Okay, okay, I'll apply with you. But only if you none of you fails the next test."
His class cheered.
Thundercracker really should have known better than to expect that they would fail the test. They were seekers and, as a consequence, inherently stubborn and willing to do nearly everything to reach their goal. Which meant that Thundercracker applied five deca-orns later to be part of the most sought after trine in Vos, while standing in a group of excited younglings doing the same. At least most passerby thought he was looking after the winglets.
~O~
The application forms were forgotten for a long time because Starscream went into space before he could visit all the applicants. When he came back, beaten, depressed and completely alone, war was on the horizon.
Thundercracker was on the flying fields training the winglets in formation flight and three dimensional fights. No longer was he a nice normal teacher, need had turned him into a strict military flight instructor.
His students saw first that they were being watched and messed up every formation, nearly colliding with each other. Annoyed, Thundercracker followed their distracted glances and discovered a three-coloured observer on the balcony of one of Vos' hightowers. Then, obviously liking all the attention, the observer waved.
What the pit...? Without hesitating, Thundercracker went into a steep fall, pulled up hard and landed directly in front of other seeker with an elegant turn. No need to be modest in front of your students. Only then, he really looked at the other seeker and nearly gaped.
Starscream. What did he want here of all places? And why the ever loving sky was he smirking?
"Sir, can I help you?" he asked nervously, hoping that the other one wouldn't take his stunt as a sign of disrespect.
Slowly, the smirk transformed into a smile and something in Thundercracker warmed. His wings twitched involuntarily and he caught Starscream's doing the same.
"Thundercracker, wasn't it? I choose you." Starscream walked past him back into the tower. "What are you waiting for? Come on, we have to find our third."
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Continuity: Pre-G1
Characters: Jazz, Prowl
Rating: PG
Prompt: Prompt #2 Missed rendezvous
Warnings: none
Summary: A guest comes into a café and the waiter can't look away...
The dreams I always had
The first time Jazz saw him, he was reading a data pad while sitting in the far back of the small café. His black and white appearance wasn't breathtaking, the city had more than its fair shade of Praxians, and still... something was there in his posture, or maybe in the way he held his Energon cube, that Jazz liked. Every few breems his delicate doorwings would twitch and the whole mech would search for a more comfortable position, before being motionless again. He reminded Jazz of an ancient statue from past heroes.
The foreign bot was sitting there a joor, ignoring everything and Jazz who cleaned all the tables around the Praxian twice. After the time span he stood up, paid the exact amount and a small tip and left without a work.
Jazz looked after him and wished he knew what the mech had been reading.
The second time Jazz saw this guest, it was in the same spot only an orn later. Again he read a data pad, again he drank a mid-level Energon cube. Again Jazz watched him silently.
Everything on him from his perfect polish to the quiet, confident demeanour spoke of a certain standing. Maybe he was an official and this data pad was work related? He could imagine the Praxian in such a position. It fitted the serious behaviour, the controlled movements and practical, but elegant frame.
Yes, a desk job it surely was. Probably even an important one with much responsibility and lots of credits in payment.
Whichever job he had, it was clear that his standing was far above Jazz's.
He scrubbed the floor harder and tried to ignore as the Praxian paid and walked way.
The third time he saw him was as he bumped into the Praxian at the door. Jazz was just leaving work and blocked the way by chance. Luckily, he caught himself, before falling to the floor.
"Sorry," he muttered automatically and stepped aside. As he saw who was standing in front, his vents stopped.
"No harm done," answered a deep and cultivated voice. "You're a waiter here, right?"
So, he had seen and remembered him. Him, a lowly, unimportant waiter! "Yeah, I'm Jazz. And you're a regular."
A small nod. "I wouldn't say that I'm a regular customer yet, but I enjoy the flavour of the Energon here."
"It's a special flavour, yes." What to say, what to do? "I've seen you reading."
He wanted to hit himself. What if he Praxian now thought he was creepy or always watching him? But he didn't need to have worried. Instead, the other one smiled and nodded:
"Yes, this is one of the few quiet places were I'm able to read my novel in peace."
A novel? Somehow, Jazz hadn't expected this. "What kind of novel?"
"An old one. Maybe you've heard of 'The dreams Prima had'?"
For the first time in his life Jazz really wished he had taken the time and became more knowledgeable about the past and the classics and everything, instead of enjoying life.
"Ah, no, sorry."
The Praxian's doorwing's dropped a bit. "I can only recommend it." He walked past Jazz to the door. "I wish you a good orn."
The door fell shut and Jazz had the urge to scream and dance and cry. On the way home he bought he first historical drama ever.
He promised himself that the next time he saw the Praxian he would ask his name.
He swore on Primus that he would try his best to get to know the black and white mech.
He took an oath in the name of all sparks and his future sparklings that he would dare to ask him for a date...
The fourth time Jazz saw the Praxian it wasn't near the café at all, but on television.
With horror, he watched as Megatron, their great and trusted Lord Protector, denounced his chief tactician as a traitor and demanded his immediate execution. They showed a video how the the black and white – Prowl, they called him – was bound and shackled and taken away as if he was the lowest of the low. Still, Prowl held his head high, and watched the enforcers and soldiers surrounding him with a stoic acceptance that Jazz quietly admired.
The film was over far too soon and the pretty moderator talked about accusations, proofs and political unrest, but he wasn't listening. All he could see was Prowl, looking regally and calm while being led to prison and maybe death.
The image was so wrong and bitter and beautiful that he walked around in a daze all orn, quietly mourning a small thing called "what could have been".
The fifth time Jazz saw the Praxian was vorns later in the middle of a bloody battle field. He wasn't a waiter any more, but a murderer, a spy, an Autobot. Nothing was as it had been, and all had changed. He knew that and yet he hadn't expected that his Praxian had changed, too (or that he was still alive).
He could only gape as he suddenly saw a black-and white Praxian fighting a group of Decepticons alone, elegant and deadly. Gone was the mech who had never left his peaceful job behind a organized desk. Here was a soldier, proud and dangerous, willing do to what had to be done.
And Jazz was now experienced enough to recognize what he wanted. It was time to cash in his oaths and promises.
Jumping over a corpse, he landed only an arms length next to Prowl, shooting a Decepticon that had been trying to take down the Praxian from the behind.
"Hey, Prowl, long time no see." He turned, and his back was to the black and white, protecting it and being protected in turn. "What do you think, will we two make it to a rendezvous after this battle? We could talk about 'The dreams Prima had'."
There was no answer for a long moment, only the screaming of the dying, the crushing of metal, roar of the weapons. And then, a low and breathless laugh.
"Sure. Took you long enough to ask."
Continuity: Pre-G1
Characters: Optimus Prime, various officers
Rating: PG
Prompt: Prompt #3 Pinned down
Warnings: none
Summary: Optimus Prime has to make a decision, but doesn't want to.
There is no right or wrong
[Pinned down] = to force someone to make a decision about something
"Prime," growled Prowl in a dangerously low voice. "Make a decision or I will be forced to take consequences."
Optimus studied the floor, unable to look any officer into the face. "But... what if I make the wrong decision?"
In the corner Ironhide snorted, while Ratchet repeated for the eight time: "There is no right or wrong here!"
"Yes, there is!" Couldn't they see it? The dangers, the possible consequences?
"No, there isn't." Even Jazz had lost finally his good cheer. "Optimus, simply say it or we'll vote."
The other officers nodded, agreeing. Optimus however blanched. That was the nearest he had ever gotten to an open revolution! How had he let things come this far? He looked guiltily at his four trusted officers – an angry Prowl, an annoyed Jazz, an Ironhide whose last several comments had all been cynical and a Ratchet that looked far too close to throwing a wrench. Maybe, he really had to...
"Optimus, attention!" Prowl's optics narrowed further. "We've been sitting here for over three joors debating all possible options and it's time for a decision. It's your duty."
"I know..." He just feared the disappointed glances, the whispers behind his back,... they would all have to live centuries or, in the worst case, millennia with the consequences. "But-"
"That's it!" Ironhide pushed away from the wall. "You have thirty seconds, or we'll go with Prowl's plan and do nothing."
"No!" That was the worst outcome possible.
"So?" Jazz leaned back in his chair. "We're waiting, mighty Prime."
Ratchet tightened the grip around his wrench. "And if you try to avoid an answer again, I'm not responsible for anything. I can always plead temporary insanity after this far too long meeting!"
He had no choice. Maybe he could later blame his officers?
"Ten seconds, Prahm."
"O-okay..." He shook. Thought about his soldiers, who trusted him and prayed that he made the right choice for them.
"Maybe orange would be good for the Ark?"
Continuity: Pre-G1
Characters: OC, Meister, Jazz
Rating: PG
Prompt: Prompt #4 Master List of Prompts: 26 March Jen Titus - Oh death
Warnings: none
Summary: Death was his most trusted and loyal companion...
Once there was an assassin
Oh, Death, оh Death, oh Death,
Won't you spare me over till another year
Trapped and despairing, he was unable to control his trembling even though he tried hard to be utterly quiet, to melt into the cold wall behind him and to simply disappear from this unforgiving place. Oh, how he wished, he could just run far, far away, until there was no telling in which direction this base was.
He pressed his knees against the helmet and bit down on his lip parts, stifling any cries. But he had nowhere to run to. His home was destroyed a long time ago and returning without the information would make him a nuisance, a failure... and those tended to vanish.
Without wanting to, he started to count the steps, that drew nearer and nearer. One, two, three...
Please, he pleaded with Primus and fate and everything in between, let him turn around, let him forget about the chair, about me.
It was his first mission and of course, he had made a mistake. Infiltrating the base hadn’t been difficult, and hacking the computer had even been a bit fun. Challenging, yes, but fun. And then the guard came back and he had to hide and forgot to turn the chair into the previous position again.
Please, let me live another orn.
The steps stopped and the mech turned around. He could have screamed in relief.
But what is this, that I cant see
with ice cold hands taking hold of me
Another mission, another mistake, but he had learned. Learned that everyone made mistakes and that the only thing that counts is how you work around them.
The secretary was young, a purple Perihelixian barely out of his youngling state, and running at full speed towards the office of his councillor. Without a doubt to tell him what exactly he had uncovered in a pile of unimportant reports and lists, forgotten by all but the secretary and him. It had been by chance that the Perihelixian had read it and sealed his fate.
He calmly checked his rifle again, and took the young bot into his sight. Training let him slow down the pump and Energon circulation in his body, until no shiver or tremble would make him miss. His concentration sharpened as the young bot came closer and closer. A loving squeeze and the trigger was pulled.
For a moment the universe seemed to stop, then the young bot fell to the ground, unmoving and greying. Mission accomplished.
Without losing a moment, he stood up and started packing all his belongings as he had practised a hundred times before – but never used.
As he disappeared from the roof of the tower, he clinically thought that he should feel more. Something, anything. This was his first true assassination, and it was on an innocent, too. Instead his spark was empty and cold.
He wondered what he was turning into.
When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,
who will have mercy on your soul
It was wrong. Worse than war and murder, worse than everything else – and still, he would do it. He figured it didn't make a difference any more. He had deactivated and destroyed so many lives, how could this be anything important?
He didn't hesitate for a moment, as he ripped the chest open. Really, it wasn't as if he still believed in those childish stories of good and evil, of Primus and anything else. It had been a long time since he hoped that he would (be able to) enter the Matrix.
This didn't change anything. Damned was damned, and if he was to judge then their whole planet and race was beyond hope of redemption. Sure, it was an act that was condemned by both factions, but it wasn't as if this had stopped anyone before.
Dispassionately, he watched the shaking and pleading prisoner. Maybe his uncertainty came from the stories he had heard as a sparkling. Of Unicron's heralds and their evil deeds, of which none was greater than the torture and scarring of another spark.
He took out his tools and said, without looking at the other mech, "Last chance, my friend. Tell us or..."
He left the thread unfinished. Hundred of other lives depended on how this interrogation would go and he was determined not to fail.
"Never," answered his victim, determined even though his voice shook.
"Very well." He had no choice. It had to be done.
The spark had been beautiful, swirling and dancing – after two joors it was nothing more than a scarred dull husk, but he had the information. As he killed the tortured, now insane bot, he knew that no one would show him mercy if they learned of this.
Oh, Death, оh Death, oh Death,
No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul
"Please, I beg you, have mercy."
He took a step forward and the arms dealer backed away.
"I'll give you everything you could ever want! What about credits? No more starving in the army, enough to feed until you're full..."
He took out his gut, heavy and cold it laid in his hand.
"O- okay, no money, what about information? Or I could make your enemies disappear. A bot like you surely has many enemies."
That was true. He activated his weapon and pointed it at the other one's chest.
"Please what about other things? Femmes? Servants? Or gold and silver, with that you could go to any other planet and be a rich mech..."
"Those things have no meaning for me."
"But..." The rich merchant looked fearfully at him, and slowly the realisation of his own death dawned. "I would you give anything, really anything you want..."
"Thank you." A shot roared through the room. "Your spark is quite enough."
Oh, Death,
Well I am Death, none can excel,
I'll open the door to heaven or hell.
He was good, the very best they whispered, and known by various names on both sides. His true name however was forgotten by all but him. Few looked into his optics any more, fewer dared to talk to him. Even his own leaders feared him, rightfully so.
He preferred solitude and silence now. Always observing the life of the war from the sidelines, only coming out to deliver a swift deactivation.
His body, his mind, his emotions, they all he had been shaped to fit perfectly into his chosen profession. Faintly, he remembered that once he had been something, someone else, but it was nothing more than the wisp of a memory.
He was the perfect assassin.
Oh, Death, оh Death,
my name is Death and the end is here.
Everything had to end some orn and his end had finally come. The young assassin above him looked completely shocked and unbelieving that he had slayed the monster himself. The sight reminded him of his own first missions a long time ago.
Energon dripped on the floor, and his frame shuddered. Something touched with long and familiar fingers his frozen spark and he relaxed. It was so familiar and light and warm... he wanted to close his optics and simply let go.
Instead he asked, "What is your name, young one?"
The answer was quiet, barely betraying how terrified the young bot was: "Jazz."
He smiled and his face hurt, as did everything else. "Take my name." A cough and Energon splattered across his light armour. "From now on, while on a mission call yourself Meister... and at home, Jazz."
"Why?"
"So that you won't forget..." The difference between assassin and mech. Between life and death.
He had lived so long with it and next to it, that when Death finally came, it was as a friend greeting another friend. It was silent welcome, a promise of everlasting peace.
"Hey, explain it- Hey!"
He went home.
Continuity: Pre-G1
Characters: Ultra Magnus, Hoist, OC
Rating: PG
Prompt: Prompt #5. Setting: public transportation
Warnings: none
Summary: Really, all Ultra Magnus had wanted was to travel from one city to another in peace. Instead he had the urge to strangle every passenger - but they were all already far out of his reach.
Public transportation: The joy of flying
One of the cheapest and fastest ways to travel from one city state to another were the high speed trains of Cybertron. Famous for stopping for no one and nothing, their speed was certainly the highest you could get without flying. In fact some claimed they were even better than fliers...
Ultra Magnus gritted his teeth as another loud cheer destroyed his concentration. "Can't those punks be a bit quieter?!"
His smaller companion chuckled. "They're young, let them have their fun."
"Young?" Ultra Mangus pointed to the rest of their empty compartment. "We're the only ones left in here!"
"Well, there were many young bots on the train."
"Sure. As if a somemech who takes thrice the time to enter the train than I is young," answered the irritated sergeant as he tried to read the last paragraph for the fourth time.
An amused smile. "Young in spirit, then."
Another sound of jubilation boomed through the metal body.
"That's it!" Magnus threw his data pads aside. "I give up. I shall the others reports in Iacon, here I cannot."
"I'm sorry for these inconveniences, sir," said the train nervously. "I'm sure they don't mean any harm."
"Don't worry, Huuthuut," answered the smaller bot. "Your service is excellent as always."
Ultra Magnus stood up and walked to one of the windows. Catching the reprimanding look of his friend, he sighed.
"Yes, Huuthuut, it's not the train's fault that you're are an attraction to every fool out there."
Frowning, he looked out of the window and saw without any effort the other passengers flying behind the train in a strange colourful cloud, whooping and cheering and screaming in delight. They all were tied by thin ropes to the locomotive transformer who traversed the rust belt with a speed just below the sound barrier. Most passengers had bought thin sheets of metal on the station in Tarn, so that they now could get the needed uplift to enjoy the "best feeling besides interfacing" as the street vendors had claimed.
It was the new favourite pastime of seemingly everyone but Ultra Magnus. The sergeant swore if he found the mech who came up with this nonsense, ...
A small shuffling broke through his thoughts and let him turn around: "Hoist, what are you – Hoist?!"
The green bot stood at the door, a big grey sheet fastened on his back. He shrugged without any remorse.
"It's really fun. You should try it, too, Magnus. We'll see you later!"
And with a small step Hoist was out of the train, tossed through the air and joined the merry crowd above only seconds later.
"Traitor," grunted the last mech on the train, suddenly feeling surprisingly lonely. Never before had the compartment looked so empty and so grey. His reports were silently mocking him.
"Sir?" said Huuthuut, carefully neutral. "If you wanted to... I have a sheet left."
Ultra Magnus froze as a hatch sprung open and revealed indeed the – probably – last sheet on train.
He looked up again, through the door to the crowd. It really looked like fun. And what did he had to lose? Hoist wouldn't tell any one and surely, a bit of fun wasn't forbidden...
Another cheer and the soldier donned the sheet. He had to! Or they would say he was afraid and that really wasn't becoming of a sergeant, right? Magnus stuck the magnetic rope to his hip and then, without giving himself the chance to think, he stepped outside.
And flew.
Continuity: G1
Characters: Starscream, Megatron
Rating: PG
Prompt: Prompt #6. Mad World, Tears for Fears
Warnings: none
Summary: It was a mad, mad world.... and it was their fault.
Starscream's despair - "Mad World"
All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Another orn, another battle on this Primus forsaken planet that would never be their home. For once, Starscream was hovering quietly above their forces, doing nothing but waiting for the Autobots to attack.
This whole mission hadn't been necessary. He knew with certainty that they had more than the required resources and technology to get their Energon by renewable energies. Pit, he had developed most of the plans to do just that himself.
So why were they attacking and risking their lives?
Behind him, the other Seekers were laughing and playing and commenting on the slower ground forces. They were happy to finally get out of the confining underwater base and to fly. He had shared their joy, initially, and yet, now that saw the destroyed plant surrounded by a burning forest, he wondered.
Where were they going? His Seekers, the Decepticons and maybe even their race as a whole.
And their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
The Autobots came, fuelled as always by righteous anger and the utter conviction that they were right. In a few seconds, the landscape had turned into a battlefield of titans, who fought and damaged each other.
But rarely killed each other.
They only killed the organics on this planet, the humans and animals and trees. For the first time, he looked at the destruction they all wrought and wondered what the humans thought about it.
Were they crying for their loss?
Just as the Transformers cried in the beginning of the war for every destroyed city?
He still remembered them, the glorious cities he had lived in, fought in and ultimately destroyed or seen destroyed. The biggest names were still spoken in quiet orns and hidden corners, but small villages and bridges and houses that were vaporised without naming a battle were lost on the shores of time...
He felt the loss, but never showed it. As they all only showed the expressions expected and never the gaping hole they felt.
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
Transformers couldn't dream as they didn't sleep and still they dreamed of a better, brighter future with their optics open and their processors working. Over the course of the war these dreams changed as hope slowly dwindled.
He couldn't name the moment were his hope had quietly died and he was left the horrendous reality. Maybe after Vos? Before Earth? Somewhere between, after the first or second peace agreement failed?
He had hoped so often and sometimes even risked much on that small hope, only to be disappointed again and again. Not that he had always been innocent before the agreements had failed, no. Had the endless repeat of violence and horror really been as inevitable as it had felt then?
Starscream still had dreams of the future. Now, they were full of violence and corpses and changes in the command structure... though, there was always war and ultimately, his own death.
It shouldn't be so reassuring to know that at least one kind of ending still existed.
I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
Mad World
"Hey, Screamer, are you alright?" asked Skywarp jokingly, not expecting a serious answer.
No, he wasn't, but the lie came easily across his lip plates: "Sure, we've won, why wouldn't I be?"
There was no way Skywarp would understand that this war was only going in circles that got tighter and tighter. They all were losing. Their own planet already dead, they had come to this one and infected it with their unique brand of madness.
How long would Earth last? A thousand years? Longer? His calculations gave humanity less than a century if they were ever targeted in earnest. And sooner, or later they would be.
Behind him, the forest burned on. He doubted that it would be extinguished it soon.
Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
Made to feel the way that every child should
With grand gestures, Megatron distributed the stolen Energon between the eager soldiers. It was the greatest recognitions they could get: Energon and a friendly word from Slagmaker himself.
"So, tell me Starscream, what were your heroic deeds in this battle?" asked his leader, after noticing that his SIC was uncharacteristically quiet.
Starscream shrugged. Heroic? As if there was a possibility to be a hero in this. "I, my lord? I shot Optimus Prime himself!"
"Really?"
"Yes!" And he launched into the tale with a fervour he didn't feel.
Around him, the other Decepticons listened with slight interest or drank their rewards. He remembered that many of them were young, built during the war, never having seen Cybertron as their home and only experiencing it as a vast battle field.
Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
He had taught a few of them, created the frames of a few others, programmed the most. In the Academies of Iacon and Vos he had learned it, but never thought he would use it once and now... He glanced at the Stunticons and couldn't look away as they were laughing and playing and being acting their age once.
Sadness tinged his smile. Pre-war they would still be learning how to read properly. Instead, they were already trained soldiers, adults in all but in spark.
He wondered if they knew that he created them, if they remembered the love and care he had put into every code line and every frame. Sure, he had help, but in the end they were his.
Megatron turned to other soldiers to speak and he took an Energon cube. Maybe it was time to find out...
"Hey, Dead End, happy that you survived today's battle?"
Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me
Megatron hadn't been delighted with his decision. Convinced that Starscream was planning a new way to kill him, the Decepticon leader was punishing the Seeker in front of everyone. He pleaded and cried, more a reflex than a belief that it would help.
Most Decepticons cheered Megatron on, blinded by Starscream's reputation. But in the corner stood his trine, grimly watching as they never enjoyed his pain and in the crowd his combiner team, confused as they knew the truth – Starscream had asked them what their hobbies were. Nothing more.
They gave him strength and once again he pleaded for mercy, tried to explain himself and for once told the truth.
Megatron didn't stop and listen. It was as if he looked right through the Seeker at something far different... Maybe, he was seeing the war for what it was and despaired as much as his SIC.
~ silber
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2012-04-27 10:18 am (UTC)Each one was powerful in its own right, the last one especially. They are very moving and well written.
You have done a great job!^^
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Date: 2012-04-27 11:12 am (UTC)Starscream in the last one nearly wrote himself. The poor seeker was just so depressed in my mind and then came the song along... it simply fitted.
~silber
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Date: 2012-04-27 12:25 pm (UTC)I love the idea of Tc being a teacher in the past. I can totally picture him as such and now that idea is glued to my brain, I can't think of a more fitting past for him. Now I'm just curios how they'll get Skywarp :D
Hah, just what are the chances of meeting one another after so long! Prowl was so cool here! ^^
Hahah, omg the third one! I was expecting something very serious and you know, deadly... But the end! Omg, nearly fell of the chair!!!!!!
The next one with Meister... he truly is a terrifying character. It was so awesome, one moment reading humor and the next the room dropped a few degrees as I read. What an interesting way for Jazz to accurate that name...
The one with Magnus was so original. What an interesting way to display the public transport!!! :P
The last one... what a fitting end. Starscream... Just... *sad sigh* It truly is a mad, mad world...
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Date: 2012-04-27 04:11 pm (UTC)I sat there for quite some time and thought - what job would TC have had? In my head canon he will be a teacher from no one forever, too. I tried to show what Starscream might like on TC.
The P/J story was the one giving me the most troubles. I was desperate and finally asked a friend what was the first thing he thought of with this prompt.. well the difference was that it was on a bus and not a cafe, and that the mech married, but the idea wasn't mine completely. :)
Optimus is overthinking the problem. *hugs him* Good thing he has his no nonsense officers.
He is. He's utterly amoral, ruthless and very, very dangerous. But he wasn't always like this.
It started with the question what kind of public transport transforming cars might use. Answer: The very fast and fun kind. And Magnus... no idea why, but he was always there with this prompt. It was kind of his.
Yeah... poor Seeker. :( Poor everyone.
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Date: 2012-04-27 05:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-27 08:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-28 03:51 am (UTC)Thank you for sharing.
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Date: 2012-04-28 10:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-29 01:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-29 04:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-18 07:15 am (UTC)Poor Optimus with his difficult decision. I had a feeling it would be something totally mundane but you still managed to blind-side me with what it actually was. Poor crew too, I bet they learned better than to say there's no wrong answers to any opinion Optimus has in the future.
Oh Ultra Magnus... The world won't fall apart just because you try something fun for once.
Again, each of these was great and I enjoyed the read.
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Date: 2012-12-18 10:24 am (UTC)Orange was definitely the wrong answer. I always wondered why they choose this horrible colour.
I really like Ultra Magnus as a character. He's so... grumpy, loyal, well, a true character. And the idea of him doing something like this, just seemed very funny. I still like the idea of the trains and the flying sheets. I admit, in Real Life I would be one of the firsts to try it out.
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Date: 2012-12-18 01:53 pm (UTC)Definitely the wrong choice for the entire ship. It could be used half-way decently as like an accent color or just in certain areas. But the whole ship? That's a bit much.
While not one of my favorites, I have paid more attention to Ultra Magnus lately thanks to a friend (in part because I had to drive him around looking for the Prime/Aligned toy and he'd talk forever about Transformers stuff if I let him.) As to the flying sheets, I don't know that I'd so much want to try, but I'm one of those rare people who never dream about flying, nor wish to fly.
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Date: 2012-12-18 07:08 pm (UTC)I think the Decepticons used purple. Well, at least they used the colour of their faction, that's a bit understandable.
Magnus is an interesting character. Difficult to write about though. I'm one of those who really like flying. ^^
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Date: 2012-12-19 03:35 pm (UTC)That would make sense, although going by color of faction symbols would have made the Autobots look more menacing. Bright red walls, to humans at least, are regarded rather negatively. Sticking to other faction based colors they could have gone blue, though probably a very soft shade closer to grey if they had any sense at all, but if I remember from what little I've seen G1 is rather scattered with optic colors. Sure there's red and blue, but then there's yellow and white and I think at least one other color.
I haven't tried writing him (unless you count quickly scanning/editing my friend's rp posts) so I'll just take your word on him being difficult to write. I kinda guessed you liked flight by the fact you'd wanna be first to try it out. *laughs* I'm not saying I never would, just that I wouldn't be in any big rush to do so.
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Date: 2013-01-18 09:51 pm (UTC)But sometimes I wonder if in the TFverses anyone has any sense for colours. Some toys are just... well ugly.
Thanksfully the TF canon is more than big enough that one can avoid characters which one doesn't want to or can't write. It's something a like about this fandom. For example, I really have problems writing Bumblebee.